Hi! Been away. Missed you, completely. Anyway, the application for Seminary is in. My blood pressure has gone back down. And I am devoting my time to finishing the damn Tarot deck and raising money for its publication. Meanwhile, I'm posting an invocation to Pan I took from Janet and Stuart Farrar's "The Witches' God", which I adapted to a modern, urban Lupercalia event. The event was lots of fun, just so you know.
Great Pan, Lord of the Arcadian paradise,
Inspire our hearts with Your Presence.
Thrill our minds with your pleasant notes.
Lord of the clubs, the festivals, the bonfires,
Answer our wills with Your perfect magick.
Let hare and hind, otter and badger,
The vixen and her cubs, the trannie, the nymph,
the gay, the straight and those of mixed preferences
all the families of our brothers and sisters of the wild
find comfort in Your touch.
Let Your young men, women and gender-bending children
find Your power under the flash of the strobe and around
the pounding of the bonfire drums.
Let the birds of the air and the bats of the night dance freely
to Your piping, and the fish of the rivers and the great seas
find peace at the echo of Your call.
Teach us through gentle lessons how to care for our Earth
within the Urban jungle we inhabit.
Let all small things nestle secure against Your mighty legs
protected by the Goat-Foot God.
Listen to the call of the Great God Pan:
Brothers and sisters of the forests, children of the night:
Who among you will run with the hunt?
Showing posts with label Pan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pan. Show all posts
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Friday, November 6, 2009
Anger, healing and competitive sports. Plus television.
Anger is a process and healing comes in layers.
One of the greatest gifts CRR left with his visit is a new perspective on anger. Seven years ago, we were furious with one another. So furious, one would storm out of the room if the other entered. We warned other people about one another. We did the fucktarded things early 20-somethings do when spurned: gossip, bitch, gossip, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch. (Except...it doesn't end with your early 20's...as it turns out...) But seven years later, CRR flew 3,000 miles just to hang out for the weekend. And during the visit, I knew I'd been very, very angry about something at one time. But those reasons seem so pointless that even if I weren't masking CRR's identity and our story, I wouldn't even know how to explain why I was so pissed.
So, what's the point in getting angry about anything?
Co-workers jerk us around. But it's our job to put up with them. Taking it personally is just going to run up your bar tab at happy hour. The MTA sucks. It just does. And sometimes, we get stuck underground, crammed against a bunch of strangers--some of them smelly. A few of them, rude. All of them just as unhappy to be stuck in there as we. Getting angry at the MTA doesn't make us get anywhere faster, or improve their overall service. What's the use in getting mad at a subway system? It's further proof as to why the Goddess invented the I-Pod. I-Pods save the day in a bad commute.
But sometimes, even our best perspective makes us still want to chuck a stiletto heel into a skull. Or leave a pentacle-ring bruise on a cheekbone. It may have been five months since I had my heart broken and through therapy, friends and sweet, sweet men, I'm doing pretty damn well. Occasionally, however, I'll be going along my merry way; doing my dishes, petting my cats, working on a blog post or something and I'll suddenly look up and scream "DOUCHEBAAAAAAAAAAG!!!"
"Huh," I then say to myself. "I guess I'm still kinda mad."
Tonight, after a few of these angry-Torrets episodes, I went into meditation. "Come on, you Guys," I said as I descended down the spiral staircase to The River. "Why am I still so fucking angry?"
Brid came to me looking like the Alanis Morrisette character in "Weeds." Pan came as the Silas character.
"Why do you look like Alanis Morrisette?" I asked Brid.
"I don't," She said. "I look like a doctor."
It was true. Alanis Morrisette's character in "Weeds" is an OBGYN. Brid was dressed in the white coat and everything. It made sense as one of Brid's traditional roles is that of midwife. And while I may not be having a baby right now, clearly, I'm birthing something that pisses and cries (my anger), and in Her doctor role, She was going to heal me. Pan in Silas-garb made sense: the older brother character who defends those he loves--while being extraordinarily sexy with a mild blip on the Gay-dar. We made out.
Brid pointed at the moon. "Notice how it changes? Its shape cycles in and out. You can't blame it for its nature. It will pass and change and come back."
I guess this means I have to wait it out. Anger will change. Anger will diminish. Anger will indeed grow back, so I guess this means the most dangerous and futile thing to do would be do cling to the anger or force it away. Can't do it for the moon. Can't do it for our hearts. We just have to trust the process and let time do its job. Even when we wish it would hurry up and do its job a little fucking faster.
On that note, I also advise watching basketball. Watching sports is important. When you get into a game, you don't think about anything else. It's the most entertaining form of cathartic meditation out there. Tonight, the Blazers beat the Spurs.
One of the greatest gifts CRR left with his visit is a new perspective on anger. Seven years ago, we were furious with one another. So furious, one would storm out of the room if the other entered. We warned other people about one another. We did the fucktarded things early 20-somethings do when spurned: gossip, bitch, gossip, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch. (Except...it doesn't end with your early 20's...as it turns out...) But seven years later, CRR flew 3,000 miles just to hang out for the weekend. And during the visit, I knew I'd been very, very angry about something at one time. But those reasons seem so pointless that even if I weren't masking CRR's identity and our story, I wouldn't even know how to explain why I was so pissed.
So, what's the point in getting angry about anything?
Co-workers jerk us around. But it's our job to put up with them. Taking it personally is just going to run up your bar tab at happy hour. The MTA sucks. It just does. And sometimes, we get stuck underground, crammed against a bunch of strangers--some of them smelly. A few of them, rude. All of them just as unhappy to be stuck in there as we. Getting angry at the MTA doesn't make us get anywhere faster, or improve their overall service. What's the use in getting mad at a subway system? It's further proof as to why the Goddess invented the I-Pod. I-Pods save the day in a bad commute.
But sometimes, even our best perspective makes us still want to chuck a stiletto heel into a skull. Or leave a pentacle-ring bruise on a cheekbone. It may have been five months since I had my heart broken and through therapy, friends and sweet, sweet men, I'm doing pretty damn well. Occasionally, however, I'll be going along my merry way; doing my dishes, petting my cats, working on a blog post or something and I'll suddenly look up and scream "DOUCHEBAAAAAAAAAAG!!!"
"Huh," I then say to myself. "I guess I'm still kinda mad."
Tonight, after a few of these angry-Torrets episodes, I went into meditation. "Come on, you Guys," I said as I descended down the spiral staircase to The River. "Why am I still so fucking angry?"
Brid came to me looking like the Alanis Morrisette character in "Weeds." Pan came as the Silas character.
"Why do you look like Alanis Morrisette?" I asked Brid.
"I don't," She said. "I look like a doctor."
It was true. Alanis Morrisette's character in "Weeds" is an OBGYN. Brid was dressed in the white coat and everything. It made sense as one of Brid's traditional roles is that of midwife. And while I may not be having a baby right now, clearly, I'm birthing something that pisses and cries (my anger), and in Her doctor role, She was going to heal me. Pan in Silas-garb made sense: the older brother character who defends those he loves--while being extraordinarily sexy with a mild blip on the Gay-dar. We made out.
Brid pointed at the moon. "Notice how it changes? Its shape cycles in and out. You can't blame it for its nature. It will pass and change and come back."
I guess this means I have to wait it out. Anger will change. Anger will diminish. Anger will indeed grow back, so I guess this means the most dangerous and futile thing to do would be do cling to the anger or force it away. Can't do it for the moon. Can't do it for our hearts. We just have to trust the process and let time do its job. Even when we wish it would hurry up and do its job a little fucking faster.
On that note, I also advise watching basketball. Watching sports is important. When you get into a game, you don't think about anything else. It's the most entertaining form of cathartic meditation out there. Tonight, the Blazers beat the Spurs.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
PANties....
It's appropriate to honor the God with due gifts.
(It's a little hard to see--but that's a flaming red lace thong on His ear)
I like how people are blaming Jorge.
;)
(It's a little hard to see--but that's a flaming red lace thong on His ear)
I like how people are blaming Jorge.
;)
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