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A little thoughtfulness about how and where to wear your crystal and gem jewelry can go a long way toward enhancing your health and happiness. The left side of your body is the most sensitive, or feeling side; the right side is your action side. Information and energy flow into your left side much more quickly, so you can protect yourself by wearing crystals on that side that act as energy guards. Jewelry worn on the right side of your body helps with work, productivity, and success.

Necklaces, Pendants, and Chokers

The Pagan Botticelli

The Minneapolis Institute of the Arts' current show Botticelli and Renaissance Florence: Masterworks from the Uffizi offers a profound meditation on the nature of Embodiment. Though focused largely on devotional works from Botticelli's later, Christian period, there is much here that will be of interest to pagans.

The artistic output of Florentine painter Sandro Botticelli (1445-1510) falls into two major periods, broadly characterizable as Pagan and Christian. During the first, under the influence of pagan antiquity, he created the Pagan masterworks for which he is primarily known today, such as the Birth of Venus and Primavera. The MIA's show features one major, if enigmatic, canvas from this period, commonly known as Pallas and the Centaur (see above).

The exhibit does an excellent job of pairing Renaissance works with the Classical works that inspired them, and in this case—to this pagan eye, at least—Botticelli is outshone by a 1^st century Roman centaur which actually manages to make the pairing of equine body with human torso and head eminently believable.

Pallas and the Centaur is a work of poised contrasts: male/female, wild/tame, body/spirit, animal/plant, naked/clothed, hairy/smooth, sensuality/purity. Though the Centaur's genitals are not shown, they are hinted at by his fine crop of pubic hair, where his man's body merges into the horse's. The Roman work, by comparison, frankly displays an admirable pizzle and a generous pair of testicles.

(Interestingly, Archaic Greek art tends to show centaurs with human genitals, but later centaurs, with the increasing naturalism that characterizes High Classical style, invariably sport those of horses instead.)

Botticelli, though, is anything but unsubtle. Pallas (=Athena, Minerva)—if indeed it is she—is clothed in the sheerest of robes (Botticelli is a master of fabrics), and the golden flower “pasties” that she wears simultaneously cover, and draw the eye.

From naked to clothed is not so very far.

Naked Babies

“We'd like to sing a Solstice blessing on the house,” I tell the barrista. “Is that cool?”

Her eyes sparkle.

“I'll go turn down the music,” she says.

Yule Morning 2022.

Having sung the Sun up from a snowy Powderhorn Park, the coven has adjourned to nearby May Day Cafe for Sunrise brunch. (Yes, that's the place's real name. Welcome to Paganistan.) The food was good, the talk as well, and it's the Yule of the year. Before we go, we'd like to give something back.

I'm a little concerned about interrupting meals or conversation, but when we turn at the door and begin to sing, people look up and listen.

We sing.

Joy, health, love and peace

be all here in this place.

By your leaves, we will sing

concerning our king.

The song is an old one, a quête-song that children used to sing going from door-to-door with the body of a wren, the King of the Birds. (Remind me some time to tell you the story of how he beat out Eagle for the title.) We don't have a wren with us, though, and I find myself wondering as we sing: who will they think we're singing about?

Our king is well-dressed,

in silks of the best,

in ribbons so rare,

no king can compare.

For me, the answer is plain, this Solstice morning: it's the Sun. Who else? Even the birds all agreed that whoever flew closest to the Sun would be their rightful King.

In addition to your personal New Year’s ritual with the significant people in your life, I recommend the Mayan Fire Ceremony as a powerful way to bring positive change of the New Year into your life.

The Mayan Fire Ceremony was considered to open a door or portal into the spirit world that held the promise of receiving the blessings of spirit—love, healing, prosperity, peace, and anything you need for personal transformation. This ritual is also an opportunity to pay respects and make homage to your ancestors and loved ones you have lost. For this reason alone, I suggest enacting the Mayan Fire Ceremony: our culture is losing the important connection to the older people in our lives. Involving them in the rituals, ceremonies, and passages of our lives could heal a cultural rift and bring deep wisdom to all. Mayan shamans could “read” the fire in a divinatory fashion, and I hear that some modern metaphysicians can do the same. If you are fortunate enough to know anyone with such skills, invite them to your fire ceremony to share what they divine from the flames.

 A 16th-Century Witch-Song

Because of its imagery, we sing Green Grow'th the Holly at Yule, but the love of which it speaks is evergreen.

Green grow'th the Holly; so doth the Ivy.

Though Winter blasts blow ne'er so high,

green grow'th the Holly.

As the Holly groweth green,

and changeth not its hue:

so I am, ever have been,

unto my Lady true.

 As the Holly is ever green, the lover declares, so his (or—why not?—her) love for this Lady is forever true.

Green grow'th the Holly; so doth the Ivy.

Though Winter blasts blow ne'er so high,

green grow'th the Holly.

As the Holly groweth green,

with Ivy all alone:

when flowers may not be seen,

and greenwood leaves be gone.

The song is more than 500 years old. Some attribute it—ironically, surely—to that most notoriously fickle lover, King Henry VIII. (Written, perhaps, for the six-fingered Anne Boleyn, reputed in her day to be a witch?) Though Henry was indeed a skilled musician and composer of music, I myself remember a time (if you'll pardon the comparison) when all pagan chants were variously ascribed to Starhawk, and remain dubious.

Green grow'th the Holly; so doth the Ivy.

Though Winter blasts blow ne'er so high,

green grow'th the Holly.

Now unto my Lady

promise to her I make

from all others, only

to her I me partake.

But we sing it as a Witch song: a song of faithfulness, not only to a mortal lover, but to the Craft itself, and to the Craft's Lady.

Remember that Green—as in the song Greensleeves, also attributed to Henry VIII—has ever been the fairy color. Bear in mind that the Goddess of Witches is known also as the Queen of Elfhame, of whom it is said: She hath a grip of all the Craft.

This dream can be interpreted several ways—it all depends on the context and how it made you feel. Dreams about suddenly being able to jump really high can be exhilarating, but they can also feel scary. Jumping up high can mean falling very far at the same time, so if you jumped up in the air and were filled with sudden terror as you started to fall back down, this dream might mean you’ve set your goals really high and are afraid of letting people down. It can also mean you’re not able to handle the pressure you’ve put on yourself. On the other hand, if you are enjoying yourself in the dream, it means you’re taking the difficult things life throws at you in stride. Dreaming about jumping high can also be a symbol of newfound freedom or the relief that comes along with letting go of something that has been stressing you out. Maybe you’ve quit a bad habit like biting your nails, eating too much candy and sweets or you’ve ended a toxic friendship. Whatever it is, you’re starting fresh. If you are feeling bogged down in life, you can take that dream as a sign that you can and should try to release some of the things dragging you down so that you can live a more lighthearted, carefree lifestyle.