* First, I’d like to wish a happy Diwali to all who celebrate it. May we all live our lives such that Lakshmi feels welcome.
* I flit here and there around the web and I admit that my time is limited. It’s difficult for me to understand why it should be controversial for a group of Pagans to gather in a circle at Pagan Pride Day, but then we know that I think many Pagan Pride Day events are poorly-thought-out. However, one of the lovely things that I found when flitting about the web is this set of cornerstones for building Pagan groups put together by Diana’s Grove. I particularly like the emphasis, based upon a Jean Houston quote, on The Sacred Wound:
The wounding becomes sacred when we are willing to release our old stories and to become the vehicles through which the new story may emerge into time. When we fail to do this, we repeat the same old story over and over again.
Blessed Chiron, guide our way.
* Medusa has the information on the recent death of Goddess scholar Patricia Monaghan. May the Goddess guard her. May she find her way to the Summerlands. May her friends and family know peace. Damn. Everyone who laid down stepping stones for me is passing.
* Love the (new-to-me) word “fibershed.”
These little realities about living and working with plants and animals – it creates a difference in your body. I know this because I observed the changes in myself. You really learn how to work. It’s like systems theory; you can get a system to start producing good results if you get the pendulum swinging in the right direction.
* This weekend, G/Son and I went to the National Gallery of Art. It’s been some time since I’ve taken a little boy to an art museum. Hence, I was, foolishly, not anticipating the FIRST REACTION OF ALL SIX-YEAR OLD BOYS EVER to the main hall of the National Gallery of Art: “Nonna! Those statues are naked. You can see their penises and, oooooohhhh, Nonna, you can see their . . . breasts.”
Shorter Nonna: “Yes. Artists knew that the human body is beautiful and not shameful. That’s why it’s silly to be ashamed of our bodies. Oh, and look over here . . . .” G/Son really liked the statue of St. George (which led to a long discussion about why some art works get saved even when they’ve been damaged) and the picture of Daniel in the Lions’ Den. He didn’t know Daniel’s story, so Nonna told it to him and he said, “I bet that he prayed very fearfully,” and Nonna agreed. His other favorite was the fountain of cherubs and a swan, and he explained to me that, at his school, they call cherubs “baby angels.”
When we got to the fountain dedicated to Mercury, G/Son noted that people had been throwing coins into it and asked Nonna for a coin. Mercury is the God that Nonna’s always invoked for Son, a runner who has wings on his feet and makes the quick decisions that all Scorpios make. Nonna and G/Son talked about being the messenger of the Gods; we talked about being fleet-footed; and we talked about the role of Air in the recent election. Then, Nonna handed over a quarter and said, “When you throw it in, make a wish to Mercury.” G/Son threw the quarter in and said, “I prayed to God because you don’t see people doing this (making praying hands symbol and bowing head) to Mercury, Nonna.” And Nonna laughed, took G/Son’s hand, and said, “No, no you don’t. I wonder why that is.” Nonna’s playing the long game here; it’s that for which age equips one.
Later, after the all-important trip to the gift shop, we wandered through the Lichtenstein exhibit. Those pictures were very accessible to G/Son and this was his favorite. On our way out, we visited and discussed the NGA’s one, disappointing (IMHO) Goldsworthy and the Ernst sculpture, which drew a strongly emotional response from G/Son who did not, for once, notice the genitals.
Then, we stood outside waiting for our car, saw the Canadian embassy, and had a long discussion about International Law. My old prof would have been proud of me.
* My soul is deep, deep, deep into a late MidAtlantic Autumn, the kind where the morning rain on the orange giant Maple and the cherry-red Japanese maples is set off by the golden crape myrtles and the deep green of the local magnolias. I am what my landbase is.
Can it be true that Old England Is Dying?
I don’t believe it.
Photo by the blogger; if you copy, please link back.