Originally posted on Isiopolis:
I read a short blog post the other day that made me sad…and sympathetic. It was by a young woman who felt she had lost the mystery of her Pagan path. The power of the rites had flown. She doubted. Her anguish was palpable in what she wrote.
This may have been the first time that had happened to her.
Yet I can guarantee that, if we follow any spiritual path for a sufficient length of time, this same thing will happen to each of us. At some point, the mystery dries up. The excitement dies down. The thrill of discovery is not as thrilling as it once was. Usually, this doesn’t happen all of a sudden and usually not in the early part of our journey with Isis. Rather, it’s a slow erosion that we don’t…
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My university graduation present from my parents was a month in the UK, mostly in Scotland where most of the family was from, by myself. I think they made sure this present was a good one because when I graduated from high school I got a strand of pearls and I made a fuss. I hate pearls and all my life mom gave me pearls for every occasion because it was my birthstone and “young ladies should have pearls.” I pitched a fit and I think I’ve worn them 4 times in total over the last 42 years. Then when my brother graduated from high school they gave him a trip across the US on a bike with a church group and all the gear. I pitched a fit again and made my point so they did better with my college graduation and it was probably my dad’s idea not my mom’s.
I had a blast but I also had some really weird experiences and I had no one to talk to about what was happening. At this point I had only the training by my grandmother and knew nothing about modern paganism and yes, we grew up in a haunted house and with relatives popping in regularly from the other side but it was 1981 and there weren’t any texts that were around to find in any of the bookstores I regularly visited. That wouldn’t happen until the mid “80s” and the only one readily available at the local Crown Books, Pre Amazon in 1984 when my first HP made it my first assignment was Positive Magic by Marion Weinstein. One of the reasons I was driven to the Craft was that 1981 trip. It opened the psychic flood gates and when I came home I was open to everything and everyone that wanted to communicate with me and finally K demanded I see her HP but that trip started it just about Day 1. I still have no idea if it was just time or it was being in the land of most of my genetic make up or both.
The second day I was there before I hooked up with the tour Mom insisted I spend some of my visit with, I took myself to the Tower of London late on a grey cloudy late afternoon. I wondered around and ended up in a tunnel and halfway through started to cry out of the blue. Just absolutely bawling but not really feeling anything personally. Thankfully, the place was just about deserted. I got to the end of the tunnel and there was a sign that said it was the “bridge of tears” where the condemned walked to their beheading. I was very weirded out and when I got home learned that I had had some ancestors that were prisoners in the Tower. I have no idea if that was it or just that I was sensitive to the place since I do have a tendency to psychokinesis at times. That was the start of the trip and things like that kept up.
Culloden did a number on me especially after I found the clan gravestones but from the moment I stepped off the tour bus the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. Our family had several clans that left people in that field.
When we left the Lake District on the bus to head for Scotland I fell asleep but was immediately awakened at the border with the feeling of being welcomed home and Gretna Green is not all that far from some of the Cumming lands
I think the weirdest one was the guide had the bus pull to the side of the road to see something and all of a sudden I was short of breath and starting to hyperventilate and I didn’t know it at the time but I was having my very first panic attack just from looking at something. We sat there and the guide started to tell us it was one of the last ducking stools left in England. I had no clue what I had just gone through but I knew I was terrified and had no concrete reason to be.
I had the privilege of visiting Stonehenge really early in the morning and no other group was there. My mom had decided I needed a London Fog coat before I went instead of the rain poncho I had in a small stuff sack and went to the Broadway and for some reason came home with a cape instead of a coat. I remember standing so that I couldn’t see the road or cars and feeling the wind lift my cape and feeling absolutely right looking into the morning sun.
So by the time I came home after a month I was hyper-sensitive. It would take a few years and a lot more things I couldn’t explain but I got here.
"A Tree Song"
OF all the trees that grow so fair,
Old England to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun,
Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.
Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs,
(All of a Midsummer morn!)
Surely we sing no little thing,
In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!
Oak of the Clay lived many a day,
Or ever AEneas began.
Ash of the Loam was a lady at home,
When Brut was an outlaw man.
Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town
(From which was London born);
Witness hereby the ancientry
Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!
Yew that is old in churchyard-mould,
He breedeth a mighty bow.
Alder for shoes do wise men choose,
And beech for cups also.
But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled,
And your shoes are clean outworn,
Back ye must speed for all that ye need,
To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!
Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth
Till every gust be laid,
To drop a limb on the head of him
That anyway trusts her shade:
But whether a lad be sober or sad,
Or mellow with ale from the horn,
He will take no wrong when he lieth along
‘Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!
Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,
Or he would call it a sin;
But – we have been out in the woods all night,
A-conjuring Summer in!
And we bring you news by word of mouth-
Good news for cattle and corn-
Now is the Sun come up from the South,
With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!
Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs
(All of a Midsummer morn):
England shall bide ti11 Judgment Tide,
By Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!
Originally posted on The Cotton Ceiling:
Originally posted on Liberation Collective:
Janet Mock is a transwoman author who has strong opinions on gender and the sex industry shared in this memoir. Mock discusses many topics, but this review will cover five: essentialism, the term “cis”, the term “fish”, hormone blockers for children, and the sex industry.
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Originally posted on Radfem Hub:
There is a misconstruction of sexuality in the mainstream. It says the only thing lesbians ever think about is sex. Lesbians are always harping on about our sexual rights. The thing is that as a lesbian: if you talk about sex, you are sex mad – but you are recognized as a lesbian. If you talk about climate change or poetry or violence against (heterosexual) women – you are not recognized as a lesbian. But if you talk about climate change or poetry or violence against (heterosexual) women and make it clear that your analysis is a lesbian analysis – you are sex mad.
How do we, therefore, talk about lesbian human rights and not be pigeon holed as “sex-mad lesbians”? I think probably there is no easy answer. Let’s look at some examples of abuses of lesbian human rights and then come back to…
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