Culture Blogs


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Culture Blogs

Popular subjects in contemporary Pagan culture and practice.

Category contains 2 blog entries contributed to teamblogs

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
In the Name of the Horns

Horns ward.

The Sign of the Horns has been a sign of power since long before it became a Heavy Metal cliché.

Because horns aren't just for beauty or display.

They're weapons. They ward because they warn. Theirs is the power of protection.

You could call the Horns a mudra. (In Witch we usually just say: hand-sign.) You could call them an invocation. (You know Who I mean.) In Anthropologist, you could call them an apotropaic: a turning away, an averting.

The Horns have been warding off the hostile, the unchancy, the ill-favored, for centuries, if not millennia.

You can mutter “Horns ward [me]” or “Horns protect [me]” if you like. It certainly won't hurt.

But only make the Sign and the Horns will do their work, seen or unseen, spoken or unspoken.

Some might call this a fire-fight-fire scenario: like warding like, the unchancy against the unchancy.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Tony Lima
    Tony Lima says #
    Yeah, yeah, horns symbolize mostly good things, one of which is feared by many is in super-sexual capabilities that may even survi
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    Ever a good averter, to be sure. And it does make the grass grow.
  • Thor Halvorsen
    Thor Halvorsen says #
    As a Deaf Pagan, I have to add that not only do they represent the pagan horns, Heavy Metal horns, but in the language of the Amer

The worship of La Santa Muerte, Mexico’s iconic Lady of “Holy Death,” is blossoming throughout the Americas.  Much like death itself, the hauntingly powerful skeletal figure of Santa Muerte is maligned and feared by the powerful, but loved and venerated by the desperate.  Millions of faithful throughout Mexico, the southwest United States, and all of Latin America, most of whom identify as Roman Catholics, flock to her temples to venerate the Lady of Death who holds the entire world in her hands.

 

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Witches Against Reagan

"Steve?"

It was Burtrand, head of Minnesota Church of the Wicca, which meant that something was probably wrong. He'd never called before. 

"Were you guys out at the demo last week?"

It was February 1982, the early years of the Reagan Era. The Teflon President himself had stopped at the Minneapolis Airport and, activist coven that we were, we had gone out to give him the un-welcome that he deserved.

WITCHES AGAINST REAGAN, read our sign. Note the acronym. Hey, they were un-subtle times.

"Yeah," I said, "How did you know?"

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Sacred Feathers

Lend flight to thoughts; waft away the mundane to make room for the sacred spirit journey.  Seeming to be at the mercy of the wind, feathers float on the breeze to be gifted to those who seek.  Yet the feathers direct the thoughts to a higher plane.

Feathers have been used as spiritual artifacts in almost all cultures.  Even today each State has a state bird, which is exempt from hunting and held as sacred.  Emperors, Priests, Goddesses have all been adorned with the sacred feather from a variety of birds from the peacock and parrot to the eagle and ostrich.  Some feathers are so sought after that the birds are now protected.  It is important to only pick up found feathers and not take them from living birds.  Be cautious about buying feathers as well - some are limited to only certain Native American tribes for their religious rights.  

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Trivia at the Crossroads

Last year I facilitated a (very) small gathering devoted to the Goddess Hekate in the basement of a local metaphysical shop. My Comrade and I celebrated The Rite of Her Sacred Fires, a global ritual written and organized by Sorita d’Este from the Covenant of Hekate, an organization devoted to Hekate, Our Lady of the Crossroads.

The Rite of Her Sacred Fires is a very sweet and very powerful ritual, celebrated annually by people all over the world on the full moon in May. (This year the full moon is on Saturday, May 21.) We chanted, we sang, we decorated candles, we raised some power, and together we spoke these words:

Great Hekate, who spins the web of the stars and governs the spiral of life, guide us through towards pathways of understanding. From crossroad to crossroad, the torchbearers and the keybearers of your mysteries will always find one another.”

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Tamrha Richardson
    Tamrha Richardson says #
    I feel as if I could have written this! I'm right there with you, in so many ways. Great post!
  • Trivia at the Crossroads
    Trivia at the Crossroads says #
    hahah, thank you, Tamrha! I appreciate you taking the time to comment. And YES. I knew I wouldn't be the only one having these

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Goodman's Croft

In Scotland, they call it the Goodman's Croft: the little corner of unplowed land that you leave in every field.

The Goodman, of course, is the Devil. Well, we know Who that is.

A croft is a farm, especially a small one. So the Devil's half-acre is land left wild, sacrosanct. The Wild is his field, as the deer are his cattle.

Plow if you must, but leave some for the wild. It's ancient tradition and soundest ecology, both.

The custom lives on here in the secular US Midwest. You'll notice that lots of fields have one lone tree standing in them, often with a cairn beneath. In any traditional society, you'd look at this and say: field shrine.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Lady of the Thrice-Plowed Furrow

You could call them the Clay Ladies.

The ancestors made them by the tens, if not hundreds, of thousands: little naked women, poised on pointed toes to stand calf-deep in the good tilled soil of our gardens and fields.

We've been doing this since the end of the last Ice Age, and we still do. No one needs to be told why we put them there.

The best magic explains itself.

There they stand, graciously bestowing their gift of fruitfulness, looking as if they are rising from the Earth.

They are Earth itself, formlessness rising into form. The goddess rising from Earth was a minor (but not uncommon) motif in ancient Greek art, and rightly so. The furrow parts: the goddess is born.

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