Winter thoughts

American fundamentalism is against the journey to dark places; capitalism is against the descent to soul; realism is against the leap to spirit; populism and social thought are against the solitary wildness....Robert Bly

I like being a rebel.

This is an essay written by Frances Farmer in 1931. She was a senior in High School right here in my hometown of Seattle. It won first prize in a magazine contest sponsored by scholastic.
"God Dies"

An essay by Frances Farmer

No one ever came to me and said, "You're a fool. There isn't such a thing as God. Somebody's been stuffing you." It wasn't a murder. I think God just died of old age. And when I realized that he wasn't any more, it didn't shock me. It seemed natural and right.

Maybe it was because I was never properly impressed with a religion. I went to Sunday school and liked the stories about Christ and the Christmas star. They were beautiful. They made you warm and happy to think about. But I didn't believe them. The Sunday School teacher talked too much in the way our grade school teacher used to when she told us about George Washington. Pleasant, pretty stories, but not true.

Religion was too vague. God was different. He was something real, something I could feel. But there were only certain times when I could feel it. I used to lie between cool, clean sheets at night after I'd had a bath, after I had washed my hair and scrubbed my knuckles and finger nails and teeth. Then I could lie quite still in the dark with my face to the window with the trees in it, and talk to God. "I am clean, now. I've never been as clean. I'll never be cleaner." And somehow, it was God. I wasn't sure that it was … just something cool and dark and clean.

That wasn't religion, though. There was too much of the physical about it. I couldn't get that same feeling during the day, with my hands in dirty dish water and the hard sun showing up the dirtiness on the roof-tops. And after a time, even at night, the feeling of God didn't last. I began to wonder what the minister meant when he said, "God, the father, sees even the smallest sparrow fall. He watches over all his children." That jumbled it all up for me. But I was sure of one thing. If God were a father, with children, that cleanliness I had been feeling wasn't God. So at night, when I went to bed, I would think, "I am clean. I am sleepy." And then I went to sleep. It didn't keep me from enjoying the cleanness any less. I just knew that God wasn't there. He was a man on a throne in Heaven, so he was easy to forget.

Sometimes I found he was useful to remember; especially when I lost things that were important. After slamming through the house, panicky and breathless from searching, I could stop in the middle of a room and shut my eyes. "Please God, let me find my red hat with the blue trimmings." It usually worked. God became a super-father that couldn't spank me. But if I wanted a thing badly enough, he arranged it.

That satisfied me until I began to figure that if God loved all his children equally, why did he bother about my red hat and let other people lose their fathers and mothers for always? I began to see that he didn't have much to do about hats, people dying or anything. They happened whether he wanted them to or not, and he stayed in heaven and pretended not to notice. I wondered a little why God was such a useless thing. It seemed a waste of time to have him. After that he became less and less, until he was…nothingness.

I felt rather proud to think that I had found the truth myself, without help from any one. It puzzled me that other people hadn't found out, too. God was gone. We were younger. We had reached past him. Why couldn’t they see it? It still puzzles me.

Its Under Water.

This is fucking rad. Take the time to watch all of this documentary, Graham Hancock is rad.

A Seed from Grandmother Spider Woman

Tonight we begin a salon series on all things esoteric here in Brooklyn... Otherwise Salon! I will report tomorrow on all that we learn. In the mean time, giving thanks again to Grandmother Spider Woman for the seed of this new vision!

Witch of the Week: Grandmother Spider Woman

Solstice Blessings Witchparty!

This week I would like to give thanks to Grandmother Spider Woman, the American goddess of air-element and ancient wisdom. She rules this time of year, as winter sets in. She asks us to give in to the freezing of the earth and welcome the stillness, the opportunity to go within and seek our answers and visions.

Last night I prayed to her to bring me a vision for the coming year, to show me which seeds to nurture for next year's harvest. WWWWhoa. She sent me a dream where I was living in a brand new, bigger house. Inside the kitchen was an easel set up for me to paint watercolors. I felt really uncomfortable in the new house and kept leaving, but every time I left I would realize I really had no other place to go, so I kept coming back to the big new house. Then, on my final return to the house, there was an old Asian woman cooking in the kitchen, and she had made me new painting powders in vibrant colors, fuschia and turquoise, made from barks and roots and flowers, which she had laid out in small piles next to my easel. And I finally felt at home in the new house.

Grandmother Spider Woman, why are you so AWESOME?!?!

Solstice=sun standing still

In just a few moments to be exact. Hope you mark it in your own way.

SONIC LIFE.

“The internal dialogue is what grounds people in the daily world. The world is such and such or so and so, only because we talk to ourselves about its being such and such and so and so. The passageway into the world of shamans opens up after the warrior has learned to shut off his internal dialogue.””

--Carlos Castaneda

Not an easy thing to do, especially in this society where the brain washing is endless and the webs of manipulation become so fucking tangled you can't tell what's "real" or "good". The amount of stress we face just by simply leaving our homes, learning to survive, having relationships with one another, and not completely self-sabotaging our own happiness is insane. Not to mention its effects on the body and all the lessons that go along with that.

I have never been a good meditator, as I have total obsessive compulsive thoughts. But one thing I am pretty good at is listening. Today I give my lil' psyche a breather as I listen to the rain falling into the puddles, the cars swooshing past, the wind filling my ears, my foot steps clicking the concrete. Today I will let my life do all the talking.

Wolf Party

The west was wild once. Worth watching if you have some time, amazing, sad and beautiful true story. Forget Bonnie and Clyde - try Lobo and Blanca.

BENE GESSERIT LITANY AGAINST FEAR

Hello, my name is Kamara Thomas-- uh, I mean, Krystal Faye-- and I am a Dune-head and a Sci-Fi addict.

Simply put, Dune is the deepest sci-fi this sci-fox has experienced to date. You want witch? I'll show you witch: The Bene Gesserit-- a superwitchy sisterhood of sci-foxes who have disciplined their bodies and minds to be superhuman. Check their litany against fear below. The sisters use the litany when they're having a really bad day, as in, torture is being inflicted, things are exploding, death seems imminent, what if no one ever loves me again, etc., etc., etc.


---------------------------------------------------------
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
---------------------------------------------------------
BOOM. This is definitely my next tatoo.

My Beloved Ghost.

This is a video I made for King Dude! Thanks so much to the lovely ladies that made it so witchy and awesome. And thanks King Dude for writing such an awesome song. I hope you all like it!

HELL.

–noun
1. the place or state of punishment of the wicked after death.
2. any place or state of torment or misery.
3. something that causes torment or misery.
4. the powers of evil.

I don't so much partake in the first definition cause I don't have any real big concerns with the after-life and #3 is unnecessary if you really think about the second definition, therefor making the 3rd definition a choice and I am a big believer in choices. So, with that said, I do really enjoy the word "HELL" and I find it to be a very helpful noun and I also use it informally as a random nonsense adjective quite frequently such as: "I look like hell" or "I smell like hell" or whatever. I actually do smell like hell right now but the noun kind of hell, the hell place where every "bad" person ever is permanently alive yet permanently burning for ever, because I stood over a campfire for a couple hours (and because I eat "bad people").

Today was hell.

Today was a hell combo definition #2 and #4.

Life is hell. It is also amazing and I think the hell part of it isn't really a bad part. But it challenges my emotions which challenge my intentions so hell is not something to passively redirect or take lightly. My hell plays a big part in my ever redefining character and it forever crumbles the emotional and mental walls I build up around me. And it wouldn't be without heart that the war would even exist. I hope my heart grows stronger, braver. It would be nice to beat hell to the punch, but until then, good game. Even if it is a madhouse.

The Magic of The World

Just had a conversation with witch-partier Kamara about unfurling the Otherwise banner again. I trust her to honor that vision, and it got me thinking about why I started the Otherwise Fair back in Brooklyn some three years ago. So I wrote this piece today as a manifesto of sorts. Hope you like:

I remember a conversation with a former boyfriend, the conversation when I realized that it was never going to work. Hindsight and all that…nevermind that I chose to spend the next three years with him.
I remember the scene, exactly, us sitting there in Washington Square Park, with the concrete circus of the City playing out in the periphery of my vision. It was early summertime, and the mood of everyone else was light and fun. Yet here we were having a heavy conversation.
‘What is this energy that you’re talking about?’ he demanded, his body hunched, his head jutting forward in this linear way. A former Catholic turned rational, scientific with a vengeance. ‘Can you see it? How do you measure it?’
I admitted I was at a loss for words, right then in that moment. I wish I had known a way to explain it that he would understand.
Deep down, I just knew in my heart, that there were things beyond that which presents itself as reality, things that matter a great deal. It was more of a feeling thing. Try explaining a feeling thing to someone like that and you are bound to end up in quite the intellectual tangle.
Still here I am some nearly ten years later, still trying to figure that one out.
I shacked up with said boyfriend for a while, renounced a lot of things that my heart cared for deeply. I’m not sure why – the trade off was for some kind of security I suppose, some kind of acceptance.
When you grow up raised by hippies, there’s a part of you that always feels like a freak, an outsider – from the way I had to explain being a vegetarian to the other six year olds at lunchtime or struggle with answering my school teacher when she asked what my religion was. I wanted to be more normal, sometimes I just wished my name was Samantha or Sara rather than the unpronounceable, brow furrow invoking Calixte.
I’m glad for my upbringing now, because my parents were a little more accepting than most when it comes to believing in the magic of the world. Every child, in some way or another becomes acquainted with the magic of the world. Some are more supported than others in this, but then once they grow up – they’re met with a certain amount of scorn for such things.
There’s been a long journey in between there and here, but I’m glad to say that I still believe in the magic of the world. The way a spider’s web catches the sunlight in that particular way at that particular time of the morning, the way the earth feels a certain way when you spend time in the woods, to those more overt manifestations of some kind of divine movement. And those are the moments that catch your breath a little bit…
I travel back in time now for an example. Must have been elementary school age at the time, we were learning about different kinds of rock formations. I decided that I was going to find a geode in my backyard. I turned over rock after rock, in our backyard (bordering as it was, downtown San Diego) trying to find that sparkle of crystal. And you know what, I did – I found a geode! I was delighted and went running back to the house, crystal encrusted rock in hand, to show my mom. Well, the rational explanation, which I learned later on, was that some weeks earlier, my dad had got it into his head that this geode he had bought once at one of those rock and crystal shops was wanting to be returned to the earth. So he took it out into our backyard, and placed it face down on the ground in a quiet corner, only later to be overturned by my small but earnest young hands. Ok, so that’s the explanation, but really, when you think about it, what are the odds? I had communicated with no one about my wishes to find a geode that day, I just went out, believing that there was a very good chance I would discover one.
Further back in time, now…I was maybe five years old. In that same magical backyard, we had this wonderful guava tree. Guavas are these sweetly tart fruits that grow in warmer climates. I loved guavas and spent many a summer afternoon happily licking the delicious pink flesh from the green skin. So one day, I decided that I was going to sit directly underneath this guava tree and that if I waited long enough, a guava would fall right into my hand. This is again, one of those things some would say only a child would believe, that a guava would choose to fall right into my little clasped hands. Well, it’s true that no guava did fall into my hands that day. Instead, it just so happened - due perhaps to the direction the wind was blowing and which branch a bird decided to land on at just the right moment – that I felt a wet chalky green splat fall directly into my palm. What are the odds of that? Talk about divine humor…There’s a message there, and one I have still been integrating for most of my adult life.
But yes, I stopped believing for a while, because there are a lot of people out there that scorn such believing. If you do believe, they make you feel bad and stupid, naïve. So I chose the path of least resistance. That was a dark existential time for me, with very little beauty or passion for life. I suspect that everyone who eventually chooses this other path – the path of heart, goes through such a time. Maybe it’s some kind of rite of passage.
After a while something changed in me. I realized that I missed the magic of the world, and I wanted it in my life again. And as soon as I opened my eyes to it, I began to see the magic of the world again, happening all around me. I’ve seen and felt things that are so deeply moving to me, things that have touched me in such a way that I am left reeling for days, weeks, years even…And I love it, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I believe that everyone has the choice to believe in something more. I can’t make that choice for anyone else but myself, but I know, I believe that all people carry a hunger inside themselves for just this kind of wonder. To be touched by something greater than themselves. That doesn’t mean booking a one-way ticket for Neverneverland, which is perhaps a whole other article I will save for a whole other day. But I will say this: that it is possible to have your feet on the ground, be engaged with people, with culture and the everyday world and still maintain that wonder and magic. This is a specific choice that’s yours to make when you see that the reality as it is presented ultimately will never satisfy your heart and soul. So you breathe deep, and gather up all your courage – because all adventurers who choose to see differently are going to need a certain kind of courage – and you choose otherwise.

GETTING RAD WITH FLOYD.

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

SECRET CODE.

THE HIEROPHANT

This time around we explore the message of The Hierophant. He represents spiritual concerns as they express through the masculine principle. In other words, the spiritual ideal is translated from its nebulous, internal formlessness into manifest external forms that can be communicated between separate entities. The Hierophant creates these forms-- rituals, ceremonies, and spiritual laws-- that serve to point us toward the vast source from which we spring and connect us to one another. In our joining we become One-in-form, a reflection of the unfathomable Oneness of our source. Helluv meta, I say!

The Hierophant is traditionally portrayed as a pope or man-of-the-cloth. In one hand he holds a scepter, symbol of divine rulership over spiritual concerns, and he holds his other hand in a gesture signifying his knowledge as an initiate into spiritual mysteries.

The Hierophant calls us to the seeking of spiritual meaning. Through the practice of sacred and symbolic acts like meditation, yoga and martial arts, and the attendance of sacred ceremonies of all kinds, The Hierophant teaches us to aspire to greater heights of spiritual meaning in all we do. By making a regular practice of connecting to the divine we prepare our vessels and our minds for the revelation of spiritual truth.