The Temple of Joy

Crises in the making

2012-01-27T15:46:00.000-05:00

So are we in a "great depression" now or not? I really don't know. I'm not a finance person, and I'm terrible with numbers. However, I hear stories every day now about how people have had to change eating habits, switching out meat for beans and legumes... how houses are being lost along with jobs that should have provided security for workers for years to come... how vital medications cost so much that people simply can't afford them. I think the answer is that we're certainly in A depression, but whether it's as great as the one in the 1930s I don't know.

I think the question I need to ask is, does it really matter? There are hundreds of thousands of people out of work. Food banks are over-stressed with new applicants. The wait to get into the unemployment office goes around the block and takes over two hours to move into the building. There's a lot that we could focus on that is negative, that will sap our strength and our faith. Focusing on the negatives doesn't do anything for us, and in fact might be part of the problem we're currently experiencing as a nation (and as a world!).

What is positive about this? Well, families are getting back together. You might not think about the joys of living with your parents when you're 40 years old but those joys are there. People are helping others more, mindful that the next person might be worse off than they are. Secret Santas paid off lay-away accounts at WalMart for those who would have had no gifts for their children. Backyard gardens (and now front yard gardens!) are sprouting up all over, because seeds are cheaper than tomatoes.

The world is in turmoil. We in North America are better off (even our poorest of poor) than people in many other nations. There's a vast difference between poor here in America, where the poorest are able to ask for monetary help and often get it, and the poor in less developed countries, like Africa. Our poor are very rarely so thin that their bones show and their bellies bloat.

It may simply be time to tie the apron strings a little tighter, make the penny scream a bit louder. I know that's how it is in our home. We can't afford to buy filet mignon like we used to, even for special occasions. We can't afford to pick up a new movie every Friday to watch with the kids. Often we can't afford to buy fresh fruits and vegetables, and have to make do with frozen or even none at all. Yet we always make sure that we have enough food in the house. The bills are paid, just barely at times but still paid. It's tight, but we are able to work hard to make it fit a little less snugly.

I think the main thing we need to work on, on ourselves, is to let down our pride. We have to be able to stand up and do as this fellow from the 1930s is doing: advertise ourselves. We must be willing to do any work we can get our hands on, and not just look for high paying employment, even if that's what we would prefer to have. The work issue is a tough one, when we're bombarded with images of welfare recipients living better than we are (yes, that is a stereotype and yes I know it is not true of all, or even most welfare recipients... but it is the loudest group unfortunately).

I have read posts lately about people who raise their own food and store it, helping out others who haven't been able to purchase vegetables for their kids. One blogger talked about how she would "find" $20 bills behind people in order to help them out, knowing they would not take money from her while standing at the cash register. Another discussed the embarrassed folks cruising the beans aisle at the grocery store, trying to figure out how to feed a family on food stamps and cold air.

We might have to work harder. I bake bread now, a skill I was hesitant to learn and which I now am embracing whole-heartedly. It's sure not easier than picking up a loaf of nice crusty bread at the local store, and it eats up a whole afternoon once a week, but the results are healthy and filling, and I'm not afraid to send my kids to school with a sandwich made of it. Bought in bulk, the price of home baked bread is a clear savings.

We're planning out the garden, too, and how we'll feed ourselves this summer and beyond. How many seeds do we need, and can we trade something for them rather than paying? Yes, it means we'll have to be out there planting and weeding and harvesting, and then preserving. It's more work, hard work. It's work that pays off, though. Next winter we won't have to buy canned tomatoes, because we'll have our own again. Do you know how many cans of tomatoes and how many bags of frozen beans you need for a whole year? That's what you ought to consider growing this summer!

How are you going to cook your food? The kind of cooking we might be used to (fancy sauces, expensive ingredients) have to be put away in favor of the recipes our grandmothers and mothers knew. There are plenty of websites that have Depression-era recipes for us to learn from, and a good used book store (or Kindle/Nook free books!) will provide cookbooks with plenty of inexpensive alternatives. Learn how to buy bulk macaroni and make your own baked mac'n'cheese. Learn how to cut down on meat, and how to prepare inexpensive cuts.

Perhaps this new Depression will be a turning point for our country. Perhaps it will cure our ever-expanding waist lines and halt our obesity epidemic. Perhaps it will stop our wasting and spoiling. I think it will have to, if we're to survive.

You might be asking yourself why I'm writing about this on my spiritual blog. I believe that we are undergoing a spiritual ailment, as a world. It isn't so much that our spirits are causing the financial problems, but that in walking away from faith based (any faith!) lives, we give in to the false idols of money, commercialism, over-indulgence. It doesn't matter to me which god or gods you worship, which church or synagogue you attend, or how many times you bow down each day. What does matter is that you BELIEVE, and that you hold onto that belief and that faith as the cure for the depression (financial, emotional, spiritual) that we're going through.

Will faith make your job pay more? Nope. Will belief cause your fridge to suddenly be full of good food? Not at all. But faith and belief, in something or someone, will give you the strength to carry on until you find the better paying job or complete school, will allow you to hold your head high as you ask for your bag at the food pantry. Remember that the person next to you might be a computer programmer out of work, or a single mom desperately trying to finish her high school degree so she can do better for her kid.

More and more people at the welfare offices are wearing suits and ties, as the financial problems trickle upward. When you meet them in the food stamp line or at the local shelter, don't disparage them. Understand that they, too, are displaced and looking for help, and perhaps their pride is getting in the way of their journey, too. Be kind... because to be kind is to help both them and yourself.

Moving Meditation

2012-01-17T20:36:00.002-05:00

I decided to make bread today. I was making venison stew for dinner, and nothing tastes better with stew than fresh baked bread, still warm from the oven. Baking bread is still a new skill for me, something that requires a lot of attention to detail on my part. I still follow the recipes exactly, without any variation in routine, because otherwise I risk hockey pucks rather than loaves of bread. The recipe I use is out of a neat book called Bread Alone. It's one the hubby learned from and it has a good variety of recipes for delicious bread. What it also has is something it calls a "teaching loaf." You can manipulate it a bit, try different things with it, but the basic recipe, if followed, will result in a good (if not spectacular) loaf of bread.

The end result, as you can see, was quite good. I did one batch, which yields two loaves. Just to be contrary, I braided one loaf, and did the other as a "torpedo" loaf, the standard artisan bread loaf. I'm actually quite happy with both of them, although the crumb in the braided loaf was a bit under-done. Neither would have been hurt by five more minutes in the oven, but I'm glad they came out when they did. The hardest part, of course, is leaving the bread to cool for 20 full minutes before cutting into it. I had to keep reminding myself that the final 20 minutes of "cooling" is actually a cooking time. Cut into too early, even a perfect loaf of bread will seem a bit doughy; the cooking process continues for 15 to 20 minutes after the bread is out of the oven.

We had our bread with venison stew, and it was quite delicious. Hot bread, fresh butter, home-made venison stew with meat we'd butchered ourselves... you can't get much better than that!

The process of making the bread was what I wanted to touch on, though. I am fond of moving meditations, and find that using movement when meditating actually helps me to concentrate and follow my breath better. I've enjoyed tai chi (the 128 poses version), yoga, a split yoga-pilates combo, ecstatic dance, and some others. Kneading bread, though, is a whole other experience.

At the beginning of the knead, the dough is very sticky. It's almost like kneading cake batter that's sat out too long. It clings to your fingers, clumps around the heels of your hands... It can be annoying if you don't let yourself disappear into the back and forth motion of the kneading itself. If you do let yourself disappear into it, though... it's wonderful. The squish, the push, turn and fold, repeat. You just keep doing it over and over until the dough changes.

That's when my real meditation begins. There's a moment when the dough goes from being a sticky mess to being ... well, dough. It becomes a little tacky, but not overly wet, and it becomes doughy and elastic. That's when you work the muscles in your arms, when you push with your legs and the palms of your hands, when you can really lose yourself in the rhythm of what you're doing. There's a real joy to kneading, to the slight burn in the muscles of the shoulders if you aren't used to it.

I didn't meditate as much as I would have liked today, but there are more days to come. I had fun, I enjoyed kneading, and I loved what came out of the oven several hours later.

Salford scientists help create wind sculpture | Manchester Evening News - menmedia.co.uk

2012-01-13T12:39:00.000-05:00

Salford scientists help create wind sculpture | Manchester Evening News - menmedia.co.uk

This is a picture of a gorgeous artistic wind chime created in England. It's a mix of both art and science, as sound scientists helped to formulate the way it would sit. The wind blows and it sings. I think it's quite lovely!

Warmth

2012-01-10T11:14:00.000-05:00

This is the main way we heat our house. It's a (smallish, I suppose) parlor stove, circa late 1800s or early 1900s. It's pretty, and although it went through some abuse, it is not a bad little stove. It easily heats most of the lower level of the house (two bedrooms, a bathroom, a LARGE living room, dining room, kitchen, office space). It doesn't quite get through to the family room (which connects past the kitchen through double doors) or the upstairs, but hey, it's a parlor stove. It's not airtight, but it does run relatively well on a good load of wood. It burns down fairly waste-free, and doesn't produce as much ash as some of our old stoves have.

It's currently squatting happily on its three legs in our living room, burning away at a nice pace. Above it is a relatively large box that looks odd, and is called MagicHeat. It's an interesting contraption that "harvests" the heat that would otherwise be lost as it flits up your chimney. The internal thermostat clicks on at 150F, and off at 120F or so, blowing only hot air into your room. The thing raises the temperature in the main living areas by as much as 10-12 degrees! I admit that when Gray said he was going to install this thing, I was hesitant. It was expensive (though his parents bought it for us for Christmas, thank all that's holy), and it didn't seem that an ugly box on a pipe could do all it claims. Well... it does. And then some!

It has improved the draw on our chimney, warmed the house, lowered the smoke in the house (which is a long story I don't want to get into right now), and gives us an oral warning when the wood needs more stove. When the thermostat clicks off the fan, which isn't all that loud but is definitely easily heard, we know the heat is dropping down. That lets us get wood on while there are still nice, cherry coals glowing in the fireplace. I think our wood is also burning more efficiently, but that's just an opinion.

Having this stove in our living room has done a few things for our family. First, we like to congregate there, because it's many degrees warmer than anywhere else in the house. Second, it's just pleasant to be around a crackling fire, and our lovely cast iron fireplace has two little chevrons of mesh that allow us to watch our fire as well as feel its heat. Third, it's allowed us to set our thermostat to 55F and make it this far through the winter (albeit a fairly warm one) with only a half tank of oil so far. Generally speaking, the only time the furnace goes on is if the fire dies out (sometimes in the morning this happens as the stove really isn't an all nighter) or if we have over friends who aren't inured to the cold like we are.

For me, this has become a place of refuge. I no longer hide away in my bedroom. I no longer have my computer in my bedroom, either. It's in the office, and there it stays. I go to it, rather than lugging it around with me. I've become much less dependent on this piece of technology. Don't get me wrong: I still use it, and love it. It simply has ceased to be my lover, my focus. This has resulted in a cleaner house, happier family members, children who are forced to clean up their messes while they grumble incessantly, and dinners that are tasty and healthy and rarely "thrown together" at the last minute.

The upstairs is a different category altogether. I will admit, the chill of the upstairs (usually hovering around 55F, though on very cold nights it will drop into the 40s occasionally) has me prefer to go up only for necessary rituals (my altars are in my room) and to grab clothing or to sleep. I love my room, and it is very much a sanctuary, but it's a cold one that forces me to bundle up. I have come to see it as a place to meditate while in a cocoon of blankets (yes, that really is me just before bed, bundled up almost to the point of being unrecognizable lol). I use a heating pad to warm up the sheets (while we do have coals I could use, I think it's not worth the fire hazard to take a pan of hot coals up to warm my feet at night *chuckle*) while I'm cuddling down, and then it goes off and I wrap myself up in the quilts and sheets and microfiber, and I drift off to a very restful sleep.

Nightcap

I have found that the sheer weight of the winter-weight quilts is a comforting thing. I've also come to understand, intimately, why people wore nightcaps and kerchiefs to bed prior to forced air heating! As you can see in the above picture, I have a blanket thrown over my head. This is because my bedroom wall is an outside wall, and it's cold when the wind blows. It will sap the heat out of my body through my head and leave me shivering. The simple application of a throw over my noggin leaves me toasty warm throughout the night. I'm surprised how much of a difference it made! I am thinking of asking for an actual nightcap for myself for my birthday (in just a couple of weeks! WOW!), because I think it would improve my sleep and warmth. I like the idea of having it ON me rather than wrapped around me, because it wouldn't slip off when I turned over, nor would I lose it when I get up to pee in the middle of the night.

In any case, this winter has turned out to be a very meditative one. I've had less feeling of stress and "run around syndrome" than previous years, and I just feel better about myself and my surroundings. It's been pretty peaceful here, and we've settled into decent routines that carry us from day to day with gentleness and love. My life is not perfect, by any means, but... who'd want that anyhow? I like my little deviations from normalcy.

Observation Seeds, 1 and 2

2012-01-02T22:15:00.000-05:00

I'm sure many of you have seen this image before. What do you see in the picture? I see many things, but I always see the old couple first, looking at one another with an abiding love. I see the grail. I see Mexicans. I see a doorway. I see so much. Someone on one of the many blogs I read (I cannot remember who, and I wish I did!) had a writing seed challenge for January 2012. If I remember correctly, the idea was to take time to observe every day, and then write a few lines about what you observed. You could be general or specific, and there was no limit to what type of writing you could do. Poetry, prose, descriptions, point form bullets, everything was acceptable. I have decided to take on this challenge for the month of January.

On January 1st, I did the observation but didn't write about it. It's actually a common observation of mine, but it affects me so deeply that I feel I need to write it down.

January 1: I close my eyes, and the sound of the heavy rainfall beats on the roof above me. I know there isn't much insulation, and the room is cold. I am buried beneath my blankets, warm and safe but vitally aware of the violence of the elements just beyond the wooden skin protecting me. I can hear several kinds of water, in fact: the actual rainfall itself, the secondary bounces as it hits the roof, the dripping of excess water off the eaves, the lashing sound as the raindrops skitter past the trees that lean toward my room, and even the splash of water on mud far below my room at the back of the house. I love this sound, and it makes my heart swell with joy.

January 2: I can smell the wood cooking in the other room. Some of our wood is rather wet, and we're drying it on the top of the wood stove before putting it in to burn, and it gives off a particular scent so different from the smell of it burning. There's no smoke involved, although sometimes there is steam if the wood is wet enough. Mostly it is just a warm, woody, earthy smell that fills the house and makes me think of quiet.

The Year in Review

2011-12-31T17:34:00.000-05:00

It's the last day of 2011. Tomorrow will be a whole new year. I have decided to take a trip through this year and look at the changes that have come about. Sometimes, it's important to remember that stuff, you know?

In January, I was going through the turmoil of ending my relationship with my ex-love Tony, extricating myself from his house, his life (and his wife's life). It was not pleasant, and I spent much of the month being overwhelmed, emotionally bereft, and generally broken. I really think the best post to explain it all was the one I wrote on trust. Trust was a large factor in my life, broken trust especially. It's something I still struggle with, partially because I've had trust broken so many times over my life in big ways, and partially as the blow-out from the break-up we went through. Poly "divorce" (for lack of a better word) is a highly unpleasant thing at the best of times. This one was not at the best of times.

February was a month that I didn't blog here much. I suspect I was just too emotionally raw to really do much, but I was also in the home stretch at seminary. Most of the blog posts were "writing seeds" from the book we were working through. I touched on so many subjects, all of them deep and important, but none to do with how I was truly doing, if that makes any sense.

Lent was my focus through much of March, and I wrote a lot about my impressions of it. I especially like this post because it touches on my beliefs as a "hybrid" of Greek and Christian beliefs. There's also a labyrinth poem that I am somewhat proud of for its meter and rhyme. I find myself now looking ahead to Lent in the New Year, and what sort of revelations it will bring to me...

Spring started coming in April, and I spent more time out of doors. I went for a walk at a friend's brand new land, and ended up breaking my right ankle. Ouch. That's the first bone I've ever broken, and it was not something I enjoyed at all. I felt very trapped in the house in Hinsdale, unable to leave my room, dependent on people who were not only no longer lovers or family, but who were rapidly choosing to become enemies. April was the month that I broke all of my own rules, and did something so horrible that it almost destroyed me, my family, everything I've worked for through the years. I'm still recovering from it today, which is a part of that whole trust issue I mentioned before. It's hard... it's frightening! I haven't given up, though, and I persevered through all the nastiness and pain and anguish, and I'm not in April anymore.

May was about building foundations again. It was close to graduation and ordination time, and also approaching the time when we would be leaving the house that was now owned by Tony and wife, and going to a new place. We didn't know yet that our dream house would fall through, though we had (by this month) seen the new house which was destined to be our own. We had been razed to the ground, and now it was time to lay that new foundation. The big rocks (family, relationship) had to be firmly laid at the bottom, so that nothing else could topple whatever we built. I know at the time I didn't feel as if I was doing a very good job, but I can look back now with a bit of mercy on myself and see that I was doing the best I could.

I can explain June in two words: confirmation, and ordination. The whole month seemed to be eaten up by those two ceremonies. Confirmation was fairly quiet, but very heartfelt. Ordination was a huge production number, and I loved every moment of it despite shaking in my boots throughout. I went on retreat, took my first Communion as a confirmed Christian, re-dedicated myself to my Greek gods, and accepted the anointing of myself as an Interfaith Minister.

July had me living alone in the parsonage of our church. It was a peaceful time, although I was mourning not having a garden. I tried to grow tomatoes in pots, but it just didn't work out. I had lush leaves, but almost no fruit at all. Still, I tried. It was a way of laying in my dreams (and prayers) for this winter, I suppose. I still ache that I can't open a jar of our own tomatoes in January, when I want them most, but at least I have a few dilly tomatoes and one package of frozen home-grown beans left. I plan on using them around my birthday, I think.

I spent most of August in a time of introspection. I thought about our children, about our relationships, about our life. I thought about me, and how I'd forgotten to pray for myself for a very long time. A friend got badly hurt, and some things happened that got me very emotionally hurt. It was also the time that I started to realize that I could exist outside of my relationship. I'm still not sure I like that, to be honest. I realize it's a healthy realization, and I'm not trying to bury it or anything. There's a certain scariness to it, though; the idea that even if Gray or sis were to leave, even if the kids were suddenly no longer in my life, I could continue on. It might hurt, it might ache, it might burn like the fires of Hel, but I would go on, and I would live my life. It's not a comforting thought, really, because of the pain it involves. I don't fear death; Hecate cured me of that some years ago. I do fear pain, though... and most of my life has been spent running from one shelter to another, avoiding pain. For the first time in my life, at 40 years of age, I feel as if I can walk through pain and still be standing. I suppose that must mean I'm grown up now?

September was a month of food for me. I was at the parsonage, now joined by Gray and sis and kids. I was cooking a lot more, and I even tried some fun things like fudge. I made one of my favorite Hungarian recipes, chicken paprikash, and shared the recipe with the blogosphere. I dealt with a lot of emotional issues, some of which are still ongoing, but I dealt with a grace I didn't know I had.

We moved into our new home in October, and I learned that the land here is quite numinous. We spent hours lugging boxes, cleaning, scouring carpets, and settling in. We got children registered and going to their new school. It was a time of new beginnings, which might seem odd for October, but suited me just fine. I celebrated a number of holy days, some Jewish and some Christian, most Hellenic, and enjoyed the fact that the new house and land provided me with peace to do such things.

In November, I finally got my altars set up. For me, this was a way of saying, "This is HOME." I'd never gone so long without altars (the ones in the parsonage were fairly rudimentary, but at least they were present). It was with a sense of true relief that I pulled out all my sacred items and placed them reverently in their places. Since then I've moved a few things around, but the basic lay-out has continued to stay the same. I love it! My room is truly wonderful, a place of sanctuary for me. I look forward to spring, and the time when I can throw open both windows and let the clear, cleansing breeze blow through.

This month, December, I've found myself strangely removed from everything. I didn't get into my usual funk around Yule and Christmas. I had emotional moments, yes, but nothing like the past 9 years. I talked to my daughter, enjoyed listening to her open her gifts, had a little party with friends, and baked cookies successfully for the first time, really. It's been a good month, and a quiet one. Most of the boxes have been sorted through. Most of our things have been found (or replaced if lost). There's wood in the house, and the fireplace has been cranking out most of the house's heat for the past month.

The angst and anger of January has faded. I can't say that I've completely recovered from the blow of my relationship ending and the resulting "divorce" situation, but I have come to terms with it and moved on. I try not to think about the bad times, even when that means doing things like deleting a few pictures off my hard drive. I don't even spend much time thinking on the good times, to be honest, other than to take the lessons I learned (how to grow food in a garden, how to raise and butcher chickens, etc.) and apply them to the new life we've started here. Though we intended to stay close to where we were previously, fate has moved us an hour away, and that seems to have been a wonderful thing. Life is good. Life is good. Life is good.

Can a little baby change the world?

2011-12-17T17:43:00.004-05:00

The question asked on my daily devotion was whether it was reasonable to expect a small baby to change the whole world. I ask in return, is it reasonable to expect a small baby to NOT change the world? Anyone who has ever interacted with a small baby will tell you that the world has changed, from the very moment that child was held in your arms. Any new parent will explain the incredible changes that they go through in order to have their child there with them in their home. Look at a new parent's eyes, at the dark circles and slightly hysterically happy smile, and you will see that the world has changed. Drastically.

There's a lot out there about The Baby Jesus. Google it and you'll find thousands upon thousands of entries, some Biblical in nature, others opinion or critique. The very fact that you have found those entries tells you that "the baby Jesus" certainly changed our world. Whether you see him as a metaphor, a borrowed god from another culture, a god in his own right, or the bastard son of a woman who didn't know what else to do doesn't really matter at this late date. Our world has been changed, some would say for the better, some for the worse. After all, the world's most horrible wars have been fought in the name of God. We must never let go of the knowledge that the world's most beautiful actions are done in the name of God, too.

There are people all around the world who celebrate something amazing in the next few days. Some celebrate Christmas. Some celebrate Hannukah. There's Kwanzaa, Solstice, Mithrasmass, Yuletide, and even New Year. Almost all of these touch on the idea of bringing something new and exciting into the world, bringing in light and joy and hope. The themes are similar, even downright suspiciously so in some cases. And it really doesn't matter at all what you celebrate.

Whether we celebrate the birth of Christ, the rebirth of light, the birth of the new year, or some other type of birth, may your winter holy days be TRULY holy.

Blessings!

All I want for Christmas...

2011-12-15T19:04:00.000-05:00

Dear Santa, Jesus, Holly King, Dionysos, Strega Nona, and whoever else might be listening...

I like this time of year. Even though there are a few blowhards who are so "bah humbug" that they ruin it for themselves, the majority of people of ALL religions and none are happy and humming around this time. I like that people tend to actually remember their pleases and thank yous. I like that politeness sneaks back into a lot of people's daily lives. It might be fleeting, but it's nice that this time of year encourages everyone to think of others rather than of themselves.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about others the past few months, and a bit of time thinking of myself, too. I've tried to make sure that my thoughts on myself have been of the more altruistic variety, though I know I've had a few "me me me!" moments that I'm less than proud of. Still, I don't think I've done too badly this year.

I do have some things to ask for, though.

Peace in our country. That one tops the list. I get scared when I read about our politicians changing the Constitution, sidestepping it, or just plain ignoring it. I get scared when I hear about possible loss of rights, like the right to a swift trial and to a lawyer, and the loss of the right to freedom of personhood. I'm terrified when I get told that having more than a week's worth of food is now considered a terrorist activity by some. I'm worried about myself, my children, my family... my country. It's a scary time. I'm not asking for instant peace, mind you. A gentle up-swing in sanity would be awful nice, though.

Self-esteem. Yeah, I know this one's mostly just for me, but it does affect my family a lot. I'd like to know that I'm worth what I use up around here. I'd like to know that my contributions make a big difference. I'd like to be comfortable in my own skin.

Food. We always have food, even if it isn't necessarily what everyone wants to eat. But I have friends who have real problems with finding enough to eat, who live on food stamps or hand outs, who struggle to make every single penny count. I'd like to know that the people around me aren't starving. I'd like to know that my friends and neighbors, and their friends and neighbors, can grow and raise enough food to feed themselves healthily. I'd like to live long enough to see the world NOT be starving over vast acres of its surface.

Inner silence. Another one for me, Santa. I'd like to close my eyes and not hear bickering or crying or upset or heartbreak or grief or worry or concern. I'd like to close my eyes and know that everything is right around me. I'd like to sleep each night aware that at least in my corner, the parts I have the ability to touch, are just a little bit better today than yesterday. I'd like to go to bed with silence and joy in my mind.

Enough. I want enough. I can't quantify "enough" for you, but it means not being concerned that we can afford to pay the water bill. It means not having an emotional melt down because one of the kids left a heater running all day. It means looking outside to see enough wood to make it through the winter. It means looking in the fridge and finding food that is healthy, plentiful, and that tastes good. That kind of stuff.

I know those are tall orders, Santa. But they're my wishes. I want my family to be truly, deeply happy. When they are happy and relaxed, I tend to be, too. I truly love seeing the smiles on the faces of those I love, excited for the holy days just over the horizon.

Blessings, Santa... Blessings!

Hermes Devotional

2011-12-07T11:01:00.000-05:00

Guardian of the Road: A Devotional Anthology in Honor of Hermes

Call for submissions!

We are interested in a wide variety of pieces, including (but not limited to) scholarly articles, short fiction, poetry, original translations of ancient texts, hymns, rituals and artwork.

Submitters are strongly encouraged to explore the many facets of this complex god in their work. Syncretisms between Hermes and other gods, such as Mercurius, are acceptable. A good starting point for ideas can be found here.

All works must be original, not public domain. No plagiarism. Previously published submissions are acceptable, provided the author retains all rights to the work. Authors retain all rights to the submission. Upon acceptance, the author will be sent a permission to publish form along with a request for a short biography to include in the anthology.

The editor reserves the right to make any minor changes in the case of grammar, spelling and formatting concerns. The editor also reserves the right to request modification of submissions and to reject submissions as necessary.

No monetary compensation will be provided. Proceeds from all sales will be divided between charitable donations in the name of the God, and production costs for future publications from Bibliotheca Alexandrina. All contributors will receive a coupon code which will allow them to purchase three copies of the anthology at cost.

Acceptable length is anywhere from 100-10,000 words, and the submissions period will run from 1 August 2011 – 31 January 2012, with the projected release date of March 2012. Please send your submission either in the body of the email or as a .doc/.docx or plain text/RTF attachment (for Mac users) with “Hermes Devotional” in the subject line to Kadynastar78@yahoo.com. Any artwork submitted should be scanned in or created at 300 dpi and sent as a .jpg or .tif file. Please remember to include a by-line in your email: your name as you would like it to appear in the book!

Chicken Parmesan

2011-12-06T19:47:00.001-05:00

I'm not sure what possessed me to make chicken parmesan tonight, but I'm certainly glad I did! I had three chicken breasts defrosted, and it just sounded like the right thing to try. This is my own recipe, created after reading a variety of recipes online and deciding that I didn't really like any of them. Feel free to try it out, and add your own touches to make it yours!

Ingredients, sauce:
* 2 large cloves garlic, minced
* 1 medium onion, chopped
* 2 cans crushed or diced tomatoes
* 1/4 cup red wine
* 2 bay leaves
* spices to taste

Ingredients, chicken parm:
* 3 large chicken breasts, boneless and skinless

* approximately 1 cup bread crumbs
* 2 eggs, scrambled with a touch of milk or cream
* olive oil for cooking in
* salt and pepper to taste
* one slice mozzarella (or other) cheese per piece of chicken
* 2 cups shredded parmesan

Method:
Make your sauce first, as it will need time to reduce. In a large sauce pan, pour about a tablespoon of olive oil and your chopped onion. Saute on medium high heat until the onions are just starting to clarify, but before they become mushy. Add the wine and garlic, stir well, and saute another few moments. Reduce the heat to medium and add the tomatoes and bay leaves. Spice to taste; I use a sprinkle of salt and pepper and nothing else. Lower the heat to allow the sauce to simmer but not boil. Stir occasionally as you allow the sauce to reduce.

Take your chicken breasts and slide them into a plastic baggie, or wrap in saran wrap, or put between two pieces of wax paper. Using a meat hammer or rolling pin (or even an empty wine bottle), pound each chicken breast until it is about a half inch thick. Try to stop before the breasts fall apart, but for flavor's sake it's better to go a bit long than a bit short. Set the breasts aside on a plate while you prepare the breading. While you are doing all that, heat another tablespoon or two of olive oil in a cast iron or other good quality fry pan.

Pour the breadcrumbs into a large flat container (I usually use a straight edged pie plate) and add salt and pepper to taste. Some people also like to add oregano, but I didn't this time. Mix well with a fork. Cut the chicken into serving size pieces (about the size of your palm) and dip each piece into the egg mixture. Lift it and allow it to drip and then dip it into the bread crumbs, flipping to coat well on both (all) sides. Place the chicken into the fry pan and allow to cook about two to three minutes per side (you want your chicken mostly cooked, but NOT completely!). Preheat your oven to 375F.

As you're browning the first batch of breaded chicken, check your sauce. It is probably still very liquid, which is fine. Into the bottom of a casserole dish or high sided baking pan, pour some of the liquid. You don't want to drown your chicken, but it should cover the bottom of the pan just barely.

As the chicken pieces are cooked, place them into a single layer in the casserole dish. Once all the chicken is in the dish, pour the rest of the sauce over the top of the chicken, being sure to cover all of it. On top of the sauce, add a slice of mozzarella (I didn't have mozza so I used provolone, and it was DELISH). On top of the entire thing, sprinkle your parmesan cheese. Bake in the oven for about 20 minutes, or until the cheese is just beginning to brown and bubble.

I served this dish with a mix of jasmine rice and orzo, which I cooked separately and then mixed together with a tiny bit of olive oil and salt, and a side salad. I must say, I'm very pleased with the results. The chicken was tender enough to cut with a fork (easily), the sauce was very tomato-ey and flavorful without being too tart or watery. My family gave me feedback that included the phrases, "restaurant quality" and "gourmet." Yay for me!

Independent Goddesses Devotional

2011-12-06T10:59:00.000-05:00

Unto Herself: A Devotional Anthology for Independent Goddesses

Call for submissions!

We are seeking submissions for a devotional anthology for a cross-pantheon look at virgin Goddesses. This includes Goddesses such as Artemis, Athena, and Hestia, but also those from other pantheons. Pieces in honor of any Goddess from any pantheon who operates without a male consort are welcome, such as Anahita, Anat, Gefjon, Kumari, The Morrigan, Skadhi, Vesta, The Zorya, and others. We are interested in a wide variety of works, including (but not limited to) short fiction, poetry, original translations of ancient texts, hymns, rituals, artwork, personal stories, and scholarly articles — particularly those that compare or contrast the idea of virginity across cultural lines. We are especially looking for submissions that focus upon the Goddesses’ self-reliance and independence in some way, regardless of Their physical virginity.

As this is a devotional work, no monetary compensation will be provided. Proceeds from all sales will be divided between charitable donations in the names of the Goddesses and production costs for future publications from Bibliotheca Alexandrina. All contributors will receive a coupon code which will allow them to purchase three copies of this anthology at cost.

Acceptable length is anywhere from 100-10,000 words (with the exception of poetry). The submissions period will open November 1, 2011 and close March 31, 2012 with a projected release date of May 2012. Please send your submission either in the body of the email or as a .doc or plain text/RTF attachment with “Parthenos Devotional” in the subject line to rian3x3@gmail.com. Any artwork submitted should be scanned in or created at 300 dpi and sent as a .jpg or .tif file.

Athena Devotional from Bibliotheca Alexandrina

2011-12-05T10:57:00.001-05:00

Shield of Wisdom: A Devotional Anthology in Honor of Athena

Call for Submissions!

We are interested in a wide variety of pieces, including (but not limited to) scholarly articles, short fiction, personal experiences, artwork, poetry, rituals, hymns, and original translations of ancient texts.

Contributors are strongly encouraged to consider the Goddess Athena’s many aspects and epithets while creating their submissions. Athena is a Virgin Goddess of Wisdom and War, as well as a Friend and Champion to Heroes. Bearing aegis and spear against her enemies, Athena is a Protector and a Guide, of both cities and individuals. She is a Goddess of Justice and Transformation, as well as Arts such as weaving and pottery. These are but a few of the many aspects of this Goddess, and contributors are encouraged to explore these and other aspects. While this rich mythology involving Athena is an excellent resource, contributors are also encouraged to make use of archaeological, linguistic, philosophical and other resources. Entries focusing on other deities shall not be accepted, unless said entries specifically focus on the deity’s relationship to Athena (ie: Athena as the Daughter of Zeus, Athena in her contest with Poseidon for rulership of Athens, Athena in comparison to the Roman Minerva, Athena and Hephaestus as patrons of handicrafts, Athena and Ares as Deities of War, Athena in comparison to the Egyptian Neith, etc.).

All works must be original, not public domain. No plagiarism. Scholarly articles must properly cite sources where applicable. Previously published submissions are acceptable, provided the author retains all rights to the work. Authors retain all rights to the submission. Upon acceptance, the author will be sent a permission to publish form along with a request for a short biography to include in the anthology.

No monetary compensation will be provided. Proceeds from all sales will be divided between charitable donations in the name of the Goddess, and production costs for future publications from Bibliotheca Alexandrina. All contributors will receive a coupon code which will allow them to purchase three copies of the anthology at cost.

Acceptable length is anywhere from 100-10,000 words (with the exception of poetry). All artwork must be at least 300dpi. The submissions period will run from October 1, 2011 – March 31, 2012, with the projected release date of May 2012. Please send your submission either in the body of the email or as a .doc/.docx attachment with “Athena Devotional” in the subject line to athenadevotional@gmail.com .

What Season?

2011-11-28T15:36:00.001-05:00

You hear it everywhere: 'Tis the season! But what season? As a friend of mine on FaceBook commented, there are literally dozens, perhaps hundreds of winter holy days that happen between now and the secular New Year. While I don't celebrate them all, I do honor many traditions. In our home, we celebrate Advent in the Christian tradition, Yule in the generic pagan tradition, Solstice in my Hellenic tradition, Hannukah in the Jewish tradition, and sometimes Bodhi Day in the Buddhist tradition. Each has its own tenor, its own feel to it, and each is holy and true and wise and full of lessons for us. Perhaps the goal is not so much to celebrate all the time, but to see the celebration in every day.

It's hard to believe that it's Advent already. We lit the first of the four Advent candles at church yesterday, and focused on the theme of peace. Our pastor suggested that Advent as a whole is a time to become more aware, to be awake, to focus on what we have while being open and ready for new opportunities. After all, we get what we expect, and if our minds are dragging and our spirits are low, that's the best we'll be able to do. He used the image of Tigger and Eeyore from the Winnie the Pooh series. Tigger is almost always happy, bouncing from place to place, finding the bright side of life no matter what's thrown at him. The result is that he sees the world as a happy, peaceful place and so, to a certain extent, it is. Eeyore, on the other hand, sees a rain cloud on every horizon and an earthquake on every nice day. Hence, he is always depressed, expecting the worst. Even if a good day happens, it's only a precursor to what will likely be a horrid day tomorrow. These become self fulfilling prophecies.

The other thing our pastor brought up was a lecture by Randy Pausch, done at Carnegie Mellon University just after his diagnosis with terminal liver cancer. It's called The Last Lecture but not because of his impending passing. The lecture series he was presenting for had held that name for many years, the idea being to present something that would be your legacy, as if you had only one last lecture that you could give to the students. As he puts it in the video, "I finally nailed the venue, and they changed the name!" I haven't watched the whole lecture yet (it's an hour and a half long, and it demands your full attention) but what I have seen is incredibly inspiring. Live in the day is the basic message. You can't change tomorrow, you can't change yesterday, so make today count. Enjoy it for what it is. How many of us can say we do that? And we're not dying.

So what IS Advent, anyhow? The word 'advent' means 'coming' or 'long awaited' or even 'just arrived.' We talk about the advent of the computer age, and the advent of the automobile without blinking. The Christian Advent is simply the beginning, or coming, of the Christ Child. It's more a symbolic (in the version I practice) than literal - most Biblical (and other) scholars now agree that it is almost impossible that Christ was born during the winter, and moreso that there likely wasn't a lot of snow in his area of birth anyhow. The story of the birth of Yeshua is a long one, convoluted, often mixed up. The four Gospels and associated extra-biblical texts give very different versions of the whole ordeal. The story that has become so popular (census, trip to Bethlehem, birth in the stable, Wise Men showing up, gifts of priceless things, Herod, flight to Egypt, in that order) is almost completely fictionalized. Whether you believe in Yeshua as a human figure or a myth doesn't really matter. The story really doesn't bear much resemblance to what's in the Gospels. At best, it's a mashup of the assorted texts, jammed together to make a crazy quilt of a story that sounds good in children's books.

Just as your average Hellenic polytheist doesn't believe that Zeus literally slept with and bred with everything that moved, and that Hera was a total shrew all the time, the average Christian doesn't believe that Yeshua lived the story as told. It is a mythology that is steeped in history almost as old as the story itself. It's been manipulated and changed by kings and popes and printing press letter setters until it's become a comfortable old favorite.

For me, this is a time of incubation. The colder weather keeps me indoors more often, and I'm cleaning the house for (and from) the holidays. I'm preparing prayers and services for my various gods. I'm counting the days until winter solstice. I'm creating presents for my loved ones, cooking and baking and otherwise nestling happily in my home. I see it as a time of "pregnant pause," time to think about my life and what I've done in the past year, and what changes I'd like to make in the coming one.

What is this the advent of, for you? What begins for you when the snow falls? What starts when mid-winter draws near? Where were you last year at this time? Where have you come to? Where are you going? Are you happy? If not, why not? Find your inner peace, the peace of faith, regardless of your religion (or lack thereof). Embrace it, sit with it. Take the time to breathe. After all, sometimes all you can do is keep breathing...

Finally... home.

2011-11-19T10:34:00.001-05:00

Dirty...

When we left our old house in Hinsdale, NH, we were in a bit of a rush. Our new house wasn't ready, and we had to be out of the old one by a specific date, so we were forced to store much of our stuff up on a friend's land. We covered it well with tarps and stored only in good quality hard rubber bins, but we couldn't have expected a hurricane to blow through. Our tarps were still mostly in place, but had allowed water to get in and pool at one end which was a bit downhill. This resulted in several of our boxes being submerged completely. The ones that were uphill did fine (except for a couple that collapsed under the weight of the water on the tarp above them), but those lower ones were simply under water. The tubs did great at keeping things dry and clean during a rain storm, but not so much when completely under water. One of the boxes that got filled with water was filled with much of my important ritual gear.

Argh.

It wasn't a total loss. Some of my papers went to the gods, but most of what was there turned out to be brass and silver, and a few fabric things that had to be thrown away because of the mold on them. My stole, thank heavens, was able to be saved (thank you @CT!!). As you can see in the above picture, though, the brass was in pretty sad condition. The silver and pewter wasn't much better. So yesterday, I sat down with both silver and brass polish, rubber gloves, a toothbrush, lots of paper towels and linen rags, and set to cleaning.

And clean!

The end result was exceptionally pleasing. Most of my brass is now clean, and all of the silver has been restored. There are 3 brass candlesticks and a couple of pewter offering bowls left to clean, but I ran out of steam (and my sinuses couldn't handle the stink of the polish anymore). I decided to dedicate the day to fixing up my altars, since I've now been in the new house for well over a month and had only put together temporary mini-altars to my gods. It was time to do it, and do it right, and so I proceeded to empty boxes, clean things, mount shelves, launder head coverings, and set up the altars the way they ought to be set up.

My altars in their alcove.

My room is a bit oddly shaped, but I do love it. With its natural wood walls and ceiling, I feel as if I'm inside a log cabin, a sensation which is heightened exponentially when it is raining or snowing hard outside. It's a bit chilly, since there's no other house walls around me, but I just don't care. I can pull on extra blankets, after all. This picture was taken from my doorway into my room. The end of the bed (a built in platform bed!) segues into the alcove which has become my altar area. In place of the stacks of big rubber tubs that were there earlier in the day, I now have my old bedside table (refurbished into a small altar for the ancestors) and a large but low bookcase (the top of which is dedicated to my lady, Hecate). On the wall are some pictures and candle sconces, my drum, and the built-in shelves which have been cleaned and turned into proper small shrines for various gods.

For my ancestors.

My ancestors altar has been completely revamped. In the new digs, I just don't have the room (mentally or physically) for all the pictures that were around my old ancestor shrine. Instead, I have a red table runner (which has always been used for ritual) on top of which is a picture I took at Arlington Cemetery, a chunky red candle on a large holder, and two offering bowls (one for liquid and one for solids). It's simple... but once I set it up and said my prayers over it, it felt RIGHT. To the right of the altar is a small cupboard, recessed into the wall, with a door. At the moment it's not clean, but once it is, it will become a storage area for extra ritual tools and such. Likely it will contain the large amount of brass candlesticks that I have, as they're difficult to store elsewhere and I like to be able to access them easily.

Zeus and Hera

The top shelf of the small altars is for Zeus and Hera, who I honor as the ones who watch over marriage and relationships. For me, they are the essence of strong marriage, which has to overcome the trials and tribulations of miscommunication, unintentional misdirection, and the occasional white lie. The myths have Zeus and Hera at odds constantly, and while I see those as moral tales not necessarily representative of the gods themselves, for me it's a strong indication that marriage is not meant to be "made in heaven" but lived here on earth, with all the tribulations that come with it. And so they sit at the top of the heap, so to speak, King and Queen of the gods.

Aesclepius

Slightly below Zeus and Hera is the only other Olympian that I really give much honor to (except Hestia, but she's in the kitchen, as befits) on a regular basis. The small stuffed snake coils around an obelisk, happily watching all that goes on, looking for all the world like a serpent on a staff, a caduceus. There is a large amethyst rock there, and healing prayer beads that were made for me by a dear friend of mine. And beside that, a delicate clay rattle that sounds reminiscent of rain falling when shaken, and which was explained to me as being a healing rattle. When I or a family member is ill I will ask Aesclepius to bring us healing.

For Yeshua

Then comes the altar/shrine that will make my pagan peeps cringe: the one for Yeshua, aka Jesus. I am still working on that myself, because I spent so many years being "decidedly not Christian" even though I was never dealt any emotional blows as a young person by any incarnation of the church. Yet Yeshua tapped me, and I cannot deny that call anymore than I could deny the call from Hecate or the others. So for the first time he now has his own small altar. It's a bit sparse at the moment, as I slowly figure out the things he likes, but again, it feels RIGHT.

Dionysos

At the bottom of the shelves there is Dionysos, also a bit sparse because I haven't yet found all the items that usually go on his altar. He has taken a backseat to others, of late, and yet I still owe so much to his presence in my life. I remember being told that Dionysos was a "gateway god" and that he might disappear or fade a bit after a while, and how much that bothered me. Now that it's slowly happening, it isn't painful, though there's a bit of an ache. I doubt he'll ever entirely disappear from my life; we have too much history now for that to happen. Still, his altar is at the bottom both because he is more outside the rules of purity as I worship him, and because that bottom shelf is so close to the big altar for Hecate, which is where he's always been. Eventually there will be more things, too.

Long shot of altars.

Above the shelves is a copper pressing of the Parthenon, something I picked up in a box of art books many years ago at an auction. It's one of my most prized altar images. I'm sure it's just a cheap reproduction of something more expensive, but it has real energy to it, a real feeling of connectedness. I apologize for the slightly blurry quality of the photos, but I'm reduced to using the camera on my Android phone since I dropped a rock on my good camera and killed it (sob). Still, at least there are photos, right?

I'm very pleased with how my little altar area turned out. I wasn't sure what I was doing until the very last minute, when I asked @CT to help me drag that heavy bookshelf upstairs. It sits well there, though, and really completes the whole thing. I toyed a bit with putting it under the shelf altars, but realized that Hecate doesn't mind being next to the ancestors, and at least in my own mind there's a certain reason for her altar to be between the ancestors and the Olympians.

Capable of shrouding.

It isn't often that I shroud my altars. I generally spend my time worshipping Hecate, who doesn't care if I have contact with ancestors or dead things or have my hands on things considered ritually impure. I have no need to shroud her space. However, I like to be able to shroud my shrines to the Olympians, out of respect for them, and so I built in a shroud this time. The green cloth you see there can be tacked up to cover all the small altars, shielding them completely from view. And yet again, I knew it was RIGHT when I did it.

Head coverings

Across from my altar alcove I have several small pegs that I used to hang up my head coverings. I use these in many of my rituals and prayers, almost as a Jewish person would use a talit. In a way, they almost replace my old Wiccan robes (which I still have). Those I would put on to remind myself that I was "between the worlds" during ritual, and these I wear to remind myself that I am in holy space. They are not so different... in a way, they are a symbol that I carry that holy space inside me, always.

There, now it is done. I have enjoyed sharing these pictures with you, and I hope you enjoyed seeing them as much as I enjoyed sharing! Blessings to all!

Hungarian Pork Goulash

2011-11-07T19:27:00.000-05:00

Slice your onion.

One of my all-time favorite Hungarian recipes (yes, I know, I say that of all the ones I post up LOL) is Hungarian Goulash (also known as gulyas leves). Goulash is named after the herdsman (or gulyas, in Hungarian) who made it out of whatever meat they had at hand. My family comes from the north eastern section of Hungary, and pork is the traditional meat of choice for this recipe. There are quick ways of making goulash, but honestly, the longer ways are much better. This is NOT a good crock-pot soup, however you can make it a day ahead, and then let the finished product stay heated in a crock pot almost indefinitely without losing anything. Usually, I serve this with a nice crusty bread, hopefully hot from the oven. It's topped with a thick dollop of sour cream, and salt and pepper to taste.

Onions and garlic and paprika!

Ingredients (goulash):

pork (tenderloin or steaks, cubed)
onions
garlic
carrots
potatoes
peas
paprika
butter and/or olive oil
broth (make your own from pork bone, or beef)

Ingredients (noodles):

1 large egg
1 pinch salt
enough flour to make a very stiff dough

Method:

Diced pork tenderloin.

Heat a cast iron or other large pan on the stove and melt a little butter or olive oil into it. While waiting for that to be ready, cut up your onion(s). I use one large onion per pound of meat usually. Take off the ends and peel the onion, then cut it in half, and put the cut side down on your cutting board. Cut the half in half (ie two quarters), and then slice thinly to make small curves of onion. Repeat with the other half, and slide the slices into your oil. Cover with one or two tablespoons of paprika and saute for a few minutes until the onions are soft.

LOTS of paprika...

While the onions are cooking, chop up two cloves of garlic and then add them to the onions. When the onions begin to brown a bit, or are very soft, slide into a soup pot. Dice up your pork into one inch or smaller cubes.

In the pan, drizzle a bit more olive oil or butter and add your diced pork, and coat it liberally with paprika (3 or more tablespoons!). Cook just long enough to brown all sides of the meat thoroughly, but not enough to cook it all the way through. You are sealing in the juices before making the soup, so that the pork will be tender and delicious when it is served. Add the seared pork to the pot with the onions and garlic.

Carrots and spuds.

Peel and coin your carrots, and add to the pot. I use about 3 large carrots per pound of meat, but you can adjust to taste. I also added two large potatoes, diced (skin on, but again, you may want to peel them). Now add in enough broth to just barely cover everything in the pot, and bring it to a full boil. When it is boiling, reduce the heat to a bare simmer, and then cover and cook for 3+ hours.

Usually, we also put little hand made noodles into this soup. In America they'd probably be referred to more as dumplings, but in Hungary they are called csipetke, which means "pinched noodles." They are pretty close to Polish spetzle, and are cooked right in the soup (although if you like them they can also be sauteed up with butter and onions and served as a side dish!).

Everything in the pot.

To make the noodles, crack one egg into a mixing bowl and beat it well. Add a pinch of salt, and then add a few tablespoons of flour. Mix well, and continue adding flour until you have a very stiff dough that can be turned out and kneaded gently on a table. Using both hands, flatten the dough until it is about a quarter to a half inch thick.

Bring your soup back to a boil, and then begin pinching off bits of the dough and dropping them into the soup. The "noodles" should be about the size of a lima bean, and it's just fine if they're irregular in size and shape. Once they are all in the soup (one egg worth of this dough is enough for a large pot of soup), lower the heat a bit and keep it at a heavy simmer for about five minutes to let the noodles thoroughly cook.

The finished goulash.

This soup should be ladled into wide bowls and have a large spoonful of sour cream added to the top. For visual purposes, you can add a sprinkle of paprika to the sour cream if you like, though it isn't necessary. Serve with hot bread and butter, and fresh dill pickles. The flavors blend well, and will keep people coming back for thirds and even fourths, long after they ought to stop.

A short note for those who may not have real paprika in their cupboard. Please consider purchasing some real paprika. Hungarian paprika has a distinct, smokey flavor that bears no resemblance whatsoever to the red powder that is American paprika. Hungarian paprika also comes in two kinds: sweet and hot. This recipe is made with the sweet paprika (though it has a tiny bite to it when used in the quantities called for here), but if you want more heat to your flavor, you can add a pinch or two of the hot paprika, too.

The finished product, with sour cream.

The Witch of Stitches

2011-11-04T16:23:00.003-04:00

The Witch of Stitches is a blog I've been reading for a while. She's got quite the sense of humor, shares her beliefs freely, and is currently doing a give-away! :) Since I happen to be a priestess of Hecate, I decided I ought to enter this one. ;) Have a peek - I think you'll like what you see!

Snowy Spirituality

2011-10-30T13:03:00.000-04:00

On Friday night, poor sis was exhausted from a long and arduous week at work. Still, she found time to make jack'o'lanterns with the children. The kids used dry erase markers to create their designs and then she did the actual cutting part (good thing, too... those were the hugest pumpkins I've seen in ages and there's no way the kids could have carved through them!). The results were beautiful, as you can see in this picture of the boy twin gazing at the candle inside his.

For those who see this as a purely secular holiday, I guess I almost feel sorry for you. Don't get me wrong - I love the dressing up, the tromping around, the candy and the decorations. All that is a wonderful and amazing and magical thing all on its own. Yet there's a deeper sense to this time of year. It's a time of sudden changes, of death, of endings (and new beginnings!). The themes are serious ones. Even though our children aren't burdened with the horrors of concerns of starving over the winter, they feel the sanctity and holiness of the end of October, too.

And right around the corner, a sudden change arose - an unseasonably early snow storm, one which has apparently knocked out power to thousands of people throughout our area. We're lucky. Not only were we prepared (generator, plenty of easy to prepare meals, extra blankets, sub-zero rated sleeping bags, etc.), we also didn't lose power at all. It's warm (if you can call 62F 'warm') and cozy in our house, and it smells of bacon and baking. There are cookies ready to eat, tons of hot chocolate in the cupboard, and cornmeal muffins waiting to be baked later today.

I see these simple preparations as being religious duties, in a sense. Hellenes often talk about the Delphic Maxims, and the way in which they guide our lives. Preparing for winter storms (even this early in the season) is a part of that. When we set aside food from the summer and autumn, we are showing we are responsible stewards of ourselves, our children, our livestock, and our homes.

Honor the hearth/Hestia is one of the Maxims, and by setting food by, whether by freezing, canning, drying, salting, or some other method is an application of honoring the hearth which warms us and the goddess who oversees our daily lives.

Exercise prudence tells us to be careful of our food stores. After all, a bad storm or flood can either clear out grocery stores or make it impossible to get to them. When we take out a jar of our own honey or home-made jam, we are able to reap the rewards of that prudence and spread it on toast.

Then there is use what you have, a sensible piece of advice at any time, but especially so in our current economic climate. Learn ways to save what you have (black walnuts? acorns? free apples from a neighbor's tree?) and then learn how to use them when your other food items are low. We have a dearth of apples at the moment and I am busily making apple muffins, apple spice cake, apple crisp (well, okay sis made that one lol) and lots of other things. Soon, though, I'll have to wrap each apple carefully in newspaper and set them in a dark place to keep. With luck they'll still be good in a month or two, and we'll be able to keep eating the crisp tastiness of them when all that's in the stores are mealy ones from far away.

Blessings on all, and may the snow that falls into your life be beautiful!

Woo Hoo!

2011-10-25T09:03:00.001-04:00

I'm a guest blogger over at Charmed I'm Sure, and if you want to read my post, you can [do so here]. Yay! She writes about witchy, housewifery type things in a humorous, down to earth fashion. I've been reading her blog for about 4 months now, and find myself alternating between nodding knowingly and chuckling over my morning coffee. Enjoy!

The view from my window.

2011-10-24T12:21:00.000-04:00

We don't always think about how the view from our windows affects our lives. After all, they're generally just seen as vehicles for letting in sunlight, and for those who are green in their daily habits, also a source of passive solar heat. Yet that view, what we see when we walk over to the window (a habit many of us are not engaging in!) can really affect our day.

The above is the view from my bedroom window. Every morning when I open the curtain beside my bed (on the back side of the house), this is what I see. Since arriving here I have been taking time almost every morning to look out that window (and the front one) to actually SEE where I am. It's been quite the revelation.

I don't know how many times I walked past the windows in our Hinsdale home. Although I did look out my bedroom window often enough, I don't think I actually SAW out it very often. I looked to see if the cars were in the driveway, if the dogs had messed on the pavement, if the children were doing something I needed to stop, and other things. Windows were just things to look through, or sometimes stare aimlessly out of.

Here in our new home, windows have become a joy. I look out and I see the autumn leaves piling up against the massive stone wall that marks the border of our small piece of land. I watch the chipmunks scurrying back and forth, hiding their nuts for the winter (and we do have the cutest Chip'n'Dale style 'munks, I must say!). I observe the lay of the land, the movement of the land wights, the wind in the tree branches, and the sun and moon in the sky above the forest. My window has become a portal to self-discovery as well as outer discovery.

Yesterday, with the help of the children, I removed the last of the (poorly installed) dog fencing that the previous owners had installed. We can now walk freely out the back of our home, among the crisp, crunchy leaves and the natural stone altars and fallen-tree shrines. Come spring, I'll be installing some actual shrines of a more formal type, but for this winter I will be using the natural ones provided to me by the land herself. I see these as gifts for me, and feel a real pull to use them and enjoy them.

I admit, I am looking forward to seeing what the next season brings. Those woods are so ALIVE that seeing them covered in snow is going to be exciting. Will there be deer? I hope so! Perhaps bunnies? That'd be nice too. I think I shall put bird feeders back there, as well, so that we can truly enjoy the wildlife in our area.

For the first time in months, I feel as if I can plan for the future. For the first time in perhaps years, I feel free and happy. Even the early days back in the Hinsdale house were filled with so many stressors, the joy was muted. I had gotten used to seeing everything in shades of grey, with only a few bright points here and there. Now, the freedom of the new house, the plans for the new garden and orchard, the wonderful room that I love so much (and that reminds me of sleeping in the loft of the Little House in the Big Woods!)... all of it equals nights of restful sleep and days of exhausting yet satisfying work.

Today, I look out the front window and I see a mowed lawn (yesterday was a great day for mowing) and bushes that have been trimmed back. Today we'll move many of our long-term storage things into the basement in preparation for picking up more bins and boxes tomorrow to sort through and take care of. The house is no longer just a building or shelter, but has become a home. I am thrilled!

Spirit of Land

2011-10-12T21:08:00.001-04:00

Out behind our house there is a forest. It isn't particularly large, being only 25 acres or so. It's owned by people up the street, who have a small entrance with their house, which then opens onto the forest behind them. As near as I can tell, that 25 acres is pretty much untouched, and has been for quite a number of years. It occasionally hosts kids running through it (as evidenced by the occasional candy wrapper I've seen), but I don't know of any buildings or structures beyond those created by the land itself.

When I look out my kitchen window, I look out onto this "backyard" we have. Our land goes a mere ten paces or so past the back of our house, being long rather than square or wide, and beyond an old stone wall lies the forest. In the mornings, I enjoy sitting and drinking my coffee, watching the several chipmunks playing there. They scamper up and down a few trees close by, and I can observe them quite closely without disturbing them. I find it very calming. Mornings are sunny back there, bright and warm and full.

By afternoon, the light has faded. It's not dark, per se, but it is somewhat shady. The forest is quieter, and there's less activity. It is as if everything takes a pause before the children return from school. The shadows are very long, and there are many darkened places when I look from my kitchen perch.

Evening comes fast to the forest. The afternoon's shade rapidly turns into darkness. By the time I have dinner on the table, it's pitch black out there. Nothing to see... except...

Tonight it was starting to rain, and I was in the process of curing some new cast iron cookware when it decided to smoke abominably. I had to open the windows in the kitchen, despite the autumn chill, to let the smoke out. I found myself sitting on my perch again, examining the forest from a completely different viewpoint. After a few moments of listening to the rain through reflecting windows, I got up and turned off all the lights in the room.

I carefully felt my way back to my spot, and curled up with my arms on the window sill. With all the interior lights off, I could finally SEE into the darkness, which wasn't really completely dark after all. The moon is full, and its light stained the sky. I could see the black outline of treetops against its glow. Before me, directly in front of me in fact, was the hollowed out stump of an old tree. It looked as if the tree had fallen rather than been cut, just judging by the look of it, but I hadn't gotten close enough to it to really examine it. Now, I found myself staring at this silhouette and noticing there were ... lights.

They weren't really lights, of course, but spots of numinous energy. They were like eyes, almost, and I felt as if I were being watched in return. I got the sense of an interested curiosity toward me, as if the forest inhabitants hadn't had anyone around before who could sense them. What a thrill, to be so close, separated only by a thin screen! I knew that if I went outside, the moment would be lost. Instead, I stayed sitting, perching, watching, feeling, sensing, drinking in the sensations of curiosity, interest, even love of a sort (although not the type of love we think of).

The children began moving around in the house about that time, and the sensations drifted off. Things were too noisy and full of youthful exuberance to allow that shy, quiet presence to stay. I felt invited, though, and welcomed. I felt joy, too, and an expansiveness that has eluded me for a long time.

Tomorrow, I will go out back and make a small altar or shrine in the hollow stump. I'll leave some barley, some fresh water, perhaps some milk or wine. I might leave some flowers, too, as there are still roses blooming in our front yard, tiny though they might be. I will say thank you to the spirits that graced me with their presence, and let them know that their attention was appreciated and desired. Sometime soon, I will introduce that spot to the children, too. I remember how excited they were to make offerings to the river nymphs at our last house, and this is a similar place, though not quite the same. These are earthy spirits rather than watery ones, I believe, and there is a whole different FEEL to them.

Sukkot

2011-10-11T09:32:00.000-04:00

We're coming up on a Jewish holiday called Sukkot, a time when the Jews build little outdoor huts and spend much of their time in them rather than in their permanent houses. It is meant to remind them of the trials and impermanent lives of their forefathers. While I do not build a sukkah nor do I celebrate Sukkot, I have enjoyed reading about the Days of Awe and Rosh Hashanah and other holy days leading up to this week long celebration. I feel a camaraderie with the holiday and its temporary shelters.

At this time of year, in the autumn, I love to watch the leaves turn red and gold and orange and rusty brown. I love the scrunching sound when I walk through them, and the crisp sensation of them under my feet. I cherish the crisp, fall air, and the scents of fallen leaves, cut grass, and upturned gardens being prepared for the coming winter. It's a time of plenty, as the last harvests out of our gardens comes in, and we begin to see pumpkins and mums on people's doorsteps. I need a sweater most days, though there's the occasional afternoon that temperatures soar into the high 70s, and nights that range from well below freezing up into the 60s. It's a time of change.

Sukkot seems to celebrate that change. Autumn is not a time of standing still, and it has nothing to do with permanence. It is a moving season; even the leaves are moving as they fall from the trees and blanket the chilling earth. The creation of an outdoor worship space just for this time of year calls to me, speaks to me because it reflects the very seasons of God (Goddess, the Holy and Divine Ones, the All, and the Many). The abundance around you is evident through half walls, and the tumbling leaves decorate your table as they find their way through the corn stalk roof above.

I suppose I see the beauty of the leaves, the chilly air, the sights and smells of autumn, as the visible and tangible blessings sent to us by the Many. I feel Their embrace when I cuddle up at night with my warm, heavy blankets tucked tight around me. I sense their presence in every lit candle, in every long-sleeved shirt, in every child climbing into my bed at 3am for warmth and companionship.

This truly is a time of Divinity.

Me.

2011-09-23T23:08:00.000-04:00

I am many things. I am female, short, overweight and blonde. I am a mother, minister, cook, priestess, lover, counselor and writer. I am also, for lack of a better term, Republican in my political leanings. Now... I can imagine that many of you may be reaching for your tar and feathers. After all, we pagans are supposed to be peace loving hippies who always vote Democrat, right? All pagans are liberals, after all. Well... no, actually, we're not. Just as not all pagans are vegetarians, nudists, pacifists, or anything else. In fact, the only thing I feel comfortable saying about "all" pagans is that we're individuals. Amazing that, isn't it? Each one of us has our own beliefs, our own politics, our own thoughts about how things should be done and by whom. That's one of the joys of being human.

I try very hard not to judge my friends and acquaintances based on a single piece of information. I work every day at not being the kind of person who stammers out, "But some of my BEST FRIENDS are black!" The bottom line is that my friends are human. That means that each one of them can be many things, some of them even contradictory!

I have become more and more frustrated and annoyed with the general atmosphere of politics, over the past few years. I found a lot of the nastiness pointed at Bush to be distasteful and rude, but I support free speech and so I would politely disagree and then fall silent. People have a right to call him whatever they want, after all, even if I happen to think they're being rude. However, now that Obama is in office, I find that suddenly, that isn't quite true. I've seen people who made rude comments about Obama suddenly receiving death threats from mysterious places. I've heard of claims of racism aimed at people simply because they disagreed with Obama's political policies. I have witnessed much less rancor toward Obama, largely because anything said about or in his general direction seems to be accompanied by claims of racism and class warfare.

Now, before you think I'm just "ripping into the Left," let me explain that I'm just as annoyed with the Right. The rhetoric and political balderdash that has been passed around of late is pretty stomach churning. We're back into the political ad season, and once again I'm seeing ads that say nothing about a candidate's political beliefs, other than that they "stand against Mr. X." This is unfortunately equally true of both "sides" of this debate. It's disturbing, because the public seems to just accept it. They don't really expect to get any information out of the ads on television or the radio. They don't expect to get any information, period. They base their votes on whether a pet cause has been funded lately, or whether the politician in question kissed their baby. It's disgusting.

Neither political party is acting in acceptable manners. Neither Republicans nor Democrats are being reasonable in their assertions. There's a lot of name calling going on, and the media not only reports it, but feeds it and stirs it up. Recently, I had the displeasure to come across an article which started out with something along the lines of, "We know all the Right are against public assistance." Several people that I know were lauding the article, talking about how wonderful it was. I wondered how they could get past the first lie, and whether it was easier to take the lies in large chunks. I refused to read further. I have no interest in poisoning my mind with any rhetoric that begins with over-generalizations and misinformation.

If you find this little notice offensive... then you probably don't want to be my friend. I'm not saying you need to shuffle off, but I am what I am. I tend to be fiscally conservative and socially liberal. I believe in helping out things like Planned Parenthood, and I also think that Welfare shouldn't be run by the government. I don't want socialized healthcare and despise the "Obamacare" that is being pushed on us. I am disturbed by many of the methods used by Obama, even when I occasionally agree with the things he has done. It is a matter of the end NOT justifying the means. I am me, and that means that I am not "like all Republicans." Nor am I like "all pagans." I am not (and I believe no one is, to be honest) "all" anything. I'm human, with foibles, a temper, failings, and feelings.

There is a chance that you may find yourself no longer on my "friends" list on FaceBook or GooglePlus. This has nothing to do with your character... but likely has to do with your responses to articles like the one I just mentioned. I simply no longer want to read mindless responses to ignorant articles. It bothers me. It doesn't mean I never want to talk to you again; it does mean I'd please like you to keep your politics and your "all or nothing" stance to yourself.

Amen, Ashe, So mote it be.

How to Cook Fresh Beets | My Sister's Kitchen

2011-09-18T15:27:00.000-04:00

How to Cook Fresh Beets | My Sister's Kitchen:

'via Blog this'

I was looking up something else and ran across this .... it's too good not to share!

For the Love of Fudge!

2011-09-18T13:03:00.003-04:00

I'm not really a Suzy Q Homemaker type of gal most of the time. I'm proud of my garden when I have it, and I bake the occasional loaf of bread, and sure I love to cook dinners. I'm just not a "pearls and apron" kind of lady, though! Every once in a while, I get the urge to Make Something. Often it's bread, because even my mistakes get grand praise and are gobbled up by family. Bread is a whole day affair, which I have to start early in the morning and don't finish until bedtime, and so that wasn't what I felt called to make today.

No, today the calling was for fudge. Oh yeah, fudge, that gooey, rich goodness that rots your teeth and calls the Plaque Monster in to play. That pan of delicious chocolate insanity mixed with more sugar and butter, with no excuses for diets or points or blood sugar levels. Yes, I felt a definite call to make fudge today.

Well, fudge that isn't from a kit isn't very difficult, but even when microwaved (as I did it today, as our double boiler is "in a box somewhere" like everything else we own) it's a bit time consuming. It's not bread, though, and a half hour turns out a lovely batch. So I went over to Mr. G's, our local bump and dent store, to see what they had available. See, they often have huge bags of chocolate chips for 99 cents or thereabouts, and I count that out as a whole pan of fudge for $3 after tax... seems about good to me! As it turns out, though, they had no chocolate chips. I was devastated... until the lady told me that they had peanut butter chocolate chips. This was supposed to make me sad? Oh no... I bought four bags of the things, and ran home giggling maniacally. I was clutching my bag, too. Just for the effect, you know.

Think about it - they know I was recently ordained (they = everyone in the neighborhood). They know I'm living at the parsonage right now. They know I'm ... different. And now I'm clutching a baggie from the store and giggling quietly to myself. What would YOU think?

Okay, fudge is ridiculously easy to make, especially in a microwave. Take three cups of chips (chocolate, white chocolate, Hershey's kisses even, caramel chips... doesn't matter) and put them in a large, microwave safe container. I used the big measuring cup we have here (it holds 8 cups). Drop a quarter of a cup of butter on top. It can be hard or soft, doesn't matter. On top of that, pour one 14 oz can of sweetened condensed milk. Stick the whole thing in the microwave for 3 minutes at 50% power (do NOT cook it on full power - you will boil your chocolate and make it grainy and ruined). Stir with a wooden spoon or spatula, and return to the microwave for 2 minutes at 50% power. Continue the two minute cycle with a stir in between until the butter is completely melted and it is nice and smooth when you mix it. What you see in my picture here is NOT ready - this is after the first 3 minutes.

When it's nice and smooth, you can choose to mix in nuts, marshmallows, crushed candies, or whatever your li'l old heart desires. Mix well, then pour into well greased baking pans. I picked up 8" x 8" tin foil pans about an inch deep, and they did quite well. One recipe as listed here filled one pan nicely. If you want to have a dusky top or embed some kind of candy in the top, do it after it's been in the fridge five minutes. Take your pan, pop it in the fridge for at least 2 hours. Then eat.

Now... While you're waiting that long, lonely two hours, why don't you lick your spoon or spatula? Then the measuring cup. Then anything else that touched the chocolate. Don't let it go to waste!

I'm making nice roast chicken breast for dinner, with fresh beets, fresh pan fried potatoes, sauteed cabbage, and coined fresh carrots. After all that goodness and healthiness, we'll need some old fashioned pan fudge.

Split Pea and Ham Soup

2011-09-17T15:44:00.000-04:00

Everyone in my family loves split pea soup, with or without ham. Each of us has favorite items we like in it, too. For me, it's barley. There has to be barley in it or it just isn't RIGHT. Others like carrots, or potatoes, and Gray just likes it thick enough to stand a spoon in. Regardless, it has to have lots of green and yellow split peas in it, and perhaps a handful of lovely dark orange lentils. It has to simmer all day on the back of the stove, a spicy, dusky scent that greets you every time you open the door to come in. When it's done, it has to be thick, hearty, and hot, with floating bits of carrot and onion. It's best served with a crusty bread, heavily slathered with fresh butter.

SPLIT PEA SOUP WITH HAM

* ham bone or pork broth
* a total of 14 cups of liquid, starting with the pork broth if you have it, and ending with the water
* cut up cooked ham (half inch cubes work best)
* 2 cloves of garlic, rough chopped
* 1 large onion, chopped
* 2 large or 3 medium carrots, coined
* 3 medium potatoes, diced (skin on, preferably)
* 1-2 cups split peas (your choice of color)
* 1/2 cup pearl barley
* 1/2 cup lentils (optional)
* spices to taste (I use salt, pepper, fresh parsley, and oregano

Put your broth on to heat, or put the ham bone into the water (or mixed liquid) and bring to a boil. If you are working from a bone, let it boil for a half hour and then take it out, and continue with the recipe. Add your ingredients to the broth (except the salt - do that at the end) and bring it back to a full boil, then put it down to a low simmer and allow your soup to simmer for at least two hours, but the longer the better. Serve with crusty bread or fresh baked soda bread!

Now, when I make this, I usually tweak it a little. You can add any root vegetable you like - potato, carrot, onion, garlic, jerusalem artichoke, even sweet potatoes, though that makes it too sweet for my personal taste. When hubby isn't eating it, I also add parsnip and cabbage (parsnip goes in with the other veggies, and the cabbage gets put in during the last half hour before serving). You might want to add more potato, or more lentils or split peas, depending on how thick you like your broth. Some people don't put any of the vegetables in until the last half hour, and before they do they puree the broth and meat into a kind of paste. I personally don't like it that smooth, but it's another option.

If you're serving this to friends you want to impress, reserve a sprig of parsley or any other fresh herb to put on top of the bowl, and add a tablespoon of cream over the top of the soup, in a pattern. It will sit on top and look very pretty, indeed! Admittedly, once you've made this a couple of times, they won't be looking at it - they'll be digging into it with great gusto. Trust me on this!

I made this today, for our dinner this evening. I didn't add much pepper because of the kids, and I cut my onions very big (we have one kid who doesn't like onions but is fine if she can pick them out). I didn't add parsnip or turnip because we didn't have any, and I added a bit extra in carrots and potatoes because we did have them and they're from a local organic farm.

The broth I used was the water I'd boiled the ham in two days ago when I made ham for our dinner. It wasn't a bone-in ham (though I have one in the freezer!), so I reserved the liquid for soup. You put it in the fridge for at least a day, and skim off any fat from the top before using it in this recipe. All our left-over ham went into the soup, along with our acquired veggies and a package of "split pea soup mix" of split peas (thank you Manischewitz!! check out the ingredient list on the split pea package that I just used!). I picked these up at the local "bump and dent" store for a dime each, and I use two packages for this recipe made with 14 cups of liquid. It's almost as easy to make with the regular split peas, but this had such a nice mix, and was so convenient and cheap. I couldn't have purchased the split peas for so inexpensive!

One of the wonderful things about this soup is its flexibility. Not only can you mix around the ingredients, if you find you've made too much (this rarely happens around here - my soup pot isn't big enough LOL) it is very simple to put into a plastic container and freeze it. When you want to cook it, dump the frozen chunk into a pot and heat on medium until it's defrosted and hot enough. You might need to loosen it up with a bit of water, as it tends to get thicker when frozen. Regardless, it's really yummy out of the freezer, too! When I have the big stock pot available, I sometimes make gallons of this soup and freeze it in "family size" containers (quart size freezer bags). It's a really quick dinner that everyone likes, and the more you make of it, the cheaper it is (true of almost all soups).

Bon appetite!

Good Vegetables Gone Bad, and other tales...

2011-09-16T16:02:00.000-04:00

I've talked before about how some vegetables like to cross over with other ones. Different kinds of squash come to mind, along with cucumbers and melons. You might ask yourself, what happens, exactly, when this cross species breeding happens? Well, what happens is you get Good Vegetables Gone Bad. To the left, you can see what probably started out as a garden variety cucumber, and was cross-pollinated with some kind of spiky veg, perhaps a thistle (there are a lot on the property I took this picture on). Click on the image for a close up look at this bizarre fruit! I pulled one apart (with gloves on - those things are sharp!) and it has innards like a cucumber. The leaves are definitely cucumber or squash inspired. It's a vining plant. I wouldn't want to eat it, though.

Today, I took out all my co-op goodies from last night's raid, and I fondled them. Well... okay, maybe I didn't go that far, but I did size them up and decide what they were going to be used for. The green cherry tomatoes and the dill had a specific use in mind when I picked them, and that's what I'm going to share with you today! You can see a small bunch of the lovely baby dill here, just about to be chopped up and put into the brine for my pickled cherry tomatoes. The smell of it was heavenly (and still is... it clings to the fingertips!), and it was almost a shame to cut it up. However, it gives a much more pungent flavor if you cut it up, and so... it was cut.

Next came the cilantro, again chopped fine. When making brine, I like to smush things up a bit, as it releases the natural oils in the herbs. When I actually do the canning, I usually slip in a sprig or two of the various herbs, both for flavor and for beauty. It should be noted, half of the fun and joy of canning is the beauty of what you're making. If it doesn't look pretty, then it had better taste phenomenal, because it isn't worth the work otherwise! The brine itself was made of vinegar and water and salt (recipe below), and was very simple. These were destined to be "refrigerator pickles" because I don't have proper canning jars, lids, rings, or my canner at the moment. Everything is packed up in boxes and hidden away in the storage unit, hard to find at this point. What I did have on hand was a pack of jelly jars, the kind used for freezer jam. They have snap on lids, suitable for fridge jams and freezer jellies, and for refrigerator pickles (they never get a hot water bath, and are never sealed - they stay in the fridge the whole time).

The brine gets boiled for five minutes or so before being poured over the tomatoes, and it leaves a vinegary smell throughout the house. It's delicious, the scent of summer passing us by. It also has a nice side effect of leaving your pan very clean, because the vinegar is a natural cleanser! It should be noted that you do not want to make brine of any kind in aluminum pots, and you should also avoid cast iron (in my opinion). Our pots are a special steel with copper bottoms (which don't touch the food), and I use either stainless steel utensils, or plastic ones. Aluminum has a tendancy to break down under the acidic vinegar, especially if it's left to sit for a couple of hours. So be careful and use glass or stainless steel.

My four teeny jars are sitting here, one packed and lidded, the other three waiting for their brine. I do prefer to make these in proper canning jars, with a hot water bath to seal them up, because it means I can store them on a shelf without needing to keep them cold. However, we do as we must, and if I was going to get any canning done, it had to be done this way. You can see the salt there, in the background of the picture. That salt is NON IODIZED salt. While not technically necessary for refrigerator pickles, you should not use iodized salt for making regular canned goods that would be pressure treated or hot water bathed. Always use a non-iodized salt, and preferably a kosher sea salt if you can find and afford it. It's safest, and honestly the flavor is so much better that it's unbelievable.

The finished product is so skimpy that I almost wept, but on the other hand, I can now say I did canning this year. I feel better, even if the gesture is wholly symbolic. If you click on the image, you can see the garlic pieces in the bottom, and little sprigs of fresh dill, as well as some slices of green pepper. Now comes the hardest part of canning, though - waiting until they're ready! It will be six weeks before these can be opened and eaten, if I want the flavor to be right. And I do want the flavor to be right! So I will now set my timer so that it alerts me to go pop a lid on October 28th, to accompany whatever dinner we're eating that night. I will be looking forward to 10/28 with glassy eyes and a bit of drool dripping down the corner of my chin.

And now... the recipe!

GREEN TOMATO DILL PICKLES

Green tomatoes
Sweet green peppers
Garlic
2 qts. water
1 qt. vinegar
1 c. salt
Dill
Cilantro

Use small, firm green tomatoes. Pack into sterilized Kerr jars. Add to each jar a halved clove of garlic and several slices of green pepper. Make a brine of the water, vinegar and salt. Add the dill and cilantro and boil for 5 minutes. Pour the hot brine over the tomatoes to within 1/2 inch of top of the jar. Put on cap, screw band firmly tight. Process in boiling water bath 15 minutes. These will be ready for use in 4-6 weeks. This amount of liquid fills 6 quarts.

This recipe is based on the one from Cooks.com, which I totally love. The changes I made were to put them into tiny jam jars with plastic lids, and with the plan to keep them in the fridge you no longer need to process them in a water bath. If you process them, you can open them in 4-6 weeks, but if you make fridge pickles, wait the full six. I halved this recipe because I only had a couple of handfuls of cherry tomatoes suitable for pickling.

Garden Angst

2011-09-15T21:55:00.003-04:00

I read the iconic Victory Garden posters from the World Wars and I cringe, this year. I had no garden, no produce, and nothing to can. I think this is the very first year in ... a decade or more, that I have canned nothing at all. The few tomato plants I had did not do well in their pots. The small tomatoes we did get were enjoyed by the children, but they were definitely not many. I'm used to being sick of green beans by the point in my harvesting, desperate for the frost tonight and tomorrow to finally bring an end to the repetitive bean harvest that's been going on since June. This summer, I've had fresh beans twice. Once was from the local grocery store and I think they were from Mexico, and they didn't taste like the beans I grow.

All this changed tonight, though. Well, okay not the canning and growing part, but the "enjoying the harvest" part changed. A friend of sis's gave us her last pick-up at the co-op farm up the road. Tonight was their very last night before shutting down for the winter, and we were given her credit so that we could go and choose whatever we wanted. We walked into the barn/office area and were met the the smells and sights that I've missed all summer: fresh vegetables from wall to wall!

After finding out how it worked, we went and picked out our "nine items." Each item was figured differently. For instance, "one item" of potatoes was measured as two pounds. One item of beats was a bunch. One item of small squash was two squash. We looked everything over twice, drooling at the fresh, succulent look of it all, and then made our choices. The girl twin was with us, and piped up about what she wanted.

Our take for the night, out of the main harvest room: 2 pounds of fresh carrots, 2 pounds of fresh beets, minus the greens, 2 pounds fresh white potatoes, one (very large) bunch of beautiful leeks, 2 pounds of mixed red and yellow onions, one solid head of savoy cabbage (my favorite!), 5 field cucumbers (per the girl twin), two small pumpkin-style squash, and 2 pounds of huge tomatoes.

As we were preparing to leave, the lady who worked there pointed out that we were welcome to go into the fields and take anything in a row that was headed with a white marker. She especially urged us to go take as many cherry tomatoes as we could handle, and all the flowers we wanted, because of the coming frost. However, we were welcome to as much of anything we wanted to take the time to pick, and could stay as late as we wanted. We stashed our goodies in the trunk of the car, and we three ladies ran out to the fields with huge grins on our faces!

We managed to find delicate and aromatic baby dill, cilantro, and broad leaf parsley. The scent of them still clings to my fingers now, and it's the smell of summer's end. We also got about a pound of green beans which I picked off the bushes. The girl picked out several beautiful flowers to make a bouquet for her room. Then we discovered the field of cherry tomatoes. I wish we hadn't lost the light (we were picking in falling darkness and rain, by the way, in dresses and skirts and short sleeves) because I could have stayed there for HOURS.

The girl was ecstatic when she realized she could EAT those tomatoes and no one would get upset with her. She ate two for every one that made it into her bag, and I don't care one whit. It was wonderful to see her so happy. She's a gardening child, and desperate for getting her fingers dirty in the spring. She's definitely got a wee bit of me in her, biology notwithstanding. I gathered up quite a few firm and beautiful green cherry tomatoes, with the idea that I might attempt to make some pickled green tomatoes tomorrow afternoon. I love them so, and I never get to make them because there's either not enough time, or they get eaten fried up in batter. Since I'm the only one home tomorrow, I might just make two little jars of them.

It felt good to put all those fresh vegetables into the fridge. Tomorrow I'm making ham and split pea soup, because I made ham last night and we have leftovers. It will now also contain some of those fresh potatoes, some of the carrots and onions, and those pretty flowers will grace the table. The night after that, I can already taste the fried cabbage and boiled fresh beets, dripping with butter and a tiny bit of salt...

Now I can go into the autumn without too many qualms. I'm still sad that there aren't an abundance of clean, sparkly jars filled with summer's labor on my shelves, but that's okay. Instead, they'll be filled over the winter with empty jars stored upside down, ready for next summer and autumn's harvests to fill them. I can't wait!

Ministerial Blues

2011-09-14T23:11:00.001-04:00

About a week before my ordination, I found myself in a deep, dark funk. I was days away from leaving for our big spiritual retreat, I was facing fun and joy in New York City, and all I could think about was how unfit I was for ministry.

The questions flew fast and furious through my brain. Who the heck did I think I was? What in the name of Pete was I doing? Me, a minister? Responsible for other people's problems and souls and hearts? I couldn't even find my way out of my own depression; how in the world was I going to manage to help someone else through their Dark Time?

Of course, the answers are a lot more complex than the questions (and admittedly, they're not exactly simple themselves!). There is a group of people that believe we can only help others if we have gone through the issues ourselves. In other words, my depression and angst was not (IS not) a drawback, but a plus, a positive thing. That said, I still struggle with the idea that my own depression sometimes debilitates me, and that makes it hard for me to be open and available to others. The big question, "Am I fit for ministering to others?" really does repeat in my head. Often.

Tonight, I find myself trying to claw my way out of a depression. I have plenty of reasons (excuses) for being down: our house still hasn't gone through, we're living in emergency housing, we're packed in like sardines until all the paperwork goes through, we have to try and keep two rambunctious five year olds quiet each evening, we're stressed and tired and hurting and short on cash, the days are long and the evenings too short, it's That Time of the Month, and I have a cold on top of all of it. Still, the point is not to let the reasons overwhelm my reason. I don't cease being a minister just because I'm depressed. Instead, I have to take the time to learn from my depression, to gain insights into how and why and where, so that when the time comes for me to help someone else through this, I can look into their eyes and hold their hand and say, "It's okay. We can survive this."

One of my religious mentors has taught me a lot about depression. She suffers from it too, and there are times when I've seen her doubled over in the back of the church, praying that she'll get through the service. It never stopped her from holding my hand, though, and saying, "It's okay, we can survive this." When the inner pain rises and I have trouble seeing the light, I think of her and if I'm lucky I talk to her, and even though it doesn't make everything "alright" I am left with the knowledge that I will survive. It will get better.

I'm a minister. It's a verb, not a noun, at least the way I use it. That means I DO more than I AM, if that makes sense. When there is nothing else I can do, I put my hands together (or get on my knees or cover my hair, or whatever seems to fit the moment) and I pray. Sometimes when I pray, I pray about how ticked off I am that my gods would dare to inflict this iniquity upon me. As Mother Teresa supposedly said, "I know God won't give me more than I can handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so much!" Other times I beg for relief, for the darkness to recede and the light to return. I even wallow in it, sometimes, taking time to sit on the Pity Pot and whine about "Oh Poor Me!" When I'm done... I stand up and thank my gods, and I do my best to get back to work.

So tonight, as I struggle to move past the inner darkness of the past few days, I will clasp my hands together and pray. Tonight is a good night - the storm is approaching outside, and the thunder is rolling over me. It helps that there is tension in the universe, almost as if it's alright for me to let go of mine, letting it disappear into that great morass of clouds and noise.

For all those who suffer from the heavy load of depression, know that we can survive this. It means a bit of time that isn't comfortable or happy, but we can make it through. Hold on, pray to your gods, and try to keep your nose above water. If you need to, talk to a therapist or minister or counselor, and know that we talk to OUR counselors, too. You are not weak; you are strong, even when (especially when) you don't realize it.

Hungarian Chirke Paprikas

2011-09-08T12:00:00.001-04:00

Throughout my pagan years, I have always been a cooking-oriented sort of person. I've always been a kitchen witch, as it were. I make magic and love in my kitchen, and store it up in the pantry for later consumption. My "spell components" consist of good quality sea salt, imported Hungarian paprika (sweet and hot both), black pepper, garlic powder, onion flakes, parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. There are others, of course, but those are the main ingredients for making the recipes that my family loves most. To the left you can see a can of excellent Hungarian paprika. Of all the Hungarian recipes I post, I use ONLY this brand of paprika, and it's in every recipe. Szeged makes both hot and sweet (pictured is sweet) and I keep these cans on hand always. I just wish I could find it in larger containers.... that one is only the size of two regular spice jars, and the way I use it, it disappears rapidly. Also, the pictures are of the cabbage dish, not the chicken recipe, just because I didn't think to take photos until the chicken was in the oven!

Hungarian paprika is not like American paprika. It has flavor, very distinct, somewhat smokey, and the hot is quite hot. It has a very rich color, not red, but more like a burgundy shade. It even smells different from the American stuff, with an aroma that tickles the nose with a slight peppery tease.

Today, I want to share two recipes with you that my grandmother taught me. I don't cook them the way she did (lard is not considered good for us when we're not working as tobacco farmhands!), but the flavor is spot on (just as good as hers, she said). Chirke paprikas (paprika chicken) is a savory chicken dish made with cut up whole chicken, or just about any pieces you have laying around. The cabbage dish doesn't have a name, but goes along well with this or most other Hungarian recipes. It's a favorite here.

For the chicken, you want to get a whole cut up fryer, or whatever pieces you like. I've made it with whole, with just thighs, and even with cut up breasts! It's a very flexible recipe, but if you use all white meat and no bone, be sure to add a bit extra liquid to keep it moist. Rinse the chicken pieces and pat them dry, and set them aside. In the bottom of an oven-safe pot (I use a cast iron dutch oven) with a lid, spritz with Pam or another non-stick spray, and then lay out a layer of cheap bacon. This is NOT the time for your expensive bacon, the wood smoked hickory flavored goodness should be reserved for Saturday mornings with pancakes. You want fatty bacon here, because you want flavor and fat, NOT meat. We use the bargain bin bacon from the local grocer. Put a layer of chicken onto the bacon, and then a layer of diced or sliced onions (your preference). I like to add slices of garlic as well, or if I'm in a rush I'll throw in a couple of tablespoons of the pre-diced jarred garlic. Sprinkle with a touch of salt and pepper, then layer on the paprika until everything is RED. Do not sprinkle the paprika - paint with it. You cannot use too much paprika in this. If you decide you want it a bit spicier, you can add a sprinkle of the HOT Hungarian paprika, but this dish is best made with the mild in my opinion.

Keep layering with bacon, chicken, onions, spices until you run out of chicken. Make sure that the last layer is bacon, and that you put paprika on that, too. Here's where my recipe differs from my grandmother's, by the way. I don't add a half pound of lard right now. I add chicken broth (I use home made, but canned is fine). Fill up your pot until you can just see the liquid. If you have breasts, make sure they're on the bottom, as they'll be submerged and will be more tender. If you have ALL breasts in this, fill the broth up until it touches the top layer, and add extra bacon on top to keep it moist. You'll thank me later. All that said, if you're stuck, you can even make this with water, or water mixed with a bit of soy sauce or wine.

Put the pot'o'goodness into the oven at 350F for about an hour, with a lid on. After that, check frequently (about every 15 minutes) to make sure the water doesn't evaporate. You can take the lid off, too. Poke around in the pot and see how tender your meat is. If you have thighs with backs attached, you'll know it's ready when the meat starts to fall off the bones!

Take the chicken out, and put it on a high-sided platter or serving dish. Drape some of the bacon over it if you like! Now, take a container of sour cream and put it into a large mixing/serving bowl. Start adding a couple of tablespoons of the liquid at a time to the sour cream, and mix with a whisk. Continue doing this until the sauce is the right thickness for you (I like it to be thick enough to still be 'gravy' but thin enough to pour). You may need to add a bit of paprika and salt to this, but it's up to you. Taste it and decide for yourself! Pour a bit of this over the platter of chicken, add a sprig of parsley, and serve piping hot, with the remainder of the gravy in a boat on the side.

Now, on to the cabbage you've been looking at! Again, we're going to replace my grandmother's lard with chicken broth. Into the bottom of a large pot (large enough to hold your cabbage!), pour a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, and add a few bits of raw bacon. Saute until they are mostly cooked, and then add some diced or sliced onion. I usually put in one large onion per head of cabbage (and my cabbage is generally the size of three fists together, though the one pictured is about two-fist size). Add a bit of garlic, some paprika (okay, a LOT of paprika), salt and pepper, and then let the onions cook until they begin to soften and go clear (see second picture).

While the onions cook, take your cabbage and slice it into thin ribbons. You don't have to be particular; it's going to turn mostly to mush anyhow. I usually make them about finger wide, and I don't worry about length (see the fourth picture above). When the onions are ready, pop your cabbage right into the pot, and add some more paprika. When all the cabbage is in (it usually takes me 3 or 4 iterations of chopping/adding to get there), give it a good stir to mix everything together. If it isn't RED you want to add more paprika (yes, as a matter of fact that IS the secret of good Hungarian cooking! lol).

Pour in enough chicken broth to just cover all the contents of your pot. Bring it to a full boil, stir a couple of times, then set it to simmer (no lid) at a low heat. If you want it to be ready in an hour, when your chicken is probably ready, keep it at a medium heat and stick around to stir it frequently. Add liquid as needed, although your end product should have almost no liquid in it at all! Don't let it burn. This can also be put on a very low heat (provided there are still bubbles in the liquid) to simmer for a longer time. The longer the simmer, the richer the flavor.

This dish is ready when the cabbage is soft and falling apart, quite red, and the liquid is almost all gone. The last little while you'll have to stick around and stir to keep it from burning. It's a good time to make your 'gravy' for the chicken! Taste to see if it needs more salt or pepper - sometimes I add a bit, other times I don't.

These two dishes are often served together, along side some corn with butter, a nice, warm crusty bread, and egg noodles or spetzel. We usually pour the gravy over the chicken and noodles, and put fresh sour cream onto the top of the whole thing. It's a very easy dish to make, doesn't require a lot of finicky preparation, and tastes like you spent all day in the kitchen. You WILL be asked to make this again, and again, and again...

Life, the Universe, and Everything.

2011-08-31T12:48:00.000-04:00

This summer has been spent at the beach, at the park, in the library, and around and about. The children have been active and full of life and joy, and are brown as berries. I think my favorite moments are definitely the library ones, though. There's a big rocking chair there, and I can settle into it and watch the magic of words unfold around me. The kids really enjoy reading, and sometimes they ask me to read TO them. I don't mind - reading is something near and dear to my own heart. So we read book after book, until they find one they like enough to want to bring it home for night time reading. We've been spending time each night, after the lights are out, reading The Secret of NIMH, a favorite of mine from my own childhood. The boy is also starting to work through chapter books (Animorphs at the moment, which are horrid but hey, he's reading). I'm not willing to discourage ANY source of reading in this house.

Still, books must be balanced with outdoor activities, and they've done plenty of that this summer, too. It's been gratifying watching them growing and running and playing. Today we'll be heading up to the park on their bikes, with me trailing along behind on foot. They have training wheels right now, but I suspect they'll be ready to ditch those before the snow hits. They're almost ready now! In another week they'll be back in the classroom, a full day at their mom's school. They'll be going in with her in the morning, staying all day, then coming home with her in the evenings. Such a long, long day, but they'll get some mommy time every morning and evening, definitely not a bad thing. I admit, though, I will miss them. I like the quiet, the ability to do some work on my computer, get the housework done in a timely fashion (and stay done for a couple of hours at least LOL), but I'll miss their firm little arms wrapping around my neck and their snuggles and drawings and other happy things.

Keep your fingers crossed - it looks like we should close on our house next week!

A little bit of prayer.

2011-08-10T11:48:00.006-04:00

Prayer is a big part of my life. Prior to seminary, I did a bit of praying each day, but nothing like what I do now. I pray to different deities, depending on what's going on. Most often I sort of "go through the list" and say a few words to all those I worship. This feels right to me, and may or may not work for others. It's what I've fallen into, and it's comfortable enough to keep me at it, and difficult enough that I don't become lax about it. That seems to be about the right combination for my own sense of correctness in religious/spiritual discipline. Generally I pray in the evening, before going to sleep or close to that time. Sometimes I pray in the afternoon (and I am now following a noon-time discipline that requires me to stop for a minute at noon and focus), and less often in the morning (I suspect that the gods wouldn't appreciate me pre-coffee LOL).

The last week has been full of very extreme life changes. We're moving, we don't yet have a house and are staying in transitory housing, we're dealing with friends and family who have bad medical problems, and much of our stuff is currently locked away from us in our old house, where we have no access to it. One of the medical emergencies was a friend of ours who managed to get second degree burns down his right side.

That first night in ICU, we spent taking turns sitting with him in the burn unit. He was asleep for most of it, on morphine and hooked up to an IV and a zillion machines. During my shift, after he settled down and drifted off, I put my hands together in prayer. I prayed steadily for almost two hours. I prayed for his safety, for his health, for his recovery. I prayed for a lot of things over the course of that night. Amazingly, his burns are healing well. They are not going to be fully healed for a long time, but it's amazing how quickly the damage is evening out. Prayer does work.

I came home from the ICU, expecting hugs from our children that I badly needed... and discovered the place was empty. Their grandmother had fallen and needed help, and so sis loaded herself and the kids and drove off to Chicago post haste. More bad news. More worry. More prayers sent out.

Sometime that day (Sunday), I realized the one thing I hadn't been praying for: myself. I don't mean that in an egotistical sense, but just in a regular "saying prayers" kind of way. I had neglected myself and my own family in my prayers. I sat there for a good half hour wondering how long that had been going on, and realized that I could not remember the last time I'd sat down and said an honest, heart-felt prayer for myself.

I corrected that immediately.

I don't know if the prayer for myself and my family caused the good things to begin happening, or if I simply opened myself up to the positive that was already present, but within a half hour of that prayer, there was an immediate turn around in our situations. We heard good things about our friend, sis's mother, and what will hopefully be our new house.

So... as you go about your day, don't forget to take a pause and say a prayer for yourself. I don't mean asking God for a pony; stay away from self-serving things, of course. It's not wrong, however, to ask for help dealing with a problem, or lightening of a load that just feels too heavy. Don't be afraid to start that conversation with whatever god you worship and believe in. Clasp your hands together, open your mouth and your heart.

2011-08-09T15:36:00.000-04:00

Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time - Marcus J. Borg

My church is watching an interesting set of videos collectively called "Living the Questions," which is largely put together by the United Church of Christ as a study guide. I've been enjoying it immensely, because of the depth of honesty of the people speaking, and the frank moments when they look into the camera and say, "I don't know. I believe X and Y, but that's just me." One of the people who has interested me most is Marcus Borg, who is a rather progressive Christian (some would say that he steps well outside the bounds of Christianity in his beliefs, although I am not one of those). After I expressed my interest, our pastor gave me this book to read by Borg, and I must admit, I found it entirely fascinating!

It is not a long book, being only 140 pages in the copy which I have. However, those pages are jam packed with information. The first chapter gets right to the point, no holds barred. He talks about how as children we have a very beautiful vision of Jesus, but that there comes a time when that childish vision no longer suits us. We become questioners, which is appropriate, and as we seek out the answers to our questions we discover that the Bible is not quite the inerrant document some would like us to think it is. It has some things which are contradictory, some of the stories in the gospels are in different orders, and other issues. As young adults, the answers to those early questions are important, because if they don't feed our soul then there is a large chance we're going to walk away dissatisfied.

Borg delves into the idea of the "pre-Easter Jesus" and the "post-Easter Jesus" and how the way we imagine Jesus changes depending on where in the story line we're seeing him. He touches on the knowledge that Jesus was NOT a Christian, but a deeply religious Jew, one who knew the Pentateuch inside and out. He was a spiritual person, a mystic, and also a rabble-rouser. He often referred to himself as if he were an authority equal to God, which isn't always obvious unless you really read the texts in question. Jesus has a tendancy to say things like, "God said do X, but *I* say, do Y!"

The emphasis Borg puts on the New Testament is of Jesus teaching his disciples that God is compassionate, rather than what they grew up with, the Jewish image of God the punisher, God the judge. Jesus does things that no other religious Jew would have done: talking to Samaritans, dining with the impure and unclean, touching the dead, working healings on the Sabbath, and many other stories that are probably at least passingly familiar to any religious scholar. Jesus, Borg says, has no interest in the laws created by the Jews to keep themselves in line with God. Instead, Jesus wants people to "love each other as God loves them." It's a radical idea for that era. Borg writes,

Whereas purity divides and excludes, compassion unites and includes. For Jesus, compassion had a radical sociopolitical meaning. In his teaching and table fellowship, and in the shape of his movement, the purity system was subverted and an alternative social vision affirmed. The politics of purity was replaced by a politics of compassion. (pp 58)

Jesus was disowned by just about everyone because of that radical notion that everyone could be included at his table. The Jews hated it because it went contrary to the very rules that bound their daily lives, and the Romans and Greeks hated it because it messed with their clean dividing lines.

The most fascinating part, for me, was in the fifth chapter where Borg begins explaining the divine feminine and how it is a part of early Christianity via the character of Sophia, or divine wisdom. As he puts it, if the world Jesus had grown up in were matriarchal instead of patriarchal, we likely would have seen a holy trinity of Father, Mother and Son.

That is one of his main points, in fact: that the culture of Jesus' time is highly reflected in what is written about him by his followers, both his early disciples and those who came later. They had grown up in patriarchal systems, and knew nothing else. They were, as we are, products of their time. In order to truly understand the radical notions Jesus was selling back then, one has to place it in its era. Then the extreme nature of his message becomes a bit more clear.

Borg has included extensive endnotes and a long and healthy bibliography. He's fond of citing historical works, and isn't afraid to share where he found his information. He has a compelling and easily readable style, one which draws you in and keeps you reading.

I highly recommend this for anyone who is studying interfaith relations, because Borg's Jesus (regardless of whether Jesus actually was like this) is very much the interfaith herald.

Joy from Different Places

2011-07-27T11:31:00.002-04:00

This summer has been an odd one. I started it out by being confirmed into my church, going away for an incredibly intensive retreat, and then being ordained as an interfaith minister. Those three things left me feeling rather adrift, in a lot of ways, once I returned to home. Of course, I didn't return HOME because we don't have one right now; I came to stay at the parsonage of our church, a place that has given me time and quiet to figure out a few things about myself and the situation we're in. It's also given me pause, made me think about how I want to live my life, and "what I want to be when I grow up."

Every summer for as long as I can remember, I've had some sort of garden. Most of the time it wasn't much more than a tomato plant and some radishes, maybe a handful of sunflowers. The last several years, though, have been spent in more intensive gardening. I hadn't realized how spiritual that had become for me until this summer, when I was once again relegated to a handful of tomato plants in pots.

I've been out tending to my tomatoes every day since the heat wave started. I came up with a redneck drip irrigation system (empty plastic pop bottles with tiny holes in the bottom, filled with water and left to sit in the tomato pot). I've told them what good tomato plants they are. I've weeded, although really it was only a handful of tiny things that must have blown in from elsewhere. They got good soil to begin with and so haven't needed much amending or soil loosening. It just seems kind of anti-climactic I guess.

I had originally hoped to transplant the tomatoes to our new home, and let them spread out there. When that house fell through, my hopes dropped, too. Now we're looking at a new house, which I am hoping will very soon be our home, and I find myself picking up again, hoping and praying. If we can get in by August 5th, I will be able to plant a few tiny things to save for winter: lettuce, radishes, and spinach. I will probably try some short carrots and some beets as well, though a very small patch because I will need to be able to cover them with something to save them from the early frosts. Still, it would be something.

I am heading into the early autumn season with nothing canned or frozen for winter's consumption, and I admit it has me somewhat shaken. At the very least I've always had beans and tomatoes, but even those are not present this year. I'll have to buy tomato sauce all winter, and I won't be able to do my birthday special and open up a "jar of summer" to eat. It makes me very sad, and also brings home the knowledge that when I preserve food, I'm also preserving prayers.

When I open a home-canned tomato sauce jar, full of my own tomatoes, onions, peppers, and herbs, I am opening a summer day full of memories and love, sweat and hard work. I'm also opening a prayer made months ago, letting it loose into a darker, less sunshiny day. Summer prayers have special magic to them, I think, because they're full of vitamin D and suntan lotion and the smell of beach and sand. When mid-winter comes by and I crack the seal on something delicious, I let out all those memories and emotions, along with the simple goodness of my own veggies.

This year, why don't you preserve some prayers? You needn't have a huge garden to do it. Just pick up a handful of ripe tomatoes at your local farm stand or co-op, take them home, and process them in the time-honored way. I think I will see if I can get a bushel of over-ripe tomatoes for canning. Perhaps we can get an end-of-summer deal...

Helping with Communion

2011-07-03T13:10:00.000-04:00

I was the lay reader at church this morning, and I was prepared for that. I got in early, read over the piece, made sure I had the pronunciations correct, and marked the big pulpit bible so that I could find my spot easily. I felt smug that I was all ready for things! I had forgotten it was Communion Sunday, but that wasn't a big deal, per se. I had slept well, I had a good night, I spent a couple of days with the family, and all was going great in my world!

Then, it came time for Communion, and Pastor David motioned for me to come up and help him. Okay, I thought, I've done this many times before. Old hat! I can do this! I got up, helped him move the Communion table into place, and listened quietly as he read the Communion story. All was going great right up until he handed me the plate of bread. He wanted me to say the blessing!

I have served Communion many times before. I have taken Communion many times before. I have never blessed the elements of Communion before, though. As an ordained minister, I have the right to do so now, and I was aware of that right but unprepared for the actuality of having that plate of bread in my hands. Even more so, I was not prepared for what happened next.

As I stood holding the bread itself, ready to break it in half and say the words about "...do this in remembrance of me..." I suddenly was struck with the sense of being on the edge of a whirlwind. A great rush of energy came into me, through me, and to the bread, leaving me quite speechless. It felt like a long time, though I don't think it was (no one was giving me funny looks), that I stood there holding the broken bread and grasping for what it was I was supposed to say. I could not speak. After a few moments, Pastor David took the plate from me and spoke the ritual words, for which I was eternally grateful. Then he blessed the wine and we served the congregation and one another.

I cannot properly explain the feeling I had during that blessing. It was a true blessing, I give you that! I was still buzzing from the rush of it until a few minutes ago. So I suppose I can say with authority now that at least some Communion meals are quite energy-filled and Spirit filled. Wow.

That was not what I was expecting. And yet... it was right.

Ordination

2011-06-21T10:02:00.005-04:00

Singing "Here I am, Lord"

I wish I could put words to the experience of my ordination, but I cannot do so adequately. I shall work at making an inadequate explanation of all that happened during the week of retreat and ordination, and I hope you will forgive how mundane it may sound. The magic, the raw power, the humility, and the deep sense of abiding service to the Divine was overwhelming and beautiful.

The week started with a long bus ride at an ungodly hour of day (I left my house at 3am!), and which ended in New York City at 9am. It was a beautiful day, I had my suitcase (on rollers), my backpack (with computer and toiletries) and my purse, along with my cane in hand. I walked about 16 blocks to meet with Suren, one of my classmates, at his hotel. We had breakfast, then headed up to meet with another of our classmates, Farida. The three of us shared a hired car up to the retreat center in Stony Point, NY.

Once I got into my room, I put my things away and got settled. We were almost immediately called to start our oral exams, which thankful were largely group oriented. Again, I can't really explain how those exams made me feel. I wasn't nervous, per se, but it was very intense. We did some large group work, then went into smaller groups. We worked hard, and still answered only a handful of questions because of the group dynamics which provided us with a wide variety of responses.

The food was marvelous. The staff was friendly and helpful. The rooms were quiet, clean, and the beds comfortable. The three days I spent there were wonderful, filled with funny stories, moments of great sorrow, and a lot of tears. We culminated in a ritual that provided a true "birthing experience" for each of us. The details, of course, are private, but the results are obvious in each of my fellow students.

My blessing, by Rabbi Roger

When we all reassembled at Riverside Church in Manhattan, we were ready. There was a great flurry of students donning robes and stoles for the first time. My own robe is white, with incredibly beautiful lace at wrists and hem, a priceless gift of love and joy from Pastor Alison, my mentor and friend. The stole is green and blue and teal, looking a lot like a stained window, with three intertwined rings at the bottom. Putting the whole ensemble on was energizing. I didn't notice the heat, the noise, or the flurries of activity going on around me. I entered my own little sacred space, and it was wonderful.

The service was incredible, as always. Walking down that long, marble aisle was a bit nerve wracking, I admit. I was worried about my ankle, worried I'd drip wax on my new robe, worried I'd trip or sneeze, or do something else that was a faux pas. Luckily nothing horrible happened, and I made it to my seat with no drama whatsoever. Our class looked marvelous!

We opened the service with an interfaith rendition of "Here I am, Lord" which rocked the house. I was lucky enough to be out front, as we had two small groups doing two of the verses. I was also standing next to my friend Sarah, who belted out her solo to fill the entire cathedral with angelic song. Even thinking about it makes my arms get goosebumps! And then, the moment of ordination arrived, and we all stood up there at the front, facing our friends and family, cameras, and our Deans and instructors.

Laying on of hands by Father Giles

First, Rev. Festa anointed each of us with oil. Then Rabbi Roger came and took our hands, blessed us, and spoke out our name loudly, so all could hear. "I present to you Reverend Michelle Allyson Szabo!" I was fighting back the tears. Dean Deb added her blessings and those of the Mother Goddess to Rabbi Roger's. Father Giles was next and laid on hands in a moment of streaming, palpable power. I was left shaking. I know someone else came after that but I cannot remember for the life of me. I'm sure when I see the video it will help. For our class of 35, the whole process took about a half hour, I think, although I had no way of measuring the time. I clung to my staff during the entire procedure and just let the entire experience flow over me, sweeping me into my new state as minister.

Rev. Annie and me

After it was all over and we were down in the Undercroft eating sandwiches, there was controlled chaos. There were photographs, hugs and flowers, children clamoring for blessings and attention, food and drink, and noise! Rev. Annie, who was not my dean the first year but who has become a friend and confidante over my two years of seminary, posed for a photo with me. I was beaming like a crazy woman through the entire ordination. I don't think I stopped until I was in the car on the way home, and even then it was only brief pauses in the smiles.

Our life isn't perfect. We're still looking for a house, trying to get enough money in the bank to support everything, and trying to keep the five of us together in happiness as much as possible. Perfection is never attainable, though. We're good enough, and getting better. Isn't that what counts?

Confirmation

2011-06-03T22:31:00.000-04:00

On Sunday morning, I will be Confirmed into the Christian Church, and specifically into The United Church of Winchester. The term "confirmed" has several connotations, but really has only one meaning: to be verified, or substantiated. But what does that mean?

I suppose it depends on how you want to look at the term. From a pagan perspective, every ritual I have done to dedicate myself to my gods is a ritual of confirmation. I am confirming that I am, indeed, going to be their servant. I am confirming my dedication to certain things, be that leaving food at a crossroads at midnight on the dark of the moon, or slopping beans into plates at the church once a month.

From a Christian perspective, it has some similar meanings, but the feel of it is quite different. I think because Christians have so few initiatory rituals, this one means so very much to them. To us, I suppose I should say after Sunday, although it might take me a while to reach the point where that statement comes easily to my lips.

The Christian idea of confirmation stems from the Book of Acts in the New Testament. There are many people who are baptized by John the Baptist and later by Jesus. The followers of both men also baptized others. But as both commented, they were baptizing "only with water." There's the story in Acts where Jesus has died and they all go to be together a few days after his disappearance from the tomb. He comes to them, presumably in spirit form but with a physical reality to him as he can touch things. He tells them he will be with them for a few days and that when he leaves they will be baptized with the spirit. At the time, of course, they had no idea what that meant.

To those early followers, it was just more confusing words from the man they held in such high esteem. When it happened, and the entity the know of as the Holy Spirit descended upon them en masse, they were said to "speak with tongues of fire." Each person spoke in their own language, but everyone in the crowd understood everyone else even though they didn't know those other languages. It was a day of revelations for many of them.

Later on, it becomes clear that the apostles see a difference between a baptized person (anyone could be baptized, after all) and someone who had "received the Spirit." That reception of Something Wonderful And Strange is what has come down to us as Confirmation within the Christian churches.

You might ask, why is a Hellenic pagan being Confirmed in a Christian church? That's a bit of a story in itself. Two years ago during my studies at seminary, I had a bit of a run-in with Jesus. I know that sounds rather odd, but I suppose it's not really anymore odd than the fact that I talk regularly with Dionysos and Hecate... why would it suddenly be so different when it's Jesus? In any case, I had gone up for some peace and quiet in the sanctuary of the church (we were having a Christmas party, I think, and my soul was heavy at the time). While I was there, I looked up at the cross hanging there, and sort of called out, "Why me???" I wasn't expecting an answer. After all, Jesus isn't like Dionysos and Hecate, right?

Wrong.

I got my answer: "Because YOU can." It was enough. I don't feel it's my place to get into the details of it all, but the general feeling I had was that I should treat him just like I treat my other gods, with the appropriate worship and sacrifice at the right times. I finally came around to the idea that, really, Jesus is just another Mediterranean god... not so different from the multitudes of others. I do my best to worship him in both a current cultural norm (ie going to church on most Sundays and being active both spiritually and emotionally there) and in an historical way (through offerings of grain and wine, as I would for other gods from that area of the world). Strangely, the relationship works. It feels right.

I was struggling along with this burgeoning relationship, not at all comfortable with it, when one of my deans asked me what was up. I explained that I wanted to participate fully at church (for many reasons, not the least of which is our involvement with marriage equality and their acceptance of my family) but that there were certain things I didn't feel I could do because I had never been Confirmed. She asked why I shouldn't do that now... and I found myself sputtering and making excuses, then finally tapering off and promising to think on it.

A year later, our new pastor started up a multi generational Confirmation class, and I joined in. I have learned a lot, and enjoyed "getting my religious/historical geek on" with the pastor. How fun to talk about the historical accuracy of certain things in the New Testament! How exciting to get into the depth of why certain parables would have made sense to the people of that time! How freeing to discuss the possibility of the Bible being myth in the same way that my beloved Greek myths are myths.

On Sunday morning, I will be Confirmed into my church. I'm rather proud of this. I feel it's a full embracing of the interfaith principles that I am attempting to follow. It feels right, as if I have taken another step on a path that I am meant to follow. Best of all, I do not feel compromised in making my oaths. Having gone over them, there is nothing I cannot (and could not have, prior to the classes) say yes to with complete sincerity and deep feeling.

In a way, I feel I have come full circle. My relationships with Hecate, with Dionysos, Asclepius, Persephone, Haides, and others, have all deepened over my time in seminary. Adding Jesus to the mix has certainly changed a few things here and there (one can hardly, in a true Hellenic sense, worship Easter and then go home and make offerings to Olympians... miasma!). These changes feel very natural, though, and have actually made my devotions feel much deeper, much more complete. I went through a period prior to that Christmas, where I felt like I was drifting. I was following my path, but it was very much by rote. Now, I feel alive, vibrant, happy... This is where I am supposed to be.

Counting the Omer - Week Seven, Malkuth

2011-06-01T11:10:00.000-04:00

Malkuth is one of the sephirot that I am more familiar with from my Wiccan studies. In Jewish studies it refers to the kingdom, or as Rabbi Rachel says, "genderless sovereignty." From an occult point of view, the idea of malkuth as "the kingdom" is used more as the idea of being the Earth itself, or the grounding, the bringing of energy into physical manifestation. This isn't so far off from the basic idea presented over on The Velveteen Rabbi's blog.

I see malkuth as being the sephirot of manifestation, yes. It is the place where my prayers, visualizations, dreams, and hopes become real. Remember that saying, "be careful what you wish for; you may get it"? That's a part of malkuth, too. This is the place where Spirit (by whatever name you call the god or portion of god who touches you in the real world) makes dreams real. I have to be careful what I think of, what I wish for, because Spirit may choose to manifest them for me.

This, to me, applies in so many ways. In going through the crumbling of my current relationship, I have found myself thinking several uncharitable thoughts about the people who went from "family" to "barely tolerated housemates." Sometimes, I give in to those thoughts, noticing them and revelling in them for a short while. Other times, I am a better person, taking a step back and asking how I would feel if others thought of ME that way.

My very thoughts, the words I speak, are all things of power. If I don't want to manifest negative things in my life, I have to be watchful that I don't invoke those negative things in my words, actions, or even thoughts. This isn't to say I have to be perfect - everyone breaks down sometimes and things, "Gee, what an ass!" The point is to catch yourself and stop the thought. "Not an ass. Just unpleasant to me. I can walk away from this; it is not my problem."

So much anger and frustration could be dissipated easily, if we could just take that step back.

Yesod, the foundation

2011-05-25T10:41:00.000-04:00

It's the time to count the Omer again, a practice I have thoroughly enjoyed participating in through listening to the words of Rabbi Rachel Barenblat over at her blog, The Velveteen Rabbi. This week she talks about yesod, a sephirot which I am actually familiar with from my Wiccan days. Seen overlaid on a body, yesod sits firmly on the genitals. On the Tree of Life it is near, but not at, the roots. It is the foundation.

See the rocks up there? That's how you make a foundation. You put the larger one at the bottom. Ask any kindergartener what happens if you put the smaller block at the bottom, and they will explain that the tower falls down. In order to have any growth that is stable, your foundation must be firm, wide, and ready to bear any load. That is doubly true on a religious and spiritual level, in my opinion.

Rabbi Rachel asks what kind of foundation are we building for ourselves, with our personhood, our family, our neighborhood, our community, our country? Each foundation is separate, and yet inseparable from the others. It's our job to find the ways they connect and ensure that one foundation doesn't crack any of the others.

I'm struggling with foundation building right now. My graduation from seminary is just a few days away, and my ordination as well. My original "chosen family" is splitting up, and Gray and sis and I, with our kids, are moving to a new house a few miles away. Church has been a little on the stressful side as we try to figure out how to handle Vacation Bible School, next year's Sunday School curriculum, our vacant Vice Moderator position, and a few other interesting quirks.

I'm also dealing with a break in my personal foundation: my ankle. It isn't much in the grand scheme of things... I had the removable cast on for 7 weeks and now it's off and though I'm limping, I'm getting around pretty well. Still, it has affected me in a lot of ways. I am physically off balance, and have been for 2 months almost, but beyond that I am also emotionally off balance. The stress of everything on top of the ankle has just been intense and very humbling and belittling. I have felt helpless, and finding ways to claw out of that deep hole has been difficult. I'm lucky that I have family so willing to help and hold onto me in the dark times.

Yesod is also a sephirot of bridge building, and that's something I want to do in my ministry. I see myself as a bridge between the Abrahamic faiths and the pagan and indigenous ones. I am comfortable in both spheres, and feel no strong need to pick one over the other. This has surprised me, because I've been so very pagan for so many years, but I am trying to go with the flow. This is a building of my own foundations, and I see a need to have one that acts as a bridge, a foundation spanning both sides of this religious chasm.

I am humbled... and learning. I hope never to stop.

Hod - Counting the Omer

2011-05-18T11:12:00.000-04:00

Submission and splendor is the topic of this week's moment to count the Omer, according to the Velveteen Rabbi. It's hard to think of these two things right now, as late last night I got told I have to wait yet a few more days to get my cast off. I was angry, frustrated, and upset. I wasn't finding it in myself to submit to the necessary waiting. Perhaps the extra few days is needed for my healing, after all, and the moving of appointments was for my own health as well as someone else's emergency surgery. Still, it was hard to accept. Giving in to the waiting feels very close to giving up, and I'm not the type to give up so easily, even if I sometimes stomp my metaphorical foot and threaten to do it. I had originally planned an afternoon out with sis today, with my OS appointment then lunch, then her appointment as well. With my appointment cancelled, it seemed our day would be a bust, but she decided heck with it, we were going to have fun anyhow. She's so good to me!

So I am counting my moments that I've been grateful to her. She's taken care of me so well while I've been stuck in bed, and then put up with my tagging along in zippy carts at the grocery store once I was able to be up and about. She's brought me drinks, listened to me whine and complain, and given me hugs. In learning to accept that I'm not in control of this situation in the least, I've been given the opportunity to be incredibly grateful to an amazing friend. I don't think I would have survived the last six weeks without her input and support. Sis understands where others may not, because she was on bed rest for so long with the twins. She remembers it, vividly, and how helpless and frustrated she felt. It's a bit scary being on the opposite side of this bed rest thing, but at least I'm getting to do it with someone who has such intimate experience with it.

Netzach - Endurance

2011-05-11T09:43:00.000-04:00

According to Rabbi Rachel Barenblat over on her blog, netzach means endurance. This is week four of counting the Omer, and the reminder to endure comes half way through the seven weeks of the process. It seems to be a reminder to keep up the practice despite the fact that you're probably looking at your life and considering how many other "important" things you could be doing.

Really, this is what endurance is. When you're in pain, when you are grieving, when the world is going to hell around you, people understand and are there for you. They hold you, help you, and give you what you need to continue on. Those "big ticket" times are really rough... but in a lot of ways not nearly as rough as the smaller things.

I'm sitting here in my bed, distraught over the fact that our boytwin's IEP meeting happens to be next Monday... right when I was supposed to be in getting my xray to see if I could get out of this Transformer boot. I have to reschedule my appointment because, believe me, it's easier to reschedule with a surgeon than with teachers. I don't want to reschedule, though! I don't want to endure this stupid boot another minute! I want out of it NOW!

And there's that endurance. It's hard for other people to sympathize over little things like that. After all, Gray has to go to this meeting at the school, and so does sis. While they'd both love to see me out of my boot, our kids are more important than a non-emergency procedure that can easily wait another week without causing any harm. And they're right! So I have to find it within me to endure. I'm not going to get a ton of sympathy or help to endure this one, because it's technically an easy one. I'm not in pain, nothing bad is going to happen, etc.

The very act of waiting on this leg to heal has been an act of endurance. My family has been incredible, even the kids, in helping me get through this very frustrating time. They've put up with a lot of attitude from me, some very bad days, a few good days, and they haven't strayed from my side at all. I'm a very lucky lady to have so many people willing to help me along. It's as if the gods decided that I needed to have my endurance tested, but not TOO much.

The power to overcome this obstacle (be it the extra wait time for my xray, or the broken ankle itself) is within me. I can even ask for help, and I almost always receive it. Still, the final endurance is my own. That which does not kill us makes us stronger!

Dreams...

2011-05-10T09:36:00.000-04:00

I don't usually have vivid dreams. Oh, I do dream, but it's not often that I recall more than a few tidbits from them. They're often very fragmented, and most of the time I remember only fleeting emotions. The past week or so has been quite the opposite, though. I've been having incredibly vivid dreams, ones that are both bizarre and strangely alluring. I don't mind having colorful dreams, and I enjoy being able to wake up and remember big chunks of them.

This particular rush of dreams, though, has been odd even for me. I am not a big "sex dream" kind of person. I don't recall having dreams of that type since I was a teen, in fact. Most of the time, if there is coupling in my dreams, it becomes the "fade to the fireplace" type where you know what happened but you don't actually see it. This is not the case this week. At all. Wow.

First, I'd like to make it clear that I'm not generally a Kevin McKidd kind of gal. He's handsome enough, but he's really not my type. I'm more interested in his bad-boy friend from the series Rome (that'd be Pullo for those who haven't seen the show). I like dark hair, short legs, stocky built men with tight butts. Kevin McKidd doesn't fit any of those criteria. And yet he has played a very major part in some incredibly torrid sex scenes in my dreams of late. I have no idea what this means. LOL!

Basically, he shows up in my dream in the midst of something complex and it becomes a "can't get together because of X" sort of thing. We resist the temptation until all hell breaks loose, at which point we fall together and the torrid sex scene comes into play. Surprisingly, I have been very participatory in these dreams (most of the time with vivid dreams, I'm kind of third person even if I'm active in the dream), and they have been very ... active dreams. I have no idea why it's McKidd who shows up, either, and it isn't him in character... it's McKidd the actor.

So after these scenes, we skitter off as if we're in some kind of spy novel (maybe we are... I don't remember all the small details) and meet up with a woman. At some point I trade in McKidd for the chick, which becomes another torrid scene. Later on, I trade sex for a favor to keep me and the woman safe from some inexplicable harm.

I've had similar type dreams for a few nights running, now. It's extremely odd. They're not repeats, although if I were critiquing it as writing I'd say it was rather plagiaristic. Still, at least I'm involved in them and not just sitting and watching them. I wonder what this says about me!

Time for Self

2011-05-05T10:49:00.000-04:00

I have been neglecting my meditation practices during my healing time from the broken ankle. I'm not sure why, since I have had ample time to meditate while laying in bed alone. Perhaps I have not wanted to focus enough to maintain a proper meditative frame of mind. I am not really sure, but I am aware that I've been avoiding it.

This morning I made time for meditation. It wasn't a lot, only about 15 minutes or so. Still, it was something, and I think that's what counts. It wasn't one of my best meditations, either. I lay down with my leg up, and had decided to meditate on my blessings because I've been down of late and I thought thinking on the good things would help me out. Every time I started to drop into a truly meditative head space, the dogs would begin barking. The sound would jolt me out of the meditative framework, and I'd have to start all over again. Eventually, after about 15 minutes of this, I gave up. I decided that it wasn't serving the right purpose and was instead building up my frustration with the dogs. Still, I did take the time, and I did achieve a few quiet minutes of meditative state. I consider it a good thing that I found both the presence of mind and the strength of character to realize it was appropriate to stop forcing the meditation and move on with my day.

Even those few minutes seem to have improved my though processes. I was calmer during breakfast, ate slowly and mindfully, and had an interesting discussion with Gray. I am feeling more smooth today, and much less rough around the edges. I've even returned to the quiet joy of listening to meditation music on Pandora while journaling, something I did a lot of prior to my accident.

Yesterday was a bad day for leg pain, probably due to a number of factors. I'd squeezed my bad foot into a shoe for a few minutes while I looked at myself in robe and stole, the outfit I will be wearing for my ordination. Add to that the pouring rain that came down for two days straight, and I think it adds up to fatigue and minor pain in my ankle. I spent yesterday with the leg up, icing and resting it as suggested, and am feeling better (if still a bit tender) today.

Due to being laid up, I decided to work on transportation. I think I have it all down pat now, and will be purchasing tickets tomorrow. I leave New Hampshire on June 8th at gawd-awful'o'clock in the morning, and arrive in NYC by about 9am. I then have approximately 3 hours to get to Penn Station (easy enough to do, though I'll probably get lunch on the way) where I catch a noonish train to our retreat center. I'll be at the retreat until late afternoon on the 10th, when I will take either train or bus back to NYC, to spend the next 2 nights with my friend S. On the 12th, I will get up, meet up with family who are coming into the city for my ordination, and then will head off to lunch and the church. At 2:30pm or so, I will be ordained, in front of a thousand or so people. After all the celebrations are over, I will head home with family in the van.

Wow... It's so close! In 38 days, I will be an ordained minister.

Tiferet, Merciful Beauty and Balance

2011-05-04T09:54:00.000-04:00

As we start the third week of counting the Omer, Rabbi Rachel Barenblat talks about tiferet, the sefira of beauty, balance, and mercy. When I was reading her journal this morning, I immediately thought of the image you see to the left, Leonardo DaVinci's Vitruvian Man. It is DaVinci's vioew of the balance of mankind. It's a beautiful image, and it has become an iconic picture.

I have been thinking a lot about mercy and balance lately. There is a great imbalance in things at home right now, and no way to correct that balance until we get into our new home. We're in a holding pattern until that time. Still, we're here, and we need to deal with living here, for now. This means finding balance in an unbalanced situation. Difficult but not impossible.

I think right now what I need most is to find both mercy and beauty in and for myself. Having a broken ankle has left me feeling helpless, angry, frustrated, useless... Added to the other stresses in the house, that is a recipe for bad things to happen.

I'm trying to take time every day for prayer. You would think that would be easy, considering I'm sitting most of the day with no way to go galavanting around the way I usually do. I think the problem is more that I'm forcing myself to be busy inside, filling my hours with mindless things that take me away from the four walls of my room and the oppressive feeling within the house. It's hard to bring myself back into the here and now, so that I can focus on prayer and meditation. It's too easy to allow myself to be distracted by FaceBook or Gray's music or the dogs barking outside. Still, it's important to make that space, that time, to be with myself. That is a part of being merciful to myself, I believe. If I can't show myself mercy, how can I show mercy to others?

The other side of that (the balance part) is that I can't get so caught up in "woe is me" that I lose sight of the joys and beauty of my life. Yes, I have a broken ankle, and yes it has a real impact on my life. On the other hand, I didn't do any major damage and am healing up well, I can walk with my aircast on, and I am able to do much of what I was doing before my accident. Yes I'm hurt, yes it slows me down, and no I don't want to use it as an excuse. I can say, "I can't serve at the bean supper on Saturday because I can't stand that long due to my ankle," because it's appropriate to say so. What I can't say, is, "I can't do anything because of this stupid ankle!" That's just not true.

Beauty is tough. I don't feel beautiful with the Transformer Boot on my leg. I don't feel beautiful when I am limping along with a funny gait. Of course, there's more to beauty than just what's on the outside. The inside isn't too pretty right now, either, because of how I've been feeling. I've been down on myself about "all the things I can't do" instead of focusing on the things I CAN do. Time to stop that, and time to find the beauty around me.

Last night, I stood in front of the mirror in my stole, my borrowed robe (thank you, Pastor Alison!), and my flat shoes deemed acceptable by the OS and family. I didn't stress over the fact that I wasn't in heels; I rejoiced in the fact that I looked and felt wonderful. As I said to friends, I felt rather like a fairy princess, although I'm not sure how appropriate that is for someone about to be ordained. Still... I am accepting my moment of beauty, and I'm holding onto it. I may need a cane going down the aisle at ordination, but I had planned on taking my owl staff anyhow, and I proved last night that I can use it just fine in that way.

All worthwhile things are born in pain, even if only a little. I think the pain makes them more beautiful for us, sometimes.

Osama bin Laden is dead.

2011-05-02T22:01:00.001-04:00

Yes, he's dead.

People have hailed him as the most notorious terrorist ever. He's been called pure evil. He purportedly led extremists to bomb the Twin Towers, bringing about the death of thousands of people. People ran into the streets last night, chanting USA and other things. Newspapers came out saying, "Rot in Hell" and other headlines of similar ilk.

I am uncomfortable with all of this. I'm not upset that bin Laden is dead. Regardless of anything else, he was a very bad man, and frankly deserved to come face to face with his God in order to explain his actions. However, I don't think it's a moment for celebration. Not at all.

This is a moment for grief. This is a moment for solace, and maybe for closure for some. This is not a moment for celebration.

In the past 24 hours I have heard people I know saying he got what he deserved, shouting that we should have tortured and maimed him, that we should have done horrible things to his wives... Some of these same people are horrified that I raise, kill, and process my own chickens because it's cruel. I am having a really hard time understanding those two points as coming from a single person.

I saw news posts of people partying in Manhattan and in DC, shouting and laughing and burning pictures of bin Laden. It reminded me, terribly, of the extremists in the Muslim and Arab lands, who burned our flag and cheered and celebrated upon seeing the Twin Towers go down. I'll admit, I felt just as sick watching the people in our country celebrate, as I was when the extremists did it. It's not right.

I am not sad that he's gone. I think it's right that he has moved on, and I trust that his God will take care of him in whatever manner is necessary. I am not happy that he's dead, either, though. We have given up a known for an unknown. We have killed a man for killing our men. I'm not certain I'm okay with that. I'd be a lot happier if a trial had happened.

Blessed Hecate, TriFold Mistress of the Dark Times,
Tonight is your night. Tonight is the night you rule, and hold sway.
See that Osama reaches the place that he needs to be.
Take word to those whose lives he ended, American and Muslim alike, and let them know it is over.
Let there be no celebration over death; this is not a happy time.
Instead, let there be sober thought, fervent prayers, and new hope.
Be not a jailer to his tortured soul, but only convey him to his place of justice.
He has much to account for, and I weep for that, and for all those he harmed.
Let my tears be the offering I make to you,
My Dark Lady, my beautiful one.
So be it.
- Allyson Szabo, May 2, 2011

Counting the Omer - Week Two

2011-04-27T10:06:00.000-04:00

According to Rabbi Barenblat over at The Velveteen Rabbi, this is week two of Counting the Omer. She says that this week is dedicated to gevurah, which means boundary and strength. She asks many questions this week, to encourage us to think about the blessings which gevurah brings us. She mentions strength and boundaries, but also judgement, discernment, separation and connection, and discipline. Her post gives me so much to think about that it's difficult to figure out where to start, and what to write.

Boundaries are the sticking points I have right now. I am struggling to find ways to safely draw boundaries that hurt no one (myself included) and that help rather than hinder. Think of a fence, for instance, which can be seen as an item to block someone from entering... but can also serve to keep menacing cows out of happily growing grain. There are different sides, various shades, to every issue we come up against.

My own boundary issues come up in regards to anger, frustration, and depression. Admittedly, I have a lot on my plate right now: my minister's manual (a 'thesis' of sorts for seminary), homework, listening to the class I was unable to attend, church stuff, packing to move, grouchy roommates, scary and hairy dogs, a broken ankle, worries over financing for the new house, worries over how ordination will go, ordination itself, retreat, the cold/allergies that just won't go away and that have lingered for 6 weeks already... Yes, I have a lot to deal with. That is not an excuse for anything, though.

I let my own frustrations build up to an unhealthy point, and then I blew. I didn't set good boundaries for myself, or for others in my family. I can say I'm only human, and that'd be true, but I also have to work consistently to discover ways that allow me to "let go and let God" and to not hold onto the negative feelings over the various things going on in my life. In blowing up, I hurt Gray and I hurt sis, and in doing that, I hurt myself. That's where the depression came in.

Rather than turning things around and trying to make things better, I began to fall into a deep pit of despair. I spent several days crying. Had I shown a bit of strength, set a few reasonable boundaries, I might not have delved quite so deeply. In a way, my self-flagellation was a method of pushing people away so that I couldn't be blamed for the things I had done wrong. People weren't willing to tell me to buck up because I was sobbing in a dark corner.

I'm lucky. I have family who care an awful lot about me, and forgive me when I do negative things. They give me the time and space (and boundaries) to repair the problems I have caused. They're willing to stick by me, even at my worst. With their help, I have restructured things. I have set boundaries that are much more reasonable.

One of the most important things I am doing right now, is not getting involved in counting coup. When the roommates annoy or anger me or anyone else, I do my utmost to take a step back. It's their issue, not mine, and I can no longer allow them to pull me into their own anger and frustration. It's not healthy. I think that's one of the best boundaries I've set so far. It has allowed me to smile in the face of adversity a few times already.

Chesed

2011-04-22T11:01:00.000-04:00

The term chesed is one I have been familiar with for a while, partly due to The New Seminary, but also partly due to the interim pastor who just left our church, Rev. Alison Jacobs. Her license plate reads CHESED, and she truly lives it. You might be wondering what chesed means; it means loving kindness, but not just the type of loving kindness we have for one another as human beings. It relates strongly to the boundless, infinite loving kindness shown to us by the Divine.

Rabbi Rachel Barenblat, in her blog The Velveteen Rabbi, says,

This week I find myself asking: how can I be kinder and more loving? To those I meet -- to the people I know, and the people I don't know -- to those who agree with me, and even those who angrily disagree with me? How can I be kinder to myself -- how can I do the work of discerning what my heart and soul most need, and then kindly and graciously filling that need for myself? Can I feel, deep in my bones, that the universe is a kind and loving place for me to be? Can I extend lovingkindness to myself, and then once I am feeling whole and healed, extend it to those I meet?

As always, Rabbi Rachel encourages us to look deep inside ourselves. I'm new to the idea of counting Omer, but I'm in a mental/emotional place where taking some time to count my blessings is a good idea. I need to focus on the positive, and this seems like such a wonderful way to do it!

My life is full of love and kindness. Here I am with a broken ankle, and while I'm moving much better now than I was before, sis still fetches and carries for me, and fusses over me to make sure I don't over extend myself. Gray is there to curb my burgeoning enthusiasm for movement, and to hug and hold me when I chafe at my limitations. The children have been awesome about getting me ice packs and bringing me their favorite toys to keep me happy and comforted. I am surrounded in a circle of chesed, unending. Even my own bad temper and inexplicably horrid behavior hasn't broken that circle, something which I am eternally grateful for.

It isn't so easy for me to love myself. Especially right now, I'm struggling with that horrid behavior, trying to find meaning in what I did so that I don't repeat my awful mistake. I'm finding it difficult to forgive myself, and even to accept forgiveness from those I've hurt. I want it, but I'm afraid that if I accept it, I will somehow become egotistical or will forget the bad parts in favor of the forgiveness. I need to find the ability to feel loving kindness toward myself, to allow myself to heal. I also have to express that loving kindness toward my family, who have supported me through all this, and been there even in my darkest moments.

Divine Powers, I pray to feel and accept the chesed expressed toward me, and to treat others with as much loving kindness as I can bear. Help me to find the balance between guilt and healing, so that I may move forward in service to all. Amen.

BL Pictures

2011-04-18T19:10:00.001-04:00

Well, at least I'm out of the house, right? Our town has a brand new WalMart that just opened up, and sis was kind enough to take me out to it to get some groceries and generally get a bit of sanity back. It's not impossible, but is much more difficult to keep one's wits about them when one sees only four walls and a roof. I was starting to get cabin fever, and I was snapping and yelling and doing very inappropriate things. Getting out has helped immensely, and I feel more human now, more like I'm actually a member of the race instead of a disembodied broken ankle. So yeah, I rode around WalMart in the silly little electric cart... But you know what? I was able to do shopping. By myself. I actually went off to the pharmacy to get things for sis, while she and the kids went to get toys. How's that!

Speaking of disembodied legs, here's mine. If you click the image, it will get (much) larger, allowing you to see the fully glory of my bruises and swelling. You can see a lot of swelling around the toes there, and some interesting bruises (more on those with the picture below, which has labels and circles and such). As you can tell, I'm allowed to take the cast off now and then. I've been taking it off to ice the leg each night, which allows me to put the icepack directly on the spot where the break is, rather than just draping it over the cast and hoping it gets cool enough. It also allows me to air out the cast, which would get pretty funky if I didn't. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be stuck in a full plaster cast with no way to get it off and clean. Ick!

Okay here's the same pic with some labels. At the foot, I am questioning the amount (and location) of swelling. It gets huge right there, every night, but rarely during the day. What the heck is up with that? It's mostly just right there that I swell. As near as I can tell, the rest of the leg doesn't do a thing, including the break site. Go figure! The bruise along the bottom of the foot is the basic bruise that happens anytime you do anything to your ankle. Every time I've sprained it, it's been the same thing. The tiny circle at my ankle is where the actual break is. The larger circle at the very bottom is the confusing bruise that I don't understand because it isn't near the break nor has it hit anything because it's been encased in fiberglass.

So... that's my life lately. I have work to do on my minister's manual for school, and work to do on my book, but other than that things are fairly slow right this moment. Many people are telling me that's a good thing, as it means I can concentrate on healing.

Oh, there was ONE more thing. I got new shoe. Yes that's right, new shoe, not new shoeS, because I can only wear one. Well, I did get the other one but it's still in the box, and will stay there for at least six weeks, until the doc says I can wear shoes again instead of the aircast. It's a good, sturdy shoe, leather upper, non-skid rubber sole, and somewhat stylish. it's much better than the black tennis shoe I've been wearing for the last two weeks... It's very comfortable, and even better than comfortable, it makes my legs the same length! This means I can both crutch easier, and even hobble a few steps without crutches. Yay shoe!

Still Broken...

2011-04-12T14:50:00.000-04:00

...but getting better. I took advantage of my permissions and had my foot out of the cast for about 20 minutes this afternoon. It was a marvelous feeling, just having air touch it. It also felt odd. It's amazing the difference in calf size and leg definition, just from one week! As you can see, I come with my own Easter dye now... My legs do have some pretty intense colors now. The pic is a bit blurry, but there's quite a bit of swelling around the toes, too, and the bottom of my foot (the pad under the toes) is all puffy as well. The bruising extends up my leg almost to my knee, with some darker spots near the actual break point. It's kind of neat; the colors move around a lot depending on what position my leg is in. It's rather psychedelic, and I'm sure in my younger, less responsible days I'd have enjoyed watching it for hours on end...

This stripe is quite festive. It's a nice royal blue mixed with some purplish red, and extends down the back of my leg and around onto the side of my heel, as you can see here. It's actually pretty impressive. I can totally understand some of the pluses of having a plaster cast. You can't take it off and freak yourself out by looking at it, as it goes through all the multiple colors and hues of healing. But... it IS healing, and that's what counts. I'm just glad to be able to wash the leg and foot now. It's a very wonderful thing.

Four to Six Weeks... and counting.

2011-04-11T18:31:00.001-04:00

This is the picture of my break that they took last Monday, the day after it was done. You can clearly see the spiral fracture in the fibula.

And here it is today. The fragments are all held together nicely, and the OS says that at this point they're probably healing up well. The first thing that forms is a kind of jelly or cartelidge which doesn't show up on the xrays so we don't see it here, but he seems to feel it's doing exceptionally well.

The news right now is I can bear weight as tolerated. This means that I can take steps so long as I have no pain. If it hurts, don't do it. I can stand, at this point, once I get my balance. This makes brushing my teeth much easier. I did take a few steps today but it started to hurt pretty quick so I stopped. Still, it's something! I can also take the cast off for bathing purposes, and to let it air out in the evenings and let my foot move a bit. This means no more stinky foot!!

Dem's Da Breaks...

2011-04-09T17:03:00.000-04:00

How long do you think it'll take for me to run out of "broken leg" jokes? LOL... So I'm laying in bed right now, icing my ankle, as you can see. The aircast lets me remove the top and strap the ice in there, to cool things down. I just had a wonderful, amazing, cleansing shower wherein I scrubbed my hair within an inch of its life, and scoured my skin until it glowed. I feel thoroughly better, except my ankle hurts. Still, my ankle hurts, a bit, and all I'm taking is tylenol and a single percocet at night. I think I'm doing pretty well, actually.

On Monday, I go back to see the OS, who will take more x-rays and tell me if anything has become displaced. He'll also tell me if I have to get a plaster cast, or if he's going to let me live out my broken leg scenario in the aircast (which is what I hope for... you can't "pop the lid" off a plaster cast). I've been an extremely good girl, keeping it above my heart for at least 22 out of every 24 hours. I'm drinking calcium fortified orange juice, per the doc and my friends at MyBrokenLeg. I'm being the model patient, because I want to walk down the aisle for my ordination, sans cast.

The leg itself isn't looking all that bad, considering. There's a nasty bruise that runs from the base of my heel to my mid-shin, but as you can see it isn't really nasty. Just kind of muddy brownish. I'm experiencing a neat thing called proprioception. That's when you can't tell where your foot is or what angle it's at. Apparently it's common among those who break bones in their leg. I'll be lying here, and suddenly wonder if my leg is on the pillows or not. I can't actually tell! When I look, sure indeed, there it is propped up just as I left it. It doesn't FEEL that way though.

I have to tell you, showers feel magnificent now, in a way they never have before. After all the work and b.s. to get into it, I savor every second, despite the garbage back duct taped to my leg. The leg itself is starting to get a bit stinky, unfortunately. Gray wouldn't let me wash it even with a damp washcloth while the cast was off for sock changing. I'm going to ask the OS if I can do that, though. It sure would be nice to do, I'll tell you.

Tomorrow I'm going to church. It'll be strenuous, but I feel like the emotional and spiritual rewards will far surpass any physical exhaustion. I also have my confirmation class in the afternoon, and I'll see if I'm ready to do that.

Now I need to go work on a sermon for Palm Sunday's vespers service. I'm still going to preach it, yes I am!

Spring Colors

2011-04-06T20:29:00.000-04:00

Some people like their spring colors in the flowers, but I had to go one better. I have mine with me all the time now! *snort*

Believe it or not, the swelling has gone down a lot. The colors aren't nearly as frightening as I thought they might be. Still, it looks pretty awful. I'm still taking the percocet, though I'm trying to eke it out a bit longer between pills.

I got washed today, brushed my teeth, even shampooed my hair. I made breakfast, too, with the help of a wheeled office chair. Now I'm back in bed, though, as I have been most of the day. I have to keep the foot up so the swelling will go down. It's not very exciting...

Broken

2011-04-05T22:11:00.000-04:00

Welcome to my new view of the world. Pretty much this is what I will be seeing for the next six to twelve weeks.

On Sunday afternoon, I got out of church and went to visit friends of ours. We all decided to go look at our various plots of land. First we went to our new home and showed off what we could of it without a key, and then we went to their land. As we walked into the forest just a bit, to better see the gorgeous stream they have, I managed to turn my ankle. This was accompanied by a loud SNAP sound, and then I was hit with stomach churning pain. Things get a bit fuzzy after that. I recall saying, "I'm not going to throw up," several times, and screaming, and lots and lots of pain. Gray says the two guys acted as "living crutches for me" and helped me get to the car. I don't remember that part. I do remember the handfuls of snow on my bare leg, which made me yelp even louder. I remember being in the car, telling them I was fine while knowing damn well I was not fine.

They took me to the ER, where I had x-rays taken and confirmed the worst: I had broken my ankle. Not only had I broken my ankle, it was a spiral fracture. This means that the bone was twisted, like you'd wring out a towel. Seeing the x-ray wasn't pretty, but it kind of made it real. I was in a lot of pain, and I wasn't entirely coherent during most of it. They put a fiberglass splint on it and told me to go home. I was to call the ortho surgeon in the morning.

Going home, I felt pretty good. I thought, gee, I can handle this! Of course, I was flying high on percocet and endorphins. I went to bed at 10pm, a full hour before I was due for my next pain pill, figuring I was just fine. I woke at 1am in pain, took my pill like a good girl, and would have tossed and turned except that I couldn't because my leg was all plastered up and propped on a pillow.

I took my percocet properly that morning, knowing full well they would be manipulating my foot later in the day. I was not going to be without pain medication for that! I got an appointment at 1:30pm, and after dropping the kids off, we went in. The first words out of the surgeon's mouth was, "Operation." I didn't want anything to do with it. I hate operations in general, and in the middle of a house move from a toxic situation, while suffering from a nasty virus, is NOT the right time for one. We talked about it, and he agreed that he would try a stress test x-ray on my foot to be certain the surgery was or was not needed. He warned me that it was going to hurt, though. I was prepared. After all, a positive result from the x-ray and test would mean no IVs, no cutting, no staples, no possibility of infection... hell yes, I was prepared.

The test did not actually hurt, although the other x-rays did. I am lucky - my fracture, while bad, is well aligned. I do not need an operation. This is the one thing I am trying my best to keep in mind as I slowly go crazy laying in bed. No one is cutting me open, so it is not That Bad. They decided to put me into an "aircast" which is a removable cast that does up with wide velcro straps and has air bladders inside that get pumped up to make you secure and comfortable. It's not entirely comfortable, but I would imagine it's more comfy than a plaster cast, and I know for sure it weighs a lot less (even though this thing feels as if it weighs a ton). I have a very long surgical sock on under it, and then the cast goes over top. The little "lid" or front part comes off so I can ice the ankle underneath. The back part stays on to maintain stability of my leg and ankle.

Sis got me some beautiful flowers, gerber daisies I believe. They're so pretty, and they really brightened me up. It's tough just laying here doing nothing. This morning I thought I could manage with just tylenol, and I let my percocet wear off, and that was the Wrong Thing To Do. I won't do that again for a couple of days. The pain was overwhelming. On top of the ankle pain, which actually goes from around my toes to almost my knee, I have calf pain from the fall and thigh pain from hauling the weight of a damaged leg and cast around. My under-arms are raw from the crutches, and I have blisters forming on my palms.

Still... I am trying to count my blessings. I DON'T need surgery, and that's a big one. I didn't damage anything other than my ankle when I fell, which is just darn lucky considering I fell onto a forest floor full of rocks and sharp twigs and pricker bushes. I somehow managed to go flat into a pile of "just leaves" with nothing really sharp. My dress got a bit messed up but my skin is fine. I didn't break a wrist trying to stop my fall. I have family who love me and are doing everything in their power to make me feel good, and to take up the slack I've so suddenly left. The house was mostly packed for the move BEFORE I broke my ankle, and I don't think the remaining bits will be too much for the others to finish up. I have my internet, and old episodes of Bewitched to watch, and homework to do. I have classmates and church friends and pagan friends and Jewish friends praying for my swift recovery.

So... tough stuff, yes. I have a hard few weeks ahead of me, and many hurdles to make. But I'm a lucky woman, and I need to remember that, especially in the down moments.

My stole arrived!!

2011-04-02T19:44:00.000-04:00

My stole arrived! I'm so incredibly excited by this! I'll post more about the meaning behind it soon, but I just had to show off. LOL...

Seeds of Service

2011-03-25T16:25:00.000-04:00

As a child, did you ever want to "save the world" or rescue animals? Why?

You know, my friends often played at super heroes, but I never did. I always wanted to be Laura from Little House on the Prairie. What does that mean? Perhaps my means of serving others is more mundane. I liked animals enough, but never felt a call to save them, or the world.

How have youthful dreams influenced the choices you have made as an adult?

As a child, I just knew that I couldn't be like my mother. I suppose that's a normal feeling, however my own circumstances were different enough to make it an important choice. Ending that cycle of abuse before it continued was of immense importance. I dreamed long and hard about having another mother, any mother but the one I had. Then I found the Goddess of the Wiccae, and discovered that I'd had a decent mother all along, I just hadn't known about her. She led me to other Divine Guides and spirits and gods, and eventually to the path I am currently on.

Who are your current heroes and heroines?

I have to say, of the people I personally know, Alison Jacobs is one of my greatest heroines. She's the lady who was the interim pastor at my church when I first joined, and she brought home to me the adage about "minister being a verb, not a noun." She embodied what I myself wanted to be in a minister, and she listened and encouraged me as I sought out a way to make that come true. There are other people who influence me: Gray's mother, sis, my daughter, my friend RussetShadow. But Alison is the one that touches me in my soul, a real soul mate.

Have you ever felt called to do something from your deepest Self? How did you respond?

That call is what brought me to seminary, so yes. I've felt the call to serve for a very long time, but didn't know how to follow through. I muddled through my early years in Wicca, trying to answer a call that the particular tradition couldn't really respond to. It was like having a phone but no service - I wanted to answer but there just wasn't anything on the line. Finding The New Seminary really made the difference to me. It gave me a place to channel my need to serve and a way to answer that call. In some ways it's opened a whole new bundle of questions that need answering, but that's alright. Eventually, I'll get where I need to be. It might even be that where I am now IS where I'm needed most.

How do you keep your heart open and not get overwhelmed by the needs you see around you?

Sometimes I get overwhelmed, though less now than I used to. I've mastered the art of saying, "No," when necessary, and I'm fairly good at prioritizing things when I have to. I don't always do these things (hence I get overwhelmed sometimes) . Mostly, I try to be honest with the people around me. If I'm feeling over-tired or over-stretched, I let them know. That way, there's no surprise if I have to walk away for a bit to recharge.

How do you know "when to hold, when to fold"?

I try to listen to my body and my mental processes. If I'm tired all the time, it might be time to fold. If I am sick, or stressed, or feeling "thin" or "stretched" in some way, again it might be time to fold. I try to be vigilant for those feelings so I have the opportunity to finish a section or part of what I'm doing before folding, thereby leaving a situation in a good place rather than a bad one. If I'm just feeling disgruntled or out of sorts from one or two small things, I will try and work my way through it. Again, that honesty is important, not just for others but for myself as well.

How do you keep your own energies renewed?

I like to go on retreats, listen to instrumental music, and write. Sometimes I like to do things like chop wood and carry water, and other times I like to do yoga or tai chi. It really depends on why I need to replenish, and how long I have.

How do you balance your needs with those of others?

Right now, I'm stressing over this one. I think I used to do a pretty good job of this, but with the pending poly-divorce, I have been shying away from balancing my needs with the people who have opted out of the relationship. Mostly, I just want to see MY needs are met, and the needs of my family, and not worry so much about THEM. I realize this is not a great way to look at things, but at the moment it's where I am. Time may heal those wounds, but right now they're pretty fresh.

Seeds of Endurance

2011-03-24T18:11:00.000-04:00

What kind of things can tempt you to give up on your path?

Lies, and damn lies, tend to be my downfall. While I don't expect people to be perfect (well, not all the time at least), I do expect them to be honest with me. When I find out that people have lied to me, it makes me want to throw up my hands in despair. When I am lied to by people who I consider spiritual equals or betters, it's even worse. I have found myself, several times over the years, standing in a sacred place and saying, "Why am I doing this? They don't WANT me to interfere!" Sometimes I want to "get off the ride" and just walk away. I usually take that as a hint that it's time for me to go be alone for a while, time to recharge the spiritual batteries so I can keep plodding on. I don't know that any of that really tempts me to give up my path, though it vexes me.

What are your strengths and weaknesses in personal discipline?

My strengths would include my ability to speak and communicate relatively well, and my skill at writing. They're related, though one requires more interaction than the other. I prefer to write my sermons down, for instance, but have discovered that I have the ability to get up and just speak, and the words come out alright even without the script.

Weaknesses are another thing. I don't budget my time as well as I should, and I let myself get distracted by trivial things. When I should be working on my sermon or ritual, I'll realize I'm wasting time on FaceBook or games.com. Once I get going I can be a real work horse, but sometimes I have a very difficult time getting moving.

For what are you willing to endure almost anything regardless of the cost in time, money, relationships, and so on?

I can endure almost anything for love and for children. I have been through hell and back emotionally, yet I still hold on. My relationships with Gray and sis and the kids are wonderful, bastions of strength for me. While I have the capacity (even the need) to love others, they are and will always be my core. They are like an anchor that holds me as I sway in heavy seas, lending me inner strength and peace of mind when I need it most.

How do you sustain your commitment during the silences?

That's a tough one. When the times come that have me uninspired, when I'm trying to write and the words won't flow, when I feel separate from my gods for whatever reason... those are times I have to tough it out. I have to continue to slog on, doing what needs to be done. I've learned that I can allow myself to feel down, depressed, even angry, so long as I don't wallow in those feelings and I keep moving forward. The word "slog" comes to mind again. I pray a lot. I try new things, and I educate myself in a subject I'm not yet familiar with. I do things to keep my mind lubricated and open, ready for when I am called upon.

How do you recognize within yourself the difference between passionate commitment, obsession, and fanaticism?

Commitment, passionate or otherwise, is a positive thing. One commits to going to church each Sunday, or giving up a favorite food for Lent, or writing a piece of spiritual poetry every day. It is an action, something you DO. Obsessions and fanaticism can both be inactive, qualities that infect the mind and soul but remain hidden. Even if they come to the surface, they aren't always noticeable. They aren't necessarily negative, per se, but often can be. They eat up all your time rather than the time apportioned to them.

How do I recognize the differences between these three in myself? I would say that if I am doing something for a purpose, whether that is to improve my health, spur my spirituality, or something else entirely, then I am doing something that is a passionate commitment. If my goal is unclear or uneven or illogical, then I need to take a good, hard look at what I'm doing and see if it is a negative thing that needs to be stopped.

Do you know when you are simply being stubborn? How does that differ from dedication?

Again, I think the negative connotations of stubbornness tend to make it stand out. Dedication is inherently positive, something you do for a purpose. Stubbornness happens because you're dogging at a subject, unwilling to give up, and it may have started in positive intentions but is no longer aimed that way. In myself, stubbornness is pretty obvious. Usually if I'm being stubborn, I am upset or unhappy with what is going on, or the result of that stubbornness. On the other hand, if I am dedicated to a cause or purpose (seminary, for instance), it may eat up time and effort, but it has a positive outcome and a reason behind it.

What is the difference between martyrdom and endurance?

Well, one can endure while alive, but to be a martyr you have to die first. I'd prefer the first...

Can you see things as they are and still hold the vision of what they can be?

Yes, although I'm still on shaky ground with this one. This is a skill that I have only just learned in the past few years, and I am still practicing and refining it. In my past, I would get caught up in "things as they are" and lose sight of where they might go or could become. That would lead to negative thinking such as, "Well, if we're short on cash now, we'll always be short on cash!" Now, I'm better able to look at a situation and see that what is happening now is happening for a reason (even if I don't understand it), and that the ". . . universe is unfolding as it should . . ." (thanks Max Ehrmann).

Most important, why are you enduring? For what purpose?

I don't know exactly what the purpose is, but I know there are things I need to do in my life. I don't know if my part of what is going on in the current universal shift will be small or large, but the bottom line is that it doesn't really matter. No matter whether I'm the headliner or in the back row of the chorus, I am a part of things and that's good enough. I am enduring seminary, home hardships, poly divorce, and other things because I know there are things I am destined to do. I'll know what they are when the time comes.

The Darkest of Nights

2011-03-22T13:12:00.001-04:00

Dark Night, Soul Blight

What does it mean to stumble and wander,
To move through the darkness,
No light to squander?
I cannot appreciate light's holy glow
Without the black to
Show what I forgo.
Yet when standing within the inky night,
Nothing to guide me
While soul yearns for flight,
I find that I cannot appreciate
That quiet, that silent
And most sacred state.
I fear and I cower, complain and whine
Not once seeing
The velvety shrine
That surrounds my being like strong, loving arms
Keeping me safe
From the world's harms.
When I am quiet, within and without,
Mind calmed, at peace,
I can be devout
In my worship, my awe, my understanding
Of darkness and soul,
And what they may bring.
Only then can I stop long enough to receive
The joy of the night,
My soul's soft reprieve.

Lonely Journey

2011-03-21T12:18:00.000-04:00

Pic by Moonmisery

The Long Road (March 18th)

It's been a long road
With hills and valleys interspersed
Among flat highways with
Nothing at all to see.
I'm tired after miles of travel
And hundreds more to go.
My soul flies to green places,
Tempted by warmth and joy,
Yet where I am and
Where I'm going
Is so much more important.
When I pull myself away
From that seductive brink,
I pray for forgiveness.
I need to see the beauty
Of my present state,
Because by-gone memories
Are hazy with rosy hue
And the future is always full of perfect propositions.
The road goes ever on,
And I travel it with
What grace I can muster.
At times calm and serene,
And others not so much.
But here I am.

Silence - Lent Poem

2011-03-17T11:41:00.000-04:00

Elegy for Solitude

Once, long ago, the silence was easy to find.
Walk to the park, or to your place of worship,
And the quietude would fill you to the brim.
Today it's not so simple, and the silence is gone.
It breathed its last amidst the clutter of
Telephones, internet, radios, televisions.
I miss the solitude;
The hush of deepening dusk
Was treasured, sought after.
Now it has departed this realm,
Lost to raucous music and video game sounds.
I mourn the loss,
Pierced to the heart,
Desperately yearning for
What was lost.

Cinquain for Lent

2011-03-17T10:23:00.000-04:00

Wilderness

Wilderness;
Wild, lonely.
Sitting alone praying,
Baring soul to God.
Frontier.

Our Father, Updated

2011-03-15T11:28:00.000-04:00

Our Father, Redux

Our Father, our Mother,
Our parents who reside in the skies,
In the wilderness, in the desert,
Blessings and prayers be heaped upon you!
Let fat oxen and pure white doves be sacrificed
For the Holy Names above.
May your desires be made manifest
Upon the Earth, among your peoples
Of all colors, creeds, religions and beliefs.
Bring food and water, love and nurturing strength,
Material symbols of your love for us,
To be distributed among the needy,
The poor, the disturbed, the grieved.
Forgive us for not paying more attention
To those who call for succor,
And help us to better understand
Our fellow man, woman, and child
As an extension of ourselves.
Grand us the understanding that there is no
Us and Them,
But only WE.
Help us to help ourselves,
And those around us.
We humbly beg for the wisdom to
Understand good and evil,
For we have forgotten.
We have lost our way,
Lost the knowledge that
Thine is the place of glory,
That you, all faces of Divinity,
All Holy Powers,
Hold the keys to the Universe
Now and forevermore.
So be it.
So it is.

2011-03-15T10:01:00.000-04:00

Dark Night of the Soul

Silence fills the halls around me;
Blackness blinds me to everything.
Guilt and sorrow overflow my yearning breast.
All seems lost.
The world removed from me,
No person piercing the shadow
To save my aching soul.
Enveloped in the inky arms of death,
I bow my head and sob.
The tears glisten...
Is that a light?
No, I mustn't look!
Who knows - it might be a train,
And I don't want to see it.
Just take me now,
So I needn't live in the despair
Of knowing my failures.
And yet...
That is a glow in the distance,
A shimmering light that pulls me.
The silence and black fall away,
Melting like ice in summer sun,
And She stands before me.
My One, my Love,
My Goddess of the dark.
On her right is another,
To her left yet one more -
An unbroken line into the distance,
Of shining, luminescent figures,
Gods, all.
And why do I deserve this host,
This manifestation of miracles?
"You are our child."
I bow my head and sob,
Knowing that I am loved.

Written to Mirror Veil, by Liquid Mind.

Seduction

2011-03-14T14:26:00.000-04:00

What things could seduce me off my path (and perhaps do on occasion)?

I'm not sure I can answer that. I realize it's an important question, but I'm not sure what is meant by "seduce me off my path." Right now, I know where I'm going (toward ordination) and what I'm doing (homework and personal work). I know that is where I want to go, even when I'm very down and depressed. Nothing could seduce me off that path.

In the long run, I suppose there are things that could lure me away from ministry. If my daughter were to come live with me, that would change things in a large way. I could see myself getting lost in nurturing that long-lost relationship and allowing it to pull me away from my path for a while. Even that, though, wouldn't be a permanent thing. While I'm not perfect and sometimes stumble, I feel like my life is pretty firmly on the path now.

My greatest temptations are things like wasting time on the internet instead of doing what I should be doing, and eating things I should not be eating. I have my vices, and I suppose in the grand scheme of things they're pretty minor. Chocolate, sex with my partner(s), online games, reading... Each could turn into a serious problem if I allowed it, but I have rarely felt like any of those things should take over. The few times they have, it's taken only a short while for the universe to send things my direction to show me the error of my ways.

Seeds of Transformation

2011-03-14T14:02:00.000-04:00

What experience has seemed most unfair in your life? How has your understanding of this experience evolved over time?

I will admit, having lived with my mother, my ex-husband, and my current poly lover, it's hard to pick a single one that seems most unfair. I did nothing to cause my mother's anger and vitriol, and while I was not a model wife I certainly didn't deserve to be cheated on by an ex who claimed he was monogamous. My most recent poly lover has lied to me for no reason I can understand, and then been angry that I didn't change in accordance with his desires. All this seems incredibly unfair.

Still, I think of all the things in my life that have been unfair, losing my daughter was the one that stands out most. While I was a participant in losing her, the lies and nastiness that preceded it were not things which I influenced or had control over. At the time it happened, I could feel nothing but pure betrayal and a sick, dying pit in my soul. I was very badly hurt by that loss, and I know she was as well. For me, the lies ended that day; for her they simply began anew, as those who retained control over her began feeding her the story line they'd created.

Over the years, I have come to understand that there was no real perfect solution to the problem that presented itself. Had I stayed where my daughter was, I would have lost my self-respect and all ability to be a functioning, healthy person. Had I taken her with me, she would have been a witness to the break-up of Gray's marriage, which was not physically violent but was emotionally violent. Had I managed to get custody of her later, she would have seen me going through therapy and struggling with my own sense of being, and I'm not sure that would have been good for her either. Of course, now that I'm much more whole, and much more capable of being the mother she deserves, she's not interested. She's lived with the lies and hatred for so long that it's all she knows. It hurts... but I live with it. What's most important is that she's safe, and much stronger than she thinks.

Have you experienced great loss? How have you dealt with grief or anger? How has it changed you?

Losing my daughter was my greatest loss. Other than that, I would have to say the day that Eric died was the worst for me, though. It was only a week before the twins were born, and he and I had rekindled our friendship with one another. We talked about anything and everything, and I was so proud of him. He was doing well in school, and had taken a holiday to gather strength for the next semester. I was in the chem lab when I got an email from a friend, trying desperately to find Eric's mother. I found out he had suffered a massive stroke and had died fairly quickly. I'm grateful he didn't suffer, and I'm grateful that the last words he heard from me were words of pride and love. But he was the first person of "my" generation to die, and he was someone I owed so much to. Dealing with that grief was terrible; it happened right before Samhain, and I just couldn't lead the ritual that year. I couldn't let go of him, with the wound so fresh and sore. I spent a lot of time crying, for weeks. My first few days with the twins, when they came home, were tinged with the pain of his loss. I can't describe how those children represented the fact that life went on, even after he died... and there were moments I resented that terribly.

Now... years later, I think on him often. I offer wine and barley to him, and words of prayer and praise, as one of my spiritual ancestors. I still love him, and I feel his presence more now. I see him as one of my angels, my companions through this tour of life.

Have you found gifts in the loss?

Oh yes! I found I can live through the pain, and that I can grieve without losing myself completely. I gained a guardian and guide who is still with me and always will be in some form or another. I've learned I'm stronger than I thought I was.

Who or what have you not forgiven?

I will admit, I'm still struggling with the idea of forgiving my poly lover. I feel like he turned on me, turned on my family, and that's been tough. Distance has given me perspective, but I still can't see the forest for the trees. I can't see the motivation for the lies and the anger. I want to forgive, but not forget, and yet I'm still holding onto that one. At some point I need to do a ritual of separation, but I'm not there, yet.

Seeds of Creation

2011-03-14T13:32:00.000-04:00

Review your history with the feminine aspect of the Divine. Who, if any, were your feminine spiritual role models?

I have a long history with feminine Divinity. My first memory of contact with "god" was of crying out in the night and having massive, nurturing arms surrounding me. For the longest time, I thought the term "god" meant that Lady who held me at night. It wasn't until I was 11 or 12 that I realized it was a masculine term, and that confused me. I had no real feminine or female spiritual role models while growing up. My mother was anti-religious and anti-spiritual, and my close family were not really all that religious. My Hungarian grandmother was Catholic, but when she took me to services they were in a language I didn't speak and I had no idea what was going on. It wasn't until I was in my late teens and early 20s that I really began to find female role models in the pagan community in BC. Even then, I was sorely disappointed to discover that many of them had serious feet of clay.

How much were you taught about the Sacred Mother? What messages about Her were unspoken but firmly communicated?

I was taught nothing about the Sacred Mother growing up. In fact, it wasn't until I found Wicca that the term "mother" was anything other than a swear word to me. The only message unspoken about religion (and this was about any religion) was that it was a crutch and those who were religious were deluded fools.

Do your practices include the Mother?

It's hard for me to answer that. I don't believe in an "all encompassing" mother goddess. That said, there are certainly mother goddesses that play strong roles in my personal religious practices. I honor Demeter as the grieving and attentive mother. I honor Hera as the "queen mother" of the gods. Hecate, who is my matron, is sometimes seen as a mother figure depending on how far back you look. She is always the mother to me, though, because it was Hecate who held me all those years ago.

Do you use the term Goddess? Why?

I do use the term goddess, though I don't capitalize it because I know many goddesses and not just one who rules the universe. The term 'goddess' is just a title, a descriptor to explain that a particular Divine Power is feminine in how it shows itself. Why do I use the term? It's a good descriptor - a female divine power. It seems as good a term as any. It's hard sometimes, being with a group of people (in seminary) who believe "all are one" because that is not my belief. Well, not exactly. I believe that the gods are separate entities, unique in their own rights, but that some divine thread joins them all in a way we can't understand. Hence why I use the term "squishy polytheist" when referring to myself.

Temptation's Pull

2011-03-13T23:11:00.001-04:00

Temptation

You know it so well, don't you?
It's that burn, the one that claws at your guts
And makes you start to pick up the
Forbidden fruit
(Chocolate? Sweets? Pure sugar?)
Despite the promise not to.
The undisguised longing and desire
Is like an unquenched thirst in your throat.
Put it down, leave it be.
It's no longer for you.
Instead it's a marker, a sign
That now would be a good time to pray.
Now would be that moment you've been waiting for,
The "right moment" to "get around to it."
Whether you press your hands together
And sink to repentant knees,
Or dance frenzied around the bonfire,
Or even pause for a moment and burst into song,
Doesn't matter.
What matters is the connection,
The reaching out for Divinity.
Stretch forth your hand,
So the Divine Powers can stretch back
And meet you half way.
Let temptation be your guide,
Your mentor, your personal trainer.
Revel in it, and make it powerless over you.
Turn temptation into a force for good,
Divinely driven.

More Lenten Poetry

2011-03-12T23:05:00.000-05:00

Desert Journey

Pain is another way of knowing you're alive.

In our society it's so easy to go about the day

Completely unaware of our Creator

(Or Creatrix, as the case may be).

There are no soaring temples that call to us,

No dusty deserts to call us into seclusion.

Yet aren't the streets of the city just as bare

And arid as a desert, if we allow them to be?

What if we take our affluence,

Our horns of plenty,

And give them up for a little while?

After all, pain is another way of knowing you're alive,

And giving something up is another way of

Remembering

Reminding ourselves that the Divine Essence

Lives on in all of us.

The smoking fat and bones are no longer

The correct sacrifice for our gods.

Instead, let us offer up the fatted calf

Of our over-indulgent lives

To the god of our understanding.

Give up sitting in front of the tv,

Or chocolate, or soda,

Or give up procrastination,

And when the sting of sacrifice touches us,

Pricks at our sybaritic souls,

Perhaps it will be the catalyst

To help our straining hands reach God.

Thoughts of Sacrifice

2011-03-12T11:49:00.000-05:00

The Velveteen Rabbi, Reb Rachel Barenblat, wrote the following in her journal today:

Does God "need" our blessings? Reb Marcia Prager taught me to understand prayer as something like the cry of the infant which stimulates the flow of its mother's milk. "More than the calf wants to suckle," said the rabbis of the Talmud, "the cow wants to give milk." God wants to stream blessing into the world; our prayers, our cries, prime that cosmic pump. When we say "please," and when we say "thank you," we're sending our energy toward the Holy One—which in turn stimulates the flow of blessing back to us.

I love this image. It resonates with me. It gave me shivers when I read it, because it makes so much sense to me. I don't believe that the gods need us, per se, but I do believe they love us, and if they love us then it follows that they want to interact with us. They need us to reach to them, though, as a child reaches for a mother's hand as it learns to walk. If we're stubborn and refuse to reach out, we might make it onto our feet alone, but it would be more beneficial for both if we could stretch out our hands.

More than that, when we reach out to God, to the gods, we stimulate both our own feelings of love and unity, and the divinity within. I believe the animating force within us is a small, infinitesimal piece of godhead, and that it yearns and longs to be together with its Whole again. Through prayer and blessings, those please and thank you moments, we stretch out across the universe and reunite with that which created our inner being.

Sustenance

Get up, get out of bed

So many things to do

The day crowds in around me

And demands attention.

Yet I don't give in to the rush

Because to do so would be

To leave the desert of

Self contemplation

Self revelation

Self examination

That I have chosen to enter.

Forty days and nights I stay here

Taking out my soul from time to time

To examine it with close intention

To take inventory and note

Where there are lacks

And where abundance has changed

To stagnation and spoilage.

So I push away the many things

And settle into meditation

And sacrifice a bit of my day

To the Divine.

Each time I do this,

Deny the rush and pull,

I make sacred my intentions.

Like an infant's cry brings mother's milk,

My self imposed desert homage

Brings me within the grasp

Of the Holy,

There to be blessed with

Life sustaining love.

Seeds of Power

2011-03-11T12:12:00.000-05:00

When do you feel powerful? Powerless?

I feel powerful when I am doing something I am practiced in. Writing, for instance, is something that comes easy to me (although I still work hard at it), and I feel powerful when I am putting words to paper and creating something new. I get a similar feeling when cooking a favorite recipe, or cuddling with the children or my partners. It's not a power OVER but a power WITH, something that does not include powerlessness on the other side of the equation.

I feel powerless when I find that my trust has been betrayed. When people lie to me and I find out about it, I feel that power has been stolen from me, and I really struggle with finding my equilibrium afterward. I also tend to feel powerless when I am around people who know my buttons and push them.

What kind of power attracts you? Repels you?

There is a strong attraction in me for personal strength and power. Gray is a very powerful person, both in personality and in body, and I enjoy watching that power in action. I love to see his confidence at work. In a way I aspire to be like that, not needing the approval of others to help me hold into my own power. To some extent I've found a measure of that, but I still fight to find it within me. I find crass power to be very unattractive. The bully, the dictator, the power hungry person who lords it over others holds no interest to me. Those who seek power for power's sake can move right along.

What are symbols of power to you?

There are different types of power in my life. Religiously speaking, the icons of my chosen gods are powerful symbols for me: the owl, the grape vine, the caduceus, the cross. They are outward images that represent the strong and benevolent power behind the symbol. From a personal standpoint, strength of personality is a symbol of power, and the old standard, money. Knowledge, too, is a vibrant symbol of power.

How was power used in your family?

My mother was more of a tyrant than anything else. She ruled the house with tactics that were more bullying than leading. My father was more polite about it, but he chose to be with my mother and I was an accident of birth; his loyalties lie with her. Guilt, too, was used as a tool of power. Anger, depression, and many other negative emotions were used to control the actions of others.

How has power been acted out in intimate relationships?

That's kind of a broad question. I have a power exchange with Gray, one that I entered by choice but that has waned somewhat over the years (in some ways... in other ways it's still quite strong). I enjoy it when he takes control of our private time together. I tend to be more in charge of money and home, because that is where my skill set lies.

How do you know the difference between fulfilling a mission and being a "chosen one"?

Good question! I don't, necessarily. I work hard to never getting the "chosen one" idea into my brain. There are certainly things that I feel I've been incarnated here to do, and that's fine, but I think that if I failed others would take my place. I'm no more (or less) special than anyone else. I think the moment you start thinking you're the only one who can do something, you're on very dangerous ground.

Right now, I feel a distinct call to be a bridge between paganism and Christianity. That's a fun thing, a powerful thing. At no point am I under the impression that I'm the ONLY one who can do this thing, though. Anyone can, really. If I do not follow through, there are others who can and will step up to fill that role in the world. I am just a cog in a very large machine - important, yes, but not all-important.

What do you consider to be "enough" -- enough money, popularity, accomplishments, and so forth?

Enough... would mean not having to squeeze every cent until it screams. I like the idea of being able to run to the store and pick up milk without worrying it will bounce a check. Popularity I don't really worry about at all. Some people like me and others do not, and that's alright. Accomplishments are probably my downfall. I suffer from feeling inadequate, and so I really push myself to do more, be more, accomplish more. I often do it to my own detriment, until I'm exhausted or over-stretched. Learning to say "no" has been a very difficult journey.

How do you feel about money and service?

I like money... I like service (both giving and receiving). I tend to be very open about money. While I do feel I deserve to be paid for my services (wedding, funeral, etc), I do not believe I'd ever turn anyone away from my services for lack of payment. Service, to me, transcends the money aspect. I ask for what I feel I'm worth, and accept that sometimes that number isn't realistic. That doesn't mean someone else has to go without service.

What kind of people do you put on or off pedestals? Have you examined why you do either?

I think I had my mother on a pedestal for a long time, although it wasn't a positive one. I had her up there to throw the emotional version of rotten tomatoes at her. Now, I've taken her off that pedestal. I still have issues with her, but they're person to person; the grandiose vision of her is gone. She's just another broken human being.

I put Gray on a pedestal for a long time, almost to worship him in a way. I don't mean worship as I worship my gods, but in a more human way. He provided me with all the basic necessities of life (food, shelter, love) and then taught me how to be a human being again after a long period of abuse and unhappiness. He taught me it's okay to fail, and that failure doesn't mean that love stops or is taken away. It was easy to put him on that pedestal! I suppose he's still up there sometimes, for me, but after a decade of living together I've come to know his foibles and failures as well as his successes.

Lent: Searching the Soul

2011-03-10T12:20:00.000-05:00

Lent is a time of soul searching, of examining the innards of our minds and souls to examine them for flaws, problems, and sore spots. It's time to pay attention to our animating essence and see if any part of our true selves has come unstuck from our bodies. I see this as a time for taking a spiritual inventory, taking stock of what I've used up, what I need to replenish, and what is on the shelves that just needs to be thrown out because it's way past its expiration date.

For Christians, this inner cleansing leads up to a few things. There's the celebration of the Last Supper, of Pentacost and Passover, and the Assumption. It's roughly connected with the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert, resisting temptations from Shaitan. The whole "40 days" thing is important in Abrahamic faiths in general, being the time people spend apart from others. It seems to be associated with cleansings. Think of Moses, leading the Israelites through the desert for 40 years.

As a hybrid, with beliefs both in my Greek gods and the Christian ones, this is a time of purification for me. During Passover and the church observances of Jesus' death and resurrection, my Greek shrines will be shrouded. I will go through this time thinking about life and death, and my participation in the church and in Hellenic paganism.

The Labyrinth

I step, I step with leery eye
Upon the path laid out for me
My heart it beats as if to die
And in my ears the buzzing bee

Doth make me want to turn aside
Away from labyrinthine turns
And twists with not one place to hide
Nor from this maze ever return

I must look, not turn away,
And see my spirit revealed thus
Baldly, blandly on display
Nothing left there to discuss

My soul, my soul is on display
With none but me to look at it
Its wreck and ruin and disarray
Its golden aura a perfect fit

I tread the sacred path until
My soul is ready to refill
With strength and joy and peace of mind
The searching soul once more refined.

Lenten Discipline

2011-03-09T14:10:00.000-05:00

Lent is an interesting time for me. It has been a time of sacrifice for me for about 20 years or so, even though I did not identify in the least with Christianity for the majority of that time. Now that I am exploring my Christian beliefs, it has taken on new importance to me.

In the past, I have given things up for Lent. Coffee (never again, the family says), chocolate, sweets, video and FaceBook games, and many other things have made the cut list in the past. This year, however, I'm thinking of adding something instead of taking something away. I suppose I could look at it as "giving up procrastinating about my poetry," though, if I really wanted to.

I plan to write 46 poems for Lent, one for each day (including the Sundays). Because we might be moving during Lent, I might have to write ahead, or alternatively, catch up after the move. I am going to write the poems as a method of exploring my own beliefs and thoughts on sacrifice and luxury.

The Ashes

The smell of burning palm frond,
Dry and somewhat dusty from sitting on my shelf for a year,
Wafts about the kitchen.
It doesn't burn all at once,
Instead going in bits and pieces as I light it with a match over and over.
The ashes fall into the bowl.
When it's gone,
Reduced to just a pile of long, dark duskiness,
I tap it into the mortar.
Grinding the last of it
Into fine ashes, black and inky and thick,
I think of last year.
In goes the oil,
Adding a faint hint of earthy olive to the smoky scent,
And a thick slurry is made.
Soon these ashes,
So poignant a reminder of sacrifice and loss of luxury,
Will grace my forehead.
The season has begun,
A time of deep thought, of repentance for marks missed,
The season of Lent.
The dark days
After the Transfiguration, after the glory, after the wailing and sackcloth,
Are still with us.
Amen.

What do I eat? (For Sylvan)

2011-03-08T08:39:00.000-05:00

Dianne Sylvan is one of my favorite modern pagan authors and I read her blogs religiously (*snort* LOL). Today, she challenged us:

Thus, I invite you, dear readers, to share with me: what do you and your family eat in, say, a week? How much of it is homemade, how often do you go out? Do you shop for organic products or just grab what’s cheap? Are you veg, omni, gluten-free? I’d like to see a snapshot of everyone’s weekly kitchens no matter what kind of diet your family ascribes to.

So I am writing for her, today.

For the record, our family are omnivores. We sometimes eat vegetarian meals, and on rare occasions, vegan ones, but for the most part we like our meat and choose to raise some of it ourselves (chickens mostly). We grow as much of our own veg as we can, and store it via freezing, drying and canning. Nothing beats pulling out a can of last summer's home-canned tomatoes and eating them in snowy March during a freak blizzard (yes, that was yesterday).

As for our normal weekly fair, we do eat tacos or some variant of them (enchiladas, burritos, etc.) every couple of weeks. We like Mexican flavors, and they're a quick throw-together meal that can be made with whatever meat happens to be handy. We almost always have a packet of spices on hand, and so it's something we can make in a rush.

We eat a lot of chicken, both because we raise a lot of our own (though not all, yet) and because it's low in calories and high on flavor. Our favorite chicken meals include some form of chicken stir fry with whatever vegetables are handy, and chicken curry with a thick, coconutty sauce. If I were going vegan, curry would be high on my list of "must have" foods for quick and easy noshing, because I can make curry out of anything: potatoes, tofu, vegetables, tofurky, gluten crumbles, rice... and because curry can be changed in flavor with just a few subtle ingredients: tomatoes today, coconut tomorrow, peppers on Thursday.

We eat a lot of eggs, because we raise chickens and they provide us with fresh, safe brown eggs on a daily basis. Sometimes we eat eggs for dinner, but most often it's a breakfast or lunch item. We do everything from omelettes to fritattas to quiche and egg custard. Yum!

We do the ubiquitous pot roast, cooked in a low-heat oven for most of the day in a simmering wine and broth mix. When it's all falling apart, mixed in with the juices and potatoes and carrots, we love this as a pre-planned meal.

Lunches tend to be sandwiches around here, or quick microwaved left-overs.

There you have it. Food by Allyson.

Life in New Hampshire

2011-03-07T13:14:00.000-05:00

In New Hampshire, we have a saying: if you don't like the weather, wait a minute. After a few days of relatively mild temperatures (hovering just below freezing), we got Snopocalypse Mark II. The heavens opened and snow fell in large amounts. It was on this day that we decided to go have a look at the house we hope to be buying in the next few days. We figured if we could get to it during a blizzard with hail, sleet, snow, and rain, then we could get to it anytime. We managed, and all was good. I have to say though, I'm almost done with snow. It snowed this afternoon for a while, and I really just want it to stop. No more snow, please. It's spring. Really!

See? There are signs of spring. Those are sprouts, right there in that there window! The blue cup has daisies in it, and is mine. The yellow one is the boytwin's and his contains sunflowers. The girltwin chose the pink cup (gee, really? LOL) and planted zinnias. It's so nice to see a little bit of fresh green poking through. The kids are enchanted with these tiny planters, which is fun and educational. I like growing seeds with them - they get so excited to see each moment of growth as the leaves poke through then multiply. Soon I'll be starting our seedlings for the new garden, which is also exciting. I picked up a cheap "windowsill" greenhouse for starting the plants: tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, zuchinni. I'm not doing the "heritage" thing this year, for the most part, because I don't have the equipment available to me that I have had in previous years (not having a tiller really sucks). But I'm having a garden, regardless!

Almost all of my altar goods are packed up and ready to move to the new house. I just have one small altar set up, because I can't bear to not have ANY altar at all. You can see the owl candle holder that sis got me for Yule/Christmas this year - when lit, the light cast makes it look like wings. It's so beautiful, and warm... like my Lady. She'll be the last item I take down from this house, and the first thing put up at the new house. Hopefully that will all happen within the next month or so!

Alright, enough with updating. I have more packing to do.

Power Seeds

2011-02-21T13:45:00.001-05:00

When do you feel powerful? Powerless?

I feel powerful when I find that place within me that is at peace with the world. Every once in a while, I find a place within myself that allows me to be calm and cool and collected no matter what the universe throws at me. I can look at each problem and take a deep breath and see just how much of it is me, and how much is other people, and own my parts and let go of the rest.

Powerless is what I feel when people are saying one thing and doing another, and it affects me. For example, telling me that I have X amount of work to do, then telling me that my work is worth nothing. That opposite attitude really bothers me and leaves me feeling unable to win, unable to succeed. It saps my strength. Of course, there is no way to WIN it. You have to work through it, find a strategy that works for you.

What kind of power attracts you? Repels you?

I think it depends a lot on what you mean. The kind of power I want is personal power; the power to make my own decisions, create my own future, build my own dreams. That's what attracts me for myself. In others, though, I like strength of personality. I want to be around people who are able to be blunt and honest, even if it prickles a bit. That "bleeding edge" honesty is a source of strong and abiding power in my opinion. It speaks of a lack of interest in other people's drama, and strength of personality. I also like powerful people who are able to take control of a situation when it's appropriate. Misuse of power repels me. People who have power (for whatever reason) who then abuse it, really makes me ill. Priests who molest children or adults in their care, preachers who dupe thousands of dollars from their "flock", doctors who cop a feel, teachers who are nasty just because they can be... These things make me feel physically ill.

What are symbols of power to you?

Truth is a strong symbol of power. Honesty. Love. Intelligence. Physical symbols would include uniforms, badges, special vehicles (fire truck, police car, etc). Religiously speaking, any symbol of a god is powerful to me, whether it is a cross, an ankh, a star, a pentagram, or an Ohm.

How was power used in your family?

Power was often misused in my family. My mother thought that being brutal in her punishments, whether deserved or not, was the way to keep me in line. Her use of power was never designed to teach me to be a good adult; it was designed to make me kiss the hem of her robe in abject misery, to enforce her authority over me.

How has power been acted out in intimate relationships?

I have a very interesting exchange of power within my relationships. I am a strong, able person who wants to be the captain of her own ship, and yet I also enjoy the power that I willingly give to my partner at home. This isn't the place to talk about that power exchange, though.

How do you know the difference between fulfilling a mission and being a "chosen one"?

I think that the difference would be in the duration. If I have a mission, then when it is done I am done. Being a "chosen one" would imply that power and/or authority was kind of open-ended, going on until people become disillusioned.

What do you consider to be "enough" -- enough money, popularity, accomplishments, and so forth?

I think the answer is different for different things. For me, enough money would be enough to pay all the bills, pay off some of the debt at a reasonable pace, and have some left over for both savings and for spending on things we want rather than need. Popularity I've never really cared about, and so very little is enough. If my friends are true and like me, that's just fine. Accomplishments, on the other hand, consume me. When I do homework, it must be letter perfect. I must put my utmost into every project, no matter how large or small. I never just throw something together at the last minute. I struggle and spin over each and every word.

How do you feel about money and service?

This is a tough one. For a long time I refused to take money for any religious service. My Wiccan training had put a tainted spin on money that was hard to walk away from. Now, having seen the methods of the more organized religious institutions, I understand that it's okay to take some, but I am not quite as mercenary as some. I would never turn away a couple who wanted to get married but didn't have enough cash, for instance. I'd simply adjust my fees to a level they could afford. I'm not interested in "ministry for money" but I also have bills to pay. As an example, in the creation of a wedding, I can put upwards of 50 hours of work into it. Those hours are taken away from school, family, chores, and any other jobs I might have. I also have transportation costs, printing costs, and sometimes registration costs depending on county and State. If I'm providing candles and matches, music, or anything else, those too are out of pocket expenses. I see nothing wrong with expecting reparation for the work I have done. As I say, though, I never turn anyone away, and not being able to pay full price will never get you a "lesser" wedding.

What kind of people do you put on or off pedestals? Have you examined why you do either?

I used to put sexual partners on pedestals, but I don't do that anymore. Even the most wonderful partner still has feet of clay. I would do it because I had such a desperate, clinging need for love from anywhere. Once I began to learn a bit about self love, my need to put people up on those high platforms went down.

New Book

2011-02-17T16:03:00.000-05:00

My new book is tentatively titled The Road to Ritual, and is covering information about how to create your own, personal rituals. Some of us have been doing this so long it's kind of second nature, but for those who have never written a ritual before it can seem very daunting. I've watched my classmates suffer through stage fright, concern, worry, frustration, and anger as they learn the ins and outs of ritual. For some of them, it was a true trial to understand what was and was not a part of the ritual process. I am hoping that this book will address many of the issues that came up during classes at The New Seminary, as well as other problems that might occur as people are in the process of creation.

The book will have somewhere around 12 chapters, and will likely be a bit meatier than Longing for Wisdom. I'm discussing the history of ritual, and the place of ritual in our daily lives in the modern world. I'm going over all the different parts of ritual and teaching people how to assemble them reasonably. I'm even talking about family, seasonal, life cyclical, and festival rituals (those big ones with hundreds of people).

I started the book about 2 years ago, during a quiet time in my life. I think that was the LAST quiet time I had! I've poked at it a few times in the intervening months, but haven't looked at it truly seriously. Well, last week I started looking at it seriously. I've been chunking along, writing a bit here and there. I'm going to be trying to put in an hour or two a day writing it. When I wrote LfW, I was writing for hours and hours each day, and the words just poured out of me. This one is taking a lot more out of me, being much less about opinions and much more about facts. I'm enjoying, though!

Seeds of Disillusionment

2011-02-11T11:43:00.000-05:00

Review the major disappointments of your life. What did you want and not get? What was the gift in not getting it?

Major disappointments, eh? Working backward, I'd have to start with the ending of my current poly relationship. I wanted it to continue, and I wanted the other people involved to have the same strength of character and morals and ethics as I did. I'm not sure about the fit in not getting it; I'm still suffering with it and it might take time to figure that one out. Prior to that, I'd have to say losing custody of my daughter to my parents is the next major disappointment. I wanted her to be here with me, safe and loved and held, and instead she's with my parents and miserable and pretty sure no one loves her. While it's been incredibly rough being separated and not seeing her, it's also given me the time to become stronger, more able, more competent as a person and as a mother. I was a mess emotionally when I had her, and though I wish I could say I'd have done just fine raising her as a single mother, the truth is I would not have done well at all. I've reached a point now where I probably could, but the moment is gone. I've also gained self-respect.

What disillusionments have you experienced with people and with beliefs and ideas that you held? What is still "hot" and has emotional charge for you?

My biggest hot button is lying. I spent years not knowing whether I could believe anything my mother said, because she would change her mind and often not even remember her previous comments. I would be punished for such arcane actions as loading the spoons into the dishwasher incorrectly, punishments that would last weeks. This has led to me being a very blunt person, dispensing the truth almost as an instrument of pain at times.

I expect people to be generally truthful. I don't mean about birthday presents and such, but when you ask someone about finances or whether they love you or if they really want to have kids, you should be able to trust the answer. What I discovered is that people tell untruths a lot of the time, even on the important things which should basically demand truthfulness. That scares me!

Right now, I'm going through mediation with my poly divorce situation, and have been told quite bluntly that because I intimidate and frighten some of the people involved (?!?), they reserve the right to tell me whatever's on the top of their mind in an attempt to get rid of me, and that I have to take what they say in good faith even though they've said they'll lie outright to get me to go away. See, I have massive problems with that. Not only do I feel I have reason to doubt the truthfulness of their statements, they've confirmed that the doubt is reasonable, to my face, in front of mediators. And yet I'm still expected to act as if they are acting in good faith. I'm also being told that I'm not trustworthy, but when I ask for reasons why they feel that way, they can't come up with anything. It's just a feeling. My proof is trumped by their feeling, per the mediators. Oy.

When did you doubt that God/Goddess was present? In your personal life? In wars, natural disasters, and other large-scale events?

I have never, to my knowledge, doubted the existence of the gods. There have certainly been times when I have felt that the gods were not present with me, personally. When I was pregnant, my ability to feel anything magickal or spiritual was largely diminished. I felt abandoned for a while, but at no point did my belief and faith in the gods disappear. It was only my awareness of their personal attendance that waned.

I don't see natural disasters and such as being the result of actions (or inactions) by the gods. Human beings existing explains most of those things, and it seems to me that the gods are as frustrated and upset about them as the rest of us. As Death says to the Goddess in the myth of the Descent of the Goddess (Wiccan), "It is not I who causes all things to wither and die; it is time and fate, which I am helpless against." The gods are as chained to natural rhythms as we are, at least in my personal observations.

Seeds of Faith

2011-02-11T11:09:00.000-05:00

What were your dreams for yourself as a child? As a teenager? A young adult? In the present time?

When I was a child, I had childish dreams, as the saying goes. I dreamed of normal things, like being a fireman or a doctor or a singer. I also had dreams which now seem so sad, dreams that I had a REAL mother out there somewhere who really loved me but had given me up because the pitiful woman pretending to be my mother was so poor of heart that she couldn't have her own child. I dreamed that she was out there, and that some day I would find her, that wonderful, amazing woman who had given birth to me.

As a teenager, most of my dreams had to do with escape, getting away from the situation I had grown up in. The world is tough enough for teens, but having to live through my mother's intermittent drinking and insanities made it exponentially worse. When other teens were buying jeans and records, I spent my money on dishes and things for the house I would have the minute I was old enough to get a job and get away.

When I became a young adult and moved far, far away from my parents, I discovered new dreams. I dreamed of the gods, of my priestesshood, of the joy of exploration and freedom. I dreamed of unconditional love, and found it in a wonderful man named Davydd. I dreamed I could do anything I wanted, and I did.

Now my dreams are simpler. I'm sure that's because I'm not 20 years old anymore. Being 40 certainly gives you perspective, if nothing else. I dream of a home that is peaceful and joyous. I dream of having my daughter with me. I dream of the twins growing up to become successful at whatever they choose to do. I dream of growing old with Gray and Sis, in a life that is both exciting and sometimes boringly normal.

From what persons or circumstances did you learn to doubt? To be cynical?

That would be my mother... Just living with her is enough to make a saint cynical, and to doubt that there is a Divinity out there. Because she was unable to tell me the truth about things, I learned to doubt very early. I doubted anything she told me, because it was probably wrong. That's another one of those sad things.

Are you building in faith now or waiting for evidence?

I'm building in faith on a daily basis! My life now is very faith based. This doesn't mean I ignore science and rational thought, but faith is another side to that coin. When everything eludes understanding through "normal means" I can turn to my faith for strength and knowledge. It's a very peaceful thing. Mind you, I'm willing to accept evidence as it presents itself!

Do you trust your own guidance? How do you recognize that your faith is in operation?

I think it's important to question our guidance, especially from spiritual and faith means. It isn't that I don't believe such guidance can be good, however I do think it's important to always question so that we don't become complacent and start saying that every urge or whim is "faith based guidance." That's a slippery slope that leads to ruin, and so we must always be vigilant to see we don't start down it. I question everything; it's my nature. There are times when it's appropriate and right to accept things on faith, but not without personal questioning.

How do I know my faith is in operation? I am breathing... I think that covers it. How important it is for faith to be in operation almost all of the time. It's what keeps us going, keeps our chins up during the rough times. It's what fuels our challenge to things that need to change (civil rights movement, anyone?) as well as the joy of celebrating that something is going just fine.

Seeds of Will 2

2011-02-09T11:51:00.000-05:00

What did you dream about doing when you were young? What if that was God/Goddess dreaming you?

An interesting question. My earliest memory of "Divinity" was of calling out in the late night because I needed a mother. My biological mother didn't answer such calls, and I had spent many nights alone in the darkness, scared or sobbing. I called out one night and then I felt the largest, most encompassing arms cradling me as if I were an infant. I will always remember that moment, of settling to sleep in the arms of someone who had infinite and unconditional love for me. I didn't see her face, but she was quite female, and she wore dark robes, perhaps a dark blue. I remember they were soft. I think I was perhaps 7 or 8 years old at the time. That moment of comfort meant everything to me, and I just knew that it was God who held me. I was actually kind of startled to find out that "the rest of the world" saw God as male, a few years later. I had a hard time internalizing that idea.

What did I dream of when I was younger? I dreamed of teaching, of serving in some capacity. Certainly as a young child I had the normal career desires: fireman, librarian, astronaut, that type of thing. By the time I was 10 or 12, certainly long before I entered high school, I had desired a career that was language based. I wanted to write, to create, to inform, to teach. Throughout my life, that has been a theme, and it is one I still pursue. If Goddess still dreams of me, and I do believe she does, then I believe I am living that dream now. The rough stuff going on in my life is periphery. It's the usual chaff blown away by the winds of initiation and change. I dislike it, and it certainly challenges me, but it in no way makes me want to change my course.

What did you want before you were taught you should want something else? What if that earlier desire is what God/Goddess wanted for you?

I think I largely answered this above. Once I got past the childish desires (astronaut et al) and began to think about what I really wanted to do with myself, I knew that it needed to be related to writing and/or teaching. Despite working my way through a variety of unfulfilling job choices, I always seem to come back to writing and ministry. I do believe this is what the gods want of me. Sometimes my view of the end is clearer than others, but I do my best to keep focused on that.

What really brings you rushes of enthusiasm? What if that is God/Goddess inspiring you?

When I get up and preach, when I teach at church or in Circle or at seminary, these are the things which bring me that rush that tells me I'm doing it right. It isn't an ego rush, although I've had those too (who doesn't like to hear their sermon inspired people, after all?); there's something completely outside of ego that fills me when I manage to pull off a good sermon or teach a new skill to those who want to learn. I fought the idea of ministry for a very long time, because pagans don't have ministers really, and I didn't want to be a Christian minister. Therefore it seemed obvious to me that the ministry calling was just something silly I'd made up. Now, I see a bit more clearly that this is, indeed, what I am supposed to be doing. I don't have to give up my pagan background, but I can also add to that with an understanding of the other religions and belief systems out there. I can work at being the bridge between religions. I can teach people not to fear one another. This is what I feel the gods are inspiring me to do. I believe they've been pushing me this way for a long, long time.