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Three things stand out in my memory from my trip to the ancient city of Ephesus, City of the Moon.

The first, quite frankly, was the public toilet. Astoundingly, the row of side-by-side toilet seats—the ancestors were social people—looked exactly—exactly—like modern toilet seats.

But these were hand-carved from marble. Wow.

The second was the civic amphitheater. Here Saul of Tarsus—later known as “saint” Paul—was nearly lynched by an angry mob for blaspheming the city's patron goddess, the famously many-breasted Artemis (Diana) of Ephesus. Megálê hê Ártemis tôn Efesíôn! they chanted: Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!

According to the New Testament book of Acts, the mob was led by a guild of souvenir-manufacturers, cynically worried about loss of revenue. (Why do non-pagans find it so difficult to believe that we, too, might love our gods?) Unfortunately, in the end a conscientious city official intervened to save “Paul's” life.

During my visit to the theater, I had the pleasure of standing in the middle of the stage and chanting, in modern pronunciation, the chant of the ancients: Megháli i Ártemis tôn Efesíôn!

Indeed, as reputed, the acoustics were wonderful.

My third memory from the day is much more humble, but—in many ways—the most telling of all.

There is a red-winged blackbird
with only one foot
that comes to our bird feeder.
It balances precariously,
small stump churning the air,
as it selects its seeds.
There are flowers
on the mulberry trees
and bees in the raspberries
and we saw three
monarch butterflies
in the field
and watched an oriole
who hit the window
manage to fly again.
There is a pair of cardinals
who visit the bird feeder too,
they sit together
with their shoulders touching
and sometimes tenderly
choosing seeds and putting them
into one another's beaks
reminding me of how
I watched my great uncle's hand
softly caress
my great aunt’s back
one afternoon
at the park in the rain.
Twenty-seven years ago today,
I went on a first date
with the man I married.
It was a last first date
for both of us
and here we are now,
watching those two cardinals
feed each other seeds,
knowing how they feel.
These things
give me hope.

Brass is the result of combining copper and zinc. You may be surprised to learn that brass has been used successfully to treat hair loss! Healers favor it as a detoxifier and cleanser for people who have too much metal in their bloodstreams. Brass is also a strengthening alloy for the body and supports gems and crystals in their energies and abilities to interact in a positive way with your body. The iron content in the brass is what makes it a real stabilizer. The healing and protective powers of brass are enhanced if it is worn as a brooch in the shape of a dog, falcon, or snake. 

Brass is a wealth attractor and has often been used as a shiny substitute for the much more costly gold. The ancients loved placing their gems in brass for the way it made the beautiful colors really stand out.

What's missing from Minoan art?

Before you answer "The women's shirts," let me clarify that I mean here: What kind of animal is missing from Minoan art?

There are all kinds of animals in Minoan art, inhabiting the realms of land, sky, sea, and imagination. But there's one that doesn't show up until very late in the game, for very specific reasons.

“The Witches' Almanac," a priestess that I know once remarked, sadly, "never fails to disappoint.”

Somehow, I've always felt the same way about the novels of Canadian author Charles de Lint.

On the face of it, this seems odd. Fantasy novels situating Old World lore in the New World...you'd think that I would be all over it. But no. Elves, Green Men, and Moon Goddesses are all very well, but in de Lint, somehow they're all just so much window dressing. The depths, the wisdom, just aren't there.

I find this to be even more specifically true (alas) of Greenmantle, his 1988 book about the Horned God. It's something of an hommage to Lord Dunsany's stunning 1928 fantasy The Blessing of Pan: a lyrical and deeply sad novel about a rural English village being slowly won over to the Wild. The contrast between the two novels, unfortunately, illustrates my point in the starkest of ways. Dunsany's book has both substance and magic. De Lint, instead, tells you how magical things are, but somehow never quite manages to make you feel the magic.

Well, but. Even a stopped clock tells truth twice a day. When you're writing about Himself, every now and then, something is bound to sing. Sure enough, in Greenmantle de Lint nails it:

[The Horned] becomes what you bring to him. If you approach him with fear, he fills you with panic....If you approach him with lust, he becomes a lecherous satyr. If you approach him with reverence, he becomes a majestic figure. If you approach him with evil, he appears as a demonic figure [181].

Transcribing this passage makes me wonder if perhaps part of my unhappiness with de Lint's writing may not stem from the unrelentingly pedestrian quality of his prose. Unlike Dunsany, who was both, de Lint is storyteller, but not poet.

Still, though his language may leave something to be desired, what it says offers deep insight into the nature of this particular god, skin-strong shape-shifter that He is. In Him, you will see preeminently—as de Lint so rightly says—whatever you yourself bring to the encounter.

Gems and crystals can give us messages and warnings or powers of persuasion and perception. Here are a few examples:

• A fossil or gem containing a fossil, such as amber, will lengthen your life span
• Jasper carved into the shape of an arrow will be a magnet for good luck.
• If your malachite jewelry chips or breaks, beware! It is warning you of danger. Malachite gives great success to salespeople. Keep a malachite crystal in the cash register and wear it during trade shows, presentations, and meetings.
• Moonstone is the dieter's power stone and helps maintain youthful appearances and attitudes.
• Serpentine worn around a new mother's neck helps her flow of milk.