And it went well. I just felt like it was time. I did it in a theraphy secession, where i had invited her in. Luckly, my therapist knew what Wicca was, because my mother did not.
My mom respect my decision and she told me while she belived in God, it had been forced down her throat and she did not want to do that to me.
On thry they way home, we stopped by a bookstore and I showed her a book on Wicca to explain more of it to her.
Every person has that song that they relate deeply too and this is mine.
Recently, I spoke to a woman who said that she was a dedicated Wiccan had not practiced in years. Why? Because she had not done rituals.
This is my thoughts. Rituals can be a wonderful and powerful thing, but they do not make me Pagan or what most of my practice is. My most constant ritual is when it is raining to go to my covered porch and sit on my swing, and just mediate and fell the engery of the rain.
Rain is very spirtualy important to me and I have a strong connect to thunder and lightening. I find the sound of thunder oddly comforting.
What does it mean to be Pagan? It you asked seven Pagans, you would likely get fourteen answers.
To me Paganism is about the Earth and your connection to its energies and using the energies to further your spiritual development.
I have not done a spell in years and do not feel the need for them. To me meditation and studying is far more important.
A tale from Vietnam
Long ago, in a palace by the Red River, there lived a great mandarin and his daughter, Mi Nuong.
Like other young ladies of her position, Mi Nuong was kept indoors, away from the eyes of admiring men. She spent most of her time in her room at the top of a tower. There she would sit on a bench by a moon-shaped window, reading or embroidering, chatting with her maid, and gazing out often at the garden and the river.
One day as she sat there, a song floated to her from the distance, in a voice deep and sweet. She looked out and saw a fishing boat coming up the river.
“Do you hear it?” she asked her maid. “How beautifully he sings!” She listened again as the voice drew nearer.
My love is like a blossom in the breeze. My love is like a moonbeam on the waves.
“He must be young and very handsome,” said Mi Nuong. She felt a sudden thrill. “Perhaps he knows I am here and sings it just for me!”
The maid’s eyes lit up. “My lady, perhaps he’s a mandarin’s son in disguise—the man you are destined to marry!”
Mi Nuong felt a flush on her face and a stirring in her heart. She tried to make out the man’s features, but he was too far off to see clearly. The boat and the song glided slowly up the river and away.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Perhaps he is.”
All day long, Mi Nuong waited by the window, hoping to hear the singer again. The next day she waited too, and the next. But the voice did not return.
“Why doesn’t he come?” she asked her maid sadly.
As the days passed, Mi Nuong grew pale and weak. At last she went to her bed and stayed there.
The mandarin came to her. “Daughter, what’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing, Father,” she said faintly.
The mandarin sent for the doctor. But after seeing Mi Nuong, the doctor told him, “I can find no illness. And without an illness, I can offer no cure.”
The weeks passed, and Mi Nuong grew no better. Then one day her maid came before the mandarin.
“My lord, I know what ails your daughter. Mi Nuong is sick for love. To cure her, you must find the handsome young man who sings this song.” And she sang it for him.
“It will be done,” said the mandarin, and he sent out a messenger at once.
Days later, the messenger returned.
“Lord, in no great house of this province does any young man know the song. But in a nearby village I found a man who sings it, a fisherman named Truong Chi. I have brought him to the palace.”
“A fisherman?” said the mandarin in disbelief. “Let me see him.”
The messenger brought him in. The fisherman stood uneasily, his eyes wide as they cast about the richly furnished room.
For a moment, the mandarin was too astounded to speak. The man was neither young nor handsome. His clothes were ragged and he stank of fish. Certainly no match for my daughter! thought the mandarin. Somehow, she must not realize . . . .
He gave his order to the messenger. “Bring the fisherman to my daughter’s door and have him sing his song.”
Soon Truong Chi stood anxiously outside the young lady’s room. He could not understand why they’d brought him here. What could they want? He was just a fisherman, wishing only to make an honest living. He had hurt no one, done nothing wrong!
At the messenger’s signal, he nervously started to sing.
My love is like a blossom in the breeze. My love is like a moonbeam on the waves.
In the room beyond the door, Mi Nuong’s eyes flew open. “He’s here!” she cried to her maid. “How can that be? Oh, quickly, help me dress!”
Mi Nuong jumped from her bed. Never had she so swiftly clothed herself, put up her hair, made herself up. By the time the song drew to a close, she looked like a heavenly vision in flowing robes.
“Now, open the door!” she said, trying to calm her wildly beating heart. She forced herself to stand shyly, casting her eyes down in the manner proper to a modest young lady.
As the door pulled open, Truong Chi shrank back, not knowing what to expect. Then all at once he found himself gazing on the greatest beauty he had ever known. He felt his heart leap, and in that moment, he fell deeply, hopelessly, desperately in love.
Mi Nuong could not wait a moment longer. She lifted her eyes to look upon her beloved. And in that moment, her eyes grew wide and she burst out laughing.
A mandarin’s son? Her destined love? Why, he was nothing but a common fisherman! How terribly, terribly silly she’d been!
Shaking with mirth at her folly, she turned her head away and whispered, “Close the door.”
The door shut in Truong Chi’s face. He stood there frozen, the young lady’s laughter ringing in his ears. He felt his heart grow cold and hard.
Truong Chi was sent home. But he could not go on as before. Hardly eating or sleeping, he grew pale and ill. He no longer cared if he lived or died.
And so he died.
The villagers found him on the sleeping mat in his hut. On his chest sat a large crystal.
“What is it?” a man asked.
“It is his heart,” said a wise old woman. “The laugh of the mandarin’s daughter wounded it so deeply, it turned hard to stop the pain.”
“What do we do with it?” asked a young woman. “It is very lovely. Like one of his songs!”
“We should put it in his boat,” said another young man, “and let it float down to the sea.”
At sundown, they set the crystal in the fisherman’s boat. Then they pushed the boat from its mooring and watched in sorrow as it drifted down the river and out of sight.
But the boat did not drift to the sea. It came to shore by the mandarin’s palace. And so it was that the mandarin found it at sunrise as he strolled along the bank.
“What have we here?” he said, reaching in to pick up the crystal. He turned it over in his hand, examining and admiring it. “What a splendid gift the river has brought!”
A few days later, when no one had claimed it, the mandarin sent it to a turner to be made into a teacup. He brought the cup one evening to Mi Nuong’s room.
“A gift for my lovely daughter,” he said.
“Oh, Father, it’s beautiful! I can hardly wait to drink from it!”
When the mandarin left, she told her maid, “It’s late, so you can go to bed. But first make me some tea, so I can drink from my cup.”
The maid finished her task and went off. Mi Nuong poured the tea, blew out the candles on the table, and carried the cup to her window seat. A full moon shone into the room, and looking out, she watched the moonlight play upon the river. The scent of blossoms drifted from the garden.
Mi Nuong lifted the cup to her lips. But just as she was about to drink, she cried out in surprise and fear. She quickly set the cup down on the bench.
On the surface of the tea was the face of Truong Chi, gazing at her with eyes filled with love. And now his sweet song filled the room, familiar but a little changed.
Mi Nuong is like a blossom in the breeze. Mi Nuong is like a moonbeam on the waves.
And Mi Nuong remembered those eyes she had seen so briefly through the open door, and she remembered her laugh. “What have I done? I was so cruel! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know. . . . I’m sorry. So very, very sorry!”
Her eyes filled with tears. A single tear dropped into the cup.
It was enough. The crystal melted away, releasing the spirit of Truong Chi. Then Mi Nuong heard the song one last time, floating off over the river.
Mi Nuong is like a blossom in the breeze. Mi Nuong is like a moonbeam on the waves.
“Good-bye,” said Mi Nuong softly. “Good-bye.”
* * *
It was not many months more when Mi Nuong was given in marriage to the son of a great mandarin. He was young and handsome, and she felt that her dreams had come true.
Yet now, as she gazed on a different garden and a different view of the river, she often still heard the song of the fisherman echo softly in her heart.
After reading so many reports about the drought I have decided that I can no longer eat dairy and eggs with a clear conscience.
Livestock farming is the number one source cause of global warming for a variety of reason and I can no longer allow animals to suffer for my food. I have been vegetarian for a year and it has not killed me and I have been studying for even longer.
My first political party was the libertarians. To me it made perfect sense. Government was a danger to freedoms, and business was needed to keep an economy strong and flowing. Yes, I knew all about the Austrian School and Ron Paul. I arrogantly thought I had the right economic and social policy at at fourteen.
I think what attracted me most was the strong anti-war sentiment, something I still hold dearly.
But something happened all at once…and that was reality.
My father was involved in a bad wreck that was not his fault (he is a wheelchair user) and we won the court case against the man who hit my father. Then that man went bankrupt….and the hospital came after us. They wanted both our properties, but we had a sympathetic judge and he arranged it so that he only took the property that had our house on it.
Th other property has a building on it that we fixed up (with a lot of help form our community) into a livable house. It is still not entirely ready, but it is good enough for us. We only got by sheer luck, and the kindness of others.
My mother worked over a decade in the hot cafeteria of a university. She kept getting weaker and weaker. To the point where her doctor forced her to retire. When she was retired she was in her late 50’s, had no insurance, and had a medical condition. I hope you can imagine what happened next. No private insurer would take her, and we tried everywhere, but we could not afford the fees that they would charge for her.
We ended up having to wait till she was old enough for medicare, two years. Th first spell I ever did was for my mother to keep her health, until she got medicare. I remember being so scared she was going to die on me and had nightmares about it.
But she ended up holding out, then…it was by turn. In my year I had a mental breakdown and was suffering mild psychosis and depression. My grades went down the toilet…..and my family would not have been able to afford my treatment without government help
My family would be in pieces in a truly libertarian society, that I longed for when I was a stupid fourteen year old.
I sang along word to word for ‘Darkwing Duck, ‘Rescue rangers, and Winnie the Pooh’
I swear I have not seen any of those shows in almost a decade. Though I do hear the Darkwing Duck theme a few times a year. Just because it is so awesome
I just wanted to share this clever video I found. Next time, I have little ones and strawberries are in season (cause out-of-season strawberries are yuck) I am going to make this for them.
I am sure I can find a choclate bread recipe and find some vegan whip cream
Earth my body, Water my blood, Air by breathe, and Fire my spirit.
This is easily my favorite chant. It is so easy to remember and easily to visualize with during my daily mediations, Just easy to visual water flowing through your veins, and the fire burning inside you. I think each one of these lines mean something and I will break down what they mean to me personally.
Earth my body…
I love to visual my body becoming one with the earth energies. I think it has practical meanings as well. Your health is connected to the earth; from the air we breathe and to the food we eat. Are bodies live and our nourished by the earth and what she gives up and in return how we take care of her. Also our bodies are physical connection to the world around us and how we interact with it affects our environment, much how we effect the earth.
Water my blood….
Our emotions make up who and what we are. They are what control us and make us human. Even in our most logical moments emotions always play a factor. The heart was once believed to be the center of emotion, and now we know the heart is a pump for blood….but Still the association stays with us in cultural. Like emotions, if our blood spills out of control it means possible disaster to us. If it does not connect properly, or is blocked in some way to our heart (soul) it can also spell disaster. We have to allow our emotions to flow at a healthy rate and not over spill, like emotions.
Air my breathe…..
Air is the element of communication and intelligence. Must I say more? I guess I have to since I gave the others such decent entries. I’ll admit that air is the hardest element for my to relate to and is the least common element in my natal chart. With what we say we spread into the world, hopefully our ideas can be expresses freely, clearly and intelligently as possible. Let our ideas and thoughts be expressed like the wind and flow to the corners of the world. Will I am a blogger..Maybe I do understand the element better than I thought
Fire my spirit……
Fire is a very important element to be. I was born under a fire sign and my Matron is a fire goddess. Several weeks ago I posted a very emotional piece about my suicidal thoughts that ended with an experience with my matron and the element of fire. Fire is the element of passion and will. The will to keep on living and persisting despite all the efforts the world seems to put out in front of you in order to put out your flame, your passion and your inner light.
While this book is far shorter than the first, it is far more complex plotwise. While the first Dune was a Hero’s journey, Dune Messiah takes that premise (along with the Messiah) and deconstructs to the fiber of it’s being and concept.
I felt in the first novel that the world established most of the philosophy and politics, while in Messiah the philosophy and politics come from the characters. Messiah is far more focused on the inter-personal relationships and conflicts of the characters than anything. Most science fiction would, but most of the focuse on wars and battles that are established to be happending in the universe.
Here we do not personally see them, but feel the effects that the characters go through because of them. We see some personal questions and the some tough ideas explored through Paul and nearly everyone else involved.
Dune Messiah is a character driven work that is greatly complex. I needed to take a break from the Dune series after reading it
The Poetry of the Earth 