What Pagans Can Teach the World About Kindness to Strangers




Here’s the thing:  It’s no coincidence (Jung:  there are no . . .) that how to deal with refugees is “suddenly” now such a big issue.

Between our over-populated planet and the now-begun-and-only-going-to-escalate-Water Wars, the entire issue of “refugees” is only going to be more and more important for the next, oh, 500 years or so.   Before it’s over, nous sommes toutes des refugees.  This is the lesson of the Age of Aquarius.

We Pagans have, I think, a lot to teach the world about how to deal with this issue.  For many Pagans, hospitality, especially to the stranger, is a bedrock value.  We’re the ones who remember the legends, and fairy tales, and myths about strangers who, treated badly or well, turned out to be deity, angels, The Gentry.

We’d better get our act together.

Picture found here.

What Were You Waiting For?

Honestly, I think you knew this when you signed up:  No one gets out of here alive.  So we all might as well not take it all so seriously; we all might as well have some fun; we all might as well be who we were meant to be.

Or, as Byron Ballard, beloved of the landspirits and the Goddess says:  “Light the signal fires.  Save the scrolls.  Build the temples  Time to ride.”

It’s all real.  It’s all metaphor.  There’s always more.

Harsh & Exciting



With my Moon in Taurus and my Sun in watery Pisces, my physical environment is important to me.  Having everything “just so” in my garden, home, office lets me deal with all of the madness that is my career, my place in a world in the throes of Tower Time, my over-committed personal life.

And so it is probably fitting, here as I wind up this Saturn Return, that my kitchen is gutted for a remodeling project, every other room in my house is full of kitchen stuff (oven in the living room, refrigerator in the dining room, boxes of wine glasses and dishes in the ritual room, dishwasher and wine captain on the porch . . . .) and the movers are packing up the art in my office for a move across the street, bubble-wrapping around me as I work on three pleadings at once and keep another one on ice.

All day, I kept remembering the words from Mary Oliver’s poem:  Wild Geese.

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Driving home from dinner with family and friends this evening, I had to pull over to the side of the road to watch a V-shaped wedge of geese head south in front of the waxing half-Moon.  Over and over announcing my place in the family of things.

May it be so for you.

Picture found here.



I’m so old (how old are you, Nonna?  Nonna is so old that . . . .).  I’m so old that I remember when Republicans were wrong, but weren’t nearly as batshit insane as they are now.  I’m so old that I remember that Bush I didn’t really deny that global climate change was a thing (because it would have embarrassed him, unlike his progeny, to deny science), but, instead, insisted that it would cost too much to deal with the problem, would cost jobs, would slow down the economy.

If you own a home, or a car, or a pair of shoes, you know just how wrongheaded that was.  If you put off needed repairs, you turn what could  have been a simple, not terribly expensive, repair into a disaster.  You could have replaced a few shingles on the roof, repaired one axle, simply resoled the shoe.  But if you ignore the problem — I can’t afford to deal with that now; it will take too much time from other things I have to do; no one will notice — it turns into a bigger, more expensive, sometimes irreparable mess.  Now, the whole roof needs replacing and the wood underneath it is rotten from the rain.  Your car stops suddenly on the freeway and causes a major accident.  You trip on your loose heel and break your ankle, losing weeks of work.

And, yes, dealing with climate change  before it got as bad as it’s gotten would have cost some jobs in, say, the oil industry, but it would have created new ones in, for example, conservation, wind power, solar power, smart grids.  It would have cost some money, and maybe that money wouldn’t have been there for Bush II’s wars, or for Halliburton, or for subsidies for Exxon.   It might have (although it’s doubtful) slowed the economy, but not nearly as much as, oh, say, removing regulations from mortgage lenders.

And, now, Syria’s water wars are causing untold havoc on the lives of millions of people, forcing them to flee from their homelands, creating patriarchal warlords in Daesh; (who knew how much like the Men’s Rights Movement these monsters are?), setting off bombs in Paris, sending the xenophobes in America into a tizzy.  We’ll spend uncounted billions on “intelligence” and on drones to drop bombs on bad guys, thereby creating more bad guys.

Damn, I wish we’d done the things that we could have done to control our population and our carbon back, oh, about 30 years ago.  Maybe last Friday night would have been just another lovely evening in the City of Lights.

Picture found here

Monday at the Movies

I think I want to take G/Son to see this one:

Sunday Ballet Blogging

Word to the Wise; Nod’s as Good as a Wink, Nudge, Nudge.


The Duel

~ Eugene Field

The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
‘T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t’ other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(I wasn’t there; I simply state
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)

The gingham dog went “Bow-wow-wow!”
And the calico cat replied “Mee-ow!”
The air was littered, an hour or so,
With bits of gingham and calico,
While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place
Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
(Now mind: I’m only telling you
What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)

The Chinese plate looked very blue,
And wailed, “Oh, dear! what shall we do!”
But the gingham dog and the calico cat
Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
Employing every tooth and claw
In the awfullest way you ever saw—
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
(Don’t fancy I exaggerate—
I got my news from the Chinese plate!)

Next morning, where the two had sat
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away!
But the truth about the cat and pup
Is this: they ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
(The old Dutch clock it told me so,
And that is how I came to know.)

Picture found here.