Pagan Paths


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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs
The Wisdom of the Underworld

Crackling leaves are burning
Transformed from life to death
The crow calls out relentlessly
To those unseen and life withers
In the blasting of its issue.

The Crone’s outstretched hand
Pulls me tightly to her breast
The air chills at her touch
Long icy fingers tapping out
The heart beat of life’s pulse within.

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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs
Walking the Ancient Paths

'Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies, and walk on them, and find rest for your soul.'  1001 Meditations (pg. 13) by Mike George

     The Crone is the guardian of the crossroads, and this is Her time. As we journey through our lives we come to many crossroads; we have so many choices, so many roads not taken. How do we choose? How do we know we've made the right choice?

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PaganNewsBeagle Watery Wednesday Community News Oct 29

In today's Watery Wednesday we are featuring Community News of our Pagan communities and allies. Salem's next door neighbors; solitary Samhain; witchy shopping in NYC; Circle Sanctuary celebrates; Southern Pagans.

Salem's next door neighbor -- Danvers, MA -- hasn't cashed in on the Witch craze (at least yet.) Discover what the Other Salem thinks of all the hoopla in this profile.

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Posted by on in Paths Blogs
Death Becomes Us

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about death lately. It’s Autumn here in the Northern Hemisphere, the time of year when the trees drop their leaves and the natural world looks like it’s dying. But the concept of death became much more personal a few days ago when my father-in-law had a stroke and then passed away. I was not with him when he died but my mind immediately went back to a time when I experienced death firsthand: my firstborn child died in my arms at the age of five. That was a closer shave with death than most modern people have. But in ancient times, death was a much more familiar companion.

Like most cultures up until just a century or two ago, the ancient Minoans experienced death close up. The elderly and the ill died in their own beds at home. The family washed the body and prepared it for burial, anointing it with precious oils and resins and winding a linen cloth around it. They carried the body to the tomb themselves, perhaps on a cart or even in their arms if the deceased was a small child. They held funeral rites at the tomb as the body was placed within the beehive-shaped building, its form a reminder of the Ancestors and the Goddess who watched over the dead.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs

Samhain is a time to see, not just with your eyes, but with your mind and heart. It's traditional to make predictions at this turn of the wheel (it is the New Year, after-all), and there are lots of tools that can help us do this. One of my favorites is a scrying mirror. You can make a scrying mirror out of things that are probably in your home right now--save for the peacock feathers. You will need:

  • Coffee can
  • Pencil
  • Scissors
  • Glue
  • Cardboard
  • Black Paper (If you have no black paper, you can paint the cardboard black once it has been cut--see directions below. Use as many coats as you need to get a solid color. Allow each coat of paint to dry before applying the next.
  • Cling film plastic wrap
  • Peacock Feathers (Besides looking pretty, the tips of peacock feathers look--and function--like eyes, and since this tool is going to help you “see" in a different way, they will make a great frame for the mirror.)

 

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Nine Jars of Compassion: A Folk-tale of the Latter-Day Dobunni

They say that He of the Horns looked upon his people and was moved with compassion at their suffering.

For an age and an age, two ages, he wept, and the tears of his weeping filled nine jars.

And when his weeping was ended, he took these nine jars and with their waters he extinguished the fires of Hell.

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Samhain In the Mysterious Monasshe Mountains, B.C.

The Big Leap: From Jerusalem to Little Fort, UFO Trench of British Columbia, Population 100.

Our amazing two year sojourn in Israel was over. September was commencing and we were back in Canada. My husband had completed his military releases in Ottawa and we had patiently traversed across Canada, now to locate a new home in the British Columbia wilderness. It was 1993.

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