Friends

http://www.thelema.nu/archives/310

Earlier today I was given the preliminary details of the centenary celebration of Bhikkhu Ananda Metteyya’s Buddhist Mission to the United Kingdom in 1908. The conference, Establishment of Buddhism in the U.K. (1908-2008), will be at Brent Town Hall, Forty Lane, Wembley, Middlesex HA9 9HX on Sunday, 28 September, 2008 from approximately 14:00 to 21:30. The conference is being presented by the World Buddhist Foundation.

The conference will consist of a number of events including an exhibition of material related to Ananda Metteyya and his proselytizing of Buddhism, a video about him, a workshop and roundtable discussion of his work. The evening will end with a number of lectures and singing by a Buddhist Choir.

I will be attending the celebration, and am tentatively participating in some capacity at the workshop; the extent of this is to be determined. I am sure all are welcome and once I know more about registration, etc. I’ll be posting it.
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I feel the need (finally - it has been years!) to concoct something to protect my home. I have been robbed 3 times - by friends who have serious problems.
i don't follow recipes. i use what i have or can get easily. so does anyone know of any herbs, spices, leaves, etc. that would work to protect my house from intrusions and also help heal my friends?

The following is what i have come up with so far.
Cinnamon - purification
Clover Flowers - personal
Eucalyptus- personal, after contact with evil
Possibly steeped in a white vinegar "tea" so i can anoint various parts of my house.

Any suggestions, ingredients etc. are extremely appreciated.

This will be cross-posted. So, sorry if you see it again somewhere.

A nice prayer tonight. I haven't prayed in, like, word form to the Lord and Lady in a fair while. I did so tonight, and it was nice to make that connection. I nearly always connect, but connecting in words is different, on a different level, and of just as much importance now and then as a wordless communion might be.

Interesting change tonight was how the Lord appeared. Usually He is fairly young-looking and crowned with rather impressive antlers. Tonight He appeared as the Green Man, bedecked entirely in leaves, one hand holding a wooden staff, with hair and beard of foliage. I rarely see Him bearded. It's very different to how He normally appears to me, and while it's a common image, it's not one that I'm personally all that fond of. Aesthetically. So I'm going to have to... think on this. There must be a reason for it. Perhaps He is going to show me a new side of Himself?

The beard reminded me a bit of Odinn, which led to me thanking Them both for leading me to what I now consider my "hearth culture", the Norse. There are many things left to explore, however, but I think it might be a "wait and see" sort of scenario. It depends what will pop up first.

Another evening with the pentagram ritual and basic workings.  Latter in this week I am going to perform another enochian working and see if I can make a bit more progress through the Seniors of Earth.  I find that my time spent in study is more and more enjoyable.  Now that the weather is nice I am able to sit out on my porch with my pipe and read either the Tree of Life or Highlights of the Tarot or The Book of Tokens.   The more I do it the more I enjoy studying outside.  Most of the work I do has to be done indoors.  As a ceremonial magician I like having control over my environment, not having to worry about the wind blowing my tablets or it ending up being too dark to see....also in the summer the AC is nice.

I ordered the BOTA tarot deck which came with highlights and have begun doing the tarot meditations with that deck with very good results.  The past three days have been contemplating the 1st key: The Magician.  PFC brought up an interesting point that the keys usually alternate with the opposites.  Key 0 The Fool isn't concerned with his surroundings or anything, really.  His head is in the clouds and conerned only with possibilities.  The Magician, on the other hand, is in a well tended garden.  He holds his wand high in the air with his right hand and points down in front of him with his left.  Drawing from the power on high that is above all of us and directing it to something that we want in front of us.  The magician is the picture of dilligence and willpower. 

Whenever I have a problem concentrating or before starting a project where I really need to concentrate.  I bring up the Magician before my mind's eye and focus on him for 5 or so seconds.  My resolve is there and I am able to plow right into it.  

Next in the lineup is Key 2, The High Priestess.

In other news I'm chugging through The Tree of Life by Regardie.  So far it is a great introduction to western Occultism and it's nice to read the works of someone who is so passionate about Magic.   The other book I'm reading is The Book of Tokens.  These are meditations on the Tarot by PFC.  I recommend this to anyone who is interested in the Tarot.  I use it as a devotional book to sit and read over a cup of tea in the evenings.

 I have just stumbled upon this page and I instantly feel a sense of calm. It's lovely.

I've just joined this site and am keen to get talking to people and get to know others who have similar intersts in the wiccan way of life. 

I am a 26yr old solitary witch but I don't tend to follow one path or another. I prefer to respectfully borrow parts from a range of areas such as herbs, crystals, candles a little tarot and on a full moon I tend to practice candle magic and meditation. I feel drawn to so many different areas of wicca and I find this allows me to be free with my practice. 

I am hoping to get talking to lots of people and keep a 'blog' of my spiritual journey. Be good to hear from you.

Blessings

SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.

I had this WHOLE big entry about galdr, and how at first I dismissed it as unnecessary, but now I find myself drawn to it and taking a deeper look...

....and then this big contemplative part about what part of the song was important - did it matter what the words were, or could you make it up as you go along? Was the beat important? The tune? How were these songs sung; did they resonate in your throat? your chest? According to wikipedia, the men sang falsetto... was it the notes that were important? And if these things matter..... how much has survived? Any? Do we still have these songs? Can they still be sung?

And then I mentioned the lore, and how Thorsson seems to have gotten the wrong end of the stick when he goes on about chanting runes. Don't get me wrong, I think that's a great way to use the Runes and to absorb them on a deeper level, and I've no doubt they were used that way, but galdr seems to be wider than simply chanting Runes. Charms and songs are mentioned in the lore, and some of these were apparently quite powerful, enough to blunt swords and so on, as well as ones to help difficult births and help the sick.

AND IT'S GODDAMN GONE ARGH WTF.

I hate when that happens. It's like... you've just written something important that's gone straight from the "musing" part of your brain to the page and as you write it you better understand what you're thinking and think of new things and it's all good and then suddenly, mid-thought, it disappears. It's like a thought-strand in your head breaks with it and you think "....FUCK!"

ARGH.

Anyway. Galdr is beginning to enchant me. I need to know more about it.

I dismissed it at first because, being a bare-bones sort of witch, I classed it in with those types of magic form that enhance the basic spell structure of energy-focus-will. Most things, be they poppets or cords or 15 gold candles or whatever, most things just aid you as you do whatever you're doing. Dance and chant aid you raising power. Words or a piece of string might help you bend the energy with your will. A poppet or some colour correspondences would aid your focus. I assumed that galdr was just another way of using the same basic idea.

But is it? Runes are not. Runes are different energies in their own rlght, a bit like big strands that one might pluck it one inscribed a Rune for a spell. A runecasting would tap into those strands and see how they lie. They're not aids to basic spell form, and they're not simple symbols. They're involved and deep energies in their own right.

I'm not suggesting thatgaldr is an energy in its own right, but I suspect it may be a very different way of tapping into and using energies that we may not usually be tapping into.

Even if it isn't... why should I not explore this method of energy-use? It may be trappings, but it may be particularly useful trappings. I sing every day. I enjoy singing, I do it for entertainment. When I'm bored, doing chores, thinking, etc... I often find myself singing when I didn't realise I was doing it. I have a fair voice. After a half hour or so of warming up it can be quite good. I hum, and I'm rather good at whistling too. I tend to think that everyone sings so often but apparently that's not so. And if singing really is such a part of my life, as I'm beginning to realise it is, perhaps that's telling me something. Galdr might really be something I should explore.

In addition, this could become a true part of my faith in time. What remains to be seen is how much we know about galdr, how much has survived, and whether galdr is something that has been, or can be, ressurrected in any sort of significant way.

So, tonight is the full moon. For reasons I should have figured out before the fact, the full moon has been a time of trial rather than one of celebration for me of late. Nothing too much to do with spirituality, just something else that I'm not going to go into that, due to timing, has now become classically conditioned with the moon. (No it's not my period, but for odd reasons it's not too far off.) So now, when I see the full moonlight bathing the deck or I glance up at that gorgeous shining orb, I'm less likely to think "oh beauteous Goddess!" and more likely to think "... oh.... shit. It's that time again."

Just... don't ask. Honestly.

The original idea behind this thing and the full moon was that I'd, theoretically, be stronger energy-wise and better able to cope. Not too bad an idea but I failed to take the other stuff into consideration. I'm not sure whether it can be changed. But I'll try myself to stop thinking of the light of the full moon as a harbinger of doom and instead try to remind myself why I'd decided on it in the first place (although admittedly much of it was as much happenstance as it was decision) and to draw solace from that light.

Although the whole melancholy romantic part of me is totally into the full moonlight being a cold reminder of endless sorrow and so on. Totally into it. And if part of my faith wasn't tied to the phases of the moon I would be totally embracing it. In fact I'm almost tempted to shuffle things around in my faith in order to make it so that I can embrace it.

Fuck, why not? I can honour the phases of the moon and still totally indulge my gothic romantic side. Verily.

ANYWAY. What I was saying was, the... thing leaves me a bit, well, tired and unfocused. So proper ritual on the full moon, nice as it would be, is rarely something I feel in the mood for. And that, ladies and gennelmen, is why I was wanking on a couple of paragraphs up about needing to change things. Because I would like to hold Esbats for the Lady. Part of my faith is drawn from Neo-Wicca, and in order to honour that deity, I feel I should be holding Esbats. But maybe a bigger one at the New Moon and a smaller one at the Full would be a better idea.

Tonight I chanted the "We all come from the Goddess" chant before my daily prayer. I've been having trouble connecting to the Goddess in my prayer for the last week, possibly because I've been praying clothed. But tonight things were easier. I'm putting it down to the full moon. The God's presence, comparable to the last week, was far less strong. I find Him easier to connect with anyway. (I'm a God sort of girl anyway. I find it much easier to form relationships with male deities than female.) During the prayer itself, after calling to Goddess and God and assuming basic prayer position, I Hailed the Full Moon and the Goddess.

I found it rather rewarding, actually, just to mark the day in that way. Many times I've gone out in the moonlight and appreciated the day, but to Hail it aloud was surprisingly effective for me. It really solidified the importance of the day in my mind.

At any rate I think I have a lot to think about here.

The first time I heard Sheep on Drugs was when listening to Barney Simon's old show on 5FM late at night at age 15 wishing I was somewhere else. Then it was the prerequisite 15 Minutes of Fame that horrified my parents.

"How can you listen to this crap?"

Indeed. I did.

Fast forward to age 17 when I finally started clubbing (I lived far away from the CBD, okay, and I had no "cool" friends or access to trains in my otherwise sheltered life). There was Springfields of the Drowned Bathrooms by ye olde brewery in Newlands... Ugh.

There was Sanctuary nights at the Purple Turtle ... The Fringe ... And an assortment of parties and always, whenever the DJ would spin Sheep on Drugs I was on the dancefloor.

So, they're kind of part of the soundtrack to my young adult life and when the opportunity arose to finally see them in Cape Town, live, we decided that beans and rice would happily form part of our staple diet for the last week of the month, and we forked over the dosh for the tickets.

Last night at ROAR (above Gandalf's in Obz) we watched some rock band open (I forget the name, not my kind of music). Afterwards was Terminatryx, a really kick-ass Cape Town based outfit that I totally recommend watching. They're difficult to quantify but Thomas reckon that they're Tanz-metal, similar to Rammstein. I'll be ordering their album from Kalahari because I've got ebucks.

Then, it was Sheep on Drugs and the tiny (by CT standards) audience surged forward... All of what seemed like 20 people by the looks of things. For a small audience we tried to do our best but I think next week's VNV Nation gig kind of put a dent in people's spending habits ... and VNV Nation won the toss-up.

The night did deliver some excitement in the form of a rabid fangrrrrrl who jumped up onto the stage to hump Lee's leg before she was unceremoniously turfed out.  (Well, she also burnt me with her cigarette so she got what she deserved, the silly snit.)

The music rocked, even if the set was bugged with sound problems. What, no encore? But hell, this is another band I'm glad I made the effort to see.

http://www.thelema.nu/archives/309

Growing up in the 1980s, I saw a lot of movies. My parents had cable, like everyone else, and they subscribed to a number of premium stations. Also, being in my mid-teens, going to the movie was something my friends and I could do frequently without much oversight or consideration—it was regarded as safe—the movie theater was nowhere close to my house so some adult had to drive us there anyway.

Looking back at all my favorite movies from the 80s, I realize how influential they were on my ideas about life and the world. Being able to survey one’s core beliefs is useful because it reveal why one believes what one does. Movies and mass media in general, are significant influencers and the more I analyze my values from growing up, the more I can see how the silver screen had a significant influence.

One of the more obvious influences is the portrayal of computers, technology and so forth. When I saw War Games in 1983, it deeply affected my eleven your old mind. I said, “I want to do that!” I began a campaign to get a computer. My parents were reluctant because of the cost. But eventually they gave me a low-end Texas Instruments computer. This was soon replaces by a Tandy Color Computer II (CoCo2). This lasted a year and then finally I received a “real” computer when I was given a Macintosh 512K for Christmas in 1986. From there, my involvement with computers skyrocketed. Nevertheless, all during this time I saw movies that reinforced the value and importance of technology; movies such as Real Genius and Weird Science. Another influencer about computers was Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. If Matthew Broadwick can break into his school’s computer system, in War Games and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, why couldn’t I? For my whole high school term I tried—I never succeeded.
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While out on errands today I stopped by the Half Priced Bookstore.  And today I found two fantastic treasures.  The Middle Pillar and The Tree of Life both by Israel Regardie.   And both for less than 5 bucks a pieces!   Huzzah!

Been busy again. Had a hectic time editing a chap's MS that provided me with a severe challenge. Delivering concrit is not always easy.

On the other hand, one of my freelance clients, a 12-yo lass, has all the makings of being a very good writer with near-flawless grammar.

Go figure.

In any case, for sh1ts and giggles, I've put up a short chapter from Chalk Smudges. Celia is a minor character but I needed to make her sing quite early in the story.


CELIA SWART
The music filled her, blooming through her bones while sending thrills through her sinews. To move, to feel her skirts swirling about her legs made her feel like the most powerful woman alive.

I’ll make them weep. They’ll look at me and see a goddess, Astarte. They’ll want me but they can’t touch me. They’ll dream of me but I belong to no one.

More than anything, Celia wanted to be beautiful, to be desired and tonight she danced, alone in the garden beneath a thin sliver of moon. A chorus of frogs provided an accompaniment but inside her blood, keeping time with the rhythm of her heart was an older, wilder music that spoke of other times, of dreams half-remembered, when gods still walked among men.

Celia turned, the small bells attached to her skirts jingling, shaking their brass tongues, the sound shimmering into the night. Somewhere, far away, a nightjar sent its mournful whistling cry toward the stars.

The ground chilled her feet, her toes already numb, but she continued to turn, stretch and snake the song that her spirit recalled, of times when she would have been a priestess, perhaps, or a courtesan – a woman cherished for the secrets of her sex.

Celia danced, and the trees shook their branches in a chill breeze that slithered through the dried reeds. Shhhhhhh-shhhhhhhhhhhh.

As much as she danced, she could not dance away the pain.

He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t care.

All the while a pain blossomed in her chest and she grew short of breath, stopping to press her palms to the grass, where each icy blade made to slice into her warm flesh. It was cold this night but she’d been dancing alone in the night-bleached garden for almost an hour and her breath steamed before her. Gooseflesh raised tiny bumps on her arms.

I’m still alive. I’ll get through this.

She opened her eyes, surprised to discover how far she’d shifted from the centre of the lawn. The old oak stood two strides from where she crouched. He limbs grew heavy, like the wood, like its unmoving limbs. She breathed in cold air, redolent of damp, speaking of leaf mould and quiet rot, rose to her feet and turned back to the house.

Someone stood on the porch, a silhouette. At first she thought it was Ben or one of their housemates, but the man was too tall.

None of the guys have long hair. How long has he been there, watching me?

She stood still, knowing that she should be afraid. Absurdly, it struck her that the frogs had stopped their chorus and even the wind had stilled. Celia shivered, blinked; the porch was devoid of any human form.

I’m imagining things. It’s late. I’ve had a long day and tomorrow won’t be much better.

http://www.thelema.nu/archives/308

One stark difference between living in the United States and living in Europe is the continuous reference to World War II all around. In the U.S. there are few aspects that recall the horrors and destruction that arose from the conflict between the allies and the axis powers. Yet, almost every day over the last year I have seen small reminders here and there. One of the largest was the Anne Frank house I lived blocks from for eleven months. Other reminders are the memorials, markers and museums. The guilt of what the Dutch allowed the Nazis to do to their compatriots because they were Jewish still haunts the nation. Frequently the buildings one enters have a past of Nazi occupation. The reminders are all around.

Yesterday, while volunteering at the Theosophical Library, I was sorting the newsletters from the St. Michael’s Theosophical Center in Naarden, Holland. St. Michael’s is affiliated with the T.S. in Adyar, but is also a seat of the Liberal Catholic Church. The L.C.C. has long had ties to Theosophy and its origins start in the Netherlands. The Center started publishing its newsletter in August 1932. The volumes continue up until volume VIII, number 8, May 1940. The reason it stopped was the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands. The newsletter reemerges in October 1945, at first it was designated vol. VIII, No. 8, but with the publishing of the September 1945 issues, the first was recast as Vol. IX, No 1. The beginning of the October issue has a small essay about the previous five years under NAzi occupation and a poem written by Edna St. Vincent Millay. I think these little bits of history are fascinating and reminders of aspects of the war we seldom hear about.

St. Michael’s News
The Official Organ of St. Michael’s Centre, Naarden, Holland
Vol. VIII No. 8 Vol. IX No. 1 October 1945
After Five Years of Oppression

Here we are again! With St. Michael’s News!

Deeply grateful to be able to live our lives in freedom of thought and action after being surrounded, evein in our home lives, by Evil Forces eagerly seeking our destruction! And shut off from the world. The workers here have been constant and faithful!

A Requiem Mass for the fallen warriors was said daily in our chapel. Our work was reduced to Churchwork and Meditations preceding Mass.

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http://www.thelema.nu/archives/307

In his seminal book, Making Magick: Religion, Magic & Science in the Modern World, Randall Styers makes a statement that has been lingering in my head for the past week.

One of the central shifts in European thought [during the seventeenth century] was the transition from an Aristotelian view of the natural world as governed by sympathies and correspondences towards the notion of nature as a regular, differentiated system. Through the course of the seventeenth century, scientists and natural philosophers offered a range of competing views as to the specific natural forces that were to be the proper subject of scientific inquiry and the precise nature of the emerging mechanical philosophy, and the results of these disputes were to have significance for emerging modern views of magic (44).

What I find so interesting is that underlying the transition from the view of nature’s relationships as sympathies and correspondences to a mechanical one is a shift in ontological origination. How objects interact is dependent on their state of being. If there are correspondences between certain objects, say the planet Mars, the zodiacal sign of Aries and the Oak or Nettle, there has to be something inherent in their constitution that joins them. When the shift to the mechanized world view takes place, these correspondences and sympathies evaporate and this leaves us with the view that the correspondences are “all in our head.” The ontology of the planets rearranges and no longer is there a direct connection, ontologically, between the Oak and Mars.  This shift in the view of nature sets the stage for the psychologization of magic that found its nascence in Crowley and full adoption with Regardie and many prominent magicians today. However, in the process I wonder if those pushing the psychological view of magic have thought of the implications.

There can be no doubt that at the beginning of the twentieth century, Crowley was completely comfortable claiming that spirit interaction was all in the head. In his brief introduction to his version of the Goetia, he states such a belief. In 1904, while travelling on a ship, Crowley spoke with Henry Maudsley, an eminent English psychiatrist. As Crowley relates in his Confessions, they discussed yoga and the various states, especially Samadhi. Crowley’s view was that the experience was produced from physical and mental conditions. “We can produce fantastic dreams by hashish, hallucinations of colour by anhalonium Lewinii [peyote]; we can even make him ‘see stars’ by the use of a sandbag. Why then should we not be able to devise some pharmaceutical, electrical or surgical method of inducing Samadhi; create genius as simply as we do other kinds of specific excitement?” (386) He then concludes that to, “Admit that Samadhi is sui generis and back comes the whole discarded humbug of the supernatural (386).

It would seem that, early on, Crowley accepted the mechanistic view of the world and rendered magic as a psycho-physical phenomenon. This included the reality of spiritual beings, angels, demon, phantoms and so forth. They became a product of the mind; an aspect of the conscious or unconscious mind anthropomorphized into a separate being. This renders a spirit ontologically null. There is no being of consequence to the imagined entity science and philosophy tells us. Unless it is objective, it does not exist. At best it is a label put upon other process that are measurable; certain bodily responses, respiration, mental activity, increased blood flow, and the like taking place while one imagines the spirit. We can measure the body but not consciousness and thus sciences reduces being to the body and dismisses consciousness as irrelevant or the byproduct of the body’s biological mechanisms. But does Crowley keep this reductionist view his whole life? Does his views from 1904 change? Yes, in fact they do.

In his footnote to Chapter 30 of Magick Without Tears, Crowley writes,

My observation of the Universe convinces me that there are beings of intelligence and power of a far higher quality than anything we can conceive of as human; that they are not necessarily based on the cerebral and nervous structures that we know; and that the one and only chance for mankind to advance as a whole is for individuals to make contact with such Beings.

This is a significant shift. If these beings exist and they are not of “the cerebral and nervous structures that we know” then Crowley is asserting a different kind of ontology for these beings. The standard mechanistic reductionism of psychologization begins to fail. In essence, Crowley is asserting a real ontological basis for these being and that they are not simply projections of the mind, i.e. based on cerebral and nervous structures. But if this is the case, what would be the basis of this ontological assertion?

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I just found this place a couple of minutes ago, and as I entered I got this warm feeling that said, "Here are people who are actually committed to and interested in the craft, and who don't just go along for the ride" (as so many others do). So basically, I think I'm going to like it here. The spiritual side to paganism, which is so often forgotten among books and candles and complicated chants, has always been the most important aspect to me.^^

So who am I? A "poor" (unemployed, sigh) girl of 20 years with far too many interests to count. I found Wicca when I was 11, and I've stayed with it since.

Glad to meet you all! :)

Sjoe! It's going a bietjie crazy here but I'm having so much fun.

Yesterday I submitted a proposal to a UK agent for my third novel, which I started writing on Sunday evening. It's aimed at a YA market and is set in the Camdeboo, mainly in the town of Graaff-Reinet and the hamlet of Nieu Bethesda. I'm trying to mix some themes that are currently dear to my heart but there will be more on that at a later date. Suffice to say that the story is entitled Camdeboo Nights and I'm very excited and enjoying it immensely. So far I've had excellent feedback from my beta readers.

Even if the agent isn't interested, it doesn't matter. I'm writing the story in any case.

On another note, I completed the first draft of my second novel. I've changed the working title yet again since this morning when I thought I "had" it. It's called Chalk Smudges and it's mostly set in Kalk Bay, Cape Town, following the lives of a witch, her muso brother, the girl who thinks she's in love with him and a mysterious pale stranger who has a taste for the blood of pretty young things. It's not terribly deep but I'm now getting started on the second draft, of which I'll post an extract below. Glory is the "not so right in her head" niece of one of the main characters, Sonja.

Extract from Chalk Smudges:

GLORY
Winking sunlight dapples through the trees and the pattern on the hard-packed earth dances. Poplar, poplar, poplar tree, why is Mother so silent? I ask you these questions and I expect an answer. Mother hasn’t moved, breathed or answered. She sits, resting beneath your shushing branches and the doves punctuate the late afternoon.

She is sleeping that long sleep and there is a smile on her face. Mother is dancing in your branches, her breath sighing through your green glinting leaves, her eyes flashing in the sunlight.

KoerKooooerKoer, KoerKooooerKoer, KoerKooooerKoer.

Ringneck doves, turtle doves, laughing doves they all have different voices but this is the one with the black eyes and the little half ring around her neck and browner feathers. She’s smaller than the one with the red eyes and the little one who laughs is more blue-grey, the colour of the sky in winter when the moon is trapped in the poplar’s naked bone branches.

I will dance for Mother. Mother likes it when I dance and my hands aren’t talking with the flowers, twigs, stones or leaves. When I spin around Mother, my skirts billow out and I’m like a parachute seed that twirls through the air.

Just for fun I make a sound like a helicopter and run a loop across the lawn. The sun has warmed the grass and it’s like spiky porridge beneath my feet. When I tumble to the soft sunshiney grass and throw my legs into the air, the clouds spin around and around so that I must catch my toes for them to stand still.

From the porch, the other one stares at me with hollow eyes. The other one is always sad and wringing her hands. I don’t like her as much as I like the old lady down the road where the house is full of owls. The old lady with the owls always has a special smile for me that no one else can see.

Now Mother’s special smile is also gone, her brown hair shifting in the wind fingers, her skin too cold when I thread my fingers into hers. I bring her some seedpods from the purple grape flower bush, their skins like velvet and still green. Mom’s fingers are too limp to hold them and they tangle in the lace of her skirt. Mom I’m thirsty I want some juice. When I tug at her arm, she slips to the ground without a sigh. I’ll have to drink water and tadpoles from the furrow.

From the porch, afraid of the sunshiney air, the other one nods; gestures for me to come inside but her words are funny shapes and I don’t feel like listening. She’s not real like Mom, anyway. She’s pretend.

Soon Mom will be pretend too. I’m not stupid like the other children say. Mom says I’m her special flower. I’m her glory.

So today I began looking over the bota meditations on the tarot.  from this point on I will not be using the Thoth deck for my meditations, only the bota deck.  This week I will have three contemplation sessions each lasting five minutes as I concentrate on Key 0 - The Fool.  I began the ritual this evening by a lesser banishing and then concentrating on the card for 5 minutes examining every part of it.

According to PFC, The fool is what we must all use in all of our endevers to gain greater freedom.  This thing we need to use can be called God or Goddess or Self or whatever.  The name really isn't important, it's just a label.  Key 0 is the most perfect and complete aspect of myself.  It is me which is above and beyond my personality, my thinking, and my mind. 

The fool has always made me happy.  Head looking forward, unaware of the abyss right before him and the trials that he will have to face.  He has his eyes on something greater in the distance.  Also I noticed he has room for another step showing that there is always room for more steps as we approach our goal.  According to PFC, we never come to the limit of our possiblities.  Normally I would say potential but I like the term possibilities in this case. 

Blah blah, prayer. Nothing special tonight really, although I noticed that I was almost rushing through it and had to keep telling myself to slow down. I guess I wasn't in the mood tonight...

Had a nice little telling of Loki's beads tonight too, just repeating the same lines over and over.
Hail, Flame-hair
Hail, Sky-treader
Hail, Burden of Sigyn's Arms
Hail, Loki Laufeyson!

(Personal Note: Look up how to pronounce "Laufey". Just in case.)

Title: The Crow: City of Angels
Author: Chet Williamson
Publisher: Boxtree Limmited, 1996
Rating: Two out of five

One thing that can be said about the franchise of novels that are a spin-off of the two The Crow movies (I discount the latter two of the four movies, since they’re utter rubbish and too derivative) is that they’re written by some strong, good authors. One that I’ve reviewed before was The Crow: The Lazarus Heart by Poppy Z Brite, which was highly entertaining. Chet Williamson wrote his novel based off the screenplay of the second movie starring Vincent Perez, which was supposed to be a sequel, of sorts, to the first movie starring Brandon Lee.

Neither script was very good but Chet has gone on and written a average offering for die-hard The Crow fans. That being said; don’t expect any depth to the story. It’s a fluffy bit of gothic romance that has a few moments that shine where Chet delves into some of his characters and embroiders some pieces that are purely his own, although at times the prose does tend towards purple.

Other than that, there’s not much that I can say in favour for this novel. I do have a very good idea as to why authors would embark on $uch a project… The que$tion i$, would you?

Today I experienced a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness while crouched among my plants in my garden. The moment was so intense, I rocked back, smiling like a half-wit, closing my eyes while turning my face to the sun like a sunflower. It felt like an orgasm.

I'm officially 2/3 of the way through my edits for Khepera Rising. I am sipping on Jim Beam. Siouxie and the Banshees is blasting through the speakers. I have finished writing my review of The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles and have posted it on my website's blog. I have also pissed of a seriously unimpressed Dane by posting one of Thomas's latest photographic offerings.

Judging by his profile pic, he looks rather grumpy. He said, "This is not funny. I fail to see the point."

He happens to be a friend of someone I like, so I won't dignify his comment on my posted item by replying to his comment. I could, however, think of a dozen snippy things to say, but I won't. I'm in a good mood. If someone fails to be amused by a mad-looking doctor pulling the guts of a pretty lass out with a pair of pliers, then it's not my problem, is it? Thomas went to a lot of trouble setting up that shoot and he's spending hours retouching the visuals.

So, ja...

I'm digressing. Go take a look at my blog on my site, if you're interested in some existential ramblings about The Sheltering Sky:
http://nerinedorman.com/blog/

It's guaranteed to be depressing, I promise.

It's too cold for naked prayer tonight. Bugger that for a lark. There's a southerly... I quite like the cold myself but yeah. No nekkid in cold weather. Still. It was a peaceful and pleasant prayer.

I followed it with a little devotion to Loki. I lit one of his candles (he has a couple. I have to burn down the first one before I can use the nice spice-scented orange one he wanted. Waste not) and read his beads... which nowadays means "make up whatever that's short and repeatable". Afterwards I had one of those nice sort of "communion" moments when you just chat about whatever... I always ask how the family is. It's just so nice, so reassuring to spend that time with him.

I was also musing earlier, about him and Heimdallr, after reading something on some website about Heimdallr being a protector of boundaries in general rather than just specifically the Bifrost bridge.... and here we have Loki, who sees every boundary as a sort of direct personal challenge. It's no wonder they don't get along.

Anyway. I need to write a proper little prayer for those beads. One that's more fun and less... cumbersome. And I need to find a little something to put at the end of Sigyn's beads so I can finish them off properly. The last knot is really hard to tie... I don't want the beads to be loose but I might have to put up with them moving a little.