I am going in a million different directions with writing and bringing back the podcast. I’d like to hear from you, dear readers/listeners: what I should focus on more. For the blog, for No Unsacred Place and for the podcast. So, ask me a question (I might answer it) or give me a suggestion. Shameless begging for encouragement and redirection, I know.

If you’ve emailed me or are waiting to hear back from me for some reason, I’m sorry. I am really terrible at never getting back to people. I’ll try to get caught up!

Cheers

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I feel funny. Light headed. Pupils not dilated but seeing tracers. Very thirsty. Bad taste in my mouth. Lips are numb. I smell like a dead duck. Difficult to form proper words (ok, not that difficult).

Big bonus is having a friend to lovingly wash grease off your back for you. Tip: use dish soap.

Difficult to type coherently, yay for spell check. Fully expect my journey to continue in my sleep. Weird dreams tonight. Texting the cute boy right now is probably a bad idea. Doing it anyway.

Good night.

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1)      Grey is not an idiot

2)      Grey is not interested in recreational drugs and getting high (that’s my job in our household)

3)      Grey is not a newbie

4)      Grey is doing it for all the right reasons

Grey is a Hearthwitch, so ointment was the way to go. Hearthwitches like making things on the stove.  Since Grey is an experienced Witch with brains in her head, I acted more as a consultant in her quest to make ointment.  I directed her to some books on my shelf and talked about the various possibilities for ingredients, rituals and such. Then I left her to her research.

For the whole of the winter she studied, took notes, asked questions and weighed her options. She considered her purpose, contemplated symbolism, meditated, talked it out with her spirits … you know, all the things you’re supposed to do before you take your first step on the poison path.

When All snakes Day (such as it is) rolled around, she purchased a duck and brought it home. Appropriate offerings were made before she skinned it. I gave her my sharp knife to use, because it’s better than our regular kitchen knives for such purposes. I went to bed while she was still rendering fat. The smell of the duck fat filled the house and I wound up closing my bedroom door and spraying my bed with scent to cover it up, just so I could get some sleep. I’m not a fan of bird-cooking aromas.

The next morning, Grey was ready to start making the actual ointments. I ran about our house, digging through various boxes and shelves for the dried plant matter and red ochre to be used. I am not an organized Witch. Half my stuff will be in the basement, the other half in the Craft room, whatever.

I had advised Grey that colouring your ointment makes it easier not only to place it on your body using sigils and symbols, but also much easier to get it off afterwards. You know, because it can clearly be seen upon your skin. We already had red ochre in the house, and it’s a personal favourite. And … well you know, red ochre. (If you don’t know, you should know, so go learn about red ochre.)

We sained the herbs, made offerings and I left Grey to mind the hearth while I went exploring the woods near our home with a boy. After dinner (we ate most of the duck), the ointments were placed in their cute little jam jars.

There are two batches made and ready to go. One is a mild version which will be good for someone who has never used entheogens before. The other is for the more experienced Witch in the house. No, you aren’t getting our recipes.

A few days later we packed up a few items that needed to be given to the land. This included a broken goddess statue (I leave a trail of broken goddess statues), a couple of old offering dishes and the bones of the duck.

We headed out to the bit of urban forest near our home and found just the right spot along the creek, a place that I had come across while on a hike with a friend a few days earlier. I had seen the spot in summers before but from the other side of the creek. This spot features a nice little whirpool right at the curve of the creek.

While Grey lit some incense and took off her shoes, I (rather unceremoniously) tossed the pieces of the broken goddess statue. Then I broke my old clay offering dishes (I’m a Celt, you’re supposed to break things and put them in water) and threw those in as well. Grey waded in a little ways and said some nice words, then placed the duck’s remains into the whirlpool, along with some rose petals.

We watched the bits Grey had given swirl around. My offerings, being pottery, had sunk and will eventually become part of the creek bottom. Some of the pieces of duck and such did float around however. I stood there watching the pieces float around and around and found myself thinking how this would be the perfect place for the toad bone rite (not that I have any desire to do it). One large, white object kept swirling around and coming back to us. I pointed it out the first and then the second time it came by. Reluctantly, Grey pulled it out as it made the second pass. We were both somewhat relieved when it turned out to be nothing more than some random garbage. It must have gotten dislodged when I was tossing in my heavier pieces into the creek.

Our work done, and Grey’s shoes put back on, we climbed the hill back home.

Patch tests have been done. Plans have been made. Many preliminary offerings have gone to the gods, spirits and ancestors all through out this week. Everything is set.

This weekend, we will take turns watching over the other while we cross the great hedge. For myself, this will be yet another jaunt and I may or may not share with you. For Grey, this is will something of an initiation. Her experiences will certainly not be any of your businesses, dear readers.

EDITED TO ADD: Just an FYI all ingredients are perfectly natural, ethically gotten, and totally legal. Don’t be an idiot, folks.

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Some days, my feet hurt so much I want to sit down and cry

Some days, my brain can’t keep up with the world

Some days, I don’t know how I will keep my head above water

Some days, all I can do is hide the fear and hope for the best

Some days, I could weep with gratitude

Some days, I remember to count my blessings

Some days, I marvel at the people and the love in my life

Some days, I wiggle with happiness as I slip into bed

Some days, it all happens in one day

Those days, those days

*

(PS: I will be drawing for the Tenth Rune Spell contest and announcing the winner tomorrow after lunch)

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You speak of freedom of religion. You say “this is their Tradition and they have a right to it.”  And this is true.

You speak in generalized platitudes about religious tolerance, of freedom. You say nothing of the pain caused to the individual. My “beef” with Z. Budapest and Dianic Wicca is not one of generalized platitudes. It is personal.

I have arrived at an open Dianic ritual and was pulled aside and asked to leave. Because I arrived in combat boots and a biker jacket (I came on a motorcycle) and my energy was too masculine.

I have been at a women’s ritual where a Dianic Wiccan informed me that I was buying into the patriarchies’ objectification of women for wearing a pretty, strappy dress with full hair and make up done. She said I offended her and the Goddess by being tarted up.

I have been told disdainfully that I cannot be a woman of substance, as I am young, thin and pretty.

I have been told that I am selfish and unnatural for being a woman in her thirties who is not a mother, and who has no strong, desperate desire to become one. I have been told that I cannot be a whole woman until I bear children from my body.

Does Z have the right to exclude transwomen? Yes.

Do Dianic Wiccans have the right to call me an unnatural, too masculine, tart who lacks substance … because that is their Tradition? Maybe so.

Look into my eyes and see the pain there. Know that it is 1/10 of the pain the transwomen at Pantheacon felt when they sat in protest, staring at a sign that read: Genetic women only.

Does Z have a right to practice intolerance because it is her Tradition? Yes.

Do the organizers of Pantheacon have the right to allow her to lead a ritual that excludes certain kinds of women? Yes.

But I also have the right speak out against this these things. I have the right to condemn her, her Tradition and Pantheacon. And I will exercise that right, with tears in my eyes and sorrow in my heart.

Things Z has written or spoken on the subject:

“Transies who attack us only care about themselves.”

“Women are born not made by men on operating tables.“

“But if you claim to be one of us, you have to have sometimes in your life a womb, and overies and MOON bleed and not die. ”

“Genetic women only”

“Many many young men at collage age are latent homosexuals, which is dangerous to women.”

“The male gender is gender conscious, ‘us boys together’ against the other gender.”

“Why are we universally hated by the male gender? ”

These are not the words of a wise Elder. They are not the words of a loving priestess. They are not the words of a worthy leader. They are the words of a hateful, narrow minded bigot.

You say we should allow Z to have her Tradition, you say we should allow Pantheacon to exclude certain people from rituals based upon gender and sexual identity. You say we must do these things in the name of religious freedom, in the name of tolerance, in the name of diversity.

I say that religious tolerance and religious freedom does not mean that we must tolerate leaders who are openly bigoted.

“Now, we must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men.” ~ Boondock Saints

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“Happy Lupercalia!” I said to my roommate Grey once she had gotten home from work and settled in for the evening.

“What’s Lupercalia?” she asked.

“Far superior to Valentine’s Day” I replied, then grinned with delight as she read the Wikipedia entry.

“Too bad we don’t have any goat skin to wear and run around in.” said Grey.

“I have goat skin.”

“That’s right … you DO have goat skin.”

And so the plotting began. There was much giggling in our house that night. It’s all about celebrating how awesome life is, after all.

The next night we saw a man about harp and visited someone dear for Valentine’s Day. On the drive back home, we declared ourselves to be on a Valentine’s Day/Lupercalia quest.

One Witch said to the other: “Don’t worry, no matter what happens, we have a harp in the trunk.”

On the last day of Lupercalia, we headed into the countryside.

Grey and I put on our newly made goat skin garters, winter boots and warm cloaks (and not much else).  We trucked along down the path towards the forest and once out of sight of any neighbours, we gave the boys our cloaks to carry. Then, giggling like lunatics, Grey and I processed down the snow covered “yellow brick” road. Shaking rattles and shouting blessing at the land. An attempt was made to sing “Hoof and Horn” but running about in the snow whilst naked takes your breath away. We also couldn’t stop laughing long enough to sing properly.

We picked a birch tree we liked and stooped there. While the boys watched and smoked cigarettes, I stood a large and dark phallus in the snow. Grey and I surrounded it with the stems of tulips, lilies and daffodils, as well as the blossoms of pure white carnations. We announced the coming of spring and declared the land to be blessed. Sacred smoke was burned to entice Faunus to come along and play, bringing spring time with Him.

We turned about and holding hands, Grey and I skipped back down the road. Crash the dog followed along, far too busy finding good smells to care what we were up to. Once we reached the end of the trees that hid us from the neighbours, we waited for the boys to catch up and give us our cloaks.

Back in the house and warmed by a good fire and real clothes, I asked permission to burn the sacred cakes in the fire. If a man builds you a fire, you ought to respect him enough to ask before you start tossing stuff into it.

We settled in for the night to watch movies, drink wine and make merry. All acts of love and pleasure are Her rituals, right?

I hope you had a good Lupercalia, folks!

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