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A friend's high priestess sent her a beautifully crafted wooden wheel for Yule. An apt gift, certainly.

(Witches are big into wheels. Life, Time, Space: for us, it's all Wheels.)

Naturally, my friend called her up to thank her.

“What's the symbolism of the ten spokes?” she asked. (The Witches' Wheel usually has eight.)

“No, it has eight spokes,” said the high priestess.

“No, it has ten,” said my friend.

Myself, I was pretty disappointed to hear this story.

(Talk about a teachable moment. When your student asks you a question that you can't answer, what should be the first words out of your mouth? Obviously, "Well, what do you think?" As a teacher, you don't teach stuff; you teach thinking.)

First off, I was disappointed that woman hadn't looked carefully enough at the wheel—it was a gift, after all—to realize that it had ten spokes rather than the canonical eight.

Second, I was disappointed that she didn't know the symbolism of the ten-spoked wheel.

Third, I was disappointed that she didn't try to bullshit her way out of it.

Time: 800 years ago

Place: Latvia

In the Hall of Perkons—Thunder—the Old Gods of Latvia have gathered to discuss a terrible danger that threatens their beloved land and people.

It is this: the Pope of Rome has declared a crusade against the “pagans” of the Baltic Lands, and sent evil and rapacious men called the Teutonic Knights to enslave all of Latvia.

This would be Europe's first genocide.

The Old Gods—Earth, Sun, Thunder, Moon, the Winds, the Rivers, the Gods of Field and Forest—all swear to stand by their people, to guard and nurture them, each in his or her own way. Thunder himself swears to send the people a mighty hero who, with Thunder's own protection, will lead them against their foes.

So begins the story of the Bearslayer (Láchplesis), the Latvian national epic.

There is much here to tell; I will soon be reviewing Arthur Cropley's 2006 translation of the work. But for now, let us observe how this story addresses an important question which surely every thoughtful contemporary pagan must ask herself: Where were the pagan gods during the Christian centuries?

One of the things that astounds me about the human animal is our stubborn will to believe, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

Case in point: the Turin “Shroud.”

Dating to the mid-14^th century, the so-called shroud is a 14-foot piece of linen displaying what appears to be the imprint of a man's naked body, fore and aft. As a quick web search will show you, many, many people continue to believe that this is the actual burial cloth of Jesus of Nazareth.

They continue to believe this in spite of the fact that three separate C-14 tests performed in three different laboratories in 1988 proved the cloth to be of medieval origin.

They continue to believe this in spite of the fact that, counter to all historical likelihood, the figure shown on the cloth looks exactly like conventional Western representations of Jesus.

They continue to believe this despite the fact that an actual human body laid out on a cloth wouldn't produce an imprint looking anything like what we see on the “shroud.”

Take a look at the image's “butt,” (lower right). Looks like a (skinny) butt, right?

(“I've seen Jesus' butt. Now I can die happy,” a Christian friend recently quipped.)

Joe Biden's presidential inauguration yesterday sure did have a lot of religion in it.

Too bad it was all Christian religion.

Christian scriptures, Christian saints, a Christian hymn that we were all supposed to join in on; even a Christian ending (“amen”) to the silent prayer for the 400,000.

Am I surprised? No. This is, after all, the United States. Am I disappointed? Yes, especially considering the fact that Vice President Harris's family, in its religious diversity (father's family Christian, mother's family Hindu, husband Jewish) looks a lot more like the face of—increasingly—the real America.

In practice, of course, public displays of religious diversity in the US usually involve trotting out a token rabbi and/or mullah in addition to whatever Christian clergy is already presiding. As the rest of us could tell you, yet another demonstration of Abrahamic exceptionalism hardly constitutes a display of religious diversity.

Well, there are lots of religions represented here in America, and there's no way that you can fit all of them into a ceremony gracefully. Adding the stray Hindu or Buddhist now and again wouldn't really help. At thirteenth and last, Big Box religious exceptionalism is no more attractive, or desirable, than Abrahamic exceptionalism.

Nor, frankly, would a generic pagan invocation by Lady Moonwhistle have satisfied me either, although—to be quite honest—the very term “Inauguration” has quite specific cultural roots, and they're certainly not Christian ones.

Fire is heat and is the most visible form of energy. Fire is a powerful element, as it can transform and change the other elements. If you watch the flicker of your candle flame, the embers of your incense, or the blaze of your council fires, you will see a constant transmutation of matter. Fire has the ability to both excite and incite us, and fire is necessary to bring about change. Fire signs Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius are known for their strength and vibrancy. They can maintain this by employing their personal element of fire. Candle magic is a simple, powerful, and direct way you can invoke your native element of fore. 

Light the Fire of Self-healing

My boyfriend that summer was also named Steve, so naturally we became “the Steves” to everyone that knew us.

Ah, the things straight people never have to put up with.

That was a Rocky Horror summer. At his favorite consignment shop, Steve had found a wedding gown and veil that he couldn't wait to wear in public, so I rented a tux and we got ready to run down the aisle during the Midnight Showing. We even handed out rice in the lobby before the doors opened.

It so happened that a local news outlet was there that night, doing a local-interest piece on the Rocky Horror phenomenon. Of course they wanted to film the happy couple running hand-in-hand down the aisle amid cascades of rice. For that they needed our permission.

“Are you out to your parents?” Steve asked me, sidelong. Having your family find out that you're gay via the local news is probably not the best way to go about it.

“Not yet,” I said, grimacing. “Are you?”

He shook his head.

Our eyes met.