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)
A Walk
From my Journal
January 2009. Misty Acres, near Greenwood, British Columbia:
My little plastic children’s sled, which is the colour of a perfect summer sky, slices into the snow with a slippery, rustling, skittering sound that repeats with each foot step. Sssshhhhhhhkthh … Sssshhhhhhhkthh
I lean forward into my momentum, gripping the black cord around my waist for added strength and stability. My black boots slip into the layer of fresh powder snow to shin deep before finding the hard packed stuff beneath.
My breath puffs out before me, like a steam engine. Falling snow finds its way into my eyes every time I glance up, leaving me half blind. I do not need to see. My feet know their way along this narrow path from my mother’s home to mine.
Along the long driveway past the horse pasture, then a sharp turn off the ploughed area and onto my little trail in the winter landscape. Then I scramble my way up the first bend on the steep incline of the mountain. I am bathed in moonlight; on my left side is the slope of an alpine meadow, to my right the forest pushes in close to my trail.
Upon… Continue reading
Are You Scared Yet?
I was wandering around the bloggo-sphere the other day when I came across a blog by someone discussing their frustration with ritual (I honestly forget which blog it was which is too bad or I’d be replying to them!).
They just haven’t gotten “it” … they aren’t feeling “it”. “It” is out of their grasp. They aren’t sure anything is happening. You know what I mean, I don’t have to articulate it anymore than that.
The blogger in question spoke of feeling like they should fake it until they made it, just keep plugging away and going through the motions on the hope that they will have a break through.
On account of my suffering from a mild fever all I have in response mostly comes in the form of questions and ranting. (Read: I am slightly out of my mind right now)
First of all I am no longer a big fan of the fake until you make it system. I worry that by doing so we are training our selves to play pretend. Brains especially like routine, not just in actions but in thought and feeling, so I wonder at the possibility of training the brain to fake… Continue reading
The Way it Goes
Off and on I have delved deep into practice, into doing … no more than that, into really living my practice. I have lived on many acres of land, living a fairly simple lifestyle and also living off the land to a certain extent. I was also having a go at traditional lifestyles as well, doing it the old way.
I carried water up a mountain side everyday (sometimes twice or thrice) so I could cook, clean and drink. I learned the value, the sacredness, of every single drop. There are few things in the world that can teach you to truly understand that water is indeed the lifeblood of the Earth (and everything that lives on and within Her) than being a small, barefoot woman, thirsty to the point of parched, dragging 30 pounds of water up a rocky mountain side under a blazing summer Sun.
I dragged (and later carried as I grew stronger) hay bales about the place to feed horses and livestock. I wishpered prayers to Epona everyday … and more as I tried to tend a wound on a half-gentled young filly.
I spent many long nights up to my elbows in blood and birthing… Continue reading
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