Circle of Joy and Sorrow

Burma

2007-09-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

Today I thought to comment on something I honestly think the whole world should be watching and lending support to, which are the Buddhist monks leading protests against the totalitarian military regime of their country of Burma. Monks have been marching by the thousands after fuel prices in their country doubled without warning last month. Most affected are Burma's poor, a country where 1 in 3 children are malnourished.

Monks, who are highly respected in Myanmar, have energized a protest movement that began a month ago after the government raised fuel prices, sparking anger over economic hardship in the impoverished Southeast Asian nation.

The demonstrations also reflect long pent-up opposition to the military regime and have become the most sustained challenge to the junta since a wave of student demonstrations that were put down by force in December 1996.

The government appeared to be handling the situation gingerly, aware that any action seen as mistreating the monks could ignite public outrage. They are aware that restraining monks poses a dilemma, because monks are highly respected in predominant Buddhist Myanmar, and abusing them in any manner could cause public outrage.

We talk a lot about encouraging peace and democracy in the world, but this is the sort of change that occurs only with widespread global care and support. These monks are some of the bravest heroes you will see on television, but their struggle is likely to end in blood shed and tragedy, and go unrewarded at next year's Emmy's.

BSG Pet Fan Day

2007-09-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

Now I post regular on the Okay Thread of the Science Fiction Channel's board for Battlestar Galactica, founded by the incredible wife of it's director, MrsRon. Today, we held an Okay Pet Fan Day, to post pics of everyone's pets to share... and here's mine.

Pumpkin, emulating his favorite BSG character, someone else who wears orange all the time!!

The (Female) Body Politic

2007-02-24T11:51:00.000-08:00

Now I should not have been watching all the court room drama over the body of Anna Nicole Smith, I'll agree to that one right off. Plenty of other things were more important, right now down to ensuring I have clean and matching socks. However... I couldn't resist. Blame it on MSNBC doing continuing coverage of the whole week long affair, or the shade of lavender Anna Nicole's estranged mother chose to wear. So watch I did, although I had to mute and gag on several occasions. To recap for some of you, Anna Nicole is a tabloid trashgirl and a former Playboy model, whose son died last fall and who has a newborn baby girl Dannylynne. Horrid name. Anyways. Anna Nicole died of undetermined reasons a week ago (still no official report) and there is a 4-way circus court case over who is going to bury her body and where Anna Nicole will be buried. Her current (maybe husband) lawyer boyfriend wants her buried in the Bahamas next to her son, in the plot that Anna Nicole bought for herself. Her ex-boyfriend insists that he is the father of Dl. and should decide, being Dl. legal guardian. The lawyer boyfriend insists Dl. is his daughter but won't submit to a paternal test. The estranged Texan mother insists that Anna Nicole should be buried in Texas... and the body of Anna Nicole's son should be exhumed and reburied in Texas also. Crazy. There is also a court appointed guardian of Dl. who won the lottery Thursday, when Anna Nicole's deteriorating body forced the judge to give up the spotlight and render the decision to Dl.'s court guardian.

End Result: Anna Nicole will be buried in the Bahamas next to her son. After the Texan mother looses her appeals, which she began filing the very next morning. The ex-boyfriend and the lawyer boyfriend have made noises about doing the funeral jointly, for the sake of Dl. Then they will fight over the baby and the vast fortune that is now hers. Why was this drama so addictive and why did I find myself caring about a woman I would have walked across the street to avoid? I suppose it was the thought of having this judge deciding the fate of my body. Although the facts stand that Anna Nicole was estranged from her mother, and had fled an abusive family situation as a teenager, the judge fell in love with her crocodile teary mother. The judge took it as an opportunity to rant about how no one appreciates the stress and pain of being in law enforcement (Anna Nicole's mother was a highway deputy). He ranted on and on, with Anna Nicole's mother just sitting on the witness stand agreeing. He was deciding questions that could be asked and doing the examinations and crosses himself, practically. When one of the lawyers asked the estranged Texan Mother if she had ever made money selling information about Anna Nicole to the tabloids, the judge insisted that no one could imply anyone had financial motives in that trial or face damnation and hell fire. How could they treat that sweet little (abusive and money-hungry) old lady like that?

How indeed. It's gotten me to thinking. Beyond a $10,000 life insurance policy through the government, I have no plans for my own death and no will at all. Of course, I really have nothing at all to will away, except a Ford with 156,000+ miles on it, and a spoiled cat. My mother has agreed verbally with me that if I die before she does, she won't arrange a Christian funeral for me behind my back.. corpse.. whatever. I had always thought that such things would be handled by my coven, but I left them over a year ago following the death of my student Foxglove. She had joined a Universal Unitarian Church which accepted wiccan members attending with their Christian families, and it's a really nice church with a really nice pastor. Her parents had her funeral there, and I spoke. Lovely, all of it. But I don't know what I want done. Organ donation and cremation, certainly, none of that bothers me. I suppose what leaves me trembling is facing how easily by existence will just be erased, people will forget, delete me off email lists and phone books. One of the things I most regret is that I never saved a voice message from Foxglove, and the only pictures I have are the ones I started taking after she got sick. I never imagined how important mere pictures could ever become, until I have none to remember her before her fate was clear.

Barbaro Laid To Rest

2007-02-01T13:32:00.000-08:00

Now people always swear you can learn things from what happens to you in life, and yet sometimes all you can do is put your head down into the wind and endure. And sometimes you just don't make it. At 3PM last Monday, my beloved racehorse Barbaro and fellow invalid was euthanized, following a resurgent infection in his injured legs. Barbaro seemed bound for recovery after 8 long months cooped up in a stall and in casts and a sling, enjoying even winter holiday gifts made of carrots. And then things just went down hill, his days blurred into suffering, they had to cut off parts of his hoof, and finally it was time for his owners to do the right thing. I know that no matter how hard it gets and how bad the days can be, my mother never thinks about doing the right thing for me. Yet it's like reading about a cancer patient who has died when you are a cancer patient. Even if Barbaro was just a horse.

new year and one day

2007-01-02T08:10:00.000-08:00

Now how far am I going to get trying not to explain what I've been doing with myself since... however long it's been. Sigh. mmmm... Due to the current economic situation for poverty level wage earners in the United States coupled with the rising cost of health care even for OJI's who are supposed to be having the federal government pay for the cost of fixing your funny-bone nerve, I have closed up shop in my apartment and boomeranged back to my ancestral home. Sigh. In plain English, I don't earn enough money to afford $800 in rent, especially if I'm not going to get paid while I might be out of work due to surgery from an injury at work last year, so I gave up independent living and am now blogging from my childhood home. In short, it's cheap to live with your mother. But a lousy way to start off your new year.

In truth though, I thought moving away and getting out of retail would bring all sorts of joys and riches, none of which seemed to materialize over the last year. No boyfriend, for instance. No sex. No feeling like I am getting somewhere saving the world. No closet full of pretty things to wear. Still haven't learned how to turn my hair up like the other girls in the street and I still have not tried sushi.

I ended last year in more debt that I started out with, due to interest rates on my student loans and being out of work for 108 days, most of which I earned nothing in worker's comp or injury pay. Savings wiped out. Very depressed over the modern state of paganism, for reasons that shall go in another post. Very annoyed over the general stupidity of the average American who does not know that cell phones are made of metal. If you're getting down just reading this, I'm getting down just writing this, which is not what I really intended for a new years resolution.

My last three new years resolutions were: start running as a way of life, eat sushi, stop having to pay those check-cover fees because I'm too lazy to balance my checkbook. Nope, nada, and cha-ching!! So I've decided that instead of being healthy, cosmopolitan or responsible, that my new years resolution this year will focus on being horribly shallow and trendy and vile. I will focus my goals this year on becoming the kind of girl who boys want to date. For I assure you, that given the grand total of numbers given to me or ask of me last year stands at 2. So, if I get 3, then at least I can tell myself in a year that I've somehow become more dateable?? lol.

Fourth Horseman

2006-08-27T13:41:00.000-07:00

Now we lost a planet. Granted, the ball of ice had only been around for some 76 years and was created after an observatory decided that a ninth planet existed, and then lo!

Olive predicts: publishers reaping the profits of billions of new science textbooks for colleges only, astrologers reaping the profits of thousands of Scorpios with sudden onsets of inferiority, Christian evangelicals reaping a new sign of the coming end of days. Pluto’s fall from the heavens already garners thunderings that this vote by a bunch of geeks has invoked down the Fourth Horseman of the Apocolypse. You will also be interested to learn that Pluto’s rider is none other than Osama bin Laden. What- you didn’t guess?

Just because the horse of the 4th is supposed to be green. Which makes this whole nonsense that the rider is OBL instantly disprovable. Who could mistake green meaning anyone other than Al Gore?!

Allow me to correct a little more. The 1st Horseman appeared as Clinton, cleverly disguising his bow and crown as the saxophone and the condom. 2nd Horseman: the Dalai Lama. Does he ever dress in anything other than red? Does he not invade college campuses in our nation and seduce away rich white kids with chanting and a stupid bell? For the 3rd Horseman, one looks to all the poor black people who didn’t die in Katrina and now expect hard-working American taxpayers to rebuild their city. Now isn’t this list just way more trendy?!

Speaking of lists, now that Pluto’s been downgraded, perhaps a name change is in order. Since it’s an ice ball, how about Vodka or Snowball? Given the weight people give to a name, one type of crazy to another, perhaps we should go through society and find alternate names to everything people insist has some adverse affect on humanity. Would be a lot cheaper than foreign aid or the global eradication of Tuberculosis (which is the #1 killer on the African continent). Venus could be Blueberry and Mars could be Apple. Instead of recognizing the state of Isreal, it would be the state of Sandcastle. Could a new name project be worse than another season of American Idol?

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Pluto, astrology, Osama bin Laden, Al Gore, wicca, witch, witchcraft, pagan, paganism

Asatru in Black and White

2006-07-28T07:41:00.000-07:00

Now it's a very easy thing to rant. Easy to rave. Easy to take a stance or a position or to polish an opinion and toss it up in a blog. Unfortunately, we rant and rave most of the time about pre-ordanined greivances spoon-fed to us by the risen American Conservativism. We rant about the bias in media coverage. We rant about the Southern Poverty Law Center. We rant about liberal professors and whatever they may profess. Nowhere do we mention how we really feel.

I waited up last night for news confirming the execution of Michael Lenz by lethal injection for the murder of another prisoner over the control of his prison Asatru group, the Ironwood Kindred. I've been following this story for about a week now after first reading about it on Frost and Flame, where I found myself at a loss on how to really convey racial realities in the American South. I discovered Lenz's story posted over at The Wild Hunt, where people were pretty open with the opinions of the supposed press bias against Asatru, and closed mouthed over Lenz himself. After pointing this out in the comment section, I did get a thoughtful reply by MacRaven.

Under all the polish and spin, what are we really thinking about this? Do I want Lenz denounced for nothing more than political convienence? Because in truth the first thing I thought was at least he wasn't scheduled to be executed during Kaine's run for Govenor. Hard but true. I'm not a bleeding liberal against capital punishment on the grounds that my heart goes out to cold-blooded pre-meditated murderers who play warrior by stabbing to death an unarmed man on the grounds that he was a threat to one's popularity. (Even if he took the time to read the guy some nice poetry first.) Which turns out to be the underlying bedrock for Lenz's protestations of defending the Asatru faith.

Lenz's time of death was 9:07 EST. Although others held out hope that he might receive a last minute pardon from Kaine, and I join the Democratic Govenor in being personally against the death penalty, I cringed at the thought his execution might not take place. And my feelings are wholy about the desire to retain a Democrat as the executive head of a Southern State. I do feel mildly disturbed about my lack of desire to support clemency for another pagan, and on the other hand I do not think a cold-blooded killer should be able to make us an election issue. And I will be really sore if Lenz's poetry starts getting published and he gets a record company named after him. Rant off.

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Asatru, Wicca, Wiccan, Witch, Witchcraft, Pagan, Paganism

Bread and Circus

2006-07-26T06:38:00.000-07:00

Now this post has nothing to do with bread. Really. Bread was the farthest thing from my mind when I took the exit off 95 onto the Beltway yesterday on the new moon. Joy and Sorrow holds ritual at a public park, and while you can reserve and pay $20 online, you have to show up in person to get the code to their gate. (34 miles one-way, 29 miles per gallon, $3.04 per gallon) Nelly Furtado crooned from the speakers of my mother's La Sabre (which I am driving to death whilst she is in Florida on vacation) and I was negotiating the bottle top to my water. Then a little white sports car dove through traffic for the last time.

Three cars lengths ahead the Beltway exploded with spinning cars and a puff cloud of incinerated car paint. Zippy had got himself mowed down by a white SUV. I swerved into the shoulder in the center of the road as fragments of headlights rained down. 911 had only a busy signal, although it looked like the driver of the relatively undamaged SUV had gotten through. He had manuvered onto the shoulder just ahead of me, and was now standing on the shoulder in his pink polo shirt (an interesting recent fad among completely straight men). By the time I had canceled my call, a plain-clothes Statee had pulled over on the median from the East bound side.

There's a certain amount of confidence that marks a Statee even out of uniform. How many of us can leap a concrete divider, organize a group of bystanding men in three seconds, and without even pausing, casually stroll out and stop rush hour traffic on a Beltway armed with nothing more than a upturned palm? Rush hour drivers who would rather creep by Zippy over giving the Statee a few minutes to push the dead car off the road. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't convince anyone armed even with a rocket launcher.

The Statee gestured over the bystanders and got them to push the fuel-leaking Zippy over onto the shoulder behind the SUV. The driver sat in the car the whole time and didn't even help, although he seemed unharmed. Another unmarked Statee arrived on the scene. I then had to convince the annoyed rush hour drivers to allow me off the shoulder and back into the flow of things. Which took me four minutes and 19 seconds before some guy in a red convertable either took pity or was too busy rubber-necking. Some 200 meters down the road, Zippy's front bumper continued to impede traffic.

Off I went to Patapsco and got our gate codes. The toe truck for Zippy had arrived when I cruised by, which meant Zippy's driver had finally been ejected. My mind had scripted a young white guy, and yet there next to Zippy was a late 50s heavy-set black guy wearing a pink polo shirt. Two white vehicles, two drivers in pink polo shirts. And then as I took the exit ramp back towards Giant so I could buy bread mix for ritual ($2.39) and Cherry Wheat Sam Adams for ritual beer ($8.39), a pigeon forced me to a complete stop by insisting on walking the whole way across.

Technorati Tags: moon, ritual circle, wicca, wiccan, witch, witchcraft, pagan, paganism

Hebe's Empty Chalice

2006-07-18T10:19:00.000-07:00

Now here's a bit of global warming coming soon to a ritual circle near you. Or at least over the next 25 years. As the climate changes over the next quarter century, the Goddess will be pouring out less and less American wine from her chalice, as hotter temperatures in the Napa and Sonoma Valleys cause the vine's photosynthesis to shut down and the sugars in the grapes to break down. Meaning the crop will spoil before it gets to the wine cellar.

The rise in global temperatures of just one degree since 1900 has already extended the growing season by a month. The climate model on the effects of global warming is only calculated for the U.S. grape harvest, but as the effects of human-caused climate change span the whole globe, it's a sure bet this effect will be seen in Chile, as it is already devestating grape harvests in Spain. In Germany, long traditional German whites are produced less and less as the sugar content of the grapes has increased over the past generation. Even in the U.S. the climate shift will increase temperatures in the Northwest and Northeast vineyards, where the humidity will increase the occurance of fungus- which will in turn wipe out those cooler climate grape crops.

Which gets me around to the chalice of the Goddess, which I will use to poke all of you dear readers to consider the ways that the little mundane things you do will have a real effect on your fellow pagans and their ritual circles in the years to come. In ways that can't be made up by sending me warm fuzzy energy balls. This year your ritual circle or even in your solitary practice you will still be able to uncork a bottle of wine for cakes and ale, and pour out joy and mirth. Yet in years to come, Hebe's cup may run dry as wine becomes too expensive and too rare. Should that be what shall come to pass?

The news gets an oh-so-very interesting spin on Fox of course, where for some reason at the end of the article there's a reason to bring up Vikings. These trepid explorers named northern Canada Vineland over Hostile-Native-People Land in order to attract more settlers at a time when the earth was also slightly warmer. Fox goes on to point out that there had been lousy grapes in England then, which were wiped out by the Little Ice Age, and now there are lousy grapes in England again. Right over to the right of the story is a videoblog by Sen. Inhofe calling global warming a hoax. Oh really now. Too bad global warming will never put industrial whine on the endangered species list.

Technorati Tags:global warming, wicca, witchcraft, paganism, witch, pagan

Da Vinci Code Deception

2006-07-16T18:19:00.000-07:00

Now I must be the last pagan on the green earth to read “The DaVinci Code.” The reading of which took three days, and I may accurately describe as the sensation of pouring sand onto your exposed brain. I am considering a frivolous lawsuit for unspecified damages against the Trinity Broadcasting Network who may take especial credit for selling yet another copy and a movie ticket. Way to go, TBN!!

Scrolling from SciFi to NGEO, my finger paused at the flicker of “Da Vinci Code” in the cable label while gaudy crosses danced across the screen above. Mmmmm…. “The Da Vinci Code Deception?” As good as Harry Potter hysteria-let’s see….

National hymns began to play, American soldiers walked across Iraqi sand, Christians at BBQs took time out to say the pledge, and Olive perched on her couch idly stirring her martini. Her second. Her third. These 20 minutes were completely necessary to impress on the check book and credit card-in-hand-to-donate crowd that the Da Vinci Code equaled a mortal threat to our troops! Everyone who saw the movie is a flag-burning traitor!

Old fat guy comes on to tirade that while Dan Brown claims his book is fiction, the first word of his book is actually “FACT.” Fact. Fact. And just in case you missed him, he had to say that again. Fact. And again. Fact. (In fact, that’s the first word of the preface which informs the reader that the places are real and the events that take place there are fiction.) Look out America- you almost fell for that fast one!

Like the parade of teenagers in lip-gloss that get trotted out on their pastel designer leashes to recite trembling telenovelas about how their faith was shaken by hearing their friends utter the title. Of course, they didn’t actually read the book. In fact, no one apparently reads the book. Copies of it just mysteriously appear in their book-bags and lockers and cubicles and briefcases, enthralling their minds through osmosis. But no one reads it, because it’s bad for you.

Like no one used the condom that’s missing out of its wrapper their parents found being used as a bookmark. E-yep. Whose ready for another martini?

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Real World Wicca

2006-07-10T21:11:00.000-07:00

Now when my eyes flew open at 17:47 EST, I had a feeling of impending doom. I had just overslept by 5 hours and ritual was at 20:00. I hadn’t a dollar on me, the bank closed in 13 minutes, I hadn’t bought apples for Epona, and I hadn’t reserved the campsite. And I had to reserve the campsite and drive back from Ellicot City to the Greater Barrens in order to post the gate code to the park on Joy and Sorrow’s Yahoo Group.

I pretty much figured I was hamburger, but there was a slim chance it might not matter. People had been emailing cancellations over the course of the weekend and it was beginning to look like I might not have anyone to let down left. So I threw on my jeans, found my flip flops and flew on down to my trusty car. Realized I was sans Victoria Secret and had less caffeine in my blood stream than you find in straight water.

The bank closed a whole two minutes early, just so the tellers could have the pleasure of pursing their lips at the several of us and mouthing “we’re closed.” BBT sucks and I really should change banks. Really. Just as soon as they cough up my new bank card, which they swear is in the mail. I go over to Giant and write a check to get cash and apples and caffeine. Campsite, code and back to the computer, an hour later to find that I’m now down to two other people.

Mystery beats me to the campsite by a few minutes, trailing along her bf and some very lovely baked bread. We scrounge around the woods for enough dead fall for a fire, and I get to see some deer feeding in a small meadow. The fireflies are out and the evening is looking good and my altar board is going over well. The altar is a section of tree trunk about two inches thick, from an oak, that has an inlaid wood pentacle that’s from a paper mulberry.

Since the full moon was not set to rise until much later, I decided on a ritual for Epona, who is the goddess of roads and trade, who brings food and cheer to the Celtic grain god Goronwyn, who is watching over the grown grain in the fields until it is ready to harvest and be eaten. We offered Goronwyn seeds of the earth in trade for future seeds from His fields, which were large pine cones I had gathered at Beltane after they were thrown from their trees by a storm.

Then we offered granny smith apples to Epona, and I had the joy of showing Mystery and her bf how to cut the apple to get the secret star to appear. I always love sharing that with people who have never cut an apple to find the star before. Then we mixed oil and water to bless our car keys and driver’s licenses, and to ask for Epona’s mercy and patience dealing with the rising cost of fuel and keeping safe on her roads. We shared Beer and Bread, and gave that and apples to the fire and Mystery’s faeries.

2200 and I’m on my way back to the Greater Barrens. Even though my windows are rolled all the way down, all I smell's only the mixture of sweet cherry oil and wood smoke and rosemary bread and bug spray. To the East there has risen a tangerine moon, which as I take the exit to home is swallowed by a velvet blue bank of storm clouds. I may be poor and frustrated and single and lonely, but tonight I am a witch and by the gods, I really am happy.

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Olive Rants at Whole Foods

2006-07-09T18:57:00.000-07:00

"I have shopped at my local Whole Foods store since back when it was a Fresh Fields. As of this month, I find that I can no longer ethically shop at your chain due to your CEO's continued involvement of and endorsement of the Cato Institute, as recently demonstrated by his promotion of their latest publication, "Trapped."

I began shopping at FF/WF because I was looking for an ethical place to shop, for both organic foods (which are scarce more and more on your shelves these days, and there's more and more conventional) and also out of a love for the environment. Cato Institute, especially in its employment of FOX NEWS Milloy and his "Junk Science" campaign, has emerged as one of today's more prominent peddlers of "there's no such thing as global warming."

It's nice you're so concerned about the quality of your Halibut, but the toxic pollution coming down in the rain on me walking into your store from the coal-fired power plants in my state that the Cato Institute helps keep beyond the powers of regulation and polluter-pays principles... well, that's going to kill me faster than the fish at my local fish shop. Even if it's not the best choice by fish standards. If I have to choose between halibut, and ending global warming and toxic rain, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take my grocery money elsewhere. "

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Future Injuries

2006-07-08T13:10:00.000-07:00

Now everyday I go to work asling, and everyday everyone professes surprise that I'm still asling. When you say to people that your arm was crushed and your doctors are saying 3 to 6 months more, you can easily seperate out those who have suffered tramatic injury and those who have maybe once slammed a finger in a drawer. I would like just to be able to turn on the water to my kitchen sink with my left hand.

I've gained a fellow traveler on the road to recovery in the race horse Barbaro, whose continual recovery you can follow through his stables. Barbaro suffered a minor setback this week when his vet had to replace two of the screws in his leg and replace his cast twice. He has a minor sore on his other hind leg and a support shoe to prevent laminitis, a sometimes-fatal foot disease brought on by uneven weight distribution. My mother usually tries to cheer me up by pointing out that his situation's worse, but then of course, I don't have people all around the country sending me carrots and get-well cards. So that I can go on to my next career-having sex.

Amidst all the new and flavorful variety of pain meds, I did watch the Belmont Stakes, which was the third leg of the Triple Crown and ran back on June 10th. Again though, I didn't get my order picked straight. I chose Bluegrass Cat, Sunriver and Jazil but passed on Steppenwolfer. The wire went to Jazil, followed by Bluegrass Cat and Sunriver, with Steppenwolfer at least in the same slot as on my card. Poor Bluegrass Cat. At least I didn't place money on that. On the aside, this year's run saw each leg of the Triple Crown go to the #8 horse, and that 2 + 0 + 0 +6 = 8. And I was born on the 8th. of March. And the Ides of March saw a beloved favorite cut down.... Where am I going with this strange thought- I don't believe that numbers mean anything!!

Why do I care so much about a horse, besides the whole Epona thing and all? I suppose because a horse cannot complain, and that Barbaro's future depends entirely on his champions. And that as someone who eats and sleeps paycheck to paycheck, what I fear the most is being cast aside as too injured to work further.

Technorati Tags:Epona, gods, goddess, wicca, wiccan, paganism, witchcraft, witch, pagan

Golden Toaster Awards

2006-07-02T21:30:00.000-07:00

Now there’s a rock passing by over head in a few hours. The near-Earth Apollo asteroid 2004 XP14 estimates in at about 600 meters in diameter as a Potentially Hazardous Asteriod, 1 of 796. Best odds of ending life as we know it still fall to 99942 Apophis (2004 MN4), who has a 1 in 38,000 chance in the April of 2036. Just in case you’re thinking of starting your very own doomsday cult. Or joining mine.

But speaking of star-studded events, the 2nd Annual Golden Toaster Awards celebrating the sci-fi show Battlestar Galactica were held again online at Hanger Deck 5 Friday night. Your very own Olive, who is known to the denizens of SciFi’s message board as the zombie DeadSkin, presented Best Supporting Actor. Although it went to Tyrol instead of Helo, the show was still spectacular and the event’s organizers deserve a shout-out for their stellar efforts. Although the show’s re-imaginer RDM and his wife, known on SciFi as Mrs.Ron, weren’t able to attend this year, both sent in speeches by proxy. RDM presented for the award “Best Usage of the Word Frak.”

“How do I love the word "frak"? Let me count the ways... Initially, it was simply a case of personal triumph to be able to slip one past the dread Standards and Practices Politiburo, but as the series has gone on, it's become a bit of a signpost for us all. Frak is a way of defying “politically correct" television and all it stands for. It's a way of saying we're going to discuss things are sometimes unpleasant and unappealing. The self appointed guardians of the public somehow seem unwilling to let the audience decide for themselves whether a show's content is offensive or not. The fact that frak is the stand-in for a word which has been banished from the airwaves because it describes *gasp* the act of copulation, is even more valid, in that it makes the hypocrisy of the whole censorious system plain: you can imply it, you can openly show it, you can think it, make it absolutely clear to anyone watching the show exactly what you mean, you can even come within two tiny letters of it -- but you dare not actually say it, for the heavens may part and the politicians may thunder. Our goal is to make fraking good television, not politically correct television. So frak it all. The award for best use of the word frak:Winner: Laura Roslin to Gaius Baltar after the second Presidential debate: “Why don’t you go frak yourself.” (“LDYB pt. I”)”
Hanger Deck 5. http://fanficwritersworkshop.invisionzone.com/index.php

Battlestar Galactica recommends itself so well that it’s a pity so few people watch: pagan society, first female president, female fighter pilots, religious prophets, baby-snatching, election stealing, and moon-shine. Now I’ve always been curious why for a show about a society of pagans I find myself in such a slim minority in the demographics of the show’s viewers. I only know of one other open pagan poster on SciFi, who interestingly enough lives in Baltimore. You’d think I’d get more than a blank stare from other pagans when I mention I watch a show about the remnants of a pagan society destroyed in a nuclear attack by an evangelical faith proclaiming orders from the “one true god.” Although I’m sure I’d be far less pleased if that tag line did actually market well.

Technorati Tags:asteriod, Battlestar Galactica, wicca, wiccan, witch, witchcraft, pagan, paganism, liberal

Whole Foods Walk-Out

2006-06-30T11:21:00.000-07:00

Now I used to be a shopper at Whole Foods in Annapolis way back when it was a homely Fresh Fields with a better bakery. Way better. So when I dropped online to try to scrounge up its website to get its store number (I’m was looking to see if they had my brand of organic Mexican coffee in stock), I did not expect a news feed story from Common Dreams to pop up. After all, Whole Foods is a hippie organic earth-loving grocer. Although Common Dreams does not report accurately about the price per pound of cherries, $9 is what I pay for guilt-free coffee beans.

Anyways. Whole Foods CEO John Mackey has just endorsed a book by the Cato Institute with a back-cover blurb: “John Hasnas shows that new laws and regulations too often force CEOs to choose between acting legally and acting ethically.” The offending book is ‘Trapped: When Acting Ethically is Against the Law,’ whose thesis is that all corporate crime should go unpunished. Looks like Ken Lay of Enron will have something to read while in prison.

‘Cato’ isn’t a watch word that tips you off to the fact that Whole Foods is dating a right-wing think tank, but it should be now. The Cato Institute employs Steven Milloy, ‘the Junkman’ of the right-wing Fox “News” beloved contributor site ‘Junk Science.’ Milloy in turn leads the charge against government regulations that protect public health or halt global warming. “Junk Science” is any science at all that might diminish the profits of the Robber Barons, while Milloy’s ‘Sound Science’ is anything that can be waved at a congressional committee to ‘disprove’ global warming. Pretty much all they have is the cover of the fictional book by Michael Crichton, “State of Fear.” So Whole Foods has spent several years tip-toeing into the country club of the oil industries to use our “green” money to buy mint juleps.

No more. With my jaw banging into my keyboard I began to peruse through the web, and only now catching up on Mackey’s activism against the movement towards a national health plan and his love of union-busting. In order to crack it’s only union store back in 2002, Mackey threatened to pull advertisements from any publication that reported favorably on the union efforts or ran the union’s ads. Recently, Mackey took a long leisurely stroll through the mountains with a valet trailing behind to carry his laptop in order to dream up ways to steal earned vacation hours and shred his company’s 401k under the smoke of being able to pay for Whole Foods trimmed down ‘health care’ plan. Just so that he could afford his mint juleps in a silver cup with a silver spoon.

No more. I’m taking my $150 a month grocery bill anywhere but Whole Foods until Mackey gets fired and Whole Foods stops secretly funding global warming through the Cato Institute. ‘Cause I mean it when I say I’m green with rage.

Technorati Tags:wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, witch, pagan, paganism

28 Days Later....

2006-06-25T13:00:00.000-07:00

Now I never told you what I do for a living. And no, it's not being a zombie extra. Although you'd be close. I work for Homeland Insecurity. Last March I got mowed down by a pile of suitcases coming out of an x-ray machine and ended up out of work. So I hobbled back after I got served with an eviction notice because the DOL can find billions and billions of reasons not to pay people. First day back was lovely. Starting with a "random computer selection" to get a piss test for drugs and alcohol. Right after lunch. Then, ten minutes to the end of my shift, a little old lady falls on me. Which pretty much means I'll spend the rest of my summer in a sling instead of a bikini.

And the fun continues dear reader... yesterday my laptop passed away. My constant companion of nine years and repository of my campaign stickers has accessed the internet for the last time. My assembly-required dresser decides to come apart at the seams. And then I dropped a jar of honey on my kitchen floor. I took the gooey mass of paper towels and Giant shopping bags down to the dumpster and it started to rain. Hard. Halfway back the the apartment I decided to stop and surrender to these strange laws of nature. Might as well get a good soaking in while I was available.

The rain brought out a few other denizens of my apartment complex who I rarely see, going to work at the dark side of dawn and coming in long past any descent hour. People came out of their one or two bedroom hovels in our low wage complex and gathered on stoops to look at me funny. Great. The only impression I've made on anyone in a year. I go back inside, sleep and get up the next morning. And there's a love poem on my palm tree doormat from a secret admirer. Squee!!

Technorati Tags:wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, witch, pagan, paganism

RIP Kilted Liberal

2006-05-25T13:36:00.000-07:00

Now this is the kind of bedtime story where the moral gets laid out in the front. Pagan blogrolls recorded the un-forewarned demise of Kilted Liberal this week, whose owner came into a nasty shock during employee review. One of his co-workers with whom he shared the existence of his blog, and there by his religion, history of addiction, and sexual interests, printed out pages and pages of juicy content to share with his boss. Who docked him from a 5% yearly raise to 3%.

That was just to make you all gasp. His evangelical Christian boss said it was nobody’s business about the content of the blog. But. But Andy had posted 6 times from work, and well, that is a issue of employee misconduct. I even had to sign statements against blogging when I started with Homeland Security, and I don’t even have access to a computer at work. So he gave Andy a slap on the wrist that totals to about $500 per $25,000 base salary. Kilted Liberal lies in its grave under the banner “You know who you are… and you suck.”

You can contact Andy for the location of his new blog, and I’m going to wait a little while to blogroll his new one so it’s not so obvious. (Though I will spoil that he’s on blogspot!) Reality exists somewhere between fearmongering and fluffy bunny love for everyone. I loved Kilted Liberal, but I really can’t get past the idea that someone with evangelicals in the office would share the addy of their pagan blog where they talk about a longing for a liquid lunch. Sigh. Best to remember that the world is full of Don Quixotees- adorned even in pearls and pumps.

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blogging, christianity, wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, witch, pagan, paganism

Epona's Modern Worship

2006-05-22T21:22:00.000-07:00

Now if you love horses you already know of the tragedy that struck the second leg of the Tripple Crown last Saturday. 6 p.m. saw post time at the Preakness here in Maryland, where Derby champion Barbaro broke three rear leg bones and dislocated his ankle in one single misstep.

Career ending, the three year old colt stands only a 50-50 chance of survival after 5 hours of surgery yesterday. Looking closely now, the catastrophic level of the injury becomes far more apparent than it did that evening, broadcast at a distance. Even though Barbaro pulled up in the first 100 meters, the Preakness went on and upstart favorite Bernardini won by 5 lengths.

I find it difficult to continue on with my forecast, which I started with the Derby. Watching all the pretty horses in their pre-race lap, I predicted that Barbaro would not even show. The only thing that matters in horse racing are the three fastest in the field: Win, Place, Show. My heart went still watching Barbaro's ears and gate; perhaps there was nothing more in my feelings than an equestrian childhood, but something told me this was not Barbaro's day. Instead, it proved to be his sunset.

I picked Bernadini to Win, Sweetnorthernsaint to Place, and Hemingway's Key to Show. And that's exactly what they did. I feel a little less awful that I don't believe in gambling, considering the tragedy that befell Barbaro.

Waiting for news on Barbaro and watching poor, excited Bernadini's star muted by the shadow of another, I have been thinking of what it means to have your faith shaken. People often speak of tragedy as making them question the favor or power of their god or goddess. And yet I am pagan, and that means something quite radical. While others pray, "Give us our daily bread," it is pagan to say, "Give us our toil and our rest." We rise into the day, we drive on the highways, we race our horses, and we accept the risks we make for ourselves. Pain of defeat, or the winner's rose.

Technorati Tags:Epona, gods, goddess, wicca, wiccan, paganism, witchcraft, witch, pagan

Thich Nhat Hanh

2006-05-08T21:59:00.000-07:00

Now I have this old good friend (hi you) who won't get herself a Blogger identity so she can be perhaps my one and only regular commentor. I shall have to intervene and give her a name like one of those D.C. sex bloggers who nickname their conquests. So what's on the table? Hardcouch. Or else something to reflect the single life. No, the first has nothing to do with my current drought and her flood. Blah. ;)

So in her honor, I'm going to blog about something that happened during my day. (Just because you mentioned that's what you hate about bloggers.) I'm sitting in the waiting area, which they don't even bother to call the waiting room anymore, thankfully. Reading Thich Nhat Hanh. And there's a 16ish unmarried teen mom with her year old boy and her very fat cousin. In their very loud Young Life shirts. La la la. So I'm reading about anger, and this fat girl's engaging in about every act of cruelty towards this baby she's learned in her short life. Which may actually be about half mine.

Buddhism helps me to understand evangicals. Crazy I know. Saved girl took the pacifier from the baby so she could toss it across the room, pinched the baby to make him cry, told him he was ugly in front of his mother, and mentioned that men who have only daughters aren't real men. Rounded off with loud complaints that he wasn't fat yet like the both of them. The mother assured her that her son had just had his first fast food. Saved girl also mentioned the sacrifice this was, missing a day of work and having to let everyone in 300 square feet of office space know this interesting fact. At the top of her lungs. This.

So I get a little closer to the idea where some people are willing to denounce other members of their own religion as not being true believers. Although I may rely in this case on the evidence of grace over the profession of faith. Why can't Hardcouch make a better poster child for who gets to be a member of the eternals club?

Technorati Tags:Buddhism, Christianity, wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, paganism, witch, pagan

Pagans Invented Big Government

2006-05-07T22:18:00.000-07:00

Now tonight's bedtime story will be about why none of you should take up breaking and entering this summer, no matter how desperate you get to experience some AC. Two uniforms responded to my mother's house this evening after she entered 911, but hesitated to press send. In less than three minutes, one fist pounded on the front door, and one cop could be seen weaving through the pricker bushes surrounding the basement windows. We sheepishly opened the front door, clutching a wood bat and a 17th century genuine Portuguese pirate sword, which had definitely seen action. And one very recalitrant cat, who had knocked over a vacuum cleaner in the front hall closet and started the whole sortie.

So yeah, you should think about that before you try to slip into some random house to catch a few zzz's sprawled out on the linoleum of someone else's kitchen. You could end up having to choose between getting bashed or chopped up for dinner. I have yet to decide what ransom I will extract out of my mother that will keep me from mentioning that she accidentally dialed 911 (even though it technically dialed itself, which is awesome). Ah let's see. No, can't think of anything good enough. Not yet anyway.

So like every good bedtime story, there should be a moral around here, one simple enough for me to type out around three glasses of cheap Argentine red. I'm not sleepless for the excitement; I'm sleepless because to cool the house ran about $300 a month last year, and my mother would rather have money. A 72% rate hike has been approved for the state of Delaware, and Maryland is next. We will spend all summer asweat in the purgatory of deregulation. Competition in business is the comparison of the sharpness of one wolf's teeth to another, in the fleecing of us the sheep. So this summer, everytime you pump your gas, and you pay your electric bill, and you watch your whole life bleed out so that some rich corporate guy can buy a tropical island, or his fifth... Well, just remember how much more you hate big government. Pagans invented big government... and we did it for a damn good reason.

Technorati Tags:global warming, liberal, wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, paganism, pagan, witch

Epona Runs the Ponies

2006-05-06T20:11:00.000-07:00

Now there's this little part of America that I love so dearly called the Kentucky Derby. My life, my own life, has been so deeply a part of something that is less than an orgasm in the spans of time. And yet it makes me think of so many who will pretend perhaps to power or to thinking of how much one might pretend to know the future. In one moment, why are we not able to make ourselves kings in this "sport of kings" or simply go to the local liquor store counter and gain all the future of the world for a simple string of numbers. We might never get run off by the cops again.

What was my choice for the Win, Place and Show? Not enough to win a million dollars as promised on the banners for the Kentucky Derby website. I did not choose four of the horses, only the traditional three. Bluegrass Cat for running fast over cool dirt courses. Steppenwolfer for his ability to maneuver through traffic like my brother. Causiously, Barbaro (who took the Derby in 7) simply because he was not a placer against the other speed horses. And who won? Barabaro. Bluegrass Cat. Steppenwolfer. Epona pleased with the natchos and left over spirits from the 5th of May (namely the second pack of Coronas I had in the trunk, hee hee) felt the whole show was worship enough in Her name. Which, oh yes, for those blinding moments it proved!

While I had to console my heart over the fact that while I did not pick the winner horse, I choose Bluegrass Cat who was not chosen for the top ten by any of then better staticians on the Kentucky Derby website and was not favored to win in event the top ten. Steppenwolfer was favored for the top ten, though not consistently. No one else favored Barabaro to win except my mother, who loved the story behind his trainer. The trainer of the Brother was favored by the newscasters merely because he flipped his dirt bike and paralyzed himself. Terrible, but what is it real courage to need to pay the morgage?

Michael Matz, who trained the Barbaro, saved many people, including the three children seated beside himself on United flight 232, that terrible morning 17 years ago when it crashed into an Iowa cornfield during one of the legs of the Triple Crown. Those three children where there to see him win today, and I ask all the pagans and wiccans and witches who read this whenever they do, can anyone they know sing such praises for them?

Technorati Tags:Epona, gods, goddess, wicca, wiccan, paganism, witchcraft, witch, pagan

Pagan Convert

2006-05-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

Now it’s never a casual thing to scoff at the well-toned preaching of others who will claim to have been pagan right from birth. So where shall I start? The subject arises from the recent technorati tagging of a Christian blog in the Wicca category, “Stumbling To Bethlehem.” At which I begin to serious start to consider the subject of cross-pollination. Yet I digress.

We are born where we are, and yet it may take some years for us to awake. Awake to the fear of the earth betraying us by crumbling under our feet. Awake to the poison in the clear water being raised to our lips. Awake to the idea that every good thing we do alive, we do to have destroyed by a jealous god. Awake to the purpose in more than the corners of the human heart. Awake to the song of the crickets in the fields.

The moon falling over the swaying winter wheat. The stars gleaming as the blue sky’s shroud faded into a liquid black, giving back to me the whole universe. The night wind bringing up into my face the scent of pink and white and lavender I could no longer see. The relief to know how many other generations would lean into that same night wind, brush their palms against the same heads of grain, rise up again at dawn into an endless resurrection of only more and more days.

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goddess, wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, paganism, witch, pagan

Tomb of the Unknown Guard

2006-05-02T13:34:00.000-07:00

Now I spent some time stomping down mole holes in my lawn today mulling over this old essay on 'Reflections on Old Guard Paganism.' Written back in 1988, what's most noticable about it is how little good it did the state of anything. Once you get past the whiney tone, and the effacious grandstanding. Blah Blah Blah. Most pagans I know choose crystals over charcol filters to purify their water. Most Wiccans aren't up to creating an initiatory experience that sticks.

While some smaller groups of pagans have begun to form their own traditions (Hellenismos) in response to Nichols complaints, for the most part these have begun to rise up from the younger generations. Nichols may slaver through many of his paragraphs at the idea of having younger pagans properly worshipping prone before his old, encrusted boots. Still, there is the hint of salt. Yet did his essay change anything?

Where Nichols went right he still ended up wrong, because whatever forms of traditional divination he used, didn't work any better for him than a quartz crystal ball. Youth itself is not a reason for unreason, and the need for community drives people apart more than it unites. Elders of the 'Old Guard' considered themselves elders at an age they now insist in others leaves one a Seeker. Anti-intellectualism rooted deep in the Craft through astrology and the old love of dear dead grandmothers.

The pagan fields lent themselves well to all that the 'Old Guard' bemoans, every bit of foolishness and folly. And many are the 'Old Guard' rituals I've attended that were in the nicest term possible, pure drivel and deadwood. If there are moles lurking under the surface, they have only been drawn to the feast so well prepared in their honor.

http://www.sacredsircle.com/archives/reflections-on-old-guard-paganism/

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wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, paganism, pagan, witch

Sabbat Aloha!

2006-05-01T21:47:00.000-07:00

Now I should first explain why I love Pele. The divine mare may be my constant companion, but the volcano goddess can drink her under the table. Pele and I met at the Maryland version of Mardi Gras (Tiki!) when she got me plastered and tricked me into picking up a guy. Now I swear still I thought I was supposed to be inquiring about his necklace, but she made sure it went many other places.

Why Pele? Why do some gods still wander through the rough edges of our society, and others stare out only from art textbooks with lifeless eyes? What did the gods turn to when their temples were torn down and their people converted? The New York Crossword Puzzle? Perhaps these thousand odd years have served to cut away the deadwood, or burn away the brush, and like the firecone pine, the gods are shaking themselves free as seeds over the fertile and barren earth.

So this Beltane my circle met to honor this aspect along with the desire for a bit of romance. ‘Cause that’s never an underrated cause, right there. Pele, trolling along the beaches, flirting and snagging a dark haired emigrant named Kephera. Lady of the lava lamp, and the beetle to the rescue. Seriously, who do you think was behind that whole Egyptian fad that ran for several years, but the common golden bug you saw for sale at every turn?

For Pele, we built a mandala of Hawaiian sugar. For Kephera, we laid the sacrad wood on top. Alight, both the wood and the sugar char to the same carbon, and contain the same minerals that will bring fertility to lawn and garden. We pull a burning stick from the flames to honor their courage, and step over the danger that passion can be. In this Kephera teaches us of our strength to face danger to fulfill the desires of our hearts. We share bread and beer and fellowship. Spreading out the embers of our fire, we build again another mandala for Pele, this time of the sweet coconut, whose shell we have broken through to the sweetness inside.

We honor and ask for Aloha. And on and on we turn the Wheel.

Technorati Tags:
goddess, gods, wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, paganism, pagan, witch

Coup D'oeil

2006-04-30T20:31:00.000-07:00

Now these two fancy little French words mean “power of the glance” and tell you the heart of casting spells- with bumper stickers. “Free Tibet” I’ve blogged about, and there’s also one on my car for my favorite brewery, DogFish Head. “Think globally, drink locally; support your local brewery,” makes for good advice all around.

Then there’s my sister’s (sarcasm) favorite. “Draft SUV Drivers First.” You guessed it-she drives an SUV.

That sticker expounds one unreserved little opinion. Which probably compels one of my co-workers to keep spitting on my driver’s side window. So whose energy work do you think is more effective? Who has control over the actions of the other?

Bringing us to one of those more trickier moral quandaries of spell work. Almost no need or intent comes without the requirement to induce behavior or not in others. Even if you cast a spell to be glamorous, that requires people be induced to see you as more glamorous than perhaps they would have decided.

Once upon a time, I read that healing is really the only moral magic a witch could do, and I still believe that’s not true. Forcing people to look at the horrible results of their desires and actions, how is that immoral? Just so, blessed bumper stickers are like highway hierophants, revealing to people the divide between the sacred and the profane.

My spell affects no one who has not an honest heart about the war in Iraq and what it has cost us as a people. Those who are stirred to restlessness and spitting on liberals, or their cars out of cowardice, are those whose peace of mind may be stolen away by a 3 x 12 sheet of plastic. The contempt with which conservatives feel free to treat liberals and progressives deserves its wages.

Great Goddess, Goddess Cybele, Goddess Lady of Dindymus,
May all your fury be far from my house.
Incite the others, go. Drive other men mad.

Technorati Tags:
goddess, Iraq, liberal, wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, paganism, witch, pagan

Red Stone Altars

2006-04-28T19:18:00.000-07:00

Now this is about one hidden Maryland gem, for anyone looking for a place for outdoor ritual circles. State Parks are great, but only open for camping on the weekend, and if you’re on the market for a campsite in the middle of the week, I’ve got one for you, and it’s a real witch’s delight. You do need to be over 21 and you will need plastic, but their phone number’s 410-923-2771. Curious about the title? All through the campsite portion of Capital KOA are these protruding natural red stone altars. Astounding enough that I cringe not having a digital camera to share them with all of you dear readers. I really need to progress out of the stone age.

As for amenities, for the morning to mid afternoon, there’s actually a swimming pool and an outdoor billiards table, and they sell firewood until 3 pm for $5 an armful. You can gather kindling and tinder at will, and the mosquitoes weren’t an issue. There’s also a playground, and cabins of various sizes, and a meadow and some nature trails. The camping portions a bit rooty, but the tree canopy’s nice and the underbrush has been cleared from the actual sites. They also left in some lovely holy and dogwoods, and they’ve got a lighted path to the public restrooms. Which are far from porter potties. Definite possibilities if you don’t have the hundreds to shell out for some of the larger and farther away pagan gatherings.

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wicca, wiccan, witchcraft, paganism, pagan, witch

Divine Bunny Hunter God

2006-04-27T09:04:00.000-07:00

Now I used to have a lot of friends who were bunnies. Granted that was a while ago, and granted none of them grew up to be Wiccans, or even remotely of the species Paganus. But I want to go on the record that I used to love them, and not just with pineapple sage.

I almost killed a bunny of the furry variety last night, and while I don’t believe in signs (only the missed of the warning variety), I got to thinking out there on the dark highway about what I could possibly add to the astounding series of articles on “bunnyhunting” just posted on “The Juggler.” See: http://thejuggler.blogspot.com/

Olive’s a fairly active political pagan. To call yourself “active” you need to attend at least one political meeting a week, and volunteer regularly on at least one campaign. Attending an occasional demonstration or signing a petition or reading the Sunday paper are good, but not enough.

On the Cauldron boards recently, I was informed by an erstwhile bunny that I actually was completely wrong about the political reality in this country. And to even voice a political opinion is to accuse all bunnies present of not being informed about politics, which golly they are, because I don’t know, the faeries tell them.

Yes, Virginia, the CNP exists. They’re not the monster under the bed; they’re a non-elected body setting national policy on the Middle East. And I am just sick to death of bunnies basing their understanding of the world and human nature on a couple of nice Christian neighbors. We all have neighbors.
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gods, wicca, witchcraft, paganism, witch, pagan

Urban Pagan Harvest

2006-04-25T10:45:00.000-07:00

Now I hear a lot about how pagans of the urbane must be cut off from nature. Concrete and divided highways we may have, but we also have something else. An expanding crop of ragweed.

I snagged the May issue of National Geographic to read about the Gospel of Judas, and found myself skimming through the allergies article. In the caption for a swagger of ragweed on the side of a highway near Washington D.C., I learn this:

Higher temperatures and rising levels of atmospheric carbon dioxide make ragweed grow faster, flower earlier, and produce stronger pollen. According to USDA plant psychologist Lewis H. Ziska, pollen production could double by the end of the century.

Some crazy farmers even grow ragweed as a crop to sell to the pharmas to be made into allergy vaccines. So there's a real urbane crop we drive by every day, that we can harvest and make into our own burning men or a slain god of the harvest. Although a scattering of pagans might not make a difference, does stopping by Giant for a few ears of corn connect us better?

Technorati Tags:global warming, weeds, wicca, witchcraft, paganism, witch, pagan

Epona Gets Her Shop On

2006-04-23T19:32:00.000-07:00

Now we need some serious chatter in the pagan community over our occult shoppies. You can get plaster women with naked breasts. You can get ten dollar love candles. You can get another pentacle necklace. You can shell out for some lip balm you never use because it’s just a pain in the tail to apply. You can pay twice the commercial rate for stick incense.

Community bulletin boards? Good. Public rest rooms? Good. Little dram bottles? Good. Bumperstickers to amuse Epona? Good. 90% knickknacks? Not as much.

Show me the ritual tools. And I don’t mean a hideous Egyptian athame. I mean an iron cauldron you can do more with than stick a tea light in the bottom. I mean a respectable chalice or a nice selection of drums. (Read: more than I have fingers for.) Rattles? Tambourines without cheesy wolf pictures? Ritual broom of the actual size of a broom?

So let’s go down the roll call: Spark of Spirit, Turning Wheel, Crystal Fox. Show me the cauldron. And not a tinsy insy weeny little itty bitty iron bowl. And yea, how about pagan shirts that aren’t billboards for a fantasy convention? And I’m tired of buying ten dollar candles as a form of pagan charity. When they don’t even show me the men!! ;)

Technorati Tags:
Epona, goddess, occult, wicca, witchcraft, paganism, witch, pagan

Pagan Night Out

2006-04-22T15:34:00.000-07:00

Now I am the devotee of Epona who gets lost in every city. Five times it took me to find my way over the Key Bridge into Dundalk when I began to go to the esbats of Briar Rose back in 1999, using instead two tunnels, around and straight through the heart of Baltimore. I get lost with homemade maps or Map Quest. I get lost following other people. And my luck hasn’t changed with my move to Glen Burnie. I attempted two weeks ago to go to a local drum circle in Odenton, never to find the place.

Friday night last proved only slightly better, when I decided in some stroke of brilliance to drive to the D.C. Pagan Night Out in Arlington. Little did I know that I could have taken the train and the Metro, which would have let me off right across the street from the restaurant. Oh no, I drove. And I thought I was making pretty good time when I crossed the bridge just a few minutes after seven. Perhaps I would have been a mere fifteen minutes late, had I not then spent two hours lost in Virginia.

The first hour was my complete fault because when I got the Map Quest, I didn’t zoom out enough to realize there are two Arlingtons. So merry little me, I turned west on 66 and went out to the other Arlington, where there is actually another intersection of Lee Highway with that same route. When none of the streets were named as they should have been, I began to get a sinking feeling. So I called 411 and got connected to the Queen Bee. Turn around, they said, you idiot pagan.

Tail between my tires, I went bombing back into the city only to get off at the right exit. I could not believe my luck. No really, I couldn’t, so I turned around and tried to retrace my route just to check. And got lost again. I ended up at a gas station, only to find that no one my age apparently eats around Arlington, or they live on air. But for once, the gas station attendant knew what the hell I was talking about. Go back, he said, you idiot pagan.

So after nine, and after parking without getting a ticket in some underground garage (thank the gods for employee breaks), I finally stumbled into the D.C. Pagan Night Out. Pretty good people, and I also meet Killina for the first time, and an awesome blonde Liz and Bert. And the resident wack who stirred forth to quiz me on my misplaced devotion to “spirits.” Epona got down to business with the sugar packets, and I ended up vowing never to cheat on Ramen noodles with Vietnamese soup again. When all was said and done, Epona and I turned around (31 minutes later) to hoof it back to GB. I’m sure she’s out there in the parking lot right now reading my warranty, to see how many more screw-ups this witch gets before she can trade me in as a lemon, or I suppose, a pumpkin.
Technorati Tags:
Pagan Night Out, Epona, wicca, witchcraft, paganism, witch, pagan

Free Tibet

2006-04-21T13:49:00.000-07:00

Now about my brother. I have several liberal bumper stickers smashed over the rear of my car, and one of them reads “Free Tibet.” At the first sight of this, my brother’s great proclamation was “You don’t even know where Tibet is.” Ever since he went away to join the Seals (and didn’t make it), my brother has been considering himself an authority on all things concerning world politics. If he were President of the United States we would now be occupying Syria and Lebanon.

He sure knows how to yank my chain. I told him about joining Drinking Liberally in D.C. and his reaction was a story about how someone made a cute, blonde Republican girl wearing a pro-Iraq war shirt in his store cry. He was suddenly animate about how he wanted to beat that person to a pulp, his face swelling up red and the veins beginning to distend on his neck. I was just shocked. Since we were at my father’s house I had to bite back a retort about how he’d feel if she’d been old and ugly.

My brother took me out to lunch for my birthday and bought me some clothes from the yuppie sporting goods store he manages in Georgetown- Patagonia. Which I loved. I mentioned that DL had gone out to see the movie “Thank You for Smoking,” which he was shocked to learn we all enjoyed. Strange thing, that I could actually mention my being Wiccan with him freely but it’s being liberal that’s so unspeakable.

I thought of him when I picked up a book last week called “The Last True Story I’ll Ever Tell: An Accidental Soldier’s Account of the War In Iraq;” John Crawford’s little collection of Faulknerish short stories about being with the Florida National Guard in Baghdad. I was left torn between two feelings when I was done: wishing he’d done time in Iraq that would have left him with a more healthy view of war, and the relief that he was forced to stay home.
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Free Tibet, Iraq, Drinking Liberally, wicca, witchcraft, paganism, witch, pagan

Drum Envy

2006-04-15T22:13:00.000-07:00

Now I just attended the best drum circle of my life. I speak of the Westminster Drum Circle at the Westminster Unitarian Universalist Church west of Baltimore, which is run by this most amazing woman whose name I did not catch. I’ve been to many drum circles over the past decade, and even to the famed one at Free Spirit Gathering (which was actually a nightmare of these two dueling drum groups, but that’s another story). Yet tonight I actually met a woman who could organize one and she did a stellar job at conduction.

Applause done, it’s time to put on the pointy hat. I went with my seashell rattle and sat down next to a guy with three drums, all very beautiful. And it wasn’t very long before I found my jaw was sore from being clenched and my back was stiff. Here I was falling off tune, all because I couldn’t get over that this guy had three drums and didn’t have the manners to offer on to me. Not a lot like the Elder I keep getting told to rise up and be. I had to get up and flee the scene of my crocodile tears.

I weave back into this sordid tale that wonderful woman, who announced a request that we spend a round concentrating on the non-drum instruments, and came around with a basket of various goodies. I chose a wooden cricket, who came with a little mallet that you dragged up and down his wings to make him chirp. Three-drums man chose a fish. Other people chose triangles and rattles made of seed-pods and we began another round.

Rising wind brought in the night air that finally had begun to stay warm after the sun had gone down. I noticed the refreshing lack of extravagance in this small Christian church. I noticed the contributions of the guy with the awesome box drum that sounded like a snare, and the man who played the flute. I noticed the eye-candy across the way. And I found a way to let go how I felt being too poor to afford a drum of my own.

I mean to speak of more than a way to be good in the eyes of the gods; I mean to speak of an easy way to be happy. You don’t hear a lot of talk among pagans of something so ordinary as envy, at least when pagans are talking about their own faults. I suppose the Dalai Lama does not feel envy, but they searched the world for him. I admit that I struggle with envy flipping through magazines of beautiful clothes or watching someone else show off their camera phone. Envy’s proven a hard habit from which to be free.

Still, there is that line from the Charge of the Goddess that reminds us that all acts of love and pleasure are Her rituals. And I find it works for me as it worked tonight, this promise that my happiness is worth as much as Three-Drums happiness, and so there’s nothing to be gained in shying away from whatever pleasures may be found. For there are crickets. And perfectly good rattles.
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Weed by the Moon

2006-04-14T16:32:00.000-07:00

Now I believe that every coven should have some lore, so at least Joy and Sorrow won’t be lite on that account.

We planned to hold our first full moon ritual at the observatory at the local Airport, which is supposed to allow night time access. Alas, we got moved out by a cop as we were arriving who chased everyone with a spot light.

So Mystry and I ended up under the pines outside of my apartment complex which worked out swell. Even if the focaccia bread I baked only rose most of the way. (I feel compelled to confess it came premixed and all I did was add the water and set a kitchen timer.) For once I have baked something edible!

I wrote a weed ritual for this full moon. The purpose of its magic lay in that when we pour positive energies into our lives we often end up fertilizing things inadvertently that we don’t want, like chickweed in the lawn. So as some harvest or plant by the moon, we were weeding by the moon. While the usual route would be to burn away negativity using fire, there’s a fire ban in Maryland, so instead we drowned our weeds in a green bowl, after stating what we intended to do to continue weeding out this accidental problem in our lives.

Then we shared the focaccia and some white IPA beer from my favorite brewery which is DogFish Head. I was one very blissy Wiccan, which meant I did some rambling and gushing which is very unlike my usual serious self. We sat around enjoying the night and trading hilarious ritual stories, which I really enjoyed. Even the moon put in an occasional show from behind the clouds!

Hope everyone’s full moon proved wicked fun! Cheers!
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Crazy Moon Wicca

2006-04-13T13:23:00.000-07:00

Now I want to talk a bit about the moon. Melanie Jayne Eleanor Grace Brook dropped me a line about my Witchvox article and asked, “How can the moon not return your love?” If you turn over many of the representations of nature in Wicca, I swear you’ll find a Hallmark seal of approval.

Once upon a time I actually got to run my hands over a moon rock down at Cape Canaveral in Florida, and it was much like touching hard ash. Yet when I go outside for my ritual circle tonight (glee! looks like the weather will hold!), my heart will leap with awe and wonder. Yet should I say this is love?

Simple to say that we immerse ourselves in nature because we honor the reflection of the divine through creation, just as when we turn our faces up to the moon, the reflection of the light of the sun falls on our skin. Our awe is not for a lesser form of the gods, only part of their immensity that we experience. The moon has a complicated relationship with the sun and with the earth, yet the power the moon exerts on our lives is not an emotion. The power of the moon infuses the chasing storm and the rising tide, and none of it gets delivered like maternal greeting cards into our email inbox.

How can it get there when the moon is a barren rock? Did the Goddess put the moon in the heavens millions of years ago so that tonight it could shine down on little special you?

If you are looking for the spiritual by the light of the moon, instead of imagining the moon like a button just out of reach over head, instead reach for the immensity of the distance between yourself and the moon. Push the moon and the horizon away to the limits of what you believe you can perceive, and seek to feel the expanse of the sky with the moon shinning down over the whole dark side of the earth. You may find some peace in this immensity, that even the dim light of the moon awashes over you and swallows your own existence. I find it easiest to remind myself then that I’m not likely to be able to cause the world to come to a horrible end, and it helps me get perspective on my own sorrows.

Still, you will not find love within the light of the moon. You will not be able to dance with the moon. If you want that, you have to open up your heart and your circle to other pagans, and ask them to share some of their love with you.

Have a wicked full moon! ;)

Artwork by Kristen Knopf:
http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/art/k/r/kristkno/kristkno.htmlTechnorati Tags:
moon, goddess, wicca, witchcraft, paganism, pagan, witch

Allow Me To Confess...

2006-04-12T20:26:00.000-07:00

Now I did actually strip once, at FSG Beltane in 2004 as the "Token Virgin." I wore this little white dress when everyone else was sporting black leather, and I had this little jewel red kiss temp tatoo for my ass. With several beers tucked away. And I won a free vibrator. So anyway, I picked up this little quiz from http://cydira.blogspot.com/ who emailed me this wonderful comment about my Witchvox article. "Olive, Merry meet! I have to say that your blog and your article here on WitchVox are justa breath of fresh air! I would have posted this comment via blog spot but it didn'twant to let me. :pIt was a pleasure to read your work! Keep writing! :) Cydira"

Your Stripper Song Is

Super Freak by Rick James
"That girl is pretty wild nowThe girl's a super freakThe kind of girl you read aboutIn new-wave magazine"
Freaky? Yes. But you're also pretty darn funny.

What Song Should You Strip To?

Left Hand of God

2006-04-12T00:05:00.000-07:00

Now I just got done reading the longest singles ad ever. I refer to the much-lauded “Left Hand of God” by Michael Lerner, who’s the editor of Tikkun magazine. A magazine in which I will now never get published, but oh well!

Here’s not where I’m going to go on and on about how dispiriting I found the polemic, or that Lerner’s spent a bit too much time drinking Kool-Aid at Republican parties. Or the aerobics involved in avoiding talking about atheists, or how he equates them with secular, and excludes anyone religious from taking an existential view of governance. Or that he misrepresents central tenets of the feminist and environmental movements, and thinks that the drive towards conservative religious groups in America has been largely because these people had too much bad sex. In his defense, Lerner’s really too old to go undercover to Intervarsity and Young Life meetings where he would have discovered that either everyone’s just having sex anyway, or they’re afraid to have sex and are pretending everyone’s a virgin. Talk about group dynamics.

Back to that part about Lerner’s search for romance. I admit I had to drag myself through the chapter that’s actually supposed to be about sex, and yet my eyebrows entered orbit on page 309, when he’s supposed to be talking about health care. Lerner decries our cultural failure to “combat the pervasive ageism with its willingness to… stigmatize the sexuality of the elderly (“dirty old man” or “dried up old woman,” as though cross-generational sex among adults were dishonorable because old people should not have sexual energy or the emotional and intellectual wealth to offer younger people in a sexual relationship)..” Now I’m not going to go off the deep end here and equate this with the condoning of sexual predation of teenagers by middle age men. But I do have more than two cents to say as a 27-year-old.

Look, you’re just not attractive. It’s not about “emotional wealth” that all those hot chicks in short skirts won’t give you the time of day. And it’s a perfectly healthy response for me to not see you as an attractive mate. I want to spend the prime of my life changing the diapers of babies, not those of a grown old man. And yes I am sick to death of having to mute my own sexuality or face the pawings of dirty old men who try to use my progressive values as an argument about why they should get to have sex with me. I don’t miss the fact that you aren’t talking about sex among the elderly, you’re insisting that younger women aren’t spiritually progressive if they aren’t willing to have sex with dirty old men.

And how see through can you get? When you invite people to pay to be members (if you like how they present themselves and they don’t disagree with you, of course) of your Network of Spiritual Progressives, and you can’t pay attention to everyone who responds, and then you say (p.366) “If you would, send me your photo so I can have the pleasure of seeing how God manifests through your physical being!” And in which room of your house will you be having this pleasure? Oh really now!
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liberal, activism, democrat, wicca, witchcraft, paganism, pagan, witch

Always on My Mind

2006-04-07T23:12:00.000-07:00

.... now this is blatantly stolen from another MD blog at http://moco-insomniac.livejournal.com/

Star Around My Neck

2006-04-07T20:39:00.000-07:00

Now I just bought another star to wear around my neck. Third in a short line of such stars; the first being one made of leaves which I wore when I belonged to Greenwood, the second a small and simple line for Blue Heron, and this third is rough and twists like a vine. This new one didn’t cost nearly as much as its 18 inch chain. I took off the old one and lost it when I started apartment shopping last summer, and the one of leaves didn’t speak to me when I started wearing that one again. So I took myself off to the Turning Wheel in Glen Burnie and got myself this one new.

I found myself unexpectedly out of practice wearing one around. I decided to break it in by going to Quiznos and Starbucks, two establishments which I could replace with versions the next town over. In all my six months here in GB, I’ve yet to run into a clearly marked pagan in public, so I wasn’t expected the complete absence of glances. Nothing. So often we tell ourselves that we are content to be pagan in secret, and then we go about in jewelry that proclaims our faith. Or we tell ourselves we are over that phase in our lives. Of course, then when we get snubbed we find out different. Now, I don’t need to go back to my teenage years when someone tried to light off my hair with a cigarette lighter. But I’m a wallflower enough as it is these days.

On the other hand, I also bought a hematite keyring and a tape of Starhawk talking about paganism in the 21st century. The tapes out in my car, or I’d give you the title. So you can see how memorable the recording was for me. I was captivated though about finally hearing the voice behind the first books of my early pagan years. Strange that she sounded a lot like I had actually thought she sounded. Hesitant, amused, a bit like Boston although she lives in California. It’s been a long time since I first became disappointed with her, and a long time in understanding why.

Starhawk’s never written another Witchy book. Pagan books, and books on being part of the global justice movement, books I’ve loved all on their own. Yet, nothing for the actual Craft, nothing Wiccan. So she was so easily displaced by later contenders, Mama Silver to name just one, and wasn’t an elder in the Craft when I needed elders so much myself. P.C. started off so well, and then we got Love Spell. I’m left to wonder if it’s something people ever fear when they sit down to write for the first time.

Hebe Brews the Coffee

2006-04-02T00:00:00.000-08:00

Now this is the first news for my little non-read blog and here I am a whole almost two months out of the loop. Just to not be a hypocrite I may have to soon have a little boycott Starbucks graphic for my boycott China. The just of it is that a Wiccan goes and has the near to join the unionizing movement for baristas and her boss pays her back with a little good old religious discrimination. She’d been wearing her pentagram for three years without comment, and suddenly she’s being bounced from work if she dares wear a symbol of her religion. Her other Christian co-workers can wear whatever they please. Although there was a touching incident where one of her Jewish co-workers put on her pentagram in solidarity and got bounced from work for the day as well. http://www.starbucksunion.org/node/666

People always surprise me when I get timid about how I think we should make sure the world’s a better place. And what better way than where Hebe’s worship is so strong, than the place where the cup of enlightenment is poured forth for gods and grads alike? So just to stretch out the whole 15 minutes of this thing, here’s the info needed to raise a ruckus. Call Starbucks District Manager Kim Vetrano NOW and demand that Suley be allowed to freely observe her religion while at work and that she be compensated for the work hours she missed:
Phone: (646) 256-9929E-Mail: kvetrano@starbucks.comFax: (917)591-8599 Stay Connected at http://www.starbucksunion.org/

You Cannot Be a Witch Alone

2006-03-30T21:28:00.000-08:00

Now when a witch decides to commit heresy she should not go half cake. Should she commit heresy she should pour out the whole ale. So here it is- you cannot be a witch alone.

Get over that you’ve heard it all before, nothing new under the sun, and wait, isn’t that something they said back in the medieval ages? If you’re going to buy little books on Wicca, and if you’re going to light little candles when the moon is all round, and if you’re going to give yourself a really original name containing the word dragon or faerie or moon or wolf or silver or raven or phoenix, it should be just because you like other Wiccans.

The getting of the out and meeting people is nerve wracking. You drop a contact on the floor, you change your lipstick three times, you forget your driver’s license and have to hope they don’t card at the door. The first half hour you really aren’t going to be able to say anything worth remembering. But it does all get better from there on out.

This new moon was the first meet-up for my new ritual circle, and I got to meet two really awesome witches out of the odd 13 in the group. So it was more fruitful than the spring equinox online meet-up, squee. Very few Wiccan books give meaningful advice on how to hold a meet-up. There are simple rules. Be clean. Don’t get plastered; for those who need it explicit, one drink. Provide an ice-breaker activity where people interact, so not a movie but perhaps billiards or Frisbee. Make sure you give them a reason to expect that if they come they will be providing input into the circle or coven you are founding. Pester them to show up. Show up yourself.

There are a lot of bad arguments against the epidemic of solitaire practice in this country. A lot of them are along the lines of that witchcraft is more than looking good in black, and that Wiccans need initiation. All very boring. Fellowship is not vastly overrated; it’s a real spiritual need and we crave the company that a circle or a coven can provide, as long as we haven’t been brainwashed into thinking we should be proud we don’t deserve somewhere to hang our pointy hats.

Free with Pair of Shoes

2006-03-25T08:22:00.000-08:00

Now I was in a shoe store last night shopping for an actual pair of heels. I told myself I wasn’t in there for heels to salsa. Yet there I was, one gold heel on foot and one in hand, when they rounded the corner. The mother stomps up the aisle with her terrible feather-wing hair and begins to shove boxes of shoes around. Her daughter shifts around behind her, clearly having meant to manage the shoe selection alone. “I don’t know what you want; I don’t know anything of what you want. You said you wanted a pair of shoes. Well, here are shoes!” Her daughter murmurs that she wanted clogs. “Clogs?! Well here are clogs, but I know they’re not what you want!” The daughter looks at the floor while she jerks her cross fish pendant back and forth on its cheap steel chain.

The woman figures out suddenly that I haven’t zoned her out drama, but I’ve sat down on the shoe stool to watch with one shoe in my hand. I smile like a neighbor who has no intention of going back to her roses. She looks back at her daughter for the first time, and explains that all there is to choose from will be on this one rack. All the other aisles have the same shoe, just in a different size. Her daughter touches one or two pairs, points to a pair of clogs with black flowers over the toes. Her mother looks at the price, looks at me. Her daughter’s not as grown up as I am, alone in the shoe store. The clogs are far better for her daughter than my sex-in-the-city heels. They’ll be cute with her daughter’s dress tomorrow night, so she takes both her daughter and her daughter’s new clogs, and she’s gone. I go back to admiring my ankles in the mirror.

Up at the cash register, the clogs have already been processed, and there’s no one else in line. The employee who takes my credit card and puts a rubber band around the box has textbook make-up. That’s what I’m thinking about when she reaches to get a store bag, and I tell her I don’t need one. Her hand pauses, and she looks at me as if I were speaking French. Here it is now, where I could speak of oil and the annoyance of driving to the recycling center. I could speak of a simple life with a pair of heels I’m hoping will work like Cinderella’s. Her head inches closer to me, and with a hushed whisper she inquires how I’ll plan to carry the shoes without a bag. I settle for, “I’ll just carry the box.”

Epona Goes to the Movies

2006-03-18T20:26:00.000-08:00

Now you might not expect to see a horse at the movies, but there’s definitely something of Epona in last year’s blockbuster “Crash.” There’s not your typical claim to fame as a pagan movie for the film, considering the portrayal of L.A. at Christmas time and the main spiritual icon being a statue of St. Joseph. But that little Catholic saint is the patron of travelers, and likewise is our Girl Epona. The central meaning of the film is given early, that we have so forgotten how to connect with each other that we can only fill our need for contact by crashing into other people- equal faith opportunity.

And it struck me how true this was, perched on a chair in the jagged circle of a post-movie discussion at “Spark of Spirit” tonight. 5 aggressive drivers dominated what turned into a panel of rhetorical hand-wringing about the media and the growing plague of young white professionals in urban communities. The rest shied away and its true, no one was touching anything let alone each other. It goes without saying there was the gleeful indulgence in the stereotypes of politicians, and white people professing their guilt.

I thought a lot about the idea of seeing racial identities like coins you find on the street. One side is bright and shiny in the sun, but pick it up and turn it over, there’s rust and grime. I thought a lot about the woman who caused a ruckus at my gas station last week because she decided I was parked too far away from the pump. I’m not going to waste time pondering her motives, but since the owner knows me in my Homeland Security uniform, she got told to shut her mouth. Even after going through meditations to give me a sense of loving-kindness towards that woman, I am no closer to understanding how I could have touched her, enter into dialogue, communicated or whatever one is supposed to do.

I thought about that since moving here six months ago I have been assaulted twice in public trans by adult men, whose race you know without my giving it. I thought a lot about the racial division at the federal agency where I work. I had a lot of time since I could barely get a word in edgewise. Epona took a phone call and snuck a chocolate candy bar, while they preached and I thought. And I still have to confess that I don’t know what to think.

Ostridge as Your Totem?

2006-03-17T14:15:00.001-08:00

Now I had never met anyone with an actual ostridge as a personal guide. But there he was, proud as peas, voice reverberating up out of the sand in which he had buried his head, and flooding the pagan shop with his glee. I am not going to disparage anyone’s choice of political party today, but never let anyone tell you we are powerless. Never let it be said that self-sought disenfranchisement after centuries of struggle against kings and princes is the ticket to a good life. Everywhere the ostridge is seducing pagans away from a long and courageous history of civic involvement and governance.

Saying that we should eshew public life is akin to seeing a chalice of wine spill on the altar, and not getting towels to clean up because no one else is doing it (Democrats) and because it is someone else’s problem (Republicans). FEMA was rebuilt to excellence under a Democratic President, but fell victim to the war-mongering of a Republican Commander-in-Chief. Hurricanes off the Atlantic have increased in ferocity and number as global warming escalates. Citizens enamored of a perfect existence in an afterlife turn blind eyes to the welfare of their own people. The disaster of Katrina was forseen, yet all the oracles silenced. The ostridge sticks his head in the mud of a devastated city, sees it all go away and gives thanks. Do you heed the call of the ostridge?

Judge a Book and Uncover

2006-03-13T18:56:00.000-08:00

Now I just saw the most amuzing thing. Precious. Blondie the Librarian leads astray a group of youngsters to the "history of ghosts" section which is apparently what passes for where the wicca books are in severna park. In one fell swoop these girls savage the shelf for all the books on witches... and toss aside the one book on the shelf actually written by a real witch. Currott's "Book of Shadows" as it happens. All poor P.C. rates for her white cover and ordinary winey dress is half a sniff. As it also happens, where I'd secreted away a flier for J/S a la guerrilla marketing tactics. Sniff. Moral of the story: men who make money know our brains freeze up at the sight of the color black. Judge, judge, judge.