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PaganSquare is a community blog space where Pagans can discuss topics relevant to the life and spiritual practice of all Pagans.
"Michael, what's wrong?"
Standing in the doorway, my friend grimaces.
"I realized today that I don't believe in the existence of god any more," he says.
The god that he means is the god of Abraham. I'd come to the same conclusion myself years before, but for Michael, who'd gone to seminary, nearly become a priest, and later considered conversion to Judaism, this was huge.
I pondered my response. Souls need careful handling.
Title: Witch Myth: A Yew Hollow Mystery Book 0: Beneath the Yew
...In October 2014, a podcast called Serial was released. Hosted by NPR’s Sarah Koenig, Serial tells “one story, week by week.” That first season told the compelling story of Adnan Sayed, who was convicted during his senior year of high school for the murder of his ex-girlfriend in 1999, but who has long maintained his innocence. The use of Sayed’s voice, intriguing plot points, and the brilliant weaving together of all the aspects of storytelling made Serial an instant smash hit. It was the first podcast to reach 5 million downloads. Serial was an overnight cultural phenomenon.
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Words matter.
That's why I'm laying a curse upon a certain word.
Not wishing to draw said curse onto my own head, I will refrain from writing the word here, for indeed it deserves neither to be written nor spoken.
But this much I will say:
The word that I hereby curse is a portmanteau of “romance” and “bro” (sic).
This sneering, belittling, condescending term denotes an intimate emotional relationship between two men.
And everyone knows that men shouldn't have those.
Welcome to the Mabon Tarot Blog Hop. We are a community of bloggers who have come together to discuss a theme or answer a question as posed to us by our wranglers. The wranglers this go-round are Jay Cassells and me, Arwen Lynch-Poe. Jay did all the heavy lifting as I am engrossed in my upcoming Trust Your Gut Intuitive Tarot class (10 week online and starts 10/1/2016).
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Once upon a time, there was a girl. We all know her. She liked to get into cars with boys, she stayed out too late, she looked out for her own interests, she drank, she smoked, she danced on tables, she wore clothes that revealed just a little too much, she didn't play by the rules and she did all the things that nice girls didn't do. She was the life of the party, girls wanted to be her and boys wanted to be with her. She left a trail of jealousy and broken hearts in her wake and she never looked back at any of it while anyone could see her. She only looked forward.
How could this be? How could a girl who didn't play nicely with other girls (or boys for the matter) be allowed to prosper, thrive and become successful? She's not following the unspoken rule that we have all agreed to - you are to aspire to become a princess from your shitty peasant life. Not a queen. A princess. You are allowed to be lifted up (preferably by a man) that high. And only if you are nice. Only if you never ever hurt anyone's feelings and you say sorry when you do. Even if they deserved it. Especially if they deserved it. Only if you attribute all of your success to others. Only if you have never done anything at all questionable to get to be a princess. You are allowed to be raised from the muck of your squalor to princess where you will smile, you will wave, you will do the things you are supposed to do. You will not rule or make any kind of decisions that are not for puppies or children and then only if your husband says it's okay. This is the pact. This is what we all agreed to at birth.
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The little clay goddess went out into the garden on Planting Day.
Ohmigods.
Now I practically need a machete to get into the garden.
The tomatoes have been the size of grapefruits.
The collard leaves are as big as skillets.
The squash vine, umbilical, not content with taking over the garden, is in the process of claiming the entire back yard. I'm expecting it to grab me as I go out the door any day now.
The butternuts it bears are each more than a foot long. The last one I cooked weighed two and a half pounds.
