Monthly Archives: August 2009

Celebrate all of Creation

You don’t have to climb mountains
Go through complicated rituals
Or follow some guru around
All you have to do
Is accept that you are part of god
And god is part of you
Failures, mistakes and fuck ups included
To honor the Creator
Celebrate all of Creation
Look around you
The air moves, the trees grow
Cells divide, suns are born
solar systems spin, ants march
animals die, leaves fall
fruit rots, lava flows
You breathe
Everything is always going
Doing, moving, flowing, growing, and changing
Do you really expect all this to suddenly stop and be still and calm and peaceful
Just because you have decided to meditate for thirty minutes?
Do you really expect a spiritual experience to always be a kind of stillness?
You cannot blank your mind
Or stop the growth of your Self
Any more than you could stop the wind
They are all parts of the same Whole
Just be
Breathe with the land
Love what you love
Celebrate all of Creation
Including yourself

A Pagan Cheer

I need pompoms and pigtails!

Grow Paganism!

Grow Paganism
Grow Witchcraft
Grow grow grow grow!
Turn Covens into Communities
Fam Trad into Clan Trad
Buy up whole city blocks
And turn them green
Show the whole damned world
That when we say Witch
This is what we mean!

Juniper

Along the Crooked Path

Along the Crooked Path

Along the crooked path we walk
Harmonizing with birdsong as we talk

We wander along a sun-dappled path
Through forests’ edge to meadows ahead
Summer’s sweet kiss gives warmth to the land
My steps now guided by a nice young lad

His lass bore a child before they wed
This the town folk would not understand
Beside my cottage now a cabin stands
He says he wants to be a conjure man

The garden blossoms as our family grows
All the herbs have been hung and dried
Horse and cow in the barn by the shed
I shall tell the children a story tonight

As they tuck into bed with the moonrise
I steal away and into the night
My heart and hands reach up high
I sing a song of sorrow and joy

Though my hearth now brims with love
The craft I work is still a road for one
Along the crooked path I walk


~ By Juniper 2009

Hearth Craft

Hearth Craft

An rud a nitear sa chuil, thig e dh’ionnsaigh an teine” ~ What’s done in the corner will come to the hearth.

“No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like the kitchen best” ~ A decorative plate that once hung in my Great Grandmother’s kitchen.

In these modern times, in Western society especially, the home of today is centered on the television. The furniture is placed strategically around it; the couch or sofa faces it and the faces of the family are also turned towards it. Often our most prized family photos, trophies, mementos and the like rest on or near it. Surely if archaeologists one day dig up the bones of our civilization, they will think the television was our God.

But before primetime TV and soaps operas took over our lives, before Nintendo and Xbox, the household and everyone in it would gather around the family stove, and before that, the hearth. The hearth was such in integral part of European (and Colonial) culture that there was no separating hearth and home, fireside and family. In fact, the word for “hearth” in Latin is “focus”.

Hearthcraft is working with the magick and… Continue reading

RePost: The Crooked Path

Because its my blog and I’ll post what I want to. Also because I have received requests to write a sequel so it is on my mind. What shall happen to our heroine?

The Crooked Path

Alone I walk the crooked path
A heavy basket upon my back

Through moonlit groves to home at last
Guided by dimming stars above my head
Through the valley and around the bend
With eager eyes do I see the gate ahead

Behind me lays the farmer’s hedge
Beyond the hill does my cottage stand
Away from village lights and prying eyes
I work a craft they cannot understand

My garden beckons while my dog does growl
Heavy basket goes into potting shed
Herbs to be hung with morning light
It is the stew pot that I seek tonight

Dog gets fed and cow is checked
I lay me down upon a lonely bed
I dare to dream of a village-life lived
With a family and a loving husband

But the life I lead is a road for one
In a creaking home blasted with cold drafts
Alone I walk the crooked path

~ by Juniper 2008

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