And In The Never Bloody Mind Dept…

Ok, the blog is again public. Really, the readership was never high. I am not interesting enough, inspiring enough…and I am sick of narrowing it even more in the hopes of deeper conversations and meaningful connections.  Those clearly were never meant to be part of the online experience.

Perhaps not profane enough? Since this was my blog of the “deeper” me. The more “introspective me”? The less ranting and screaming me.  Apparently all anyone ever liked WAS my rants and screaming, swearing and flailing.

So be it.  This is still who I am when not going mad over the latest news splashes of mud and worse.

Nobody conversed in private any more (or less) than in public.  So fear of reprisals or harassment from Trumpeteers or radical Christian sorts apparently was not it.  I am merely too boring, too much a hermit, lacking flash or charm.

I am actually pretty good with all of that.  I may or may not post my continued efforts in the Magical Battle of America.  I’m not really the ‘ra ra, sis boom bah’ sort –I find as many things to be a grim realistic kick in the face as not in magical matters.  Thus, I still do mundane activist things.  Those are doubtless boring, too.  Meetings, phone calls, petitions, more phone calls, letters, contributions.  Boring grown up stuff.  I could rename the blog perhaps: Boring Grown Up Pagan Humanist Blog?  Honestly, I crack myself up.

 

Today’s Task

In the Magical Battle of America today, we are asked to turn back the tide of cynicism and apathy in America.  I have read the working, and it will percolate all day as I go about mundane tasks.  This evening, as dusk falls (if I am lucky) or later at bedtime (if hectic time prevails), I will perform the working.

I am fortunate today.  As I have relayed before, I am not at peace with the images on the “banners” selected by Hekate-Demeter as I simply find no resonance with some of them, I find one hopelessly Euro/white-centric, or I cannot visualize something as vague as “the Underground Railroad” as a visible device.  This week’s target area is my home Northwest, however, and the leaping salmon of our many dam-threatened streams and rivers.  I can work with that visualization.

I suspect I will struggle in the weeks ahead.  Walden Pond does not speak to me of New England.  The “Underground Railroad” for the South does speak, and loudly — but I can’t make it an image, for me it is scurrying sounds in the dark, hushed voices, smells of sweaty frightened hurrying people.  A cowboy for the Southwest is a hopeless bit of white colonization that I prefer to NOT identify as a main American aspect to be pushed as “what to defend.”  In my visualization — I see the banners as colors instead.  As colors with elemental connotations.  I see the NE banner at pentagram point in vivid yellow; the SE banner is verdant green; the SW banner is burnt desert red, the NW banner is water blue, and the tip banner is alternating white and black.

I do value Hekate-Demeter’s desire to find a visual image for each region, but I suspect I am not the only one needing a more general image or a completely different image to actually work with so that the mind doesn’t go off in a rant about Euro-entric Marlboro men.  Hey, when I played cowboy and Indians as a kid, I insisted on being the Indian in spite of being given numerous cowgirl outfits.

Or, as I will do with the Southeast?  I won’t make a visible image at all — I will hear that demanding search/run for liberty.  But even that will be a work in progress.  If this exercise is to awaken cynical/apathetic hearts — is it enough to only reach for those already more or less mobilized?  What about the white, largely not-considering-Underground-Railroad-past populace of the Southeast?  How does magic create empathy and connection there?  I feel this being left out of the working IS a problem.  We can’t just look at what we LIKE, we have to look at what we are NOT seeing and do NOT like as well.  ALL of it is part of the mundane/magical equation.

I am a Westerner by feeling, frankly suspect of things East of the Rockies; and East of the Mississippi – forget-about-it!  I have lived in every part of this nation; New England’s beauties moved me.  Walden Pond did not.  But the American South is a hard sell to me.  “If they threaten to secede again,” I’ve often said, “Let them!”  So, like the kid with negative behaviors that eats all the parental energy — I find myself getting into snarling knots about how to “reach” that bit of my nation.  I want to punish and slap them first – and only reach when they are contrite!  So there is my Hekate/guide/avatar with a torch AND a sword?  I am spending a lot of energy trying to amend my attitude.  And parts of me are mounting a vivid resistance to amending that attitude.  So it goes.

Thank goodness, we start the effort with my own Northwest — I have “grappling time” before I tackle the South.  And then, perhaps, as HD said about discomfort in working, or fear or threat, it IS “ok” to sit out a working for fear of fucking it up.  By the time we get around to the SE banner, I should know if I can do it at all or if I will let that one ride on someone who liked “Gone With the Wind”.  (I know, I know — hoity-toity and dismissive.  We ALL know this IS me, right?)

How do you see the “banners”?  What do you find at the heart of America beneath the center of HD’s pentagram hovering over the continental U.S.?  Is there a section that you most align with; is there one that is the hardest reach for of all?  ARE you doing the exercises/workings?  Or still thinking about it?  How shall we, a sort of virtual circle, go about this?  Everyone hitting for the brass ring weekly (or as I do about 4 times a week)? Or should we trade off — a couple people working, everyone else concentrating on energy work FOR the workers?

Speak up!  I’m actually a bit sick of the sound of my one hand clapping!

A Few Things Off My Chest

I’ve been troubled on so many levels since November 8th, that I feel a wee bit like Indiana Jones, dropped into the tomb full of snakes. But I like snakes better than I like the things disturbing me, to be honest, because snakes ARE more honest.  They kill to defend or to eat, not to be mean.  People can’t always say that.  I have tattoo’d snakes going up my left arm, and people sometimes shudder to see them.  Snakes don’t make me shudder, people DO!

These things that trouble me, things that marginalize and “liminalize” me, sap my energy.  These are things from my alleged “own side” that make me tilt my head, scrunch my eyes, step back in dismay.  To me, long a student of history and schooled in the ways of “the Red threat” — these are things I could safely categorize as “fifth columnists.”  Do the perpetrators of these troublesome bits KNOW they are a danger to their own side?  I rather doubt it.  They THINK they are helping to whip up the troops.

But they are whipping fears and divisions and hatreds.  They are fanning negative flames instead of building warming home-fires.  What do I mean?  I’m only going to hit a couple examples.

Well, for one thing, almost every day when I get the mail (and email), there is a plea to send money to this or that candidate in some other state.  This bothers the hell out of me.  To me, the people IN that state are the ones who should have the say in THEIR election.  Some years ago, here in Washington State, there was an effort to get through a bill about gun sales.  And oh, the OUTRAGE of the Democrats that the NRA and their many “civilian” supporters sent money from OUT of STATE to “interfere with OUR election!”  Well, pot meets kettle, don’t you think?  IF it is wrong for the Right to do it; why would it be right for the Left to do it?  Yes, I am big on the idea of fighting fire with fire — but you have to know when that fire is going wild to burn EVERYthing.  So hell no, my money will not go to other states even to support candidates for ‘my’ side; I think that is a political SIN to interfere in the sovereign voting rights of other citizens of my country.  . I think that is overstepping the bounds of political decency.

Then there is this little hate-clad thing about the wife of the Presidential Celebrity Apprentice (because ISN’T he an apprentice?). First there were snarky signs: “Melania, are you alright?”  That was semi-funny.  But also semi-sad; because when I looked at most of the photos, she actually looked tense, possibly frightened.  She looked like a woman doing an unwanted performance and she was largely ignored by her husband as she did it.  Then there were bloggers saying, “Well, first I felt a little sorry for her, but she married the jerk — so she can lie in that bed.”  Wow.  How fucking compassionate is THAT?

This woman was an immigrant.  Personally, having been hungry and desperate enough to want to run away from where I was in my life?  Had I actually run and an apparently rich and powerful man offered me marriage so I could stop worrying about hunger and a roof over my head?  I’d likely have taken him up on it, too.  And any of you out there sneering down your nose about now, saying “Fucking never!” – tell me how hungry you have been.  Tell me how much you struggled and for how long with NO help before you judge me OR her, ok?  Does she regret her choice now?   I don’t know; judging by his divorce record I’d say chances are she might.  I sort of wish that wasn’t true for her sake – because an unhappy marriage is such a hell that starvation doesn’t sound like such a bad way to go.

So, if it was shitty of the Republicans to trash Hillary, and her daughter?  If it was wrong to call First Lady Obama an “ape” — by what fucking fair play rules is it right to pick on a woman who still sounds like she struggles a bit with English and is just hoping to raise her son in peace?  Also, it is pretty shitty fucking feminism to blame a woman for her husband’s bad behavior; remember how you ALL said that when Trump blasted Hillary Clinton with Bill Clinton’s bad actions?  

So if you want to be spoken to civilly by ME?  Knock that classless shit OFF.  STAY on the message instead of engaging in cruel, useless ad-hominem attacks on wives of ANYone.    About now, I’m sure someone wonders why this largely political post is here on my “spiritual blog”?  Well, because if a person believes in attempting magic?  They need to know something about the energy the practitioner  is going to be trying to throw about, ok?

IF the witch/magician/sorcerer/shaman/priest/priestess is polluted with hate, anger of the wrong sort, etc?  Then their magical energetic aim is NOT coming from a premier source and it damages the effectiveness of the working.  This was clear in Dion Fortune’s letters, as I recall.  She told her groups to keep working positive — to focus not on attacks, but protections; not on tearing down, but on building up.  And that resonates for me with political action.  We can resist all the horror we want, but if ALL we do is react to dreadful things and fear?  We are not building something effective in which to survive and live.  That counts politically and magically.

So, as this blog will soon go private, and I will send invites and accept emails asking for invites — let it be known, if you do NOT clean up your own act first, you will not be part of this virtual circle.  Trust me, it’s not easy.  I know.  I am a bite and smite special, myself; but I know when I have to bank the fires of anger to keep the warmth and avoid the melt-down.  I have to MAKE myself look to what makes it better.  IF this post gets you all riled up and righteous about “who the hell does she think she is?”  Well, then I am almost certainly talking to you.

Don’t just get scared by the world that needs fighting, get righteously angry at the wrongs being done.  But don’t just get angry – get rationally and constructively engaged.  To do that from a place of pure flowing energy means you can’t pour emotional/political poisons into the fucking cauldron!

I Dream…

feather-fortress…again, of military camps.  For decades, my nights left me exhausted in the morning because all night long I worked setting up mess halls and beds in my sleep.  My muscles ached in the dawn, as if I’d been at hard real work.  My skeptic’s mind fought the idea promulgated by more “pagan place” minds that told me about astral planes and work there by night.

But for over half my adult life, several nights a week – my dreams were full of busy activity in a war “we” were certain of winning, but one that never seemed to end.  With the building of the Walk of the Fallen Memorial Labyrinth in 2003, however, those dreams slowed (but didn’t completely stop) – as if my work in the here and now on the stones in my back yard took precedence.  But a few months ago, the martial midnight images returned.

Last night, I was again at work in a vaguely military uniform.  My Minotaur was there with me for the first time ever.  And another man, younger and full of vitality – pursuing me with an odd romantic fervor.  He would rub my aching shoulders and fetch me warming blankets.  I was never one to dream of (even would-be) lovers, so this was a peculiar change.  The other change was less charming and more alarming – gone was the certainty of winning.  A bitter desperation and a grasping after any sweet solacing moment was a theme in the dream.  Thus, I suppose, the romantic against the grinding labor in which my husband and I were engaged?

Do I believe in the astral plane, that “other where” out there?  Let’s say I wonder if it is more than a mental state.  It often seems to me there is a substrate of reality we somehow miss with our ordinary every day perceptions.  I speculate that it is where ideas come from or go to – those curiously contagious ideas that suddenly manifest in four places at once around the planet – as new inventions.  I can’t know this, of course,  I can only wonder as I wander.

But it feels like it would be a sort of dishonesty and cowardice to completely discard the idea as impossible.  Because I can’t prove to myself that it does not exist either.  Perhaps that is what age is for?  Learning to live with unanswerable questions, with ambiguity?  Becoming comfortable with ambivalence?  In youth didn’t we all pursue certainty?  Wasn’t science a wonderful thing because you thought it always gave you that desired proof?

Except it didn’t always.  Sometimes scientists cooked their own books, played with data.  Some claimed they got repeat results that they did not.  Even scientists are humans with a burning desire to see their best hopes realized.  We all still play at least a mental/emotional game of alchemy, do we not?  We move the ideas, beliefs, facts around in our heads like a mental game of Tetris, trying to fill in the magic spots of  “don’t-bloody-know” to get the musical reward and sparkly answers that reassure us, comfort us, answer us.

But slowly, sometimes so very slowly, progress happens.  Science moves forward with truths from experimentation.  So, in the dark wintertime of my life?  I will experiment, since apparently I WILL dream, whether or not it is my desire.  After all, can I really risk losing a “war” because I won’t admit it exists?

Into Nesting

vsf My unofficial “third son” has arrived home from the Marines.  That is him in the photo with the Manchild on the left, Marine on the right.  Thus the cars are out in the cold and a stack of furniture is in the garage. Piles of lumber further fill the space.  Before the next week  is over two new walls will rise in the garage — one enclosing the immobilized and insulated garage door, and one splitting off a long narrow “tool room” between laundry room and “nest” to be.  We have one month to build walls, properly frame a window, paint, and electrically equip a space for our returned Marine and the wife who will soon join him.  I am SO excited!

We hope to make a room about 350 square feet for their nest while he attends school and she acclimatizes to the Pacific Nor’west.  I am terrifically excited about this.  Our lives will be a welter of change this year.  My eldest, the Manchild/T-Rex will be leaving us sometime this year to go to Eastern Washington where his new beloved awaits him.  There will be wedding bells sooner or later!

Our youngest son, nick-named Raptor, will move to what was once my Haven and take the dogs and the Magpie kitty with him.  My allergies to dogs will be delirious with joy, but I’ll miss Maggie the Thief.  I will receive Beatrice the Furball “only pet” cat in exchange.  The Haven will be a music rocking place then – it has a piano keyboard, drums, guitars, and amplifiers now!  It will be full of dogs and cats and laughter.  What could be more joyous?

The Marine and his bride will have a private place, but share kitchen and bathrooms with us.  Under our sheltering roof they will have time and protection to build their civilian life.  The Minotaur and I are being the change we wish to see in our world. What a difference, had we once had even half the chance we are determined to offer to them!  My husband would not be facing the same debilitating injuries of his long service, had he been able to get out earlier; but then we might never have met each other!  We don’t regret or resent our pasts – but we sure are relishing helping someone else build a future starting out at less risk!

So the gardens may be neglected this spring.  But we will prepare rigorously for next spring.  This year, our lives are blossoming with expanding family, with love and inclusion, with rest and recovery.

How Do We Become Who We Are

books-livrmI remember being pregnant with my first son. I remember stacks of books about being pregnant and producing children. I remember laughing and throwing one of those books, the title of which escapes me, into the trash can because it said something about newborn children being “blank slates” upon which their parents basically “wrote” their being.  Wow.  I somehow knew, just from the nature of the kicks to my breastbone, that the little presumed “chalkboard” in my belly was not going to go along with THAT program!

books-officeThis was before I’d even taken a philosophy course and before I’d even heard the word “existentialism.”  But I had the certain knowledge of what my own parents tried to “write” me into and knew I had rejected that completely.  How and why did I reject their doubtless sincere, if self-serving, efforts?  Because of BOOKS.  Because I read from an early age – I read at 4th grade level in grade one.  Because in a household full of horrific physical punishments, the worst punishment of all was not being allowed to check out library books for a whole year.

booksaltarBooks were where I escaped the cruel cloister of “family” life.  Books made me forget cold and hunger.  Books told me there were other ways to live, places to be.  Books made me sure I could do more with my life.  I’ve asked for books as presents more than any other object, I’ve given books away all my life.  The ones pictured in this post are small remnant of books owned and re-homed elsewhere, or occasionally sold, in my lifetime.  Books, to me, are WEALTH.  And no, those photos are not even all of the books of the family.  Not even half the books.

Reading is freedom seeking.  Reading is hope in ink.  So believe me when I say, I approve this message.  A plan to GET books into the hands of children who live in the unimaginable horror of a “book desert”?!  I am absolutely FOR that idea.  Even at our poorest, in my childhood, there was a set of encyclopedia and a dozen other books in our home, until we lost it all when I was around age 13.  Living in the wilds of frozen rural Idaho with no book in the house except the Book of Mormon, left by missionaries, was the most extreme deprivation I’d known.

Books are the building blocks of the mind.  And the roadmaps to better futures.  Books can be weapons against chaos.  Give your children books.  Give your adult friends books.  Read books yourself.  Challenge yourself!

 

 

 

 

Traditions? And Manners, Thanks!

axial-tiltI don’t believe in meaningless traditions.  Traditions are those things for holiday times — or normal times — that give comfort and healing peace.  So, like the bedtime rituals of toddlers, designed to make sleep a pleasant thing for all; I feel traditions should serve those who enact them.  I bake cookies, too; but not those I don’t want to eat!

We have a lot of traditions here!  Decorating the house is a big one for the winter holiday — the winter’s solstice here.  It was difficult this year, but now, each evening we sit in the glow of holiday lights and I time my breathing to the ticking of the cuckoo clock till I feel myself back in control.  Some people find a bedtime story a comfort even in adulthood.  This is a worried season, this might be an answer for you, too?

I am out and about little at this season.  I shop well in advance for the small bit of shopping we do.  I bake my own treats with a few notable exceptions (German lebkuchen) so I don’t need to haunt the grocery store, either.  And yet, there is always the question of manners, isn’t there?

Since the election,there has been a lot of shouting that “Now we can say Merry Christmas again, damn it!”  Ah, well, I don’t recall seeing anyone drawn and quartered for saying that ever.  Did I miss something?  Am I actually now allowed (until the Inauguration?) to simply pull out my battle axe and behead anyone who says “Merry Christmas” to me instead of “Blessed Solstice”?  Cause damn, I could use a bit of murder, death, kill to relieve tension right about now.

Ah, but we have a tradition of manners, too.  (Alas?)  If someone says to me, smiling, “Merry Christmas!” I smile back and say “The same to you.” or “And Happy New Year.”  If, however, as happened once or thrice last year?  Someone narrows their eyes in a parking lot and snarls, aggressively with no smile, “Merry CHRISTMAS!?”  Well, then I am going to try to make their head spin ala Linda Blair.  I smile and say something back like “God Yul!” or “Blessed Solstice!” and of course, they are totally bent out of shape.

I will respond to strangers in exactly the way they respond to me.  Nice people, mannered people will be treated with manners.  Assholes will be offered a perfectly mannered response tailored to MY beliefs.  I even send a few cards each year that say “Merry Christmas” when I know that is what the recipient is celebrating.  My fellow pagans, theistic or non, get “Blessed Solstice” cards.  The occasional Jewish friend gets greetings for their winter holiday, and even Kwanzaa is in some of my cards.

I consider it an obnoxious assumption to say anything more precise than “Happy Holidays” to strangers — it at best neglects the specific winter holiday special to them and at worst insists that they should follow MY holiday beliefs.  Like people insisting a secular business like Starbucks MUST mention Christmas, well, gee, write your own little Merry-What-the-Fuck-EVER on your cup and quit acting like spoilt toddlers having tantrums.

Because yes, I’ve a bucket of coal for your un-mannered stockings.  Also, what?  Were you raised by rabid fascist hyenas?

 

Are You A Pacifist, or Merely Passive?

broken goddessesThis is a post I’ve thought about, wrestled with for many years. It came to the fore again in this past election season, and even more since the final count gave the White House to Donald Trump — a man, who ironically had a show called “The Apprentice.” America has elected an “apprentice” and not a particularly talented adept one at that.  The reactions since have been varied, of course.

Some say we need “an orderly transition,” neglecting to consider that a possible transition into chaos is at some point definitely not going to be orderly.  Others say to fight, to resist — some meaning violently, some meaning with rational thinking, discussion, non-violent protest.  And then some simply did what many, many Americans had been doing for a long time: they stepped away from keeping up with news, with fact-checking news or political statements completely.

It was too “troubling”, too “painful”, too “hopeless.”  Frankly, it distresses me even more than those people advocating violence because these people seem to feel positively virtuous in their choice to be dis-involved in the national life.  They remind me of Trump supporters, who were asked about their knowledge of the actual things being argued about, professed a deep and self-satisfied ignorance of the issues.  For me, both the intentionally passive and the willfully ignorant betray a brokenness.  All living things that are “broken” – injured, ill, etc?  They try to heal because to do otherwise leads only to increasing disability and death.  Physically speaking, disengagement is not a viable option.  Mental disengagement, to me, is mere cowardice.

All through my life, I’ve seen people step back and say “That’s none of my business.” about things they certainly could have changed, some times with a bare minimum of effort and very little risk to themselves.  Sometimes the risk is significant, of course – and those who step up anyway are generally regarded as activists, as leaders, as visionaries, and yes – sometimes as heroes.  Not everyone is cut out to be a hero.  And that is fine.  But I believe everyone is cut out to be involved as a participant in their own life, in community life, in national life.

Pacifism means refusing to do violence.  Passivity generally means refusing to do anything at all.  There is a difference between refusing violence and stone-walling reality!  To refuse violence and prefer to negotiate, to be civilly disobedient, to work to protect rights and laws long defended – sometimes by the sacrifice and blood-shed of war — is a necessary thing if a culture has not totally lost the Will to survive.  But to whiningly announce one is taking one’s mental ball of fuzz and going home, refusing to play at all — but usually endlessly whining about how things are “going to hell in an (unattended!) hand-basket — that IS the definition of a “loss of Will”.

To be clear here, I am not a pacifist, nor am I passive.  A pacifist, presumably, would see their own family and friends injured or killed before doing violence.  I don’t know what sort of mental guarantee one needs to do that, I simply cannot imagine!.  I am not passive because I’ve never seen anything good come of passivity.  I’ve seen passive people – some who felt terrorized into passivity, become fairly nasty in terms of passive aggressive behaviors.  I’ve seen them sicken themselves with maladjusted coping mechanisms.  But my voice on this subject has always been the minority report, so to speak.  I’m often told I’m just a “goddamned Brunhilda sort” who would merrily ride into any fire.  I am very much not that person, let me assure you.

I’ve long seen graphics online, suggesting that the Bible Belt “throws back more alcoholic belts”, has more drug addicts, more sex offenders, more teen pregnancies, more STDs than either presumably  too libertine, liberal coastal area.   Those statistics do suggest that the “turn the other cheek, don’t think about sex, do-as-we-say-not-as-we-do” verbal cues that rule the Bible Belt (and yes, as an escapee, I can tell you they DO rule the public dialogue) fail in terms of practicality in real life.  The religious arguments made for controlling, do not in fact control — but lead to a sort of insanity.  This is perhaps no where less public, but most screamingly obvious than in the most religiously shut-in societies, like the Mennonites.  So when a Mennonite article proclaims that pacifism leads to violence?   It behooves ALL of us to read it and consider whether our allegedly pacific natures are really peaceful, or merely destructively disengaged passivity.

 

About That True Cross?

This blog’s sub-title is a warning about taking care what you worship.  While I did some weekend grocery shopping this weekend, a chatty man in line in front of us kept talking to me about the stack of sweets he was buying “for Fellowship tomorrow morning”.  He meant Sunday, of course.  I was a bit mystified why he was so cheerily companionably chatty to me – a perfect stranger.  Walking past the jewelry counter on my way out, I caught my own reflection – ah, it was a “failure of attention to detail” I think.  I was wearing a silver necklace from a dear friend in Ireland.

2016-11-19-0001It was made for me by a silversmith there in the “olde country” of Ireland.  A place that knows lots about crosses, crucifixes, and women.  I wear this necklace because as near as I can tell about years of studying, observing, or trying to practice, (and finally running away from at all possible speed) the only ones I can tell you for sure get crucified practically daily ARE women.

If being a Christian means following Christ, some logical constructs would say that means following him to the cross?  Most women’s lives would make them Christian as all get out by that definition.  They suffer, they self-sacrifice, they bear the load for sinning men ALL the time.  I cannot be Christian, I never “found” Jesus.  I found Marian Catholicism and the idea of a nigh divine Female was what lit the candles in my brain.

Soon we will be inundated by stories of Mary’s “submission” to the Divine.  We will be told how perfect she was doing so.  To me, that part of the story always sounded like an abuse of power — I mean, for pity’s sake, even in the old ancient pantheon tales — everyone knew girls who told gods “No” didn’t fare very well.   Women have been being told to submit to presumably more holy dicks <snerk> ever since.  If the “only” divinity still “standing” is male, “Hey Girlie,” you better be f’ing submissive or else.

Women are already being given plenty of messages about how submissive they need to be or else in Trump’s America.  A woman in a headscarf for health reasons, not religion, has her car vandalized in a national park.  No, the misogynistic bigots are not emboldened at all by the election of someone who likely thinks the height of charm is groping you in the elevator.  Every woman in America should wear a headscarf.  There should be a day or a week picked — and every woman should wear a headscarf.  Or maybe it should be utterly random?  What if every American woman just picked two or three days of the month to wear a headscarf?  Would it confuse the bigots, the idiots?  I know pagan women of some goddess-centric traditions who both scarf and veil.  I often wrap my head and neck in one of many scarves I own because of my cold-plagued touchy fused vertibrae.  How long before some jerk tries to put me on his personal cross for doing so?

Well, hey, I’ve got the necklace for that.  And some pointy boots I know how to use.

 

 

Sometimes a Hint

1sugar shit…Is right in front of you.

My statistics for this Steel Kachinas blog have been steadily shrinking.  I’m not sure why; I swear and rant less here than on my other blog.  Am I less amusing when I don’t drop the “f-bomb” every second sentence?  I do post more deeply felt ideas here.  I talk about what scares me as well as what inspires me.  I talk about my doubts.  Doubt IS unpopular, isn’t it?

I am baffled to be followed and “liked” by very conservative Christian sorts — and somewhat reflexively put a side comment up about very much NOT being about those kinds of ideas or ideals.  Since that is when my readership dropped dramatically, I can only feel that I was somehow accidentally “sailing” under a “false flag”?

I find this confusing.  But it does open a different way to think about this blog.  I’ve had issues with WordPress for several months now (No, no, I am not dumping and running to a new platform — as I have many times in the past), so I need to find out how to do what I am considering.  Since I apparently confuse the small readership I do have, I am considering making this blog a subscription only affair.

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Perhaps this is only my dark day, dark mood, Fallows-mode talking, I’m not sure quite yet.  But this will likely be the last public post here if I make this decision by the end of Fallows, when I decorate for Yule in the third or fouth week of November.  If I decide to stay public, likely a pile of photographs will appear…

In any case, if you want to subscribe, let me know.  I will only put people who request entry on the list; and I do not promise to list every requestee.  If I don’t know someone (as well as one can online, anyhow), since I likely will take to even more personal topics here under wraps?  I will not subscribe strangers.  Yes, the Hermit is ascendant — why do you ask?