Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Into The West
When I started this blog, I really meant to post something on a regular basis. Really.
And then life kept getting in my way -- band stuff (among other things, I'm a singer/songwriter; and no, you haven't heard of me yet, but maybe one of these days...), work stuff, school stuff, and just plain stuff stuff.
Last night, death got in my way -- Amber's death.
My wonderful, silky-fluffy feline companion of twelve and a half years -- never before sick a day in her pampered life -- had a seizure that left her blind and paralized on her left side.
Her crying out for me went right to my marrow -- this cat was almost two years old before we knew she wasn't mute -- she never vocalized! Once in a blue moon, she'd give a peculiar little squeak, but she never meowed. After the seizure was over, she cried and cried for me -- she couldn't see me at all. My hands on her calmed her somewhat (healing touch works wonders for animals), but she was still clearly in distress, and over-breathing to the point of hyperventilating (more than one breath per second is not normal for a cat). She tried to stand and walk, but kept falling over.
Time for the vet.
I took her to an after-hours emergency vet who confirmed my worst thoughts: a probable blood clot to the brain -- partial paralysis and blindness were its effects. She might be able to survive a couple more years on daily doses of various medicines, but she wouldn't regain her sight, and she'd always be partially paralyzed.
No. Not my Amber.
Not my gentle queen, who would sit squarely in front of me on my footstool and tilt her head till her right ear touched her right shoulder -- her "adorable" look that signalled her desire to be combed. Not my reciprocating beauty, who would stretch out her neck and tongue to groom my hair as I was grooming hers.
Not my guardian-in-the-night, who would sleep on the floor at the foot of my bed, no doubt defending me from bad dreams.
Not my movie-watching feline, who had a definite taste for action films, and her own chair in which to sit and watch them.
Not my musical cat, who played the coil-spring doorstop so persistently, often in the middle of the night; and who paid close attention during band practises, in case someone left a stray instrument for her to stand guard over.
Not my foot-fetishist who never saw a shoe she didn't love, and who would sit patiently waiting for me to take off my boots and then my socks -- and then look for the socks to wrestle with.
Not my soft-paw, who never unsheathed her claws, and so sometimes would simply slide right off a slight but slippery slope, trying to look dignified all the way to the floor.
Not my Sprawl Cat, who slept flat on her back in the middle of the floor, with one arm out to the side and the other tucked in to her chest, perfectly confident that she would never be stepped on.
No. Not my Amber.
I borrowed a comb from the vet, and asked her to give me a few minutes with Amber. I sang to her as I groomed her one last time -- Into The West. I have never heard any other transition song with such perfect meaning. My girl must have thought so, too, because she stopped fussing and purred while I combed her. I told her that Bast would meet her at the Gate, and that we would see her again when our own times came.
Then I gave the vet the signal to administer the final shot, and Amber died quietly in my arms with my tears soaking her silky head.
She'll be cremated, and her ashes will be scattered over flower beds in one of the local parks -- that's standard procedure unless special arrangements are wanted. But I couldn't think of anything more special than to have the residue of her body's life contribute to the nourishment of other, new life. The wheel of the year goes 'round, and the cycle of life, death, and life again never ends. And it's only her body that is gone, that I will miss with an aching heart.
The spirit of Amber -- Bast would call it her ka -- lives on.
And then life kept getting in my way -- band stuff (among other things, I'm a singer/songwriter; and no, you haven't heard of me yet, but maybe one of these days...), work stuff, school stuff, and just plain stuff stuff.
Last night, death got in my way -- Amber's death.
My wonderful, silky-fluffy feline companion of twelve and a half years -- never before sick a day in her pampered life -- had a seizure that left her blind and paralized on her left side.
Her crying out for me went right to my marrow -- this cat was almost two years old before we knew she wasn't mute -- she never vocalized! Once in a blue moon, she'd give a peculiar little squeak, but she never meowed. After the seizure was over, she cried and cried for me -- she couldn't see me at all. My hands on her calmed her somewhat (healing touch works wonders for animals), but she was still clearly in distress, and over-breathing to the point of hyperventilating (more than one breath per second is not normal for a cat). She tried to stand and walk, but kept falling over.
Time for the vet.
I took her to an after-hours emergency vet who confirmed my worst thoughts: a probable blood clot to the brain -- partial paralysis and blindness were its effects. She might be able to survive a couple more years on daily doses of various medicines, but she wouldn't regain her sight, and she'd always be partially paralyzed.
No. Not my Amber.
Not my gentle queen, who would sit squarely in front of me on my footstool and tilt her head till her right ear touched her right shoulder -- her "adorable" look that signalled her desire to be combed. Not my reciprocating beauty, who would stretch out her neck and tongue to groom my hair as I was grooming hers.
Not my guardian-in-the-night, who would sleep on the floor at the foot of my bed, no doubt defending me from bad dreams.
Not my movie-watching feline, who had a definite taste for action films, and her own chair in which to sit and watch them.
Not my musical cat, who played the coil-spring doorstop so persistently, often in the middle of the night; and who paid close attention during band practises, in case someone left a stray instrument for her to stand guard over.
Not my foot-fetishist who never saw a shoe she didn't love, and who would sit patiently waiting for me to take off my boots and then my socks -- and then look for the socks to wrestle with.
Not my soft-paw, who never unsheathed her claws, and so sometimes would simply slide right off a slight but slippery slope, trying to look dignified all the way to the floor.
Not my Sprawl Cat, who slept flat on her back in the middle of the floor, with one arm out to the side and the other tucked in to her chest, perfectly confident that she would never be stepped on.
No. Not my Amber.
I borrowed a comb from the vet, and asked her to give me a few minutes with Amber. I sang to her as I groomed her one last time -- Into The West. I have never heard any other transition song with such perfect meaning. My girl must have thought so, too, because she stopped fussing and purred while I combed her. I told her that Bast would meet her at the Gate, and that we would see her again when our own times came.
Then I gave the vet the signal to administer the final shot, and Amber died quietly in my arms with my tears soaking her silky head.
She'll be cremated, and her ashes will be scattered over flower beds in one of the local parks -- that's standard procedure unless special arrangements are wanted. But I couldn't think of anything more special than to have the residue of her body's life contribute to the nourishment of other, new life. The wheel of the year goes 'round, and the cycle of life, death, and life again never ends. And it's only her body that is gone, that I will miss with an aching heart.
The spirit of Amber -- Bast would call it her ka -- lives on.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Living In A Forced Theocracy
Now, here is a terrifying article (hat tip to Fiacharrey at the Sacred Grove):
(A.K.A. CHRISTIAN RECONSTRUCTIONISM, DOMINION THEOLOGY, AND THEONOMY)
"...Its most common form, Dominionism, represents one of the most extreme forms of Fundamentalist Christianity thought. Its followers, called Dominionists, are attempting to peacefully convert the laws of United States so that they match those of the Hebrew Scriptures. They intend to achieve this by using the freedom of religion in the US to train a generation of children in private Christian religious schools. Later, their graduates will be charged with the responsibility of creating a new Bible-based political, religious and social order. One of the first tasks of this order will be to eliminate religious choice and freedom. Their eventual goal is to achieve the "Kingdom of God" in which much of the world is converted to Christianity. They feel that the power of God's word will bring about this conversion. No armed force or insurrection will be needed; in fact, they believe that there will be little opposition to their plan. People will willingly accept it. All that needs to be done is to properly explain it to them.
"All religious organizations, congregations etc. other than strictly Fundamentalist Christianity would be suppressed. Nonconforming Evangelical, main line and liberal Christian religious institutions would no longer be allowed to hold services, organize, proselytize, etc. Society would revert to the laws and punishments of the Hebrew Scriptures. Any person who advocated or practiced other religious beliefs outside of their home would be tried for idolatry and executed. Blasphemy, adultery and homosexual behavior would be criminalized; those found guilty would also be executed. At that time that this essay was originally written, this was the only religious movement in North America of which we were aware which advocates genocide for followers of minority religions and non-conforming members of their own religion. Since then, we have learned of two conservative Christian pastors in Texas who have advocated the execution of all Wiccans..."
Are we awake, yet? Go read the entire article...
And please don't live under the delusion that "it can't happen here." It does. Frequently (no, not this particular issue, but plenty of others). Who was it that said: "All that is required for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing."?
DOMINIONISM
(A.K.A. CHRISTIAN RECONSTRUCTIONISM, DOMINION THEOLOGY, AND THEONOMY)
"...Its most common form, Dominionism, represents one of the most extreme forms of Fundamentalist Christianity thought. Its followers, called Dominionists, are attempting to peacefully convert the laws of United States so that they match those of the Hebrew Scriptures. They intend to achieve this by using the freedom of religion in the US to train a generation of children in private Christian religious schools. Later, their graduates will be charged with the responsibility of creating a new Bible-based political, religious and social order. One of the first tasks of this order will be to eliminate religious choice and freedom. Their eventual goal is to achieve the "Kingdom of God" in which much of the world is converted to Christianity. They feel that the power of God's word will bring about this conversion. No armed force or insurrection will be needed; in fact, they believe that there will be little opposition to their plan. People will willingly accept it. All that needs to be done is to properly explain it to them.
"All religious organizations, congregations etc. other than strictly Fundamentalist Christianity would be suppressed. Nonconforming Evangelical, main line and liberal Christian religious institutions would no longer be allowed to hold services, organize, proselytize, etc. Society would revert to the laws and punishments of the Hebrew Scriptures. Any person who advocated or practiced other religious beliefs outside of their home would be tried for idolatry and executed. Blasphemy, adultery and homosexual behavior would be criminalized; those found guilty would also be executed. At that time that this essay was originally written, this was the only religious movement in North America of which we were aware which advocates genocide for followers of minority religions and non-conforming members of their own religion. Since then, we have learned of two conservative Christian pastors in Texas who have advocated the execution of all Wiccans..."
Are we awake, yet? Go read the entire article...
And please don't live under the delusion that "it can't happen here." It does. Frequently (no, not this particular issue, but plenty of others). Who was it that said: "All that is required for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing."?
Witch, Not Wiccan
I'm not meaning this blog to be a tutorial on Paganism in its many forms, although I hope to write and link to some articles -- and other blogs -- that will help an honest seeker to differentiate among the (how many, now?) various forms of Pagan traditions.
And if you wish to help out by writing me, or sending me links, I'd be delighted to have your input! My e-mail address is behind the "View my complete profile" link at the top left of the page. If you have an article you'd like published, and you don't yet have your own blog, I could be persuaded to have you as a guest blogger (a suitable bribe of, say, a solid dark chocolate bar would not go amiss, I promise...).
And now for the thought behind the title of this post:
I am a Witch. Capitalized, please. This is my religion, as well as my culture.
I am not a Wiccan. Wiccans are Pagans of the specifically British traditions -- mostly Gardnerian, Alexandrian, and Georgian, in that chronological order. I suspect that there are other Brit trad offshoots, but these three comprise most of the Wiccan population that I know about. And where I now live, I am quite literally surrounded by Wiccans -- from the Georgian trad.
Wiccans have particular ways of doing things, and within Wicca, each trad is slightly different from the others. I'm not going to speak of specifics (that is considered to be oath-bound information, and I am not out to "out" what does not belong to me), but suffice it to say that if you are a travelling Gardnerian, and you are invited to circle with a Gardnerian coven not your own, you will not get lost in the ritual. You will feel right at home, because Gardnerians, for the most part, follow the same ritual patterns no matter where they live.
I spent a little more than a year as a sort-of resident-guest to an Alexandrian coven, several years ago. I took a lot of training with them, to the point where I can circle with any Wiccan group without looking like the village idiot. I have the ettiquette and the "feel" for Wiccan ritual. I wouldn't be tripping over traditional taboos, or mistaking the Maiden for the High Priestess.
The Witchy equivalent to being paper-trained, I guess.
Still, I am not Wiccan. I am a Witch.
And what is a Witch? Damn good question. Glad you asked. Next?
*sigh* The truth is, it is far easier to say what a Witch is not than what a Witch is. It may be true, as someone once suggested to me, that a Witch is someone who has not yet codified all the laws regarding ritual and ethical behaviour. Such as The Rede: "An it harm none, do as ye will."
On the other hand, I know of some Wiccans who do not follow The Rede (it is said, snidely, that the reason is because Uncle Gerald didn't write it).
I've heard some people say that Witchcraft is not a religion -- it is only a skillset.
And to those people, I say: "Up yer bloody kilt with a caber!" How dare someone else define my religion and culture for me! Keep that attitude in front of me, and I will be opening the Janus Gates...
I am a solitary practitioner of Witchcraft who is also well enough trained in various traditions that I will not embarrass either myself or my hosts whenever I am invited to celebrate festivals with them.
I am eclectic, in that I do not hold with only one pantheon or one way of doing things. I am free to borrow and mingle whatever seems to fit at the moment, without having to worry about whether or not a High Priestess would approve.
My gods are my partners in my life -- not objects of worship. I do not pray to them. I form partnerships, and we work together. I am the Goddess of whatever name! I am the God of whatever name!
I use whatever magick works best for me, and I care not whether the moon is waxing, waning, or spending the afternoon in a hot tub.
I am, alas, hopelessly untalented at divination. I also think that divination is a neat toy, but I don't take it seriously. On the other hand, my sun, moon, and rising signs are all fire signs.
I'm not looking for carbon copies of myself. I welcome discussion, objection, refutation, addition, and all kinds of interaction. Feel free to use the comments section or my e-mail address. If you use the comments, and you have no blog identity, please identify yourself in some kind of systematic way -- three different commenters called "anonymous" get extremely tiring after awhile (I've seen it happen on other blogs) -- a set of initials or a made-up name would help.
And please be polite. No flames. Remember, I'm the one with three fire signs...
And if you wish to help out by writing me, or sending me links, I'd be delighted to have your input! My e-mail address is behind the "View my complete profile" link at the top left of the page. If you have an article you'd like published, and you don't yet have your own blog, I could be persuaded to have you as a guest blogger (a suitable bribe of, say, a solid dark chocolate bar would not go amiss, I promise...).
And now for the thought behind the title of this post:
I am a Witch. Capitalized, please. This is my religion, as well as my culture.
I am not a Wiccan. Wiccans are Pagans of the specifically British traditions -- mostly Gardnerian, Alexandrian, and Georgian, in that chronological order. I suspect that there are other Brit trad offshoots, but these three comprise most of the Wiccan population that I know about. And where I now live, I am quite literally surrounded by Wiccans -- from the Georgian trad.
Wiccans have particular ways of doing things, and within Wicca, each trad is slightly different from the others. I'm not going to speak of specifics (that is considered to be oath-bound information, and I am not out to "out" what does not belong to me), but suffice it to say that if you are a travelling Gardnerian, and you are invited to circle with a Gardnerian coven not your own, you will not get lost in the ritual. You will feel right at home, because Gardnerians, for the most part, follow the same ritual patterns no matter where they live.
I spent a little more than a year as a sort-of resident-guest to an Alexandrian coven, several years ago. I took a lot of training with them, to the point where I can circle with any Wiccan group without looking like the village idiot. I have the ettiquette and the "feel" for Wiccan ritual. I wouldn't be tripping over traditional taboos, or mistaking the Maiden for the High Priestess.
The Witchy equivalent to being paper-trained, I guess.
Still, I am not Wiccan. I am a Witch.
And what is a Witch? Damn good question. Glad you asked. Next?
*sigh* The truth is, it is far easier to say what a Witch is not than what a Witch is. It may be true, as someone once suggested to me, that a Witch is someone who has not yet codified all the laws regarding ritual and ethical behaviour. Such as The Rede: "An it harm none, do as ye will."
On the other hand, I know of some Wiccans who do not follow The Rede (it is said, snidely, that the reason is because Uncle Gerald didn't write it).
I've heard some people say that Witchcraft is not a religion -- it is only a skillset.
And to those people, I say: "Up yer bloody kilt with a caber!" How dare someone else define my religion and culture for me! Keep that attitude in front of me, and I will be opening the Janus Gates...
I am a solitary practitioner of Witchcraft who is also well enough trained in various traditions that I will not embarrass either myself or my hosts whenever I am invited to celebrate festivals with them.
I am eclectic, in that I do not hold with only one pantheon or one way of doing things. I am free to borrow and mingle whatever seems to fit at the moment, without having to worry about whether or not a High Priestess would approve.
My gods are my partners in my life -- not objects of worship. I do not pray to them. I form partnerships, and we work together. I am the Goddess of whatever name! I am the God of whatever name!
I use whatever magick works best for me, and I care not whether the moon is waxing, waning, or spending the afternoon in a hot tub.
I am, alas, hopelessly untalented at divination. I also think that divination is a neat toy, but I don't take it seriously. On the other hand, my sun, moon, and rising signs are all fire signs.
I'm not looking for carbon copies of myself. I welcome discussion, objection, refutation, addition, and all kinds of interaction. Feel free to use the comments section or my e-mail address. If you use the comments, and you have no blog identity, please identify yourself in some kind of systematic way -- three different commenters called "anonymous" get extremely tiring after awhile (I've seen it happen on other blogs) -- a set of initials or a made-up name would help.
And please be polite. No flames. Remember, I'm the one with three fire signs...
Merry Meet!
Thursday, January 05, 2006
It's a Start...
Well, we seem to be on our way to customizing this template. The main colors have been changed to reflect the red/silver/black that I prefer (and if you think that wasn't fun, keep in mind that I've never seen a template before, never mind the color charts!). It's not finished, but it's a start.
I have the feeling it will always be a start, and always a work-in-progress. That reflects life in general, does it not?
Ah, in case you're wondering where I'm getting my colors from, here's the link I'm currently using. It's only 216 colors, but it's enough for me to handle at the moment. I'll get more finicky later, when I've figured out what I'm doing.
Then I'm going to tackle the fonts...
I have the feeling it will always be a start, and always a work-in-progress. That reflects life in general, does it not?
Ah, in case you're wondering where I'm getting my colors from, here's the link I'm currently using. It's only 216 colors, but it's enough for me to handle at the moment. I'll get more finicky later, when I've figured out what I'm doing.
Then I'm going to tackle the fonts...
The Broom is Sweeping...
...please stand by...
We are new at this, and trying to figure it out as we go.
But, since you appear to be here already, take a boo at this to pass the time (hint: it's a satire from one of my favorite sites)...
We are new at this, and trying to figure it out as we go.
But, since you appear to be here already, take a boo at this to pass the time (hint: it's a satire from one of my favorite sites)...
