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Mother Universe Herself
Mothers come in many kinds.
Today, we bless them all.
All mothers here present,
mothers that were
and mothers yet to be,
as well as all those who mother,
for—as I don't need to tell you—
mother is as much a verb as a noun:
may the Mother of All,
she who 13.8 billion years ago
Let's just be up front here: depending on where you stand in relation to it, any standing stone, anywhere in the world, can point to the Winter Solstice.
That doesn't mean that there's an intended alignment, though.
In the early 19th century, for reasons unknown, a Yankee farmer named Jonathan Pattee covered a hill near North Salem, Connecticut, with drystone walls and rock-built chambers. There's nothing here that other New England farmers of the same period didn't build, but Pattee took it to extremes. Perhaps we may best—using the felicitous 18th architectural term—describe his life's work as a “folly.”
Today the site goes by the grandiose (and rather silly) name of America's Stonehenge. Back when I was new in Craftdom, it was called Mystery Hill—a much better name, really.
(The former tells, the latter entices. The latter opens the door; the former slams it shut.)
Many claims have been made for the site, all unproven. Vikings, Irish monks, and peripatetic ancient Celts are only a few of those claimed as its builders.
Quack history has its own fashions. Back when the “megalithic yard” was in style, megalithic yards suddenly sprouted up all over AS/MH. Then, when archaeo-astronomy became au courant, heretofore unregarded standing stones were suddenly discovered to point to the solstice, equinox, and cross-quarter sunrises.
Take, for example, the claimed Winter Solstice alignment. It's not a large stone, admittedly, but with an avenue cleared through the forest between it and the point of Winter Solstice sunrise, it sure looks impressive.
But it isn't really.
I participated in an online May pagan celebration in a mainstream, non-pagan-specific space dedicated to fragrance, and it was amazing. The May Day week coincided with a celebration for C.'s birthday, so there was lots of celebrating going on in my house offline as well. The houseguest celebrations ended up lasting much longer than originally planned and that led to some changes in my Days of the Week fragrance selections.
The week of May Eve and May Day 2025 the Gourmand board on the Fragrantica forum held online pagan celebrations. The host dedicated each day to a different set of deities and cultural groups, including Ostara, Flora (celebrating Floralia), Lada (and Slavic culture), Brigit, and others. She started the week off with a role playing adventure, inviting the participants to choose names as various nonhuman beings such as nymphs. I chose to be a hobbit for the week.
...
Don't look now, but the guy walking down the sidewalk is dragging a life-sized wooden cross, hooked over his shoulder.
(Well, big enough to crucify a large child on, anyway.)
I think of H. L. Mencken's famous definition of Puritanism: “the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be having fun.”
We are. It's the first Sunday in May, which means that here in the pagan neighborhood it's the annual May Day Parade down Bloomington Avenue. Thousands of people, as we do every year, have gathered to dance down the street in collective joy that Winter is finally over.
As the guy gets closer, I notice that his cross has a caster on the bottom. Hmph. Jesus should have had it so easy.
A satirist by nature, I can't help myself. I start to sing:
The wheels on the cross go round and round,
round and round, round and round;
the wheels on the cross go round and round,
all through the town.
People around me laugh. The guy looks irritated. Not quite the reaction that he'd expected, maybe.
A while later he comes back, headed back to wherever he came from. This time people around me join in.
‘This is my picture and I dunno what it means’ – A Journey of Revelations
by
...
The group of witches sits listening.
Alison is telling us about her coven sister who, in the mistaken practice of the day, deliberately raised her children, not as pagans, but as nothing, so that (in theory, anyway) they would have the freedom to make their own choice for themselves later in life.
(The tragic result of this ill-conceived exercise in spiritual libertarianism was almost invariably that said children, having no basis of comparison by which to make a good decision for themselves, usually ended up falling prey to the first spiritual predator to come along.)
“...And so when she was eighteen, her daughter became a...”
A pregnant pause.
“...a Baptist.”
A collective gasp of horror.
Flower essences restore emotional balance and aid physical harmony. I recommend using Dr. Bach’s flower remedies, which were originally created from the morning dew found on flower petals. These subtle medicines are available in most health food and metaphysical stores. To know which essences are right for you, take a pendulum and write the essence names on paper in a wheel formation. Holding the pendulum in the middle, wait for it to select one name while chanting.
Spirit of the flower, help me this day
...
