Alley scene in Paganistan.
Warning with enforcement clause.
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Blog posts tagged in Minneapolis
The omen could hardly have been clearer. I guess you could say that a wall spoke to me.
It was spring break of my junior year in college. I'd come to Minneapolis, ostensibly in search of a graduate program. Actually, I'd come in search of a community. In search of a people.
My friend had picked me up at the train station. Driving home down Lake Street, I saw it.
Minneapolis is a City of Murals. There it was, covering the entire side of a building.
Flowers, butterflies. (Hey, it was the 70s.) These words:
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Well, speak of the Horned, Chris! I was thinking of you fondly just the other day. Hope this finds you happy and in health. -
And who'd'a thunk that just a little while later you'd join in at Paul's magickal place for a weekend hosting amazing men from all -
Thanks Eli, the feeling is entirely mutual. How did we get so lucky?
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Y'know, it's funny: when I moved here from Michigan for college, I never expected to stay here. I had no intention of going back t -
It's a weird place (in both senses of the term), in some ways a hard place, a cold place. Not everyone manages to fit in. Just ma
I am because you are.
(Louis Alemayehu)
In the spring of 1974, Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa—arguably the most famous painting in the world—visited Japan.
There she was welcomed in a manner quite quintessentially Japanese.
People sent flowers.
At the time, I can remember thinking, Of course: that's absolutely right. That's exactly what you do to honor such a powerful...well, kami.
It's an action quintessentially Shinto.
And quintessentially pagan.
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The side-shadows make me envision a standing "herm" carved on each side, facing all four directions. I suppose there would be an o
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Lovely! -
I love the way this was lit: I told Larry-- the Vine Arts Center member who did the lighting-- as much. He did a masterful job all
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I see that mine aren't the only floral offerings. Better and better. Gods, I didn't notice the shadows at the opening last night.
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What a beautiful work of art!
If you've ever wondered what it would be like to experience a pagan holiday in a pagan city, well, you don't have to wait until your next incarnation to find out.
Just come to pagan Minneapolis for Bealtaine.
For 42 years, the magic and artistry of Heart of the Beast Puppet and Mask Theater has brought the joy of May to Witch City. 50,000 people line Bloomington Avenue for the Parade and then follow it, dancing, in unbridled celebration of the Coming of the Sun and the melting of Winter's icy heart.
In Powderhorn Park, we call the Sun, which sails to us across the lake in its winged boat. By its power, the Tree of Life rises renewed, and the city-wide party begins.
At 6:05 p. m. on Wednesday, August 1, 2007, the I-35 bridge over the Mississippi in Minneapolis collapsed. Thirteen people were killed.
Thirteen. On Lammas Eve.
Of many rivers, it is said that they require a life every year. The Mississippi, our “strong brown god” (Tom Eliot) takes many more than that. Last year, here in the metro alone, it was 17.
In the old days, they say, they used to offer to rivers. Nowadays, we mostly don't. But the sacrifices continue, as they will while ever the world endures. Willing or unwilling, they offer themselves, because sacrifice is in the nature of things.
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Somehow in those moments when our lives touch the Big Things, one can only sit back and wonder. My gods.
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My husband crossed that bridge just moments before that happened. He had decided to leave a few minutes early that day. Otherwise
Down by the Mississippi, there's a circle under the cottonwoods where the witches used to dance.
Technically, the riverflats belonged to the Army Corps of Engineers, but by night those woods belonged to the gayboys. And the witches.
It was the old cruising beach. In Minneapolis the Mississippi Valley is a green vein of wildness pulsing through the heart of the city. You had to negotiate a steep path down the side of the bluff to get to the flats. The police left it alone. By day you could swim there naked, with the glass towers of downtown hovering above the treeline. By night you'd hear the quiet encounters, the moans of ecstasy, and every now and then, the sound of drums and chanting.
