We Are Not Okay

We Are Not Okay

On Epstein, ICE, and the Takeover of America February 11, 2026

With regard to the recent onslaught of information about the Epstein files among other things, I’d like to express deep gratitude to the friends who have been checking in to see “how I’m holding up.” I’m holding up, but I am not ok. Here are my thoughts. Here’s part of how I’m processing it.

I’ve never been christian but over the years I’ve had many, many friends and clients who were. People who put their time and money into that operating system, and who fully, wholly believed in it for most of their lives. Then, something happened.

Sometimes it took awhile - it was a slow crawl to a conclusion. Sometimes it was a rip the band-aid off, hit the brick wall at 100mph kind of experience. Some described it as a feeling of having the rug ripped out from under them, and panicking at the free fall sensation that followed. Confronting the reality of their situation was brutal. Facing the stark realization that they’d been duped - lied to, stolen from, betrayed; some of them sexually assaulted and abused, by the very people they entrusted their time, given their life-minutes to, entrusted their bodies, their souls, and their money to, only to discover that none of it was true, and seemingly everyone knew it but them. It wasn’t just one or two isolated incidents, it was the whole system and there was a circle of complicity that they never imagined existed. They felt despair, confusion, self doubt, disappointment and disbelief.

That’s much like the way I feel now. I feel stupid and naive. I believed that people are at heart, well meaning. I believed in our government, that the Constitution was not perfect, there was room for change but that there was a very clear and thoughtful process for effecting those changes, that it stood as an impenetrable fortress, intended to protect and preserve and that any changes would be reflective if that. I believed our elected officials truly had the best interest of this nation and its people at heart, even if their vision of what that meant was a bit different than mine, that they would still be guided and would abide by the Constitution.

As a former law enforcement officer, I’ve seen some horrible things, things that no eyes should ever have to see. People at their lowest, their very worst. The human mind degraded, bodies ravaged and desecrated. I, perhaps with some hubris, believed that I was strong enough to bear witness to these things so others wouldn’t have to, that I was taking that hit for humanity. That I could hold it, and I did. Even so, like the former christians, I believed that psychopaths and sociopaths were isolated individuals, an anomaly. I was wrong.

What I never imagined, was the depth, the breadth, the height and the longevity of this current state of affairs among the leadership of our religious organizations, the leadership of our country, and of the world; and of the wealthiest among us. These people who have never known lack, who have never wanted for anything. This class of humans who pay cash for their third yacht, $75,000 for a purse; who hire body guards for themselves and their heirs, while an unconscionable number of elementary school children go without food, or winter coats, and learn how to barricade a classroom door in an active shooter drill. The depravity of this current rot hit me like a scalding awakening sending shockwaves through my body and knocking the air from my lungs. I thought we were just meeting a little resistance on our way to moving into a better place, a better world. We’re not; we’re only beginning to scratch the surface of how much of a facade that was, of how bad things really are, how deep they go, and how complicated it will be for us to extricate ourselves from he tangled, incestous damage that has already been done. I’m not certain we’ll be able to stop it. We can only hope to move through it to the other side.

I’m trying to maintain a brave face for my Earth Traditions community but I’m bleeding, and I’m hoping the bravery is not just false bravado. I know I’ll be ok but I’m shattered right now, and while many seem to think the Tower has fallen, and are eager to move onto the next era, The Star, I don’t think it’s over. The Tower is not done falling and inside the walls was a hydra, that has now been unleashed upon the world. It’s going to take a Herculean effort, by many, many people, to chop and seal all those heads.

There’s a very real possibility that there will be no reckoning, no accountability - that these mutherfuckers are going to walk. These perpetrators of pedophilia, of rape, of fraud, of environmental destruction through the clandestine building of data centers, and the intentional concerted efforts to bankrupt family farms, buy up the land for pennies on the dollar, and in turn, control our food and water supplies.

I have come to the realization that even as I watch most of the things I have spent my life fighting the hardest for circle the drain, and I’m not even sure that we understand the extent of what it is that we need to be saved from… yet. But, I know this, no one is coming to save us, the saving is up to us.

If you’re feeling this too, I just want to say that it’s ok that you’re not ok. The grief is real, and in this case, the loss is like an amputation, of hope, of confidence, of compassion, empathy, and of human rights. But our psyches are like starfish; we can grow back what is amputated. I can still be effective, I just have to tighten my circle of influence. The perpetrators of these heinous crimes may never see justice as I envision it, however - I know that their cycle will eventually end.

I hold the immortal words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., inspired by Rosa Parks, close to my heart. "If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way."

© Angie Buchanan February 11, 2026

Autumn Equinox; the Elderberry Blessing

The pendulum on the Black Forest cuckoo clock swings steadily, the hands ticking forward toward Fall Equinox. Elderberries hang plump, and prolific on the bushes. Soon it will be time to harvest and dry them.

There is a hush that arrives with this turning of the year, not silence exactly, but a softening. The garden begins to loosen its grip, releasing what it has held all summer. Seed heads bow, tomato vines curl back into themselves, and the air carries that first clean edge of coolness that makes every breath feel intentional. Even the light seems altered, slanting lower through the windows, gilding the floorboards and reminding us that balance is brief, beautiful, and worth honoring.

Honey, the sweetness of life, has been collected and sits glowing amber and golden on our kitchen counter. Produced by the efforts of the trusted bee community; the hive tribes who show us how to live, how to work together to produce in harmony.

I think often of the bees at this time of year, of their faithful circling and returning, their devotion to the unseen architecture of the hive. They remind me that abundance is never a solitary thing. It is gathered wingbeat by wingbeat, blossom by blossom, offered through patience and cooperation. Their honey holds the meadow, the orchard, the wild edges of the field; it holds the summer sun in a form we can spoon into tea, fold into recipes, and pour into medicine.

And so, from the labor of the bees to the labor of our own hands, we call the hands of the community together for making elderberry syrup.  The season invites us to gather, to infuse amber bottles with loving energy and good thoughts for robust health, prosperity, and contentment, in creation of the magic potion that will help keep us protected through the winter months.

Before the gathering, there is preparation: bottles washed and set to dry, lined up like little sentinels, spices measured into bowls, labels printed and applied by hand. The kitchen becomes an altar of practical magic. There is work to be done, yes, but the work has a rhythm that feels older than any one of us. It calls forth memory from the body—the kind of knowing that lives in hands, shoulders, and breath.

I love this gateway into the winter months. I love celebrating it with my community. There’s laughter and heart swirling as the big, shiny spoons stir the bubbling cauldron of deep purple berries, ginger root, cinnamon bark powder, and cloves. Steam rises, fragrant and curling, filling the air with the promise of warmth and healing. Eyes widen with the wonder at the transformation of simple ingredients into a potion that shimmers with possibility.

Someone inevitably leans close to inhale the steam, eyes closing for a moment as if receiving a blessing. Someone else tells a story that makes the room burst open with laughter. Children drift in and out, drawn by the smell and the mystery, peering into the pot as though it might reveal a secret. The syrup darkens as it simmers, becoming glossy and rich, a deep woodland purple that seems to hold both dusk and berry bramble within it.

We wait for the pot to cool, partaking of soups made of squash and root vegetables, roasted meats and freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven. Stories are traded across the table, tales of old winters, of remedies passed down.

These meals between tasks are part of the medicine, too. We nourish ourselves while we wait, letting the pot rest and the flavors deepen. Bowls are passed, butter melts into bread, and conversation moves easily from ordinary updates to the sacred terrain of memory. We speak of grandparents, gardens, first frosts, childhood kitchens, and the little rituals that taught us how to meet the cold with steadiness rather than fear.

Outside, leaves gather in russet heaps, and the wind whispers the secrets of the changing season, but inside, the kitchen glows golden, hearts beating in rhythm with the gentle turning.

The equinox asks us to notice balance: light and dark, effort and rest, giving and receiving. In the kitchen, this balance becomes visible. One person holds the funnel, another steadies the bottle, another wipes the rim clean. No gesture is too small to matter. Each action supports the next, and together they become a ceremony of readiness, a way of saying to the season: we see you coming, and we are preparing with love.

When cooled, we strain the berries, some electing not to wear gloves and delighting at the stains on their hands. When it cools, we add the honey and carefully ladle the syrup into bottles, each bottle sealed with a wish and a blessing, each hand passing it along, one by one, a lineage of care, a tangible memory to be uncorked with the first chill, and each sip a reminder: we are fortified not only by berries and honey, but by the weaving of hands and laughter, hope and tradition, that sweeten the long nights ahead.

Later, when snow gathers along the windowsills and the world has gone quiet beneath its white blanket, one of these bottles will be opened. Perhaps a spoonful will slip into a cup, staining the water a luminous violet, and the whole day will return: the laughter, the steam, the hands, the stories, the honeyed light. The syrup will carry more than flavor. It will carry belonging.

As dusk settles over the house, we linger in the afterglow—content, connected, ready to embrace whatever the season brings. The final bottles line the table—purple jewels promising fortitude and comfort through chilly nights ahead. Our laughter lingers, mingling with the scent of spice and fruit, and in that moment, the approaching winter feels less formidable, transformed by the simple act of coming together and preparing for the days to come.

Florida Water Spring-Cleaning Enchanted Spring Event 2025

This handout introduces Florida Water as a traditional tool for cleansing, blessing, protection, and everyday refreshment. Because Florida Water is often used within hoodoo, root work, and related folk-magic traditions, we will begin with a brief overview of those traditions before turning to the history, uses, safety considerations, and workshop recipe for Florida Water.

Folk Traditions and Shared Practices

Hoodoo

Hoodoo originated among African American communities in the Southern United States, especially during and after the era of slavery. It developed from a blend of West and Central African spiritual traditions, Indigenous American botanical knowledge, European folk magic, and Christian—especially biblical—beliefs. Hoodoo is not an organized religion with formal clergy or initiation. It is better understood as a folk-magical and healing tradition passed through families, communities, root workers, conjure practitioners, elders, and local teachers.

Root Work

The terms hoodoo and root work are closely connected. Hoodoo refers to the broader system of African American folk magic, spiritual cleansing, protection, healing, and practical spell work. Root work highlights the use of roots, herbs, minerals, waters, oils, powders, candles, and other natural or household materials as active spiritual tools. A root worker, also called a conjure worker, selects and prepares these materials for baths, floor washes, mojo bags, anointing, protection work, blessing work, and the removal of harmful conditions.

Appalachian Folk Magic

Hoodoo, root work, and Appalachian folk magic are neighboring folk traditions that share practical, home-based methods while carrying distinct histories and cultural identities. Appalachian folk magic developed in the mountain South through a blend of European settler traditions, Indigenous knowledge, Christian prayer, folk healing, herbalism, signs, omens, and local “granny magic.” Hoodoo and root work are primarily African American traditions rooted in West and Central African spiritual systems and shaped by slavery, Christianity, Indigenous plant knowledge, and Southern life.

A practice shared by hoodoo, root work, and Appalachian folk magic is the belief that ordinary materials—roots, herbs, salt, water, ash, iron, brooms, thresholds, doorways, and floor washes—can carry spiritual power when used with prayer, intention, and inherited knowledge. In all three traditions, the home itself becomes a working space: floors are washed to remove trouble or draw in blessing, doorways are protected, herbs are used for healing or luck, and spoken prayers or charms give direction to the work. Their shared geography and rural context created points of exchange, especially around herbs, spiritual cleansing, Bible verses, protection charms, curing practices, and household ritual. All three traditions developed among communities where healing, protection, luck, and spiritual defense were part of everyday life.

Hoodoo Practice: Baths, Floors, and Directional Work

In hoodoo terminology, performing a ritual or spell is often called “doing a job.” Some jobs are simple and practical, such as bathing, anointing the body, washing the home, or preparing a space in a particular way. More complex work may involve dressing an amulet, burning candles or incense, preparing a mojo bag, or placing powders, roots, or herbs in a specific location.

When materials such as powders, roots, or herbs are placed where they will be touched or crossed by the intended person, the work may be called laying down a trick, tricking, or throwing down. A traditional saying associated with this kind of work is, “Lay your trick, walk away, and don’t look back.” In this context, looking back can symbolize doubt or a lack of faith in the work.

Because hoodoo is often understood as a form of natural magic, many practitioners regard roots, herbs, minerals, waters, and other materials as spiritually potent in themselves. Rather than “charging” or “empowering” them in a modern ceremonial sense, the worker may pray, speak intention, or offer gratitude as a blessing and acknowledgment of the spirits, ancestors, or forces being called upon.

Spiritual baths and floor washes often use direction as part of the work. To draw in luck, love, prosperity, customers, or blessing, the movement is commonly upward or inward. To remove harmful conditions, crossed conditions, or unwanted influences, the movement is commonly downward or outward.

For example, a spiritual bath intended to draw in good luck may be poured over the body while the bather rubs upward. A bath meant to remove harmful conditions may be worked downward instead. The used bath water, now carrying the essence of the bather, may be saved for further work: ritually sprinkled, used to wipe away enemy tricks or witchcraft, added to a floor wash, or disposed of in a direction that matches the intention of the work.

Floor washing follows the same principle. To attract good fortune, business, customers, or love, a doorstep may be scrubbed inward to draw in what is wanted. To cleanse a home or business of unwanted conditions, the work may move from the top floor down, from the back of the space toward the front, and finally out through the front door or toward the property line.

Florida Water

While Florida Water is widely used in spiritual cleansing, blessing, protection, and refreshment practices, it is not an initiatory, closed, or exclusively sacred cultural practice. It began as a very mundane, 19th-century American cologne and was later adopted into many different folk, devotional, and spiritual practices. Today it is widely used by spiritual workers in hoodoo, Vodou, Santería, Espiritismo, Pagan, and other folk and devotional traditions. At Earth Traditions we make Florida Water in community, adding the ingredients, and singing blessings over the mixture as we take turns stirring together, blessing the bottles, bottling and labeling.

Florida Water was introduced in New York City in 1808 by perfumer Robert I. Murray. Murray later partnered with David Trumbull Lanman, and the product became associated with the Murray & Lanman name. It was sold in pharmacies and general stores as a unisex cologne, aftershave, cooling splash, household scent, and general-purpose refreshment. Its scent is usually bright and citrus-forward, with floral, herbal, and spicy undertones. Its name evokes both flowers and the legendary Fountain of Youth associated with Florida.

Spiritual Uses of Florida Water

Florida Water can be used in a variety of ways. In spiritual practice, it is commonly used to reset the body, cleanse a room, bless an altar, prepare for ritual, settle heavy energy, and support prayer, ancestor work, or divination. Because Florida Water is often offered in ancestor veneration, used for asperging, (which often entails taking a small amount into the mouth and spraying it out) or misted through the air as part of prayer and cleansing, it is better to avoid isopropyl alcohol and use only drinkable alcohol, such as high-proof grain alcohol or vodka, as the base. The blend is still used externally and is not meant to be consumed, but using drinkable alcohol keeps the preparation appropriate for spiritual offerings, blessing work, and ritual contact with the body, altar, or home.

• Use it for ritual cleansing, purification, blessing, and protection.

• Add a few drops to a spiritual bath, floor wash, or bowl of water before cleansing a space.

• Spritz or lightly dab it on the body before ritual, prayer, meditation, readings, or energy work.

• Spray it into the air and walk through the mist for cleansing, blessing, protection, or preparation before spiritual work.

• Wipe down altar tools, candles, crystals, jewelry, or new items brought into the home.

• Place a small glass or bowl on an ancestor altar as an offering or to symbolically clear the air for communication.

• Anoint doorways, windows, thresholds, and floors when blessing or cleansing a home.

• Mist a room, workplace, or sacred space to refresh the atmosphere and encourage peace.

• Add a few drops to ink or paper when writing petitions, prayers, or spell work.

• Keep a small bowl near or under the bed for symbolic protection, restful sleep, or relief from unsettling dreams.

• Lightly mist bedsheets and pillows for dream blessing, peaceful sleep, and symbolic protection through the night.

Everyday Uses of Florida Water

Outside of spiritual practice, Florida Water has long been used as a light cologne, aftershave, room freshener, linen splash, and cooling body fragrance. Some people use it to refresh the skin, ease the feeling of heat, scent a room, or add a bright citrus aroma to laundry, towels, and household cleaning water.

Safety Notes

• Florida Water usually contains alcohol and is flammable. Do not spray, pour, or place it near open flames, lit candles, hot surfaces, or incense.

• Allow any object wiped with Florida Water—especially candles—to dry completely before lighting or using near heat.

• Do not set the bottle down of finished furniture, it will damage varnish.

• Use externally only. Do not drink Florida Water or ingest homemade blends.

• Patch test before applying to skin, especially if you are sensitive to alcohol, citrus oils, clove, cinnamon, lavender, rose, or fragrance oils.

• Keep Florida Water away from children, pets, eyes, broken skin, and delicate surfaces that may be damaged by alcohol or essential oils.

Workshop Formula

Today we will be using the following base:

• 1 liter 191-proof whole grain alcohol

• ½ liter 80-proof vodka

• 2 gallons distilled water

The amount of essential oils needed will depend on how you want the finished product to smell. The following blend well together. Begin with .5oz, and add more of whichever scent you want to bring to the forefront.

• rose otto

• sweet orange essential oil

• grapefruit essential oil

• ylang ylang essential oil

• clove essential oil

• kananga water

Blend the alcohols and distilled water, then add the essential oils and kananga water. Stir. Bottle. Label the finished blend clearly, store it away from heat and flame. Essential oils may settle, shake well before use

Resurrection - Easter, and the Spring Equinox Sit Down to Spill the Tea

Just as the light begins to change from winter white to golden spring, imagine Easter, and the Spring Equinox pulling up chairs at a kitchen table. Easter brings baskets, eggs, lilies, rabbits, hymns, and a calendar full of holy arguments. The Spring Equinox pours the tea, balances day and night in both hands, and says, “Before anyone claims this story, let’s talk about where it has been.”

This is a conversation about origins, but not the tidy kind with one beginning and one answer. It is about overlapping traditions, borrowed symbols, seasonal longing, and the human habit of looking at the returning light and asking what it means. So, we begin with the question my Pagan childhood taught me to ask: What happened before that?

As a child growing up, I was taught to follow questions the way one follows a path into the woods: patiently, curiously, and without assuming the first answer is the last. Again and again I was encouraged to ask “the question”: “What happened before that? And what happened before that? And what happened before that?” Today, I invite you to carry that question with us like a lantern, as together we trace its light backward through story, symbol, season, and memory—back 30,000 years.

Cultural historians find, in the celebration of Easter, a convergence of the three traditions - Pagan, Hebrew and Christian.

Eostre, Bede, and Easter

According to the Venerable Bede, an English historian and monk of the early 8th century, the English word “Easter” may derive from the Old English month-name Eosturmonath, which Bede associated with a goddess named Eostre. Because Bede is the main early source for this claim, it is best understood as an important but debated tradition rather than a settled origin story.

History is often written through the eyes of those who record it, the victors, and Bede’s interpretation may have been just that: an interpretation. He is the first known writer to refer to Eostre as a goddess. There is little corroboration outside his account, so what he witnessed may have been a local spring or fertility custom rather than evidence of a widely worshipped deity.

Cycles of Nature

As People of the Earth — which we all are — we live in a world of circles, interlocking and concentric wheels of life and time. Our lives constantly overlap the lives of others, but at the root we share things that are forever unchanging:

•               Breath

•               Sun rise & set

•               Moon phases

•               Seasons

As these cycles change, what happens inside of us is mirrored by what’s happening outside in Nature – and vice versa

Melancholy of fall

Despair of winter

Quickening – Feb

Here in the Midwest, we are now experiencing the Hope of Spring.

Hope of Spring -- outside

•               Light changes

•               Animal sightings

•               Birdsong changes – where once they fought now they’re in love

•               Ground softens

•               Green shoots push up from the dirt

Inside

•               Flutters… renewal

•               Stand straighter

•               Breathe deeper

•               New clothing

•               Clean house

•               Cabin fever – throw open the windows

Spring as Fertility

Returning to the Venerable Bede, we have to remember that he observed, assumed, and reported from within his own cultural frame. His account is not repeated elsewhere, which makes it important but not definitive.

The "Oestre" name in Latin apparently derives from the Greek and has its roots in a word that means "frenzy." We see this word again in English in "estrus," meaning a female mammal 'in heat' and able to conceive, and there we see the meaning behind the "frenzy" definition.

Fertility sexuality… Mating rabbits…Mad as a March Hare…

The English name "Easter" is much newer. When the early English Christians wanted others to accept Christianity, they used the name Easter for this holiday so that it would match the name of the old spring celebration. This made it more comfortable for other people to accept Christianity.

Throughout the world, spring is the season of sexual fertility: what was once barren, dead, and cold becomes resurrected, alive, and rising. Tree sap begins to move, green shoots push upward, and even the body responds to light, warmth, and renewed energy.

That rising energy is marked in celebrations across cultures and seasons: Mardi Gras, Carnival, prom, and Easter all gather around themes of release, renewal, fertility, and transformation.

The Christian Easter Frame

The Council of Nicaea in 325 established the dating of Easter within the Christian calendar.

It is the first Sunday after the first full moon that follows the vernal equinox on March 21st.

Resurrection Archetypes

Resurrection is not only a Christian theme; it is one of the great recurring images in human religious imagination.

He who speaks with primordial images speaks with a thousand tongues… (Carl Jung)

Many cultures, ancient and modern, tell stories of descent, return, death, rebirth, or renewed fertility. The details differ greatly, and scholars debate whether these stories should all be grouped together, but they reveal a deep human impulse to connect spring with restoration and the renewal of life.

Rather than one single 30,000-year-old doctrine, the larger pattern is a very ancient human fascination with cycles of death, return, fertility, and transformation.

Across history, these stories often echo one another, carrying a common thread without being identical:

•               A divine or semi-divine figure is born under unusual or sacred circumstances

•               That figure teaches, suffers, descends, is wounded, dies, or is separated from the world of the living

•               Trees, spears, wounds, underworld journeys, or ritual sacrifice sometimes appear as part of the symbolic landscape

•               The figure may enter the underworld, encounter hidden knowledge, or become associated with seasonal loss and return

•               In some traditions the figure rises, returns, or is ritually remembered in connection with spring or renewed fertility

•               The mother, consort, or divine feminine figure is often central to restoration, mourning, protection, or renewed life

1.             Osiris — one of the earliest Egyptian examples

                  What sets Osiris apart is that after his death, his body is dismembered and scattered. Isis, his wife, gathers the pieces and restores him long enough to conceive Horus. Osiris does not simply return to ordinary earthly life; he becomes lord of the underworld. Still, the story preserves a powerful image of fertility restored after death.

2.             Tammuz, also known as Dumuzi, is a Mesopotamian figure associated with vegetation, herding, mourning, and seasonal loss. Traditions about him are complex and should not be reduced to a simple resurrection story, but his descent and return are often read as part of a wider pattern connecting divine absence with the death and renewal of the natural world.

3.             Dionysus, also known as Bacchus, is the god of the vine, wine, ecstasy, and transformation. In some traditions he is born of the mortal woman Semele and Zeus; he also descends to Hades to rescue his mother and bring her among the immortals. His myths are linked to death, return, and ecstatic renewal, though not in exactly the same way as the Christian resurrection story.

4.             Odin, the chief god in Norse mythology, is associated with wisdom, poetry, magic, and the runes. He hangs on the world tree, Yggdrasill, pierced by a spear, for nine nights in order to gain hidden knowledge. This is better understood as ordeal, sacrifice, and initiation than as a spring resurrection myth.

5.             Attis, associated with the goddess Cybele, became part of Roman religious life and was linked with vegetation, mourning, and seasonal renewal. Later sources describe ritual lamentation and rejoicing in connection with his death and return, though the details developed over time and should be presented carefully.

The festival included mourning and ritual intensity followed by rejoicing, which made it one of several Mediterranean traditions associated with loss and renewal around springtime.

In the Roman world, devotion to Jesus and devotion to older Mediterranean deities sometimes existed in overlapping cultural spaces, though their meanings, communities, and theologies were distinct.

Symbols of Easter

Easter eggs & baby chicks- Eggs and chicks symbolize new life. Eggs have been a symbol of spring since ancient times. The chick, hatching out of the egg, symbolizes new life or re-birth.

Ancient Romans and Greeks used eggs as symbols of fertility, rebirth, and abundance- eggs were solar symbols, and figured in the festivals of numerous resurrected gods.

Easter Lily — calla lily — fertility and new life

Spring as the New Year

The New Year

In many traditions, this is the start of the new year. The Roman year once began in March, and the astrological year begins at the spring equinox when the sun enters Aries, the first sign of the zodiac. March is named for Mars, the Roman god often associated with the Greek Ares. In England, Wales, and Ireland, March 25 — Lady Day — was used as the start of the legal year until the calendar reforms of 1752, though Scotland changed earlier.

Nowruz, the Persian New Year, falls around the spring equinox. Its ceremonial table, the Haft-Sin, commonly includes symbolic items such as sprouts, apples, garlic, vinegar, sumac, coins, candles, a mirror, sweets, decorated eggs, and sometimes a bowl of water or a fish. Some families also include a sacred or beloved book, such as the Qur’an, the Shahnameh, the Divan of Hafez, or another meaningful text.

Conclusion

So, when we ask, “What happened before that?” we are not only looking backward through history; we are following a thread. Easter becomes a doorway into an older remembering, where the earth softens to receive the seed, the light returns, and every buried thing begins to stir again. Across names and nations, through Eostre and Easter, eggs and rabbits, gods who descend and rise, we hear the same ancient whisper: life is not finished. The world wakes. The sap rises. The stone rolls away. And spring, in its bright and stubborn mercy, asks us to rise with it.

The Season of Gathering

It is Autumn Equinox. The dark time of year is descending.
The mood in my backyard is less than charitable. The heads of the sunflowers droop dejectedly as the finches fight with the hummingbirds for territory. Rabbits are boxing, there is a gathering of blackbirds in the maple tree, the shadow of the hawk flies over more frequently and each creature below freezes in place, silenced by the confrontation of their own mortality. The ease and camaraderie for summer is gone. Even the bees seem impatient and angry.

The harvest is now in earnest. Just a few sparce tomatoes remain, red spots in the garden. Just a few more apples to be gathered from Miss Apple Tree. Her beauty and generosity have been magnificent and overwhelming this year. Our kitchen is filled with scents of cinnamon and vanilla. The freezer now holds apple sauce, fillings for strudel and pie, and two different kinds of apple cake. These sit alongside the breads baked at Lughnasadh. We will joyfully share this bounty with friends and neighbors, and savor the flavors and the memories throughout the winter.

There are those who mourn the passing of Summer but, oh, how I love this time of year. Love, love, love it. The color, the smell, the differences in light and shadow, the crispness of the air. There’s a sense of excitement, it invigorates me, motivates me to spiral inward and nest in thick socks, soft sweaters, and down comforters. There is a pull, to build a fire in the fireplace, to read and scry and dream and incubate the seeds I saved from my harvests, and to smile to myself at the wonder of it all.

I light a candle at the gloaming - as the sun sinks lower, as it will, earlier each night now than it did the night before. In the gathering darkness, I open to Autumn.

Imbolc

Holy Water Sacred Flame
Brigid we invoke your name
Bless my hands, my head, my heart
Source of healing, song, and art.

Imbolc Blessings my friends! The essence of Imbolc in the world is unfolding before us. It is time for healing and renewal!

 For my non-pagan friends - In Celtic traditions the fire festival of Imbolc is celebrated within the first few days in February. Some more learned than me, who use the astronomical side, pinpoint Imbolc as the exact halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, which in 2024, falls on the 4th of February. But I think it’s important to understand that Imbolc is not confined to a date on the calendar - it's a whole season of renewal, and it's happening all around us.

 In Celtic mythology, the season of Imbolc belongs to the Goddess Brigit, who is many things to many people. Some view her as an individual, a deity, some as an energy that spans more than individual. Historically, Brigit is the goddess of the hearth, a protector of wells and springs. She is a goddess of poetry, healing, seership and smithcraft, a guardian of nature. She is a midwife on both the birth and death thresholds, a keeper of the fire, and of bees. On Imbolc eve, she is invoked with offerings of foods such as milk, butter, and honey, which are shared within families and communities, and offered as gifts to her. My Pagan tribe at Earth Traditions lights candles, the fire of her forge helps us to clear energetically from the past, to make way for new growth and new beginnings.

 Imbolc means, ‘in the belly’ referring to the pregnancy of the ewes, and the heralding of the lambing which is announced when the ewes’ milk begins to flow and udders fill. Less visible is the seed in the Earth as it begins to unfurl, the quickening which is the first fluttering of the unborn - a gradual awakening. In many households, Pagans new and old, tend the ‘sacred fire’ day and night to help warm their homes through the last days of winter, to honor the lengthening days, and encourage the warming sun.

 Today, my house is clean, household alters refreshed, fresh candles set, and an offering of milk, butter, and honey prepared. I spent much needed time with a Beloved Sister-friend with whom I shared a trip to Ireland some years ago. Tonight, I will light a candle from Brigit’s eternal flame, collected in Kildare, and place a mantle outside as well as some new candles for use in sacred practice through the year, to receive a blessing of peace, clarity, and prosperity.

 Whether you work with deity or not, the essence of Imbolc and of Brigit can still be felt in the northern hemisphere, and when we are in the midst of a swirling like that it pays to be aware, to take what is intangible and make it tangible – with our thoughts and actions. The act of lighting a candle or putting out food can shift us enough to get a fresh sense of renewal, just as anything else we do to mark a change. Try it! And over the next few days, may you also receive a blessing as she passes by.

Provence

I lie in my bed on the last night of being in Provence.

I wish that I could show you the beauty of the full moon, and the stars as I see them through my window on this warm summer night. But these visions can only be held in memories. I can hope to capture them with words, but the camera could never convey the “All” of them.

Cotignac is a stunningly beautiful Provençal village that sits among the trees. It is shadowed by an impressive limestone cliff, originally an old waterfall from the Cassole river which was diverted elsewhere in the 10th Century. Many ancient caves within the rock face were used to hide the population and their animals during a period of invasions in the Middle Ages. In the 12th Century, a fortification was built into the cliff face as well as two towers at the top of the rock. 

 

We roll through the winding roads of the Provence. Gangs of chattering blackbirds rise up and we witness a murmuration in azure skies.

I wish that I could share with you how the breeze at Lughnassadh carries the fragrance of lavender, butterscotch, and anise even after the platters at the feet of the Alps have been harvested.

A market pops up like Brigadoon on the plaza just outside our door. The villagers selling their wares, as their ancestors have for centuries before them. There are tables of olives in colorful, ceramic bowls, glass cases of cheeses, rows of fresh vegetables and fruits, breads, soaps, perfumes, jewelry and market baskets. The sounds of laughter and camaraderie carry on the air, in the melodic language of France. Bonjour! Merci!

 

My Beloved and I sit at a tiny café where the coffee tastes like love. Later, we pull over to admire the terraced hills of grape vines, and the chateaus to whom the vineyards belong, and the olive groves that stretch as far as the eye can see. We picnic on succulent sun ripened strawberries that taste like summer, on salted meats, fresh baguettes, and raspberry tarts.

 

How can I convey the awe of seeing ancient cliffside dwellings, of feeling the magnificent vibration of a thundering waterfall or walking in the places where the dead rest?

We stumble upon an old fort. The sparkling blue Mediterranean Sea sprays its salty mist into olive trees and on me. I become ageless, timeless, one with all of it - having memories of times, places and faces I’ve not known in this life.

We walk silently through an ancient temple to Diana, a goddess long forgotten. The niches that once held statuary or books are empty now, the steps worn smooth by the countless feet that have traveled them.

I wish that you could feel the stirring in my heart as my eyes drink in the faces of Beloved old friends, knowing this might be the last time I see them. We share the flavors of truffles, and olives, and the smell of smokey whiskey, and juicy ripe tomatoes still warm from the sun. There are conversations of substance, the telling of life stories, joyous and disappointing, experiences that shaped us, enlightened us, amused us, wounded us. 

Michael & Richard at the Temple of Apollo

I passionately believe that to love and to be loved are the only two defining factors of a truly successful life. I am loved by many, and I have loved many things: people, both human and non-human, and the places that have shaped me. Cotignac has captured my heart. Provence retains a permanent, gentle place within my spirit. I hope that one day I will return here, that there is still one visit more with my friends, with the endless fields of lavender, and with the stones of ancient places that hold the secrets of that time within them.

 

What Witches Look Like...

#whatwitcheslooklike2021

Inspired by Byron Ballard

I would add here that my personal belief is that witchcraft is not a religion, it is a practice, and it is employed by every religion. Witchcraft is the petitioning of energies that reside outside of time, space, and the 5 senses to help influence the desired outcome of a particular situation. Whether it is to bring about healing, to throw a curse against an enemy, to affect weather, get a job, a lover, or win a basketball game... Some call this "prayer" some call it "spell casting" - I call it witchcraft. While some spend a lifetime studying, getting initiations and degrees, and memorizing tomes- in my opinion, everyone is capable of this. "The mettle of the Magician is proofed in the effectiveness of the magic." (Mom) If you successfully bring about what you desire, you're doing it right. Also - some last words of advice. Be careful what you wish for. You might actually get it.

The Veil

The veil is thin at this time of year. In the northern hemisphere, the Earth is laboring in her dying process and pre-occupied with that. The attention paid to things that might normally be concealed or obscured, has been otherwise diverted and there is often an increased occurrence of flashes, whispers, blips, brushes, shadows, and visions, not of this world. Dreams seem more visceral - more vivid, and they linger longer after waking.

It happens in the Spring too, this pre-occupation. Only it’s during the birthing process of the land here which also requires a monumental amount of attention. Things slip. Veils between the worlds, thin.

I’ve seen probably 12 instances now of resistance against the idea of a thin veil. “All veils are thin.” they say derisively. But that’s not true.

Ever seen a burka? There’s a reason why some women in burkas can’t go out by themselves. They can’t see to walk without a guide. Similarly, widow’s weeds of the Victorian Era. They were so thick; the widow was escorted by necessity. Both a blessing and a curse for the bereaved.

We might also mention the caul. The veil over the face that some infants are born with. There’s nothing thin about that. There’s also nothing thin about a shroud, the burial veils used in many cultures, or the temple veils of biblical proportions. These veils separated the holy place from the most holy. They were 60 feet long, 30 feet wide, and the thickness of the palm of the hand. They were so heavy, they could crush a man if they fell, and it took dozens of priests to manipulate them.

We are fast approaching Samhaintide, the month of November. We make our home altars welcoming to our Beloved Dead, freshening them, cleaning them, putting out fresh offerings of pomegranate, and apples, chocolate, sweet water, and wine. We light candles, burn incense, and invite them to step into our remembrances, to give us messages, guidance, to visit our dreams.

For me, it is generally easier to connect at this time of year when the heavy veils that obscure this world from others, thin and sometimes drop almost completely. Here, the Earth travails in the labor of her deathing, even as in the Southern Hemisphere she travails in the labor of her birthing.

This year, the veil seems even thinner than usual – and it’s not just me. Beloveds, friends, and family are calling from across the country, reporting incidents, sharing stories of encounters, and processing dreams.

As we spiral into the darker days, let’s just STOP for a moment to recognize where we are, to take advantage of the precious time we have, to be in this threshold, this liminal space on the Wheel where we can more easily connect with our Ancestors, our Guides, and our Beloved Dead, to give and receive love, healing, and wisdom - to hold and be held. It is an exchange that we can immerse ourselves in, and if we do it right, it can keep us warm and soul-fed through the season ahead. Samhain – Gaelic for the month of November, it’s a season.

For me, this is the most beautiful and magical time of the year. Some of the experiences and observations will have personal meaning, some may come through us to be delivered to others, and some may have nothing to do with us, or our world at all. The magic comes from discernment, acceptance, and delight in the mystery.

Curl up, rest, drink hot tea, and take the whole month to pay your respects to those who allowed you to come through them, to be earthside. (Whether you like them or not!) and to all those who exist in other realms, realms that bleed over into ours while the veil is thin.

Falling into the Season of Samhaintide

For me, October is the pre-cursor to Samhain; Samhain being the Gaelic word for the month of November. October is filled with glorious color as the trees dance in wild abandon with the wind - in the last soiree of the season. The stunning beauty of their scarlet, orange, and gold party attire swirls about them, and me, like an exotic silk veil.

 It is Samhaintide, the gloaming sunsets become more purple hued, and there’s a marked change in dreams and meditations. I think, as the world stills, spiraling into its ‘season of death’ my mind and body also become more still and, in that stillness, awareness becomes sharper. 

 It is at this time of year that I experience increased episodes which involve flickers in the peripheral vision, shadows that don’t seem to belong to anything, a comforting hand on the shoulder, a waft of perfume or pipe smoke, elusive whispers, heightened dreams and a delicious melancholy; a longing to connect, even as I spiral in. This is what it means to me when I say, “the veil is thin.”

 I believe this happens more prevalently now because the Earth is in her season of dying, and like any death the act requires full attention. Rather like labor and birth. And while she is distracted with her dying, the attention usually more carefully paid to things ordinarily obscured, is diverted. Hence, the slippage of the veil, or the thinning of the mists which results in an increased opportunity and ability to see the Otherworlds.

 Traditions are vital food for my soul, and at this time of year my kitchen is busy with baking, and soup making and crafting of medicinals. There’s a smell of bounty that leads and lingers into a month of spoken gratitude; a month that culminates with turkey. All of this, along with seasonal decorating, and altar building, is part of my personal practice. I find comfort in the familiarity; in my roots.

 This year I will miss the traditions I generally celebrate with others. The Dumb Supper is a tribute particularly poignant for me, a meal taken in silence – each bite a sensory experience done in the name of a Beloved. Also, the Dance with the Dead, that allowed me to be with my earth tribe as they engaged with their Mighty Dead in a rite where spirits crowd the room and jockey to have their messages heard.

 It is during this time; in these November days, that I sit with those whose absence has left a rift in my soul and an ache in my heart. I sift through the memories of times shared, I smile and weep, feel and heal my grief in the space of gratitude and loss, relieved that I have carved out this time to remember my Beloveds, and my bloodline and to be in that moment. This is the only time of year I allow myself to truly surrender to tending and mending the rips and tears that these deaths have caused in my heart and use the shredded edges to reweave – reintegrate back into the tapestry that is my life. 

 Instead, this year, the dinner will be intimate, and the fire will be built here at home, and connected with other fires across the country to form a web of light intended to purge and transform in a celebration of the New Year. Each flame across the land will represent a kindred heart and mind, focused on the death of old paradigms and on moving us into a better world. This year feels like a fight for our lives, and a fight to make meaning of the hundreds of thousands of souls that have gone into the West as the result of a virus unchecked. Samhain reaps a grand harvest this year.

 Samhain energy builds. The altar is set, the offerings are made.

I tend my heart and my hearth.

I invite you to do the same.

Spring Equinox 2020 All Things Are NOT In Balance

A Ritual For You, The People of the Earth.

Light a candle, in a jar. Sit quietly, outside if you can, or maybe by an open window, watching the flame flicker through the glass, and paying close attention to everything around you; the sights, the sounds, the scents, the sensations.

The Equinox occurs today, on March 19, at 10:50 PM CDT. It is the Vernal Equinox, marking the first day of Spring in the Western Hemisphere. The Spring Equinox, when the sun passes directly over the equator, and day and night are in balance.

But this year - for humans, the world as we know it is very much off balance. So, this evening, let's come together to work with the energy of Spider Woman, to try to weave some things back together.

You don't have to heal the world, just sit quietly and cast your threads to hold and support all those Beloveds, whose lives mean so much to you, and then extend to include all *their* Beloveds. Allow the threads to be cast to the Earth as an anchor - and to the treetops. Connect those threads to one another, in glistening, gossamer lines of wholeness, and protection.

Each person doing this, envision your web, connecting to another web, and another, and another, and another. Providing support and a safety net, that has waves of comfort, compassion and love rippling across each thread.

Keep your own circle tight, allow the natural patterns to emerge. Pluck the thread that anchors you. Allow the vibrations of your intention to shimmer outward, allow the voices of reason, and of nature inform you, giving you ideas of what you need to do to be safe in these troubled times. Allow the information of the planet to ripple back to you. It is not all going to be ok. It is going to be different, it is going to be difficult. We have taken a long time to come to this place, and now we need to find our way back. Follow the threads. Stay strong. Take care of yourselves, so no one else has to. Listen to the words of Spider Woman.

SPIDERWOMAN SPEAKS

-Words and Mask from Lauren Raine.

You don’t know my name. It doesn’t matter.

I’ve had a lot of names.

Call me Tse-Che-Nako, Thought Woman

I create the World with the stories I tell, just as you do.

Call me Spider Woman the Weaver.

At the end of each age I led the people up,

through the Birth Kiva, into the dawn of a new Age.

Now the 4th Age is ended,

It is time again to come with me.

Listen to me, I’ll tell you something.

Your spirit has become woven into bad things.

Things are unraveling.

Take this thread from me.

It’ s time to weave a new story now.

Walk out into the desert

Notice the shapes of things,

The shape of the sky,

the shapes of shadows,

the shape of your own shadows.

Take a deep breath of all the stories

that live here.

Stories woven into the land.

Stories that wrap themselves

around old bones and pottery shards,

Stories written in the rocks about Snake and Raven,

The Yellow Women and the Sacred Twins,

and the cold hearts of sleeping mountains.

There are cracks in the land like a spider web,

full of light,

full of fire.

Once, you could see the Web

as plain as day. Song lines, leylines,

threads, connections, the pattern.

Each shining, light woven thread.

You say you can't see it.

Well, take a look around!

You don't need to climb a mountain

to get the big picture!

All of its snaking rivers

and twining roots

Are inside of you!

All those threads

come right out of your hands

And out of your hearts

All those threads just go on forever

Into the Earth,

and into each other:

into all your stories,

into everyone you'll ever know,

into all those who came before you,

and all those who will come after you.

Oh, Metaquisin

I Surround You With a Ring of Salt!

I surround you with a ring of salt

March 18

Hello little Covid-19. 

Who are you? 

Where did you come from?

Are you something that evolved and then mutated?

Were you released from your eons of captivity within a melting ice cap? 

Were you created in a lab for nefarious purposes? 

How do we speak with you? 

We are at the crossroads. How do we broker the deal for our lives? 

Little virus, so mighty in your minute being. 

Your lessons are painful. 

Even as you enforce our stillness, even as you remind us the importance of breath, even as you bring death to our Beloveds, you show us the healing that has begun on our planet due to our lack of contribution - our parked cars, docked boats and grounded airplanes, our silent factories, oil drills, and chain saws. Their absences are notable. 

May we learn these lessons quickly and thoroughly, and may we act on them to continue to heal our world but not be destroyed in the process. 

May we find a way to contain you tiny demon, until you find your way to the stars, to a place where your presence is needed and welcome.

The Mettle of a Magician...

Magic Circle John William Waterhouse

The Mettle of a Magician...

ANGIE BUCHANAN·TUESDAY, OCTOBER 9, 2018

All you magical types out there… Yeah you! Trying to look cool over that cauldron…

Ok – so we’ve had some time to grieve, to freak out, to spin and hiss and froth.

You done wringing your hands yet?

Is it time to move into being effective?

Great!

Let’s start by assessing some things.

First, are you registered to vote? Or are you still insisting that it doesn’t do any good anyway because the system is rigged?

Guess what? It is rigged, by the overlords who have convinced you to believe that. Stop sulking or resisting based on that. It’s adolescent. Get off your ass and get out there.

Register, and vote. If you think you’re already registered, make sure. Things are getting “lost” or “erased.”

There is NO excuse. None. Quit whining. Quit quitting.

Rides are being provided, polls are open from early morning until late evening,

Employers must allow you time to go vote, and there are absentee ballots for those of you who are disabled or who will be out of town.

Get on that NOW, before it ‘slips your mind.’

I see a number of you younger people complaining that you’re tired of being confronted about this. Understand that I lose all respect for you at that point.

People’s lives are at stake. Get up and go do something. ESPECIALLY those of you who are unemployed. Why aren’t you volunteering???

Next, what are you doing for the candidates who share the talking points and values that represent you? Are you helping them get their messages out in the districts where it matters?

Are you showing up at their campaign offices?

Stuffing envelopes?

Distributing yard signs?

Handing out pamphlets?

Donating money? Even $5.00 helps.

Are you offering to drive people to vote?

Or pay for bus/cab/Uber passes?

Are you checking in with the homebound to make sure they’re registered?

How about the neighbors?

People you work with?

Do you have a yard sign in your yard?

Are you volunteering to work a polling place?

To answer phones for a few hours?

Or are you just dissecting those candidates; looking for imperfections to justify staying uninvolved?

You think this post is radical? Dramatic? Angry?

Yup – probably is. What’s wrong with that? If not now, when?

People are dying. Black people, brown people. People are losing their rights. Women, gay people. People in our country do not have access to clean drinking water. Flint, MI - Puerto Rico. Or electricity. Or food. Or medical care.

Meanwhile - Corporations have become Serfdoms with individual rights and unlimited ability to contribute financially to campaigns that serve their bottom dollar.

Corporate Executives are making 4000X more than their lowest paid employees while paying someone to train them how to apply for food stamps.

We have a liar wearing the robes of a Supreme Court Justice.

Stop standing on your idealistic soapbox, preaching about how bad the world is, and how all politicians suck.

Stop cannibalizing each other.

Assess the conditions with a wide angle lens and make the choices that will move you closer to your goal.

Look for the things you DO agree with in a candidates platform and stop focusing on the things you don’t like. You can hold their feet to the fire about that later.

Vote for the one who actually has a chance of winning the race. Not the one with the best hair, or suit.

There is no on/off switch for our current state of affairs.

There is no messiah – no one is coming to save you.

Your vote counts.

Vote as if lives depend on it – because they do.

Vote as if it was YOUR life.

I tell my students – “The mettle of the magician is proofed in the effectiveness of their magic.”

Show us what you’ve got.

Prove your power.

-Angie

Don't Go Back to Sleep

ANGIE BUCHANAN·SATURDAY, MARCH 16, 2019·6 MINUTES

Yesterday, a madman decided that he was justified in his hatred - that his whiteness entitled him to murder 49, innocent, unarmed, people while they prayed. Some will claim that he was 'misguided', poisoned by some shadow movement that is leading our youth astray. Some will say that he is mentally ill, some will blame lack of gun control, or shake their heads, filing this away as yet another aberration in an otherwise peaceful, loving world. None of these things will be true.

This carefully planned atrocity, this act of terrorism was not a solo act by a deranged mind; it is the product of the underbelly of our global society, and it is currently in mass production. Over the course of time, while we’ve been sleeping, (and then singing Kumbya to one another when we were awake and not trying to eat each other…) we have, in our distraction, allowed ourselves to be rolled onto our backs into “the upside down” of Stranger Things.

The underbelly wriggles with delight in the warmth of the sun; its pus-filled lesions teeming with maggots, some seeking the light that will grow their wings, and their venomous stingers. Others, burrowing deeper into rotted flesh; gluttons, eating away at the substance of things – so far in, we can almost feel the gnawing vibrations under our toes.

As with any infection, there is safety in numbers; the maggots howl a summons to their kindred, that both incites them, and sets them free. And in this freedom, they seethe with hatred. They hate the ones they perceive to be the oppressors of their authority, the deniers of their entitlement, and they call the names of the ones who inspire them. They manifest their superiority by building walls as monuments to white nationalism; walls built upon history, walls built upon a foundation of the spending of over $6 trillion by the US alone, on wars that have killed 500,000 people since 9/11. Wars against “those not like us” – and they copycat the threats of violence, mirroring their heroes, the ones who divide us as a means by which to line their already stuffed, but insatiable pockets, with lies, fear, and ill-gotten wealth. All this achieved using threats soaked in the self-righteous brew of democracy. This is not a new movement by far – but an old trope dressed in new robes, rising to the surface once more in an act as old as time.

“I have the support of the police, the support of the military, the support of Bikers for Trump,” he said. “I have the tough people, but they don’t play it tough until they go to a certain point, and then it would be very bad, very bad.” - Donald Trump

This is the pestilence prophesied in all the world’s holy books, and by the mystics, seers, and prophets writing fiction, reading stars, and divining dreams; these are the locusts that strip all the sustenance from the fields and claim the lives of our first-borns as we allow them to be sacrificed upon the altars of war. This is the warning cast by “Cassandras” all over the world; from the smallest incidents of calling out male white privilege in small religious organizations, to the more serious exposure of predatory sexual abuse in the holy places, work places, and now, even seated on our SCOTUS. We cannot say we didn’t see it coming.

But - there is a shift in energy afoot. I can say with a decent amount of confidence that there has never been a time in our recorded past quite like this. We can give in to despair, imagining ourselves screaming into the void, like Cassandra, or we can get cohesive; cohesive in our politics, cohesive in our persistence to right this, to stop the infighting and work together to roll this underbelly back into the dirt and slime where it belongs.

We can agree to let go of the conviction, the need to be right that clouds our vision, in favor of embracing the anger and the passion that moves us to justice, fairness and equity for all living things - that moves us toward rebalancing, finding our place in the world – a place where we do not live as “me” on this Earth but as “us on this planet.”

The predicament we find ourselves in today – the existence of the infection of toxic humanity, of the super-rich, of the white supremacist, of the patriarchal authority, is the result of our failure to do so in the past.

“Those who do not learn from the past, are doomed to repeat it.”

Over and over, and over again.

The fruit of the trees planted by recent generations that has ripened, and that we are eating now, is bitter. There will come a day when the fruit from the trees we have planted ripens. We may never have the chance to eat from those trees but, we have a duty, a responsibility to make sure that fruit is sweet for our children, for those who come behind us, those who are already becoming our teachers in ways and to heights we may never have imagined for ourselves.

These are the children of beautiful skin, black, brown, pale, and all those exquisite shades that language is too dull for, the children whose myriad ways of connection to things larger than themselves, is no threat to any other way, the children from who we have borrowed this time, and been untrustworthy in our management of it.

We have the opportunity to get quiet, to listen to ancient whispers, in our blood and from our planet, and to the voices of the future as they see with a clarity we do not possess. We have the opportunity to shine in the darkness so that others in the void can see us and be inspired to shine, too. We can summons our own allies, and we can weave for ourselves, a joyous, inclusive fate that refuses to be limited by the thirst for power.

USA peeps - remember this come election time. Get quiet. Gather strength. Then act. Act willfully, with intention. Step away from the microscope and the telescope. Use a wide angle lens with which to view the world. Let the younger ones lead. Get behind them. They are stronger, smarter, and have more at stake. Be the nucleus, be the center of power, pushing outward, in solidarity with, not in opposition to. Let go of the attachment that drives you to act in haste, and in ways that are spiteful, not helpful. Our very lives depend on our agreement and our ability to do this.

The Beast has been unmasked. Now we know what we’re fighting, and what we’re fighting for. There is no shortcut. Steady the course.

Stay awake!

“The breezes at dawn have secrets to tell you
Don't go back to sleep!
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep!
People are going back and forth
across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open
Don't go back to sleep!” -Rumi

Mary Oliver Is Dead

ANGIE BUCHANAN·WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 2019·6 MINUTES

Mary Oliver is Dead and I Grieve her Loss.

Yes, it is possible to grieve for the loss of someone you’ve never met. There are some people who manage to get into our bones with the legacy of their work. Perhaps we've sung along to their music, maybe we've read their books, or been taken by their art - and, as a result, they have become inexorably woven into the tapestry that is our life - an important part of our innermost self. When they die, they leave us bereft; filled with the grief of a loss that we too often self-talk ourselves into dismissing as inauthentic.

Although no new words will come from her, she is sleeping sweetly, curled up, upon on the pages of her poetry

For me, Mary Oliver was one of those. Her words flowed like honey off the edge of a spoon, and my heart opened to receive them. In my mind, she wrote those poems for me. Not for me, as in, in my honor, but for me, as in, on my behalf - because I was unable to express those things for myself. She looked into my very soul and gave words to the feelings there.

Because I found her so compelling, so resonant, I felt a strong sense of connection to her. When I read “How I go to the Woods” I imagine myself being invited to come along on one of her solitary walks because her words describe precisely the way I feel when I walk in the woods. There is solace in silent camaraderie.

How I go to the woods
Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
praying, as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit
on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost
unhearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love
you very much.”
― Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

“Wild Geese” was written the year before my mother died, and in my mind, from my first reading, it will always belong to her. In those words I recognized the message my mother consistently tried to convey to me. A message which I soundly ignored in my efforts to conform to a society in which I always seemed one step out of rhythm.

You do not have to be good.You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. -Mary Oliver

“When Death Comes” is a narrative of life, and the cementing of the idea that the only thing the fear of death accomplishes is to keep us from living; from feeling the vibrations on the strands of the web of life that amaze us – leave us stunned, awestruck, and inform us of the presence of those who were extraordinary enough to leave a hole when they left this world behind.

I grieve the loss of Mary Oliver because through it, I lost any chance to tell her what she meant to me. I lost the feeling of solidarity I felt with her - with her life story, as I have dedicated much of my own life to the defense, recognition, and the healing of those who suffered similar abuses to hers at the hands of the ones they trusted. Then, there is the unexplainable, and often embarrassing gratitude I feel for her – for her walk; her presence in the world. Embarrassing because while she had such a place of tenderness and respect in my world, I was nothing in hers; just another reader out of context.

She was there for me in my darkest moments - offering some small comfort when I needed it, putting a smile on my face, evoking a nod of agreement, and becoming - in the process - part of me. How do you articulate that for anyone, let alone for Mary Oliver? I grieve the lost opportunity to try.

I grieve the missed chance to have met her in real time, to have somehow serendipitously run into her at a local tea house in Rhode Island, or a coffee shop in Florida, or wherever, to hear her speak; to share the energy of her space. I no longer have the option of attending one of her classes, or workshops, or poetry readings. I grieve these secondary losses almost as keenly as her death itself.

Death is the most common and normal part of life. And yet as humans we haven’t quite been able to achieve a means of dealing with the pain. It shatters us to the very core and forces us to learn to live broken. We all know death. We all know how to live life glued back together after having been shattered but, shattered and glued back together is never the same as whole. Nevertheless, we try.

Mourning is a verb. In a broad sense, mourning includes the actions we take to help us express our grief, grief being the natural feeling we have in response to loss. Mourning is the external expression of grief.

In my grief and mourning, I pull Mary Oliver’s poetry up around my shoulders like a soft, sun warmed blanket. I get lost in the fragrance and beauty of the Otherworlds her words create for me. They console me; they are the balm that eases the aching heart, even though the weaver of those words is the source of the pain.

Alan Wolfelt, internationally noted author, educator and grief counselor, said, “Everybody grieves…but only people who mourn really heal and move on to live and fully love again.”

Mary Oliver has gone shining.

I am grieving, I am mourning. Although no new words will come from her, she is sleeping sweetly, curled up, upon the pages of her poetry
But she awakens on the page... and in my heart each time I open her books.

And in doing so she rises, in the definition of eternity.
Hail the Traveler, and Hail the legacy she leaves behind.
What is remembered, lives.

The Ghosts of Samhain Past

The Ghosts of Samhain Past

ANGIE BUCHANAN·SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14, 2018

We came together to celebrate endings; the end of the month of October; the end of the harvest season, the end of the Pagan year, and ultimately death, the end of life.

The leaves were turning and the weather was chilly – just as it should have been. We gathered indoors around the fireplace; shoulder to shoulder on our chairs to talk about the season, the associated cast of characters, spirits, deities and the dead who meet us at the crossroad and the magic we can work there. The wind begins to blow.

We are called together given instructions for the dinner we are about to consume.

· The meal is to be taken in complete silence; no speaking.

· There will be servers. Each place has a disk, red on one side, green on the other. If you need something, turn your disk to green and a server will attend to you, if you wish to be undisturbed, turn your disk to red.

· There is a tarot card on your dinner plate, under the salad bowl; the second of your three card divination for the New Year.

· There is a skull mask beside your place – when you have finished with your meal, put the mask on and sit quietly, communing with your dead.

We are dressed in black and we each carry a small photograph of our Beloved Dead. We invoked the spirits of all who had gone before us and invite them to gather at the portal, the threshold between this world and the next, where the veil was at its thinnest. We each individually call the name of the one we intend to honor. In doing so, we fulfilled the promise that we make to our dying loved ones – “We will call your name at Samhain. What is remembered lives.”

We are led in procession to the dining hall where a long banquet table awaits. There is an empty place setting at each end. The lights are very low, candles flicker. We pass by a place where dead pets are honored. An empty set of food bowls waits.

“Every sensation you feel from now until the end of the meal and afterward you will be feeling in the name of your departed. PAY ATTENTION!! Feel the floor beneath your feet, the chair that supports your back. Feel the sensation of silverware in your hand, of the bite of food as it crosses your lips, how your tongue cradles it and as your teeth pierce it, pay attention to the flavor and texture as it rolls through your mouth while you chew, and the constriction of your throat muscles as you swallow. Feel the comfort of a full belly.

Be aware of any whispers, breaths or brushes, scents of perfume, flowers, or cigarette smoke that might signify the presence of your Beloved.

Soft, haunting, music begins to float through the air from the speaker on the sideboard. The Priestess nudges the thermostat up a notch as the room begins to cool and the air grows thick with memories. She holds the space and watches.There are other servers standing by if they are needed, quietly filling water glasses and replacing napkins when the tears begin to flow. The Living serve the Dead.

One woman reaches out to stroke the photograph before her. An unseen hand touches her shoulder and stirs her hair. She starts a bit before placing her own hand on her shoulder, on top of his. Her food grows cold as she sits with her eyes closed; blissfully comforted by the presence that has graced her. Another woman moves her feet apart under her chair, and surreptitiously drops a piece of chicken on to the floor, a tribute to a missing pet.

One by one they finish the meal and place the mask over their faces. The servers clear the dishes.

Says the Priestess:

“Look up and down the table. Death; the great equalizer. Strip away the layers of personality, the skin and the flesh, and we all return to this. Bone. Made up of earth and air and fire and water. A conspiracy of love infused with stardust, and inhabited by memory.”

We remove the masks, rise on signal, and form a circle.The mystery is described to us - this descent to the Underworlds and our pending Dance With the Dead.

Hand to hand, eye to eye, we swear an oath to the larger Tribe. We look around the circle, and “You Are Safe With Me.”

Together we descend into the belly of the earth, to a room underground. A few candles flicker in the darkness, held on trays, by blacked robed Guides. We divide ourselves into smaller Tribes, each gathered around a Guide. Our Guide lights one candle, and we pass the flame from one to another until there are 8 rings of fire lighting the room. We each receive 6 pomegranate seeds.

“Hold the seeds in your hand. Within these seeds resides the contract of Persephone. A commitment to spend 6 months in the underworlds. She does not go defeated and weak; she goes proudly, willingly, for she is the Most Beloved Queen of this place. She is the caretaker of the Dead - and for this one night, She will allow you access to them again.

Will you commit to the darkness? To the spiraling in, the incubation, the limitless potential that awaits within these seeds; within your dreams?

Will you commit to Death; of the old habits and ways that no longer serve you, will you commit to the dreaming time, to the cold and the silence that allows you to deconstruct and then recreate yourself in time for the rebirthing of Spring?

We breathe in we live, we exhale we die. At the sound of the bell, take a breath in, and on the exhale extinguish your candle; the symbol of your life. Set your candle back on the tray of your Guide.”

In the now dimly lit room, a male voice floats across the darkness.“Huddle in! Huddle in together!

Now, we are standing on the beach of a large body of water. A dark ship approaches. “Hang on to one another for the journey.” his voice says, and we grip the hands of our small Tribes. His voice guides us across the water to the Isle of the Dead, where The Lady of the Veils speaks Her message to us - and allows our Beloved Dead to come closer - She calls them by name. The litany of the Dead ends - some are already weeping softly and He says to us - The Lady has agreed to allow you one last gift.”

There’s a second bell, and the Guides extinguish their candles. Suddenly, the room is plunged into total darkness. No light escapes from anywhere. I cannot see my hand in front of my face.. We are taken by the darkness, and the magic, the music begins, haunting and all encompassing.

We begin to dance. Slowly, slowing our hands to drift over one another, moving to the sounds and the contact with each other. The room appears to be getting smaller. It feels as though there are many more people here than those we have shared dinner with. The weeping intensifies to a wail.

A whiff of Old Spice, lavender, vanilla, Noxzema... A sob of recognition, an embrace, a familiar touch. Whispers that mean something, different languages, a coarse woolen shirt that I don’t remember seeing. Someone walks by holding something that’s purring. I am held against a chest. He is asking for forgiveness. “Of course” I murmur, as I am moved along by the current of bodies and emotion.

After what seems like seconds, and yet eternity, a hand takes my arm. I am blindfolded and I am led away from the group. “Trust me” they whisper. “You are safe with me.” I am brought to a chair, and gently seated. I hear others being seated around me.

The voice of the Priestess tells me to think about life; MY life and the doorways and portals through which I had to come in order to be sitting here today; right now. She reminds me that many of those are nameless and faceless and that while we honor our Ancestors this night, WE are the culmination of all of their hopes and dreams. She reads a piece by Mary Oliver:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

--Mary Oliver

And then another...

The Summer Day

Who made the world? Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean- the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down- who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to knees down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? —Mary Oliver

The Priestess repeats - “What will you do with your one wild and precious life.?”

She asks us to remove our blindfolds. I do - and I discover that I am seated in front of a headstone. It has my name on it, and my date of birth, and a dash, and then nothing...

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” It echoes through my head.

I am left to contemplate that for a moment.

The Guides come again and this time, I am led outside - to a crossroads.

There are three figures. The guide tells me to choose one of them to seek my message for the new year.

There is one with a cane, dapper in top hat and tails, his face is a skull. Another is half black, half white, his face hidden behind a Equinox mask. The third is a woman in long, full, black, skirts, she is hooded and cloaked. I choose her. I approach her, her face is hidden. She asks me if I am ready to find the truth and to see the face of my own salvation for the coming year. She extends a basket and tells me to select a card; the third of the evening. I come in closer, take the card and raise my head to look into her eyes. Her face is a mirror.

“Now you know.” she says.

~Angie Buchanan © 2014

The Crone

The Crone

ANGIE BUCHANAN·FRIDAY, OCTOBER 12, 2018

The Wheel has turned

Once more I stand

As darkness spreads across the land

I beckon you with outstretched hand

Come forth and face me as I am.

I am She who stalks the night

I reign supreme o’er death and life

I am the Queen of second sight

Come forth the dance begins

I walk between the worlds The Crone

I watch you reap what you have sown

I call the Summerland my home

In your heart -- you know me

I dry your tears, I hear you moan

As loved ones leave their skin and bone

To travel on this path alone

I see it all I am The Crone

I’ll alter your reality

Make you face mortality

Bring you down on bended knee

I am She who wails

You honor me because you must

In perfect love and perfect trust

For hope eternal springs from dust

Behold, the Maiden fair

For in the Spring I birth anew

A Maiden, fresh as morning dew

To walk the wheel once more with you

And come face to face with myself.

Come to this place beyond the veil

Where eyes are bright and light is pale

Where hearts are heavy and words – they fail

Come forth this Samhain Eve.

~Angie Buchanan ©2000

'Tis The Season to Revisit the Ongoing Battle

'Tis The Season to Revisit the Ongoing Battle

November 20, 2011 at 8:57 PM

Recently, on The Witches Voice Facebook page, there was an article about the bickering that's already starting with regard to who gets to put what sort of decoration on the Court House lawn for the holidays. I was a little distressed to see so many people, Pagans in particular, opine either that allowing religious symbols on government property was not important enough to argue about, (they're tired of it)  or that it should simply be permitted. (Where's the harm?)  Many took the position that it was WRONG for us to deny people the right to express their faith in this manner. Wow!

First, I think we need to clarify that no one is trying to take religion away from anyone else or to prevent them from practicing their faith -  to a degree. We are specifically talking about tax dollars being used to put religious symbols on government property, such as the front lawn of the Courthouse. To believe there is no harm or danger in this is at best, naive.

 The Establishment Clause of the First Amendment ensures that no government entity will show favoritism for one religion over another. It also guarantees that the United States Congress will not establish a national religion. In order to comply with this, the government must then be willing to accommodate any and all religions who also desire to exercise their right to have their symbol on the Courthouse lawn. The alternative would be to allow none.

 It is not difficult to see how quickly the first option could dissolve into chaos, not to mention the clutter - to the point of becoming physiologically impossible. There is only so much space on a Courthouse lawn and let's not even get started with the religions who don't have a December holiday, who might then want tax payer dollars to fund displays during their holidays.

 This brings us to the dangerous point of determining WHO will be responsible for deciding WHICH religions get to display, and which do not - and when. What I'm asking here is, which branch of the government; local City Councils, State, or Federal, will be given that power?  Once those sorts of decisions are on the table, we have opened ourselves up to losing our Constitutional protections because, the special interests who have the biggest footprint, and the most money, will flood this issue with influence. Chances that we, as Pagans, will be one of the first ones excluded are pretty good. What then?  And more importantly, what next?

 Someone on the Witch Vox thread tried to make an argument about the military headstone project. The headstone project was a totally different animal than this is. Our veterans each get one headstone that will be placed in a cemetery, regardless of what is etched upon it. Whatever the veteran decrees their religious symbol to be, should respectfully be engraved upon the marker of their final resting place. It costs virtually nothing to do this, and certainly no more for one religious symbol than for another, and there is not the issue of space allocation. Much different than a Nativity scene vying for space amongst Menorah's, Kwanza decorations, Solstice wreath's, the Flying Spaghetti Monster etc. on a courthouse lawn.

 Again, make no mistake how much it serves us to maintain awareness that the United States is already being legislated by religious values and principles; primarily, Christianity. Hot button issues such as, Abortion, Death With Dignity, (assisted suicide) Polygamy, and Same Sex Marriage are only a few examples where there are laws currently in effect that promote one religious doctrine over others.

 Paganism, Jainism, Buddhism and Hinduism are all supportive of conditional opting to end ones life via suicide however, these religions are by law, forced to comply with laws that are based upon Christian doctrine. In Judaism, the Talmud states in a passage on priestly rules that the fetus "is considered to be mere water" until its 40th day of breath. But, Jews are held in compliance with abortion laws based upon Christian doctrine. These doctrines have infused our society so thoroughly that we become desensitized to their presence and tend to forget they are even there. We cannot afford to get comfortable with this. It serves nothing to put our faces into our hands and whine "can't we all just get along?"

The short answer is, yes. We can so long as no one religious path is forced to compromise.  Not here, not now, not in the USA. 

 We, as Pagans, need to be vigilant about not being dismissive of something seemingly harmless as a Nativity scene on the lawn of City Hall. These are breaches in the dam that holds back a flood of fascism, a future of oppression and domination the likes of which we have not seen in this country since the Witch Hunts. 

 There is absolutely no reason why ANY religious representation needs to be expressed on, or in our government buildings. These things are best reserved for private homes and businesses and churches.

 But, until ALL of it is stopped, we can still fight for the right to put our own Winter Solstice symbol along side of whatever else is there, as a reminder that Freedom of Religion means ALL religions and  lest we find ourselves in a position of exclusion, having painted ourselves into a corner that we cannot get out of.

 In these days of waxing darkness, may your days be merry & bright!

Happy Holidays!

So, You Have House Pixies…

Tomté, Nesse, Elves, House Wights, Faeries…

Names for house spirits may vary by culture, but they are present in every culture.

Examples may be:

·      Brownie/Hob (England/Scotland): A friendly domestic spirit traditionally believed to assist with household tasks during the night while family sleeps.  

• Kobold (Germany): A small spirit from German folklore, living in homes, mines, or ships, known for being either helpful or mischievous.  

• Nisse/Tomte (Scandinavia): A Norse house spirit known for being protective. 

• Duende/Trasgu (Spain/Portugal): Trickster spirits from Iberian folklore. 

• Hobgoblin (Germany): Another name for the goblin-like spirits found in German folklore. 

• Domovoi (Slavic): A house spirit in Slavic mythology, living in the hearth, protecting the family, and sometimes appearing as an old man or woman. They dwell within the home but are not a personification of the home: they can move with a family if invited. Děd, Děduška (Czech) are alternative names for the domovoi in Czech culture. 

• Kikimora (Slavic): Specifically, a female domovoi spirit. 

• Zashiki-warashi (Japan): Child spirits that live in homes, grant luck, and can sometimes be playfully mischievous.  

• Gabija (Lithuania): A figure associated with the hearth and home, typically depicted as either a woman in a red dress, a cat, or a rooster.  

These entities are most often benevolent, helpful, and protective of the home, though they can be mischievous if not appeased. While they are not necessarily a land spirit, they can be permanent residents of a home, staying with the home even though the residents may change. Or, they can be specifically allied with the resident family, moving with them wherever they go. They may also be transient – something just passing through.

Once these folks have made themselves known to you, an indication that they want to be noticed and included as part of the household, it’s a good thing to acknowledge them on a regular basis. My goal is to form the kind of relationship with them that keeps things harmonious in the home.

I will make an offering specifically to them at least once a month, often at the time of the waxing or Full Moon.

Ideas for offerings that I’ve found effective.

·      Hard liquor, like whisky, or cognac. Use the good stuff.

·      Fruity wine, like elderberry, blackberry or strawberry.

·      A small bowl of honey and some fresh blackberries or raspberries

·      A small plate of chocolate, or homemade cookies

·      Gingerbread, or cornbread

·      A small bowl of heavy whipping cream, or canned whipped cream

·      Good butter (don’t skimp)  – plain, or on bread, cornbread, or hot porridge.

An offering like this is a simple expression of gratitude for their presence, and for their help. I do not recommend putting this offering on an established ancestral altar or one dedicated to a deity. Leave it on the kitchen counter, or on the hearth, after dark. You can leave it there for a day or so before disposing of it. Don’t worry if your pet gets into it. These creatures seem to love animals and will happily share with them – even while the very next minute, they pull the cat’s tail, making her jump and hiss at seemingly nothing.

On Christmas or Solstice Eve, and at Beltane, which is when most of the good folk are on the move, I set out a small bowl of Irish steel cut oatmeal with a generous pat of good butter melting on top. I’ll add brown sugar, maple syrup, or honey, and some heavy cream. I have a special plate and pottery bowl, made by an artist friend, and a pretty crystal glass that I got from a thrift shop, that I use specifically for this. I set it out on the kitchen counter or by the hearth, on a lace doily or a pretty seasonal napkin. Whatever you use, make it pretty, make it pleasing to the eye.

Pay attention to the head space you are in as you prepare the offerings. Serve the offering the way you would any other welcomed guest in your home. Be sure it’s truly a gift from your heart, infused with your energy of delight, appreciation and gratitude. Smile!

If I need something from them; if something goes missing, and I suspect they either have knowledge, or are responsible for it, I will turn the pretty glass upside down on the counter, next to a bottle of mead, or elderberry wine, or elderberry syrup. (As you begin to develop your relationship with them, you’ll discover what they like best.)

I very clearly and firmly say: “Nobody gets any mead until my keys (or whatever) show up.” I will then give a cursory look around, but I also listen to that compelling feeling or that inner voice that pops into my head and says – “Just go check that drawer in the bedroom” or something very specific, even if I’ve looked there before. If the item doesn’t show up within a reasonable amount of time, I accept that it may not in fact still be in the house.

Some cautions:

House spirits should never be tested or treated as servants, that is not what this is; it’s a relationship, an exchange.  If you turn it into a game, I can pretty much assure you that you will open the door for some experiences that will be less than enjoyable. You may end up finding yourself at their mercy, having to give them offerings all the time because now they’re just hiding your shit on purpose, or worse, if they feel disrespected, they can become destructive, knocking over Grandma’s crystal, tripping you, etc. A focused offering of genuine appeasement can remedy this.

Also, remember -

·      They do not have authority over you; they are not superior to you. Don’t give them that power. They are simply “other.” 

·      They do not live in this realm or dimension, they can bleed over into it sometimes, but they don’t often show themselves, they will only leave telltale signs that they are there.

·      They are not bound by time, space or the five senses. The laws of earth nature like gravity, thermodynamics, motion, or conservation of mass, do not apply to them.

·      They do not owe you kindness, honesty, civility or even courtesy, because they do not live by the same social morays that we do.

·      Their sense of humor is different than ours. Often what amuses them are not the same things that amuse us.

·      They can be mischievous, tricksters, and shape shifters. If they choose to allow you to see them, they can vary in size and energy from very small, to gigantic.

·      Each being, small or large, will have its own personality stamp. Some of them can be a combination of energies. Get to know them – how their energy feels when they’re around, things that they like, and don’t like.

·      Be sure to set clear boundaries and expectations.

Some of these might include –

·      Do not upset any of the household residents. Not humans or pets - or other spirits, if they mean us no harm.

·      It is ok to chase away rodents, insects or other pests if they become disruptive or invasive.

·      Do not interrupt our sleep unless there is danger at hand.

·      Divert any potential threats.

·      Respect the objects and spaces that are important to us.

·      Let us know if there are particular gestures or tokens you appreciate.

·      Communicate signs or messages in gentle, non-disruptive ways if you wish to be noticed.

By understanding and respecting the unique personalities and preferences of each entity, we foster a welcoming environment where everyone can coexist peacefully. Setting clear boundaries ensures that all energies remain positive and fun, allowing us to feel safe and comfortable in our space. With open communication and mutual respect, we invite meaningful connections and maintain balance within our home.