An Alright Day After All

Current listening: Crickets

Ari meowing as he stalks the yard

'Funny Cat' (the raccoon) chewing on something

Today was indeed an alright day. It started out a bit rough though. I went ahead and asked for an appointment with a new  therapist in town after I woke up and had that old, familiar empty feeling right in the middle of my chest. I call it "The Void" because that is exactly what it can feel like - a vast, Lovecraftian crack in the center of myself, stretching into eternity and frightening in its very emptiness.  A little while later, another familiar monthly  :::ahem::: friend showed up and explained why some things seemed amped up lately by about a factor of 10. Yay. 

Today was also the deadline to enter the show at the Tomato Art Fest and I let it go. I did enter last year, after a four year absence, but that was more because I had promised the former owner. It's no fault of the show or the Fest, but I am still so burned out on it. Maybe I'll be ready to enter again somewhere down the road. 

Granted, I don't have to fight and jump through hoops anymore just to get my work there. Thank the gods! No more crazy narcissistic reasoning ("You can't make a living with art...of course they want you back. They want to make money") or fear that I might miss a delivery deadline - and waste an entire hour long trip to town - because someone else insisted their fun was more important. I certainly don't miss the dismissive "Oh. You didn't sell anything" on bad days and the hours long rages, with attendant threats to call the police for some stupid, made up thing - when I did sell. The better my sales, the worse the rages. The feeling of eternally being caught up in an emotional and mental tornado and not being able to think clearly was maddening. 

Oddly, late this afternoon, as I waved at the deadline as it passed me by, I started working on a few additions of the sporadic series I started years ago called An Ode to Wazowski. I have two about half finished at the moment, an illusionist and a clown. We'll see what else comes of it. The ones I did last year - a Gandalf type wizard, a ceremonial magician and a hip witch - were the first ones to ever not sell. I'm pretty sure my burnt out energy were all over them and no one wanted that. 

I've been thinking of a different way of promoting my work, which tells me that I must be finally getting that former bullshit out of my system. I signed up for MailChimp a couple of years ago, but I never did anything with it. I had thought of doing something about less well known folklore, starlore, mythology and who knows what else. What I want now is do that in a newsletter promoting my art - make it more engaging than just saying, "Hey. There's this. Please buy it." 

Okay, I'm tired - enough rambling. Goodnight y'all.  

 

Amergin and the Dead South

Current Listening: Achilles, The Dead South

Up next: Waiting For the Night, Ghost

Shin-En, Ningen Isu

I didn't realize it had been over a week since I last posted here. Damn. I didn't realize I was caught in that downward spiral for that long. I don't know if it's the quarantine or just 2020, but these spirals are getting more frequent. So much so, I've put in a few inquiries to some local therapists. I do not want to go down the depression road again. It was awful the first time. Knowing it could be sneaking up on me again is much worse.

Okay, so a change of topic. I love this particular song by the Dead South. It reminds me of The Song of Amergin. He says "I am sea breeze/I am the ocean wave/I am the surf's thunder/I am the stag of the seven tines/I am the cliff hawk/ I am the sunlit dewdrop..."

The Dead South's version is a more modern: "I am a man/I am the wind/I am all your deepest sins/I am the sun, I am the moon/I am all your sweetest tunes..."

The link above says that the Song has "been described as an invocation or a mystical poem" and it is. But is that all it is? 

It is more of a becoming. There are many paths with traditions of claiming for yourself certain things, whether they be animals, elements or gods. To say "I Am..." is to take on the power of the thing. 

Am I saying the Dead South are shamans, magicians or some such? No, I'm not. But, they don't have to be. The writers claimed and accepted the best and worse of themselves in the song and that had to be very cathartic on some level. 

Bleh

I really need to stop looking at posts on the local town groups on Facebook. There's nothing but stupid conspiracy theories (i.e., masks can't keep the Coronavirus out, but they mysteriously hold on to CO2 like no tomorrow. Also, those same masks are grooming everyone for dreadful things like burkas, microchips or Bill Gates) or hysteria over Satanists wanting to bring the USA into a New World Order.

I don't like my response to these things. I go in and say, "Seriously?" and it's on. No one ever really reads the comments for any kind of discourse anyway. They only want to denigrate everyone who doesn't agree. Bleh. That's it. I need to leave for my own damn sanity.

No, it wasn't my first day on the internet, but those local groups make me feel like that anyway. 

Stories

Oops. I almost let the day go by without doing an entry. 

Stories have been on my mind lately. Not only the kinds authors write, but stories we tell ourselves too. 

Isn't that what we do? We tell ourselves "This is what I am. This is what I do. I'm okay with that" and most don't bother to look any farther. They are happy with their story. 

Then there's those of us who sometimes feel like one of the characters in that Pirandello play, Six Characters In Search of an Author. We aren't happy with the way the story is going. We feel, like those characters in the play, unfinished and go looking. Some of us go looking for the author. Some go looking for a new story. Some just go looking to see what they can find. 

What's the story you're telling yourself? Are you happy with it? 

I can say there are places where I definitely am not happy with the story. I do feel like a Pirandello character - unfinished, but wanting to round myself out (character wise, anyway. Physically is a different story.) 

Now, I suppose comes more questions. Am I willing to go looking for a change of story? Am I willing to be more of an author, instead of just letting the story go as it will? 

Long time, no see, dear blog.

Wow. It has been a long time since I've paid attention to this blog. There's been several times over the years that I thought about restarting it, but it never got beyond that. 

Now, in this time of COVID, riots and general upheaval, I find myself wanting to start blogging again for the same reason I started my little bitty, hand programmed (in early HTML, no less) one on Geocities all those years ago in the ancient times. 

I needed an outlet then, one that my ordinary journal didn't quite give me. I needed an outlet that boosted my confidence; something that said I matter. 

That's where I am now, with some very similar feelings. I know I'm not the only one having a tough year, but I was doing okay for a while. Everyone I know has been ill, broken bones, had multiple heart attacks and other issues. One family member has even died, but I handled it.

Then 2020 came for me and even the cat. I could barely walk with a knee injury and for most of last month, I didn't. I hobbled. Then my cat was attacked and had to have surgery. That's when I lost it and I didn't have enough spoons to go around. 

So here I am. Life continued on; people needed me to be there for them and me? I've seriously thought about counseling or therapy again, because I felt that I didn't have anyone I could lean on. 

I decided to come back here and do this instead. I am Pagan and supposedly, I have tools of my own to deal with these things. May as well remember who and what I am and use those tools. 

Because I matter. 

Privilege

I know you are as tired of the whole Kim Davis thing as I am but it looks like it isn't going to go away anytime soon.  I only have one more thing to say about it that no one really seems to be mentioning. 

This whole thing isn't only about equality.  Not really.  It's about privilege. 

Before this situation came up, there was a lot of chatter from people who denied there is any privilege to be had. Funny enough, they are the very ones who get the most from this privilege.  These people are straight, white and usually fundamentalist. 

Don't get me wrong.  I don't care what religion a person practices or even if they practice.  The problem is when asshats like Kim Davis starts defying law and common sense by forcing her views on the public at large, then she and Mike Huckabee start yelling 'We're being oppressed!!  Christianity is under attack!!" because Davis is rightfully jailed for not following a judge's orders. 

If you want to argue what privilege has to do with this, ask yourself this: what would have happened if it wasn't Davis pushing her beliefs on everyone?  What if it were a black woman?  A black man?  What if the person refusing to give out licenses were of a faith other than Christianity?  That person would have been in jail by the end of the week, if not sooner and they'd still be there.  They would also be out of a job faster than you can say "nut" and the same people claiming oppression would be saying good riddance.
  
So yes, despite of her grandstanding and attempts to prolong her 15 minutes, Davis has received the benefits of privilege.  First of all, there is the fact that she was allowed to do all that grandstanding and prolonging.  She was - and is - allowed to stay in the office long after lawsuits were filed and as far as I know, no actions to impeach her have even been entertained.  The Governor has refused to step in.  She was given multiple chances to act differently.  She was even given the soft shoe treatment when she was let out of jail: you can go back to work but don't interfere. 

We can see how this is going to go.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

As for their argument, there is no oppression of believers, nor is Christianity under attack.  It isn't going anywhere either.  The problem stems from the fact that times have changed.  This isn't the 1950s anymore, nor is this a Christian country.

Despite what people like Kim Davis say, there is no template for what an American should be, other than that pesky edict to follow the laws of the land.  White, black, red, brown.  Gay, straight, pan- or asexual.  Christian, Pagan, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist.  It doesn't matter.  This country is more of a melting pot than ever and we're all Americans.  Our very diversity should be one of our greatest assets, not a reason to act like asshats. 

Dreams and Calendars

Tired.  I got to work on two of the four inch paintings today.  It went fairly well.  I think I need to make the bugs a little more prominent.  After all, they're the reason why the tomatoes are getting revenge!

I painted for several hours, beginning around 9:30 or so.  No wonder I was ready to take a nap around 3:30, which is exactly what I did while a storm came in.  I only slept for about fifteen minutes but it was interesting.  I had one of those rare dreams where I knew I wasn't too far asleep and I was talking to someone.  I don't remember who or what was being said this time but I felt calm and fairly peaceful when I woke.  I had the feeling that I had gotten some good encouragement somehow. 

It was somewhat like the dream I had not long after Granny died.  We hadn't gotten along in a long while but in this dream, we settled things.  Like today's dream, I don't remember much about what was said.  I do remember very clearly standing in the kitchen, like we always did.  I was leaning against the stove, cup of tea in hand.  She was making biscuits and we finished our conversation before she got out her 'biscuit cutter,' which was a small, old tin can with both ends cut out.  It was like those tins blueberries used to come in with the blueberry pancake mix. 
____________________________________________________

Lammas is coming up on August 1, or Lughnasadh, if you prefer.  I really need to find something more meaningful to me.  I've stuck with this Celtic calendar...for convenience, I suppose, or laziness.  I have tried over the years to make peace with it (no one can call me a quitter) but it just doesn't resonate with me.  I may come from a line of farmers - two! - but I'm not one.  No matter how it's dressed up, it's still an agrarian calendar.  Outside of Samhain and Yule, it just doesn't cut it. 

Plus, it's a Celtic thing.  I come from Celtic stock but the calendar and mythology just doesn't resonate either.  According to the origins of my last name, there may also be Anglo Saxon as well too but a lot of that leaves me cold too. 

I do love Egyptian mythology but I'm not sure of the calendar.  It seems to be lunar based or something because it doesn't seem to be like Western calendars and the holidays wander.  I need to look into that.  Maybe. 

I know, I need to just get off my ass and figure this out.  Of course, now that the month and NaJoWriMo is nearly over, that's when I finally start getting down to the heart of things.   

Creating the Big A...or Not

Geez, it's hot in here today.  I guess it's no surprise.  I looked up the temps a little while ago and it was 86, with a heat index of 96.  Phew!

Today was spent in one of my favorite ways - building supports for the birch boards.  The gallery owner gave me an idea based on the Revenge painting and said I could have a week or so to do more paintings before the show became too hard to rearrange, so...

I came home yesterday and did my research on tomato pests.   Today, I made the supports and got them gessoed.  I thought about working on the painting on the easel while the glue dried and I had used all my clamps (I really need to replace some and add to the collection.  Like brushes, one can never have enough clamps.) but it took much effort than I was willing to put in after several hours of measuring and sawing to switch back and forth between 'building' brain and 'painting' brain.

Someone told me yesterday that she hadn't painted in fifteen years but has been getting the calling to pick up the brushes again and it's scary.  We agreed that on one hand, it could be a freeing thing - she doesn't have all that academic stuff in her head and she can just play.  Then she said an interesting thing: "Well, plus I finally realized I'm not going to make some Big Art.  I think we all through that at some point."

It's true.  There used to be that little voice at the back of my head.  It said that the art had to be Good - a Masterpiece - that could  hold up against Masters of Art: Dali, Miro, Warhol...of course, I would do it all my own way too. 

I wonder why we think that?  Is it more than just artists that go through this?  Is it just one of those engrained childhood things?  I mean, don't most parents say their kid is going to do Big Things?  "My kid's going to be a Doctor!  A Lawyer!  The PRESIDENT!"  I know it's a good thing meat to be positive thoughts for the future but I just wonder.  Maybe I'm just warped.

One thing to remember is that Van Gogh sold just one painting during his lifetime.  It also strikes me as a lot of trouble to have so much attention on your work.  I read somewhere about an artist (I can't remember his name) who got so popular that the business side of things took up so much of his time that he had two hours a week in  which to paint. 


I have ideas of how I want my art career to go from here, plus I have a standing invite for the gallery as well (that will and can be a post all in itself.)  I may as well get off my ass and do it.  It's not going to make itself. 

Shop Talk

The paintings for the Tomato Art Fest are done!  Yay!  All that's left is to put the info on the back of them (title, medium, contact info, etc.) and delivering them tomorrow.  I do wish I hadn't obsessed so much on the carnival theme.  I would have gotten more paintings finished.  C'est la vie. 

I hope the caterpillar painting's photo is okay - it was a bitch to photograph. Then again, I didn't have the greatest equipment for the job.

I also went ahead and got another painting started.  This one has been floating around my head for about four years and I guess it decided it was time to come into the world.  It pretty much put itself on the board when it came to sketch it out and block in the colors (or rather, block in *some* colors.)

I accidentally got an oak board when I bought

supplies a while back.  I wasn't sure about it when I framed and gessoed it.  The grain is much different to what I'm used to - it is very deep, compared to poplar, and textural.  I want to play with it now with dry brush and building the colors with the base color in the grain and just dragging the other colors on top of that grain. 

I want to advance my skills and damn it, I'm going to do it!  My paintings need a bit more...what's the word?  Sophistication.  Keep the whimsy and odd but advance the techniques. 

My re-ment came on Thursday!  I ordered some loaves of bread and ceramic plates to put them on.  They're so tiny, yet detailed!  The plates are about an inch square and the loaves are about as long.  They even have the cuts in them so they could 'expand' as they 'baked.' 

I see why so many people get hooked on collecting the stuff!  I want a few more things, lettuce being in the mix, of course. 

This means I need to properly set up the shrine.  Altars, I'm used  to having but this is a new thing for me.  For one, I'm not used to having a deity take so much interest in me.  I've had a few that asked me to do things for them but not *this.*  Then again, there haven't been that many I would even consider setting up a shrine for.  I mean, there hasn't been any I really considered cultivating a relationship with. 

This is new alright.  I've resisted the whole deity thing from the beginning.  When I first became Pagan, way back in :::coughcoughmumblemumblecough,::: everyone was insistent on two things: everyone had to become clergy as soon as possible and everyone needed patron deities.

I never was very good at following the crowd or the rules but look at me now...and I can't figure out way a god of chaos is interested in me.  :-D

Moving around the Septagram - the Land

So the second point on the septagram is the Land - Earth.  Before I go much further, I'll add the mystical aspects first, since I didn't feel that I covered much of it for the Sun.


The Earth, for me, is a steadying influence.  It is very much the foundation.  That foundation can be a very solid thing - like the limestone deposits that underlie much of this part of Tennessee.  The thing to remember is that sometimes, that limestone is dissolved away by the action of rainwater.  The rain washes the pollution out of the air - excess carbon dioxide, stuff from fossil fuels, etc. - and this creates a slightly acidic solution. It dissolves the limestone and after a while, BOOM!  What looked like solid ground is now a sinkhole. 

The lesson in this is that it is important to examine our foundations from time to time, so that we're standing on a firm foundation instead of having some insidious thoughts or beliefs dissolving it out from under us.
 
Not only is the Land a foundation but we depend on it for our very existence.  Our food grows in it.  Some animals eat the things that grow in it and we eat them.  It is also symbolic of the material world - where we live.  Abundance.  Security.  Health.  Our very bodies...

One of the first things I learned in Sunday school was that we were made from dust.  Clay.  This is true - many of the elements in our bodies is found in the environment.  Carbon.  Iron.  Traces of gold.  If we go further, each and every one of the elements on the planet were forged in the heart of an ancient star.  This is another mystery to ponder. 

The colors of the Land include all the colors of Earth - browns, ochres, black - but also the colors of the natural world throughout the seasons.  There are the bright greens of Spring and the whites and pinks (Ew. Sorry.) of the new blossoms; the darker greens and brighter colors of the Summer flowers, the muted reds, oranges and yellows of Fall and cold whites, blues, greys and purples for Winter. 

In some ways, the Land - Earth - is one of the most frightening things some can think of.  After all, we all die.  May people are put into the ground - dust to dust.  Some transforming, yet frightening stories involve going underground - Orpheus going to Hades to bring back Eurydice; Dante's Inferno.  Even stories about the Faery world involve mounds and underground courts.

Freya has a very earthy aspect.  Not only is she known for her 'earthy' attitudes (she certainly isn't ashamed of her body and knows how to use it for pleasure - both hers and one can assume, her partner as well) but she traveled to the underground realm of the Dwarves.  There she bartered a night with each of four Dwarves for her amber and gold necklace, Brisingamen.

Of course, the Land above isn't as tames as it seems.  Sometimes, it shakes.  There are animals - and other things - that remind us of its primal wildness.  Cernunnos can roam the land, sometimes inspiring wild, primal urges - to run!  To dance!  To have mad, passionate sex!  Other times, He can inspire the exact opposite.  Madness and fear follows when He leads the Wild Hunt. 

Pan can inspire the same feelings - after all, he is forever chasing nymphs in the Greek myths.  Yet He also lent his name to the words PANdemonium and PANic. 

Artemis can also be included here.  She is ofter in the forest, surrounded by Her Little Bears, free to roam.  She can be just as ferocious as a bear when they are bothered. 

Moving around the septagram - The Sun

Since I skipped last night from being absolutely brain fried, I suppose I should jump straight into it.  I've tried writing about the septagram before but I don't think I've actually written about why it resonates with me so much. 

I came across this particular set of what the points mean years ago, I don't even remember where.  I don't even remember there being any explanations, other than the labels on the points.  The definitions have come along over the years, but I'm not sure anyone could ever be finished plumbing the meanings of each point. 

It's said that the septagram first appeared in Hellenic Greece, when a seven day week was adopted.  Since then, it has appeared in quite a few places - alchemy, various forms of witchcraft and Wicca, math...

For me, the seven points represent, in a clockwise direction from the upper right: 1.) the Sun, 2.) The Land, 3.) the Waters, 4.) the Magics, 5.) the Winds, 6.) the Moon and 7.) the Connection that binds all the other points together. 

The Sun: It is our closest star, at 93 million miles away from the Earth.  It can also be said to be the creator of our solar system, when something billions of years ago set off a chain reaction that began with a nebulous cloud of dust compressing and catching fire.  That single little proto-star set into motion the dust around it, where it whirled and whirled; crashed and crumbled, until the planets formed and settled into their orbits.

(I'll take that creation story any day, although Dave Sobel can tell it much more poetically than I in The Planets.)

Of course, in Egyptian mythology, the sun can be Ra, or Aten, Horus or Set (there He is again!)  Ra or Aten is the sun; Horus is the rising sun while Set is sometimes the setting sun although Horus' epithet of 'God of the Two Horizons' (under his guise as Horakhty) makes Him the god of the setting sun as well.

Paula Gunn Allen calls our sun Sutalidihi, Sixkiller.  Not only is She the lifegiver of the planet, but she is also a deadly thing, as deadly as an atomic bomb.  There is also a Cherokee story about how the Sun was once too close to the Earth, making all its inhabitants suffer.  The sorcerers tried to move it and it took four tries to get it far enough away. 

We can all see this dangerous side of the Sun when we're not careful.  Things left too long on the clothesline fade.  Too much exposure burns us, which can lead to other, nastier things. 

However, without the Sun, there wouldn't be any life.  The action of the Sun's warmth at the equator causes the atmosphere to expand and move and circulate around the planet.  It also feeds plants and trees, when they convert the sunlight to sugar via photosynthesis. 

The Sun has its obvious associations with fire - after all, it is a big, roiling ball of nuclear energy.   It is the symbol of all that is known, or out in the open, hence the saying, "Bringing it out into the light of day."  It can power spells and cleanse magical objects and stones.  It is symbolic of action, of power, of passion.  Yellows, reds and white are its colors.  It is a very powerful energy - so powerful, I've had people tell me that if you draw it down and channel its energy, it will poison you.  (I haven't had any bad experiences with it though.)

Why honor the savage gods?

Black Cat's radar is in working order.  More times than not, I sit down to write and he's right here, looking to see if there are any edibles - and to look at me as if he is a poor, Dickensian starving waif asking, "Please, Ma'am.  A scrap, a morsel of food is all I ask..."
______________
Now that it's a bit later and Black Cat has found a scrap of food in Kuma's bowl (read: it was half full,) I guess I can write.

John Beckett and Galina Krasskova had articles today about honoring and loving fearsome and savage gods.  They ask why anyone would want to do so - why not just focus on the positive and beautiful aspects. 

I agree with their reasons.  When we reject certain aspects because they make us uncomfortable, it stunts our relationship with Them.  That's not to say it's not terrifying when our gods show their more awesome sides.  It most definitely is.  Sometimes it comes, not in a big act, but in the smallest thing.

I lost my great aunt in a tornado several years ago.  It was truly a terrible storm and it could have well earned the epithet 'Eye of Set' (in fact, one man who survived the storm with a broken leg was quoted, "The Lord grabbed my leg and kicked my ass.")

It was hard for me to believe that this wonderful, funny woman had died in such a horrible, terrifying way.  In my grief, I asked Set that night why - why did this happen to her?

I'm not entirely sure what I was looking for but if I was looking for comfort, I didn't get it.  I was deeply grieving my loss but in response to my question was the completely dispassionate, what-the-fuck-is-it-any-of-my-concern answer, "Sometimes, things just are."

It was one of the few times I understood the phrase, "my blood ran cold."  It was a reminder that the gods are not human, even if they can sometimes pass.  We humans also forget ourselves and act like we are the end all, be all and occasionally we need reminders that we are so not.

After I began to get over my grief and think about the answer I received, plus my daring to ask a storm god why a storm took my loved one, I started to respect Set even more.  In that one, toss-away answer, I caught a glimpse of the terrible awesomeness of this god.  Plus, there are multiple layers in that one answer.  Sometimes, it is the direct answer that is the most helpful, more than any platitude, no matter how well meaning it is. 

Getting back to the original point of all this, why not just focus on the positive and beautiful?  Because when you reject the parts you don't like, you saying that you can't accept that deity in totality, or at least as much totality as we measly humans can comprehend.)

Panthers and mysteries

Once, a long time ago, Gods roamed the land.  They claimed the sky worlds and they stalked the Underworld.  The Sun, Moon, Morning Star and the Thunderers kept the stability and order while the creative, fertile, yet chaotic forces charged up from the Underworld from the Corn Mother and beings like the underwater panther.  We humans lived in a liminal place - the Middle world, full of beings in its own right: Hawk, the Horned Serpent, and the spirits of plants, trees, and rocks.

Of course, as a Pagan, I know this is still true.  Gods and spirits abound.   

I had a dream not long after I moved into this house.  I was walking on a high bank along a shallow creek on a bright sunny day.  I was fascinated by the water - it was so clear, I had no trouble seeing each and every rock on the bottom as if I held them in my hands.  Suddenly, I saw something moving beneath the water, a mountain lion.  I was seeing the top of its head and back, even though the water was only a few inches deep.   It stalked along the creek bottom until suddenly it launched itself straight up and right at me.  Its claws and teeth missed me by mere inches as I jerked backwards in surprise and it fell back into the creek bed.  This was no flesh and blood feline.  It was composed entirely of water.

The underwater panther is a figure from a group of peoples archeologists once called the South Eastern Ceremonial Complex.  They were also moundbuilders.  In some surviving stories from later peoples, it is said that a meeting with such a being will either heal you or kill you.  I'm not sure what that says about mine.  I only know that I had never heard about any such things before the dream.  The dream was so vivid and I could hear the sound of the water as it rippled through the bed as well the crash it made as when the cat fell back into the creek.  Was it just a dream?  I'm not so sure.  It is something I still ponder to this day. 

I had intended to write about some of the deities I work with today but sometimes, the muse has other ideas.  I asked myself if this fulfills the prompt for this week: "an opportunity for you to share with everyone those who guide, inspire and inform you."  I'm not entirely sure it does, not in the strict deity/divine way.  Still, sometimes it's the mystery of a thing that is the inspiration.  No one ever started out on a quest because they had all the answers.    

Things I do

I don't know why I am drawn to do this entry.  Check that, I guess I do.  I started blogging all those years ago because I needed an outlet that allowed me to open up and speak my mind.  It was a way to build confidence.  I find myself needing it again.  Despite appearances on Facebook, I feel I have been saying less and less.  At least, I feel I have been speaking with less...substance.  It's time to change that.  What better way to begin than to write about my Pagan experiences? 

In many ways, it seems to be too personal, too private to speak of my spirituality or my practice.  Plus, right now I don't have any one daily practice, although I do catch myself looking at a certain plaque I sculpted and just talking to the one it represents.  More often or not, I talk to Him almost as if He were a hennish best friend (as embarrassing as it is to admit that,) but it suits Him.  I do talk to Him more seriously at times but I can't stay serious for long.

I used to have a more witchy practice - the candles, the incense, the circles and spells.  I still enjoy many of those things.  I love how centering it is to sit and recite a rosary to the Star Goddess or to gaze into a candle's flame.  I still sometimes draw sigils and give offerings, whether it is in return for something done or just because I want to do so.  Lately, however, I have been going a more shamanic route. 

I took some classes in Core Shamanism many years ago from a student of Michael Harner but they fell apart when we couldn't keep a decent number of people in our drumming circle.  While I later read books like Harner's and Caitlin Matthews' Singing the Soul Back Home, the lessons I learned then didn't stick until all these years later.   

I won't do it every day but I try to journey at least once a week.  I love the feeling I get from riding the drumbeat through the worlds.  I love the exploration and the feeling of cooperation and connectedness I feel throughout (well, with the exception of that one flower.  It let me know in no uncertain terms what it thought of humans but I have to admit I liked its grumpy, cantankerous self.)   I also try to leave room afterward to let my experiences percolate through my brain.  I feel that to do it more often, especially without reflection and that percolation, is to risk becoming something of an Otherworlds Tourist, tripping through Worlds and not getting anything much of worth out of the experience.  I will not do that to my Gods and my allies.      

I have heard people ask and I have asked the question myself, "Are the things that happen during journeys real?"  My teacher's answer was that if you get something good out of it, does it matter if it's real or not?  I have to admit, it is a good answer.  Then again, there are the times I got some bit of information on a journey and it turned out to be right on target.  I also remember picking Michael Harner's book Cave and Cosmos and as I flipped through it, seeing a hand drawn map showing a place I had visited in my journeys and never mentioned to anyone.  There were other accounts of people having very similar experiences to mine.   

I think I have my answer on that score.  Something is certainly going on the 'is it real' front.   

This May - Or May Not - Have Happened.

Here I am, walking through another endless antique mall as the folks look for yet another obscure piece of glassware.  At least it's one of the more interesting malls.  It's a little junky, which means I might have a shot at finding something really quirky and neat. 

I see an old, black rotary phone sitting all alone on a table a few booths ahead.  I have to admit to a bit of nostalgia when I see it.  We had a rotary wall phone when I was a kid - complete with the party line we could hardly ever use because of old Ms. Carr constantly gossiping to her friends.  I see this phone doesn't have the phone line that connected it to the wall jack.   

I walk closer to the phone, curious about the price.  Just as I reach for the tag, imagine my surprise when the thing rings.  Out of curosity, I can't resist answering it. 

"Hello?"

I hear a deep, ominious voice on the other end.  "You better watch your back." it says.  I'm so startled, I don't know what to say.
"I know what you've done.  Did you think you could commit such a blaphesmy and not be noticed?  You can't hide from me, much less the entire celestial army.  I will make damn sure you will burn in the deepest depths of hell for this travesty, Leonard Trapaski."


Are you kidding me?  I get a phantom phone call and it's a wrong number?  I finally find my voice and say, "Who?!"

There is a startled silence on the other end of the phone.  "Who is this?"

"Definitely not Leonard Trapaski," I say in my unmistakable for anything but feminine voice.

More startled silence. 

"Oh....um....uh...my bad.  I...um...have a...uh...haveaniceday."

I hear a click and then the silence of a dead phone.  I find myself looking at the handset, down the phone and back to the handset before I put it back into the cradle.  Maybe I'm not as interested in the old phone as I thought.  Of course, now I'm wondering why exactly Leonard Trapasky has an entire celestial army of angels after him. 

Perhaps I'll just let that one pass.  Who knows who - or what - will be calling next.

30 Days (or so) meme: Why I am Pagan

Well, I figured it's high time I joined in the 30 Days meme.  That's me - join in after everyone else had done it and moved on.   Plus, it's hard for me to talk about my beliefs.  Faith is such a personal, private thing. 

So...I've got the headphones on and Voltaire's singing Oh Lord.  Let's rock this thing, shall we?      

Day 1 - Why Paganism?

Short answer?  It's one of the few faiths I explored that allowed me to be myself.  It also allows for the mystery of the world to be real, without excusing it as simply being an illusion. 

When I was a kid, we went a nearby Cumberland Presbyterian church.  Except for my grandmother, we weren't a very religious bunch.  Church was just Something You Did.  I remember Sunday School could be interesting - the older kids would start talking to the teacher about the latest horror movies they've seen or something they did during the week.  Surely, we worked through the lessons but I don't remember them.
               
I do remember some of the mystery of the church.  I remember at Easter when the "juice and crackers" were passed around.  The preacher would talk about how they were the body and blood of Jesus but whenever I saw them, they'd change back into crackers and grape juice.  I also remember constantly looking up at the sky because I had been told "God is watching you!"  It was like always being under the gaze of a third parent was way more stern than my mom or dad.  He'd send me away forever just because he didn't like something I did.
   
When I hear about seeing the world as a child would, this is what I think about.  Never did catch a glimpse of that guy that was always watching, either.

I started questioning things when I was about twelve.  My parents had divorced two years before and my dad was going to a Southern Baptist church.  I did. Not.  Like. It.  AT ALL.  There was no mystery.  No wonder.  Just a bunch of people who came to See and Be Seen.  Oh yeah, there was some guy standing up front talking about how we were all wrong too. 

This was also about the time I began walking the woods behind our house after school.  I couldn't wait to get home every day because I had a good three hours before my got home from work and I could go looking for a mystery.  I would have at least one cat journeying with me, usually more.  The trees were my friends.  I once followed the path of a turkey vulture flying overhead and found a spot I had never visited that was very sacred and magical.  The pawpaw tree growing through a pile of rocks was a faery mound.  Where did the water in the spring come from and were there caves in the bluffs at the top of the hill?  Where would they go if I found them?  What lived in the woods besides the cows and deer?  (I longed to catch a glimpse of Bigfoot but hoped I wouldn't too.)  The world was alive and full of joy.        

This is why I'm Pagan.  Now, not only the world but the universe is alive and full of joy.  The sky is full of bright, distant stars but it is part of the body of Her as well.  The sun is not simply a flaming ball of gas but it is also Ra on His Barque, protected by Set and Khnum as it travels through the Underworld at the end of the day.  At the same time, I sit vigil every Yule so the Sun will rise. 

Someone has to.  If the world forgets its stories, it forgets its reasons for being alive.  Life just becomes drudgery, a ceaseless routine of colorless chores.  I don't want that to happen on my watch, mister.                    

A little helpless...

Yesterday, upper Sumner County and parts of Allen and Simpson Counties in Kentucky were under the gun.  Tornado warnings lit up the map.  I was sitting with the kids when I heard those words no one ever wants to hear:  "The rotation is right over (the road I was on) so if you're in that area, you want to get to your safe area right now."

 I stood in the front door at the one point and said a small prayer: "Oh, Set.  Turn Your Eye away from here."  I had to wonder too if we had time to get to the neighbors - there was no way I wanted any of us to be a cliche.  "All those houses and that thing went straight for the trailer!"  Been there, done that.    

Once again, I found myself feeling a little helpless.   The oldest kid started getting scared and wanted the two of us to go hide from the storm.  Apparently, he felt his little brother could fend for himself (then again, he wasn't even fazed.  He put his shoes on and wanted outside to play before he got distracted by a video game.)  I've tried to help this kid deal with his fears in the past but it hasn't stuck.  I'm not even sure I know what I'm doing anyway plus they get such conflicting messages from their parents.
 
I know he's four years old.  I know he's not capable of understanding things like an adult would.  I also remember being terrified myself when a storm would blow up because of the tornado that blew away our trailer when I was four.  I would nearly wear the floors out where I would walk from window to window, trying to keep watch so the tornado wouldn't sneak up on me.  I wasn't able to deal with the fear until I was in my 20's and I would hate to see him having to do the same thing.  I would hate it even more if he stayed terrified for his entire life. 

A Dream Fragment

I am at home in Bethpage, in the living room. The room looks like it did in the late 70's/early 80's and it is well lighted. At least one lamp is on, casting a warm yellow glow around the area yet most of the room is lit by white, midday sunlight. I am watching an adaption of a Neil Gaiman book on TV and I am loving it. 

  My mom is here as well. We are watching one segment of the show and I get excited. I know they are about to show Dream but I start almost yelling, "Oh my god! Death! They're going to show Death!" Then there He is - Dream. Instead of the 'adult' Dream, they show a young one. 

During a commercial break, we talk about the show and she asks, "Have you ever seen him?" I know she means Neil. I say that yes, I have seen photos of him. She makes a face of disgust and implies that she did not like his looks. I say, "Oh yeah!" but I can't find the words to say exactly why I like him.

 The show comes back from break. Now I am a part of the story instead of an observer. One of the characters has to do some kind of ritual. One part is to wash something in hot water, which she does with no problem. Next, the ritual calls to bathe the something in cold water that has been carried in three baskets, a small red one and a medium white one and a large white one. None of them are not water tight in the least. I am the one who has to figure out how to do it. I am in a kitchen that exists both inside a building and outside. Against one wall is a steel sink with a wooden island across from it. I pull my copy of the book out of my pocket (I don't know the name of it but it is not an existing book in waking life) to see how it is done. I am trying to fill in a steel sink the baskets when I wake up.

Reboot v. 941547244AppleDeltaFish126458.3

Well, it's cloudy with a chance of rain today.  I'm assuming Set was successful in protecting Ra and His solar barque on the journey through the night.  We're all still here and the world isn't slowly being covered in ice...yet.  That rain may still prove otherwise, if it comes.  

I've been trying my best to get back into the blogging spirit for days.  It seems that if I'm not just sitting and staring at the screen, I'm way, way into TMI land.  While I'm sure the TMI has potential of  grabbing me ones of new readers, I've had entirely too much grief this past year and don't want or need any more.  It's been nearly too much to deal with as it is.   That's not to say that I won't have a fit of...something or another and the TMI will show its face anyway. 

"Anything worthwhile is dangerous." - Victor Anderson
The last twelve months have certainly proved that.  While it has been very tough - mentally, emotionally and spiritually - I have to say I wouldn't change it for the world.  I thought I knew what I was made of before.  Now I'm more sure.  Of course, this knowledge comes with a wish to go back several years in time  to those folks who gave me no end of grief and insisted I was an "Earth Mother"...and kick the everloving shit out of them for being right.  Hell, they needed kicking anyway.  They were jerks. 

Some of the lessons I've dealt with in this past year involved strength.  I found myself in a situation where I had to deal with bullying and verbal abuse while caring for a loved one.  I had never seen this side of the person, although I had certainly heard about it.  I was shocked when it reared its ugly head to me.  While I didn't exactly deal with it with grace and aplum, I did my best.  I do not put up with overgrown, obnoxious brats. 

Other lessons are harder to deal with.  They are hard because they deal with the heart.  Again, I have not dealt with them with grace and aplum...more with tears, incomprehension and depression.  Although  I have been engaged in the past and certainly cared for that person; I wasn't sure that I was really capable of love.  Well, I'm sure now.  I found someone that, after everything, I love more than anything but I can't give him the one thing he asked of me.  I can't just be a friend to him.  At least, not now.  Not after all those trips to the movies, to church and to the mountains.  Not after all that laughter and silly stuff we've shared.  Not after the conversations we've had while driving down the road - even the serious topics he couldn't believe I got him to talk about, like what heaven would be like and whether anyone other than Christians would go there.  I can't just be a friend after trying to be there for him when he got down after a friend's wedding or those rare times he talked about his dad's alzheimer's.  I can't be a friend after seeing how he got when they tried to screw him over a job he absolutely loved and his trying to decide whether to stay with it, find another job or possibly even striking out on his own with a repair shop.  I can't be a friend after knowing how much he wants kids and realizing, after all these years of being an avowed child free person, that yeah - kids with him would be great.

Don't get me wrong.  He isn't perfect.  He is bossy and can be fairly critical when things aren't done the way he would do them.  He is hardheaded and sometimes sees the world in terms of black and white.  Sometimes, he can't see what's right in front of him for things that are in the distance, be it in the past or the 'could be.'  There are a few things I'm not even going to mention for fear of the dear readers' fragile - or even not so fragile - stomachs.  No, he is far from perfect but perfection is overrated anyway...but at the moment, I guess it doesn't matter what I think. 

Well.

I guess I finally got something written, huh?  Even if it's a soliloquy on that guy (I hope it doesn't sound stalkerish!)  Now to keep the writing up for more than just one entry and get more sketches and paintings up here.

Have a good day, y'all and thank you for reading this far.  I'll leave you with a prayer from T. Thorn Coyle:

Holy Mother, in whom we live, move and have our being, from you all things emerge and unto you all things return...

Open our hearts this blessed day.  Touch our bodies and our minds.  Walk with us through the gates of power, in shadow and starlight, in fire meeting earth, in wind on the ocean and the sweet kiss of life. 

Blessed be our journey. 

A few things...

One thing learned:  no more playing with background color behind the text.  It comes through the feeds looking like a FOIA document.

Well, for good or ill, here are a few paintings...

6" x 9"
Oil on birch
This was a quick, end of day study.  He took over my chair while I was painting and I couldn't resist.  I'll probably go in and clean up that lower right corner sometime but otherwise, I like it. 

And here he is from the front: 

"Oh good god.  Another damn photo?"

I love my Japanese rabbit.  This is a study I'll finish as soon as I figure out how to do the copper bits on the brushes.  That is what's stumping me at the moment - I know I just need to sit down and draw them but I guess I decided to take the hard road and you know, not draw them. 
The shadows need something too - I'll tinker with them.  Maybe.

6" x 6" Oil on primed watercolor paper

I was thinking of those old Silver Stream campers when I began this one.  This is a possible entry for this year's tomato festival.  That is if I can get it to come together a little better.  It's better than it was - I completely redid it this morning.  I got entirely too fiddly and overworked the hell out of it.  So reboot. 

It has potential.  Somewhere in there. 

9" x 12"

Oil on birch

That's it for now, y'all.  Have a good one.