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Which is better, Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny? That's the first elementary school theological argument that I can remember getting into.

(Both figures, of course, represent a kind of temporary children's autonomy. For both, you're up early, before anyone else, and in full control of the house; not only that, but you get rewarded for it.)

For most of the other kids, the answer to this question was a no-brainer, but I can remember—characteristically enough—holding out for the minority position.

Santa just brings you clothes and socks and stuff that you don't want anyway, went my argument.

(In rather poignant hindsight, I can rephrase this as: Santa brings you things that you would want if you were who they thought you were, or rather, if you were who they wanted you to be. Thus, Santa and his gifts paradoxically embody a kind of existential parental rejection.)

The Bunny, on the other hand, brings you bad stuff.

Really: what other day of the year do you get to gorge on candy before breakfast?

On top of which, he makes you work for it.

(In retrospect, I can see here also the stirrings of an early proto-pagan instinct: Santa : culture :: Easter Bunny : nature.)

Sorry, folks: more than 50 years on, I stick with my original position.

The Bunny is way better.

No creative person is “on” all the time.

That's why I'm sitting here at five in the morning writing this.

I'm just coming off of a weekend spent (virtually) at the 2022 Current Pagan Studies conference, for which this year's theme was “Visions of Imagination and Creativity.” There's nothing quite like spending a couple of days hearing a bunch of smart, creative people sharing thoughts on the nature of creativity and our relationship with it, to get one thinking about one's own.

Here's mine: when I'm “on”, I run with it.

I have a certain superstition that, in the course of any given life, there's X amount of creativity given to each of us. You can use it or not, as you choose. But—like everything else—there's a limit to how much you get. Say “no” to creativity, and it may not be back.

I'm not entirely sure that I actually do believe this. For one thing, my experience has been that creativity builds on creativity: that, like an athlete, the more you exercise a particular muscle, the more performance you'll be able to get out of it in the future. But, at very least, I find that operating on this belief—that there's a limited amount of inspiration available to me in this lifetime—seems to be the best way to get the most out of my creative faculties.

I lay down the other afternoon to get some much-needed sleep. Drifting off, I found myself thinking of a couple of stories that I'd written years ago, but since lost: “Why Hare Has Forward Testicles” and “How Coyote F*cked the Chief's Son (and Got Away With It).”

(Unlike virtually any other male animal on the planet, buck hares wear their testicles in front of their penises rather than behind them. Hey, that's worth a story. And as for the other: well, what's more fun than a good, raunchy Coyote story, especially one with lots of hot, consensual gay sex?)

 I shall go into a hare, with sorrow and sighing and mickle care,

and I shall go in the Devil's name; aye, till I come home again.

(Isobel Gowdie)

The first theological argument that I can remember getting into had to do with which was better, Santa or the Bunny.

Everybody else liked Santa best, but I held out for the Bunny.

Santa just brings you clothes and underwear and stuff that they think you want or that they want you to want, but that you don't really want at all.

But the Bunny not only brings you bad stuff.

He makes you work for it.

Once the chocolate eggs are eaten up and the baskets put away, we tend to forget about the Ostara Hare.

We shouldn't.

Five years ago, I wrote a blog post titled Rabbit Symbolism in the Tarot. With Easter/Ostara fast approaching, I thought I'd examine rabbit symbolism in light of pop culture. This article was interesting to research, and I hope you find the historical tidbits as fascinating as I do.

March Hare – From Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. Host of the Mad Tea Party. Also known as Haigha in Through the Looking-Glass. Carroll noted that "Haigha" rhymes with "mayor". "Mad as a March hare" is an English expression based on observing the behavior of Lepus europaeus during March breeding season. Supposedly, female hares not wanting to breed would repeatedly kick aggressive males with their forelegs to repel them (it used to be believed, incorrectly, that these leporidae fisticuffs were males fighting for supremacy). Sir John Tenniel’s illustration of March Hare featured haphazard pieces of hay on its head, a Victorian symbol for madness.

 A Poem About Love

My friends all loved the Yule Goat best.

But I loved the Ostara Hare.

I know, I know. The Yule Goat brings presents.

Everyone likes presents, right? But look at them.

Shirts and socks and underwear?

You call those presents?

And the rest isn't even what you want.

(It's maybe what you'd want

if you were who they thought that you were.)

As nights grow shorter and days grow warmer, the sap begins to run, and it's time for the year's first harvest. And while the Sugar Moon shines, it's time to tell tales of Hare, as we of Great Lakes Country have always done.

Well, nights were growing shorter and days were growing warmer, but in the lodge where Hare lived with his grandmother, the birchbark buckets were empty and the last of the food was gone.

Woe, woe, said Hare's Grandmother.

Woe on an old woman with no relatives left but one no-good grandson who can't hunt for shit. Shame, shame on a worthless grandson who would let his old grandmother starve to death.

She kicked him out of the lodge and told him not to come back until he'd found something to eat.