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A Reptilian Massacre Continued:

Because these six higher dimensional women knew the science of transferring consciousness, they transferred their spirit, their essence into their 13 trained priestesses, as they were massacred. So that it would not be lost (the knowledge that they, the six, carried).

In traditional societies as far removed as Zuñi Pueblo of the American Southwest and the Kalasha valleys of what is now northwestern Pakistan, the Winter Solstice is marked—among other activities—by footraces.

I've long wondered why this would be so, but this morning—watching the Sun leap up over the horizon—it suddenly occurred to me why.

It's sympathetic magic. The Sun is a runner.

Every day, the Sun walks across the Sky. Even on the day of his birth, he walks from one horizon to the other. Well, he's a god; he can.

(During the Bronze Age, when we became a Horse People, people began to say that the Sun drove across the sky daily in his chariot. In those days, nobles and warriors rode horses and drove chariots, unlike us common folks who walked; when we rode, it was in ox-carts. Surely, went the logic, the Sun was more like nobility and the warrior-kind: hence his chariot. These days, though, we understand that to walk is more sacred than to ride.)

Three-some weeks until the Evenday and his due Eastern rising. This morning he came up still considerably south of east.

“He'll have to run to catch up,” I thought.

Aha.

There have been a few moments in the last few months where I feel I have come close to losing it. As I look over my journal I notice a secret language of symbols - flames, birds or mighty bolts of lightning - which hint at what was going on. 

In the dream, Katie and I are at Paganicon when Pete Buttigieg walks by.

(Actually, the entire coven is there, but apparently the rest of them are somewhere else at the time.)

We're standing by the bleachers (!) when this happens. (Remember, we're in Dream Country. In real life, there are no bleachers anywhere near the P-Con hotel.)

Katie greets Buttigieg and, remembering us, he returns the greeting. Apparently we had encountered him previously and invited him to a coven meeting. As he's tendering his regrets and explaining why he won't be able to make it (too busy with the campaign), I slip my arm around his waist and sit him down next to me on a bleacher.

(Even in the dream, I can't imagine doing this to any other presidential candidate. That he's gay too, and kind of cute, lends a certain intimacy to our interactions, there's no denying it.)

I notice as I do so that he's getting pudgy. “Too much bad campaign food,” I think.

Well, dreams are dreams, and reality is reality. But mark my words, for what I say is true.

Some of us, like me, are not all that crafty so simplicity is key. This 3 ingredient recipe takes all the fuss and muss away so you even enjoy the process of creating your own calming balm. This concoction will not only soothe and nourish our skin but it also is very good for your soul. Gather up the following: 

• 1 cup shea butter
• ½ cup almond oil
• 1/2 cup coconut oil
• 15 drops each of 2 neroli and vanilla essential oils
• Double boiler and water
• Wooden spoon and whisk
• Small Clean jars with lids, 4 ounce

Melt shea butter and coconut oil in the top of a double boiler. Remove from heat and let cool for 30 minutes. Add in the almond oil (you can substitute olive oil, jojoba oil, any organic, liquid oil that is organic.) After experimenting a good bit, I discovered that the fresh and lightly citrus scent of neroli in combination with vanilla is extremely comforting and also tremendously relaxing, It is so pleasing, you may even consider using it as a perfume. I

 Stir in almond oil and blend. When the l oils start to partially solidify, add in 15 drop each of the essential oils. Stir in, and then whip the mixture until a butter-like consistency is achieved which will only taka few minutes. If you’re like me, you immediately try it on your own skin so do indulge yourself, you earned it!

The many-hued Lady of Spring goes by many names. The ancient Continental German-speaking peoples knew Her as Ostara.

(The name itself has not been preserved per se in any surviving documents—although we do find it in the plural, Ôstarûn—but the original singular form can be confidently reconstructed on the basis of Her Old English name, Éastre or Éostre [depending on which dialect of Old English you grew up speaking]).

Among contemporary pagans, Her name is usually pronounced with the stress on the second syllable: oh-STAR-ah.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but the ancestors would have laughed to hear you say it that way.

Like the other Germanic languages, Old High German was (for the most part) a stress-initial language: i.e. the first syllable in a word gets the major emphasis. Historically speaking, the correct pronunciation is OH-star-ah (rhymes—kind of—with MOST o' ya).

Well, in language, use determines correctness, they say. So, you can go either say it the way the ancestors did, or you can tag along like a sheep after everyone else. You decide. Really, what's so wrong with "Sam Hane"?