The Ramblings and Wanderings

Archive for July, 2009

Love this site. I realised to day that I have a submission for them, a replica Seahenge I came across walking along the beach of lake Okanagan, British Columbia (I should mention that this lake has a famous lake monster, the Ogopgo)

It must have been made during Halloween/Samhain as I found it the day after.

And I was walking with a real life Druid at the time!

I hope they accept it.

From Clonehenge:

“This blog is meant to form a searchable list of Stonehenge replicas from the megalithic follies of the 1800′s to the present. We include some notable examples of small homemade replicas along with the larger more permanent structures (and anything in between). We invite readers to inform us of modern henges we may have missed. Comments about what motivates people to build Stonehenge replicas are also welcome!”

“The henge form is able to manipulate the volition centers of the brain in a way that fools the victim into believing that in fact he or she thought of and executed the construction of his own free will.”

These spiritual window-shoppers,
who idly ask, ‘How much is that?’ Oh, I’m just looking.
They handle a hundred items and put them down,
shadows with no capital.

What is spent is love and two eyes wet with weeping.
But these walk into a shop,
and their whole lives pass suddenly in that moment,
in that shop.
Where did you go? “Nowhere.”
What did you have to eat? “Nothing much.”

Even if you don’t know what you want,
buy something, to be part of the exchanging flow.

Start a huge, foolish project,
like Noah.

It makes absolutely no difference
what people think of you.

***

I asked, “what do I see? Is it an angel or a being?”
Said “It’s neither an angel nor a being, is another, say no more”
“Tell me what is. I will fall apart. End my torment?”
Said, “Just fall apart, be tormented, say no more!”

***

We are as the flute, and the music in us is from thee;
we are as the mountain and the echo in us is from thee.
We are as pieces of chess engaged in victory and defeat:
our victory and defeat is from thee, O thou whose qualities are comely!
Who are we, O Thou soul of our souls,
that we should remain in being beside thee?
We and our existences are really non-existence;
thou art the absolute Being which manifests the perishable.
We all are lions, but lions on a banner:
because of the wind they are rushing onward from moment to moment.
Their onward rush is visible, and the wind is unseen:
may that which is unseen not fail from us!
Our wind whereby we are moved and our being are of thy gift;
our whole existence is from thy bringing into being.

***

I searched for God among the Christians and on the Cross and therein I found Him not.
I went into the ancient temples of idolatry; no trace of Him was there.
I entered the mountain cave of Hira and then went as far as Qandhar but God I found not.
With set purpose I fared to the summit of Mount Caucasus and found there only ‘anqa’s habitation.
Then I directed my search to the Kaaba, the resort of old and young; God was not there even.
Turning to philosophy I inquired about him from ibn Sina but found Him not within his range.
I fared then to the scene of the Prophet’s experience of a great divine manifestation only a “two bow-lengths’ distance from him” but God was not there even in that exalted court.
Finally, I looked into my own heart and there I saw Him; He was nowhere else.

~Rumi

The Song of Spells

145.
Those songs I know, which nor sons of men
nor queen in a king’s court knows;
the first is Help which will bring thee help
in all woes and in sorrow and strife.
146.
A second I know, which the son of men
must sing, who would heal the sick.
147.
A third I know: if sore need should come
of a spell to stay my foes;
when I sing that song, which shall blunt their swords,
nor their weapons nor staves can wound.
148.
A fourth I know: if men make fast
in chains the joints of my limbs,
when I sing that song which shall set me free,
spring the fetters from hands and feet.
149.
A fifth I know: when I see, by foes shot,
speeding a shaft through the host,
flies it never so strongly I still can stay it,
if I get but a glimpse of its flight.
150.
A sixth I know: when some thane would harm me
in runes on a moist tree’s root,
on his head alone shall light the ills
of the curse that he called upon mine.
151.
A seventh I know: if I see a hall
high o’er the bench-mates blazing,
flame it ne’er so fiercely I still can save it, –
I know how to sing that song.
152.
An eighth I know: which all can sing
for their weal if they learn it well;
where hate shall wax ‘mid the warrior sons,
I can calm it soon with that song.
153.
A ninth I know: when need befalls me
to save my vessel afloat,
I hush the wind on the stormy wave,
and soothe all the sea to rest.
154.
A tenth I know: when at night the witches
ride and sport in the air,
such spells I weave that they wander home
out of skins and wits bewildered.
155.
An eleventh I know: if haply I lead
my old comrades out to war,
I sing ‘neath the shields, and they fare forth mightily
safe into battle,
safe out of battle,
and safe return from the strife.
156.
A twelfth I know: if I see in a tree
a corpse from a halter hanging,
such spells I write, and paint in runes,
that the being descends and speaks.
157.
A thirteenth I know: if the new-born son
of a warrior I sprinkle with water,
that youth will not fail when he fares to war,
never slain shall he bow before sword.
158.
A fourteenth I know: if I needs must number
the Powers to the people of men,
I know all the nature of gods and of elves
which none can know untaught.
159.
A fifteenth I know, which Folk-stirrer sang,
the dwarf, at the gates of Dawn;
he sang strength to the gods, and skill to the elves,
and wisdom to Odin who utters.
160.
A sixteenth I know: when all sweetness and love
I would win from some artful wench,
her heart I turn, and the whole mind change
of that fair-armed lady I love.
161.
A seventeenth I know: so that e’en the shy maiden
is slow to shun my love.
162.
These songs, Stray-Singer, which man’s son knows not,
long shalt thou lack in life,
though thy weal if thou win’st them, thy boon if thou obey’st them
thy good if haply thou gain’st them.
163.
An eighteenth I know: which I ne’er shall tell
to maiden or wife of man
save alone to my sister, or haply to her
who folds me fast in her arms;
most safe are secrets known to but one-
the songs are sung to an end.
164.
Now the sayings of the High One are uttered in the hall
for the weal of men, for the woe of Jötuns,
Hail, thou who hast spoken! Hail, thou that knowest!
Hail, ye that have hearkened! Use, thou who hast learned!

Source: The Elder or Poetic Edda, commonly known as Sæmund’s Edda, part I: The Mythological Poems, edited and translated by Olive Bray (London: Printed for the Viking Club, 1908), pp. 61-111.

And since it is this verse that interests hedgewitches so much, here are a few other translations of that part:

I know this, the tenth:
If I see the hedge-riders magically flying high,
I can make it so that they go astray
Of their own skins, and of their own souls.

I know the tenth:
if I see witches
playing in the air,
I can so arrange it
that they go astray
from their proper shapes
and proper thoughts.

I know a tenth:
if troublesome ghosts
Ride the rafters aloft,
I can work it so they wander astray,
Unable to find their forms,
Unable to find their homes.

The tenth rune-spell that I know:
When the witches have gone Hedge-riding
I can close the gap in the Hedge
So that their minds and souls
Cannot find home and return to their bodies

Dentists Can Be Witches

Oh Paganism
Oh Witchcraft
I love thee so
Go mainstream dears
And let the masses Know
Let dentists be Witches
Fight for freedom and equality
And all that good stuff

But oh
My heart and soul
Do not ever, never, no
Oh Paganism
Oh Witchcraft
Become too mainstream
Too good
Too sweet
Oh no

Yes we must be family friendly
And not scare the muggles too much
But don’t be afraid to swear
Or wear purple hair
Or dress in renaissance clothes
Just keep quiet about it
When you dance nude in the woods
Or sacrifice a toad
Let our faith, our Craft
Have light, shadows
And the dark also

For if
Oh dears
Should the Soccer Moms ever rule over
My faith and my Craft
I shall have to lead an uprising
And you don’t want me to do that

Oh no

~ Juniper 2009

I buried Maia today. Maia was a 2 or 3-year-old black, white and brown beagle. Born into a puppy mill and kept there to become a momma, or breeder, she came to us obese, frightened, unsocialized and pregnant.

Now folks, lets makes perfectly clear here, there are excellent dog breeders, dog breeders, irresponsible dog breeders (back yard breeders generally fall into this category), bad breeders, and then there are puppy mills.

Puppy mills are to dog breeding as feedlots are to farming.

Think filthy dogs in small pens or cages, maybe stuck indoors hidden in a barn or shed, never seeing the sunlight, stacked row upon row, and on top of each other. Fed with automatic feeders (aka pig feeders) and such, their cages being cleaned out once a week by a person with kicking boots, a swinging shovel, a yelling voice and a garden hose.

Think half starved dogs lying in a mud-filled outdoor pen that may or may not be smaller than your living room. Shivering with cold or panting from the heat, fighting over not enough food. Drinking water out of shit and mud filled puddles and dirty dog dishes. Not just one pen with one dog, but several dogs each sharing a pen and there are many pens one after the other. Maybe they have an old car rusting in their pen as shelter, maybe a flea ridden and filthy dog house, if they are lucky.

You might never know they are there; often tucked away in a dilapidated barn you figure is just being used for storage. Or they are up in the “back forty” the back parts of a farm, hidden behind trees and bushes.

You probably won’t hear the dogs bark, for a pipe is often shoved down their throats to de-bark them. Or they are so badly beaten the first few times they bark, they never do it again. We have seen dogs rescued from such places take 3 months of loving care to make a sound, and then will run away in fear of being hurt for it.

When a bitch is in heat she is chased down and pulled out of her pen and then shoved into another pen with an equally mistreated male. These dogs might be related to each other, but chances are the mill owner doesn’t remember or care about such things.

If the male is too big or rough for the girl and he hurts her, if the female turns nasty during the mating and bites the male, they are kicked or water is dumped on them. If the male is lucky, he may receive treatment for his bite. If the female is lucky, she will receive an extra portion of food after being bred.

They are fed the cheapest possible dog food along with little more than slop or scraps. They may have a cow or pig carcass tossed into their pen every now and then. They are often fed just enough to stay alive, becoming emaciated, especially the males.

The females, because they are pregnant much of their lives, may be fed large quantities of cheap dog kibble, along with cow brains or pig hearts and gods knows what else. However with a complete lack of exercise and being over bred they often become dangerously obese.

They are not bathed, they are not groomed, their claws are not trimmed, their teeth are not cared for, the mats in their fur are not cut out, burs or sticks that get caught in their coat are not removed. A litter of pups off to the pet store or dog broker might be washed beforehand, and that is likely the first time they have ever seen clean water, let alone been truly clean them selves.

They are not housebroken, they do not know how to walk on a leash, they do not know how to “come” “sit” or “stay”, and their brains are not stimulated in any way. The only things they are taught are fear, pain, hunger and mind crushing boredom.

They are not given toys, they are not given blankets to lay upon, they are not given bones or treats, they are not petted or loved, they are not told they are good dogs, they do not see the outside world, they are not even given names.

The females and pups for sale might be de-wormed or treated for fleas, but often the boys are not. Not cost effective. This means they have to endure fleabites, mite bites, tick bites, mosquitoes and worms.

The best and brightest dogs are not the ones selected to be bred, as any dog will be bred. Even those who carry a genetic defect like a heart condition or an elongated soft palate.
Combined with the inbreeding and breeding strictly for looks you find happening too often amongst show dogs in kennel clubs, we have a serious issue on our hands. Too few people are breeding healthy dogs, for health, brains, ability, personality and then looks.

The mommas give birth alone and often unassisted in a small breeding pen, some newspaper and a brooder light (heat lamp) are her only comforts. She is bred twice a year from the time of her first heat (6 to 12 months) until she is too old or dies, often producing dozens upon dozens of puppies in her lifetime.

It is considered acceptable for 1 or 2 pups from each litter to die. If a momma has too many pups and she may struggle to care for them all, rather than supplementing the pups from a bottle and caring for them, the mill owner will simply kill the smallest ones. If the mill owner comes along in the morning to check the breeding pens and finds a dead mother and/or litter, he simply removes them and considers it a write off.

Minor injuries are typically not treated, left to become infected or worse. These dogs probably never see a vet. Any veterinarian, who saw a dog in the condition these dogs are in, would be making a report to the authorities. Unless the vet is on the make of course, receiving money under the table to look the other way.

Any dogs that come down ill or injured are simply taken ‘round back and shot, even the pregnant females. These dogs are simply livestock, even less than that, and they are easily replaced. There’s always another bitch due to whelp anytime now, after all.

The dead dogs are buried with the rubbish and farm waste. No words are said, no stones are lain, no pet funeral like the ones practiced in backyards and gardens all over the world. Here Man’s Best Friend is tossed away like garbage and then buried with a tractor or backhoe in a field or pasture somewhere.

The puppies are weaned and taken from their mommas as young as 5 weeks of age, far too young. This often causes them to have issues as grown dogs. For their mothers do not get to raise them at all, never mind in a proper environment. So they don’t know how to be dogs. They often have no idea how to greet other dogs or act around them, they are dogs that are spooked by everything for no apparent reason, they are difficult to train and take to new environments. They suffer terrible separation anxiety and display food aggression.

They may find themselves surrendered to a shelter by a frustrated family that has given up on the poor dog who seemed like a good idea when they bought him, on impulse, from a pet store a year ago. Not able to handle these dogs, the shelter often has to make the hard decision to put the dog down, if the dog goes to a no-kill shelter, they may never be adopted out because of their behavioural issues and spend the rest of their life in a kennel.

Welcome to a throw away society.

Maia was born into a puppy mill and by the time she was rescued and brought to us she was overweight, had never been indoors, and had never taken a treat from a human’s hand. She was afraid of the broom, mop and shovel. She was also sweet, desperate for love and to trust and has a gentleness to her that drew you into her dark brown eyes. I named her Maia which rhymes with Gaia.

Maia was also pregnant with an unknown male’s offspring. She was too fat and neglected to be having babies, but she was nonetheless. I gave her lots of good food and easy, rambling walks. I built her a lovely breeding box in the spare room of the house.

I was up all night with her as she gave birth. Stroking her and encouraging her, offering her drinks of water with a bit of corn syrup in it. She gave birth to three boys and five girls, all are strong and all the same colors of their mother.

I tied and cut each cord; “With these three knots I bless thee and welcome thee into the world”

I cleaned up the mess, gave Maia food and had the vet come by the next day to check her. All seemed to be well.

A few days later Maia was no longer doing so well, she was leaking too much fluid after giving birth, she wasn’t eating, her milk was not coming in anymore and she had a slight fever. The vet ruled out all the usual suspects, milk fever, puppy or placenta still inside, etc. All I could do was keep trying and hoping, I gave her antibiotics paid for with dear coin, and I gave her extra vitamins and protein.

But slowly and surely over the next 24 hours she began to slip away. The vet could do nothing more, I could do nothing more, he gave me some painkillers to ease her suffering. I began to bottle feed her babes as I kept watch and waited.

I waited.

I came back in to her room after having some lunch and found her laying just outside her babes box, on her soft blanket, so still, almost gone. She didn’t move as I lay down beside her and began to stroke her from head to tail. Her heart barely beat, her breathing almost discernible.

I told her she was a good dog, the best dog, that she was beautiful and gentle and sweet and a good momma. Her tail lifted ever so slightly for the last time, as she tried wagging it. I sang to her, sang the name she barely knew. I told her that the pain would stop soon, that she would be able to rest, that I would care for her babes.

I smiled in to her fading eyes, the last thing she saw.

I said, “That’s a good girl, Maia. I love you. Good dog.”

Then she died in my arms.

I wept and I raged. Then I bottle fed her babes.

I buried Maia today, in the garden beside the apple tree under the raspberry bush. Tomorrow or the next day, I might have to bury another. Such is the life of a rescuer.

Maia had 60 days of love, joy, comfort and safety in her life. Just 60 days.

I buried Maia today.

I’m so tired I deleted two excellent comments rather than approve them! Sorry about that!