This Is Not a Game

I have this chess board…

In actuality it is a board that I purchased as a gift for the Giant many winters back. To my knowledge, I’m the only one who’s touched every piece and inch of it.

It’s set in smooth stone of red and black. Currently atop a field of deepest blue shearling, over my coffee table.

A beautiful glass coffee table that once was my mother’s. That once I would sit at and crawl under. A table whose glass edges once cut open a wide portion of the flesh on my jaw. A table I was afraid to mar up. Once marred with my blood. That I care for in a frenzy, knowing that my mother will never set foot in this house, but remembering still the feel of weight behind hand should I do wrong by what is set before me. I love this table, so I took it when I left.

Upon the fur that covers the glass top, sits my red and black chess board.

In opposite corners stand the queens. One red, one black. They pace the squares in time with the opposite, though never far behind. They circle the lines, as far apart as they can be.

One on red, one on black.

One moved each day, square by square. Each move measured. Whose turn comes when a chaos of tangled rules that never truly will be straight.

Soon they will draw closer.

Soon they will touch, base for base. Square for square. Red and black. Blood and brain. Then the outcome shall be drawn.

Then shall I drink. Red and black. Then shall I dance. Red. Black. Then shall I run. Red for black. Black for red.

Swallow it all and see what is left. See what rises. See which triumphs. What is melded. Which consumed.

One square at a time. One turn each day.

Black pauses for red.

Spring

I haven’t written anything for the blog in a while now. I’m pretty over due on a few of my self-inflicted deadlines as well. But I have still been writing. Not a lot, and nothing really for public consumption. I figure it still counts.

I’ve been trying to keep myself busy in non internet dependent ways. Which is a little tricky when I start getting melancholy or lonely. I can fake it online – I can busy myself in videos and articles and read everyone’s updates and current going’s on. Of course with that comes a lot of the reason that I want to avoid the internet in the first place. The mindless, time sucking distractions only being the tip of it all.

Avoiding the internet has led to a few other habits, which may be good or not depending on their long term value and result. I buckled down and started a clean out trend the other day. Going through my/our stuff and getting rid of things. Clothes, jewelry, stuff, clutter. I dropped my witch/altar stuff down to what I will actually end up using and reorganized the storage. Got rid of a good quarter of my clothes, things like that. I still have a lot to do, but these days any palpable progress is worth at least double its value.

I’ve been pretty depressed off and on. Sort of just fed up with a lot of things. Depression is something that I’ve struggled with for near as long as I can put a handle on memory-wise. I mean, I do remember times in my childhood where things were great. Where I moved with the joy and abandon a child should. But most lie between smudges and stains of forgotten things, unpleasantness and false events. Or else, what feel as though it were false. Given the backdrop of a young age, I think it’s valuable to be able to look at things through a lens of could be and possible fabrication.

My depression, I think, was encouraged mostly by situational matters. Abuses, traumas, and so on. The sorts of things that people will rail against hearing because, after all, you’re just bringing everyone down. The sorts of things that lead to being excluded from events and having the more well meaning of your group give you a heart to heart chat about how you really shouldn’t attend such-and-such event or party. Well trimmed words, all pale and pompous. Paternalistic.

You understand.

That’s the thing people don’t seem to get about depression. Anxiety. Or any number of other such things, I’m sure. Though I can speak only of my own reach.

It isn’t just an event. It’s not scheduled or controllable. It’s never just one instance or one emotion. It’s more of an undercurrent. Like the buzz or hum of cheap electrical cords. It’s there. Whether you notice it or not. And it will still be there, beneath the silence, ringing in your head as though your ears had recorded it. Echoing unnoticed, long after you’ve removed the offending wires. Even if your spouse, or friend, or neighbor never heard it at all.

Maybe that’s a bad analogy, but the feeling in my head tells me it’s good enough. That echoing repeating pattern.

Whether its chemical or hormonal or some sort of trauma, it doesn’t really matter. Sure the rise and fall may be different. The pitches and depths have a different tone. Maybe what sends one person spiraling will seem a joke to another. It’s still there. Even if you’re never troubled again. It’s still there.

It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the events or patterns of your past have been broken. Maybe you’re doing great. Months or years go by. You can have the lewdest, most inappropriate conversations about anything. You can watch and listen to the very worst and hardest stories or films. But one day you’re standing in line at a gas station and the man across the hall smiles at you. And you remember.

It may not haunt you, but it reveals itself. A little flash of skin and pain, like some dirty scrap of bone under the roses. All hidden in the polite white line of a stranger’s teeth. Maybe you shrug it off and go about your day… and maybe three days later it torments you in the dark of the bathroom drain.

Brains are funny things that way. Memories, even more so.

There are a lot of things I don’t remember, whether due to some bizarre psychological block, medication, or alcohol. Some of them I’d love to know. There were good moments in there. Photo shoots on the railroad tracks, running through the waves at the beach… my heart tells me these were good times. but they’re mere snapshots in my head. A single photocopied Polaroid on my hard drive. The remembered sensation of the sun on my chest as someone laughs. Full and loud, and at my expense.

Between them are others that I would like to remember. Faceless men in the shadows. Pains, that I can guess, but whose cause is simple not on file. I know these things happened. Between what I remember and what is lost to black in the hollows of my skull. I would remember these too, though they are often what drives my anxiety. Though they sometimes come with the word or phrase, the turn of a grin, that will send me back into the hardest peaks of depression. They happened and they are important to me. They changed things. There were choices made and memories forged. Faces and names that should not be forgotten… if only to keep them at bay in the future. If only so that they cannot ambush you in the parking lot of Starbucks.

Lately I’ve been depressed. Just sort of dragging low. I’ve been inclined to ignore and avoid everything. To sink beneath the metaphorical covers and let my head be enveloped in feather and furs. Hide from it all, keep the thoughts from spiraling. Do nothing. See nothing. Be nothing.

There’s a lot in there that is the cause or effect of fear. Also of resistance. To some nameless looming bridge, and to the hollow, emptied banks beneath. I find myself staring at the artwork of others. Watching mindless YouTube videos and filling my sight with things that never were my own.

I’ve been playing a lot of video games. Occupying myself with fiction and events impossible or unreal. They give me purpose and siphon out stress. Recreation for the sake of recreation.

And sometimes, in the lull between songs, as I clean or arrange my altars. I think of those things I should write, those things I have written and am writing. I’ll make a list of things I would type or say if I had the strength of iron in me, a brass and steel circle… the bowl in which to set my heart afloat in blood, above the core of power within my ribs. I think about them. I sound them out in my head. Maybe I whisper them to myself. No sound, only the trace of lips. To make them real, at the line and swirl of my tongue. Not so real that I’d have to see them. That I could hold or caress them beneath my palms.

I hold too much fear, I know. But I hold it in hands that are clawed. I hold it out so that I may see it. In the shadow. In sunlight. In the bright burning red or purple that comes from within and beneath. Beyond.

As a lion. I wonder if it is something I could swallow.

I wonder if it is anything which I must embrace, overcome. I grow still and ponder how best it can be consumed and reshaped.

Myself… I am alone. Which is good.

We each are alone. Beneath the layers. No matter how many read our words and smile and applaud and praise us… still they are separate, still they are far. As it is and should be. Alone we must consider our own shit. Alone we can discover if we are made of stuff which will withstand or will simple crack and shatter beneath the weight of living.

And so it is… I write on my own, for my own. I sing to my gods in a broken voice not suited to such melodies. I use my hand to shape by word and by more physical means, though my fingers are not so nimble as the spiders that skitter over head. I watch and I listen… though I am as rash and obstinate as any.

Mortal frames are not made for much, but mortal frames contain far more. So I sit and work and write those things which I cannot understand, which I no longer know, which I may never grasp in the flesh and pop of tendon.

I neglect public things, because now is the time to shatter feet from glass and move. Though they may drag bloody and broken behind. Summer is on the rise… coming, daunting, threatening as ever. I saw the first tiny dragonflies last week in the heat and burn of the sun on the broken field.

With summer comes madness. Rut and hunt and blood pumping heights. And if you cannot survive the spring, you may as well fall as the flowers withering already on the vine.

To live sometimes means pain. Sometimes means doubt and fear and frenzy. It is time to take stock and sift through what’s left so that we can move forward.

My madness may at times be deep, but it is the madness born of my Queen. There is no room for cowardice and evasion here.

Myth

I received an interesting prompt suggestion the other day from Atlanta on Tumblr about my opinions of the use of myth and all in relation to Hera. Specifically in what I thought there was to learn about or from her through those stories in which she is depicted negatively.

And please correct me if I’ve misunderstood or presented that poorly.

When I first read the prompt I thought, oh no problem, I talk about that kind of thing a lot. It’s funny to me to think now that I am actually sitting here and trying to put into words what I feel is true in this regard… because for the most part when somebody brings these things up, I will tell them it’s irrelevant. That it doesn’t matter. I will ask what they think the eternal Queen of all has to be jealous of, truly? I will discount and brush off questions about her relationships with other deities, as depicted in later myth and story. I will tell you just that… It doesn’t matter.

Not because I am afraid to answer or to share my opinions, and not because I do not know, but because I believe it to be the most appropriate response.

It just doesn’t matter.

Which may not be the most plain and direct truth, if we are to speak plainly of it.

Rather, it is the most appropriate answer to the intent of the questions or subject.

Often times the questions being posed, the fact and facets that are actually being sought in these moments, are more centered around Hera herself. And I do not believe that you need these stories to understand her. I don’t think that you need to know who and what and how all the mythic relations played out to reach out or to initiate a communication with her.

But that does not make them unimportant.

Stories are endlessly important. Whether they are true or not. And especially stories from times long past… histories, folk tales, words of fiction and magic, sagas of gods and the misfortune of humanity. It’s all important, but that does not make it true and it does not make it necessary.

At least not in this way.

I think that myth, by and large, is representative and symbolic…. and I’m sure that there are many ways to decipher metaphor and allegory from them, as Atlanta mentions… but that isn’t quite what I look for.

Especially in the context of those deities which were involved with human kind it seems to me more important to look at why these myths and stories were crafted the way that they were, and what that tells us about the people who wrote them, then to puzzle through the validity of a jealous queen or a flimsy war hero.

Just think for a moment…

• What sort of mother told her children these tales?
• What sort of person wrote them down for future generations?
• Why were some aspects more important than others?
• Why were some emotions and traits exaggerated? And why only in certain individuals?
• Which were recurring and which mentioned singularly?
• What does this represent of the mortal psyche and the everyday functioning of the people?

That is the sort of thing that I see when I look at myth. Especially given the sources that are available to us today… we do not have the stories as they progressed from tongue to ear… we have later variations from limited regions in limited language. Full with cultural bias and the privilege of the individual who wrote them.

So when it comes to a goddess such as Hera – or even one such as Zeus, Apollo, Aphrodite, Hermes – all these gods that are often much invested in humankind, the way they are adapted over time, in worship and legend, the way their ideals and images develop to suit modern concepts is what I find interesting. But this is a rather narrow interest that many may not share, and really isn’t the sort of thing that will be easy to hash out in a single blog entry without the sources and comparison to flesh it out.

In the case of Hera, I find it interesting to note, not the ways in which she is often painted as vile and her actions treated with derision, but that she survived as an image of power in an increasingly patriarchal world – as a major female figure at a time when women were increasingly reigned in and controlled.

In many ways she is used to display the many aspects and perceived faults of the female character. A creature shaped to stand symbol for many of the social ideas spreading wildly at the time. She is known in myth for the exaggerated elements of jealousy, obsession, vanity, pettiness… all things that even today are associated with the wrongful behavior of women. But still she was honored by many, her cult did not diminish and vanish under the weight of a world changing beneath her feet and face.

If I were to point out any strong lessons that I feel are relevant to my goddess that also shine through her mythic portrayal, they would be of those power and of strength in character.

Hera is often portrayed as standing in positions of forced subjugation and abuse, and yet her head does not bow. She does not bend at the forces that are lobbied against her, but instead finds ways around them or stands through without blinking. She holds true to her character… and is not diminished for the ways that she is painted and used to further social and cultural pressures… and that is an interesting facet in and of itself.

Beyond that I’d say one of the more interesting elements to be gleaned from these tales are those of the use and misuse of power, the inherent dangers of temper unchecked, and the necessary limits of vanity.

As a sovereign goddess these are in line with her character as I have always known her… proper conduct is a quality of value to her… she honors those who stand with righteous action and right reason.

These stories aren’t just about the gods. They aren’t a direct and literal course of what truly happened from which we may understand deity… I truly believe that they say more about the place, time, and practices of those who wrote and shared them then of any divinity or event.

Myth and story by virtue of their existence hold ulterior motives.

So I will tell you that they are not necessarily relevant – not really – because their importance lies beyond what is plain to see in surface words alone.

Poseidon

It occurred to me earlier, while writing out all the things I’d need right now in an escape trip to the ocean, that one of the major deity relationships in my life, is a remarkably physical one.

I think it’s interesting to look at the different ways in which we interact with other people… some of it’s purely contextual, and some of it’s just a certain mesh or clash of personalities. We’ve all had that friend that we shared things with even though we knew it was a bad idea, just like we all know someone who will never actually be involved in every part of our world. There’s not necessarily anything wrong with that… it’s just sort of the way things are. People are amazingly different in so many ways, it’s only natural that there are resultant differences in the way we fit together.

In my experience, in all that I’ve seen or heard and observed, it seems to be very similar with the way an individual interacts with deities and entities outside of humankind.

This is often a source of confusion or conflict in the realm of pagans, polytheists and all… there are far too many variations to list all together… because what one person experiences or defines in a relationship with a deity, may translate to something rather different from what others find and know. In as much as they are able to express of their personal processes and emotional responses.

I know that says a lot more about me, then about the topic addressed. As I am a hard polytheist who puts high value in the emotional range of humanity and the understandings and realities that are born there from.

So even when I do not understand, or strongly disagree, I like to hear what other people are getting out of any one thing, aspect, deity, or transition… I feel that it’s one of the more interesting and relevant pieces of human interaction. The processes by which we view the worlds around us and the collaboration of struggle in trying to hold a solid conversation about it.

It seems to me that sharing of our own very personal experiences, struggles, feelings, and longings is one of the most human things we can do… to feel and to participate in the exchange of reality with those around us.

It is in that respect that I am sharing with you now, a little bit about my direct dealings with Poseidon.

I know I mentioned above a relationship which is very physical in nature… but I did not mean sexual. Not directly.

To really explain this fully, to really understand what I mean when I speak of the very visceral way in which I respond to him, is really to fully express the way I feel about the ocean.

I know I’ve discussed this somewhat in the past, on the blog and in other places.

Just as the sea will rush and cycle upon the shore, in waves that caress and pull and tug and crash… so too is the feeling, the energetic exchange I experience when I am with Poseidon. He exhilarates me, as the waters exhilarate me. Every skin tingling, surface freezing, deep down warming caress of the waters, is a reflection of the touch of his hands upon my body and heart.

When I feel him, it is not merely a feeling of mind or spirit, it is a feeling in my body… a quaking, rushing, gentle touch… like the crush of rock between anvil and velvet.

It may sound contradictory, but it is not.

It is the ocean.

It shifts and changes… it pulls and rests… it may be sweet or it may destroy. And it is never really one or the other. Not entirely. It is all. It is the in between.

I know I said it’s not sexual, my interaction with Poseidon. And that is true. I do not have relationships of a sexual nature with any of my deities… but it is visceral. It is of the body, as well as the soul. It is never really devoid of physicality. My blood rushes for him, and my heart beats ever faster. My limbs shake and my core is strengthened, tightened… It may not be sex, but it is not devoid of arousal.

When I stand in the waters, this is what I feel. All of it. One day it may be more of pain or grief… because my life is never truly devoid of these things. Another it may be joy, the titillating prickle of arousal over the skin, the urge to laugh and scream into the skies… that nearly unbearable longing that rushes just under the surface and urges you ever onward and is just this side of orgasm.

Sometimes, that’s what it is to be with him.

Sometimes it’s the eternal calm of pools, the quietly rippling… all movement beneath the surface… all contentment.

Other times it is a rushing, pulling rage. As the water sucks out far from the shores and the sands are trudged and the rock line shifted, and all is in waiting for the final crash… all is still in the void that is the absence of the waters… the space which is absent of fears and actions. Watching. Waiting for the fall.

This took a turn far more… abstract, then I had intended. But still it is all true.

When I stand with him, he is a buzzing in my chest, the central ribs and down… when I walk for him, he gives me strength… Bones of coral beneath the knees, where proper calves should be. I stand for him and I pour out my offerings upon the waves, and I whisper because I have taught myself not to scream… not aloud… not by voice or throat… and I laugh with the rush of him and I am filled and washed clean. I dunk myself in his waters, no matter how cold, and I stand erect and smiling… dazzling and dazzled… gazing out into the endless expanse that I would gladly let swallow me whole, but for the earth, but for the world.

Liebster

So I got another one of those blog pass-along award things. The same award, given to me by two different people within a day of each other. A Liebster Award.

“The Liebster Award is given to up and coming bloggers who have less than 200 followers. The word “Liebster” comes from German and can mean the sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, most beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing, and welcome.”

So thanks are in order both for the wonderful 4 of Wands and for the lovely Dionysian of a Changing Altar… who actually posted about this on his tumblr. But it’s all the same in the end.

I think I would first like to say that these are both blogs that I enjoy greatly, run by wonderful dedicated individuals. I love the way they write about their gods and the general openness I’ve seen in their character. 4 of Wands is a new one by me, but I really like to see the process of a devotee of Zeus, out in the open. Anyway, they’re both lovely, so check them out.

So, here are the Rules:

Thank the person who nominated you.

When you receive the award, you post 11 random facts about yourself and answer the 11 questions asked by the person who nominated you.

Pass the award onto 11 other blogs (while making sure you notify the blogger that you nominated them!) You write up 11 NEW questions directed towards YOUR nominees.

You are not allowed to nominate the blog who nominated your own blog!

Random Facts:

1. I always feel like these facts about me lists are very forced for the first few… then I slip in and stop worrying. And often feel the urge to do more, once I’ve done the allotment.
2. I use a cane some of the time. Less than I maybe should, for comfort and ease. I get some bad reception in public when I use the cane. Not the looks and all, I can deal with that. Other things. People tend to get more aggressive with me. For instance, grocery shopping is a nightmare. I get cut off, bumped out of the way… I’ve even had my cane kicked a few times. And I don’t get the usual courtesies either. Like when people hold doors open. It’s far more rare when I have my cane, then when I do not.
3. This behavior baffles and disgusts me. And really makes me feel the privilege of not needing it all of the time.
4. I have a hard time keeping track of time. Of dates and days and hours.
5. I have an open door policy with the gargoyles of the area.
6. I have had many crises in my time… but only once a crisis of faith… my turmoil is almost always centered around my place in things, and almost exclusively with relation to people.
7. I have a sort of love affair with the ocean… violent, torrential, heavy, teeming… irresistible and unending.
8. I have a similar relationship with the sky… and storms… the rending fall of rain, the curl and push and rush of cloud… the scattering of lightning and the quivering shake of thunder.
9. I have a cat, called Anise. Who sits in the windows and talks with the crows when she thinks no one is paying attention to her.
10. I enjoy honest discussions most of all… when you can probe and prod and question without worrying that you will offend anyone, without worry that your curiosity will be viewed as aggression.
11. I have occasional issues with depression and anxiety… More the anxiety than the depression these days. Even over the internet, it can be hard for me to handle.
12. You get a twelfth because I will soon be breaking these rules. For your twelfth, I give you a random post it poem … this one is dated from January 2nd.

burning hearts and virgin’s

sweat -

beautiful still more

then the threat

or

defeat

Questions from 4 of Wands

1. Do you like homemade gifts?
   Very much.
2. Why or why not?
   I feel that, both for the giving and the receiving, homemade gifts take more. They take the time and the thought… they take a piece of the self to construct and create, to give of a loved one something that you have put so much of yourself into… I think that’s a very special thing. Not that purchased gifts are necessarily without sincerity or depth… but that, generally speaking, homemade objects hold more of it by virtue of their process. From first idea to final conception.
3. If pain, money, fading and society reactions were not a factor: what type of tattoo would you get?
   I actually have several tattoos already, so the societal conformity, pain, and fading are not really factors for me… Personally, the reason I do not have more tattoos right now is because I’m broke. More so than most people realize. I think that if there were one tattoo that I’ve put off for any reason though, it’s this… I’ve always imagined something delicate, intricate, but simple that played over the lines of my collar bones. However, I cracked one of them in a car accident when I was younger, and I can’t stand having anyone touch it. At all. It gives me shivers and is just unpleasant. So that is one that will take a lot of will power to get through.
4. What super power would you like to have?
   I always thought that the ability to either become invisible or to mingle into shadows or some such would be highly useful.
5. Polyamory:  for or against? Considering I’m actually in a polyamorous sort of relationship, I suppose I should say for. It works for us. I have no judgement for others though. One of the best relationships I know of is a monogamous one. I don’t think there’s really room for any of us to judge for another… I certainly don’t buy into the all humans are naturally x nonsense. If that were currently a legitimate fact, it wouldn’t really be an argument, now would it?
6. Have you ever fired a gun?
   Oh yes, several.
7. Which thing that I have written do you like the best?  (Yeah stroke my ego!)
   Oooh… shit, I don’t know. I only recently ran across your blog, so I’m sure there’s something in there that I love and would immediately turn to… but for now, let’s see… I think I remember reading something on your blog about Zeus Meilikhios that I enjoyed… and I know reading your post of Horos Dios gave me a lot to think about.
8. Predestination:  yes or no? Wow, had to look that one up to make sure I knew what I was answering – fun fact, after a stint with anti-depressants I have funny blanks in memory that come to stalk me at the oddest times. Anyway… you know, I may lose cred with this one, but I don’t know. My inclination is to say no. I don’t think that all is mapped out for certain in all things, all ways. It’s actually part of my main function of world view that while there are events or places that are one way without change, that there are often very different paths and variations and that one foreseen future need not be the only one or the one that will actually come to pass. Now I say I don’t know because who’s to say I’m right? Or wrong for that matter. I could be wrong, and I don’t need to know it. I hold my beliefs to heart and I am not doubtful of their truths… though I am open to considering other possibilities and then reconsidering… There are some of those big major how the universe works forever ultimate type questions, that I actually just don’t need to know the answers to. It drives some people mad… but that’s why the weirdness here. Short answer, I think not.
9. Polytheist:  hard, squishy or soft?
   Hard.
10. What is your perception of Zeus?
    I’m laughing right now… for real. If you knew a few dozen things about me, you’d know that this question, coming up like this, is a cosmic kick to the ass. Joking aside. I adore Zeus. Adore him. He is a big part of my personal religious world. He has helped me through countless things, in countless ways. I am devoted to him completely. Now I don’t know what I’m actually supposed to say in answer to this question. But that’s the simplest and truest answer I have. I adore him, my beautiful and true Sky Lord.
11. What do you think I ought to know about you?
    Ooh, what an odd question. My first impulse is to ask ‘what would you like to know?’ But that’s not what this question is about… this question is one of tricksy business. And that’s the truth. What should you know about me? I am a Trixi woman and all that entails… I am the spider and the snake, the lion, the owl, the vulture. I am an old hag in a young body… I am the hermit who flaunts and struts in crowds. I sit in the tides of the ocean and I curl up within the hearts of the oldest rocks and the deepest of roots. I am the one who screams for loves betrayal and flesh torn asunder. And I am an eternal optimist, despite knowing better.

Questions from a Changing Altar

1. What magical/mutant power would you like most to have, and why?
   I think it’s hilarious that both of you asked this question, for the record. I responded with invisibility type powers above… but the other thing I’ve always dug about superhuman/superhero/mutant powers was the idea of elemental control. It’s one of the things I like about rpg games, actually. (yea, I went there) I like the idea of the witch who can harness the storm, lightning in her fist… Or the child who can breathe in the waters and harness the floods. The man who brings fire with a small thought and a widening of the eyes. As to which I’d prefer… it really depends on the day and my mood. Today I think either winds and air or water.
2. If you are at all witchy, what is the one ingredient you include in almost all your spells.If not, what element or object do you include in almost all your rituals?
   I am witchy, in all. One piece or ingredient or element? Uhm, probably incense. I don’t actually do a lot that’s the same… I suppose I use words a lot, whether written or pictured or whispered spontaneous chant… but I love incense. Thick smoke that clouds the house and annoys the cat… It will get me in the zone like nothing else. I love smoke.
3. Favourite time of the year?
   Fall probably, with winter a close second. That whole half of the year really. The final peak of summer, when the whole of things are beginning to fall to decay and chill and you can smell the breath of winter threatening change… all the way through the cold and the rain and the frozen lands… the days when fog hangs thick over the property and I can’t see a thing beyond my car… when even your breath is lost in the mist, despite the cold. I love it. It brings me endless joy, the long nights and the dark skies.
4. What show, artist, band, etc. do you consider your shameful little secret?
   Hm… I don’t know. I’ve read all of the Anita Blake books several times, up through the disaster of one book, which shall not be named. Sorry, it just was so not on par with the rest of the writing. I continued reading even after the plot became more sex than story, and began to be tired, boring sex. So I guess that counts. Especially when I look back at the weird way in which the main character interacts with food. It explained a lot of my high school mentality, that. But in general, I’m good with the things I enjoy, even these. I do not feel shame for them. I enjoy them, so I enjoy them fully.
5. Polkadots, or stripes?
   Stripes.
6. What is your least favourite word?
   I… don’t know that I have one. My least favorite word related thing though… would probably be when people take words and use them to explain things that they don’t actually apply to at all. Like when they read the quickie word a day thing and then just stretch or totally redefine them after way too much thinking about it. I get over it after a few times, but at first, before I accept it as a part of the persons deal, it drives me nuts.
7. What is your favourite thing to scream?
   Okay, we’ll go pg with this… My favorite thing to scream? I think I’d rather scream for the sake of screaming, for the sake of release and sound and wordless emotion, tearing raw from the throat. Interestingly, I rarely scream – sex aside – I really don’t get loud. I occasionally accept encouragement when drinking to be more boisterous, more forward… but even than, I’m not loud. A childhood of being taught to blend in is a hard thing to break. Or maybe it’s more, maybe it’s actually that I’m quiet by nature. My laugh is the loudest thing about me.
8. When/where/with what do you feel most powerful (as a person, or as anything else…you pick.)
   When I walk down the road under dark skies, alone, surrounded by the beasts of this land I make my home on… and I walk with danger, and with sex, and with the whole of my being… on sturdy feet, despite the pain. I don’t make separations from who I am as a witch/lover/housewife/sister… the greatest separation in my person is my role as a priestess, and that is one of necessity for obligation and responsibility. But when I walk because I own it all, because I say that I own it all, and I feel the earth strike hard on my feet, and I feel the watching eyes of the ether step back. That’s a feeling of great power… and a feeling I love desperately.
9. What do you do when life gives you lemons?
   You burn life’s fucking house down. With the lemons.
10. What are the top five listened to tracks on your iTunes/iPod right now?
    I don’t know… ever since I updated iTunes it’s been very temperamental and currently won’t even let me look at the moment.
11. If you could be perfect at any skill or ability, what would it be and why?
    Hell… I don’t know. I actually don’t know that I would want to. Honestly, I think that the many ridiculous imperfections that we as human beings have are sort of what makes us who we are… what we are. So I hesitate to make any such statement or choice… this smacks of a curse to me… being so perfect at any one thing… there are so many downsides. Everything I think of to answer with, is actually something that I’d love to be great at… truly great… but not perfect and complete with.

And here is where I cheat. Because I’m not going to nominate anyone.

Why would I do this? Mainly because I don’t feel like it. And as for the rest, well, it doesn’t really matter.

So instead I will end this with a few things… because I’m actually really and completely grateful for the wonderful people I’ve found through this blog. Seriously, I treasure each of you, and I love to read your comments, and I love even more when there’s actual discussion going on here. And I want to remind you, that I am always – always – open to more. Leave me comments, send me messages on tumblr or twitter… send me an *email if you like.

You guys really make this all worthwhile.

Random bonus fact: I am completely sappy and overly emotional and ridiculous. And I wouldn’t change that for anything.

_____________________

* smokefromthetemple (at) gmail (dot) com

Amid the Flurry

It’s getting to be that time, folks.

Truth be told, I think it’s a bit far past that time, but the year has stacked things oddly against our best efforts… as time and fortune often do.

Still we are coming up on time for the Ancestral Winter Feast. Which we have stricken to fall next Saturday, Primal Heart and I… much too soon and yet, still there is time. At least I will continue to tell myself there is.

This is a tradition which we have heartily embraced and created around the premise of one of the holy days celebrated by the illustrious Ms. Dirty. Who will never cease to amaze and impress me with her dedication and general awesomeness.

What we do is, in fact, maybe a little different from what others may… and it’s a practice which I hold as immensely beautiful and sacred.

The feast itself is intended as an honoring of the dead… a feast for those fallen. For our beloved and for the wandering hungry.

As laid out it is a time to research and prepare dishes which may hold ancestral importance. Traditional items. Items which have cultural relevance, as well as family favorites.

I’m feeling a little overwhelmed, and more than a little unprepared. But still it’s important to carry on… No matter how I feel I have missed the mark or failed in my plans. Because in the end it’s not about me. It’s not about the living, not really. It’s about coming together to celebrate our history, the shared and the disparate. It’s time to feed those whose bodies are no longer. To feed the wandering and the unnamed, as well as the well-loved and tended.

Because that’s what winter time is for, in many ways… it’s a time of hunger and lack, the earth is dormant and the skies grow chill and unforgiving… and so we feed back into the world and beyond the world. We give of ourselves and our bounty, and we insure the well-being of our kin and our souls.

For Primal Heart and I, it’s also a time to feed the living.

We chose last year, to take this spectacularly beautiful event and bring it to our community. To offer the time and place for our nearest to share of their ancestral history and to feed their own beloved fallen at the same table. We feed the living as well as the dead.

It may only be the second year we’ve participated in this tradition, but I intend to keep it going far longer… to bring together our loved ones, to gather by table and candle… loading plates full, and setting altars tall with food and drink. Opening the doors beyond those of wood and frame for those spirits who hunger to join us in feast. To feel once more the warmth of food shaped by heart and intent and honor… to roll in the laughter and commemoration of a witches with their eyes pointed in all directions. All times.

I’m still working on the more realistic list for this feast, and many things await my attention… but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I am so looking forward to celebrating another year feeding my beloveds.

a Common Misconception

I actually have a lot of things that I need to get done right now.

Coven business, house work, personal developments, you name it and it’s likely somewhere on the growing list of things I should probably be doing other than typing. But instead I wanted to write a little something up that’s been in my mind the last week or so.

Now, I have been Hera’s for longer than I could possibly relay to you… and that funnels down through a whole mess of talk about souls and layers of cosmological philosophies… but the one reaction I get consistently from other people, pagan and otherwise, is the incredulousness that anyone would dedicate themselves to anyone like Hera.

There are insults flung casually, accusations… a lot of talk about jealousy and spite… allusions to concepts of female frigidity, spitefulness, along with words like hate and evil… and then there’s always one that stands apart from all the rest. Which is rarely outright defined, but frequently alluded to.

And that is the idea or assumption that Hera hates men.

Usually these accusations are backed up by vague notions of Greek myth and culture… and more than a little bit of victim blaming bullshit.

They like to paint a picture of a battered wife, who was just so horrible that her abuse was the only possible reaction that any around her could take. They illustrate all the ways in which she has been depicted as vile toward her husband, all the ways they have heard of or imagined her to be a neglectful and violent mother… and they sum it all up to two facts.

That she clearly hates men.

That her behavior has led to her troubles.

I’m not going to dig into that mess… not here and not today… This is not the time for us to delve into the variations on marriage, force, rape, or consent in the decades of continually altered myth. Nor is this the time to strike out the Zeus vs Hera debacle. The concepts themselves though, those are worth looking at.

If there’s one thing that nearly everyone will agree on – with exception to those who insist her only legitimate role is one of house wife – it’s that Hera is not one to stand idly by if she has a problem with something.

I have always found it more than a little noteworthy that the concept of a strong-willed, decidedly none patriarchal female figure will encourage raving and insult whether she be a poor woman on the streets with a paper sign or an ancient all-powerful deity who many insist is fictional. The parallel of goddess queen and feminist bitch.

Both who get cries and finger points of one ridiculous claim after the other.

‘She’s just ugly, that’s why. She’s just jealous.’

‘She hates men, that’s all.’

‘If she shut up and got laid, she wouldn’t be like this.’

‘No wonder she was [hurt/abused/raped]. She’s such a harpy.’

And if you’re nodding along imagining only male voices saying these things, you’re still off base. I’ve heard all this and more from women, at least as often as I’ve heard it from men.

The patriarchy isn’t actually about gender, not really… though many are punished and violated and deflated because of their gender, or because they choose to live a life outside of what the world tells them their gender ought to be. Though they may use an idealized conception of masculinity as pet model, the patriarchy affects all people, and the patriarchy is enforced by people from all angles and walks. And I strongly believe this to be the truth. I’ve seen it consistently. And only more so in the years I’ve been a public priestess.

I mention this in part because I think that many do not realize that it’s happening, but also because I think it’s important to point out at this juncture that the horrible way people treat women and degrade feminists… is also used in relation to the way we interact and interpret the divine.

This should be no surprise to anyone. Many of us within the pagan community work with spirits and deities that have been strongly anthropomorphized. Both in image and in trait. In part so that we can understand them, so that our limited mortal view of the universe can better accept and interact with something so beyond our own limited sphere of experience.

For some, it’s easier than for others to grok the nature of non human entities… and that’s just the way it is.

But just as it is disturbing at times how easily a person, male or female, will jump to insult and attempt humiliation when they are dealing with a human woman… It’s equally baffling when the same treatment is applied without thought, to deity.

Is Hera a goddess of women? Yes, but also of human kind.

Is Hera a goddess in line with feminist practice and concepts? Yes.

Does this mean then, that she hates men?

Do you have to hate men to up hold ideals of feminism and basic human equality? Of course not, though some do. It can be difficult to surpass emotional hurdles, trauma and fear… and that is their journey, and one of extreme importance and sanctity… but it is far from a requirement.

In many spheres Hera was honored and still is by some of us today… but I’ve noticed a trend to limit her in this way, as only a woman’s goddess.

As only concerned with women’s business.

As one far removed from anything not easily labeled by what is feminine and proper.

I’ve spoken with people who actively discourage men from approaching her. And why shouldn’t they?

I’ve also heard claims that she despises non hetero identifying people, that she hates non cis identified people.

These are obviously broader issues that would take a much longer, more intense conversation to properly lay out. Some of which I am not qualified to lead a discussion on. But I can tell you that it’s not true. I can tell you that I have never experienced anything at all that proves to me that she favors any one group or identity over another. I can tell you that she is equally open to all who wish to approach her.

She values forthrightness and honesty. She values those who keep their words and vows.

She values strength of character and heart. She values those who would defend what is just and right. She values the woman who stands up for herself. She values the person who will stand up for those who are unable to rise on their own.

Do any of these sound like traits of exclusivity to you?

Obviously this is all just some quick off the cuff sharing… these are things that rub me wrong, but that I’ve become accustomed to over time. And they are only my opinions and my views… but that’s sort of the point of sharing of myself and my work… sort of the point of having a blog at all, really. To share my views and opinions. No matter how personal or contrary they may seem to some.

So what do you think? Do you ever see things like this happening around you? Have you ever been told you could not or should not approach a deity or spirit or some such because you didn’t fit certain qualifications? I’m especially hoping to hear anything you might have to share in matters of orientation and identity.