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Who is Fit to Teach?

On the Potter's Wheel Let me state at the outset that this particular blog entry is not really going to discuss the legitimacy of folks who teach in our elementary, secondary or university and college level schools. I count many professional teachers and professors as my friends and I truly admire all of the hard work that they do and the patience they must have in order to do it. I am grateful in ways I cannot even begin to recount those teachers to whom I am indebted for my son’s education and my own. For that I say a heartfelt ‘Thank You’. This article, however, is to discuss those who set themselves up as instructors of those who are seeking a sort of spiritual education, both in formal churches, temples, circles, covens and even those who write how-to books for readers who are seeking.

A couple of months ago, Sarah Lawless discussed the topic of Evaluating Our Teachers. While her subject was aimed at Witches and Pagans, the topic is equally relevant to Kemetics as well.

Whenever there is any sort of scandal about religious leaders falling from grace, especially in those faiths that are not Christian, Jewish or Islamic, the scandal seems just that much larger. Rather than simply being a cautionary tale, they serve the mainstream faiths as to why non-traditional faiths are so dangerous.

Certainly, given the more lax standards that most of those who are not of the Big Three (J, C or I) Paganism and it’s cousins can tend to attract a certain level of persons that are just best not allowed such power or influence under any circumstance. Everyone wants to be special. Everyone wants to feel that what they say and do is worthy of attention or the words that they say deserve to be listened to.

Everyone, however, is not suited to priesthood or to teach others in any sort of spiritual sense. Through the lens of being a functional adult able to be both in the realm of the spiritual and the realm of the everyday, ordinary or mundane, they cannot even be entrusted for the well-being and adequate management of their own lives. How then, could they even imagine that they are in any way trustworthy enough to be entrusted enough to handle the spiritual and emotional well-being of others? The momentary highs of arm-wavey goodness in front of a small captive audience is an enticing draw of being some sort of spiritual rock star for some. These folks are mainly attracted to the idea of being such a center of attention or the ego stroking buzz and everyone else around them are merely bit players while they star in their play. These folks don’t realize that the ritual or an organization’s very existence is not even about them at all. It’s about service to one’s community and to the gods above all else.

I have often railed about the sloppy scholarship among Pagans and Heathens that passes for being adequate enough to suit the masses. It seems anyone with an internet connection on their computer or phone can read a Wiki article and become and instant expert. Too few among us have time time, the money, or the tenacity to want to seek out rare and hard to find texts in order to find out as much as possible about their gods. We have precious few scholars and degreed professionals within Kemeticism who actually do practice the faith and who have not either been intimidated into denying that ‘they believe in any of this stuff’, or are patient enough or well suited to the task of helping laypersons sort through the vast amounts of extant texts, books and other materials in order to get to the real spiritual foundations that make up our practices.

The unfortunate thing that sometimes arises is that too many of us have witnessed those who take on a veneer of haughtiness and arrogance that only seems to come with advanced degrees. Looking down your nose at those who are truly interested in doing whatever it takes is not something that good teachers do. Good teachers don’t need to, and usually do not badmouth other teachers that a student may have had previously, even if the previous teacher held views that were contrary to their own. A good teacher does not attempt to be all things to all people. If the area of expertise is something outside the scope of their own, a good teacher will send a student to another teacher who is better suited for the task. A recent kerfuffle over on the blog of a very visible Canaanite polytheist is a clear example of this.

This particular blogger, because historically, the people of ancient Canaan and the people of ancient Kemet were in the same region and had interactions, they have a nasty habit of including Kemetics in their posts as to how Kemetic practioners – priests in particular – should be doing their practices. According to the Canaanite polytheist blogger, to consume offerings after they are offered is essentially stealing from God’s table. Completely ignored is practice of the Revision of Offerings that was standard practice in Kemetic Temples; a custom that is continued to this day in most African Traditional Religions (ATR’s). Other countries throughout Africa were influenced by Ancient Kemet over the course of history.

We know for a fact that Kemetic priests absolutely did consume the offerings. The offerings were made three times a day and as such they were considered to be one of those perks of the job. The priests or Hm(t) Netjer fed themselves and their families and households from these offerings. Sharing the bounty of the gods throughout the community was and still is considered an acceptable practice for Kemetics. Absolutely in no way is it considered “stealing” – especially with the Revision of the Offerings that were pronounced over the offerings so that the gods “may be satisfied with the repast on the right and on the left”. It isn’t stealing. Letting food to rot on the altar or in the shrine of the God was considered a far worse sin than to share them with the community. The idea of uncleanliness, dirt, rot and the pests that these things inevitably bring were considered far worse and an anathema to the ancient Kemetic people.

To be fair, however, that I will admit that offerings which are given to the dead or the akhu are things that the living do not consume. These are often left at gravesites or on outdoor altars for the spirits of the deceased to partake of. Typically, because these were left in the desert on the opposite bank and away from the part of the communities where the living would mostly dwell, they tended to be consumed by the animals that congregated around burial areas. If the offering was consumed in this way, then it was and is considered “accepted.”

Because Kemetics are many time polytheists or monolatrists just as Canaanites are sometimes polytheists or monolatrists, there is a huge temptation to assume that we are of the same opinion based on some of those similarities. Any scholar with even the smallest amount of credibility or integrity realizes that similarity and proximity do not connote sameness necessarily.

For those of us who have been Initiated into formal priesthood, and those individuals that practice privately and to the best of their ability have the very texts on the walls and many aspects of ritual and practice are quite literally written in stone. Because of this profusely available extant evidence, for Kemetics, these things are not really up for debate. Those who erroneously insist that placing Kemetics under the Neo-Pagan Big Top and painting us with such a broad (and dare I say it?) a ridiculously inaccurate brush do nothing to support the arguments and assertions of those espousing them. If anything, it should underscore the fact that such individuals are doing little more than possibly making it up as they go via UPG, if not simply just expressing their own opinions.

While elements such as UPG etc. may seem to be quite a legitimate means to some within Heathenry or Neo-Pagansism as far as religious practices are concerned; such practices are not adequately vetted to be satisfactory. UPG experiences really do not equal scholarship as far as Kemetic priests and laypersons are concerned and a balance of Verified Personal Gnosis (VPG) is equally if not more important than the UPG. It’s how we get discernment. It’s how cults of personality and wrong-headed practices are avoided.

If someone is truly interested or ever in want of real information about actual Kemetic practices have been and are etc. then going to the source(s) might be the wisest course of action. There are lots of good books and growning numbers of Kemetic practitioners. We tend to not be the least bit shy in saying who is a good teacher and why and who is not a good teacher and why.

A good teacher will gently correct you without making you feel stupid.
A good teacher will not mollycoddle you.
A good teacher will point you toward good resources so you can look up the answer yourself.
A good teacher has the expectation that you will make the effort to find out on your own and would prefer to do this rather than to be led by the hand or by the nose.
A good teacher may let you fall flat on your ass without feeling the need to gloat or mock you for your mistakes.
A good teacher knows their self worth and yet are quite able to acknowledge that they also learn from their students is not beneath them to say so.
A good teacher has every right to expect excellence from their students and won’t compromise their integrity in order for students to “pass”.
A good teacher can say, “I don’t know the answer,” and has no problem in giving a referral to someone who very well might know.

It might be a community-wide project for folks to think very seriously about what makes a good teacher and what makes one not-so-good. It could be helpful to consider what makes someone a viable asset to the community, and what types of behaviours tend to paint one as pompous and opinionated and without spiritual authority to dictate to others. Certainly everyone has had both good and bad teachers in both our academic and spiritual lives. Maybe it’s time to ask ourselves what those characteristics are and what we will settle for and what we won’t.


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What to Do with Food and Liquid Offerings

A recent kerfuffle has erupted over a Neo-Pagan author’s opinions about how offerings should be handled. I will write more on this later, because the post in question brings to light some very basic differences between how Kemetic practices go and how other faiths in the same geographic region practiced. The article linked to here is an absolutely wonderful response and rebuttal that effectively addresses any confusion on the matter as to how offerings should be handled.

Upholding Ma'at

I stumbled across and participated in a discussion on tumblr about a blog post discussing what to do with offerings after they are given to a god.  What left most folks disliking it was the attempt to make a generic Neo-Pagan protocol of what to do with offerings without acknowledging it necessarily as such.  This also left some people dissatisfied with the post because it was impossible for them to not ingest food and drink offerings due to their financial situation.  While she (the author of the initial blog post) clarified it was meant to be a template she proceeded to make classist and racist remarks, which I felt detracted completely from her post.  I’ll address how these issues are prevalent in the Neo-Pagan community in a later post, as it is a serious topic but not the current one.  Instead I’m going to use this incident as a…

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The Peacock Enthroned

Peacocks have always made their presence known in my life. From the mosaic picture that hung over my parent’s sofa, to my studies of the Peacock Angel, Melek Taus, the theme has left it’s impression indelibly on me.

The Genealogy of Style

Earthquake Damage. Lily Cole photographed by Tim Walker in Whadwhan Palace, Gujarat (India), 2005


La Grande Odalisque, 1814,  Jean AugusteDominique Ingres


The Peacock Room, 1876-7, James McNeill Whistler


The Peacock Throne is the most notable piece of furniture of the Moorish Kiosk, a building located at Linderhoff Palace in Bavaria, Germany. It’s the smallest of the three palaces built by King Ludwig II of Bavaria


Illustration of Sir Vane Peacock, JJ Grandville, 1852


The Kiss, 1896 Will Bradley


Aubrey Beardsley


Alphons Mucha


Kimono by Iida Takashimaya. Circa 1904-1908




George Barbier


bilibinIllustration to a Russian fairy tale about Жар-птица (The Firebird), 1899, by Ivan Bilibin


Walter Crane


Orson Lowell


The Majestic Peacock, by Elisabeth Sonrel


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The True End of Privacy As We Know It

In our digitally connected world, we are experiencing ever increasing erosion of our personal privacy. Every aspect of our lives is becoming an open book to our employers, our governments and even complete strangers who certainly don’t have our best interests at heart. In the ‘perfect world’ that tech companies such as Google would make, we could no longer use pseudonyms to protect ourselves from those who would do us harm. Personal safety and security is not their concern. Cashing in on what marketers want revealed about your private life is.

Blogger Mark Hurst at has given us a glimpse of that world that is sugar coated with the latest in tech aps. The prospects are frightening. I do confess: I like my Gmail and G+ and Google Calendar. However, the thought of someone with contact lenses being able to record conversations, etc. without the other person’s knowledge or permission is an invasion of privacy in the extreme.

The Google Glass Feature No One Is Talking About

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If you don’t actually know what you’re saying…


WitchTip: If you’re using a language you don’t speak in your rituals, it might be more of an energy drain than just using English

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Ancestral Input

Tell us about the moment/realization when your original character concept popped into your head and you realized you had to write them.

Note: This version posted here on Fanny’s private LJ and on Pan Historia is admittedly somewhat different than the one posted to the community. Some things I am just not so very public about.

“This one, not that one,” her voice was low and sensuous with an obvious Scottish brogue. Those large eyes looked at me beneath the tossled mane of dark curls and she seemed to cluck at me. ‘Ye’ve been wanderin’ these woods as an herbalist and Wytch for how long and ye’d not be knowin’ the difference a’tween one herb an the ‘tuther.”

I felt myself flush with embarrassment. With a nod I harvested the herb the woman had indicated with my boline and put it into the basket along with the odd morels and first ferns of the spring. The primeval forest that stretches over most of my fifteen acres and into at least several hundred more in every direction around us are filled with spirits of one kind or another. Forests in this part of farmland are rare and those of us who are blessed enough to live in the trees guard them with a kind of zealous ferocity. Pitchforks and small caliber rifles are seen in the hands of neighbors whenever the sound of a chainsaw is heard. Only with profuse assurances that a tree is indeed already dead and that the wood will be used to heat the home of the person cutting down the tree do any of us let ourselves relax. Stories are still recounted of a neighbor whose out-of-state children chopped down two ancient old oaks that judging by their size had to have been there long before the first white man ever set foot in the area. No one remembered why they had done it; just that they had.

Just a mile from my back door is a cemetery that dates back to the first days long before Iowa had been declared a state. A few miles away in another direction is a cemetery that is filled mainly with the bodies of both children and adults that died due to a smallpox outbreak a little over a century ago. The only sign of their existence and passing are limestones with crudely etched notes of the year and initials on them. On some nights, especially in the summertime, you can hear children playing. There are no signs of civilisation anywhere that would explain it. So seeing one kind of spectre or another or hearing cries at all times of the day and night is nothing unusual here. Suffice it to say that I have been taking dictation from Fanny from that day onward.

But this voice I had heard before. I had experienced it for several weeks now just to the left of me behind my head, and just shy of my peripheral vision. I can see her height, her clothing and attire as clearly now as I did then, but she and I have changed. Almost completely gone is that Scot’s brogue, and it only flashes at times when she is in a state of extreme agitation. Her cadence and grammar are so measured now, after years of living in France for love of her husband and later for the place, all the while trying to divorce herself from her origins because it had been a sore point in her early years in France. She would only indicate that in spite of pretended politeness by courtiers close to both Louis XIII and her husband, she was referred to as “that barbarian woman with the dreadful accent”.

But far from that place, and when I first saw her, she was dressed as any peasant Scotswoman might be; a white blouse covered with a red and blue bodice over layers of skirts in various colours and bare feet. Even in this state, even as she was, she still managed to carry herself with such dignity and assurance that it was hard not to listen to that voice. Being both a writer and one who walks Between the Worlds, it’s easy to sometimes give pause to questions about your sanity. Are you really seeing, hearing, feeling and experiencing the things that you are or is it just a touch of madness? Are not magicians and writers all just a little bit mad anyway?

In spite of it all, and all through the times that I dance with the muse, fountain pen in hand, I still hear that voice and there is a certain depth and loyalty to the memory of that ancestress – Frances Moira MacKay.

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Dreams of the Dude (AKA Jesus)

Dreams are strange things. I have a long history of having very strange and very profound dreams. If anyone, particularly a psychologist, were to ask whether or not I dream in colour, I would have to say, yes, indeed I do. If that makes me crazy, then so be it.

Recently I had one of those dreams that ranked pretty high on the strangeness scale, even for me. It started out as so may of my dreams do, where there is a tornado. A dream interpreter would say that this particular symbol means that there is an incredible amount of chaos in the life of the dreamer. I think I would agree with this. My life is filled with a bit of chaos at the moment.

As a result of this tornado dream, I ended up dead. That was the first time I had ever dreamed of anything like that. I do remember that I was more pissed-off that I could not tell my son how to distribute my stuff than I was in being recently deceased. There were some specifics that were not in my will, after all.

In the dream, I found myself in Heaven in a waiting room. It was kind of like the one you see in the movie, “Beetlejuice”. I remember that the waiting room was pretty full. My case worker, a lovely, mid-fiftyish African American Woman was going over this and that, and asked me what my religious preference was.

“Kemetic Orthodox,” I said, “But don’t you guys have that on file?; I asked, eyebrows raised. This was Heaven after all. They should have known these types of things.

“Oh, yes,” she wrote down my reply in her notes, “but so many people decide to change their minds when they realise that they’re dead.”

“Really? Why do they do that?” I asked.

“I think some of them have the idea that they may end up getting a better deal if they switch,” she said rather matter-of-factly.

“Well… they?” I was quite curious now.

“No,” she said with a shrug, “everyone pretty much gets the same thing.” She then pointed a slender finger at the waiting room that had not become any less crowded in the course of our conversation. “Why don’t you have a seat and we will call you when we’re ready.”

I nodded and sat down. My initial indignance at being unable to speak to my son seemed to have been forgotten for the moment. I picked up a copy of KMT magazine of Egyptology. It had a fabulous full-colour article on the reconstruction of Thebes going on somewhere in Heaven. I made a mental note to check it out. It was one of those places that I had always wanted to see. If I could see it in all of its past glories, so much the better.

I was completely caught up in my reading when there was a commotion. It was as if the Rolling Stones had decided to open up an impromptu set on the spot. I craned my neck around the throngs of people to see who might be causing all of the commotion. In the front of the mass of people who were quite literally tripping over themselves to get to this person, I saw none other than Jesus – who bore a frightening resemblence to Jeff Bridges as Jeff Lebowski (aka ‘The Dude’) in ‘The Big Lebowski”. With that kind of laid back attitude, it seemed perfectly appropriate to me that Jesus would get a rock star’s reception. After several minutes, the agitation of the crowd died down. Everyone would get their chance to talk to Jesus. From what I could see as I went back to my magazine, Jesus was a pretty cool guy. He was standing around chatting calmly and kindly and it seemed that he was quite approachable.

Eventually Jesus made his way over to me and took the now empty seat next to me. I shook his hand and we began chatting. Jesus was warm and polite, wore well worn flip flops and he had an easy laugh. It would be very difficult not to like a man who looked like a rock star and had the temperament of the Dalai Lama. In his warmth, I began to feel very self-conscious about something that I felt I needed to tell him. I did not want to lead him on, especially since he had been so very kind during our conversation.

“You know,” I began uncomfortably, “I have to be honest with you, Dude….I mean Jesus. I think you are really very nice and a really cool guy. But I have to say I couldn’t be a Christian anymore. I left and I have no intentions of returning – ever” I said. “But I want you to know, Jesus, it isn’t you,” I added hurriedly. “It really isn’t you. “ I searched his face and it showed absolutely no sign of surprise or disappointment. “It’s some of your followers, Dude. Too many of them, quite frankly, well…they suck.”

Jesus nodded and heaved a very long and heavy sigh. “Yeah. I know,” he said, “I get that a lot. I really am going to have to set a few of them straight. I mean all I said was, ‘love one another’. How hard is that? “

Jesus and I finished our very amicable conversation and he went on to mingle elsewhere. In the meantime, I finished my magazine and got up and began checking out the various Egyptian statues. I was totally engrossed in the detail of one of them when my case worker called my name.

“Well, we’ve scheduled your driving test for you!”the receptionist said. She did sound rather chuffed at having managed such a feat. Apparently, even in the afterlife, such things can be a difficult proposition.

“Driving test?! I said incredulously, “in Heaven?!” It was almost an overwhelming surprise. “I didn’t think they needed cars, let alone licenses here,” I said.

“Oh, yes,” she said in that same matter-of-fact tone. “It was quite necessary for us to institute that. To be honest, we’ve been having a real road rage problem up here as of late and we’re trying to avoid that.”

“What happens if someone gets road rage up here,” I asked.

“Oh, then it’s a requirement that the offender go…”she looked about nervously, “downstairs” to attend traffic school with you know….HIM.”

“Him?” I was puzzled. “You mean…Satan?”

“Shhh!! We don’t talk about him up here. Seriously. You don’t want to be flagged for further testing, do you?”

Thankfully, it was then that I woke up. A few minutes after I had dragged myself out of bed, I called my son to wish him a good weekend and to remind him that no matter what, I loved him. I didn’t remember when the last time was that I did that, and after the dream I felt it was important to do so.

I sometimes think that because of my religious belief, where life and the afterlife are almost exactly the same, that idea can be in some ways rather disheartening. All of the frustrations and responsibilities that we encounter in this present, waking life, tend to remind us that we need to be in the now. We need to be responsible and honest with both ourselves and those around us about what we believe and how we feel. Loving and caring about each other should not be along lines of who is of our belief system and who isn’t. We are all human beings, and compassion knows no creed. We need to live our lives as if we mean it.

It also might help if we were to check with our priests and pastors to make sure that our drivers licenses are good from one reality into the next.

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Munday for Charloft (LJ)

Think about the whole lot of characters you’ve created so far in your writing / roleplaying career and consider these questions. Answer as many or as few as you’d like.

1. What gender of character do you play or write most often?

I think it tends to be a pretty even split, although I tend to write women more than men. The women that I do write are fairly unconventional. For a while, when I was writing male characters, particularly in the early days of the internet, I absolutely would not let anyone know that the hand behind that character was not in fact male. Continue reading

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State of the Scribe & The Muse

I’ve been long away.

After stating the obvious, I think my reasons for having been so far away for so long is school, work and the day to day concerns. I am finishing up the next to last semester before I transfer to the University of Iowa for my Bachelors. Yes, I am still in communications / cinema arts. With all of that, it has been very hard to write any of my muses, not just here on LJ but also on DW and even Pan Historia.

The Muses, Fanny, Caroline, Jocelyn, Melek, Archy and the rest do speak, but they feel muffled in the face of the day to day. My dog, Marissa has been dragging out my book, “The Writer’s Block” off the shelf repeatedly. I think she is trying to emphasize that writing is good for me and for everything and everyone else around me. I haven’t been entirely idle. I have written a bit more on the Sekhmet book and added more text to the Rune book. If I can figure out all the bells and whistles on Scrivener and how to get things formatted successfully to KDP, I should have one or the other or both available for Kindle over on Amazon. The fiction, however, is a bit slower going. I still hunger to do a piece set in 17th Century France – as Lee and I had discussed. Her schedule and mine, however, have not been cooperative.

Writer’s Muses will be going on, and I am sorry that it has been so neglected. I have been going down the list of prompts and posting them over to DW and to Pan. The next few weeks should be interesting. I have a lot of stuff to get out that has been backed up for some time! 😉


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Mabon Thoughts

For any of us who write, we all are quite familiar with the truth that we can find a million reasons not to sit down and write. There’s a house that needs cleaning, kids and spouses that need attention, things around the house that need to be repaired, homework assignments, and a myriad other things that pull us in a hundred different directions. The hardest part is to consistently make our way to that place and time where we can just let the words flow.

Writing, as far as I am concerned, is a magical act. It is an act of Will and attention and focus. To reach in deep inside or out to other places while maintaining a center is a powerful thing indeed. For far too long I have been out of the center, allowing myself to be tugged by distractions both great and small until the sanctuary lies neglected and cluttered, covered with a thin film of dust from disuse. Still, it takes so very little to sweep away the dust, light a candle and make a small offering, a libation or a bit of hand crafted incense that you manage to have on hand just for moments such as this.

Last weekend, the year turned again to the Mabon. In the Kemetic (Ancient Egyptian) religion, this date marks the departure of the Eye of Ra – Hathor or Sekhmet to the South, where She wanders. It corresponds with the departure of most Goddess cultures where the idea that the beneficence of the Goddess departs for a time. Persephone descends into the Underworld of Hades and the rest of the world is left to lament Her absence. It is a time of desolation and death. These things, too, are a fact of life. They bring us to the knowledge of the Circles of life, Death and Rebirth over and over again. We come to expect them, we prepare for them, but every single rotation of the Circle is different from the last or the ones before it. Now, we enter the Opet Festival, when Amun, Mut and Khonsu are celebrated. Like that festival in antiquity, we are reminded that life’s cycles will always continue.

When I started down my Path, I imagined that it was Egypt alone that called to me. When I was Wiccan, I inserted for the Goddess and the God, Isis and Osiris. Then, as I believed that I had arrived at the destination that I had asked for – to find the Source of Ancient Kemet’s religion, it was Sekhmet that filled up ever single nook and cranny and part of my awareness to the exclusion of all else. It was profound, but it was a limiting world view. There is a greater whole that cannot be claimed by any one culture, by any one spiritual Tradition or an unwavering adherence to a set dogma. I am grateful for the lesson, and now, as the Path goes toward a more wholeistic one, I find my brothers and sisters in many places, both Pagan and Monotheist of one kind or another – or neither. Spirituality is a lot like musical taste; we all have differing opinions as far as to what works for each of us and what doesn’t. I am convinced that it is a different answer for every one of us.

So far, no developer on Facebook or anywhere else has ever been able to figure out what each of us is about simply based on a set of algorithms. I sincerely doubt that they ever will. However, that doesn’t prevent them from endlessly trying to figure each of us out in order to more effectively market to us and get them to follow a set of behaviours they want us to go in. Usually it is of a commercial benefit for some corporation or political entity or media company that wants us to purchase whatever it is that they are selling – be it a product or an idea. Historically, however, religions try the same sort of tactic. That sort of struggle has been going on for centuries, and no doubt, there will be those who will always try to crack the code and find that one magic formula that will make us all go in the same direction. Sometimes the threat of pain, death and eternal damnation is used. Fortunately, however, that sort of tactic in the name of whatever God seems to work less and less these days. The Circle of Life, however, can go both Sunwise and Widdershins as the situation calls for and sometimes it wavers back and forth a bit. Like the cycles we are all a part of, we do the same thing. We change over time. If we didn’t, we’d simply fall into a pattern of stagnation. In that type of scenario, nothing grows. And witout that, we really can’t call it living, can we?

It is a time of cutting back and harvest. It is a time of preparing for winter, setting up stores and lighting the hearth. Pulling in our families and keeping off the chill as we descend into the Darkness of Winter. In the Norse and the Indigenous American cultures, communities would pull into their longhouses and lodges and share warmth food and stories to pass the winter months. Have we really evolved so much since then? The Holidays, which seem to come sooner and sooner every year, are punctuated by gatherings of friends and family, with the ideal being of shared warmth, food, stories, camaraderie and yes, sometimes gifts. One listen to the news and it is clear that we seem as if we are currently descending into an underworld on a global scale. We need to share the warmth, the food, the stories, and the many gifts that we each have. None of us individually knows nearly as much or can do nearly as much as all of us collectively and therein lies our strength. Why then do we insist on trying to do it all ourselves or refusing to help others where but for the grace of the God/dess, there we would also be?

The harvest is a time of shared efforts and celebrating the bounty of collective effort. For now, that’s just enough to keep thoughts of the winter chill away.

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