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Thought download of an American Citizen

Today I’m going to break the silence on this blog not to talk about the wonderful trip that I had up to the Mountain, or the crab apples, blackberries, and onions that I harvested. I will have a post up about the amazing crab apple butter that is making my house smell delicious. At some point I’ll finely edit that article on house wards, and I’ll even sit down to write about the nuts and bolts of putting on a public ritual.

But today I’m going to talk about my country, and the shitty politics that are happening. Because election day is around the corner and even tho I’m fairly confident that Mitt Romney doesn’t stand a chance at election; I’m still a little scared. But more than that I’m mad.

I’m mad that I don’t have the luxury of voting on actual economic strategy or structural constitutional legislation because civil rights and my autonomy as a person are very seriously being threatened. If you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about being a free thinking woman in a country of misogynists at power that want to make decisions for me.  (A list of SOME of the Bills proposed, Another account State by State)

I’m furious that a bunch of hypocritical wing nuts who continue to tout about their deeply held religious beliefs and blaspheme the constitution of the country they claim to love. I am so pissed off at Corporate lackeys and lobbyist monopolizing the system while running the country into the ground and continuing to move on and never looking back.

Watching the RNC coverage and the amount of bullshit that paraded up on that stage all under the wholesome guise of “family values” and “American Christian Nation” made my stomach turn. The extreme disconnect between common sense and decency and the actions that this people are calling for.

I now know why the Romans looked upon Christianity as a cult that upset pacata atque quieta – settled and orderly.

I am a deeply religious person. It is a part of my everyday make up and I do not wish to take that away from anyone else. My religious beliefs are the compass to my life. MY life. Not the world, not the country, not all people always. It is the compass, not the terrain in which I walk. I am a citizen of the United States of America and whatever my religious beliefs. Say those beliefs were that eating meat were sin (thank the Gods that they are not) it would not occur in my brain that we should then make meat illegal in this country. To say that out loud is absurd. But to Evangelicals and other extremists because it is written in their book and they take to it we should take it up as law. Absurdity.

I am a citizen of the United States of America and whatever my religious beliefs I uphold the Constitutional just laws of this country foremost.

It should be a simple fact of all people. It should. But that’s not their way. It’s zealot fanatical behavior that is truly frightening to behold.

What do I want? From my country? What would I like to see?

  • Separation of Church and State being upheld far more than it is today. To truly have politics be a secular discussion.
  • Take the money out of politics. No more billionaires advancing their interests by donating truck loads of money to their candidate. We should try a system of tax bond for each American that they get to choose who they give their bond to, to support. American businesses would have a tax bond as well that they get to say who they are supporting. And that’s it. That’s all the money candidates get. You run for office you become a Public Figure and your taxes become public record.
  • We need to pass a Read the Bill Act to allow for more transparency in our legislative process and to stop lobbyist and politicians tacking on in-congruent laws to bills, or worse voting on bills that they haven’t even read.
  • We need to kick lobbyist out of D.C.
  • Us to pass a Universal Healthcare system
  • Us to modernize and reinstate the Glass Stegall Act
  • Us to get rid of ALL of the remaining pieces of the Patriot Act
  • We need to plug up the holes in the tax code that allows billionaires to get away with paying pennies in taxes.
  • I’d like to see us try a system of taxing business that employ workers outside of the country and give tax breaks to those business that employ American workers. More tax breaks if they provide health care for those American employees.
  • More money in education. We spend far more money on our prison system than we do on our education system. We have to invest in our future. We need to expand the idea of education beyond the tried (and failed) method of 4 yr university. We need to have federally supported programs for skilled trade. We need to teach our kids basic modern life skills, how to choose a credit card, what an interest rate is, how to get a loan, how to get a small business loan, how mortgage’s work. We have to give them the tools to make a better future. Really we need to provide this same education in our Welfare system to the adults that never got those tools either.
  • We radically need to restructure our healthcare system. The Baby Boomers are getting older, we are all living longer, and the statistics of that is that we live long enough we will get cancer. Or something else. The current system is not prepared for the needs of that aging community. Our current way of handling the elder does NOT work. We have to get minds working on this. Doctors, scientists, economists, nurses, psychologists. Because it will have a major effect on our economy and our society in general.
  • We DESPERATELY need to invest in eco-friendly energy. We need to fund research and development. But more than that we need to USE it widescale.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. That’s just the topics that I think about almost daily. The topics I WANT to hear my politicians talking about, the kinds of ideas I’m looking for. The forethought into putting America’s future back as priority.

But all of this has to be put aside because I’m still fighting for equal pay in the work place, for the right to make choices for my body, for the right of people to marry who they wish to.

It just boggles my mind.

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The Beltane Fires Blaze

I came running into the month of Beltane with fire in my hands and joy in my heart. Or more precisely Beltane and I went running out together in the high summer sun. It has been a non-stop adventure exhausting and exhilarating. While I see the shadows crossing with my rays of light and fire, I know there is more to come.

For me Beltane has always been a time of holy sacred fire. It is one of my top holy times of the year, and for me it last all the month of May. In the Irish tradition, Beltane or Bealltainn was the start of the summer season, an agricultural festival of blessings and protections. It was the time when the cattle went up to the summer fields to graze, their safety of high import. It was the time to put out the hearth fires, and relight them from the blessed bonfires of the community. Blessing were lain on house and field, rowan tree limbs collected for protection and prosperity. Being the beginning of summer the larders would be bare, and the harvest being planted. It would be a time of possibility and uncertainty. Over on Tairis there is an excellent article on the folk customs of the Irish and Scottish of Bealltainn throughout the centuries.

Add to this historical understanding of the festival, is the knowledge of the season. It is spring, the start of summer. The air is charged with change, will it frost the night and kill the blooms shyly peaking out? Or will the summer winds blow in hot and steamy? Everyday is an unknown. The world is on the edge of a new now, a new standard. The spirits are a buzz with the energy being put out by everything. Things get knocked over, go missing. Tempers are wild, and everyone seems on the edge of absolute joy or a ragged frustration that could end in a brawl or a roll in the bed sheets. The blood begins to pump faster, with more vigor and heat as the sun showers it’s glory upon the world more and more. Now is the time of action. The start of the cattle raiding. Three of the legendary invasions from the Leabhar Gabala happen in the time of Bealltainn. To hunt, to plant, to fuck, to create, to conquer, to woo, to run mad, to laugh.  The veil is thin, the Gods and all those who dwell in the Otherworld draw closer with their mesmerizing golden haze. In a word it is one of my favorite times of year, complete with it’s stress, and maddening mood swings.

Now that we’ve covered the flavor and lens in which Beltane is known around my household you’ll get a much better sense if the emotive and energetic charge of the evens that have transpired over the last few days lol.

The build up began on Friday April 27th, with me facilitating an amazing ritual put on by the lovely Lady Yeshe Rabbit and Thora Azuolas. It was made even more special as we were joined by Guest Priestesses Kris Freewoman and Larissa. It was a ritual in honor of Oshun, as this is the fifth year of Yeshe Rabbit’s dedication to her. It was high energy, dancing extravaganza. Kris Freewoman is an amazing dancer and has such an energetic grace in how she directs the movement of the room. It is a skill that is lacking from our Tribes public working and one I would love to at least tap into. We had a room of 25+ women dancing in naked glory without a care in the world other than how beautiful they were being for Oshun. Not my pantheon but impressive and moving on all accounts. Larissa is an amazing drummer and had brought her talented friends with her, to truly make this a ritual to blow others in the rhythm department. For an hour or so that little yoga studio was transformed into a temple, an open field on the river bed, and a tribal communion ground. And by the end of the night I was bushwacked! lol

But there is not too much rest for the wicked. I was up bright and early on Saturday for a lovely day trip to a flea market with the Lumberjack. It was filled with all kinds of treasures that we wished we had room enough to hoard. In the end I bought some trinkets and a beautiful gold cuff and was contented. A quick stop at our favorite BBQ place for sustenance and it was back to the house to piece together an outfit befitting a Tickster of the May. Three hours later we were satisfied, the house completely destroyed, and hurrying on my way to  get to ritual.

A ritual I only vaguely remember lol. It was a large production befitting Beltane, there was a lot of talking coming out of my mouth. A story weaved in rainbow colors about the Tribes of Love and Fire. How man came to be the fragile forged steel that it is today. A large community passing through the Beltane Fires that leaped high burning with excitiment, many blessings given. A new May Court crowned, and general revelry ensued. Another late night and sore feet, a heel objecting to being used as a bull hoof to drum up people’s attentions. Food hastily eaten in good company, and then to my soft calling bed.

The morning brought some respite but not much lol. Preparations needed to be made! It was Beltane Eve! I cleaned my destroyed house and set about to baking my offerings of honey cakes for the beasties and shining ones. They were damn tasty too.

I had some important spell work to prep and get done on the day. As well as a need to prep my flowers that were given to me by the Lumberjack. They are now drying for future use in incense and other spell work. All and all a busy day around Fort Epic.

And just when I was tidying up the Good God’s kitchen altar, it was time to leave for another adventure! For not only was it Beltane Eve, but the birthday of one of my beloved soul sisters! Tauri women rule, for the record. For this celebration we were off to get a lesson in archery. Something tantalizing but foreign to me. Turned out to be an addicting thing, and to most of our surprise we were not so helpless around the bow and arrow. Indeed I feel the possibility of a new wonderful hobby on the horizon….

With the night still young, and the Beltane blood high we went out to celebrate Tiki style. It was a lot of fun, I’ve never really been to a bar before. And certainly had never gotten drunk at a bar before lol. Good times all the way around. I discovered I have a taste for a drink known as Navy Grog (good thing to know for the future).

The good and happy drunk stumbled her way to bed, in enough of her right mind to have a glass of water and ibuprofen before diving headlong into Morpheus’s sweet arms.  But wait! Sleep was but a sweet passing allusion. Somewhere inbetween the Mai Tai and Navy Grog, smashed between the talk of finding the bones of the dead on the beach, and oogling Elvis on the screen, there was the persuasion that took hold on my drunk little heart and I agreed to go up to the Inspiration point and watch the Morris Dancers and greet the first rays of the sun.

4:30 comes all to soon, and while the Portal turrets played their harmonic opera, the happy drunk stumbled confusedly back out of bed. Finding that those 4 hours alone in the sleeping realm did absolutely nothing for my balance and stability on my boozey feet. But the sunrise beckoned! And in the little marshmallow car the three bleary-eyed bull-women made their way up the hills, through the magic mist to watch that golden coin take it’s royal seat in the sky.

And it was worth it. While the Englishmen danced with their bells and ribbons the Sun began to show hit glimmering glory.

 One moment you are holding your breath in anticipation, the next a sliver of gold, and then a brilliance to bold to look upon. Such is the glory of the Beltane sun. With joy we  washed our hands and face in the morning dew. Gratefully we happened upon some wild Lady’s Mantel. All seemed delightfully right in the world.

The rest of the day past in a Gatorade, sleepy haze. As I worked the day and went home very tired. But certain things still needed to be done. Our Beltane fires needed to be lit, all of the house (including the cats) needed to pass thru for a good healthy year. And then the altar needed to be lit. Once the business was taking care of, and even then I completely forgot to bless the car which led to a different kind of adventure, but most of the business taken care of it was time to rest in the house and the home that I love.

I have to say it was one of the best first of May’s I’ve had in a long time. And the month isn’t even over yet! I realize that this post comes weeks after the event,we are now in the height of May-dom, so many more exciting adventures have transpired. So much more magic has been made. But that’s the thing about busy adventures, you’re too busy experiencing them to blog about them. But don’t fear. I’m taking pictures, and making notes. So as soon as I catch my breath there will be more blog posts to come!

Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh

Taurus by Ruben Ireland

Blood of my blood
Bone of my bone
Flesh of my flesh
Teach my spirit to be strong

[Warning: This entry will be talking very explicitly about body parts, genitals, and body fluids. If that is a trigger for you please utilize self care and go on with your internet browsing in peace] 

I have been meaning to write this entry or an entry like this for some time now. In light of the gender exclusivity/inclusiveness issues that we are once again discussing as a community after PantheaCon, it just seems timely. For those of you who want to get up to speed on the events of this Pantheacon and past that have brought the community at large to, what I think, is a helpful dialog please see: Unity, Diversity, Controversy  and Gender, Transgender, Politics and our Beloved Community. Also keep a weathered eye on the Wild Hunt for more. This entry isn’t actually about the events or the movement that is happening in the pagan community. Overall I think the conversations that are happening this year, the tone, and the direction is all towards the future and is all good. The majority is moving towards inclusiveness and are being very civil. Sadly I don’t have any new insightful points to shine greater light on the events that transpired, or the future of the movement. Most of what I feel and my experience are echoed in these wonderful pieces by:   The Lady Yeshe Rabbit, Devin Hunter, Storm Faerywolf, and here

So then why bother with a post at all? What is this business of blood and flesh and all that jazz? The vast majority of the conversation this year is more civil than the year prior, and the focus being about education and the appropriateness of cisgender-ritual at a public convention. But filtering through my dashboard, facebook, and so on is one sentiment that I would like to bring a different point of view on.

That sentiment is that Dianics, or ciswomen’s rituals, or “women’s mysteries rituals” are supporting the idea that “women” should be defined by their reproductive organs and are thereby making themselves out to be no better than brood-stock. A general tonality of dismissal towards magic and healing focused specifically on shared body experiences. In some cases not just a dismissal but an out and out disdain and mockery of finding power and the divine within the paradigm of the body and it’s rhythms. Now, there may very well be women out there who do believe that a uterus, vulva, and the ability to give birth is the end all be all of the divine. They are not everyone who finds the sacred in these rites and rituals. I also fully understand that to some spirituality is about the mind and soul and has little to do with the body. Which is not an approach I understand completely but isn’t one I’m going to mock either.

Let me bring to the table a different way of approaching rituals designed around uterus, vulva, menstruation, pregnancy, giving birth, menopause, and what they can do for women who have those parts. Let me speak into this cacophony of hurt, fear and frustration, and just lay down my own truth. So often when the tides of change are upon us the voices of extreme filled with emotions are heard above all the rest. In those times many often think, “Where are the rest of us?”. It seems that in order for real growth to happen the rest of us have to sit at the table and hear each other out before the extremes can feel safe to do so. Or maybe they never will, but the important thing is for those who can to do so. This is me sitting down with no real expectation. Before I proceed let me say that I do not believe that all women have the same parts, or have all of those parts, or have those parts that work in the ways expected. I don’t believe genitals and organs make a woman. This is about what rituals about those organs and processes can do for those people who identify as women and have them.

Truth is if you had told me eight years ago that I would be a part of a feminist coven of ciswomen whose rituals honored the cycle of menarche throughout the year, and did so naked. I a) would not have know that the hell you meant by ciswoman and b) I would have taken you to the nearest mental health facility.  Because I have actively worked against being defined by my reproductive organs. I am a person, an independent woman, whose experiences and life are the culmination of spirit, mind and body. I was the only girl in an entire city league of boys baseball. A self identified Tomboy who loved pretty dresses. I was so incredibly lucky, to have grown up pretty much surrounded by people who told me and BELIEVED that I could do anything I wanted to.  Gender hardly played a role. I had supportive, encouraging adults in my life that saw me as a person and let my live that way. I will be eternally grateful to them all my days.

But lets pull the curtain back on that boisterous head strong girl.

We see the girl who was “gifted” with “assets” early in her development. That wanted sooo badly not to grow up that she bound her breasts daily. Wearing 2 or 3 sports bras that were sizes too small, even to bed.  We see a girl who was desperate that no one know she had started menstruating she hid it for a year. Stealing sanitary pads from her mother, and throwing away the stained underwear in the middle of the night. Even when her mother did find out she still didn’t talk about, didn’t want anyone to ever know. We see a girl who reacts violently to anyone who insinuates that her strong emotions are due to her “time of month”. And that’s the key, even though she would have never been able to articulate it then. This girl is a deep emotional being who is loud and opinionated. What happens to such a person when it is found out that they are on their period? They are dismissed. The one cancels out the other. And there is nothing more infuriating and frightening than being dismissed in her world.

So I hated my period. HATED it. It was a curse. It was disgusting and vile, I could barely stand to use the restroom because it would mean that I would have to come face to face with my filth. That’s what it was to me, filth. I begged my mother for years to let me buy tampons so that then I wouldn’t have to see it, it would be more contained. With that change it was so much easier to pretend it wasn’t there. With applicators, I didn’t have to touch the mess. The horrid smell was much less. All I had to do was make sure that I kept up a tough front if I got cramps and no one would be the wiser. That was the reality of my life for a long time.

Granted entering the active sexual world helped me to get over my issues with my breasts, and generally lighten up about my body. But I still couldn’t stand for my partner to know I was bleeding, I couldn’t talk about it. It also turned my period into a bizarre co-dependency. On the one hand nothing had changed, I still hated it, it was still disgusting. I considered myself to be untouchable during that time. On the other I was on the pill now and anxious every time for my period to start, as it meant I was not pregnant. Which is still an issue and a fear of mine. But tabling that for the moment.

How did we get from that girl, to ordained HPS of the Amazon Tribe, facilitator of numerous menarche cycle rituals, and advocate of menstrual blood magic?

Ritual. Connection to the divinity of this body. As with so many important things I don’t remember the why or the how I found myself going to these circles. I suspect it was because someone dear to me asked me to go. Being naked in front of strangers was more than a little weird. From the brief look into my life, I’m sure you can gather that up until this point I did not have a large group of female friends. The few relationships I did have were not the kind where we talked about body things. My mother while not nearly as obsessive about hiding her bodily functions as I, was sensitive to the fact that I did NOT want to talk about it and didn’t press. There I was in a room of naked women, at a ritual that focused around the flashing of a vulva to get a goddess to smile – I was out of my element. Here were women talking about “it”. Some in polite euphemisms, some in straight vernacular. Announcing that they were on their “moon time”, talking about bleeding, diva cups that overflow, about environmentally friendly washable luna pads, about raspberry leaf tea. Sore breasts, aching backs, cravings (of food and otherwise). There were words I had never heard of (what’s a yoni?). But above all it was just being talked about, and talked about without shame. There was no dismissal of thoughts and emotions that happened to coincide with bleeding. Most radically though was the undercurrent and explicit idea that menstruation was powerful.

I learn a lot through osmosis. Weird thing to say but it’s true. I was a Marine Brat, moved around a lot, had to learn to adapt, to fit to my new surroundings. Thus being around things I pick up knowledge, information and skills, without conscious effort. So being surrounded by women talking frankly began to seep into my consciousness. The key I suppose was the frankness. It wasn’t all glitter and bejeweled vulvas (tho I admit there was talk of that too). It was the frustration, the pain, resignation, the nostalgia from those having gone or going through menopause. The bitter and the sweet. It was the natural acceptance of the whole messy process.

I should note and reiterate here, that no one ever told me to be ashamed and hate my period. I wasn’t slapped and told I was dirty as I know some of my sisters experienced. It was never implicitly stated or even implied. It was a reality that grew out of my mind and out of the cultural context of the world around me. It was so core to my being that it blinded me from the direct conflict of such thinking and my own spiritual path and world view.  I have always been an animist at heart, everything that we come into contact with in our life has an energy and a spirit. The closer that I got to the raw elemental nature of things the more I knew that to be true. The more that I connected with those spirits in my life and practice the more powerful they were. It is the cornerstone of my practice. Simple, basic, elemental, primal. That is how I work, that is what works well for me. I’d been using spit for protection sigils for years. My hair is a potent ingredient to any spell and is use with forethought. I’ve never batted an eyelash at pissing in the witches bottle, or around the property itself when needed. There are rites and spells that I spill blood for. Yet I was blinded by my prejudice against my own body to the power of my blood. I’ll say that again, I was PREJUDICE against myself. For no real reason. Because the fact of the matter is I don’t hate my body, I knew it to be a powerful part of my human experience in this life.  That’s not how it is for everyone, but for me becoming aware that my emotions and prejudices where not in line with my overall world view, was shaking.

To be clear it wasn’t a single ritual, or one ah-ha! moment that brought me to this place within myself. It was time spent in sacred space where these rhythms and organs where being honored. It was experiencing the visions of women’s blood flowing down the thighs of a Goddess that was soul moving. It was then going to my own altar, and being in sacred space with my Goddess and her once again flinging wide the doors of my mind that I had kept shut. Revelations, deeper connections, and just facing myself.

What was it about menses that made me become shameful, and hate it? Was I going to continue to allow society and the invisible them to have final say on whether or not my emotions and opinions were valid? In all other aspects of my life I have moved to a place of being open and owning of myself, imperfect and human that I am. Why not this? My shields have always been sparse, and compact in the front of me. Allowing for agility and ease of movement rather than to barricade. Why? Because I can handle myself. Because I am capable, because in the end any hits someone gets in is just going to make me stronger. Yet I was going to let the ignorance and misogyny of the imaginary, or the careless parroted words of others bring me down and make me hide myself? No longer.

So was that it? Was it a simple awakening realization, continue going to rituals and ta-da? Yes, no. Yes, it was an awakening realization, hours of meditation, offerings, petitions, oracles. Yes it was continuing to go to rituals. No, that was not all. It was also working with the rhythms of my body and incorporating that power into my craft. It meant I had to face what I had deemed filth, and look at it in a new light. So it was bleeding and not just letting the tampon absorbed it up and never have to touch it. It was getting that blood and tissue on my hands and reaching out to test and feel if there was any energetic power there. It was realizing that I work with organ meat, butchery, bones, and dead animals. The smell of menstrual blood is not the most foul thing I’ve ever smelled. In fact it just smells like blood. Iron, salt, and mortality. It was owning my body as whole and holy. It was using my blood in a spell, and it fucking working. And in doing this work, at home, at my altar, I became a more confidant and powerful woman, witch and priestess. I could speak candidly with my friends, sisters, partner and not feel ashamed, embarrassed or that it somehow lessened my value. I don’t know any other way to explain it other than to say that I felt the surge of power that comes with walking your walk completely, and owning yourself.

Now, do I think that space and revelation could not have happened if transwomen had been in that space as well? Personally, no. I don’t see that as being an impediment. I see an underlying fear that these vulva, uterus, menstruation rituals will be edged out if the circles are open to all women and not just ciswomen. We don’t have to create that reality. This post was triggered in large part by a lot of posts and comments made by ciswomen who have no interest in having rituals focused on the cycle of menses, it’s not for everyone, it doesn’t need to be. But it is important and sacred for many. My story, is sooo small in comparison to the many other stories of healing, transformation, and power that can be heard about these body focused rituals.

We can keep that sacred space of healing, and open up to more women who may find healing there without changing the focus. That’s what I would like to see. That is what I want to focus on in my own community. The talk on the internet will continue as it always does, PantheaCon will make decisions and changes for their own visions interests as is their right to do. Each group or coven has the same. For me, it is important to speak out and openly about the power and sacredness that I have found within these rituals for whomever wants to hear it. May it do some good in whatever way the powers that be deem fit. And in turn look to my own community to speak, and shape the future.

May everyone find power and the sacred on their path, let all people worship what gods they will.

A little bit of Epic

I know. I’ve done quite a few of the Doctor Who videos. But you know? They just make some awesome videos! Not my fault. Until I can get my grubby little hands on a battery for my camera and or a new camera, my blogging is a bit hampered.

In the meanwhile enjoy this little bit of Epic. I know I did.

David Tennant and John Barrowman are gods.

The Value of Money

Had an interesting experience that lead to an interesting thought the other day. I work in a metaphysical shop, whose patron deities are some of the Orisha. Not a pantheon that I work with personally, but certainly one whose energies I’ve come to recognize. The Orisha are very popular in my community so it was kind of hard not to.  I admit that at first I was a little afraid it would be weird lighting their candles and tending their altars at the store regularly. But quickly came to find that polite reverence is a welcomed thing.

One day when I was working a got a particularly odd phone call. The short of it was that someone was wanting me or someone at the store to help them put a curse on someone. It was a person that didn’t seem to understand no and got off the phone saying they would come explain it to me in person. Okay…

Now I was not and am not opposed to telling people that we aren’t that kind of store and send them on their way.  But I was on my own that day and being the general prepardeness kinda gal I realized that it would probably just be all around better if said person didn’t find the time to make it to the store. So I light up some delicious sage, do the rounds, and decide to grid some black & brown tourmaline on doorway. It was in putting those pieces down that I took note of Papa Legba’s altar, sitting there happy as you please.

Due to his immense popularity in my social circles, I’m sure in part to him being the gatekeeper of his people, I’m not completely ignorant of his likes and dislikes. And while some people attract Trickster gods, or storm deities, throughout my life it’s been the Chieftains/King/Father Gods that take a shine to me (and I am not complaining one wit). So the thought of asking Papa for help shielding his store was not uncomfortable to me.  But what to give as an offering?

This is where I have one of those moments of realization that investment in a pack of cigarettes or smoking tobacco to just keep in my purse as emergency offering material  is a brilliant idea. But alas no tobacco, and being at work no alcohol either. Standing there staring at the jovial candle burning I’m hit with the smell of spices. I could easily go to the herbs and find something appropriately spicey and it may very well work as it would be an offering from the store on behalf of the store, yet I’d still like to offer something of my own and I don’t even have a stick of cinnamon gum on me. Meditating on his altar I see the glint of copper and remember. I’d witness many of his followers make offerings of change, and I knew that his number was three. Problem solved I went and dug out three of my shiniest pennies, asked him to watch the store front and asked to set that person on a path elsewhere. Feeling better I went on with my day, and said person never showed up on my shift. I’m fairly certain they didn’t show up at all.

But the whole thing got me thinking about money and offerings.

What a person offers to a Deity, spirit or otherwise is usually dependent on historical precedent, personal experience, and to some extent common sense. It’s fairly easy to know what to give to the Deities that we are familiar with, live with, or worship. Less so to those outside of our sphere. There is historical precedents for leaving money as offerings for most ancient cultures. There is certainly precedents for money as offering for the Orisha, most of the altars that I have seen for them have various amounts of money on them. Everything from high dollar bills to the humble penny.

But I have to admit it was the first time that I had ever given money as an offering. My gods had never asked or shown an interest in money for an offering. In fact the idea kinda tasted sour in my mouth.

 But why? It’s not that there isn’t historical precedence for it. The Celts are generally agreed to have worn their wealth. With Ireland specifically having traded and dealt with specific weights of gold and silver rings or bracelets. The finding of such rings and bracelets in bogs and under standing stones throughout Ireland sets the stage for money being an appropriate offering.

But perhaps the hitch is in the details.  In Ireland gold was relatively abundant, and in Britain and other sectors of the Celtic world money-rings were made of gold, silver, iron, and copper. All metals with power and energies. Metals that we, as human beings have been attracted to since discovering them.

Comparatively money of today, in America seems paltry. Coins are a combination of (VERY SMALL amounts) Copper, Zinc, and Nickel. Coinflation is a website that gives you the melt down value of your coins. It’s kinda eye opening. Then there is paper money, which in of itself is just paper that we as a society have assigned value to. We could make the argument that all money, even gold and other precious metals are assigned their value based on society. But that argument is going to get us no where fast. For me at least the precious metals hold a certain energy that our modern base metals don’t. Just as plastic doesn’t ring energetically for me.

It may be in part that my Gods worship did not follow into modern day as others have. So modern money’s value isn’t apparent, I’d imagine if I were use to gold cache’s as an offering suddenly being presented with a $20 would be confusing. In the same way that I try very hard not to make offerings of processed foods because it just seems to have less spiritual value to them.

I guess it comes down to preference. Whether or not the symbolic value of modern money is important to you and your deities, or if it’s more about the spiritual value of the materials. Overall it was a very interesting thing to think about lol, and I’d love to hear other people’s take on whether or not they find modern money to be a good offering for their deities.

Penny for your thoughts? lol

A little bit of Epic

Because I’m frustrated this morning, because I’ve been working really hard at boring responsibility stuff. Because I have three blog posts in various states of completion. Because sometimes you just need some geeky showtunes to make your day better.

I present to you John Barrowman, the infamous Captain Jack Harkness, singing the Doctor and I