hecatedemeter- A Witch Without a Place — Chapter Three
- Or, We *Could* Try Taking Women Seriously
- In Between Lughnasadh and Mabon Potpourri
- Words for Wednesday
- But Why Do You Have to Call Yourself a Witch?
- (Belated) Monday at the Movies
- The Magical Battle for America 8.11.19
- My World and Welcome to It
- As Ye Sow…
- We Resist Every Day
Undermining the Patriarchy Every Chance I Get. And I Get a Lot of Chances (Copyright Preserved)
Huh. Of course. Well, I used to be made of artesian spring water filtered through slate and shale in the Appalachian mountains. Now, maybe this is why I feel out of sorts. It’s not geography. It’s being made of something new and maybe not consciously integrating it.
Now I am mostly made of reservoir water and pipe lining and strange minerals and a taste I can’t define. Plus, a shockingly large proportion plastic and Fiji water. (Too much to claim I have a reasonable carbon footprint.)
I am made of trees, too. Although not so much molecularly. Tree thought forms permeate. Thankfully, even the shallow-rooted, fast reproducing, weedy trees of Florida project a solid sense of responsibility for shaping reality.
I am laughing and crying at same time. I found you through a long line of canal locks. I paddled the entire length of the Susquehanna several years back. Sometimes all that is needed is a wicked smile and soft nod.
Cuyahoga River circa 1969 (mostly).
Los Angeles River & Southern California smog 😦
But I’ve moved on since.
The Great South Bay and the Atlantic Ocean in its more northern, steel grey, salty ways. Lately, the Long Island Sound and the many creeks and rivers of Long Island are part of me, too. But, always, they each take from, or give themselves to, that deep, mystery-filled, mystical, heaving, soothing all, known as the Atlantic.
I am made of Lake Michigan water. I was raised on the Pacific Ocean. I have done a decade of Olentangy and Scioto rivers. And another decade of the Great Miami river. Now I am strictly Ohio river.
Mighty James River ….blebe
Oh, I’m made from water from way across the Pond… Old Father Thames, downstream of London (England, that is) where the water becomes salt.
I’m now far away from there, but continue to feel its pulse, because I’m still connected to the great ocean that links all rivers.
Beautiful! Thank you. Aboriginal [indigenous] Australians are led by our Dreaming Laws for 65K+ years: we are part of all and all is sacred. We are brought forth from sacred Mother & her waters – to maintain the tri-balance t’ween heaven-spirit, mother-earth & ourselves; the arrogant language creatures.
More Anacostia than Potomac and now Columbia river is my home.
The waters of the Potomac nearly lapped at my doorstep from the time of my birth until early adulthood. I met my husband near those banks. Since July of this year, his ashes have floated at the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah, in Harper’s Ferry, ensuring that he — and at least a part of me and our children — will always be there.
Good video! My first 24 years were in 1950s and 1960s Southern California, so a lot of sources, and probably contaminated. But since 1976 I’ve lived in the most northwestern corner of California. When I wasn’t on a well, my water came from the Smith River, one of the cleanest rivers in the U.S. I’ve actually visited the pumping site, and the treatment plant (which empties into the Pacific Ocean). Am sure there are still contaminants of some sort, but I know I’m lucky. I’m mostly made of the Smith River and rain.
I’m made of the clear, cold snowmelt, the red dirt mountains, and the high desert Aspens of the beautiful Beehive State, though I now live in the last remaining Blackland Prairies of the Lone Star State.