Meanwhile, at Misty Acres
Mom is teaching the horses how to levitate.
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Post Cards from Misty Acres
Now that the snow has melted (and the streams and rivers rising!) Mom has sent me some nice photos from back at the farm.
The Course of My Studies Part Two
(I broke this up so I didn’t lose steam and get bored, then never finish. Here’s a link to the first part)
So I left off the last post in my early twenties. I had just had a major falling out with Wicca and was on a hunt for something else. I was delving into the wonderful world of Celtic spirituality.
So I dove into all things Celtic and even hung out with some Reconstructionists. I considered Druidry but it also was not for me. I did learn a great deal from my Druid and Recon friends however, about scholarship and also about filling in the gaps.
My boyfriend at the time was disinterested in spirituality but for some reason had the book “The Way of the Shaman” by Harner and I borrowed it. Actually, I stole it because I never got around to returning it, bad me. The study of Shamanism fell beautify in place next to my love of anthropology, archaeology and mythology. I read as much as I could, especially on the subjects of Celtic Shamanism and Seiðr magick. More of the Matthews and also some Mircea Eliade, Tom Cowan, Peter Berresford Ellis,… Continue reading
Annoyed
Don’t smack-talk me about Darkness and Death, kid. I’ve killed, slaughtered, skinned and field dressed animals. And ate them. I’ve walked into disease ridden kennels where puppies lay dying on the floor shitting their guts out.
So you have a skull on your altar and the background for your blog is black. You say met a demon once, eh … am I supposed to be impressed?
I’ve disembowelled things. I’ve buried stillborn animals.
Oh? Did you think being a farmer and working in animal husbandry/rescue is all about goodness and light, petting fluffy critters and tending pretty green things?
People wonder why I don’t glorify Darkness and Death like so many “REAL hardcore” Witches.
They can fuck off.
Sweet beast, I have gone prowling,
a proud rejected man
who lived along the edges
catch as catch can;
in darkness and in hedges
I sang my sour tone
and all my love was howling
conspicuously alone.~ William DeWitt Snodgrass
(American Poet and Writer, b.1926)
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