Monday at the Movies

This is marvelous.

Your Moment of (Kitten) Zen

As Hecate noted, I was on vacation last week – and it was glorious, and I was COMPLETELY off line the entire time – and I came back to, as one does, a pile of work and a week of increasingly bat shit impeachment testimony, news, and revelations.

Hence, I choose to use the internet as the Goddess intended for this week’s post: CUTE KITTEN VIDEOS.

I’ll get back to railing against the patriarchy and white supremacy next week….

Like what you read? Follow me on Twitter @MrsWhatsit1.

From the Witch’s Bedtable


Based on Michael Hughes’   recommendation, I’ve been reading — and very much enjoying — Initiated: Memoir of a Witch  by Amanda Yates Garcia  .  I like her take on Hecate:

Hecate stands at the place where three roads converge.  As the Goddess in her crone aspect, avatar of age and experience, the most existential of goddesses, she tells you, “When everything breaks, you still have choices.”  You can take the road that walks you deeper into trauma, deeper into the knife, until it kills you; you can walk away from the knife, away from risk and potentially any feeling at all, choosing a life of convention, hoping that the authorities won’t  notice you and will leave you alone; or take the third road, the shadowy animal path carved into the edges of a cliff, half covered in vines a trail you have to forge on your own.

(Ok, I’d have used some periods and broken that run-on sentence into about four or five sentences.  Still I like what she’s saying.)

Picture found here.

Words for Wednesday

Missing More than a Word
~ Tanaya Winder
Someone once asked me, what are the words I do not yet have —
verbs that will story our bodies into something more
than missing, more than squaw or lost, beyond statistics:
1 in 3 Native women will be raped in her lifetime.
Daily ritual: my hands search and sift through layers
of tiny earthquakes, shifted verdicts not guilty not enough
evidence not prosecutable not our jurisdiction I dig.
Native women are 2.5 times more likely to be sexually assaulted
compared to all other races.
I dig. We are vanishing lines in history books, treaties;
laws do not protect us. I dig until mud and earth find home
underneath my fingernails. I’ll plant something new
in the absence burn vanish underreport
Invisible, our ghosts starve, while the rest of the world keeps on eating.
A recent government study found that there were 14 federal human
trafficking investigations in Indian Country between 2013 and
2016. During that same period the FBI investigated 6,100
Let us poem a place where you cannot erase us into white space.
Let us dig to remind ourselves our roots are ancestral
and there is nothing deeper
than these sacred, dirt-covered hands.
Picture found here.

Living with the Land


The sun goes down quickly up here in the mountains.  It’s dark by five o’clock.

There’s mist most mornings, covering everything, leaving the ground wet.

You can smell a clean, mineral-y smell when it rains and, often as not, there’s a rainbow once the sky clears.

The deer are everywhere just now, rutting and feeding up for the winter.  The other day I saw turkeys, big and beautifully-feathered.

Meadows have turned a dozen shades of brown, and gold, and grey.  They’re beautiful.

Up in the highlands, there’s snow on the ground.

I hope you are finding some time to be out with the land.

Photo by Greenman.  If you copy, please link back.

Monday at the Movies

Snuggle up with some coco and an afghan.

Saturday Afternoon Potpourri


Cari has a lovely post  about doing calligraphy on the beach.  No, really on the beach. The work reminds me a little bit of Andrew Goldsworthy.  Cari says:

[The workshop leader] suggested at the outset that there was a spiritual aspect to this play. Just being at the sea, Mother Ocean, made it so for me. Mare – the Latin for sea, is thought to be the origin of the name Mary, one of myriad names for the Great Mother.

I let myself immerse in the elements. Air – the ever-present wind filling my lungs with the breath of life, the sea air with the magic of negative ions, and my mind with words to speak, to write, to say, say, say. Fire – the golden sun, rising and sinking, the warmth at its zenith, the golden hours early and late for the right angle of light for our marks and the all-important shadows. Water – the dance with the ocean tide, advancing, drawing back, filling and erasing all our work, leaving us with a smooth new canvas, lapping my bare feet, splashing up my legs. Earth – the million grains of sand, pounded by the waves to become the materia mundi,  the earth in its minute form. We carved our marks, were pleased with the look of them, and then they crumbled, they faded, they blew away or were walked on by people and dogs. The sea took it all, careless of our art, again, again. Nothing lasts but the elements.

You should read the whole thing.

Meanwhile, Nimue Brown is talking about the Autumn forest:

Autumn tends to be fungus season. In woodland this means that we get to see something of the life beneath the soil. Fungi live in vast networks, interacting with tree roots. Much of the life of a wood happens beneath the surface, where we can’t see it. The appearance of fungi in the autumn is a reminder of what’s there all year round. It’s easier to think about things and be aware of them when there’s some more tangible sign of them, and the fungi give us that.

It’s normal to talk about life pulling down into the Earth during the winter, but important to have a more specific awareness of what that means. Tree life certainly is more earth orientated at this time of year. Each living thing responds to the seasons in its own way. For the migrating swans, early winter is all about the skies and making huge journeys guided by the stars. For amphibians, the season can be all about retreating into water to hibernate. There is no one single, simple energy narrative for any given season.

What’s the narrative for you in Autumn?

Here’s a mini vacation for your soul.

Terri Windling is writing about the loss of childhood commons.

“But there has been a steady reduction in available open spaces for children to play. In the USA, the home turf of children shrank by ninety per cent beween 1970 and 1990. Similarly, in Britain, children have one ninth of the roaming room they had in earlier generations. Childhood is losing its commons. There has also been a reduction in available time, with less than ten per cent of children now spending time playing in woodlands, countryside or heaths, compared to forty per cent who did so a generation ago.

I’m sure that Life will find a way, but I’m not sure how we grow any new Witches in a world where children don’t have any place to be alone outside.

I need this.

Picture found here.