The Flaming Rose

Sharing the Dreaming

2009-09-30T11:36:00.001-07:00

I just finished watching an amazing film called Whaledreamers. The documentary follows the story of the Mirning people of Australia, a native tribe who, like many under the crushing heel of imperalism, lost their land, culture, and even lives. The Mirning's connections to the whales was part of their cultural and spiritual heritage, and during the course of the film, shamans and holy folk from various cultures throughout the world gather to help the Mirning reconnect to the whale spirit.

One of the documentary's central messages, of course, is that only by coming together and supporting one another's endeavors of peace and love can we and the world survive. Not a new message, but certainly one that clearly needs repeated reminding.

When we connect to the primal elements of our world - the fire, the water, the earth, the air, the song, the dance, the relationship between ourselves and the animal peoples of this world - we are revitalized and walk the paths of beauty and peace.

Who doesn't want that?

Goodnight, Tyli'a

2009-08-29T16:02:00.000-07:00

This past week in D.C. a trans woman and her friend were stabbed in the middle of the afternoon. One of the women, Tyli'a "NaNa Boo" Mack, died from the attack; the other woman lived. A full report of all the current information can be found through the Washington Blade.

What the fuck, right?

In trying to wrangle with this crime, I turned to paths of yoga, yet again.

Patanjali was one of the great yogic sages, and in his famed Yoga Sutra, he writes, "When [the yogin] is grounded in [the virtue of] nonharming, enmity ceases in his presence" (translation by Georg Feuerstein), or "By abiding in nonviolence, one's presence creates an atmosphere in which hostility ceases" (translation by Mukunda Stiles).

"Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me."

When struck with this news, I was deeply saddened, which was shortly followed by rage. Rage led to the desire to do something about it - put prayers in motion that would bring "justice" down on the heads of those who perpetrated this attack, yet I realized that this anger serves no purpose; the divisive "fuck those shitheads" attitude only feeds the deep and longstanding energetic despair around issues of perceived differences between peoples. Wasn't it this grain of separation that grew into a choking vine of hatred, wrapping its way around the heart of the person(s) who committed this crime?

I do believe we are all one, that the undercurrent of the Multiverse unites us all and therefore makes separation maya (illusion). Run through a different lens, look at the Web of Life, the Cosmic Web of Grandmother Spider: if all things are made up of the energetic action of this Cosmic Web, then there is no separation between me and you, me and the victim of the murder, me and the murderer. Of course, we make choices, and those choices lead to the manifestations we currently embody, but past all that shit (both "good" and "bad"), the baseline remains the same.

And that sameness is Divine.

When we speak to one another we are speaking to God/dess. When we touch one another we touch God/dess. When we do acts of service for one another, we do acts of service for God/dess.

In my better moments, I'm able to recognize that and see people's divinity radiating from their hearts, and I know that I worship at the feet of God/dess whenever I interact with another being.

May those who killed Tyli'a "NaNa Boo" Mack and those who contribute to cycles of violence at all levels come to this realization and have the courage to shift into new ways of being.

And, of course, that goes for me, too.

(Photos from top to bottom: 1. An image of Patanjali, usually pictured with a snake behind him because he's believed to be an avatar of Ananta or Sesha the thousand-headed ruler of the seprent people that guards the treasures of the earth; the god Vishnu also reclines on the giant serpent, who acts as a kind of couch for the deity. 2. A beautiful spider shot. 3. Tibetan Monks from Drepung Gomang Monastery in Karnataka, India, visit a museum in Tallahassee, Fla., and create a sand mandala for world peace.)

Finding the Flow

2009-08-19T04:47:00.000-07:00

After a two-week break from asana, the physical practice of yoga, I returned to it in a really wonderful way. I visited Catoctin Mountain, which is half-an-hour north of me, past Frederick, Md.

The park hosts one of the state's highest waterfalls, which cascades over 78 feet of sloping rocks that are easily scaled. I went to a fairly flat spot and reconnected with the physical flow while the waters poured around me - so amazing. When practicing near or in water, I'm really able to hook into the sahaja (spontaneous, natural) aspect of the yogic arts - no special sequence, no orthodoxy, just the inspiration of the pranic river as my only guide.

The rocks of the park felt really old to me, and reading a plaque later, I saw that they were the products of volcanic eruptions millions of years ago. Catoctin Mountain is technically part of the Appalachian Mountains, which used to look like the Himalayas. The rocks seen at the park now are some of the oldest exposed rock formations in the world.

The Faery energy on that land is, of course, really bangin' and so delightful. The Fae have currency and legends from around the world in the oldest cultures of humanity (including India - they're even mentioned in Paramahansa Yogananda's seminal Autobiography of a Yogi).

I might be going back to the park this weekend - take your yoga off the mat!

When Cucumbers Attack

2009-08-10T11:14:00.000-07:00

This summer, I've gotten an abundance of cucumbers from the lovely CSA through Dragonfly Farms, and although I find the crisp vegetables refreshing (especially a slice in water), up until the last month or so, I hadn't found them interesting on a culinary level.

In order to keep up with the influx I began making cucumber sandwiches (red onion, cucumber and mascarpone cheese) or little cucumber salads (sliced, with red onion again, olive oil, a dash of red wine vinegar, salt and pepper).

Well, after looking at another bunch of cucumbers, including a very strange variety that resembled a crook-necked squash with an unfortunate STD, I was completely uninspired. God love the cucumber sandwich, but I'd had it with that shit.

Luckily, yesterday I went to go see "Julie & Julia," which I absolutely loved, and there was a comment in there about braised cucumbers. After buying two bottles of red wine (Julia does drink throughout the entire film, after all), I rushed home and looked in Grandma Frances' copy of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking." Sure enough, there are a ton of cucumber recipes in there! I'd looked through damn near every book I had for some inspiration to no avail. ("Always go to Julia" is my new mantra.)

Today, I made Concombres a la Mornay - cucumbers with a jacked-up bechamel.

My husband, who loathes cucumbers, tartly remarked that if you butter and cheese the fuck out of anything, it would taste good, but this recipe was downright delicious!

First, I had to peel, seed, slice and salt the cucumbers and then allow them to drain for a couple of hours (which happened while I taught yoga at Sacred Space).

Then you bake them in a pan with butter for an hour. Meanwhile, I whipped up a bechamel, added gruyere and voila! Sauce Mornay!

Fold said cheesey-goodness into the cucumbers, top with a little bit more gruyere and broil briefly. It was downright revolutionary. The flavor combination was to die-for! I had it today alongside bruschetta topped with fontina, some lovely little tomatoes from the CSA and basil growing on the porch.

I still have Sauce Mornay left, so I might take the haricot verts and bake them in it.

After which, I'll commence lamenting the loss of my washboard abs.

C'est la vie!

Here She Comes!

2009-08-06T11:42:00.000-07:00

I'm so ready for the "Julie & Julia" movie to come out!

Just this week I made ratatouille from Julia's recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking - my grandma Frances' copy. What a treat!

I've been really busy this week with lots of yoga gigs and will write more when I'm able.

Until then, have some wine, make some good food, and enjoy these harvest days of summer!

(For me that means that tomorrow I'm making zucchini fritters with a side of haricot verts with a dijon vinaigrette - yay!)

Dance & Food - What Else Is There?

2009-07-28T06:54:00.000-07:00

Although not exactly a "secret," I think Mamasita is one of the most incredible and underplayed spots in the Washington region. With bellydancing as the core of the studio's offerings, it has all kinds of physical arts from the African diaspora - everything from Afro-Cuban Orisha dancing to Samba. (The photo above is of a painting in the sitting area at Mamasita.)

While the instructors' knowledge is staggering, it's really all about the atmosphere they create. In bellydancing, it's never just about shaking the booty and making sure the hands are at a certain angle - the power of the dance as a healing and blessing to the world and the people around us is the foundation of the experience. Consequently, joy and love radiate from the very walls of that place, and every time I leave there, I feel settled more deeply into myself - yet not that small self wrapped up in the bullshit...more the transcendent self who knows that love, peace and ecstasy is what it's all about. Mamasita is a temple to all that's good in the human experience, and I'm so grateful to dance there.

This past weekend also saw some yummy treats in the kitchen. I cooked up some green peppers, onions and zucchini, folded it into some corn tortillas and topped it with a homemade salsa made of tomatillos, garlic, chili peppers and pumpkin seeds. I also sprinkled a mixture of corn, black beans and tomatoes over it and baked the whole thing. Really good stuff.

After that came another fig-walnut tart in a walnut crust. (Has anyone done a study to see if heroin is actually derived from figs? I suspect that smack and the fruit are somehow related.) Grandmother Bear helped with this one, as always. For more info on why this makes sense, go here.

The first photo is of the crust, which is blind baked in a deep-sided, fluted tart pan. The second is of the finished product, with the roasted figs inside - this time I added cardamom to the honey lemon glaze.

Below is an image of the lovely Lady Lakshmi taken at Mamasita. One of Her roles in India and throughout the world is as a provider of abundance. May She always grace our lives with an abundance of love and deep joy! (Oh, yes, and figs - let's not forget the figs.)

Summer's Bounty

2009-07-23T09:37:00.000-07:00

For the next few posts, I imagine I'll be writing a lot about food. My CSA is really ramping up with all sorts of exciting goodies, so cooking time is what my free moments are all about.

This week, I created a peach and blueberry tart with a polenta crust. The peaches were sliced, drizzled with honey and then sprinkled with lavender blossoms. Such goodness.

Also, this week, at the suggestion of a good friend, I made a beet risotto, adding onion, goat cheese, and lemon zest to round out the flavors. Just divine.

Eat seasonally, locally, and organic, if possible.

Most importantly, cook and eat with love, because that's what it's really all about.

Full Embodiment

2009-07-17T07:37:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I had an incredible time at Kripalu, attending one of Shiva Rea's teaching modules, Mandala of Asanas. I love this style of yoga's focus on embodiment - fully coming to explore our physical form as an expression of the radiance we carry deep within us. When that power comes to the surface and we consciously infuse our every cell with expressions of love and divinity, then our entire being becomes an integrated resonating instrument of Mystery. So incredible!

Above is a photo of the very large Shiva Nataraj statue that's in the main hall where we practiced. At the end of the post is a photo of the labyrinth entrance on the grounds of Kripalu - far above is a waning moon still visible in the early morning hours. The labyrinth's "walls" were made of wild flowers, stones and sculpted juniper. It was a beautiful and powerful place to walk in the morning and sing the Gayatri Mantra as the sun shone through the trees. Maha gratitude to all beings who helped to get me there and guided me through the practices - humans (living and not), Fae, Mysterious Ones, Animal peeps, etc.

I'm shortly (as in about 10 minutes) leaving to help co-lead a retreat at Seven Oaks Pathwork center in Virignia.

More on that to come...and remember, our bodies are the spell.

A Sunday Feast

2009-07-05T19:11:00.000-07:00

Although I've been a bit busy of late and will soon be heading off to Kripalu for a weekend training with the amazing Shiva Rea, I still have time to cook a yummy dinner (well, that and the fact that the food from the CSA keeps coming regardless of my obligations).

Vegetarians beware: gruesome, demented meat-eating details ahead.

The main dish was chicken, rubbed with cumin, salt and pepper, and then roasted alongside peaches and leeks that were tossed with a bit of brown sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon. It's one of our favorite dishes, and since I didn't get to make it last year, this season it was especially delicious.

The side dish was wilted collard and beet greens sauteed with garlic and onion and then served over polenta. This could totally work as a main course dish, and I'll definitely be enjoying it for lunch during the week ahead.

All of this was pretty fab, and then, I went insane and made two desserts. (So, what?! This is America, god damn it! Go big or stay home!)

One was for Philip - a blueberry cake (seen in the final photo of the post), which he loved. I'd tell you how much of it he ate, but I want to live through the night.

The other dessert was all mine. A walnut crust was baked in a deep, fluted tart pan, and then inside were roasted figs, topped with a honey-lemon glaze and more walnuts. Let's just say my waist is now a distant memory. If the Tantrikas are right in that Samsara equals Nirvana, then I plan to reach compassionate radiance by gorging myself on fig desserts.

I hope everyone's Sunday was full of such gustatory delights!

Life is Precious

2009-06-23T06:01:00.000-07:00

So said the Lady Dane, my sister, during her cabaret act at Stars last night. And she's so right, especially in light of the horrible crash in D.C.'s Metro system, which left nine dead and over 70 injured.

Maha gratitude to all the Mysterious Ones and Ancestors for looking out for me. Uncharacterstically for a Monday, I decided to take the Metro to get to my 5:15 class at MamaSita, but I fortuntately left later than I would have liked. If I had left at my paranoid early time, I might have been in the accident area right around that time. Thank you to Grandmother Spider, et. al, for watching the strings of time.

Yet, again, I'm reminded of how we just don't know what's coming around that corner, and that, truly, right here and right now is all that we can know as tangibly real and actualized.

I finally made it into the city and ended up talking to a stranger in Dupont park about spirituality and the things that are truly important in life. The June breezes were blowing sweetly, the golden light of the summer sun set the treetops alight, and the grass felt soft on my legs.

Next, I went to the cabaret of Lady Dane, who TORE IT UP, as always. Calling out to ancestors, sending healing to the people, and spreading love in the world. I am so grateful for her in my life.

Nothing like death to keep it real - life's very fragility is a potent reminder of the limitless potential for spending our given moments in love and peace.

Blessings to those who died and were injured in the accident and to their beloveds.

Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti, Om.

(Photo of Dane was at our wedding three years ago. Taken by the amazing Danny Haag.)

Inspired Reading

2009-06-18T18:50:00.000-07:00

So, I'm almost finished reading the Ramayana, one of the major epics of Indian literature, and I have to say, I can barely put it down.

Nothing is ever simple in Indian cosmology (have you SEEN the depictions of their deities?), and neither are the philosophical-spiritual points of the Ramayana. There are a number of times when the warrior prince Rama goes to kill some human-flesh-devouring, holy-man-terrorizing demon motherfucker, and the creature is actually grateful to be destroyed by this incarnation of Vishnu. Or, the monster is transformed into someone good, because they were under a curse. Much more complex than the standard good-guy-destroys-creepy-bastard storyline.

I was talking to a friend the other day who said that someone was "rotten to the core," and I thought, "Really?" On that deep, deep, fundamental level, I don't think this is the case. That core energy, which is truly hooked-up to the fabric of the Multiverse, is part of the overarching powerful love energy that runs through all of us. No, I don't think that deep part of each being is corruptable.

I do believe we do sucky, horrible, cruel things that twist and derrange our outer expressions, but someday when our deaths come for us, hopefully we can bump it up a notch on the reincarnation ladder and get more opportunities the next time around to practice, to open to love and compassion and then extend that some love out to others.

That's what I'm shooting for at any rate.

If you're interested in a great Ramayana, check out the modern translation and re-telling done by Ramesh Menon.

(Pictured above is the lovely Rama, which I found here.)

Queer Juju

2009-06-08T09:06:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I helped officiate a lovely wedding between a straight couple at the same home where my hubby and I got married three years ago this week. I was sharing the ritual role with my dear beloved, Donald Engstrom-Reese.

Both Donald and I identify as queer and work regularly with Queer Mystery, which can mean various things to various people. For myself, one of its greatest powers is that of living outside of a binary construct of reality. There is no "this or that" type of existence - living in rigid polarity is revealed as complete illusion, thereby allowing for a greater expression of authenticity and freedom, on personal and collective levels.

In times past, Queer Priestesses, Shamans, Witches, etc., had vitally important roles to fill in society, and one was blessing the union of couples. Standing outside the full conventions of that binary world, I could really feel the limitless possibility this weekend, as I held the space for a union of love to take place. Truly, there is a special brand of spirit power that queer people have access to, and I see it reflected everywhere from officiating a marriage to working through an asana practice.

I long for more research and information on some of the ways that people worked this juju in the past, yet I'm not so sure there's tons out there. (Patriarchy be damned!) I wonder if queer spirit folk just need to step up and start writing the story anew; with the information we do have as a stepping stone, we can get out there and reactivate our scared roles in our communities and cultures.

It was a beautiful experience this weekend, and I'm deeply grateful to the couple for allowing me to be a part of their special day.

(The first photo is of the Hijra, a group of third-gendered queer priestesses of India. While reviled by some, the Hijra are also honored as having great spiritual power, including the power of blessing children for a good life.

The photo below is of Philip and me last summer during our honey moon trip to Hawai'i. Happy Anniversary, sweet thing!)

Hot in the Kitchen

2009-06-01T11:08:00.000-07:00

Last night, I finally used two giant bags of spinach from the CSA in crespelle, the Italian version of a crepe.

I cooked down the spinach, then sauteed it with onion and mushrooms (also from the CSA) and mixed it all together with some freshly grated romano cheese and a bechamel sauce.

The crespelle were filled with the spinach mixe, laid in a baking pan, drizzled with more bechamel, sprinkled with more cheese (yay!), and then baked.

They were amazing, and Philip giggled at me as I moaned, savoring each bite.

They were great today, too, as a delightful lunch!

(And yes, that apron says "La Cucina Italiana;" I got it as a gift when I subscribed to one of the best magazines ever.)

Dances of Life

2009-05-26T06:16:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I attended BOCA Fest, the annual Memorial Day bellydance expo put on by Dr. Sunyatta Amen and the Bellydancers of Color Association. Teachers and dancers from all over the country and the world come in for it, and the weekend is amazing and so very healing.

I took classes in prop use (danced with a sword on my hand - VERY cool), zils (the fab little finger symbols), gypsy choreography (who doesn't want to fling a skirt around like Carmen?), isolations, and shimmies. I ended up taking three classes from Kaeshi Chai, an amazing dancer who embodied a wonderfully peaceful and sacred presence. You can learn more about her here.

Once again, third gendered experience came to the foreground for me. I was one of two bio-boys taking classes (the other being my fabulous sister Dane Figueroa Edidi), and while it was clear to many of the women there that we were "men" taking these classes, my perception was, of course, different.

I don't subscribe to a rigid gender expression, and in line with beliefs dating back to antiquity in cultures around the world, I see myself as both man and woman. The biological evidence of my body is only one part of my gender experience. While some people see this as simply "Oh, yes, we all have man and woman in us," it goes beyond that in profound and sometimes inexplicable ways.

I would love to see more queer people learning sacred dance forms that allow us to fully unveil and stand in our power - Bellydance, Tarantella, Orisha Dances, Hula, Dances of the First Nations. I think that our dancing of these holy steps will truly help heal the world.

For people in the area interested in taking classes, head over to Mamasita, the studio where I've taken classes for two years. It's an amazing, sacred, and deeply joyful place to be!

'Tis the Season

2009-05-20T05:37:00.000-07:00

Oh, yes, baby. Pound it! More oil! More nuts! Put it all together! Pound it harder!!! Yes! Yes! YES!

That's right, dear readers. It's pesto time.

I'm a freak about a good pesto, and after reading Sophia Loren's cookbook years ago, I realized the only way to make the perfect pesto is with a mortar and pestle. Luckily, we got a gorgeous one for our wedding three years ago, and it works beautifully, giving the pesto a body that clings nicely to pasta and createss a divine texture in the mouth.

Plus, there's something delightfully sensual/sexual about that mortar and pestle, and sometimes, I add a little energetic bump to the process. Who can't use a little more healthy sexual delight, right?

Since the basil is still growing away on the balcony, yesterday's concoction was a mint variety - mint, pine nuts, a little bit of garlic, lemon juice, and some grated romano. I plan to use it as a sandwich spread for lunch today.

Lunch yesterday was a creative-license Nicoise salad. I had Boston Lettuce from the CSA, so I blanched asparagus and peas in the pod. Potatoes were cooked up and put in the center, surrounded by the blanched veggies, oil-cured black olives and salt-packed capers. It was topped with pole-caught tuna (the most sustainable variety according to Seafood Watch), a hard-boiled egg, and a garlic dijon vinaigrette.

On a side note, the great yogi Pattabhi Jois died earlier this week. He's the founder of the Ashtanga school of asana practice, which is one of the roots of all modern yoga practices. Do a few sun salutations in honor of him this week, and may his next journey be one of peace and love. Jai, Jai, Guruji!

The Very Good Italian Day

2009-05-17T16:58:00.000-07:00

So, it's been a long time since I've written, because the last few months have been full of wonderful blossomings and delights - mostly through a really sweet reception from people and the Multiverse about my being a yoga teacher. I continue to be profoundly grateful for the resonances and gifts present in my life around all of this. (Big shout-out to Kali, Elavin, and the other Mysterious Ones and Ancestors supporting this!!!)

Now that things have settled a bit, I plan to be back here regularly. And, of course, what better way to start than with food and Italianate delights!

I went to Baltimore's Little Italy today to visit some purveyors of Italian goods and to descend upon Vaccaro's, the best Italian bakery I've ever encountered. Consequently, today's lunch was composed of cookies - amaretti (divine), almond cookies (equally lovely), and the confectioner's famed pignoli cookies (downright orgasmic - less messy than dick and equally satisfying!). I topped all that off with a San Pellegrino Aranciata (that's Guido for "orange soda," but happily it's devoid of corn syrup and other weird shit).

Next, I visited Isabella's, where the cheeses and meats are to die-for, and apparently, the men are even more exquisite. What could be better than asking for a pound of Italian sausage and having it served up by a really cute Italian guy in tight jeans and a tank top? I got some Fontina cheese, plus a cheese I've never had before - Prima Donna (no snickering, please). I'm anxious to try it.

Tonight, I made a dish from one of my favorite magazines, La Cucina Italiana. I used the grain farro, which has graced Italian kitchens since the Bronze Age. It's wonderfully textured and has a heartiness to it that provided a great base for seared scallops and asparagus atop a saffron cream sauce. While saffron might surprise people unfamiliar with Italian history, remember that Southern Italy and its islands of Sicily and Sardinia were crossroads (through benevolence or force) of many, many cultures.

Dinner was downright amazing and served with a blessedly light, but not wimpy, 1995 French Chardonnay given to me by a friend.

Dessert? Ah, well, there's no photo yet, because I have yet to assemble it, but there are strawberries lightly heated with sugar and balsamic vinegar (a favorite Italian treat) spooned over homemade lemon pastry cream, all nestled into a tart crust.

The strawberries and asparagus come from the CSA that I joined, which started last Saturday. It's so exciting and a wonderful way to stay deeply connected with the rhythms of the world around us.

May everyone's upcoming week be one of integration, where the maya of sacred vs. profane is dissolved and every act - from cooking dinner to practicing yoga to casting spells to walking to the subway - is one of divine love.

Poetic Break

2009-01-30T04:36:00.000-08:00

Things have been very full over the last 10 days. I'm finishing my yoga teacher training program this Sunday, and I also open a stage production of Dante's Inferno with Synetic Theater in one week. I play the amazing queer poet Virgil, who leads Dante through the bowels of hell. Cheery, right?

Here's a wonderful poem I came across in the New Yorker by Robert Pinksy. Incidentally, his translation of the Inferno has long been my favorite.

I'll write more soon!

Last Robot Song

It was a little newborn god
That made the first instrument:
Sweet vibration of
Mind, mind, mind
Enclosed in its orbit.

He scooped out a turtle's shell
And strung it with a rabbit's guts.
O what a stroke to invent
Music from an empty case
Strung with bloody filaments-

The wiry rabbitflesh
Plucked or strummed,
Pulled taut across the gutted
Resonant hull of the turtle:
Music from strings that
Tremble over a hollow-
Sweet conception, sweet
Instrument of

Mind, mind, mind:
Itself a capable vibration
Thrumming from here to there
In the cloven brainflesh
Contained in its helmet of bone-
Like an electronic boxful
Of channels and filaments
Bundled inside its case,
A little musical robot

Dreamed up by the mind
Embedded in the brain
With its blood-warm channels
And its humming network
Of neurons, engendering

The newborn baby god-
As clever and violent
As his own instrument
Of sweet, all-consuming
Imagination, held
By its own vibration,

Mind, mind, mind pulled
Taut in its bony shell,
Dreaming up Heaven and Hell.

Ecstasy for Obama

2009-01-20T06:15:00.000-08:00

Last night, I attended Chant 4 Change, a large event where internationally known Kirtan artists came together at D.C.'s Church of the Holy City, and we sang, danced like devotees of love, and added lots of good juju to the power of this incredible day. I'm still flying high from the five-hour experience that capped a day of yoga workshops about change with the wonderful Shiva Rea.

The energy of the city is remarkable. I've never seen the town so full of hope, laughter, tears of joy, and kindness as I have over the last few days. Locals are going out of their way to be helpful to out-of-towners; visitors have added a sweetness and poignancy to our communities; conversations on buses, Metros, and grocery stores are of a celebratory and hopeful nature.

Hope has returned to this country.

We all know Obama is just a human and humans make choices, some right, some wrong, but today, America has made great strides for itself to right the wrongs of division. Most amazing!

Have a wonderful inauguration day everyone!

(The image above is the one used as the Chant4Change logo.)

Those Everyday Moments

2009-01-17T05:10:00.000-08:00

In reading Stephen Cope's "The Wisdom of Yoga," I came across an incredible quote of Franz Kafka's:

You don't need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Don't even listen, simply wait. Don't even wait. Be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you. It has no choice. It will roll in ecstasy at your feet.

In a culture where being "connected" all the time to people through Internet, iPhones, texting, blue tooth-technology, etc., sometimes it can be hard to unhook and rediscover the deep joy found in each moment.

Here's a short list of some of my favorite of those moments:

Watching birds eat seed on my balcony as the sun streams in.
A cup of chai.
Kissing trees.
Walking along Seneca Creek, emptying my mind as I go.
Looking out the window while riding the bus.

What are some of yours?

(The photo above was taken by John Fischer and is of sunrise over Haleakala, the dormant volcano on Maui. I was browsing google images and was struck by this picture - then I realized, with a smile, that it's from Hawaii. Good news on the photo front for this blog - I finally got my own digital camera from my parents for my birthday, so very soon, I'll be able to put up my own pictures here. Yay!)

Can I get a side of Santosha with that?

2009-01-09T06:04:00.000-08:00

Partly because of a post over at So This Is Wonderland and partly because of an e-mail sent from the main yoga studio where I practice, this morning I'm really thinking about the ideas of wealth and abundance.

I listen to NPR every morning (perhaps foolishly), and as usual, there were the usual reports today:

"President-elect Barack Obama met with Congressional leaders to urge them to pass his economic stimulus plan which could run into the trillion-dollar mark."

"Job losses have reached a record high as people try to cope with a struggling economy."

"Investors on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange have taken to rocking in corners and sucking their thumbs."

"Financial analysts say we're all fucked and should begin foraging for acorns."

Ad nauseum (literally).

So, honestly what the hell are we supposed to do? I can't say I'm not freaked, because I left a corporate job at the end of July to puruse my passion for yoga and sacred movement, hoping to parlay that into something financial sustainable.

Right now, I'm working part-time at a great store called Lululemon; I'm still writing freelance articles for the Washington Blade; and I'll be performing a stage-adaptation of Dante's Divine Comedy with the Synetic Theater Company - all for some cash-ola.

Yet, despite downsizing an apartment, cutting some bills, dropping the cell phone entirely (which I'm notorious for losing, breaking, throwing in fits of pique, etc.), I still get into the, "Oh-my-God, I'm fucking broke. What about the future? What about savings? I don't want to eat cat food!"

Okay, first of all, let's remember the power of ujayi breath - one of the sacred yogic breaths that sounds like the ocean.

Right. Brain waves slowing down - good.

Secondly, as I sit here typing while baking some dried figs stuffed with walnuts in wine and honey, I realize that things are good.

I stare out the window as the sun pours through the blinds and watch the bluejays, tufted tit mice, and finches fly onto the porch and eat the birdseed I put out for them yesterday.

And all of this reminds me of Santosha - the yogic principle of contentment. Appearing in the yogic sage Patanjali's famed Yoga Sutra as one of the "niyamas" (which are suggestions as to how we treat ourselves - the "yamas" being how we interact with the world around us), santosha is about being content with where we are right now, this instant.

This means even in the face of difficulty and challenge (traffic, financial hardship, relationship woes, disease, etc.), we learn to pause, breathe, and sink in, recognizing that we are here.

And while "wealth" is great and all, like anything else it ebbs and flows. So, too, does santosha (at least for me). But unlike monetary accumulation, I don't have to put in eight hours, sell my soul, become a corporate automaton to get some santosha in my life.

Inhale. Exhale.

Voila. Santosha.

May all of you find a little santosha today and every day.

(The first image is of the lovely and wonderful Potomac River. These are the waterfalls of the Potomac, one of the fastest moving rivers in the country, and these falls are very close to the Washington area. The second image is of a bluejay, who love unshelled peanuts. It's a stock image from Flickr. The final image can be found here.)

Mille grazie, La Befana!

2009-01-05T13:45:00.000-08:00

Tonight is the night when the Italian Old Lady makes her way through the skies on her broom. Shrouded in a black shawl and covered with soot from chimneys, she enters people's houses and leaves gifts of honey, dates, figs, and other fruits for all the good little children - coal for the naughty ones (or "carbone" today, a type of black, Italian sugar candy).

Where does La Befana come from? Some legends have it that the three Magi, on their way to find the baby Jesus, stop in her village and stay at her home. They ask her to join them, but she stays home because of all the housework she has to do. After the Magi leave, she feels regrets and sets out in search of the child, rewarding children along her journey.

Another version has it that she was a woman who lost her own son, and she went mad with grief. Upon hearing of this other boy being born, she goes to find him, convinced that it is her own child. She presents him with gifts, and in his love, Jesus blesses her as being the mother of all the children in Italy. From that time onward, on the eve of the Christian feast of Epiphany, she gives gifts to all children.

In some regions, people burn puppets of the old woman as a way of letting go of the old year and welcoming the new, and some research suggests that she is a holdover from an older pre-Christian feast for the goddess Strenia, a Mysterious One of strength and endurance.

My hubby doesn't know it yet, but I do have a gift for him, and although I'm not able to tonight, tomorrow, in honor of La Befana, I plan on stuffing figs with walnuts and baking them in some wine and honey. Luckily, I still have some figgy pudding leftover from New Year's that I can leave out on the porch for the wonderful Old Lady.

Some people have commented on La Befana as being a way to connect the power of our ancestors with the younger generations, creating a throughline from the gifts of the Old Ones to the boundless energy and possibility of the Young Ones. As I look up at the photos of my grandparents and great-grandparents that hang in my kitchen, I realize for the hundredth time how important this connection is.

Tante grazie, La Befana!

(The copyright for the first image is on the actual photo. Sometimes, La Befana is pictured or seen riding a donkey, suggesting she is mistress of the animals, as well as being a mistress of magick. Every year in various towns in Italy, La Befana rides into the square, handing out sweets to the children. The second image is an illustration found at www.llmallozzi.com.)

Mystic Crystal Revelations

2008-12-30T06:04:00.000-08:00

One of my holiday presents this year from my parents is a book that I'm eagerly devouring: A Field Guide to Demons, Fairies, Fallen Angels, & Other Subversive Spirits. Written by Carol K. Mack and Dinah Mack (a playwright and her writer daughter, both with degrees in religious studies), the book is a sometimes cheeky, but often really informative and fascinating, look at the spirit beings of various cultures throughout the world.

One passage in the chapter titled "Origin of the Species" really made my ears perk up:

"Starting in the fourth century, B.C.E., after Alexander had changed the geography of Greece by adding vast conquered territory, borders widened and villages became urban and people no longer knew their neighbors. For many, a sense of alienation set in...We begin then to see a major downgrading of belief in the sacrality of earthly life as the ancient world became seen as 'sublunar.' The ancient gods fled for 'higher places' and without them, it was darker here."

I think, as pagan folks, New Agers, whatever, we often think that the proliferation of Judeo-Christian traditions was the chink in the armor that grew to full-out catastrophe, but this, and other sources, have pointed out that humanity's separation from the cycles of enchantment happened long before that.

Was this patriarchy, valuing hierarchical thinking and structures that took us away from the feminine inclusive model? (Is that a myth, too? As the poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow points out in his wonderful poem "Mezzo Cammin," when viewed from the present, the past is seen only in half-light.) Check out the story of Tiamat, the serpent-like goddess of Mesopotamia, later killed by one of her descendants, the warrior Marduk. It's a classic example of solar/sky gods "taming" the seemingly anarchic feminine primordial types.

So, now what? Do we fight like hell to return to a matriarchal model? Somehow, I don't think that's the answer. While I don't think it would be a bad thing, I do believe that we're a little too lost at this point to make that return an easy one. Also, how did a matriarchal worldview contribute to some feeling of alienation that drove sky gods/male identity to fall out of whack. I'm not blaming that feminine power - I'm just wondering what the contribution was.

No, I think with the rise of Aquarius in the heavens, perhaps it's time for a queer model to come into being - a creation of a both-and culture, insteand of an either-or, duality-based culture. Instead of cycling back to a previous time, we need to walk through into something else entirely.

(The first image is of Barberini's Faun. Originally created in second century B.C.E. Rome, the statue was rediscovered in the 1600s as belonging to Cardinal Francesco Barberini - now what's a good Catholic boy doing with a statue like this? I chose the image partly because it's a faun, enchantment of the world, blah, blah, blah - mostly, I chose it because it's smoking hot. Our next picture is a line drawing of an Assyrian relief of Tiamat and Marduk. The final image is of Ganymede, a.k.a. Aquarius, done by two gay French artists Pierre et Gilles.)

Yuletide Abundance

2008-12-21T07:23:00.000-08:00

Happy Solstice to everyone!

This weekend has been spent in a flurry of baking activity.

So far:

Standard chocolate chip cookies (considering how much I adore them, I've exhibited a shocking amount of restraint by not eating the entire batch on my own)

Pains D'Anis - an exquisite French anise cookie

Ricotta Cookies - Italian cookie with heavy vanilla flavoring, along with Ricotta cheese and a confectioner's sugar-vanilla glaze

Peppermint Cookies - Think homemade Thin Mints with white chocolate coating

And right now, I'm simmering some figs in spices and red-wine to go along with a Winter Fruit Crisp (pears, apples, dried cherries) for dessert tonight.

Dinner is Radicchio and Robiola cheese tortelloni (a kind of ravioli) with homemade pasta.

Whew.

A little later, I imagine, I'll go decorate a lovely spruce tree outside with some of the cookies - the Fae and other folks will undoubtedly enjoy the yummies.

I'm going out of town for about 5 days, so my blogging will be spotty this week.

May everyone's holidays be full of love, peace, and deep joy!

(The photo above was found at the website of the North Shore Homeowners Association.)

In Someone Else's Shoes

2008-12-18T07:00:00.000-08:00

One of the blogs that I regularly check out is The New Gay, run by some cool local folks and started by a couple of good friends of mine and former co-workers at the Washington Blade, my old employment haunts.

I recently came across this post about the Dubya shoe-throwing event. When I found out that an Iraqi journalist lobbed shoes at the current president, I surprised myself with my reaction.

I've been snarling and spitting fire over this administration for eight years because of all the reasons that readers of this blog can imagine.

However, I actually felt bad for the guy. Not because he hasn't fucked things up in horrific ways for human life, human dignity, the political landscape, the Constitution, and the environment - but because, in that moment, when the shoes were launched, I wondered if he was frightened. Did he think, for a moment, that these objects were something more devastating than a worn-out pair of size 9s? I realized then that I would not want him to experience that fear, or thinking about his wife and kids, or bitterly cursing the fact that he almost made it to the end of a tempestuous eight years without getting killed only to be done in at the 11th hour.

Reading the post on The New Gay and the subsequent comments, I got to thinking about compassion once again and something that the ever-amazing Mary Magdalene told me: You don't just get to be a priestess to those already on the path.

Boy, does she know what she's talking about or what?

I suspect that if all of us who are working to create new cultures based in love and freedom really want this shift to come about, we need to take the message beyond the choir loft and out into the world. I'm not saying we put on our cloaks and start handing out flyers on street corners. I'm suggesting that we start by erasing the divisions and anger toward people we perceive as "other."

Do people who commit heinous acts need to be held accountable? Abso-fucking-lutely. Does this mean we close our hearts off to them and treat them as sub-human? No way.

A good way to start might be just by raising points like the one above. When folks laugh and give in to the delight of Schaedenfreude, perhaps it's time for us, as priestesses of love and compassion, to open our mouths and say, "Actually, I felt differently."

(The first image is of the Immaculate Heart of Mary by Pietro Annigoni. The story of this amazing painting is here; I loved it, because this Virgin Mary is a working mother. The second image is of Mary Magdalene by Georges de la Tour and is a great example of the chiaro scuro technique. The third image was found with a story from the Daily Times, where performers from China's Disabled People's Arts Troupe performed the Thousand-Armed Kwan-Yin dance. Kwan-Yin is one of the major mothers of compassion.)

True of False: All Gods are One God

2008-12-15T06:14:00.001-08:00

In my yoga training, there's been a lot of god talk, which hasn't been easy for me. I can't help but think of the patriarchal Yahweh of history and his fundamental followers, who have, in my estimation, been one of the biggest blights on the planet. (Note that I'm talking about the fundies here - not all Judeo-Christian folks.)

Right now, I'm making my way through Paramahansa Yogananda's famed "Autobiography of a Yogi," which, in many ways, is a remarkable book, but I keep stumbling over the idea that all gods are one god - they're all emanations of one great god who is, of course, male.

Really?

I think there's something basically absurd about this idea. I am all-too-willing to say there's a whole lot about Mystery that I just don't understand, but I'm also willing to suggest that this lack of clarity is true for most humans. After all, we are human, and we live here, on this good green Earth where we deal with the concerns and magick and spirituality inherent in this lifetime and place-time.

I experience the Mysterious Ones (a term I use because it more accurately reflects my gender politics, among other ideas) as separate folks. Kali isn't just some facet of Brahma. Juno isn't part of someone else. They're different like me and you.

However, I do also see and ascribe to the idea that we are united on certain levels. As a priestess of Grandmother Spider and her peoples, I see that all of us are strands of web energy, as are our thoughts, visions, emotions, and dreams. In between those strands that make up matter and intention lie the spaces-in-between, where all experiences and all beings dissolve into a great no-thingness - Chaos, unlimited potentiality, the fabric of the Multiverse itself.

So, I get that we are "all one," but part of the paradox is that we manifest in some different ways while living these lifetimes right now.

Some of my other difficulty in the philosophy of yoga, as it's being taught to me and as I understand it, is what I call "Escapist Theology."

It goes something like this: "Life is an illusion. Everything is an illusion. Do everything you can to get the hell off this wheel of suffering, otherwise known as life, death, rebirth, and endless bullshit."

Call me an attachment junkie, but damn it, I love this place. I'm not looking to make the jump into Nirvana - I'm just hoping to be a vehicle for love to work through me in the world to make it a place of peace and deep joy. If I skip out (assuming I ever reached enlightenment), I feel that it's kind of selfish and seems antithetical to the views of compassion espoused by many of the East's powerful and life-changing spiritual traditions (shout out to the Boddhisatva's still hanging out and doing this work and the Buddha for staying around to teach all beings about his path!).

I also find it interesting that the unchanging principle of the Universe in yogic philosophy (and unchanging is "good") is male - the changing, form-based principle in the universe (read "unrealiable" and "illusory") is female. Hmmmm...patriarchy strikes again.

So it's been interesting, as a witch priestess of various Mysterious Ones (female, male, both and neither) to be a part of this training. I've had to do a lot of translation (which is starting to get a little tired, honestly) and also opening my mouth a lot - not a suprise to those who know me in the flesh.

Case in point: This weekend there was a chat about vegetarianism and its spiritual superiority to meat-eating. Full disclaimer: I've gone vegetarian since the end of June and have made the commitment to remain so through the training. I'll revisit this commitment at the end of it.

I brought up the question, "Why is taking the life of a plant any less valuable than taking the life of an animal? I find that there's a certain moral relativism going on in regards to the value of life."

The response was about doing "less harm," and the instructor pointed to the environmental toll that the meat industry wreaks on the earth. I'm totally down with that (and it's one of the reasons that when I ate meat, it was only from small farms where I knew how they treated their animals), but unless people are buying full organic, local farm produce, they're not doing much more to help the planet - see the "dead zones" in the Gulf of Mexico due to fertizlier run-off.

All of these thoughts are not to condemn the long-held beliefs of yogis - who the hell am I, right? But, it is a reminder to myself and perhaps others of a phrase that I've been using a lot lately: There's always another story.

(The first image is, of course, from Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel ceiling. The second is of the Tarantula Neubla, photographed by M.Schirmer, T. Erben, M. Lomardi European Southern Observatory. Amazing, right?! The Wheel of Samsara, that aforementioned wheel of life, death, and rebirth, was found here. And the last image is one that fast food chain Chik-fil-a put out years ago, and it still makes me laugh.)

Love Notes

2008-12-08T08:57:00.000-08:00

At the end of my yoga practice this morning, while in corpse pose, the Earth Mother rose up before me and said, "Love is all that matters. Let the rest go."

The love and compassion journey has been huge for me over the past year, and it really has changed my life in profound ways.

For a long time, I just didn't get "compassion" - not that I was a bastard to people or didn't feel empathy, but the word itself seemed overused and trite. But since opening up more and more to the power of Love and allowing that to be the guiding force in my life (in my actions, words, thoughts, and movements), I've come to gain a greater understanding of compassion and the profound impact it can have in the world. It's so much bigger than just feeling sorry for someone - to truly get the suffering of another on a deep level and be willing to meet them in that place is incredible. Take it another step further and be active about it and that's downright revolutionary.

I work with Kali a lot, and one of the things I most adore about her (besides her wicked sense of humor) is the way she works love and compassion. She will meet us in any place - no matter how seemingly ugly, shameful, reprehensible, awful, rageful - and dare to stand there with us and push us to the next breakthrough. She doesn't shy away from our "dark" sides - in fact, I think She relishes them, partly because She knows that those freaky underbellies are just one roller-coaster ride away from opening up to Divine Love (which we all carry within us, a constant potentiality). On whatever level I can, it's one of my personal prayers that I, too, can meet people wherever they are without judgment and channeling profound Love, helping to guide them to the next level in whatever ways possible. (Using the word "I" in here just doesn't sound right, because I think that opening up on that large level to Love means that a socially constructed notion of self slips away. More on that for another post, perhaps.)

A challenge to my readers:

If you haven't already, sit down with someone (human or otherwise) and have a chat about what love is and how you both think it can change our world.

If nothing else, I bet it will be a good conversation.

(The first image is of the Anahata Charkra, the heart chakra, and can be found at Aquarian Art. My understanding of Anahata is that it's the "Unstruck Sound." Unlike a bell, which we need to act upon in order to cause sound and resonance, the heart just sounds, without us doing anything at all. Sure, we can muffle that divine resonance, but it still continues to ring - so let it sound for all the world to hear, or in other words: "Don't hide your Anahata under a bushel."

The second image is, of course, of the lovely Kali - or "Missy K." as I sometimes like to call her. The colored etching on paper was done in 1770 and is currently housed at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.)

I'd like to thank the Academy...

2008-12-04T04:40:00.001-08:00

A blog buddy of mine, Beverly of So This Is Wonderland gave me a fab award. How awesome is that!!! Thanks, Beverly!

I would HIGHLY recommend checking out her blog on a regular basis. Full of everything from astute political observations to witchy musings and incredible educational and inspiring writings about Hawaiian myth and culture, So This Is Wonderland is one of my daily must-sees.

Holiday Enchantment

2008-12-01T06:48:00.000-08:00

After the breakdown craziness of a move, we rushed to unpack as much as possible and set up our big dining room table, so we could have a real Thanksgiving. All went as I had hoped, and on Thanksgiving morning as I started rolling out the pie crust, I felt that this new apartment became a home. The power of the kitchen never ceases to amaze me.

Needless to say, my Mamma Italia persona kicked in and I made enough food for about four families: a Cornish Hen for Philip (I've gone vegetarian for the duration of the yoga training - oh, how I longed for turkey!), chestnut stuffing/dressing, whipped sweet potatoes spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg with carmelized apples and toasted sunflower seeds on top, the ubiquitous green bean casserole (please note, however, that I use fresh green beans, make my own bechamel, employ the powers of button and baby bella mushrooms, etc.), mashed yukon golds, and a mushroom gravy. Then there was the pear-apple pie that we ate for a few days afterwards. Yes, this was all for two people.

(Our big trashy secret? We love jellied cranberry sauce!!! At least we bought some organic kind from Whole Foods.)

I've decided this year to make the variety of Christmas cookies that my now-deceased Uncle Steve made every year. He would descend into his basement baking workshop and make tray after tray of the various Italian cookies that everyone in his life adored. He had a slew of recipes that I got from his husband, and in the oven right now are the pignoli cookies that I love.

I had some hesitancy about making them without him being dead for a full year (he died in Feb. of 2008), but after an all-too-brief encounter with him at the Roadhouse of the Dead on Halloween, he encouraged me to go-ahead (and not to call him during the process, because he's so busy on the other side).

So, here I am listening to the great Oscar Petersen's Christmas album, baking cookies and continuing to set up house. A fab morning in my book.

I deeply believe that making magick in the home through baking, dusting, laughing, sex, and even sitting down to a good movie helps us all to appreciate the sparkle in everyday life. There is no division between "sacred" and "profane."

There are no hidden secrets or recipes.

(The first image is from the Bellevue Opera's production of Englebert Humperdink's "Hansel and Gretel." The second, from The Daily Green ,is of my beloved pignoli cookies.)

Moving and Yoga...

2008-11-24T04:40:00.000-08:00

What a week! We moved into our new apartment on Friday and are in the process of unpacking and wondering why on earth we have two sets of differently shaped ramekins.

Then last week I took two workshops with the amazing Shiva Rea. The yoga style is so up my alley - devotional, ecstatic and completely organic. Incredible!

Finally, during this weekend's teacher training we had an inversion and arm balance workshop with Simon Park, who is a great teacher and really cute (not that I noticed - I was only focused on my own practice, of course). It was amazing how being upside-down brought up hidden emotional issues around moving - funny how that yoga stuff has a direct impact on the internal world. Go figure!

More to come!

(Shiva photo by Michael Sexton. I couldn't find the credit for the Simon Park photo. Drat!)

Intermission: A bit of randomness

2008-11-17T08:05:00.000-08:00

A while back, my blog buddy Beweaver, tagged me to write six random things about myself. I need a break from heroic community (nobody said being a hero doesn't mean we can't sit and have some hot chocolate, right?), and after doing a Sanskrit immersion weekend for my yoga teacher training, my brain is pretty fried.

A little narcissism should fix that right up!

1. I'm a huge opera queen. My husband long ago realized that my listening to the Metropolitan Opera Broadcast on Saturday afternoons was a super gay version of the straight man's football game. "Coach, are you blind?" and "Come on! Carry the ball!" turns into "You call that a trill?" and "I've heard elderly church choirs tighter than that!" As a side note, I'm a major Maria Callas fan and have been since my teens. In my opinion, she is the go-to for operatic interpretation and inspiration, although in today's day and age, Renee Fleming (whom I just saw in "Lucrezia Borgia" at Washington National Opera) is the best thing on record. She's amazing, and onstage, she's spellbinding.

2. I hate Jell-O. I think it's just vile, and even worse are those freak-ass Jell-O molds with all kinds of shit in them. As if Jell-O weren't bad enough on its own, people have to put those crappy "Mandarin" oranges in them?

3. When I was a kid, I used to put on my headphones, stumble around on the lawn like a drunk and lipsynch "The Ladies Who Lunch" from Stephen Sondheim's "Company." And yes, this was the front lawn.

4. I've never done any drugs, including pot. It somehow never came up, although I did turn down coke once.

5. Despite being able to whip up some mean tarts (French and Italian), bake a layered lemon cake filled with my own lemon curd filling, make puff pastry, and other assorted desserts, I am absolutely powerless in the face of a good chocolate chip cookie. I'll happily eat an entire batch and love every minute of it.

6. I adore makeup. I think a little glamour enhancement is a wonderful thing, and if there wasn't the threat of getting my ass kicked, I'd probably wear it everyday. Ideally, a little eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss (which I do anyway) and glitter (which is also not uncommon in my daily life). Did you know that the ancient queer priestesses of Cybele, the Galli, mixed flecks of gold into their face paint? Ancient world precendent for the holy uses of glitter!!!

There are some rules with this random post game, but I'm going to bend them a bit. Instead of tagging six other people, I'm just throwing it out there that anyone who reads this and has a blog can write their own version of this on their blog: write six random things about yourself and link to the person you got the idea from. (Oh, no, I ended the sentence with preposition - eeeeeeek!)

Have a great week everyone! I'm moving to a new apartment on Friday, so I'll return to heroic community stuff next week.

(The first photo is of Callas from a 1958 production of "La Traviata" at Covent Garden; the photographer is unknown. The second photo is of Elaine Stritch, who was on the original cast recording of "Company" and sang "The Ladies Who Lunch," getting her Tony Award; it was taken by Suzanne Plunkett of the AP. The third photo is, of course, "Sesame Street's" Cookie Monster. I had a big stuffed toy of him when I was little that I used to lay my head on at night. I don't know who took the photo; it's all over the place.)

Part V: The Belly of the Whale

2008-11-14T07:01:00.000-08:00

According to myth scholar and folklorist Joseph Campbell, after the hero crosses the First Threshold, s/he enters into the belly of the whale - the place of annihilation.

The hero disappears a la Jonah, Raven of the Pacific Northwest cosmologies, Little Red Riding Hood, and the Zulu story of two children and their mother being swallowed by an elephant. Yet, as Campbell points out, "the disappearance corresponds to the passing of a whorshiper into a temple - where he is to be quickened by the recollection of who and what he is, namely dust and ashes unless immortal...Once inside he may be said to have died to time and returned to the World Womb, the World Navel, the Earthly Paradise."

Part of the major point of this leg of the hero's journey is the obliteration of the former self. The individual walks into the adventure believing in who s/he is, but at this point, nothing is for certain, and really one of the only certainties is that the hero is nothing and no one at all.

I suspect at this point the individual slips into an understanding of the vast expanse of the Multiverse itself. In another view - if we are all made up of strands of energy like a web, we also harbor within our bodies and within our energetic fields the spaces in between - the no-thingness that can be seen as a unifying factor in all of existence.

As we've done before, let's take a look at how this stage can manifest in a group attempting to form a heroic community.

One option is that the group of people has to willingly let go of all preconceived notions of what this kind of group "should" look like. Non-attachment to outcome is the name of the game here - not that we shouldn't care about what our goals are, but that we recognize that whales lie in wait for any people ready to take the journey.

This could also be the time during the formation of a group where it seems like it's going to fall apart completely. Perhaps the vision falters, people lose interest, others decide it's all bullshit and time to head back to their own lives, finances go to hell, relationships are strained - everything looks bleak. Yet, these experiences are instrumental to the path itself and the eventual outcome of the adventure. Without these dark nights of the soul, the group can not hone its vision and actual implementation of collective core values.

It's interesting to note where the whale/monster comes from. This is a creature from the deep, the ocean of the collective unconscious. In particular for a group, what are the things that threaten to annihilate us? What monsters of the depths must we confront in order to move on to the next stage of development?

(As a side note for literary nerds, I can't help but think of Melville's master work Moby Dick. Ahab pursues his monster, trying to conquer it and take revenge for the loss of his leg that's broken his spirit. Yet, in the end, he, too, must succumb to obliteration in order to move beyond his hatred, rage, colossal arrogance, and bitterness. This book has long been one of my absolute faves; if you haven't read it and have a long winter ahead, go for it! It also contains one of the most famed homoerotic scenes in American literature.)

(The first photo is taken by Ray Alley. The second image is of Jonah's swallowing from an old bible. From what I can gather, the last painting is done by Lasaine Brizzi. The site I got it from had no info, but there is a signature on the painting.)

Part IV: Crossing the First Threshold

2008-11-10T05:51:00.000-08:00

After attending a wonderful spiritual retreat over Halloween and spending time with friends in Minneapolis, I'm back in D.C. (which looks brighter and more full of hope given recent events!). I want to continue on with adapting Joseph Campbell's hero's journey to a heroic community, a group of people willing to take on a unique position in the world, uplifting themselves and all peoples.

This installment is all about crossing the first threshold, where the hero encounters the "threshold guardian at the zone of magnified power. Such custodians bound the world in the four directions - also up and down - standing for the limits of the hero's present sphere, or life horizon."

This is the point where the hero really has to pony up and step into the great beyond in a deeper way. This has happened, to some extent, by heeding the call to adventure, but that was before encountering a major challenge and an embodied experience of what it means to leave the comforts of everyday life.

"The usual person is more than content, he is even proud, to remain within the indicated bounds, and popular belief gives him every reason to fear so much as the first step into the unexplored."

Campbell references the ancient maps of the world where dragons lie at the ocean's edges or the monsters who wait in the wilderness for the wandering tribespeople.

However, a key point is that this first threshold often focuses on "the pairs of opposites (being and not being, life and death, beuaty and ugliness, good and evil, and all the other polarities that bind the faculties to hope and fear, and link the organs of action to deeds of defense and acquistion) are the clashing rocks that crush the traveler, but between which the hero must always pass."

Now, here's my spin on that pairs of opposites thing - this is where Queer Magick can serve every hero (community or otherwise). Part of Queer Spirit's power lies in the recognition of walking a third road - not black or white, good or bad, male or female, but something altogether different - a third road that encompasses all paths.

To the task at hand: what does crossing the first threshold look like for the heroic community?

I think a great amount of it might have to do with ego/self, which can tie in nicely to overcoming binary/polarizing thinking. The community members need to accept and understand that life is not all about them as individuals, but about the health and vitality of that community. That's not to say that our individual happiness is dirt - that would be binary thinking. What if our individual happiness and the community happiness can be shared goals and ideals? That's a third road.

In our American culture, which greatly values the power of the individual to overcome all obstacles by himself (and I use "him" acknowledging the patriarchal aspect of this construct), coming together into a community can be really challenging to everyone's notions of the four directions and how the world has acted up until this point.

Some personal confession: I'm all for these ideas. I think they're great. Does that mean I'm all happy-go-lucky about it? Hell, no. Part of it freaks me the fuck out. Do I have to live on a commune spinnng hemp bracelets in order to do this? Do I, even worse, have to share a room? On a more serious note, does this mean that an entire community of people whom I love have access at all times to hold me accountable for my actions and choices? That definitely sounds like a big threshold to cross into an unknown that, given the way I've lived until now, is pretty god damned scary.

Yet, as Campbell points out, when Jason and the Argonauts make it past the clashing rocks (two cliffs in the sea that smash together, making passage a dicey prospect), the cliffs fell still and have not smashed together since. Once we go beyond those polarities, they cease to exist. Consciouness once raised can not be lowered.

(The forest image can be found here. The image of Pan, seen by Campbell as a prime example of a figure who stands at the threshold of opposites, was done by Eric Pouhier. This photo is by the AP and accompanied a story about a modern attempt of the Argonautika.

Tears In My Eyes

2008-11-05T07:53:00.000-08:00

Upon hearing the news of Obama's victory, I started to cry with relief and a real sense of hope for this nation and the world. What a grand day!!!

I'm still in Minneapolis after going to a witch gathering called Earth Conclave. I've gotten to visit with dear beloveds and meet some new folks, too, that I've been hearing about from for years. It was fantastic, and a highlight was walking up to the Bear Mounds, ancient sacred sites in Iowa along the Mississippi River.

I'll be back in Washington on Friday and then deep into yoga teacher training for the weekend, so I'll probably write a real post next Monday or so, moving onward into the journey of the heroic community (something we did ritual work around at Conclave).

Blessings to everyone!

The Heroic Community, Part III: Supernatural Aid

2008-10-27T07:06:00.000-07:00

As we head into the week of Halloween, we continue our look at the Heroic Community, an idea percolating among many people, especially as we slip into the darker days of dreaming and vision. (See posts below for previous writings.)

According to folklorist and myth scholar Joseph Campbell, the next step in the journey of the hero comes in the form of supernatural aid.

"For those who have not refused the call, the first enouncter of the hero journey is with a protective figure (often a little old crone or old man) who provides the adventurer with amulets against the dragon forces he is about to pass."

Campbell cites the Navajo's Spider Woman or Grandmother Spider as an example, especially in the tale of the heroic twins who are journeying to the home of their father, the Sun. Spider Woman gives them a magic amulet and spell to defeat their upcoming challenges.

The Fairy Godmother figure in European folk tales is another example, as is the Virgin Mother in Christian mythos.

"The hero who has come under the protection of the Cosmic Mother cannot be harmed."

Men can also be guides, as noted by the wizards, shamans, and psychopomps who appear to heroes (Hermes, Thoth and even Virgil in Dante's Divine Comedy).

Interestingly, the guide or first appearance of supernatural aid doesn't always have to be completely beneficent. Sometimes, s/he can be challenging and lead the hero on difficult roads that are the individual's most powerful journey of transformation.

I think one of Campbell's most important observations is that "One has only to know and trust, and the ageless guardians will appear."

Once the intention is set by the group building a heroic community, I suspect something gets set in motion. We know from studies in physics that our thoughts hook up to actual points in space, so when the word is put out into the Multiverse by the group, then perhaps the energy comes back around in the form of various helpers on the road.

Probably, a community based in some kind of spirituality has an extra kick to this, because in imagining co-creating such a group, I see myself praying to various Mysterious Ones for aid or doing ritual work around the initial stages, thereby starting a magickal ball rolling.

This part of the heroic journey is no less challenging than any other, because the community has to be willing to keep their eyes and ears open. There are innumerable stories of people being so busy, so pre-occupied, so wrapped up in self that they miss the aid that's right in front of them, causing them to wander until they're finally able to see and hear what they've most needed.

Then, of course, the group has to be willing to trust the assistance - what happens when some members of the group are inspired by the supernatural aid and others aren't? Perhaps part of the spellwork around this could be that everyone in the group needs some help in ways that are resonate to her/him.

Something I get from the Fae around all this is "Always ask the Faery Godmothers." They'll show up, ready to roll up their magickal sleeves, but they do need to be asked.

Perhaps once the group of people decides they are willing to commit to creating this type of community, they could get together and do ritual work around stepping into the abyss, into the unknown and opening to the guidance of those very timeless ones who could shed some light on the road ahead.

I probably won't be writing again until after Halloween, so I hope everyone's holiday is full of mystery, wonder, and deep, deep joy.

(The lovely Spider Woman image can be found here. The image of Virgil holding back the demons from Dante was done by Gustav Dore. The fairy godmother was done by Emily Hilda Rix Nichols.)

The Heroic Community: Part II, Refusal of the Call

2008-10-22T07:40:00.001-07:00

We continue with musings on the heroic community from the previous post.

This section is all about refusing the call to adventure, the call to move forward.

Campbell writes, "Refusal of the summons converts the adventure into its negative. Walled in boredom, hard work, or 'culture,' the subject loses the power of significant affirmative action and becomes a victim to be saved."

Instead of the herald or call to adventure becoming a boon, it becomes a curse, something that gnaws away at the individual's vitality. Campbell sites King Minos, who walls the monstrous Minotaur in a labyrinth, as an example.

"What ever house [the person refusing the call] builds, it will be a house of death: a labyrinth of cyclopean walls to hide from him his Minotaur. All he can do is create new problems for himself and await the gradual approach of his disintegration."

Wow, that's rough, right?

Campbell goes on to say that refusal generally happens because it's "a refusal to give up what one takes to be one's own interest. The future is regarded not in terms of an unremitting series of deaths and births, but as though one's present system of ideals, virtues, goals, and advantages were to be fixed and made secure."

Through this denial, we blindfold ourselves and stumble off the path of our authentic self's choosing, blundering deeper into the wilderness. If only we remove the blindfold, we could perhaps begin to find our way again or at least forge a new path. I find it interesting that refusals often arise because we believe that things will stay the same as they are for all time - as opposed to embracing the true constant of the Multiverse: change.

How many times have we ignored things that we knew to be the right choice for our lives and our direction? Granted, our culture doesn't support people who throw caution to the winds and "follow [their] bliss," but that's part of the adventure, too.

So, how does this all translate into a community experience? I think much of it has to do with forming the heroic community.

If a group of people hears a call to become a community, to begin that journey together, what happens when the group decides it's just too much - too much work, too much heartarche, too impossible, too crazy? Perhaps the call is to join the community, and the refusal comes from each of us as we decided we can't possibly do this. What then do we lose? What nags at us in the middle of the night? Does our longing for community only increase in intensity, leaving us barren emotionally because of our refusal?

I don't think the punishment Campbell mentions is one visited upon us by some malignant deity. Who needs that when we've got natural consequences?

Maybe becoming part of a heroic community is not just about survival, but about thriving. This type of group transforms itself into a place where everyone can follow their dharma, simultaneously creating a collective dharma - a collective spirit where one of the greatest mysteries unfolds:

We are more together than we are apart.

(The first photo is of Arizona's beautiful Superstition Mountains, courtesy of gemland.com. The second is a painting done by Paul Reid.)

The Heroic Community: Part I, A Herald Appears

2008-10-20T05:43:00.000-07:00

My dear beloved Donald Engstrom-Reese and I were talking on the phone a couple of weeks ago, and he mentioned a term that really inspired me: the heroic community.

He and I (and others) often discuss what it means to live in community, to develop community, to sustain community, etc., in this time and culture, and when he mentioned this term to me, I thought of Joseph Campbell's incredible book "The Hero With A Thousand Faces," where he maps out the heroic journey as evidenced in cultures' mythic archetypes around the world.

How does this great journey apply to a community? Can the notable stops along the path of the individual be translated into the way of the group? I'm going to be blogging about that for a bit, so here's our first installment.

The Call To Adventure

According to Campbell, this is the first step in the hero's journey - the moment when s/he gets the call to head in a new direction, "ringing up the curtain on a mystery of transfiguration."

It's often here that a "herald" appears, some figure who moves us to our next level of experience.

"The herald's summons may be to live...or, at a later moment of the biography, to die. It may sound the call to some high historical undertaking. Or it may mark the dawn of religious illumination. As apprehended by the mystic, it marks what has been termed 'the awakening of the self'...The familiar life horizon has been outgrown; the old concepts, ideals, and emotional patterns no longer fit; the time for the passing of a threshold is at hand."

Often, the herald figure frightens or disgusts us; it's seen by the larger culture as something hateful, yet, this character ushers us through the first gateway of adventure. Also of note is that if ignored, the herald's signs get bigger and louder, until the need for change can not be denied.

What does all this mean for the heroic community?

First of all, I confess that I don't exactly know what a heroic community is, but I think that's alright. How often does the hero step into the adventure not truly understanding who s/he is? S/he knows a change is needed, and s/he knows the current way of living is no longer nourishing or powerful. So, s/he walks into the breach, discovering the answers along the journey.

The same goes for a group of people who know that the current ways of living are not only ineffectual, they're stifling humanity's potential and the planet at large.

For this burgeoning community, who or what is the herald? What is the figure that calls us to adventure, the next phase?

If not an actual person, perhaps it's a trend, piece of information or current cultural norm that frightens the budding community, like the examples cited below (these are things that goad my own personal need to live in community - not in fear, like some millenial cult, but in recognition that people must create new ways of living in order to change the current paths humanity is walking).

Eco-disaster?
Corporate greed and financial ruin?
Cruelty to our food sources?
The madness of war?
Tyrannical governments?
Children who are succumbing to hatred?
Patriarchy?
Religious fanatiscm?

Let's take an example: the polar bear. Could that be considered the current herald for a culture that is hurtling toward global disaster via global warming? While the polar bear may not frighten us or provoke fear in a traditional sense (although left alone with one in the arctic it should), an underlying part of the fear response it evokes, in this particular context, is that we've fucked things up beyond repair, that we must face our own errors and take responsibility for our actions. This realization is something loathsome in a culture obsessed with consumption and inbalanced desire.

What do you think the heralds are for building a heroic community? Have you and your beloveds heard the call to adventure? What did it sound like, and if you've been ignoring it, how has the call gotten louder?

(The path in the forest photo is from Francis' site. The polar bear photo is from the ever-amazing National Geographic.)

Work It, Mary

2008-10-14T06:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I went to one of my favorite sacred sites in Washington - the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception at the Catholic University of America.

Some readers might be wondering, "What the hell is a Queer Witch Priestess doing at a Catholic church?"

First off, it's an absolutely beautiful place, full of '50s-era high art all done in mosaic. Many of the images are not only gorgeous, but full of interesting iconography, including a world's creation that features dinosaurs. Just amazing!

Secondly, I'm big on the Virgin Mother (in fact, right now, I'm listening to Antonio Vivaldi's Vespri per l'Assunzione di Maria Vergine, Vespers for the Assumption of the Virgin Mary - a beautiful piece).

While the Catholic church has certainl caused a whole mess of problems in this world, the sustained veneration of Mary has left goddess worship open to a great many people. From what I hear from various humanoid Mysterious Ones (Juno and Cybele included) is that Mary, the woman, was approahced by various female Mysterious Ones and asked to hold their place in the world until the time was right for them to return more fully to people's hearts and minds (Westerners and those affected by Christian conversion, in particular.) Mary graciously took on this role after her death and continues holding this space to this day. It's my understanding that this is starting to shift and as Cybele said to me yesterday, once this part of Mary's job is done, that gal gets a long-ass vacation.

The National Shrine has chapels all down the sides of the church depicting the different Marys from around the world - Latvia, Korea, Poland (featuring a gorgeous Black Madonna), Guadalupe, etc. They're all so beautiful and the iconography is delightfully pagan. So many of the images depict her surrounded by a very yonic burst of energy. Roses (major goddess flower) and lilies (often associated with the lovely Juno) are frequently part of the art depicting Mary.

The rosary was being prayed while I was there yesterday, and I found myself irritated at some of the prayers, which focus on being saved from hell and being sinners, etc., etc. Yet then I saw Mary sending loving energy to all of the congregants' hearts, energy of healing and deep compassion. She knows that they aren't sinners and hopeless fuck-ups. Through this incredible compassion, she continues to hope that they will come to see themselves as she does - with great love and possibility.

It was an incredible inspiration, and I sat in a pew, quietly singing an Italian song to the Black Madonna (Cybele, in pre-Christian times), adding energy from my own heart to the prayers for healing and love.

Afterwards, I went to Mary's garden, a beautiful respite behind the cathedral and played my Black Madonna drum, working the rhythm of Cybele, a deep, Mother Goddess beat. Mary was there and smiled warmly as a straight couple lolled on each other under a tree - the man prone with his head in the woman's lap as she stroked his hair. The sun was setting, casting golden rays over the scene, and I thought, again, that a Queer Priestess was sending blessings of a Goddess on the love between men and women.

In fact, there were a couple of images in the church that made me wonder about Queer folks' continued work with various female Mysterious Ones. The first was outside and pictured a very, square-jawed "woman" playing a tambourine (on the right - click on the photo to enlarge). Notice that the hair is loose - the very thing condemned by "St." Paul as being the sign of a wanton woman and/or men who were in service to goddesses. The Galli, priestesses of Cybele, played the drum and loosened their hair during wild rituals.

While staring at this image, I heard the Virgin Mother say to me, "See? You're everywhere."

I don't know that the artists intended any of this, but like any good piece of art, we bring ourselves and our experiences to it, seeing our own lives and attributes reflected back to us in ways that resonate with us. I hope I'm not the only Queer one out there to feel this incredible love and hope that our ecstatic gifts have survived vicious persecution and have had the blessing of Mary and so many of the Mysterious Ones.

Blessings of Mary (who as I hear it, was thrilled when a straight university student couple were engaged in a killer blow job on the steps of the cathedral - she wasn't as thrilled when they were caught, however) on all of us.

Inspired Reading

2008-10-07T10:39:00.000-07:00

While at the library last week, I happened upon a perfect book for myself:
Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy, by Barbara Ehrenreich. The author has written 14 books and is a frequent contributer for Harper's and The Nation; she's also been a columnist for the New York Times and Time magazine. All of these facts were heartening to me, as are the copious footnotes and bibliography.

The book is all about the history of ecstatic joy/worship/ritual among European folks and how the church, capitalism and other forces eventually squashed these experiences, leading us to a twisted relationship with deep joy.

I started experiencing the necessity of ecstatic joy most intensely in Tuscany this past summer, and over the last year or so, I found that dance was a great way for me (and others) to access these heights of mystical experience.

Not surprisingly, there are damned good reasons for that, including a long and rich history that stretches back to prehistoric times.

I think that many of our modern spiritual traditions, at least here in America, tend to shy away from the ecstatic, and this is certainly true in pagan traditions, where we hope for something different than the standard Judeo-Christian scripted experience.

Concomitantly, there's often a focus on misery and the mea culpa complex. At times when I've brought this up among pagan people, I get a dismissive attitude about not wanting to be "white-lighters" or "fluffy bunnies." Since when did committing to deep joy in a world suffused with pain mean that we're not working hard enough? And, honestly, isn't what we're all working for a world where bliss is part of the every day and not just something experienced in all-too-rare flashes of insight?

Anyone who's interested in this topic might want to check this book out - I'm only half-way through but I'm spellbound for sure.

(The image above is a painting by Leon Brazile Perrault titled "La Tarantella.")

A Trip to Faeryland

2008-10-01T10:04:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I and a dear beloved co-facilitated a workshop all about connecting to the Fae, those magnanimous and beautiful beings of the wild woods, lakes, beaches, deserts, cities, worlds seen and unseen.

The gathering was absolutely magickal, and I can't remember the last time I felt so fulfilled, so contented after a witchy weekend.

At the start of the event, we set up sacred space using a variety of means, including various circle castings, some of which were done with the idea that we would create this space through spoken commitments to our own and others' well being.

Much of the weekend focused on creating gates to Faery, including a very large one that we walked through on Friday night and didn't return from until Sunday late morning.

I and the other facilitator have spent time working gates on our own, recognizing that the need for them in the world isn't just about getting from one realm to another - very often it's a symbol of trust between the worlds, one where we consciously ask the Fae into our world and they allow us into theirs. I've created gates of found objects in the wild, I've drawn them into honey (thereby transferring the world traveling power to the sweet treat), I've drawn them on one of my drums (again, when played it shifts our being into the Faery realm), and other experiments. I have a couple outside near my home that I regularly visit and walk through, spending time in the Faery realm with some regularity.

Spending time in the Faery world for an entire weekend was a wonderful experience and one I hope to repeat. While there, we created ritual art and offerings from the heart, aspected with the Fae, danced, sang, did sacred beading and embroidery, laughed (a lot), cried, and deepened our relationship to these wonderful beings. There were lights shining in the darkness and a rainbow that appeared in a downpour outside the main hall, about 10 feet off the ground.

The Wild Fae have been near and dear to me for many years (since childhood, really), and after this weekend, I began to understand my role with them more and more. Much of what I do is based in the idea of Faery Freedom - my spiritual calling is about freedom and liberation.

The tarantella and the tammorriata are dances of liberation. Yoga is all about liberation. Belly dancing is about freedom. Queer Spirit work is certainly about freedom. All these threads tie together, and I began wondering about the nature of the bodhisattva during the weekend.

These are the beings who have vowed not just to achieve spiritual and everyday liberation for themselves - they have agreed to come back to the world again and again until everyone is freed from cycles of pain, misery, and suffering.

In many ways, this seemed a very Fae-like vow to make, and my mind is whirling with possibilities.

I was deeply moved over the weekend by what all the other priestesses brought to the workshop. I learned a great deal about the nature of Faery and myself through their experiences and willingness to share what they had seen and felt up to this point and what was unfolding during the magick. I am so grateful to everyone there for meeting the magick head on and committing to the work of Faery.

Especially in this twilight time of the year, I would encourage you to spend some time with the Fae. Maybe set up a comfortable spot outside, beautifying it in whatever ways seem right to you (or leaving it as beautiful as it already is), call in your allies, and begin to strike up a conversation - mostly through listening.

As a side note, this is the time of the Navratri, a sacred festival of India that honors the divine feminine through various rituals, including nine days of sacred dance. I learned about this last night at yoga class, and I'm planning on doing sacred dances for this next nine days.

(The first photo is one I took of the dozens of mushrooms at the park site where we held the weekend. There really is something to Faery mushroom magick. Many of us have heard that mushrooms can save the world, and given their ecological powers, it seems like a good bet. The second is an image from the Brian Froud Faery Oracle deck. The third group of mushrooms sprouted up in my absence at a clearing I visit regularly near my home. What a great surprise!)

Faery Freedom

2008-09-24T17:40:00.000-07:00

In a couple of days, I'm off to co-facilitate a weekend of Faery magick, focusing on a chance to explore, introduce, and deepen our relationships to the Fae world.

I know that sometimes people get freaked about the Fae - usually out of bad past experiences or the curse of the Precious Moments figurines. Either way, both ends of this Faery-ick spectrum are not something I've had to deal with. However, these perceptions stopped me for a while from fully opening to this spiritual path and magickal energy, but once I got over it (with a nice push from the Faery clan leader I work with, Elavin), I realized how deep and powerful this magick is.

It's all about freedom and not the kind that is without responsibility. For if there isn't some kind of understanding about interconnection, then free-livin' is just rampant selfishness - not a Faery virtue at all.

Faery Freedom has been presented to me as a tree image. Each branch, each twig sails off into the air, reveling in its direction and sense of purpose, but it is ultimately intimately connected to the rest of the organism. If it grows out of balance, it can bring down an entire branch and sicken the whole tree. It's the same with freedom and the individuality that's often preceived to go along with it - we do strike out in various directions that seem like completely unchartered horizons, but without the support of a family, friends, previous explorers, farmers growing food, etc., we wouldn't be going anywhere.

And all to often, our culture values inbalanced and eventually malignant growth more than it does a community-based model.

May we all dare to explore freedom as the faeries do - in conjunction with one another.

(The first image is of the Faery Godmother by Brian Froud, an amazing artist of the Fae. The second is some stock photography.)

Grandmother Spider

2008-09-16T11:21:00.001-07:00

Out of the dark roiling fabric of the Multiverse she comes. Multiple, long legs emerging, followed by a series of eyes and a a large beautiful body, full of possibility, full of endless creation, and full of Mystery.

Spiraling strands of will into the blackness, worlds are created, as are particles, atoms, sub-atomic energies, matter, light - creation itself springs from her in filaments, giving a toe-hold to future beings still held deep in her body.

Slowly, light coalseces into stars, which send their energy into the surrounding space, leading to the birth of infinite galaxies and universes, infinite realms, folding onto one another like the endless and only seemingly chaotic web of a Wolf Spider.

Grandmother Spider gives birth to others like her, carrying them on her back as she makes her way through these new hotbeds of creation. One of her many worlds and homes is, of course, Earth. A place of exquisite beauty, she leaves some of her children here, and finds her place on the heaving planet in its early years.

She befriends Gaia, guiding her through her birth and growth, tending her in hours of confusion and rejoicing with her as waters grow in strength. Grandmother Spider sends strands of connection between oceans and moon, creating a love song between these bodies that still resonates today.

Other beings begin to inhabit Gaia, and Grandmother Spider takes an interest in all of them. Along with her progenitor sisters, Grandmother Bear, the Snake Mother, the Great Tree, and others, they become matrons of this planet, taking delight in all of the inhabitants, including the humans who eventually emerge from Primate family.

From Spider Rock in Canyon de Chelley to the deserts of Australia, the jungels of Meso- and South America, to Africa where her son Anansi became one of the trickiest of the tricksters, her spirit can be found.

In our thoughts, which physics has shown to hook up to actual points in space, to the sound of splashing waves, her Web of Creation pulsates with life force. All our experiences and the experiences of this place we call home are the result of this Web, that spirals ever outward, growing, changing, shifting, deepening, and vibrating with color, sound, and power. All we need to do is access it, be mindful that string theory is the modern way of explaining the Web, and realize that interconnection is not just some platonicc new age platitude.

Whisper your dreams to spiders in their webs, send energy out along Multiversal strands, and realize that one day, we all will be consumed by Grandmother Spider and sent on to our next experience.

I first became aware of her presence on a trip to Canyon de Chelley, many years ago, but my first formal moments with her were in a labyrinth at my first ever Reclaiming Witch Camp. Since that time, she has become one of my matrons, and only recently have I begun to understand the ways in which my relationship with her has unfolded - including, of course, as a tarantella priestess.

In many ways, it's hard to discuss where she is most or what she does, because her handiwork is everywhere. Every object, energy, thought, breath of every being is part of the constantly unfolding Web of Creation, and because of the nature of the Web itself, she is omnipresent, feeling and having a connection to absolutely everything.

Despite all of this, she often comes to me in very grounded forms - most always as a large spider. (One of her favorite games is what I call the "Horror Movie Spider Game," where she peers menacingly over entire city blocks, legs perched on various buildings. She never gets tired of this, and honestly neither do I.) Only on very rare occasions has she appeared to me in a human form, and then it was usually a composite of human and spider.

Being a non-human Mysterious One, she sometimes has much different opinions on certain questions or dilemmas. Shortly before going to my first tarantella workshop, she leapt out of a stairwell at me and sank her fangs into my heart. After recovering from the shock, I said, "Can you warn me next time?"

Somewhat incredulous, she responded, "I AM a hunter."

Point taken.

Yet, the love I've experienced from her is overwhelming, and I am ever grateful for her presence and magick in my life.

Grandmother Spider Holds a Special Place in Her Heart for the Following:

A good hunt
Surprises (more specifically, surprising others)
A well-made web
Dances of healing and transformation
Drums
Sacred dancers
Teasing arachnophobes
The month of August in the Northern Hemisphere
Spending time with her Progenitor Sisters
Chasing prey
Dancing by moonlight
Eating her husbands
Playing fetch with dogs
A good circus act (no animals, though)
Clowns
Orchards
The laughter of children (human and otherwise)
"Charlotte's Web"
The Shelob scene in "Lord of the Rings" (sans the killing of Shelob)

Grandmother Spider is a Friend of Many Clans, Including:

The Bear Clan
The Snake Clan
The Tree Clan
The Human Clan
Clan of the Queer Priestesses
The Dog Clan
Clan of the Wild Fae
All Insect Clans
The Crab Clan
The Scorpion Clan
The Wild Grass Clan
The Family of the Tarantati
The Apple Clan
The Pear Clan
The Pecan Clan
The Pine Clan
The Rose Clan

Blessings of the Web upon you.

As with all things related to mystery that I talk about, know that this is how I have experienced it or gotten the info. Nothing is holy writ. In fact, I'd love to hear what others' experiences are with the spider folk, if you have them.

An Ode to Figs

2008-09-11T11:11:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know me well might want to skip this post altogether, because I'm about to wax rhapsodic about my favorite fruit and one of my favorite foods: the fig.

For years now, I've been eating dried figs every day, usually on their own, but sometimes baked into French tarts (with fig pastry cream and paired with grapefruit wedges on top); sliced and placed on top of bread spread with mascarpone cheese and garnished with fresh basil leaves; or (perhaps my favorite) stuffed with walnuts and baked in vin santo, honey and some orange zest.

The real treat, of course, is the unparalleled fresh fig - proof that despite the madness in our world, the pleasures of this Good Green Earth can make us remember that life is full of deep joy.

"Why now?" you might be asking with impatience. "Why does he blather on about his obsession on this particular day? "

Mostly, because my hubby sent me a link to a story on NPR about the fresh fig.

Also, because one of my favorite vendors at the farmer's market told me that she would have figs this coming Sunday. I plan to be there before the 9 a.m. opening bell so I can sweep them up by the bucketful.

For someone with Italian roots and someone who is a deeply sensual person, this fruit is an orgiastic culmination of what life has to offer.

So, as a spell of indulgence and pleasure, I challenge all of you to go out and buy fresh or dried figs and eat them daily, perhaps chanting some mantra to sensual delights or allowing the flavor, downright naughty texture and juiciness to be the prayer itself.

A Trip to Siena

2008-09-08T06:54:00.001-07:00

The Catholics understandably get a bad rap for a lot of destructive behavior over the years, but there's one thing I have to hand to the Mother Church: the preservation of some form of Goddess worship in a patriarchal world.

This was so obvious at Siena's famed cathedral, Il Duomo. Started in the 1300s and worked on for 500 years, this large shrine to the Virgin Mother was breathtaking and the site of some profoundly spiritual moments for me.

The floors of the cathedral are all done with stone inlay that depicts different biblical events, but also some serious pagain imagery. Included in this are the seven Sibyllae (the Sibyls), prophetesses from all over the ancient world. They're present here, because according to legend, they heralded the birth of Christ (or at least a figure of great love who would bring much change to the world). Interestingly, the Sibyl of Cumana, outside of Naples, gave one of these prophecies to the ancient Roman poet Virgil (composer of the Aeniad, the Ecologues and the Georgics), who was also initiated into the cult of the great Mother Goddess, Cybele.

These images still resonate with power that I could feel travelling up from the stones and into my body, and, of course, they are works of incredible beauty.

Scattered throughout the Duomo are other amazing pieces, including this triple goddess image holding a serpent. I stood with mouth agape at this piece for quite a while, stunned by the brazenness of this pagan image in this "Christian" church.

After some intense experiences with the Goddess and being dizzy from the incredible energy of the place, I was happy to wander the streets of Siena, purposefully avoiding the cermaics store (how on Earth would I get that huge serving bowl home) but not even thinking of avoiding the gelaterie in town.

It was truly a divine experience to eat gelato in the Piazza del Campo under a clear, stunningly blue sky. I'm pictured here with my gelato buddies and workshop friends. (I got two scoops of gelato - one was hazlenut and the other was panna cotta - if I had time, I would have gone back for another until I was sick with the heavenly delight!)

The same day we went to two other sites, collectively called San Galgano. The first was a ruined and unfinished monastery from the Middle Ages, and while here, we played ancient Italian songs to the Black Madonna and danced one of the healing dances among the still-standing walls.

Then we headed up a hill to a smaller chapel where Saint Galgano, one of the Knights Templar, returned from the Crusades and swore off war by thrusting his sword into a stone. The sword in the stone (one of many throughout Europe) was still there, in the center of the chapel honoring the Black Madonna, and I finally realized what this was all about. I saw it as an incredible spell-working for peace - turning a weapon of death into a kind of sacred marriage, phallic symbol in the womb of the mother - a testament to keeping the ways of love as opposed to violence.

I could feel the power of this magickal act still resonating in the earth below the chapel, and the energy flowed into the countryside surrounding it. So incredible!

This was also the place where a small shop sold lots of wonderful goods, and I swept up jars and jars of local honeys - honeys from gira sole (sunflowers - the Italian word comes from the verb for "to turn" and "the sun", therefore, turning toward the sun), lemon, acacia, rosemary and corbezzolo (a type of Mediterranean tree, the Latin name is Arbutus unedo - a picture is below). I also picked up some bee pollen from the region to use in some upcoming ritual work, keeping me connected to the experiences I had in Tuscany, the things I learned there about myself, and the commitment I have going forward to continue the work of the Black Madonna and the deep power of the Tarantella.

Food Is Love

2008-09-03T08:58:00.000-07:00

The food prepared by the lovely Rosanna Passione at the villa was some of the best I've ever eaten - and I'm no lightweight in terms of food appreciation. Call it something in my blood and then something honed by the company I keep, but I deeply believe in the power of food to heal and transport us to living lives full of joy.

Breakfast was always very simple but delightful - plain yogurt, muesli, fresh peaches, pears, figs, and plums, wonderful honeys, plus tea and coffee. Not to mention the homemade breads that were present at every meal - unsalted, interestingly enough, something not uncommon in Tuscany.

Lunch and dinner were more elaborate affiars. We ate both meals outdoors, and the food coming out of the kitchen was downright magickal. Rosanna always cooked with produce that was coming straight from the villa's organic gardens, and at this time of year, that meant lots of zucchini, eggplant, various kinds of peppers, and, of course, some of the most delectable pomodori (tomatoes) I've ever had in my life. (Above is a photo of some of the gardens' offerings, notably on the right, fennel. A wonderful plant, "finocchio" is also negative slang for gay men. Some of the reasoning behind it is that fennel seeds were tossed on the pyres of gay men burned for their various proclivities as a way of masking the smell. I suspect there's something deeper and older there, too.)

Frittate were par for the course, and they were very thick, with roasted eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes tucked into the fluffy eggs. There were pastas to be sure, served with a lovely pesto and capers or simple tomato sauces. Risotto made an appearance, and then there was a barley grain likely cooked in the manner of risotto (it had a wonderfully creamy and chewey texture leading me to think that she cooked it in the traditional risotto style).

Not surprisingly in Italy food is not just fuel - it's part of the day's ritual and integral to this particular workshop's healing experience. Every meal was presented with beauty and forethought, and the native Italians in the group always led a round of "Buon Appetito" or "Salute" with wine glasses raised. I realized that as an American I'm really only accustomed to toasting on "special occasions," yet here, every meal was an expression of deep joy and vitality. So why not wish everyone good health and pleasure each time we sat down together?

Most days, I jotted down notes or took photos, and since my return, I've been experimenting with some of the food I enjoyed in Tuscany. This past Sunday I came home from the farmer's market laden with bags of eggplant, zucchini, wonderful tomatoes and peppers, and I've been slow roasting tomatoes with thyme and olive oil, making pappa al pomodoro (a traditional Tuscan bread stew that's out of this world!), and filling my fridge with various experiments.

One of my greatest joys when I cook is to call the power of my grandmothers into my hands. I honor them and ask for their guidance while I whip up meals of love, and I feel so grateful to have their blood in my veins and their suggestions for simmering time and spicing. These are the traditions that connect us to our loved ones, the Great Mother Gaia, the shining Sun, and the vital powers of our life.

Buon appetito!

Speaking of the need to change our lives to ones of deep joy, check out Donald Engstrom-Reese's blog about the insane and disturbing goings-on in the Twin Cities during the RNC - a call to action and to living our lives differently to be sure.

That's Amore

2008-08-31T02:49:00.000-07:00

Ahhhh, Tuscany. Honestly, what's not to love?

On Friday, I returned from my adventures in Italy, where I spent a week with the incredible Alessandra Belloni, a world-renowned percussion artist, Italian folklorist and incredible spiritual healer. She's so inspiring, and her week-long workshop on the sacred dances, songs and rhythms of Southern Italy was easily one of the most joyful and fulfilling weeks of my life.

The beauty of the land itself is just remarkable, and the comments I'd heard about the light of Tuscany were all true. The sun casts its remarkable golden glow over the landscape, and as it nears the horizon in the evening, the color deepens into amber, setting olive groves and vineyards alight in ways that were breathtaking.

The villa where we stayed for the week, La Chiara di Prumiano, was an hour outside of Florence. (Can I just say America needs to take a page from Italy's public transit system? Not only was the hour-long bus ride only about $5, but it was on what was essentially a charter bus - big seats, slightly tinted windows, curtains on the windows and space below the bus to store your bags.)

Surrounded by olive groves, vineyards, and gardens full of fennel, zucchini, pumpkins (a wonderful green-skinned variety), eggplant and, of course, tomatoes, the land was like something out of a fairytale.

Every day, I ate fresh figs straight from the trees behind the villa, and for those who know me, this was a huge treat. I am downright addicted to figs, eating dried ones nearly every day (as well as stuffing them with walnuts and baking them in the Italian dessert wine Vin Santo and honey), but pulling them off the tree and slowly eating them was one of the great sensual pleasures of my week.

In the mornings, I would walk amongs the olive trees, marvel at the sky, sing a traditional Southern Italian song to the sun (Jesce Sole) and feel the pulse of the Great Earth Mother Cybele below my feet and in the very air I breathed.

One of the greatest impressions I had from the week was the sense of deep joy with which we lived every day. There were times when many of us dove into some of our greatest griefs through ritual and dance, and yet, that was never the end point. We continued to dance, sing, drum and release our pains, disappointments and fears, until we pulsed with the vibrancy of life that was ecstatic, full of laughter and tears of what I can only call bliss. Then with arms around one another, we made our way back up to an outdoor dining spot amid roses, grape arbors and herbs, and ate, drank wine and laughed loud and long.

More to come on the the food (my goddess, the food!), a trip to Siena and, of course, some of my spiritual experiences along the way.

(Above is a picture of me, standing on a balcony above the villa's main entrance - click on it for a closer view. I'm dressed in the traditional colors of the tarantata, red and white. More on what a tarantata is another day. Also above are some of the figs - there were two varieties, green and a purplish-brown - both wonderful! Olive branches against a blue, Tuscan sky. Also some sunflowers in the gardens of the villa.)

Between Fire and Water

2008-08-20T05:46:00.000-07:00

The Hawaiian islands are obviously marked with fire and water, and perhaps nowhere more actively so than on the Big Island.

When we went to Maui last year, I deepened my connection to a Mysterious One I call the Ocean Mother, and during this trip, she and I took it further.

Every morning, I would get up right around dawn and head out to the beach, walking in the surf as the sun came up, often singing a Southern Italian traditional devotional song to the sun. Blossoms scented the air and, often, I would see turtles either in the water or waking up from their nighttime slumber.

Large, black bees zoomed from flower to flower, birds chriped merrily away and crabs peeked out from their lava rock perches. I would then greet the Ocean Mother and bathe in her waters, making sure to get wet from head to toe. I came upon a great lava outcropping in the water where I would dance to the music of the waves while the they washed over my feet, rooted to the remnants of Pele's flowing eruptions.

Our spot at the Waikoloa Marriott was fairly calm compared to many of the glorious beaches elsewhere on the island. The Pololu Valley is one of many black sand beaches, but this one had flecks of gold in it. We hiked down a fairly precipitous, rocky path to the beach below where I did some spirit mapping spells for Queer Mystery with rocks and drawing in the sand, marveling at how the gold shone on the beach. (This is a photo of us on the way down to the site.)

Another favorite spot was on the southern side of the island, where the lava hadn't yet been pounded down to grains of sand. Here, the rock was irridescent with indigo, purples and reds reflecting in the sunlight. The waters shifted color, too, from deep blue to a brilliant turquoise as the waves pulled back and then crashed into the hardened lava, sending spray everywhere.

This magickal interplay between rock and water gave me the impression that Pele's lands are hotspots (no pun intended) of creation and opportunity. There's some major earth magick going on here that I don't quite understand yet, but hopefully, with repeated visits I'll get more of an idea. All I can verablize at this point is that major creation magick is taking place that is a model (and reminder?) of a balanced way of living for humans and other elements of our world. I've never so clearly felt just a part of the living fabric of the environment as I did in Hawai'i, partly because in the face of a volcano and crashing waves, it's hard to forget that we're just as delicate a part of the ecosystem as any other creature.

I also think that Pele (and the Ocean Mother, too) is all about non-attachment. People on the islands can build up their lives and villages, but with an eruption, a lava flow, an earthquake, a tsunami (which has twice destroyed the town of Hilo), all is gone and things must start anew. When tromping over rocky lava cliffs, I saw Ohi'a Lehua plants staking their claim on a seemingly inhospitable environment, demonstrating the rich opportunity provided by Pele. Constant newness and fecundity abounds.

This is the smoke pouring out of the Halema'uma'u Crater, which is part of the larger active caldera of Kilauea, Pele's longtime home. On the rim of Kilauea, people still leave floral offerings to the goddess of the islands, who is everywhere in art, ranger talks and even the names of dishes at restaurants.

To the left is a photo of the vent at Kilauea Iki, one of the side craters of the main caldera. I can't describe how large this vent is, but the part in the small mountain that looks like it's caved in is actually a large vent that spewed enormous amounts of lava in the mid-20th century - so much so that it created (from what I recall from the pamphlet) a 400-foot deep lake of lava in this sub-crater. Amazing! We did a hike across this crater, which had cracks in the lava from which steam poured, and olivine crystals (the beginnings of peridot) glittered from the black surface despite a mist and rain the pounded down on us the entire time.

Visiting the home of Pele and hanging out with the Ocean Mother were some of the highlight experiences of my life so far. I am so grateful to both of these amazing Mysterious Ones for sharing their magick with me.

Tomorrow, I'm off to Tuscany for a week-long workshop on the sacred dances, songs and goddess worship of Southern Italy with Alessanda Belloni. Here's a link to the villa I'm staying at.

I hope everyone has a great week and I'll blog about my Italian adventures when I return.

May our every gesture,
May our every movement,
May our every step,
May our every action,
May our every word,
May our every thought,
Be ones of
Peace
Beauty
Love
and Compassion.

A Journey Through Time

2008-08-18T06:09:00.000-07:00

While visiting Hawai'i, we went to two sites which feature extensive examples of petroglyhps (and I would suggest spirit mapping).

The first site we visited was at Puako, north of the Kona airport and located on the grounds of the Mauna Lani resort. During a walk through a beautiful forest of gnarled kiawe trees, we passed small examples of lone petroglyhps, including the one pictured above. I was struck by the expression of the figure and what seems to be the yonic symbology between her/his(?) legs.

This next image was also one of the ones along the route to the site's main viewing platform. I got the impression that this was one of "the ancient Mysterious Ones" of Hawai'i - this is what I heard from the spirit of the place and Pele. When viewing other petroglyhps on the island and doing some reading upon returning home in "Spirit of Place: Petroglyhps of Hawi'i" by Georgia Leee and Edward Stasack, I realized there are a number of representations of composite beings - those who appear as combinations of human and animal. I (and researchers) take these to mean that they are representations of shamans, priestesses, Mysterious Ones, spirits, etc. - something related to mystery.

Of course, the turtle is prominent among the petroglyhps, and it's no wonder. These lovely creatures are everywhere around the island, and in the petroglyhps, there are examples of the composite images I mention above - a melding of turtle and human. (Interestingly, while dancing one morning on the beach, I met what I realized was a Queer Mysterious One who was part turtle and part human. Most lovely...) However, Lee and Stasack note that turtle petroglyhps aren't a common element in Hawaiian rock art - still, I saw them with some regularity - perhaps it was just the spots I visited.

At the end of the path is a very large slab of lava with carvings all over it. Taking pictures of this area was not only impossible but seemed rude somehow, given the power emanating from the spot. I experienced lots of visions going on in this place and incredible ancestral power bumps here. I got the impression that there was a gret deal of spirit mapping happening on this spot - the life of a people writ in the remnants of an ancient eruption. Lee and Stasack suggest that many of the figures are dancing here, and many are strongly female, with carved vulvas being very clear.

The second site we visited was Pu'uoloa in Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park, and it features over 20,000 petroglyphs. Looking at these images, I couldn't help but remember the spirit mapping work I've done with Donald Engstrom-Reese and how we've often discussed tha this type of expression can be found where-ever humans dwell. For me, this site reflected some of the maps I've done with various groups - people overlapping and adding to each other's images.

Most prominent at this site are small concave shapes dug into the rock. It is believed that at least some of these were used (and are still used) by Hawaiians to place their babies' umbilical cords in.

This image is one that I was particularly struck by. There really seems to be a story here of some sort.

I felt great ancestral power in this place, and as with much of the island (and on Maui last year), I had the impression from the spirit peoples of this land that there is a longing for Queer Priestesses of all stripes to return to their traditional roles. We have various vital functions that are going unfulfilled at this time, and of all times, the planet could really use it now. (See an interview with Malidoma Some for one idea about all this.)

That's it for today. More about the Ocean Mother and the glorious beaches of Hawai'i coming soon!

I Love Hawai'i

2008-08-16T10:08:00.000-07:00

Philip and I returned from the Big Island, Hawai'i, late on Thursday, and the trip was just as glorious as I hoped.

It's a magnificent spot, full of stunning beauty, incredible power and some incredible experiences that I don't think I'll ever forget.

After leaving the Blade, I found that escaping into a completely alternate reality was just what I needed. We arrived at the Kona airport, which is on the side of the island that is very desert-like, covered over by a large lava flow (I believe from Mauna Kea, or perhaps Mauna Loa). The land is completely blackened by lava, and along the road, people have used coral to create messages for passers-by.

All the words were of the friendly, loving variety - never once was there a crass "fuck you" to an ex-lover. Just symbols, including sea turtles, names and hearts. It was a sweet welcome to the island.

We stayed at the glamorous Waikoloa Marriott for the first five days, and the hotel butted up against the glorious, warm and loving Pacific. Every morning, I went out and walked along the beach as the sun rose, bathing myself in the waters of the ocean, dancing to the music of the waves on a lava outcropping and inhaling the deep scent of flowers blooming next to the waters. Most amazing.

At the hotel were groups of Green Sea Turtles who beached themselves at night and headed out in the dawn hours back to their feeding haunts. What gracious and beautiful creatures! We saw them in a few places, including swimming in the water. The island is also home to the endangered Hawksbill Turtle.

Tomorrow, I'll write about our trips to petroglyph spots on the island - so amazing!

(The first photo of me was taken near the Holei Sea Arch on the lava fields near Kilauea, home of the goddess Pele. We took photos quietly of the turtles who seemed oblivous to our presence, exhausted from a long day's swim. The final picture is one of the petroglyphs on the Waikoloa side of the island. More to come!)

Flowers for Pele

2008-07-30T11:13:00.000-07:00

Well, dear readers, today is my last day as features editor at the Washington Blade. I've been here almost three years and after some serious soul-searching and some amazing Mystery experiences, I realized it's time to move on. I'll be starting a yoga teacher training program in September, as well as deepening my belly dancing and tarantella studies.

First, though, I get to head to the lovely Hawaiian islands. My hubby and I leave on Saturday and return in two weeks. I am so excited, and I've been looking forward to this for almost a year now.

Our first trip to Hawaii was to Maui last September, and I was simply overwhelmed by the beauty and power of the island. From the constant sounds of the Ocean Mother's waves to the heights of Haleakala, the dormant volcano on the island and place of some major Pele power, I was enraptured.

In fact, being in Hawaii was one of the early instigators of my current choices to change my life as I have. Thanks to the power of Pele and her beautiful home, I'm moving in some very exciting and hopefully fruitful directions.

I'll definitely be putting up pictures when I return. Until then, everyone be well and eat more pie!

(The first image is by Herb Kawainui Kane, who wrote a great book about the lovely Pele. The second is by Susan Seddons Boulet. It's an image that was part of a goddess deck given to me by the fantastic Laurel for my birthday. It now sits on my Pele altar.)

Witches mean business

2008-07-27T14:54:00.000-07:00

I just returned today from the Pagan Leadership Skills Conference, an annual summer event focused on helping pagan folks learn some top-drawer organizational skills which can eventually help their home groups/covens/collectives/businesses flourish.

I did my first conference last year. One of the organizers called me to ask if I could fill in for the public relations/marketing teacher who had to cancel at the last moment. I said I would and went on to teach the same course track this year.

Although the event might give some pagans the willies because of corporate-sounding classes on marketing, event coordination, legalities, accounting, etc., I think it's a really great way to combine the so-called mundane skills with our sacred work. (Note: It's all sacred, folks. Our brains are sacred organs!!!)

What I realized, yet again, was that having strong organizational skills makes our home groups more effective at what we do - transforming the world. Instead of bemoaning the fact that nobody knows what our organizations are about, we can actually apply some modern business practices with a bit of witchy flair to deepen the impact we have on the world.

The other fabulous part of the event for me is getting to meet and know people from far-flung locales (this year, Texas, Ohio, Virginia, the Carolinas, and Georgia) and from traditions way different than my own experiences with Reclaiming, Queer Spirit and Faery work. (Plus, there's always the fun of running into people from a Baptist convention while wearing a dress, heels and make-up. No lie. They seemed to be especially taken with my red-painted toe nails. Go figure!)

There's also a bardic circle (what would a pagan gathering be without some kind of talent show thing, right?), fundraising dance evening Pomona's Ball, and opening and closing mini-rituals.

I highly recommend people check it out. In talking with participants who return repeatedly, I hear that what they learn really helps them to tighten up their groups and the reach of their collective arms.

(Above is one of my favorite photos. From what I understand, this hat is actually the traditional old women's hat of Wales. Now, these gals know how to work an outfit.)

Honor killings, my ass

2008-07-21T07:01:00.000-07:00

This morning, I came across this article from the U.K.'s Independent, and I am completely outraged.

It's being reported that a Turkish man, pictured above, was likely murdered in an "honor killing" by his family because he was openly gay. "Honor killings" are perpetrated on many, especially women who are breaking free from patriarchal "values," but this would be the first reported case of a man being the victim of one because of being gay.

Honestly, people, what the fuck?

My immediate response to these kinds of things usually runs the regular gamut of vengeful thoughts - kill them all, I want to see them suffer, where's a biblical earthquake when you need one, etc.

Then, I usually move into the more subtle curses, "May the perpetrators of this crime have their eyes opened to their own deeds," "May they fully drink from the waters of compassion," etc., etc.

Of course, this leads me to a slight form of narcissism, which I don't think is a bad thing for a witch actively engaged in transforming the world. If I'm willing to lay these things on someone else, what does my own slate look like? That's not to say I won't wish for those things - it's more whether or not I'm willing to deal with the fall out on my end.

Violence against queer people sends me through the fucking roof. While people of my parents' generation remember where they were when Kennedy was shot, I still have clear memories from the time I found out about Matthew Shepard's death.

On a related note, Malidoma Some, an initiated elder and representative of his village in Burkina Faso, has some fascinating things to say about queer peoples and the necessity of keeping queers a vital part of a community (and let's start with not killing them). Here's the interview he did on the subject - I'll write more about my own musings on this conversation tomorrow. In the meantime, check it out.

May the mysteries of death no longer be wielded as a weapon by anyone against anyone. Ever.

Just Peachy, thanks

2008-07-15T07:15:00.000-07:00

I went berserk with peaches this past weekend. At the farmer's market in Dupont Circle, there were peaches galore and I responded by buying up bags and bags of them.

One variety is called a "flame peach," and it's so succulent. I used these peaches for my yearly delight of peach-rosemary jam. With this variety, though, when boiled down, the juices are a deep blush color - just gorgeous. (This week's jam was made with some Faery help - thanks, loves!)

I also bought beautiful white peaches, combined them with black raspberries and a splash of rose water for a delightful pie.

Grandmother Bear has been particularly vocal lately about the need to "eat more pie, so when you die you'll be that much more the sweeter." I usually speak this spell to my pie crust while I'm rolling it out, and then once the shell is filled, I place a love-filled kiss on the top of the pastry.

Last week, I made a blackberry, raspberry and gooseberry pie that was a spell for abundance. It was only after my husband and I ate the entire thing in one evening that I remembered the spell that went into it. Magick is real, kittens!

Luckily, I had some white peaches left over, so this morning, I sliced one up to put on top of my corn pancakes, along with some wine berries (a relative of the raspberry, according to the farmer who sold them to me) and a drizzle of maple syrup.

Sadly, I don't have any pictures of these treats, because I lost my little digital camera. I'll be getting a new one in the next week or so, so more home-done photos will be forthcoming.

I'd love to hear about other people's summer baking adventures. These are ancient magickal acts that connect us to our ancestors, Gaia, the Fae and our deepest selves, plus it's just damned yummy!

UPDATE: Today's Washington Post featured this fun article about pie baking with a popular pastry chef. Enjoy!

Dancing for Change

2008-07-09T08:30:00.000-07:00

Last night, my hubby and I watched an amazing documentary called War Dance, released in 2007.

It follows a group of students at a northern Uganda school who make their way to a national music and dance competition in the southern part of the country. All of these kids live in a camp of 50,000 people displaced by the horrible internal conflict in that country, caused primarily by a group of rebels, the dreaded Lord's Resistance Army, who commit horrible acts of violence on the country, especially in the northern regions.

The stories of the children's lives are wrenching. The filmmakers, Sean Fine and Andrea Nix, did an incredible job presenting their individual stories and the collective story of this group heading off to the competition.

Readers of this blog (many being my dear friends) know of my love and devotion to dance as a sacred act. This film really helped to bolster my belief about the power of dance and music to transform people's lives — in this case, reconnecting these children with their humanity and their relationship to their history and ancestral power (something the rebels are robbing them of on a daily basis). As they were dancing the Bwola, a dance of their tribe, called the Acholi, I could see the power of their ancestors manifest in their bodies (as well as being able to see the actual spirits surrounding the children at the competition). It was breathtakingly beautiful and inspiring.

I am coming to believe more and more that the power of movement is not something that is just for special occasions — it's necessary to our equilibrium, personally and collectively (and by collective, I mean not just the human family, but our connections to the Earth and her many children).

I think committing to intentional dance on a regular basis would be a fantastic idea for many of us. Whenever I do yoga, belly dance or the tarantella, I start by honoring Mysterious Ones and/or ancestors and state an intention something like,

"With this dance,
I go deeper into the
Rose of Compassion.

I go deeper into my work
As a Priestess of the Body
A Priestess of Dance
A Priestess of Movement.

I know that my body
Changes my life;
I know that my body
Changes the lives of those around me;
I know that my body
Changes the world."

Then I dedicate that session's positive energy to someone or a group of people. Often, it's for the health and peace of my beloveds, and sometimes it's for those who have hurt me in my life (that was an energetic doozy at last week's bellydancing class).

Then I throw on a tarantella or Indian chant or James Brown or some Mary J. Blige and work it out.

Our bodies are the spell.

In honor of Klaus

2008-07-07T07:19:00.000-07:00

A few posts ago, I wrote about gender variant queer magick, and yesterday, I watched an amazing documentary about someone who did some incredible work that I see as being in this vein.

Klaus Nomi was an incredible singer and performer whose vocal range went way up into the traditional mezzo-soprano range. If he had come along just a tad later in the development of the counter-tenor movement of opera, he probably could have had an international opera career.

However, he ended up becoming a much sought-after performance artist, and I was stunned by his voice and performance power.

Sadly, he died early on in the AIDS crisis (so early in fact, that he was lying in a hospital bed and talking to a friend on the phone while watching news reports of the a "gay cancer."

Here is a You Tube clip of Nomi performing "The Cold Song" by 17th century English composer Henry Purcell. He performed this in Munich, shortly before the end of his life, and although it's different from his typical punk/pop fare, the operatic repertoire was a lifelong favorite of his.

I was deeply moved by this performance and piece. The music is divine, and Klaus' ability to negotiate this composition is nothing short of amazing. Despite the technical beauties of the piece, though, I am deeply moved by his performance, especially in the midst of the descending personal and collective health crisis that is happening at this time in his life and the life of queer people of the time. As he holds the last note on the word "death," I'm struck by the expression on his face. For me, I see betrayal and deep anger, even something accusatory.

Wherever you are, Klaus, I hope you are singing many, many concerts to all who will listen.

Juno, Goddess of Intentional Relationships

2008-06-30T13:33:00.000-07:00

On this, the final day of Juno's sacred month, let's talk a bit about what life is like now for this particular Queen of Heaven (many of the Mysterious Ones like using that honorific, and who can blame them?).

As this month comes to a close, she finishes up one of her busiest times of the year — the month of marriage. She holds the magick of hearth, home and committed, intentional relationships as incredibly powerful and culture-changing, and when invoked during the marriage rite, couples are entering a long heritage of culture workers who changed the world through deep love and co-creation (for what is family, but a co-created grouping of people living in love, honesty, desire and deep joy). She churns these sacred spells every day all across the Earth.

Taking a page from Donald Engstrom-Reese's bios of the Mysterious Ones, I'll organize this one in a similar fashion.

Juno holds a special place in her heart for:
Espresso
Italian-cut, dark, skirt and tailored jacket suits
High heels (black)
Beaded sandals
Shimmering gowns
Earrings reminiscent of celestial bodies
Rings
Bracelets, in particular golden arm cuffs
Glitter (although hers is made of comet- and stardust)
Warm summer nights
Lying in a heap of naked people, everyone petting one another
Fine pastries
Deep, dark chocolate
Latin and island men
Marble floors
A well-swept hearth
Homemade soups
Toasts made at dinner time
Champagne (preferably not rosé)
Weddings
Lillies
Flowing dresses (especially at weddings)
Well-tended flower gardens
All children regardless of shape, size, color, body, etc.
Mothers
Families of choice
Diamonds
Dogs
Flowing waters, especially rivers with their homes in the mountains
The ocean's waves
All islands, especially the home of dear heart-sister Pele
Beach cook outs
Home baked bread
Well fed families
Loving gazes shared between a man and a woman
The freedom, delight and abandoned lust shared between queer lovers
The magick of pregnancy and childbirth
Sturdy beds
Embroidered bedspreads
The palette of blue and silver

Juno is a friend of the following clans (among many others):
The Lily Clan
The Dog Clan
The Wolf Clan
All Bird Clans
The Bear Clan
The Peacock Clan
The Cabbage Clan
The Cocoa Clan
The Coffee Clan
The Orange Clan
The Lavender Clan
The Rosemary Clan
The Pine Tree Clan
The Snake Clan
The Rose Clan
The Cat Clan
The Horse Clan
The Firefly Clan
The Honeysuckle Clan
The Clan of the Wild Fae

For a bio of Juno, please see the next post.

(Photos come from a variety of spots. Both the beach and pregnancy shots were from AllPosters.com; I couldn't find individual credits. The hearth image is from SpitJack.com. The Stargazer Lily was taken by Derek Ramsey, 2007.)

Hail to Juno!

2008-06-28T05:15:00.000-07:00

For the remainder of June, I'm planning on blogging about one of my matrons who is near and dear to me - the lovely Juno. I chose this Erte painting called "Starstruck" because it's the one on my Juno altarat home. While walking through a Whole Foods one day, I saw a greeting card with this painting on it, and Juno told me that was the perfect image for my home. She's nothing if not glamorous.

This first post is a personal history of her as she showed it to me during a trance journey. Early next week, I'll blog more about what's going on with this particular Queen of Heaven nowadays. Blessings of Juno upon all your relationships, your hearths and your families.

Long, long ago, the great gidden Juno was born from the love of the moon and the earth. The moon goddess’ rays pierced the cunt of Gaia and from this lesbian love and lust, the lovely Juno came forth in a cave far in the mountains of what are now the Italian Alps.

With long blond hair and a body that shimmered with a lunar glow, she played amongst the snow-capped mountains. She learned to catch the lightning that struck the stony outcrops and hurl it to other peaks. She even discovered that she actually could call the bolts to her hand using only her voice, and she took great delight in her electric play.

During one particular full moon, she descended from her craggy home to get closer to a group of humans who were dancing in a sacred grove of trees. She stepped into the clearing and all activity stopped as they gazed on this luminous being before them.

A shamanic woman of the tribe stepped forward, and, gazing into Juno’s radiant blue eyes, she calmly thrust a knife into the goddess’ hand to see if she was indeed immortal. Juno was surprised, but not angry at this action, because of her own fascination with these humans and their passionate hearts.

Thus began Juno’s relationship with the human folks and the world below the mountains.

She met a Mysterious One of the forest, a being who was part man, part animal, and part Green Blood, akin to the Green Man lore of later times. He was darkly handsome, and they both fell in love. He was gentle with her and wonderfully sweet. Their passionate love making became the stuff of local legend, and they created many children together. It was during this time of love and her initial connections to a human tribe that she began to develop her own personal commitments to the magick of relationships, family, love and the hearth.

Years went by, and one day, her lover warned her that he would die soon, and sure enough, during sex one day he crossed over. His loss wounded Juno deeply, and in her grief, she left the lands now known as Tuscany and headed south to a small village that would become the blessing and scourge of the ancient world - Rome. The town was squalid and the women were lost in this patriarchal place. Juno felt deep compassion for these women and the tenuous relationships they formed with men who were often only concerned with themselves.

Part of the reasoning for this unequal balance of gender power was the Mysterious One who was himself committed to these people - Jupiter. He was ruggedly beautiful and certainly charming, but not exactly committed to anything close to co-creation.

Juno wandered through the village, often disguised as an old woman, teaching the women and men the ways of love, committed relationships, family, hearth and how intentional relationships could transform their lives and the world around them.

Although Juno and Jupiter met early upon her arrival, it wasn’t until later that he finally had his way with her. Their first sexual connection wasn’t rape, but it wasn’t exactly about equals, either. From what I’ve heard from Juno, he was a lover who could fuck your brains out in a wild way that was incredible at times. They formed a formal relationship together, and under their union, Rome flourished. The city grew and then the empire was born.

Her relationship with Jupiter was a tempestuous one. Early on, she taught him how to wield the thunderbolt, but he had to wear special gloves to hold it, for otherwise his hands would burn. She never foresaw that he would use this power for war and destruction. He also fucked around on her, which in and of itself didn’t bother her. What broke her heart and angered her deeply was his disregard for family, hearth and marriage magick. This caused the rift between them, and she began to degrade herself and the magick she specialized in as she continued to let the betrayal in her own relationship grow. She robed herself in the trappings of power with her great temple on the Capitoline Hill of Rome, but she knew it was all empty.

Away from her husband, she felt more like herself, so she often indulged in rejuvenating adventures. Juno traveled to Africa and learned a great deal about mothering from Mother Africa. To ease her heart and body, Juno made love on the full moons to forest spirits, giving birth to many Mysterious Ones of the wilderness.

As Rome grew, so, of course, did Jupiter’s fatuousness and arrogance. One day, a woman came to Juno’s Capitoline temple to pray about her troubled marriage. Jupiter arrived in the holy place, trying seduce and then rape the human. Juno heard the woman’s cries and arrived full of rage. As Jupiter and Juno began screaming at one another, the woman ran in terror (Juno would bless her marriage and her life in later years), and in his blustering anger, Jupiter raised his hand to Juno, Queen of Heaven.

Without hesitation, she called the thunderbolts down out of the sky. As they descended into the temple, Jupiter grabbed them with his naked hands, but when they seared his flesh deeply, he dropped them, howling in pain (he still bears the scars to this day). She picked them up and held their flashing tips to his throat; terrified of this raging goddess, he fled.

With their relationship finally in tatters, Rome itself really began to crumble. The Goths swept through the lands, Christianity took hold, and the empire was full of bloat and corruption. Juno taught her hearth ways to the invaders, and as she saw Christianity growing in strength, she visited the Virgin Mother, asking that this ancestral heroine remember her and her ways during Christianity’s (and the Holy Mother’s) ascent to power. Mary agreed and kept her promise to the Italian gidden.

After the empire had been truly destroyed and dark times descended on the land, Juno, deeply weary, retreated to her birthplace; casting protective spells around the cave’s entrance, she laid her sacred garments and jewelry around her and fell into a deep sleep.

In the mid-1800s, she was awakened by the sounds of war. She saw the destruction being wrought all over the globe and decided it was time to re-emerge. She revealed herself to queer people and women. She inspired artists and poets with her name. She attended large meetings of Mysterious Ones and formed a bond with her great heart-sister Pele.

She re-established her work with marriage, the home, and the family. All these elements of life are her cauldron where the real magick and transformation of thriving cultures is built from the smallest unit to the mightiest.

(Many of the images above, I couldn't find attribution for. The one of the Italian Alps, in particular a region called the Dolomites, had a credit to J. Allan Cash-Rapho. The head is most likely, technically of Hera, but Juno, her younger sister, said the likeness was close to her own empire days. The final image is of a coin from Vatican City, and Juno felt it was a perfect example of how her image and worked survived through the hands and power of the Virgin Mother.)

Gender Bending Magick

2008-06-25T03:46:00.000-07:00

The power of drag, third-gendered magick and Fifi, Great Drag Queen of Heaven, has been on my mind a lot lately.

My dear beloved Donald Engstrom-Reese is chronicling the biographies of Mysterious Ones, and he wrote this about Fifi. I absolutely loved it.

While he and I were talking one day, he said that Fifi and Kali were up to something, but he wasn't sure what. I decided to ask the lovely Kali on my way to work one day and she and Fifi (who showed up in a classic white pant suit, large -brimmed matching hat and indigo scarf) let me in on their gender bending plans.

As I was walking, I saw all the people before me transform into liberated folks who were wearing a mixture of male and female clothing. Hair was dyed, braided and punked out. Makeup was worn with abandon. Men wore heels, women wore studded jackets. Everyone was liberated from constricting roles that they didn't want anyway, and they were allowed to manfiest outwardly as their authentic selves.

Kali said this was directly related to people letting go of the egos they've built up and that no longer serve their (or the world's) best ends.

There was also something about this new way of being that allowed everyone to engage in sexual relationships that were based on true freedom and liberation.

Now, during this walk, I was wearing a typical outfit for me - powder blue pants, slightly ruffled pink shirt, women's sandal heels and big sunglasses (in fact, the same ones in the picture above). So, it was kind of gender-play business casual.

As Fifi and Kali were telling me about how dressing in this manner will change our sexual interactions, a black man probably in his late 40s or early 50s was walking toward me. He was in his bluecollar wear - genes, polo shirt, some sneakers. He nodded to me and said, "Hello," and I responded in kind.

As he passed me, he said, "Can I call you sometime?"

Politely, of course, I said, "I'm afraid not."

"You got a boyfriend?"

"Actually, I've got a husband."

"Oh, alright. Well, you look real good."

"Thank you!"

I floated all the way to work. Not only was it a lovely interaction, it fit in so perfectly with what Fifi and Kali were telling me.

I'm willing to say that we are at our most beautiful when we allow ourselves to manifest as we truly wish to be. Clothing, makeup, hair, accessories not worn in a commodified way, but as a true expression of who we are and our core values is an incredible spell-working that can shift those around us and (in the way of web magick) the world at large.

I asked the MOs if this was what the whole metrosexual movement was pointing toward, but they vehemently said no. That is the corporate capitalism version of it, meaning, as I took it, that there's no liberation or authenticity involved with that. (Big surprise, right?)

I think it would be great if we could all, at various times, start playing with notions of gender in our manner of dress or accessorizing. Maybe, you can't throw on a pair of clip-on pearl earrings at your job, gentlemen, but you might be able to bring a man-purse to work. Or, ladies, perhaps combat boots aren't an option, but a big, James Dean jacket is. The possibilities are endless, and, I would wager, completely transformative.

(The picture above is of me, left, and D.C.'s very own drag diva Barbara Bushwhacker. He was the hostess and I was a judge of the International Gay and Lesbian Aquatic Championship's drag synchronized swimming event. They asked me to do it, so I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to trot out a little Audrey Hepburn-esque number. Photo by Henry Linser.)

Happy Anniversary

2008-06-20T08:11:00.001-07:00

Philip and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary on Wednesday night, the full moon of June, which was the date of our marriage.

He had rehearsal that night, so I baked a strawberry-chocolate tart and brought it to the theater. With wine and other libations, the entire company (of which I was an integral part for so long, and of which Philip is now a Helen Hayes Award-winning member) toasted us and heard our recommitment to one another. We do this in front of at least one living witness every year, and this year's was especially sweet for both of us.

All hail to Juno, Queen of Heaven, patronness of relationships and the magick of ongoing, loving commitments!

(Above is a photo taken by Darren Santos, a photographer who was taking photos at Chef's Best, an annual event held by Food & Friends, a local non-profit that makes meals for people with HIV/AIDS and other terminal illnesses. They hold a yearly event where 60 of the top chefs in Washingon provide tastings of their food. It's an orgy of food and Philip and I had a wonderful time at it during our weekly date night.)

Mushroom Musings

2008-06-14T07:55:00.000-07:00

While out walking the other morning with the Fae, I stumbled across tiny, beautiful mushrooms in the grass by the road. The Fae told me that mushrooms can be an incredible tool of communication.

Go into a slightly altered state of consciousness (or dropped-and-open as us Reclaiming folks might say) and then connect with the mushrooms before you - speak your desire to them, and they'll take the information and spread it along the mushroom information highway.

This makes sense to me as many mushrooms are the visible fruiting bodies of an entire subterranean network of life.

One of my dear friends and I have often talked about how the Fae really push mushrooms as healing magick for the world and, particular, the ecological state of the world.

Here is a poem by the incredible, Pultizer Prize-winning (and lesbian) Mary Oliver about the mushroom folks.

Rain, and then
the cool pursed
lips of the wind
draw them
out of the ground -
red and yellow skulls
pummeling upward
through leaves,
through grasses,
through sand; astonishing
in their suddenness,
their quietude,
their wetness, they appear
on fall mornings, some
balancing in the earth
on one hoof
packed with poison,
others billowing chunkily, and delicious -
those who know
walk out to gather, choosing
the benign from flocks
of glitterers, sorcerers,
russulas,
panther caps,
shark-white death angels
in their torn veils
looking innocent as sugar
but full of paralysis:
to eat
is to stagger down
fast as mushrooms themselves
when they are done being perfect
and overnight
slide back under the shining
fields of rain.

I love this piece because of its birth-growth-fecundity-death-decay cycle, and there's something shamanistic about it - as there is about mushrooms themselves.

In some ways, I think the bit about the promised innocence of mushrooms and their possibly deadly side-effects can be applied to the Fae themselves. All too often, people get swept up in the supposed freedoms brought by the Fae and the power of ecstasy or "getting lost in Faeryland."

However, those freedoms are ones that are best experienced when tempered with wisdom and responsibility. Faery Freedom can perhaps be best described with a tree metaphor - each of us is like the tiniest branch of a large tree; we sail off into the air on our own, but we're supported by an entire network and community. If we decide to ignore that community, our connections to other people and obligations in our lives, we grow out of balance, becoming too heavy for those other tree limbs - perhaps even snapping off the main tree and carrying a whole bunch of other branches down with us.

That is not freedom. Yet all to often, I hear negative things about faeries from people who decide to forgo all sense in favor of experiencing what they think will be unadulterated bliss. Although I haven't worked with these particular faeries in this way, it's my understanding that there's a whole troop of fae who are more than willing to take people down the road to crazy if that's what individuals really want. Sometimes people come back having had a "learning experience" and sometimes people don't really come back at all.

I know of many who "warn" others about working with faeries, placing the blame on the fae themselves. There are unethical beings in all realms/species, but I think we need to look to ourselves before working with any being. A first question to ask yourself is "Why am I called to work with [fill in the blank - Juno, the Queer Gods, the Fae, etc.]?"

Answering this with brutal honesty will not only help to figure out what your real motives are, but will also more likely endear you to the Fae who know more about honesty than people give them credit for. I believe the Fae know us very well, and they know that, very often, it is only by indulging in our illusions that we can truly overcome them. While I certainly don't advocate this road, I know that for myself I've only been able to move beyond certain bugaboos by finding out just how shitty those paths can be.

I think there are times when the Fae put on their big compassion outfits, holding space for people to do work that breaks down their own illusions about themselves. It's not an easy space to hold, but it's one that can be done with some of the deepest love I've ever known. The Fae will hold that space if we ask them (again, only asking ones that we trust - don't ask strangers for candy, that's obvious). Undertaking this as a conscious choice is an act that is different than just calling a bunch of British-based royalist faeries we've never met before and then getting freaked out when they deliver on their brand of magick.

For those visiting here who don't know me, I don't personally work with the hierarchical, royalist Fae, because I don't believe in their entire set-up. The faeries I work with come from a different tribe, one that values freedom and wildness above all things. They've taught me many, many things in my life and more to come, I'm sure, but this image of true freedom as being like the branches of a tree is one that I love dearly and makes a lot of sense to me.

Well, that was a bit of a ramble from the mushroom post, but to tie it all back together - you wouldn't just pick up any mushroom from the forest floor and pop it into your mouth. And if you do, then do you blame the mushroom for being what it is? I should hope not.

(The photos were ones I took earlier this spring. I had been doing some drumming magick outside and saw a circle of these lovelies. I have no idea what they are, but oh, are they gorgeous! The other is of a tree in my area that is really striking - plus, it loves drumming sounds!)

Dancing with the Red Dragon

2008-06-05T13:45:00.000-07:00

All hail the Red Dragon!
All hail our red living blood!

Last Saturday, I rose with the sun (as is my circadian rhythm custom) and went to a little clearing near our apartment to drum.

I was practicing the tarantella rhythm known as the San Rocco rhythm, which was used during the Middle Ages to ward off the plague, and the Red Dragon came to me in the meadow.

S/he showed me a particular dance for communities to do to this rhythm, a dance that is meant to heal the relationships between peoples affected by blood-borne diseases. S/he also said that the healing of these relationships is essential to healing the disease itself.

When I think of how HIV/AIDS has affected my relationships with people and how I've seen it affect the relationships of various people in my life, I begin to have an inkling of understanding about how healing the relationships between people is integral to healing the illness itself.

I came into adolescence when AIDS was certainly already a strong presence in the world, and in particular, when it was hitting some of its most wide-sweeping initial numbers in America.

For me, sex held a component of danger to it through the scare-tactic educational programs that helped to keep me terrified of the connections between sex and AIDS. I clearly remember thinking that there was some chemical reaction that happened when sperm cells touched blood cells - voila! You have AIDS! (I had no idea that one partner had to actualy carry the disease.) I was especially terrified of this because while jerking off consistently I had gotten a rash around my cock. The skin was broken, and I thought I now had AIDS because of the sperm + blood = AIDS equation. I prayed to Jesus to keep me free from the disease. I think in his infinite kindness he pulled through by getting me some more clear education on how AIDS is really transmitted. Thanks, J.C.!

While I am grateful that the information was made available to me at that time of my life, I wonder if there was another way to approach it - one that would have educated me without linking sex and death so strongly in my adolescent brain.

With all that in my history, I wonder now how it would be if people who have HIV, diabetes, cancer, etc., and those who have loved, lost and tended people with blood-borne disease got together and did this dance shown to me.

In the center of the dance ground was a tall pole and on top was a model Red Dragon. It reminded me at once of the pole erected in the center of the plains Indians' Sun Dance. I think we can decorate the pole with painted, carved and written spells furthering the intention of the work.

The dance is done both in a circle and pairs, and involves spinning, weaving and playing with levels. It's not particularly difficult, I don't think, but even while doing it to solidify it in my mind that morning, I felt its power.

Hopefully, a community of us can get together soon and make it happen.

Also, I think it would be a grand idea to remember the Red Dragon and his/her powers while eating any red foods. (Again, see Donald Engstrom-Reese's site about a full-dinner option for this.)

That morning that I got this information, I thought I was bitten by mosquitos while drumming, but it turns out I ran into some poison ivy. The last couple of days have been pretty brutal, with my leg oozing an amber liquid non-stop (no, really...non-fucking-stop). It's really made me think about disease and what it must be like to have a chronic condition, especially one that's visible to the public. I've been pretty embarrassed about going out and seeing people look at my leg, or I've felt hard-pressed to maintain a compassionate heart when distracted by radiating shivers, pain, and, in some locations, maddening itching.

More grist for the mill!

All hail the Red Dragon!
All hail our red living blood!

(The first image, of red blood cells, I found uncredited at the blog My Father Has Lung Cancer, where a son wrote about his experiences with his father's cancer. The second image is the Welsh flag.)

Strawberry Fields Forever

2008-06-03T15:51:00.000-07:00

Oh, the joys of summer produce! Since reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, I've really tried to make the majority of my produce local (and therefore, seasonal). I feel this is an ethical choice as an earth-worshipping witch and view it as a commitment to the Green Bloods.

With the growing season going at full tilt now, I'm in absolute paradise.

Last Friday, I went up to Butler's Orchards (about 10 minutes away from me) and went strawberry picking. I sang to the berry faeries, the plants, earth, and sun, enjoying myself immensely.

It wasn't until I finished going over four 40-foot long rows that I realized I might be a little overloaded. After waddling down to the checkout stand, bags in tow, I found that I had picked 25 pounds of the Early Glow variety gems!

Giggling on the drive home (and not giggling lugging the bags up the four flights of steps to my apartment), I was excited about all the treats I could make with my treasures.

The next day I got to making jam - and lots of it.

I hulled.

I stirred.

Finally, I canned.

Half of the strawberries were done in a plain jam, and the other half, I scraped vanilla beans into the bubbling fruit, making it a delightful strawberry-vanilla treat. I remember my mother, stepfather, and I eating stawberries dipped in vanilla sugar on the porch during early summer, so I figured this would be a good bet.

While in the process, I sang to the fruit, danced hip-spells of plenty and sensuality, and kissed the beautiful berries, sending reminders of beauty, love, sensual pleasures, and the joys of summer into the jam.

Upcoming pick-your-own harvests are blueberries and blackberries (I make a killer Blackberry Bay Leaf jam - thanks, Martha! Some may mock me for my adoration of you, but I don't care!)

A garden in miniature

2008-05-29T17:39:00.000-07:00

At the urging of my dear friend, Donald Engstrom-Reese, I'm sharing my love of the Green Bloods.

Although I only have a balcony (there will be full earth someday!), I try and take full advantage of it, growing as many herbs and vegetables as I can comfortably fit (mind you, the definition of "comfortable" is completely subjective).

In years past, I've done tomatoes, acorn squash (which I adore), moonflowers and a smattering of herbs.

This year, I'm doing basil, of course. Every year, come mid- and late-summer, I can be found in my kitchen making fresh pesto with my mortar and pestle - truly the only way to go. I made pesto for years in a blender, but after seeing a handmade version in a cookbook by the eternally lovely Sophia Loren, I never went back. The pesto achieves a texture that is unbeatable.

I overwintered a lovely rosemary plant in my kitchen this year, and now s/he's happily outdoors again.

There's sage, which I (perhaps foolishly) let flower, because I love the purple blooms.

I'm doing Italian flat-leaf parsley this year, which I always end up wanting for recipes, including a wonderful one from Alice Waters' The Art of Simple Food. I make a salsa verde, again in the mortar and pestle. A handful of parsley leaves, one clove of garlic, the zest of a lemon, and olive oil get mashed together until I get a pesto-like consistency. This makes a wonderful dressing for egg or potato salad, as well as an incredible topping/spread for vegetarian sandwiches - oh, the possibilities are endless, really.

Chives were overwintered outside this year and are clearly growing like mad.

This year's experiments are rapini greens (known by Italian-Americans as broccoli rabe). They're a divine green that are wonderful sauteed with some olive oil and garlic and tossed with pasta and toasted pine nuts (garnished with some freshly grated parmigiano reggiano or romano cheese). The greens are also great in frittata, strata, and as salad and sandwich accents.

Not pictured are my rosa bianca eggplant - a variety I fell in love with last summer at my usual haunt, the Dupont Circle Farmers' Market. I couldn't get enough of it, and I roasted and a bunch of them, using slices for summer sandwiches as well as a great recipe of roasted eggplant halves, topped with avocado cream, goat cheese, chopped tomato and fresh cilantro.

I'm also attempting to grow an heirloom variety zucchini this year, partly because of a great recipe I saw for an Italian zucchini and lemon cake from a divine book by Gina De Palma titled Dolce Italiano.

I sing to my plants little impromptu numbers, either while planting them or watering them in the mornings. That and adding some charged quartz to the pots seems to make them happy.

I also keep one pot completely random and wild as an homage to the Faery folk of the green world. I started doing this last year as an offering, and if I'm not mistaken, this year it looks as if I have some kind of maple sapling growing in the pot. Once it's strong enough, I'll plant it somewhere safe, so it can grow into a big tree.

Most of this year's seeds were bought from the Baker Creek Heirloom Seed Co., located in Montana. They had wonderful varieties of vegetables and herbs, and I'm really pleased with my first purchases from them.

Every Tree is the World Tree

2008-05-23T03:47:00.000-07:00

I have always loved trees (perhaps an extension of my mother apparently walking through the woods when she was pregnant with me). They fill me with a great sense of mystery, peace, and power, and growing up in New England, I was surrounded by maple, spruce, and pine.

Since working with the Fae, my understanding of tree magick has deepened considerably. It's my understanding that every tree is the world tree - they are all connected. We can travel to other worlds using any tree we see - ones in our yards, on a city block, in the woods, or standing next to a lone house on the prarie.

When spending time yesterday morning with the Fae, I was reminded that we can speak spells into the trees, and they will immediately carry that magick to every tree all over the world. The power of that spell is then radiated out into the air through leaves and sunk deep into the earth through roots.

Quite literally, put your lips next to the bark, intentionally speak your spells of love, peace, beauty, whatever, and send it throughout the planet.

Speaking isn't the only way to achieve this. Send healing energy into a tree, spiraling out that power from your heart chakra. Sing a song into a tree. Touch a tree with intention, and all that will eventually make its way into the air we breathe and the ground we stand on. (One great way to do this for city dwellers is to brush them with your fingertips as you walk by; I do this all the time and find it not only works spells throughout the world, but connects me more deeply to the trees on my walking route.)

Blessed be the trees.

Some of my favorites are pictured throughout this post. The maples remind me of my New England home. The Joshua Trees are so magical and were one of my Grandmother Francis' favorites (they can be found in Arizona, and there's actually a national park dedicated to these beauties). Finally, the Ponderosa Pine is a stunning tree, and one of the world's largest stands of them is in Northern Arizona, along the Mogollan rim, a favorite haunt of mine when I lived in the Southwest.

(Most photo credits were hard to come by: The Ponderosa Pine image was taken by Buddy Mays.)

The Ghost Dance

2008-05-19T08:08:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've re-read "Black Elk Speaks," a book in the words of a Lakota holy man, Black Elk, transcribed by John G. Neihardt.

I originally read it in college during my American Indian lit course, but since that time, my own spiritual practice has deepened and expanded exponentially, providing me with a much different look at Black Elk's experience and visions.

Something, the shaman talks about is the famous Ghost Dance, a spiritual dance movement among Amerian Indians that began in the late 1800s in the plains and then spread all over the then-U.S. My general understanding of the dance is that it was a way to change the state of the American Indians (who were in grim circumstances by this point under the crushing heel of the U.S. government and white people); it was a major spiritual working that would restore the indigenous people to paths of beauty and harmony and power.

The government and many whites were so terrified of this dance and its empowering implications that it was outlawed and very often the dancers were attacked by whites and soldiers (some American Indians would walk, run, or ride toward the soldiers while in an ecstatic state, only to be gunned down).

Last Thursday, I and two of my dearest loves, Donald and Mark Engstrom-Reese, went to the National Museum of the American Indian to see the Identity By Design exhibit (through Aug. 3), which is a collection of native women's dresses. The clothing is beautiful, and one of the more spiritually moving moments was seeing three Ghost Dance dresses on loan to the museum. No pictures were allowed, and the garments were in a seculded area of the exhibit. (I saw some Ghost Dance images on the web, but I had real hesitation about including them here on my blog. There really is something too holy about them to include them without the context of movement, chant and spiritual intention.)

Both Donald and I had the impression that the Ghost Dance was a major initial step in turning the culture of North America towards paths of balance, harmony, love and connection. For me, Grandmother Spider arrived at the exhibit case and reminded me of how important spiritual dance can be - in this case, so much so that it terrified a seemingly unstoppable, criminal, murderous and tyrannical government.

What changes can we effect now when we put our bodies in motion with the deep heart of compassion and the intention for beauty, peace, pleasure and transformtion?

These are just some initial thoughts on my seeing the garments from the Ghost Dance and reading about them in "Black Elk Speaks." I hope to think deeper on these things and how I can add my energy to these necessary changes.

(The photo is by W. Ben Hunt, taken about 1939 in the Black Hills of South Dakota)

Fae Days

2008-05-01T07:53:00.000-07:00

One of my longest-standing magickal experiences has been with the Fey. As a child, I saw them, played with them, was comforted by them in hard times - we were pretty tight.

Years later, when going through my initiation process, I chose to become a priestess of the Wild Fae, the Silver Bloods, aligning myself with their ancient, healing, transformative and deep magick, because I believe so strongly in their tenants, their ways of embracing all aspects of life, their endless sense of love and compassion, and their commitment to great delight and beauty.

One of the things I hope to do periodically on this blog is share my experience with the Fae as a counterpoint to the reputation they've gotten from various sources (not the least of which is hideous artistic representations of doe-eyed cherubs staring out at the world from underneath buttercup hats - don't get me wrong, the Fae love a good hat, but still.).

I struggled for a long time with my calling to the Fae, partly because of the cloying ickiness of their represenation and also because they get a bad rap for being capricious and bothersome. It wasn't until I started exploring their world that I began diving deeply into it all and understanding more what it's about.

I work with Elavin, a fantastic Faery who, as I understand it, used to be one of the Queens of the Fae people, she eventually rejected that title as being too hierarchical (something she detests). Originally from the British Isles, she left the land very early in her reign, deciding to travel the world and see how others lived. She journeyed to India, where she introduced herself to Kali, partied hard in Italy and learned the ways of the Mediterranean Fae, wandered through Africa adorning herself with dark nuts and seeds and learning dances of creation and fecundity from the Fae there, painted herrself in tribal patterns in Australia, played the drums and abandoned herself to the ways of the Wild in North America upon meeting the Mysterious Ones of the land there. (I hear it told she has been dubbed a "friend of the bears" by none other than Grandmother Bear, and Grandmother Spider and Elavin became fast friends after Elavin presented herself to the Ancient One at one of her homes, Spider Rock in Canyon De Chelley.)

It was in the Americas where she found some of her greatest hope for how to take back the Ways of the Wild (which include a devotion to freedom) to her kingdom in the Isles. Once home, she presented all that she had learned through a series of talks around sacred fires, but there was much dissention from the ranks, and many thought she had gone mad during her journeys.

Her consort, the Faery King, was not confused, however, and shared her passion for shaking things up. There were great arguments between the Fae of her court over rulership, hierarchy and the need for change, yet Elavin and her King persisted, trying to create a clan, not a kingdom.

Many of the Fae abandoned the effort, too frightened by the prospects and too angry to see past their own needs, but a core group remained, and it is this group that now holds the name Clan of the Wild Ones, Those Who Run in the Moonlight, Those Who Dance Freely on Moss-Covered Trunks and Mushrooms, Those Who Fear No Freedom (among many other descriptors).

It's my understanding that much of this took place in the years from 600-1000 C.E.

More on the Fae another day, but on this May Day, perhaps spend some time outside, sitting in a place that speaks of wildness to you. This could be a garden, a spot by a beautiful tree in a city park, near a stream, lake or on a rock. Bring an offering of something that's precious (which could be lavender buds, a drop of honey or a handmade card - "precious" doesn't mean "expensive"), leave all expectations behind and open up to their depth.

(The above image is by Brian Froud, one of few artists who I think really captures the feeling of the Fae.)

Earthly Vanity

2008-04-22T10:07:00.000-07:00

These past three years around Earth Day I have highly anticipated and dreaded Vanity Fair's Green Issue. Anticipation because I love their writing (it's really never about the person on the cover, but about hardcore issues affecting the world's political, cultural and social landscapes) and dread because the news about our dear Mother Earth is so often gut-wrenching.

Last year, I cried a good while after reading articles about China's dire water problems and the oil industry's heinous actions in the Amazon.

This morning I finished an article titled "The Arctic Oil Rush" (check out the entire issue online - it's worth it). Various countires are scrambling to claim rights to the Arctic because of the oil possibilities lying under a rapidly shrinking ice world (the irony of this is simply stunning - the world is warming up because of oil, revealing more and we go right for it).

The most interesting part was that the author spoke to Northern Russian locals, including some of the few remaining shamans, and they said that the climate changes are the results of humanity's poor treatment of nature. Part of their proof in the pudding surrounds the mammoth bones that are surfacing due to permafrost melt. People are starting to gather the tusks to sell on a still-flourishing ivory market, but the elders of the communities don't think this is such a hot idea.

"One of the results of the melting is that too many mammoth bones appear on the land and people are collecting them," the article quotes one of the locals as saying. "But in our tradition the mammoth is the spirit of the underworld and we can't take their bones. So the elders are saying we have awakened these underworld spirits. The main thesis of our traditional view is: Don't take from nature more than you need; if you take more, you are not respecting nature."

Later in the artilce, the author, Alex Shoumatoff, points out that diseases like small pox and anthrax can lurk in the corpses of things frozen beneath layers of ice. As the ice melts, the germs get released, etc., and he adds in a bout of dark irony that perhaps those underworld spirits aren't fooling around.

I love this year's cover image. Putting the persona of Madonna aside, I love this sexy woman standing between the Earth and any potential harm. The look in her eyes is one of challenge and also seduction, combining two things in my life that mean a great deal to me: sensuality and Earth magick.

Our bodies are the spell

2008-04-12T10:44:00.000-07:00

As I go deeper and deeper into my work as a priestess of the body, I am overwhelmed by the magickal gift that my body is.

My body is not just a temple, it is the ritual itself.

Yesterday, I did some tarantella work on my own, releasing all manner of things that no longer served me, and then, this morning, at my bellydancing classes, I again moved magick through my body, expressing desire, healing, love, compassion and deep joy with my hips, hands, eyes, lips, legs, all parts of me.

I think in our current culture, even among pagan types, we all too often separate
our bodies from "ourselves." More and more, I'm understanding this isn't just some vessel, but a singificant part of the magick itself. A quick glance at many of the world's pre-Christian ecstatic traditions is enough to support that.

A local poet I know, Kathi Wolfe, wrote the following piece as the closing for her recently published chapbook, "Helen Take the Stage: The Helen Keller Poems" (you can order the book here, and I highly recommend it!).

The entire book is from the fictionized point of view of Helen Keller. I loved this last poem, because I felt that it so expresses so much of what I experience when I'm in movement.

Dancing with Martha Graham

Flying is only for the gods, I think, until
you hold me so close your sweat becomes mine,
my sandals barely touch the ground,
my silk dress melts into your organza gown,
you twirl me like a pixilated top, and I fly
quick as Teletype, smooth as a martini
on a summer night, beyond sound,
beyond light.

(Photos: The top image is one that I found at www.lartenoscia.it, and it's of the Pizzica Tarantella, the incredible tarantella dance ritual that I mentioned above. The second photo is of the Daha Ata Sannya, and exorcism dance of Southeast Asia. Photo credit goes to Sanka Vidanagana, AFP/Getty. Finally, the last picture, taken in 1908 by Edward S. Curtis, is of a Crow man performing the Plains Indians' famous Sun Dance ritual.)

Cybele, Golden Lion of Change

2008-04-07T13:41:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, I was up at the New York Open Center, participating in a workshop led by Alessandra Belloni. This all-day event focused heavily on the drumming and dancing associated with the tammorriata rhythm, which connects to the Black Madonna and Cybele.

The rhythm is a very resonant, powerful beat that provides an easy entree into trancing out, and I really noticed yesterday how body-centric the rhythm is. The drumming style takes physical stamina, and moving the entire body helps to keep the flow going. Plus, the placement of the drum for different drumming techniques causes different areas of the body to vibrate, notably the heart, solar plexus and sexual chakras.

I began working with Cybele in earnest after reading more about the Galli, her priestesses, who were often queer men. They were an ecstatic cult that used drumming (with the frame drum), dance, ritualized performance and sexuality to access divine experiences. Notably, they often mocked the status quo - after all, they often wore long, blond wigs and wild makeup. They were legendary for a certain yell they let loose that was deafeningly loud; I suspect these cries actually held ritualized magical power.

These men frequently castrated themselves in wild, sacred rituals, throwing their genitals on a large rock or onto the earth. Although this initially gave me shivers (and not in a good way), I soon realized what a powerful act this self-castration was in a society like Rome that was so patriarchal - these priestesses kept their power while being physically emasculated. (Pictured above is a gallus, with frame drum and other instruments close by.)

Cybele is frequently associated with and pictured with lions, and the Galli were sometimes called the lions of Cybele. In my own visions of her I see her as a large, maned lion, although she also appears to me in a large woman's form. (The image below was one found at an ancient archaeological site, Catal Huyuk, in Turkey. Some researchers believe this statue was of Cybele. Note the lions at her sides.)

Yesterday, we learned a chant dedicated to the Black Madonna, who, in later years in Italy, became the newest outward appearance of Cybele, a way of blending the conquering the Christianity with the old ways. Alessandra talked about an area of Southern Italy where men still play the drums while walking up a specific mountain, going into a cave and into a sacred spring. The women soon follow singing the song dedicated to the Great Mother.

We learned that chant and rhythm, and it is most beautiful. All the while, a painting of the Black Madonna hung by an altar, and throughout the day, I would look up and see her beautiful face. I felt so grateful to be there and access the rituals and dances associated with Cybele and her priestesses - men, women and those in-between. I felt as if I was connecting to a deep part of my spiritual history as a queer priestess when doing these sacred dances dedicated to her.

Of course, we also worked our juju with the Pizzica Tarantella, a tarantella dance ritual, and it was really moving and, I suspect for myself, deeply powerful. More on that later, as I get a deeper understanding of what this particular ritual meant.

Feasting St. Joseph

2008-03-31T09:36:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I was asked by a good friend of mine to be part of the entertainment for Dignity Washington's Feast of St. Joseph celebration. Dignity is a national group for gay Catholics, and I hadn't been to one of their events before this weekend.

Set in the parish hall of a local church, there was an altar at the far end of the room dedicated to St. Joseph, including icons, statues, candles and large rounds of freshly baked breads. (Happily, there were images to the Madonna on there, including some Black Madonna works - hello, Cybele!)

In many ways, the evening reminded me of childhood excursions to any Italian Catholic church. Everyone there was very friendly, and with the smells of roasting chicken, marinara and meatballs wafting from the kitchen, it all seemed very familiar. (Not to mention the platter of fresh cannoli tempting me to the dessert table!)

My friend had asked me to perform some bellydancing numbers, so using the Pussycat Dolls' "Buttons" and a Middle-Eastern take on "I Put A Spell On You" by Natacha Atlas, I dressed in my skimpy best and went for it. Before going out, I crafted the intention of reminding everyone of the joys to be found in sensual pleasures and the reminder that the fullness of life itself is to be found in those sensual pleasures.

After the dancing, I performed two Italian folk songs, and it was the first time I've sung solo in public for a very long time. It was great for me to do and a potent reminder of how evocative and magical the human voice really is.

At the end of the evening, one of the people at the event told me that he really saw/felt the relationship between the sensual and the spiritual in my performance, and his comment warmed my heart immensely. Sounds like that intention got through!

(The image above is one of my favorite of St. Joseph by Georges de La Tour, 1640; my stepfather introduced this work to me, and having seen it in Paris, I was, indeed, amazed by the work's luminosity)

Baking spells

2008-03-24T05:39:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, I made the bread pictured here. It's a traditional Italian Easter bread that's very slightly sweet and has orange zest in it. Plus, of course, the eggs, which get roasted while baking, are part of the treat.

I decorated the eggs with various symbols matching the intention I crafted before starting the entire process. I sang, danced, and kneaded, guiding the energy into the dough, which I love to do.

Although many recipes call for using the trusty Kitchen Aid for mixing, I often prefer to do it by hand, especially when I'm actively working magick into the material - which, to be honest, I almost always do.

This morning, I had a slice of the bread along with some AMAZING organic toasted Hazlenuts from Sicily suspended in honey from Tuscanny. It was sheer heaven!

Lately, I've been cooking my way through Gina DePalma's "Dolce Italiano," an incredible book of Italian desserts which are so different than the standard sweet fare.

I recently baked the Torta di Polenta Con Agrumi from her book - a cake that uses flour and polenta as the grain, mixed with orange, lemon and lime zests, topped with a glaze of confectioners' sugar and the juice of the citrus fruits. It was divine. Interestingly, there was no butter - the only fat was, of course, olive oil.

That spell was about bringing joy and pleasure into the lives of those who ate the cake, and at least while we were eating it, I knew this to be true (especially when Philip and I each ate a piece at the breakfast table on Monday morning!).

Forging my own path

2008-03-22T11:48:00.000-07:00

It's been one year since my big witch initiation, and as luck (or Mystery) would have it, I had jury duty one day before the equinox. I was done at 10:30 and went home, instead of back to work, and decided to honor the one year mark.

I took a bath with herbs from initiation day, and I lined the way to the tub with stones given to me by my initiators.

After inviting all the Mysterious Ones, they released me from a number of obligations that I had been doing for the past year (saying my Queer Medicine Wheel prayers daily, going to bellydancing once each week, etc.), and they asked me what I wanted.

It's amazing to me that shortly before the one-year mark I connected to all this work with the tarantati and Cyebele, things that bring my spiritual path into clearer focus with an incredible intensity.

I made my declarations and entered the room and the tub, allowing the magick to do its work.

On the Equinox itself, I greeted the sun with a traditional Italian chant for the sun to rise and send its healing rays to the Earth.

Yesterday, I practiced my drum rhythms in a park, enjoying the sunlight, the sound of rushing water from a nearby creek and the power of the drum to connect me with my ancestors, the Earth Mother, Cybele, the ancestral tarantati and Galli and the fey of the land where I was playing.

In a couple of weeks, I'll be attending an all-day workshop with Alessandra Belloni, which covers various rhythms and dances from Southern Italy. I've done shorter sessions, and I'm very much looking forward to trying this longer one. Until then, it's more practice and experiementation!

(The photo above is one that I took yesterday of my drum in the grass. On top of it is a necklace of Cybele - at least that's who I see it as being - that my dear heart sister Molly got for me for my birthday this year. There's also a bracelet of Virign Mothers there. Cybele became synchronous with the Black Madonna for many Italians as Christianity took hold. There's also a beaded piece that I wear on my belt - it's a reminder of impermanence and also a connection to the spider magick that I do.)

San Rocco

2008-03-18T06:49:00.001-07:00

This past weekend, March 15, I went to another tarantella workshop with Alessandra Belloni. Again, it was intense, powerful and completely amazing.

We spent most of the first half just working the rhythms of the tarantella, an incredibly fast 6/8 or 12/8 rhythm that truly induces a trance state.

One of the versions we did is connected to San Rocco (also Saint Roch). He came to Italy during a terrible bout of the plague, and after healing himself from the disease, he became a great healer for others. To this day, there's a regular festival where people do ritual drumming in the streets, warding off disease with this powerful rhythm.

Interestingly, last summer, I went to New York City's Cloisters museum (part of the Metropolitan and located along the Hudson River) and was completely entranced by the statue seen above. It's of St. Roch, and what drew me to it was its very queer energy. Here he is in these hot pants in a very fey pose (a traditional rendering after looking through a Google image search on the saint). He's exposing the sore on his leg related to the plague, and usually he's pictured with a dog, who brought him food during his near-death illness.

My reaction to the statue stuck with me, and then, while practicing this rhythm, I was really drawn to the beat, the sound and the power of it. After putting the two together, I'm very curious to see if there's a connection between Rocco and queer people. That might be the intention of an upcoming trance-journey as well as some scholarly research.

(The statue is painted oak, found in Normandy, dating to the early 16th century. It joined the Cloisters Collection in 1925, I found the photo during a Google image search, and unfortunately, can only attribute it to WallyG)

Nonna Constantino

2008-03-11T07:01:00.001-07:00

This past weekend, I got to talk to my Dad about his mother, Josephine (maiden name) Constantino. She died of cancer long before I was born, but I do have a relationship with her from beyond the veil.

I've heard a lot from her about cooking, while I'm preparing food, and lo and behold, it turns out she owned J's Luncheonette for a period of time, a place that served breakfast and lunch and later moved on to serving dinners!

My father has never really spoken of her to me, but recently, I've been asking more questions about her.

The red-haired Josephine was a "firebrand," according to my Dad, enjoying her Scotch and Chesterfield cigarettes. She went to church every Sunday and prayed frequently to Mary Magdalene (most interesting considering my own tight relationship with the Divine Miss M., as I like to call her). My dad thinks that her family was also from Calabria and perhaps one side was from Sicily (not surprising given the close proximity).

Most amazingly, my dad said she would cure him of the "malocchio." In Italian culture, this is the dreaded "evil eye" brought about my someone's envy, negative thoughts or hyper-fixation on another individual. My dad has memories of my grandmother doing something with olive oil and saying some special words to him, removing blinding headaches that he got as a child (prolonged headaches are seen as one of the symptoms of the malocchio). I've heard of the ritual involving olive oil, water, salt and special prayers, so this was incredible to hear that my grandmother was working some juju. The ritual is passed down among the women in the family, although I'd like to think she might have told me had she lived to know me.

How I wish I had met her in life...

(Above right is an image I found on the web of an Italian wise woman, ready with her bowl, to lift the malocchio.)

A Night of Tarantella

2008-03-02T05:13:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I went up to New York to take a workshop with Alessandra Belloni, a brilliant performer, healer and ritualist who uses the sacred dances and rhythms of Southern Italy for healing and empowering magick.

The four-hour workshop was completely amazing and, I suspect, life changing. It brought together so many strands of spiritual and personal work that I've been doing for the last five years, as well as my history as an actor and dancer.

We spent the first two hours working on the rhythms and chants associated with the tarantella and the Black Madonna (who, apparently, was Cybele in pre-Christian times). The rhythms are remarkable, complex, beautiful and also full of real power.

After this we began working on dances, the first being a choreographed set and the second being an ecstatic healing ritual based on the tarantella.

I came to this through a book I found at the Library of Congress called "The Land of Remorse." In the '50s, an anthropologist went to Southern Italy (where my ancestors are from, actually) and looked at the phenomenon behind the tarantella, an ecstatic healing dance meant to heal the "afflicted" from a spider bite. However, the tarantati (the name for those bitten by the spider) would exhibit similar symptoms (overt sexuality, aggression and depression) year after year, sometimes for their entire lives. Usually they were women, but men would experience this, as well. The men were often gay as were some of the women (a suspicion I had on diving into the book and confirmed by Alessandra last night). Often, these people were not bitten by a physical spider but (what I would call) a spirit spider. The tarantati would be healed through ecstatic dance, wearing bright colors and working these ancient rhythms.

This is my understanding of all this up to this point, and I am just at the very beginning of looking at all this.

For me, personally, I'm stunned at how this connects to the spider work I've been doing, the sacred dance work, my connection to Cybele, my queer spirit dedication, and my own personal ancestry. Much of this took place in Southern Italy, including Calabria, where my ancestors are from. Apparently, the Southern Italians are akin to the Native Americans - they were indigenous peoples who kept their ways even with the advent of empire and Judeo-Christian ideas.

I'm hoping to attend her all-day workshop on April 6. Most amazing!

(The photo is of a statue by Francisque-Joseph Duret, titled "Neapolitan Fisherman Dancing the Tarantella," 1833.)

Ancient Mystery

2008-02-24T09:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I visited a couple Smithsonian museums with my parents, who were in town to see Philip play Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet. (He's most amazing and has gotten tons of fab reviews from all the press in town, including the Washington Post.)

I finally got to see the Walt Disney-Tishman collection of African art at the African Art Museum. The collection, over 500-pieces strong, is only partially displayed (about 85 pieces) and is most remarkable. The artistry of the Yoruban people as well as folks from parts of Central Africa is stunning and deeply moving on emotional and spiritual levels.

The mask pictured at left struck me because of its relation to the spider mysteries that I mention in the post below. The eyes of the mask are made of spider's silk, and the tribe would ingest crushed-up spider bodies in divination potions. Given that I've often worked with Grandmother Spider on viewing the world with a spider's eyes, I loved that this mask helped the wearer to do that. Plus, while looking at it, I felt a real surge of power from the mask itself and its history.

This mask, pictured at right, was astounding because of its sheer size (almost six feet wide!).

Many of the masks in the exhibition were really large and made me wonder how on earth people danced while wearing them (or how they even kept their heads upright). This example, and others, really gave me an energetic zing while looking at them, and at times, I could hear whisperings in other tongues from the objects themselves.

When I go to a museum, I try just to look and experience without reading placards until after I feel I've gotten my own intuitive information from it. Often, the energetic expression I get from the work coincides damn near perfectly with the avaialble scholarship on the piece.

The Disney-Tishman collection is on display through Sept. of this year, so if you're in town, I highly recommend it. Check out more information here.

Spider Magick

2008-02-23T06:17:00.000-08:00

For me, there are no poems or songs that can adequately express the beauty and grace of Grandmother Spider and the magick of the spider people. In almost all of the world's environment, there are spiders. When I went to Hawaii this past fall and was at the summit of Haleakala, the dormant volcano on Maui, the near-barren environment played host to only three or four creatures. One of them was a spider.

"Of course you're here," I thought with delight, knowing that She is everywhere in our world.

I first encountered this great goddess in Canyon De Chelley on the Navajo reservation in northern Arizona. At the end of the canyon is Spider Rock, pictured at right, one of her traditional homes, and her presence there was palpable.

Years later, at my first witch camp, I met her in a whole new way in the center of a labyrinth, and since that time, she has been one of my matrons.

Spider magick is, in many ways, a baseline for the work that I do. It's a way of sending energy, creating patterns of energy, traveling throught the Multiverse - all manner of energetic and ritualized experience.

As I see it and understand it, everything in our world is made up of the Web of Creation - air, water, rock, furntiture from Ikea. Everything we can perceive with our senses, as well as thought, emotion, intention, is made up of strands of energy - the web. With our intentions, we create.

In some early Southwestern myths, the Spider Woman thinks creation into existence. I find this fascinating because in some research on quantum phsyics our thoughts hook up to an actual point in space. (Recently, some people I know have been taken with "The Secret," a new book and video about the power of our thoughts and intention. In many ways, I see this book as spirituality for a secular culture, but as one person was going on about it to me, I couldn't help but think how earlier peoples held similar beliefs and that the Spider's web was a way of explaining how our intentions can travel in the world and manifest at their given destinations.)

I spin webs of intention and magick throughout the day. This can be for sick loved ones, people who need a little extra support and strength, or just random webs on the Metro. My webs in public places are ones of compassion, peace of heart, Queer Mystery, whatever. It's my understanding that people passing through the webs pick up on the energy and it begins to resonate in their own bodies - like attracts like. (One of my favorites is a web of beauty in the doorways of the gym - "May all beings passing through this web open up to seeing beauty in themselves and those around them" - so often, people at the gym are there to ease anxiety about their bodies instead of for reasons of health, feeling good, and the beauty of movement.)

For me, different web patterns have different purposes - some are better for healing than others, while the intricate pattern of an orb-weaver's web also has its own particular functions.

I see the strands of the Web of Creation in people's bodies and the world around me, and very often those strands are various colors that have different meanings - desire, anger, joy, depression, chaos, etc.

For those interested in exploring this, I would suggest paying a visit to Grandmother Spider, although be aware that she is not like the humanoid Mysterious Ones and doesn't quite have their viewpoint. Frankly, I find this to be a really good thing and one of the elements that I most enjoy about her.

Grandma Hands

2008-02-19T19:06:00.000-08:00

While cooking food in the kitchen of Dreamroads Witch Camp with two of my dearest witch sisters in the summer of 2006, I focused on the magickal power of preparing food. Perhaps one of my greatest teachers in this is my lovely heart sister Molly, who is one of the most inspiring kitchen witches I know.

She, our sister Relaeh and I created a beautiful kitchen altar and focused daily on what spiritual support our food could give to this community, and it was an utter delight.

One night was Italian night, and I decided to make a homemade marinara sauce as my family has always done (jarred sauce was sort of a sacrilege in my house - gotta love those Italian drama queens!).

I called on my grandmother Josephine, my father's mother, to be present in my hands, and I felt her nearby, reminding me that she's always there, always working with me in my blood, my ancestral memory, and my kitchen creations. This was especially meaningful for me as she died long before I was born - something I still lament, despite a strong relationship from across the veil.

That day, I made the sauce with a healthy measurement of grandmotherly intuition, and it was wonderful.

Since then, before picking up a spoon or knife in the kitchen, I pray to my grandmothers to be present in my hands, and we cook together (frequently listening to Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Connie Francis and Rosemary Clooney). It's a wonderful time for me to connect with them and the wisdom of the home they've passed down to me.

Try it sometime, and don't be surprised if they start making suggestions!

May our ancestors fill our kitchens and food with nourishing love!

Queer Medicine Wheel Introduction

2008-02-15T06:55:00.000-08:00

Here at the Flaming Rose, I'm hoping to chronicle some of my experiences with Mystery, including various projects I'm working on to help bring about some wonderful, juicy transformations here in our world (and, consequently, the Multiverse at large!).

For over a year now, I've been working on Queer Medicine Wheels. Below is some introductory text on the wheels, as well as an up-to-date list of the ones I've created so far. As I continue to make them, I'll put up photographs of them.

The current photo is of one that I made out of beads and wire. Each bead has a prayer associated with it, and for almost the last year, I've been saying the prayers pretty much daily.

Enjoy!

Queer Medicine Wheels
by Greg Fletcher-Marzullo

(Last updated Feb. 2008)

I settled into a trance journey to meet up with the Queer Mysterious Ones, sitting on my couch, wrapped in a cozy blanket. I grounded, focused and began to slip between the worlds.

A big, muscley, leather-daddy type that I'll call the Queer God came to my apartment and whisked me away to an old subway station that looked as if it was in New York.

Out of the dark tunnels and dimly lit platforms came various Queer Mysterious Ones, Queer Ancestors, including the Galli (Mediterranean Queer priestesses of Kybele). Some of the beings were part-animal and part-human, others were not recognizably human or earth animals at all. I saw Ganymede, Queer One of the Modern Age, and Fifi, Drag Queen of Heaven, among the crowds.

"We've abided in the shadows for so many years, and now we're breaking through to the light," the Queer God said.

A large S&M type of wheel floated out of the crowd and came to rest in front of me. It had multiple spokes on it that met in a central hub. The Queer God wanted to tie me onto it.

"Wait a moment," I said. "What is this all about? Ineed some more information. "

"This is the Queer Medicine Wheel," said the Queer God.

I looked closer, and the spokes of the wheel were comprised of and decorated with different material. Some were encrusted with gems, others were woven of leather. Some were just energy appearing as beams of colored light.

Ganymede, whom I work with regularly, came forward to reassure me, and I decided I would hop onto the wheel so I could understand it better.

They tied me down and set it spinning. I swirled around and around, losing all sense of space and time.

I saw, heard and felt Queer history. I saw the original Galli, the Troubadours, the beginnings of the Radical Faeires and Queer Spirit movements. I saw the beginnings of HIV/AIDS and the modern age.

I saw Queer Mysterious Ones from across the Multiverse creating Queer Medicine Wheels in their own elements. Some were using stones on grassy plains; some were underwater and using currents; some were in jungles; some were in worlds I couldn't possibly describe or conceptualize.

Each Wheel energetically hooked up to one another, like the "primitive" labyrinths that connect across the globe. I came to understand that the Wheels create a nexus of Queer Power across the Multiverse.

The spokes of the wheels all return to the center hub, creating a totality of Queer Spirit. All the experiences and glories of sex return there. Love leads there. Marriage leads there. Revolution leads there. HIV/AIDS leads there. Death leads there. My understanding is that all Queer experiences can lead back to this Queer Spirit Center if we can consciously work that somehow.
In the center stand the Queer Mysterious Ones, yet they fling their arms wide, becoming the outer edge of the circle as well.

"Build Queer Medicine Wheels," the Queer God said. "We've been developing this technology for years."

They stopped the wheel from spinning, and I was back in the subway station. Ganymede led me home to my apartment and my body.

*******

Since that time, I've been working on these wheels.

The first was a chalk drawing done in one of the parking lots of my apartment complex. I cast a circle, honored the quarters/elements and called in various Queer Mysterious Ones and ancestors. Then I drew the wheel out, drawing spirit map and other symbols along each spoke which represented different portions of my life. Visually and energetically each facet of my life connected to the central hub and outer rim of Queer Mystery - home, priestess work, sex, art, gardening, body work, etc. As I was doing this, a group of children came to play football around me, running through the wheel (after asking permission politely), and I could see them picking up its energy and tracking it on their feet.
Ganesha said to me, "You will live to see this work live on."
Other children asked to contribute different drawings, and of course, I let them. One little girl (named "Ocean" no less) was drawing snakes and spirals of her own volition. Most amazing!

I created another wheel in a local park out of pine cones, dirt and sticks among four large pine trees, setting an intention down with each spoke, saying prayers over each object placed in the wheel.

With blue and yellow corn meal, I created a wheel on the National Mall.

With a dear, dear friend, we created a wheel with found natural objects in a park, on the banks of a lake. This was the first time I shared doing this with another person, and it was an absolute magickal delight to see the beautiful result.

At a Queer Men's gathering over Memorial Day weekend 2007, I shared time with a group of men interested in trying this out. We all wandered the rural land where we were staying and gathered various objects to bring back to the site where we would build our wheel. Each of the people then created beautiful spokes out of rocks, seed pods, jewelry, vines and other materials and then shared the meaning behind their choices and their spokes.

I created a wheel out of beads for my initiation last spring. I wrote prayers for each bead with a central repeated prayer being, "With every footstep, a great Queer Medicine Wheel turns to meet my feet." Each prayer was a haiku, a form I really enjoy. I say these prayers every day while walking in various places, setting the spell into my heart, body and the places where I walk - the Metro, the city sidewalks, the airport.

On the fall equinox, two other Queer men and I did a long series of sun salutations dedicating the energy to various places that needed it. I had brought the beaded wheel with me and set it out on our impromptu altar. For some of the salutations, I said a prayer and then we did the movement, melding the power of yoga, our magickal bodies, breath, words and the wheel into a beautiful communal spell.

On Halloween this year, I created another wheel for Queer ancestors in the park near my house.

At the park near Dupont Circle (lovingly called "P Street Beach" by us local types), I created a wheel of dried beans, corn meal and rose petals. Oh, I enjoyed that one!

On a cold December night, I sketched out one on a card, using primarily Spirit Map symbols (more on that in another blog) along the spokes. I've sinced framed it and am looking for the right spot in our home to hang it.

Using a pizza stone as a canvas, I painted a wheel onto it that represented various spokes of my spiritual work. After painting, I set it on the floor, turned on some music and worked some sacred dance energy into the object, setting the intention of deepening my own work as a Queer priestess into the wheel. It now rests in front of my large, working altar at the hearth.