Witch Party

WITCHY WOMEN

2010-08-20T19:43:00.000-07:00

This is a video I did for Black Breath who are one of my favorite local bands here in Seattle. Thanks to all the wonderful ladies who did such an amazing job at making it all come together.

BLACK BREATH//UNHOLY VIRGIN from Emily Denton on Vimeo.

Be your own hero.

2010-05-15T11:01:00.000-07:00

Try it, today.

2010-03-27T09:45:00.000-07:00

We had been walking, Benjamin and I, out on a hike to the west of town where it was warmer and spring had already begun weeks ago. The plan was to go, to shake off the funk, the melancholy feeling we attributed to another harsh Rocky Mountain winter. The place we chose is called Canyon of the Ancients. I love that name. Say it and you feel this great sense of profundity, of big-ness. In a chills up the spine kind of way. And it is. It’s amazing that we can get in the dusty little green Subaru and drive, down the windy road past Mancos, past Cortez, and then we’re there – Canyon of the Ancients. It’s beautiful. With its orange and red hued rocks that stand up in the landscape, demanding to be noticed. And we’re in the high desert – despite the fact that just across the road, snowy peaked mountains stare back at us, reminding us that we are still in Colorado.

Canyon of the Ancients. Not so far from its more famous cousin, Mesa Verde, the place where people go to see the impressive cliff dwellings of a long lost civilization. The Canyon of the Ancients has its ruins too, hence the name. The Anasazi, Navajo for ‘ancients’. It’s the great Atlantian mystery of the southwest – who were the Ancients and where did they go? They populated this region for a long time, and then seemingly vanished, leaving behind the ruins we see today. There’s lots of theory and speculation, some of it involving spaceships, but the most viable thought is that they became the Pueblo tribes of today. Still there is much that is mysterious about these people, and this place.

We walk for a ways, deeper into the canyon, until we can’t see the cars or the road or the houses. We leave all evidence of our civilization behind, as we trudge through the soft red dirt, stopping to read a deer print, or a pile of droppings. Past junipers and Mormon tea, yucca and little tiny cacti. Over rock formations, where stubborn trees choose to grow despite the obstacles.

And yet, neither of us can shake the mood we came in with. The sadness that just won’t go away. The sunshine, the earth, wild and expansive before us, none of it fully changes how we are feeling. A moment of reverie in all of it, but the feeling is still there, waiting – simply pushed aside for a moment like a book, face down and folded open to the page where we left off.

At least it feels peaceful here. The land feels right, all is as it should be, with the eagles and crows soaring overhead and the rocks that have been here forever.

We stop for sandwiches and reflection beside a great cliff. Above us, we see a small ruin – a brick wall, maybe 3 feet high and 5 feet in length. Evidence that humans have been building long before I can possibly conceive.

How long ago were they here? I ask Benjamin.

I think they left around the year 1300, and before that they were here for thousands of years. I think there were a million people here at one point, he says.

I try to imagine a thousand years. That means they had their own history to look back on, their own ancestors and predecessors who found this place. Long enough to feel that things would always be so, that they would always live this way, in this canyon residing in cliff dwellings of earth and stone. And a million people. That number is inconceivable as well.

Funny, I say. It doesn’t feel like a former metropolis. The ruins have become part of the land in this way - they merely continue the line of the landscape rather than feeling artificial or superficial.

The earth has a way of replenishing itself, he reminds me.

And I wonder if New York City will be like this, thousands of years from now, the ancient subways and skyscrapers appearing as if they grew out of the ground, birds and trees everywhere and the earth feeling ancient and wise, like an older person who’s been around the block enough to know but doesn’t need to tell you so or prove anything – just sits there and smiles at you indulgently.

It’s amazing really. People come, and they build, they have whole lives, they trade, they hunt, they eat, they have sex, they shit in the dirt, they cut down trees, tread on the ground, build roads, have celebrations, births and deaths, and then it’s all over, just a memory.

That’s when we start talking about the 2012 thing, as we’re sitting there, by a grandfather juniper. He’s taking water from his Nalgene and mixing it with the soft dirt, so that it forms clay. He rolls it in his hands, staining them red with earth, the very matter that those bricks must have been made with. I sit there cross legged, a few feet away, looking out at the snowy mountains in the distance, and up at the sky, blue with scarce clouds like pulled cotton.

I don’t quite know how it starts, but I know that I bring it up, thinking as I am about millennia and civilizations. And we have a penchant for delving into heavy subjects of conversation. People have been talking about 2012, the Mayan Calender and all that for some years now, how the signs are there for big change – economic collapse with the realization of the failure of human enterprise to conquer all.

He reflects that the earth will continue to have ‘flu symptoms’ as he calls it. The tsunamis, and earthquakes, the fires and floods, volcanic eruptions. The things that terrify us humans but are right and natural and just part of the process in the lifespan of Gaia. Like coming down with the flu.

Neither of us want to think that the end of humanity is on its way. We’ve got too much to do here and it wouldn’t make sense that it was all for naught. No, there will be changes, there’s no doubt about that. Old structures and monuments, physical and otherwise will become but a faint memory, held by the ground, the rocks and the trees. And, like the Anasazi, humans will move on, or evolve into something else entirely.

I suspect that this sadness we are feeling is the necessary sadness that comes with all change – when you have to let go of the old ways because they just don’t work anymore. Because I’ve noticed that it’s not just us. Most people we have talked to or come into contact with lately are feeling sad like this too. I do believe that this mood - this weird funk everyone seems to be in - is part of this bigger thing.

It was Benjamin’s birthday. We went out to dinner, listened to the other people talking and eating. They felt sad too.

Earlier, I thought aloud: If this feeling is all around us, because we’re picking up on this general tone of melancholy, then it probably isn’t ours to begin with. So if it isn’t ours, then we don’t have to give in to feeling this way. Just recognize it, acknowledge it but don’t get lost in it. I don’t want him to be sad on his birthday, so I say it, before moving on to other topics of conversation. My thought, as far as I am concerned, was just a thought. It may as well have been a nice smell or a pretty song, soft and lingering for a moment before dissappearing on the breeze. And yet...

We’re sitting there, in the booth, eating and talking, in the thick of this melancholy stew of people, when Benjamin says: It’s working. Every time I start to feel that way, I remember that I don’t have to – that it’s everybody else, and I push it away. It really helps.

Ok, I try, taking my own advice. I mean, fuck it, why not?

We take shots of silver tequila with lime, and grin. I pay the waitress and thank her. Then we skip home, avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk. And I’m glad to be alive. We’re so unbearably small in reality, and for some strange reason, this fills me with profound and abundant hopefulness. Hope in my life, in my destiny, and in this incredibly powerful, scary, loving and beautiful planet that we walk on every day. Why not rejoice in it a little bit? It is Spring, after all.

2010-02-02T17:27:00.000-08:00

THE EMPRESS

Ahh, The Empress. If ever there was a witch of the week it is she. As ruler of the manifest world, this powerful lady fulfills all potentialities-- gestating them, birthing them, and then nurturing their growth. The divine feminine expresses through the image of The Empress as nourishment, fertility, abundance, and healing. She rests perfectly in the flow of Life, a master of the giving and receiving of Love.

The Empress is traditionally portrayed as a fecund woman sitting on a throne or luxuriously adorned chair. She holds a scepter and wears a crown of stars. All around her the natural world bursts forth in full bloom, ready for harvest.

The Empress teaches us to nurture ourselves and our gifts, that we may give them to the world. She reminds us to be patient with ourselves, to relax into the flow of Life, and to trust that all good rewards come to those who have synthesized everything necessary to the proper care of their hopes and dreams. She helps us to fulfill hidden promise and to manifest dreams into reality. She encourages us to create, create, CREATE!

If you would like to be in keeping with The Empress and her mysterious powers of manifestation, here is a spell for you: Before you sleep tonight, ask The Empress for a vision. Ask her what the next step is for you to take toward a dream you have been nurturing. Ask her to show you the seed of a new dream that you have may not considered. And then ask her to show you the way to an open heart, so that you can receive the abundance you deserve!

PASSION IN VALLEYS.

2010-02-01T18:40:00.000-08:00

Marta Beckett. Get to know this woman. I think she was born in the 30's and knew she wanted to be an artist by the time she was four years old. She danced professionally in New York for a few companies and had some success choregraphing many of her own ballets. But then she saw some psychic woman who told her she would be leaving the big city and would find herself in a small town starting with the letter "A". She would do the best art of her life there. Well, it happened. Driving through California, I think it must be the late 60's maybe early 70's by now, she stopped in Death Valley for gas. There she found an abandoned theatre and knew this was where she was sopossed to be. She never made it back to New York. She has spent the rest of her life in Death Valley, the towns original name Armagosa, (the psychic was kinda right!) renovating the theatre and performing for her small town constantly. As it is somewhat well known that Death Valley is haunted, she has had several expiriences with the spirits there, has photographs of them, and when she passes she plans on staying there as well. Pretty fucking rad. Her story is one of incredible dedication to creativity and her talent is huge. She is still there today and still dancing. Next time you pass through check out her art, it will blow your mind.

Rambling, caffeine-induced thoughts on the wild west and the nature of art

2010-01-25T13:07:00.001-08:00

‘Rough town, good coffee’ reads the sign (complete with a picture of a bucking wild horse) in the Durango Coffee Company. It seems a relic of a distant past – yes, once this was a rough town. Early Colorado – miners shared the streets with prostitutes and gamblers. I’m sure there was some ‘respectable society’ here too, but this place was very much a part of the Wild West. In order to get here, a long journey had to be made, some pretty big mountains had to be crossed. And if you know any history, you know that the Rockies were brutal to the early pioneers. You had to be half crazy to get here.
These days, the town is safe, a lot of people never lock their doors, and leave keys in their cars. People raise families here, eat certified organic food, and pay ridiculous amounts of money to go skiing in the wintertime. The Wild West is but a memory, a way to sell tourist packages for horseback rides and fake cowboy shows. I enjoy the benefits, although it feels a little strange, a little false somehow. I can walk home at night without really worrying, aside from the possible encounter with a rogue bear digging through garbage cans. Maybe that’s why – we are nestled here in the beginnings of the Rockies, there is wildness in every direction outside of town. Within that, there is a desire for a certain kind of control, of safety here.
Sometimes in the summertime I see a handful of drunk Indians hanging out in the park by the river. That’s about as wild as it gets here. And even that’s swept under the rug. There’s this old dude in a little golf cart who rides around and enforces some sort of selective ‘no loitering’ policy, telling them that they have to leave as he eyes everybody else suspiciously. I’m not sure where they go, but I suspect they hang out in the hills, with the rabbits and the coyotes.
This past week we got a pretty big snowstorm here. Our courtyard was filled with waist high snow, and the snow was still falling. Over the fence, our neighbor was shoveling snow in his backyard. What was strange about it was that rather than shoveling a functional path, he was actually shoveling his whole backyard, a yard measuring roughly 5,000 square feet. He was out there all day, just shoveling. A pointless, thankless task, I’m sure he’ll ache for days, but there was this inherent desire for control in that act, like somehow he could carve out a controlled space for himself. Nevermind that you couldn’t really drive anywhere, or that the grocery trucks couldn’t get into town to deliver food or that just north of town the avalanche danger was blinking bright red on the map. People are funny that way.
This same neighbor, when the weather is good, he likes to pace around in his backyard, shirt off, talking on his cell phone, dispensing advice. You could almost make a drinking game out of how many times he says ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you...’ or ‘I recommend…’ or ‘Here’s what you need to do…’ He’s the constant expert, on everything, it seems. The big secret is that experts are usually pretty freaked out by anything not safe or controlled.
So there I sat, yesterday at the Durango Coffee Company. The place is a yuppie haven if I ever saw one. I enjoy coffee culture very much, the endless variety of ways you can take your espresso, the sweet pretty treats on little white plates that wait behind the glass dessert case for anybody, like myself, with a decent sweet tooth. The truth is, yuppies have good taste. They have money, they know what money can buy and they demand quality. I happen to like quality too, but I don’t like yuppies. They’re the kind of people that demanded a certain level of ‘safety’ in this town, a certain degree of homogeneity – yes ‘quirky’ homogeneity (houses are painted in funky shades of dark purple, blue and green), but nonetheless… So it’s a little ironic, because I chose this place in part to enjoy some good coffee, but also because it has this really great view of the Strater.
To me, the Strater Hotel may be one of the last standing relics of the Wild West here and Durango. Last weekend, my sweetheart and I wanted to go on a little adventure, and so we decided to explore the insides of this still functional hotel. So we climbed the red velvet stairs, up, up beyond the Victorian glamour of the lobby, the sepia photographs on the walls, until we got to the fourth floor. We weren’t positive, but we were pretty sure the fourth floor was where Durango’s most notorious ‘ladies of ill repute’ dwelled. It had just the right amount of seediness, of haunted-ness about it. I loved it, although I would be hesitant to spend the night there by myself.
It’s funny this play of wildness isn’t it? It’s a little scary. It’s supposed to be. The uncontrolled always is. And that’s exactly what I like and simultaneously fear about it – the inherently unpredictable nature of it, the realness of it.
So I’m sitting there in this coffee shop, drinking my Americano, trying to write and I can’t help but eavesdrop on the man sitting at the table next to me. How could I not? The tables are wedged in so close that you are on such intimate terms with everybody there you can almost feel their body heat. And the man was talking so loudly. This guy who’s talking, he could be a stand in for my neighbor, except that I suspect my neighbor is a nicer person. This one, he’s got more of a pseudo intellectual coffeehouse flavor about him. And he’s talking about John Lennon, so of course I’m interested.
‘John Lennon was as blind as a bat,’ he’s saying, ‘he could hardly walk down the street.’ Apparently, the man goes on, young Lennon’s aunt used to force him to wear his glasses, but as soon as he had left the house, he would take them off. And those glasses, the ones he ended up wearing and popularizing later were the same ones his aunt used to make him wear. Those Lennon round glasses - the man was saying - they were actually standard issue glasses, the cheapest you could get.
I was enjoying this new little factoid, as the man paused after finishing his story, when he added, ‘But like most artists, I wasn’t very impressed with him as a person.’

What the hell? You prick, I thought to myself. The personality of John Lennon, that’s like part of the package, that’s the whole deal – how can you separate art from the artist like that? Like, I’ll take the song ‘Imagine’ or ‘Revolution’ but forget who the author was as a human being, it has nothing to do with anything. Seriously.
It’s clear where I’m going with this isn’t it? How can you separate the West from Wild West? Art from artist?
I really, really hate it when boring square people sit around and talk about eccentric artists, denigrating their personalities. This may have changed recently due to his death, but the same kind of thing happened all the time when people talked about Michael Jackson. Yeah, the man was fucked up, there’s no doubt about that, but at the same time, it’s the way that people used to talk about him, make fun of him. I’m of the opinion that everything, sooner or later needs to be made fun of, that’s just life, that’s not taking things too seriously, but this was different. It felt absolutely malicious.
I remember one day in the park awhile back how I overheard this fat guy in a grey sweat-suit saying, ‘I hear Michael Jackson’s gonna make a comeback.’
‘Yeah,’ says the woman race-walking behind him, also sporting a sweat-suit, ‘he’s gonna try.’
Like what have you ever done, ever contributed to society? We’re talking here about a man who revolutionized music, dance, fashion and the art of performance.
Yoko Ono would be another case in point. I mean, she isn’t afraid to be controversial, to push boundaries in art, to be a strong woman, strong enough to match the personality of John Lennon no less. And to a lot of middle America, she’s become fodder for a lot of stale, stupid and outright sexist jokes.

I find myself thinking about these two subjects a lot – the death of the Wild West, and the way people in this culture talk about artists. They’re both a kind of policing, a way of making people feel safe in an unsafe world. Everything in the natural world, and every human, possesses an inherent wildness about them. Van Gough’s paintings are beautiful because you can see the way the wildness comes out in his brushstrokes. Rock and Roll moves people because of this inherent ferocity that it possesses – this rebellion, this frustration with the status quo. That’s why the music of the new generation always upsets the previous generation. It’s supposed to. Art on the vanguard shocks and surprises like a howl coming out of the woods, it shakes and changes culture. And that’s extremely threatening to people who like things ‘just the way they are thank you very much’. It always has been that way. People seem to forget that, once it’s been integrated into the popular culture. Eventually, Bill Clinton’s taking his octegenarian mother-in-law to see the Rolling Stones, and they’re all shaking hands. And it’s like – remember when Mick Jagger’s overt sexuality was in everybody’s faces and parents everywhere were up in arms about it?
Meanwhile, here in Durango, actors playing cowboys stage shoot outs on the hour every summer for tourists who stand clapping outside the Strater Hotel. And I drink fancy coffee and wax nostalgic for something I never got to see.
Of course it’s not as dire as that, it never is.
There are other ways to live in the Wild West.

Witch of the Week: She's a Rich Girl, but She's Gone Too Far

2010-01-21T16:57:00.000-08:00

Check her out in this AMAZING video by Stefan Nadelman, not to mention a gorgeous song by Ramona Falls...

Wish Technology.

2010-01-12T00:43:00.000-08:00

The other day I was looking at a book of Raymond Pettibon's artwork and I saw this one that was just a box and in it it said
" I see them complete, color, texture. everything." So rad and inspiring to be reminded that we can just be a channel for awesome creation, that if we can imagine something, want something, we can have anything. Some people may argue this and I think its because they aren't really clear on what they want. They don't look deep enough or don't listen to their emotions enough and when they don't wake up with a shit ton of cash in the bank they get all bummed. Get specific, and get honest with yourself.
I want to share a spell I do for "wishes" I guess would be the best word. You don't need anything to do it if you memorize it but I still like to write it out cause it helps me think.

The first thing you do is wish for something.

The second thing you do is say why you want the thing you are wishing for. This is very important because it will clarify what you really want. Like if you wish for money and then you start figuring out what you want money for you might realize its not the money its the vacation or the new shoes or the house. It might even be emotional like you want to feel more stable or calm.

Then think or write down what the wish will achieve. Such as if you wish for a vacation you might say it would help me relax, it would inspire me, it would give me some solitude or maybe quality time with someone.

Then restate the wish with more accuracy. In this situation instead of money I would say "I wish for new shoes with good style and dry feet!" or " I wish for a vacation so I can travel somewhere inspirational!"

The fifth thing ya do is think or write down all the things you will do as this person with airplane tickets or new clothes or emotional freedom. Example- I am gonna fly to Indonesia and eat pancakes on the river and sit with the monkeys and get rad.

Now restate your wish with intention. "I have new shoes!"

Then and most importantly feel the gratitude as if those shoes were already on your feet. As if you were stepping off the plane in your favorite city. Be stoked!

Witch of the Week: Hail to the Male Receiver

2010-01-05T19:05:00.000-08:00

Jim Morrison was my first idol. One day when I was fourteen, I found myself in the most random, most miraculous of situations: looking through a record store with my mother. It shouldn't be a strange and random occurrence for a fourteen-year-old to be found in a record store, but it most definitely was for me. For seven years previous and for many years following, I lived a satellite life, revolving around a community wrought of Christian fundamentalism. Rock n roll-- and anything with a beat for that matter-- NOT ALLOWED. No foot-stomping, folks. No fun, folks. Just God. And God is a man. And God is an asshole.

And then, suddenly, I was partially alone in the back of a record store, looking through a big rack of posters. And there it was, a poster with the words, "There are things known, and there are things unknown, and in between are The Doors".

FUCK.

YEAH.

I'm still alive in here. In this fucking mess of do's and don'ts and hell-fire fears and hypocrisy. I've got something to look forward to. So I bought tapes of The Doors secretly and had my own solitary solitude listening parties.

"The Doors constantly courted their muse... Jim believed one cannot simply will the muse; the writer or artist's power lies in his ability to receive, as well as invent, and it was the artist's duty to do everything possible to increase his powers of reception." --From the biography of Jim Morrison "No One Here Gets Out Alive"--

And so I say, HAIL THE RECEIVERS, wherever we may find each other!

Happy New Year WEEAATCHES!

2010-01-02T11:52:00.000-08:00

Start it off right, by watching this dude tell it like it is... I felt like he magically made me a better person and a better artist in the span of 30 minutes...

Celebrate what's right with the world - Dewitt Jones @ Yahoo! Video

Winter thoughts

2009-12-30T18:39:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-12-26T19:41:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-12-26T19:39:00.000-08:00

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

A Seed from Grandmother Spider Woman

2009-12-22T11:49:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-21T09:50:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-21T09:30:00.000-08:00

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

SONIC LIFE.

2009-12-16T14:53:00.000-08:00

“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

2009-12-12T17:08:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-11T06:51:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-12-08T03:47:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-12-07T01:05:00.000-08:00

–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

2009-12-04T12:11:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-12-02T19:39:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-12-02T19:38:00.001-08:00

THE HIEROPHANT

2009-12-01T08:03:00.000-08:00

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.

Getting Rad with the Swastika.

2009-11-28T04:35:00.001-08:00

This symbol is hella years old. It predates the Egyptians Ankh symbol, so its like really really old. The word swastika basically means "well being." Historically the swastika goes way back to the first basket weaving societies, but its big claim to fame comes from Hinduism, Buddhism, and Mythraism.. It was even used in Native American tribes, most commonly the Navajo. And of course we all know this symbol of well being was huge in Nazi fashion.

This is an amazing photograph of a Navajo basketball team.

Lovely.

2009-11-28T04:20:00.000-08:00

WITCH OF THE WEEK

2009-11-25T14:09:00.000-08:00

Starhawk. Badass.

2009-11-25T04:10:00.000-08:00

My dreams are not of reason.
They turn flowers into poison.
They make a child into a giant.
They turn the rain into stones.
This is no army.
This is a madhouse.
There is no faith in this without enemy.
The helplessness attacks.
Is this what I would choose to see?

Ghost.

2009-11-17T16:17:00.001-08:00

AWESOME.

2009-11-06T16:59:00.001-08:00

WITCHY CHICKS KNOW.

2009-11-05T20:30:00.000-08:00

2009-11-05T20:21:00.001-08:00

KING DUDE.

2009-10-22T02:58:00.000-07:00

Sing along to awesome gothic folk religious music. I did. On the Werewolves track. Check it out! Its my husband!
KING DUDE

Fever Potion.

2009-10-19T21:13:00.000-07:00

Catnip- promotes sweating and lowers fever.
Echinacea - duh.
Hyssop mixed with licorice root- tastes good and lowers fever.
Elder Flower- Used in a lot of herbal antibiotic remedies and I love these tiny white flowers.

You can get these herbs anywhere. If you live in Seattle I reccomend Tenzing Momo in the market cause they are smart and awesome and have been around for forever. All their herbs are only like a buck or two an ounce. Just steep them up and drink em' hot.

2009-10-15T18:56:00.000-07:00

sweat lodge deaths

2009-10-15T10:54:00.000-07:00

I just heard about this, and I am really sad and pissed about it.
Two people died in a sweat lodge in Sedona, Arizona last week. This guy James Arthur Ray, who has a smile like a car salesmen is under criminal investigation for leading the lodge as part of a five day retreat entitled 'Spiritual Warrior.' The whole thing involved a wilderness fast followed by a lodge ceremony consisting of 55 to 65 people. The participants had paid between 9,000 and 10,000 dollars. http://www.cbsnews.com/blogs/2009/10/12/crimesider/entry5378668.shtml
This is fucked up on so many levels I don't even know where to begin.
And I have to go get ready for work right now.
Check out the website, and draw your own conclusions. Anyone promising to be a guru/savior type deserves to be taken with a serious dose of salt. http://jamesray.com/ Ps: he left the state and is currently 'unavailable for comment.' What is that?!
All kinds of things are going to be threatened by the bad decisions of this dumbass, namely freedom of religion. This is serious shit, this is not about 'love and light and la la la'...and I think that's what that guy was selling.
I know I'm lacking clarity right now because i'm in a hurry and all, but this is really worriesome and I am legitimately angry.

2009-10-09T13:06:00.000-07:00

Susan Miller's October 2009 horoscopes are out. Check yours out and don't forget to read your rising sign!

AstrologyZone

All of them Snakes.

2009-10-08T01:03:00.000-07:00

Caduceus. A symbol that dates back to ancient Greek days is a symbol of the planet Mercury. Two snakes slither up a rod. The rod is to represent alchemetic power and the snakes are the polarity and dualitly. The wings represent balance. It is often confused with the Rod of Asclepius, which here in North America is what's on the side of every ambulance that goes by. It too is a greek symbol of astrology but represents Asclepius, who is a son of Zeus and is the god of medicine.

Sympathy in Caves.

2009-10-07T23:50:00.000-07:00

Get rad with some bad ass Cro-Magnon intention. It is said that the super old dudes of way back in the day a.k.a. the "Upper Paleolithic" days a.k.a "Cavemen", made all this awesome art as a practice of what the seekers of today call "Sympathetic Magic". Sympathetic magic or Imitative Magic is magic based on imitation or correspondence. So ancient early human dude wants to have more animals to hunt, well he paints a picture of a bunch of knocked-up herd animals, he wants the bears to stay out of his cave, he paints dead bears all over the walls. I totally get it.
The Pygmies of the Congo also practiced a similar wild style, they would draw a picture of the animal they wanted to hunt in the sand. Then they would fire an arrow through its heart! Then they would leave the picture until they had caught the animal, drip a bunch of the animals blood on the picture then remove the arrow. They believed this ritual established a deep, mysterious relationship between the hunter and the hunted. I believe it--that is intense--and with it the animal could not escape, now matter how fast it ran, for the hunter was guided by fate.
Scientific attitude about all this is that this art was primitive superstitions, a sign of ignorance of cause and effect blah blah blah. I say NO. I say that is bull shit. I think its beautiful. I think the ritual helped man become so intensly focused on his prey, that the kill had already been accomplished and that all man had to do was show up ready. Very "Magician" tarot card (thanx K.F!) I mean come on, we see this all the time in our everyday lives, we just don't take responsibility for it. (BAD WITCH.)

Today I encourage all of us to check in with our ancestors and do a lil' sympathetic magic. Bust out a talisman or invoke a new lucky charm, do a collage or graffiti your walls with all your hopes and wishes. Enjoy!

Ceremonial Cooking and The Adventures of a Child in the Kitchen

2009-10-03T16:33:00.000-07:00

Maybe you felt that way the time you danced until 4 in the morning, your body moving in this perfect way, in perfect time with the music and it felt right and good and you were so happy. Maybe it was that song that touched you in such a way that the singers voice and the lyrics sent chills up your spine. Maybe you find that feeling when you work in the garden, your hands touching the earth, your nose smelling the soil and the sun warming your back. For me, I have always found that thing, that feeling when I am cooking.

My first cookbook came to me as a gift when I was ten years old. It was called 'Once Upon a Recipe' and each recipe corresponded with a different fairy tale. There was this one for Rumplestiltskin quesadillas, and the idea was that the cheese was like gold that you were spinning. The recipe called for the incorporation of Mexican spices into the cheese to form this perfect quesadilla. That was when I learned about the play, the alchemy of seasonings. In case you’ve never tried it…thyme and oregano and cumin really are a perfect marriage with cheese and a soft flour tortilla.
Then, there was this recipe for Selfish Giant cookies, inspired by the Oscar Wilde children’s story. The story was about this giant who learned the lesson of generosity from the children of the town and how they helped him to open his heart. The recipe was straightforward: basic chocolate chip cookies, with maple sugar and a healthy dose of vanilla. I made those cookies in the spirit of generosity, as I stood there, stirring the bowl and thinking of all the people I loved that I wanted to share those cookies with. And the batter was delicious. I kept dipping my finger in and licking the spatula with relish. I baked those cookies, and shared them with my family and our neighbors, and everybody said that they tasted so good. They really raved about them. I wondered if perhaps it was in part because I was young and this was one of my first adventures into cooking. I knew when grown ups were humoring me, like when they let me win a game of chess for instance, but this was different. They REALLY liked those cookies.
I wondered to myself why this was so, what was so special about my creation. Yes, in part it was the recipe, but there was something more. I found myself wondering if perhaps it was because I had eaten so much batter, that my saliva had somehow mingled itself with the dough. Maybe there was something special in my spit, I thought to myself in my ten year old brain.
All grown up now and, after all this time, I realize why those cookies were so special. I was so excited to make them, and I brought my childlike joy into baking those cookies. That feeling, that spirit of intention, is what makes food better than just good. I’ve eaten at plenty of good restaurants in my lifetime. The places where the food was really special had a certain quality to them. There is love, intention and a passion for each element that goes into the cuisine, which makes its way to the table and into one’s mouth and body.
First, you must start with quality ingredients, elements that taste and feel good. When you go to the supermarket, or the farmers market, or if you are really lucky your very own garden, you go with the child that still lives inside of you and together you sweetly ask the things you find: ‘Do you want to come and play in my casserole today?’ And if you listen closely enough, the food says ‘Yes, yes!’ and you take it and put it gently in your basket.
Cooking with intentionality must be about play. If you cannot play in the kitchen, you can never realize just how good raisins taste with carrots in a garlicky cumin vinaigrette. That spirit of play comes through in the food we eventually eat.

I know of no better barometer of my emotional and spiritual health than the food that I prepare. If I am feeling off kilter, if I have perhaps missed something vital in the taking care of myself, if I can’t quite figure out what I need or what’s going on in my life because I’ve disassociated somehow, that’s when I burn the eggs or overcook the noodles. I suppose what I am saying is that cooking is ceremony. You must show up and be present in order to truly reap the gifts of the experience. It’s about giving thanks for the food that you have brought home, for the abundance in your life, all the things that fill you with feelings of love and happiness. When you are truly present with the experience, THAT’s when the magic happens. The ceremony begins.
As you are working with the food, you are touching these things that are of the earth, they are real, physical and tangible. The smells, the texture, the colors are all mingling together in this complete experience. I’ve always needed that physicality in my spiritual life - the embodiment of my prayers. That is what cooking is to me.
And, like all ceremony, cooking gets better when it is shared in community. To break bread with someone, to take food into your body in the presence of others is a time-honored tradition. We celebrate holidays, milestones and even those everyday moments of our lives by gathering around the table to share a meal. I’ve always loved that kind of social bonding that happens around good food.
When the mood strikes us, my sweetheart and I will prepare a special meal together. Perhaps we listen to music fitting to how we feel at the time, and start peeling and cutting onions and garlic together, talking about our day, the things we are thinking about, our hopes, our dreams and our inspirations. We prepare a meal together, in this way, and it nurtures the connection between us, just as the food we prepare will nourish our bodies. When the food is ready, one of us will clear and set the table while the other lovingly serves a portion onto each plate. I love presentation, the arrangement of colors and flavors on the plate – this too is part of the experience. Maybe we light a candle too, I try and always end up burning my fingers and we both laugh and he goes, ‘Here, let me do that.’ That part, in a way, is part of the ritual too: the laughter, the not taking ourselves too seriously.
We sit down at the table with the food before us. We smell it and admire it, and then we say a short prayer of thanks – for the food, for our lives, for whatever our hearts are called to name and give thanks for at that time. Then we look at each other, smile and dig in, and it so good, so rich in so many ways.

An Experiment in Human Design.

2009-10-01T14:57:00.000-07:00

Today we focus on the Maya creation story.

There seems that there are a few different versions of this story. The first one is common and I found many versions of it. It basically goes like this...

The Maya Mythology says that their Forefathers/Creators, were Tepeu and Gucumatz (also known as Kukulkan and the Aztecs Quetzacoatl). Huracan, or the Heart of Heaven also existited, but not so much as a person, but as a storm, of which he was the God. ---Ya followin me here?

So Huracan did the creating where Tepeu and Gucumatz were like the directors. Their intent in creating was to preserve their legacy, naturally they needed something to worship them. So the earth was created, and next the animals. Although the animals were awesome, they were of a wild nature, howling and squawking and whatnot, they did not worship their creators. So they were banished to the forests. The first attempt at making man was out of mud, but the body quickly crumbled and blew away. Next man was created out of wood, but he had no soul and did not worship his creator. These wooden people are what we know as monkeys. Finally more gods were called in on the project of creating man and they figured out how to make man out of masa (corn dough). So, the Maya not only ate maize or corn or masa as a main staple in their diet, they also believed they were made of it.

But there are other versions, some including other gods, and commonly a flood, not out of punishment but because the gods admit to making a mistake in the world they created and needed a clean slate (which I personally think is crazy and awesome. "Oops! Do-Over!")
Here is the text from the Popol Vuh, which is a "Book of the People" or "Council Book" and is written in the Classical Quiché language. It contains mythological narratives of the rulers of the post classic Quiché Maya kingdom of highland Guatemala.

THE CREATION
Here is the story of the beginning,
when there was not one bird,
not one fish,
not one mountain.
Here is the sky, all alone.
Here is the sea, all alone.
There is nothing more
–no sound, no movement.
Only the sky and the sea.
Only Heart-of-Sky, alone.
And these are his names:
Maker and Modeler,
Kukulkan,
and Hurricane.
But there is no one to speak his names.
There is no one to praise his glory.
There is no one to nurture his greatness.

And so Heart-of-Sky thinks,
"Who is there to speak my name?
Who is there to praise me?
How shall I make it dawn?"
Heart-of-Sky only says the word,
"Earth,"
and the earth rises,
like a mist from the sea.
He only thinks of it,
and there it is.
He thinks of mountains,
and great mountains come.
He thinks of trees,
and trees grow on the land.
And so Heart-of-Sky says,
"Our work is going well."
Now Heart-of-Sky plans the creatures of the forest
-birds, deer, jaguars and snakes.
And each is given his home.
"You the deer, sleep here along the rivers.
You the birds, your nests are in the trees.
Multiply and scatter," he tells them.
Then Heart-of-Sky says to the animals,
"Speak, pray to us."
But the creatures can only squawk.
The creatures only howl.
They do not speak like humans.
They do not praise Heart-of-Sky
And so the animals are humbled.
They will serve those who will worship Heart-of-Sky.
And Heart-of-Sky tries again.
Tries to make a giver of respect.
Tries to make a giver of praise.

Here is the new creation,
made of mud and earth.
It doesn't look very good.
It keeps crumbing and softening.
It looks lopsided and twisted.
It only speaks nonsense.
It cannot multiply.
So Heart-of-Sky lets it dissolved away.
Now Heart-of-Sky plans again.
Our Grandfather and Our Grandmother are summoned.
They are the most wise spirits.
"Determine if we should carve people from wood,"
commands Heart-of-Sky.
They run their hands over the kernels of corn.
They run their hands over the coral seeds.
"What can we make that will speak and pray?
asks Our Grandfather.
What can we make that will nurture and provide?"
asks Our Grandmother.
They count the days,
the lots of four,
seeking an answer for Heart-of-Sky.
Now they give the answer,
"It is good to make your people with wood.
They will speak your name.
They will walk about and multiply."
"So it is," replies Heart-of-Sky.
And as the words are spoken, it is done.
The doll-people are made
with faces carved from wood.
But they have no blood, no sweat.
They have nothing in their minds.
They have no respect for Heart-of-Sky.
They are just walking about,
But they accomplish nothing.
"This is not what I had in mind,"
says Heart-of-Sky.
And so it is decided to destroy
these wooden people.
Hurricane makes a great rain.
It rains all day and rains all night.
There is a terrible flood
and the earth is blackened.
The creatures of the forest
come into the homes of the doll-people.
"You have chased us from our homes
so now we will take yours,"
they growl.
And their dogs and turkeys cry out,
"You have abused us
so now we shall eat you!"
Even their pots and grinding stones speak,
"We will burn you and pound on you
just as you have done to us!"
The wooden people scatter into the forest.
Their faces are crushed,
and they are turned into monkeys.
And this is why monkeys look like humans.
They are what is left of what came before,
an experiment in human design.

Grandmother Spider Steals the Sun.

2009-10-01T14:26:00.000-07:00

There are many Native American legends and myths on the sun, moon and stars. This one is a tale of the Cherokee reported by James Mooney from some time in the 1890's.

Now, when Earth was brand new, there was much confusion, for there was darkness everywhere. All of Earth's Peoples kept bumping into each other, and were often hurt. They all cried out for light, that they might see.

Fox said that he knew of some people on the other side of the world who had plenty light. He said that it was nice and warm, but those people were too greedy to share it with anyone else. Possum said that he would steal Sun. "I have a beautiful, bushy tail," he said. "I can hide the Sun in all of that fur. Let me try."

So Possum went to the other side of the world and found the Sun. It was hanging up in a Tree and lighting up everything. Possum took a piece of the Sun and hid it in the fur of his tail. But Sun was so hot that it burned all of Possum's tail hairs off. To this day, Possum has a bare tail. The people discovered Possum and took the piece of the Sun back.

Buzzard said, "I will take the Sun myself. I will put it on my head, so that I can see where I am going with it." So he tried to take the Sun too. He flew to the other

Spider Woman brought the Sun to the Principal People, the Cherokee, but also the gift of fire. She also taught them to make potteryde of the world, and dived down to snare the Sun in his claws. But it was so hot that it burned all of Buzzard's feathers off of his head. To this day, Buzzard's head is bald and ugly. The people discovered Buzzard, and took the Sun back.

Then Grandmother Spider said, "Let me try." First, she made a very thick clay pot, big enough to put the Sun in. Then, she spun a web which reached all the way to the other side of the world. She was so small and quiet that these people did not notice her at all. When she was ready, she quickly snatched up the Sun in her big clay pot, and hurried back home along her web. Now her side of the world had light, and warmth. Everyone rejoiced at Grandmother Spider's gift.

Spider Woman brought the Sun to the Principal People, the Cherokee, but also the gift of fire. She also taught them to make pottery.

THE HIGH PRIESTESS

2009-09-28T20:51:00.000-07:00

Mystery Lady

Intuition, psychic knowing, contact with the Great Mystery-- The High Priestess represents the sacred feminine principle and deals with the science of the inner realms. She introduces us to the tools and inner alchemy of self-transformation. She invites us into the sanctuary of solitude to gain wisdom and to process all of our experiences, triumphs, dilemmas-- the profane and profound-- into spiritual gold.

The High Priestess is traditionally portrayed as a young maiden in long flowing robes-- solitary, unflinching, all-knowing-- sitting between two pillars. A circle or sphere sits in a crown on her head, and a crescent moon is underfoot. She holds a scroll in her lap, and upon her chest is a cross. What does it all mean? The possible meanings are endless, and I will have to leave you, dear reader, to your own studies-- and most importantly, the quest within-- to intuit what those meanings are... though if you want to get deep about it, here is where I'd start: http://www2.ida.net/graphics/shirtail/tarot.htm

All I can offer about the mysterious lady is what I've found in my own travels: that The High Priestess asks us to stand in absolute truth, integrity and self-respect, and to take responsibility for all we see and create in our lives. In return she offers us inner mastery and helps us to develop discernment, vision, prophecy and intuitive powers. The High Priestess within all of us supplies the keys to unlocking the courage and knowledge necessary to expand continuously into our greatest potential. Travel inward compadres-- you will be amazed at the treasures you find!

NEXT WEEK we visit The Hierophant... and stay tuned for tales of High Priestesses from around the world!

P.S. They bombed the moon.

2009-09-27T17:42:00.000-07:00

NASA

Future Witch.

2009-09-27T17:34:00.001-07:00

For all of you that have the Google phone, there is a free application you can download called "Sky Map". It rules. You just point your phone up to the sky and it tells you all the constellations you are under.

UM, MY THERAPIST NEEDS A GOOD THERAPIST...

2009-09-22T10:57:00.000-07:00

What's a therapist to do when he finds himself going bonkers? Try asking the founder of analytical psychology-- Carl Jung himself. In 1913, at the age of 38, Jung found himself in what he called a "confrontation with the unconscious"-- otherwise known as a FREAKOUT. What ensued was 16 years of getting free, turn-of-the-century-style. In his spare time, Jung subjected himself to induced hallucinations, purposely straddling the line between the conscious and unconscious mind, and created a weird, unfinished work of genius which he called the Red Book.

Here is this possibly grandiose writer's possibly delusional diagnosis: Jung took on the role of maverick, offering visionary ideas and staying true to his convictions about the human psyche and pyschotherapy. As a result he found himself on the outskirts of his field and in opposition to the dominant culture of his time. That couldn't have been easy considering that he was a well-respected, successful and ambitious man with a family to support. Talk about a hot date with the unknown... I feel for you, dude.

To get the whole story, check out this article from the NY Times--" Carl Jung and Holy Grail of the Unconscious"
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/20/magazine/20jung-t.html

GALLOWS HILL

2009-09-16T01:46:00.000-07:00

In Salem Massachusetts 1692 eight young girls got very ill. They convulsed, screamed in horror, claimed to see visions of animals or creatures, ripped at their own skin, and quickly died. There were several other incidences, even including a dogs and cows dying. The people of the community were freaking out and needed an explanation for why such terrible horrifying deaths were happening, so of coarse, they decided the victims were bewitched. 25 innocent people were executed for witchcraft. None of them confessed to the crime. Admitting to witchcraft would have meant devil worship, and back in those days that definitely wasn't happening cause they thought that meant condemning their souls. Turns out, surprise surprise, the devil wasn't the culprit here. Science has shown that an outbreak of a hallucinogenic mold called ergot infected the rye crop in Salem that year, and it has a pretty scary side affect. Whatever it does makes your brain seize up, causing a person to convulse, the blood flow would get cut off causing their skin to tingle with pins, it would cause incredible visions, you would loose speaking ability, and then die. It sounds like a totally horrifying way to go. This piece of information doesn't make the story of the witch trials any less upsetting, if anything more upsetting. Sorry about that.

2009-09-13T14:27:00.001-07:00

THE MAGICIAN

This week we explore the message of The Magician, the second card in the major arcana of the Tarot. Within each of us resides a magical, infinite force-- a creative "willpower" that stands in readiness to take on whatever life brings. The Magician points not only to the inner potential and power we travelers possess to create meaningful and fulfilling experiences, but also to the confidence and certainty that all tools, abilities and opportunities are now available to create our destinies.

Depictions of The Magician usually show a young man confidently wielding the four "elemental tools" of the Tarot-- the wand, fire symbol of inspiration and creativity; the pentacle, earth symbol of money and property; the sword, air symbol of thought and intellect; and the cup, water symbol of feeling and emotion. The Magician is master of all four elements, using them at will and with the certainty that mastery brings. He wields his tools with purpose, intention, efficiency and focus-- and he never misses his mark, because he knows before he even begins that success is assured.

The Magician calls us to come into full harmony and integration within, to bring our internal powers into a unified focus so that we may fully utilize our power and manifest real results in the physical world and in our experiences. A tool you can access right this minute to become The Magician? Take a deep breath. Right now. Do it again every time you think of it. Commiting ourselves to simply BREATHING WITH INTENTION can do wonders to unify the internal realm, provide focus and access the wisdom of our inner voices.

And so my fellow travelers, I invite you to breathe! Wave your wands, flip your pentacles, hold your cups, wield your swords and CREATE AWAY!

Next week we search the inner realms with THE HIGH PRIESTESS...

Nature Scene.

2009-09-12T16:39:00.000-07:00

"Spell of the Sensuous" might be one of the most eye-opening books ever given to me. At first I was unsure if I would even be able to get through it-- it's full of big words and tangling webs of philosophical thought-- but just when I thought it was going to be the driest book ever and that I would have to shamefully explain to the person who passed it on to me that it was too difficult a read, I came to a part in the book where a philosophy written by Maurice Merleau-Ponty blew my fucking mind.

A chapter entitled "The Mindful Life of the Body" was the first of many chapters to shatter some life-long illusions for me. Here it is expressed that our experiencing "self" is with our bodily organism. This at first terrified me, as I am used to identifying myself as something without a "shell" or of the flesh, although I am aware of my body, highly aware of it and most of the time feel anxious and trapped in it. Here I was invited to look at my body as the life experience itself, that without this body I could not hear the ocean, touch the grass, be touched, or taste. That the sensory aspect of this body is how we come into contact, not just with this life on earth but with ourselves, where we can reflect, we can think, we can learn. "Far from restricting my access to things and to the world, the body is my very means of entering into relation with all things." Dudes, maybe this isn't that big of a deal to anyone else, but if I really think about it, so much of my behavior comes up for judgment. This is a good thing. This book called me to take a step back from the hustle of my urban life, my monetary worship, my slavery to "the man", and remember that there is a magic connection between all things-- the river, the grass, the snakes and rabbits, the blue of the sky... the EARTH, dudes.

I constantly have feelings and thoughts like "this is bullshit" when I look around at society and watch as we all just accept this industrial world as freedom, and that if all the grocery stores closed we would all starve. Its like we have been brainwashed into believing that all this "convenience" of technology and mass-produced packaged food is for our benefit. No one wants to look at how we treat the animals, the earth, our own bodies because we are convinced that the way we have it is great. The most incredible civilization ever. It's sick. We are so victimized by our needs that we have forgotten that not only has this earth provided everything, but we have detached ourselves from its magic, its infinite knowledge, and its compassion.

"Spell of the Sensuous" literally turned my thoughts upside down, shattered illusions, and held me responsible in an incredible way. READ IT. The author truly understands the magic of earth, the magic of language, and shows us how deeply rooted in ecology it is. The only downside is if you live in a city you may never view it the same, because you may realize how incredibly sold short you are, and will probably make plans to move straight into the forest or tropics or desert as soon as you can. Yes! Country witch!

All in the Stars.

2009-09-08T02:28:00.000-07:00

Susan Miller is a bad ass astrologer. Her website Astrology Zone gets over six million hits a month. Her horoscopes are beyond on point and you get very insightful information on the planets, how they are transiting through the signs, retrograding planets (mercury is gonna retrograde this month people so be aware), and information on the moon and its phases in your sign. She is a bad ass!

astrologyzone

PHOENIX LIGHTS.

2009-09-08T01:16:00.000-07:00

On March 13th 1997 ten thousand residents of Arizona all saw the same thing. Glowing amber orbs in the sky, perfectly in a V formation hovering just above the mountain tops. Sightings and 911 calls occurred from 5:30 p.m. until 2:00 a.m. all claiming to be experiencing the same thing. Huge glowing contained light hovering above, moving slowly past them, completely silent. Not one person was hurt in the incident, it seems that most people feel very excited, and curious and amazed by their experience, not at all afraid. So cool.

Phoenixlights.org

RUMORS!

2009-09-05T18:42:00.000-07:00

The great library of Alexandria Egypt. I was reading this book the other day that claimed "the church" burnt down this library and all of its ancient texts and scriptures regarding religion and spiritualism. So I checked it out. Not necessarily true.

First lets talk about the library itself. Legends say it was a pretty rad place. Famous scholars hung out there, there were several gardens, even a zoo. I think it was connected to a museum or was part of one. Anyway it seems like back in the day it was the place to be. So why would anyone wanna burn it down?

Well the first rumor takes place in 48 B.C. when Julius Cesar accidentally torched half the damn town, including the library, or some say part of it. He was burning some ships or something in order to keep the enemy away during some wild war with Ptolemy the 8th, co-ruler of Egypt. I guess everybody makes mistakes.

The second rumor is of a guy named Theofilius, who was ordered by Christian Emperor Theodosius to destroy all "pagan" temples and Theophilius did what he was told. I couldn't really find any more information on this rumor except I guess Socrates wrote about it in a book in 440 B.C, which is about 50 years after the event supposedly took place. I think it is pretty safe to say that the Theofilius dude was obviously an insecure little prick.

The third and maybe the most insane rumor is one that takes place in 642 where an Arabian army set to rid the library of all the books that contradict the Koran. Rumor says they burned the books to heat bath water for the Army. Gotta love a warm bath.

These rumors are consistent in all the different places I looked on the internet. I haven't read any books on Alexandria and really the most credible information source I visited was Wikipedia and the Alexandria Library home page. So don't quote me on any of this. So what have we learned from this legend of rumors??? What has history taught us this time??? War, religion, and warm baths are really selfish things! Ha ha. No, really, Here we observe that shit went down then, and it is still going down today. The library of Alexandria was probably a really bad ass place to be and it got burned down in some way out of selfishness, or ignorance. And maybe today we can get a little more honest and a little less freaked out by other people and how they want to party, so we don't have to bury the truth in a bunch of rumors.

The dude could fly.

2009-09-05T15:08:00.000-07:00

Daniel Douglas Homes (pronounced "Humes") is a lesser known psychic medium that perfomed crazy acts of wonder in the mid 1800's. His claim to fame is the title "the man who could fly." He worked mostly for the rich and the elitists, performing seances in broad daylight for proof that he had nothing to hide and his gifts were real. The guy's seances sound pretty awesome-- he could levitate, invoke "phantom hands" which the sitters could hold, and it is said that he could manipulate his body, elongating it as much as 11 inches (which is totally weird, like, why would you do that?), and probably his most intense performance (and there are only 3 witnesses to this), he held a seance in his apartment and levitated off the ground and flew out the window where he hovered 3 stories above the ground. CRAZY! Now, many people thought this dude was a fraud, mostly because he claimed to be a medium and not a magician. Even Harry Houdini claimed Holmes to be a total poser and said he could perform the same acts.....BUT HE NEVER DID!!!

Of the 1,500 recorded seances D.D. Homes performed not once could one person figure out how he did the things he did and was never once "proved" wrong. Pretty bad ass.

THE FOOL

2009-09-02T17:56:00.000-07:00

What better way to launch Witch Party: The Blog, than to offer our humble guide to The Fool-- the first card of the Major Arcana in the Tarot, which consists of seventy-eight cards total, and which by the way, is one of the most ancient modes of divination on this here planet Earth! Some say The Fool is actually the last card in the deck, but whether first or last, The Fool points to a brand new way of being or mode of life and the very beginning of a journey or new project-- um, hello Witch Party...

The Egyptians, who invented the Tarot, saw The Fool as humanity-- the bewildered, non-perceptive "slaves of matter", taking our mistakes with us, heading for new mistakes. Traditional representations of The Fool depict a young man on the start of a journey, happily whistling along, heedless of the enormous precipice over which he is about to fall.

Now, before we alarm ourselves, let's consider our human condition. Are we not on a great journey into the unknown? And haven't we all at some point in our lives experienced new beginnings? Whether within the realm of our families, careers, relationships, or other areas of our lives, new beginnings are many times accompanied by uncertainty, unstable curiosity, ignorance, and most importantly, innocence. The message I see is to go gentle on ourselves as we integrate new ideas and skills, to remain open, and to expect clarity only after a few leaps of faith.

So, welcome to Witch Party's first birthday party! Here's to our mistakes, and to the learning from our mistakes... Here's to our expansion and our learning from our expansion... And here's to our traveling and our fellow travelers-- may our journeys be chock full of new ideas and new ways of looking at our worlds, and at the very least, interesting and fun!

Next week... The Magician!

Psychic Youth. Daydream Nation.

2009-09-01T00:20:00.000-07:00

Hans Berger 1873-1941. German guy who invented the EEG, which measures human brainwaves. He died before its potential fully manifested, but the EGG is used in hospitals today to diagnose epilepsy and brain tumors. I don't know much more about him but what is amazing that he discovered is this-

Beta-The person is active and awake, the brain operates 12-15 cycles per second and up. this is conscious mind.

Alpha-brain activity occurs 6-14 cycles and up. This is where daydreaming takes place. It is said most hypnosis also takes place in this range.

Theta- Between 4-8 cycles per second. Emotional experiences are recorded here.

Delta-4-5 cycles per second. This is an unconscious state.

When we sleep the brain goes out of beta, through and out of alpha and theta, and into delta where it stays for a hot minute before it cycles back up to theta, then alpha where you dream for a while. Everbody's sleep cycle is different and changing all the time so it is unique to the individual how many times they will go in and out of delta and back to dreaming.

Why is this interesting?? Because it is said that most psychic experiences happen when your brain is chilled out, in an altered state, all tranced out or whatever a.k.a the Theta sate. So now the question is, how do I get there from the Beta state? Dudes its as easy as 1 2 3. Literally. What Hans Berger discovered is that just by simply closing your eyes your brain chills out to alpha. So then if you just count 1 2 3, you chill even more. Practice! Party on Hans Berger style.

Reality, Cataclysms, and Spoon-fed societies.

2009-08-31T03:57:00.000-07:00

10 questions.

1. What part of your mind is concerned with safety and survival and how many of your daily thoughts center around these concerns?

2. How free are you to walk away from where you are now?

3. What binds you emotionally?

4. What level of self-sustaining individuality have you mastered?

5. Can you exist in a dimension of consciousness where there is no one to help you, to save you if you fall. to advise you?

6. Can you walk through life unassisted?

7. What measure of loneliness can you sustain?

8. What depth of trust lies within you?

9. Is the belief you have in yourself and your individuality unassailable?

10. Is your belief vulnerable?

These are a few of the many questions I was asked by Stuart Wilde, author of "The Quickening". It was a fun read. Dude is pretty funny. His views on society arent shocking, actually very relatable, but he makes up or uses weird words for things, like "turbo thought" and "obliterating tick-tock" and "etheric non-world". Dude just wants to get free.

Bad Rep.

2009-08-31T02:55:00.000-07:00

Medusa! There are many legends about this lady and some contradict one another, but one thing that is consistent is that her story is tragic! In Greek myth the name Medusa means "guardian" or "protectress". But she was also a Gorgon, ya know, a monster with snakes for hair, gorgon means "terrible". The legend has it that she was a normal hot priestess in Athena's temple. She had some riotous affair with Poseidon, the ruler of the Sea, also Zeus's brother, and anyway she got knocked up. When Athena heard of all this she got super pissed and cursed Medusa by turning her long locks of blonde hair into snakes, and mangling her face so gnarly it turned anyone who looked at it to stone. Bummer. Big time bummer. But her story doesn't end there, no, Medusa cant get a break, Greek hero Perseus is sent to kill her, which he does he beheads her, and takes her head through the desert, where it dripped blood into poisoness serpents, and then to the sea where he laid her head down and the blood ran into it and then it became the red sea. Some stories say that Perseus took Medusa's head to Athena where she put the head on her shield, and if that isn't fucking crazy I dont know what is.

Check out this clip of Perseus getting his murder on!