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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 5, 2004 18:38:29 GMT -5
well I didnt wnat to add to many threads and and I have a bunch of sotries off of the yahoo group so I figured I would post them in one thread lol
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 5, 2004 18:38:42 GMT -5
TWO WITCHES A Modern Craft Fairy-Tale by Mike Nichols
Once upon a time, there were two Witches. One was a Feminist Witch and the other was a Traditionalist Witch. And, although both of them were deeply religious, they had rather different ideas about what their religion meant. The Feminist Witch tended to believe that Witchcraft was a religion especially suited to women because the image of the Goddess was empowering and a strong weapon against patriarchal tyranny. And there was distrust in the heart of the Feminist Witch for the Traditionalist Witch because, from the Feminist perspective, the Traditionalist Witch seemed subversive and a threat to "the Cause".
The Traditionalist Witch tended to believe that Witchcraft was a religion for both men and women because anything less would be divisive. And although the Goddess was worshipped, care was taken to give equal stress to the God-force in nature, the Horned One. And there was distrust in the heart of the Traditionalist Witch for the Feminist Witch because, from the Traditionalist viewpoint, the Feminist Witch seemed like a late-comer and a threat to "Tradition". These two Witches lived in the same community but each belonged to a different Coven, so they did not often run into one another. Strange to say, the few times they did meet, they felt an odd sort of mutual attraction, at least on the physical level. But both recognized the folly of this attraction, for their ideologies were worlds apart, and nothing, it seemed, could ever bridge them.
Then one year the community decided to hold a Grand Coven, and all the Covens in the area were invited to attend. After the rituals, the singing, the magicks, the feasting, the poetry, and dancing were concluded, all retired to their tents and sleeping bags. All but these two. For they were troubled by their differences and couldn't sleep. They alone remained sitting by the campfire while all others around them dreamed. And before long, they began to talk about their differing views of the Goddess. And, since they were both relatively inexperienced Witches, they soon began to argue about what was the "true" image of the Goddess.
"Describe your image of the Goddess to me," challenged the Feminist Witch. The Traditionalist Witch smiled, sighed, and said in a rapt voice, "She is the embodiment of all loveliness. The quintessence of feminine beauty. I picture her with silver-blond hair like moonlight, rich and thick, falling down around her soft shoulders. She has the voluptuous young body of a maiden in her prime, and her clothes are the most seductive, gossamer thin and clinging to her willowy frame. I see her dancing like a young elfin nymph in a moonlit glade, the dance of a temple priestess. And she calls to her lover, the Horned One, in a voice that is gentle and soft and sweet, and as musical as a silver bell frosted with ice. She is Aphrodite, goddess of sensual love. And her lover comes in answer to her call, for she is destined to become the Great Mother. That is how I see the Goddess."
The Feminist Witch hooted with laughter and said, "Your Goddess is a Cosmic Barbie Doll! The Jungian archetype of a cheer-leader! She is all glitter and no substance. Where is her strength? Her power? I see the Goddess very differently. To me, she is the embodiment of strength and courage and wisdom. A living symbol of the collective power of women everywhere. I picture her with hair as black as a moonless night, cropped short for ease of care on the field of battle. She has the muscular body of a woman at the peak of health and fitness. And her clothes are the most practical and sensible, not slinky thingytail dresses. She does not paint her face or perfume her hair or shave her legs to please men's vanities. Nor does she do pornographic dances to attract a man to her. For when she calls to a male, in a voice that is strong and defiant, it will be to do battle with the repressive masculine ego. She is Artemis the huntress, and it is fatal for any man to cast a leering glance in her direction. For, although she may be the many-breasted Mother, she is also the dark Crone of wisdom, who destroys the old order. That is how I see the Goddess."
Now the Traditionalist Witch hooted with laughter and said, "Your Goddess is the antithesis of all that is feminine! She is Yahweh hiding behind a feminine mask! Don't forget that it was his followers who burned Witches at the stake for the "sin" of having "painted faces". After all, Witches with their knowledge of herbs were the ones who developed the art of cosmetics. So what of beauty? What of love and desire?"
And so the argument raged, until the sound of their voices awakened a Coven Elder who was sleeping nearby. The Elder looked from the Feminist Witch to the Traditionalist Witch and back again, saying nothing for a long moment. Then the Elder suggested that both Witches go into the woods apart from one another and there, by magick and meditation, that each seek a "true" vision of the Goddess. This they both agreed to do.
After a time of invocations, there was a moment of perfect stillness. Then a glimmer of light could be seen in the forest, a light shaded deepest green by the dense foliage. Both Witches ran toward the source of the radiance. To their wonder and amazement, they discovered the Goddess had appeared in a clearing directly between them, so that neither Witch could see the other. And the Traditionalist Witch yelled "What did I tell you!" at the same instant the Feminist Witch yelled "You see, I was right!" and so neither Witch heard the other.
To the Feminist Witch, the Goddess seemed to be a shining matrix of power and strength, with courage and energy flowing outward. The Goddess seemed to be holding out her arms to embrace the Feminist Witch, as a comrade in arms. To the Traditionalist Witch, the Goddess seemed to be the zenith of feminine beauty, lightly playing a harp and singing a siren song of seduction. Energy seemed to flow towards her. And she seemed to hold out her arms to the Traditionalist Witch, invitingly.
From opposite sides of the clearing, the Witches ran toward the figure of the Goddess they both loved so well, desiring to be held in the ecstasy of that divine embrace. But just before they reached her, the apparition vanished. And the two Witches were startled to find themselves embracing each other.
And then they both heard the voice of the Goddess. And, oddly enough, it sounded exactly the same to both of them. It sounded like laughter.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 5, 2004 18:48:02 GMT -5
Goddess, Are You Real?
A Little child whispered, "Goddess, speak to me."
And a meadowlark sang. But the child did not hear.
So the child yelled, "Goddess, speak to me!"
And the thunder rolled across the sky.
But the child did not listen.
The child looked around and said, "Goddess let me
me see you." And a star shone brightly.
But the child did not notice.
And the child shouted, "Goddess show me a miracle!"
And a life was born. But the child did not know
So the child cried out in despair, "Touch me
Goddess, and let me know you are here!"
Whereupon the Goddess reached down and touched
the child. But the child brushed the butterfly away
and walked away unknowingly.
Author unknown.
as if we couldn't figure out I cant spell sometimes lol
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Post by TribalSpirit on Aug 5, 2004 19:56:15 GMT -5
hehe I like the first story!! and the second story is always something good to read so we too can remember.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 11:31:05 GMT -5
Goody Hawkins - The Wise Goodwife
A story by Leigh Ann Hussey.
"Gramma, I feel hot."
"Lands, child, on a cool fall day like this? Come here and let me feel of your forehead. Tsk! Feels like fever. Off to bed with you!"
"Gramma, I don't feel good."
"I know, child, I know. I reckon it's time to ask Goody Hawkins to help us."
"Who's Goody Hawkins?"
"Hush, now, try to sleep. I'll come back soon."
"Gramma, where did you go?"
"Out into the woods back of the farm, child."
"Why, Gramma?"
"To get Goody Hawkins' help."
"Who's Goody Hawkins?"
"Well, that's a long story."
"Tell me a story, Gramma."
Well, you know 'bout the pilgrim days, thanksgiving and all. Those people way back then, that first time, were giving thanks that they'd lived a whole year in a whole new country, without too many of 'em dyin'.
Lotta times you see pictures, drawings, with lots of Indians standin' there to welcome them folks. Well, 'taint so. Weren't nobody there when they got off that boat, not but one Indian, all alone. Hist'ry books say it was him, Squanto, as taught them first folks how to live through one of our winters - ice 'n sleet 'n snow 'n all, not like they had back in England, where they come from. But that ain't rightly so, neither. Squanto, and a few other friendly Indians as wandered in later,they taught the menfolk. But the women, those days, well, they weren't s'posed to be important, even though they did most o' the work, so we don't hear 'bout them much.
Well, a woman come off'n that boat, not quite yet old as your mamma,and her name was Grace Hawkins, but ever' one called her Goody Hawkins. "Goody" is short for "good wife", and it's like callin' a lady "Missus" today.
Goody Hawkins was young and pretty, though you couldn't tell that very well, 'cause in those days the womenfolk wore long skirts and long sleeves and bonnets to tuck in and hide their hair. So Goody Hawkins had beautiful long brown hair, though you couldn't see it, and skin soft as the skin of a peach. But she had a nice young husband who loved her very much, and he knew how pretty she was. And Goody Hawkins was one more thing that made her very special: she was a wise woman, who knew plants and herbs and roots and barks to make sick people feel better. They didn't have doctors like we do now, just a lot of men who figured if you were sick your blood was bad and so they'd make you bleed. That got people sicker, more often than not. They thought they were real smart, them old doctors, and maybe they were smart about gettin' money from folks. But they weren't smart 'bout the folks themselves, mostly 'cause they were too busy listening to each other talking 'bout high-falutin' doctor things in big words than listening to the sick bodies of the sick people.
But Goody Hawkins was different. She listened to the people talking 'bout what hurt them, and she felt of their heads and wrists and looked into their eyes and ears and mouths. And sometimes she didn't seem to look at them at all. She just closed her eyes and looked at them with her heart. And then she'd go into big clay pots and little wooden boxes in her house, and pick out just the thing a sick person needed. And
do you know how she knew just the right thing, how Goody Hawkins could see with her heart and not just her eyes?
'Cause Goody Hawkins was a witch.
No, not like you dress up at Halloween. A real witch, a real wise woman. No warts, no wire hair, remember I told you she was pretty. And no flying broom, neither. She didn't need to fly, 'cause she could see ev'rything. Well, no, she didn't have a crystal ball. But the way my granny told me, and her granny told her, was that she had a big silver bowl, a real treasure. And she'd pour clear rainwater in that bowl, and look into it in the nighttime, with just a candle for light. And they say she could see miles away, and even years away. Into yesterday,say, or last year, or ten years ago. And sometimes, she could see tomorrow.
A cauldron? Why of course she had a cauldron. Ever'one did, those days, just like we have pots and pans today. But she only had a little one at first-remember, they were poor in them first few years in America, and iron costed a lot of money. Goody Hawkins had just the little cauldron she brought with her from home, only as big as my big soup pot.
What did she boil up in her cauldron? Well, not babies, I can tell you that! It was herbs, mostly, tree bark and roots and such. Anise and coltsfoot, simmered with a little sugar or honey, as good a cough syrup as you can find nowadays, and even better than some. That's a recipe my granny's granny knew, and likely Goody Hawkins as well. Goody Hawkins made ointments from herbs and grease, she made soaps for fleas and lice, she brewed teas, she made mashes for cuts and bad hurts to make them heal clean and fast.
But I haven't told you the best part: Goody Hawkins could do magic. Not like making scarves disappear in her fist or pulling quarters out of your ear. I mean spells, oh yes, and special little bundles of things in little bags to keep in your pocket or put under your pillow. These had herbs in 'em, yes, and besides that she could put in a special rock, maybe, or a little short twig from a certain tree, or a piece of paper with secrets written on it, or any such small thing. You could wear one for good luck, or sleep on one to have good dreams.
In the nighttime, often, you could see a light shining in Goody Hawkins' cottage, warm and bright, and if you listened real hard, you might hear words, strong and beautiful, or singing so soft and sweet it might have come out of a fairy hill. And in the daytime, oh, the smells that came out of that cottage! You could tell what was brewing by the smells of the herbs in the breeze. Rosemary, mint, clove and cinnamon, lemon-leaf, basil, horehound and lavender. And hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the cottage were always bunches of drying herbs, filling the whole room with spicyness and sweetness. She brought the little boxes special from her home in England, but the rest she got right here, from the meadows and forests.
One day she was in the forest, gathering plants for medicines. Some of the plants were just like at home, she knew them right away. Others she didn't know, and them she would look at, and smell, and taste of-it was right dangerous, that, but weren't no other way to find out about 'em. This spring day, after their first long hard, winter had passed,Goody Hawkins went to pluck a leaf off'n a plant, to taste it. Suddenly, she heard a crashing in the bushes and a woman's voice crying out to her. She turned around and who should she see but an Indian woman, near her own age, come runnin' toward her, talkin' words she couldn't understand. This Indian woman, she snatched that leaf from Goody Hawkins and shooed her away from that plant quick as she could. The Indian woman pulled out a thin stick, rounded at one end, and waved it so that Goody Hawkins thought the other woman might hit her with it, so she backed up, afraid. But the Indian woman turned to the plant and commenced to digging it out of the ground with her stick, digging up the roots. The Indian woman pulled off the roots and pushed them into Goody Hawkins' hands, keeping some for herself. She put the roots into a deerskin bag,and 'twas then that Goody Hawkins saw other herbs and things in that bag, and figured out that t'other woman was in the woods for just the same job as herself, namely, getting herbs.
Even though they didn't speak each other's language, by pantomiming and pointing they could understand each other, and Goody Hawkins learned that the leaf she'd been about to eat was deadly poison. But the roots were good eating, roasted or boiled just like a potato. How 'bout that! Plants are funny that way.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 11:32:12 GMT -5
Goody Hawkins cont
Goody Hawkins realized she owed her life to the Indian woman, for warnin' her off'n them leaves. But she didn't know just how to thank her new friend. Still, they spent the rest of the day walkin' in the woods, an' Goody Hawkins learned more about the new world's plants in one day than she could've in weeks if she'd had to figure things out for herself. And by the end of the day, Goody Hawkins knew some Algonquin,
and the Indian woman, Namequa, knew some words in English. Namequa saw Goody Hawkins back to the little town and then faded into the trees almost like magic.
Well, the seasons came and went, and Goody Hawkins had her hands full trying to keep people well, what with the snakes and unfriendly Indians and poisonous plants all around. The folks couldn't get none of the plants they brought with 'em to grow very well, 'cause the weather was so different from England's. That mean that folks weren't eatin' right,and 'specially with the children that was bad. But Namequa showed Goody Hawkins plants that were good eating, and Goody Hawkins showed the other womenfolk, and for a time the folks there lived like Indians, what with the menfolk learnin' to hunt and fish from Squanto and the women learnin' to gather wild plants to eat from Goody Hawkins and Namequa.
That first thanksgiving feast, they didn't eat just the corn and squash and beans that Squanto showed the men how to grow, they also had roasted-seed mush and lamb's-quarters gathered by the women. All those, and
the deer the neighboring Indians brought, well, that was some dinner! Well, little by little, them folks got settled. Other ships came, with more people, and, later, with cows and other stock. And then Goody Hawkins was busier than ever, 'cause she was s'posed to take care of sick animals, too. Back then, if a cow didn't give milk, folks were apt to think the fairies had stolen the milk in the night, so 'twas only natural they should ask their wise woman for help. Before long, there were babies, too, human and animal, and mothers needed Goody Hawkins'help to bring 'em into the world. Somehow, though, through all of this, Goody Hawkins kept time to visit with her good friend, and to keep learning, and to look into her silver bowl every now and again.
Well, the years went on, and ever'body got older, and some folks just died from getting old. Goody Hawkins' husband died too, and they hadn't any children, so Goody Hawkins should have been alone in the world. But she had her friend Namequa, and every little child in the town called her "Aunt Grace". She wasn't their real aunt, you know, but they loved her like she was, 'cause she made them things, like sweet-scented pillows, and spicy cookies, and she always listened to them when they told her things. Goody Hawkins had learned a lot from Namequa's tribe, and now that she had no husband to take care of,she spent more time visiting with her Indian friends, and they learned from her too.
Indian magic is full of drums and dreaming. Goody Hawkins' magic was full of words and wishing. But she was careful not to let the rest of the folks know she was learnin' and teachin' magic.
Why not?
Well, folks don't like what they don't understand, is all. People were afraid of lots of things in them days, 'specially in a strange new place. And as more o' them Puritan preachers come over from England, the folks would be more secret 'bout visiting Goody Hawkins, not wanting the preachers to know they was holding to the old ways. And the preachers, 'specially one Pastor Langford, looked sidewise and never straight on at Goody Hawkins, bein' afraid she might hex 'em or some such nonsense.
Well, Pastor Langford thought she was workin' for the devil, but he didn't want to say it outright, 'cause folks liked her. But even that was changing as Goody Hawkins spent more time with Namequa's tribe, and folk got to whispering about it.
There was a number of men interested in marryin' to her, after her husband died, saying it wasn't right for a woman to live alone, but she didn't care 'bout any of 'em. She said no to all of 'em, and some of 'em went away mad. And folk got to saying things outright.
One lady said she seen Goody Hawkins dancing naked with all them Indians. Another said there was a demon keeping Goody Hawkins company, which was why she wasn't wanting to marry again. Somebody else said that it was that demon that killed Goody Hawkins' husband. All round town words buzzed like stinging wasps. Now, when a cow wasn't giving milk, it was Goody Hawkins, not the fairies, who they thought had stolen it. Folks began to keep their children away from her. And Pastor Langford came right out and made fiery sermons about witches and the devil and sin and punishment.
Goody Hawkins saw and heard all of this, but what could she do? It was her word against the words of respectable folk, and nobody was going to believe her. So she kept silent, kept to herself, and waited. She didn't have to wait long. One evening, she came home from a visit to her Indian friends and found her cottage in ruins. Jars were smashed, boxes thrown all over. The herb-bunches had been torn down from the ceiling, her cauldron overturned, Bible verses scrawled all over the walls with charcoal from her fireplace. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live", they said, and Goody Hawkins felt cold in her heart because she knew that the people wanted to kill her. And worst of all, her beautiful silver bowl was all bented and crushed, like someone had hit it with a hammer. Goody Hawkins sat down at the table in the midst of the mess, and cried. She felt helpless and angry. She wished she really could turn people into toads. She made half-hearted tries at cleaning up, but gave it up. Her heart burned with wanting to hurt the people who'd done it, and froze with knowing her life wasn't worth a straw to 'em.
My granny said, that in that hour the devil did come to her, offerin' to kill the townsfolk for her, if she'd give up her soul to him, but Goody Hawkins chased him out with her broom. I think more likely, she thought about putting poison in the well-water, but knew that not only would that poison the townsfolk, it'd poison the water and the earth, and the water and earth hadn't hurt her. And she knew that killing all those folks would poison her soul, too, forever, make her sour and angry as a real wicked witch.
So instead, she gathered all her power to her, all her love and strength; she threw down her hiding bonnet, and shook out her hair, which was getting grey by now, and walked proud and tall out into the town square. The folks began to gather round, saying hateful things. But Goody Hawkins lifted up her arms and began to sing, strong and sweet, in the old tongue that nobody but wise folk could speak anymore. And when the folks saw that their words couldn't hurt her, they commenced to pick up stones to throw at her. But before they could throw their stones, the preachers came and said she'd have to have a proper trial. So soldiers took Goody Hawkins away with them, away from the shouting people, and she was still singing as they locked her up.
They tried to get her to tell them things, like was she partners with the devil, and had she hexed people and animals, and did she have a demon helper, and did she change into a cat to steal milk, but she never did nothing but close her eyes and sing softly, smiling like she saw something beautiful. So finally they gave up and took her to the courthouse.
There all kinds of people told stories about Goody Hawkins and things she'd never really done. And all through it, Goody Hawkins stood tall, and looked straight in the faces of the folks as was doing thetelling. When ever'one was through with their lyin', the judge asked Goody Hawkins had she anything to say. Goody Hawkins looked round at the folks, looking like your momma when she's gonna scold you, and began tellin' each one what she'd done for them. This one wouldn't be alive if Goody Hawkins hadn't helped his mother with the birthing. That one's daughter was deathly sick with fever, and Goody Hawkins cured her. The other one's cows were dropping down dead before Goody Hawkins found out they were eating poisonous leaves. There wasn't one person in that courtroom Goody Hawkins hadn't helped somehow over the years. And folks were looking like you do when you're getting a scolding and you know you've been wrong.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 11:32:43 GMT -5
Goody Hawkins cont
But Pastor Langford butted in and said that Goody Hawkins must have led the cows to the poison leaves, she must have made the little girl sick, she must have put a hex on the mother so her baby had trouble being born. And even though some folks still looked uncertain, the rest of 'em started howling for Goody Hawkins to die, and that was that.
They took her out to the town square where there was a big oak tree, to hang her onto it. Some soldiers held the crowd back, while two of the others tied Goody Hawkins up, tied a rope around her neck, and threw the other end over one of the branches of the tree. Goody Hawkins wasn't scared to die, but she was scared of the pain, though she didn't let the people see that. She looked out at them and smiled, and was glad
to see some people quit their shouting and look worried.
Pastor Langford come up, looking nervous, and said, "Do you wish to confess your sins? You may yet be forgiven and reach Heaven."
Goody Hawkins just smiled and said, "I have nothing to confess or be forgiven for, nothing I am ashamed of. I want no part of your heaven."
The preacher fairly threw a fit right there, choking and stuttering, he wanted so bad to cuss and swear at her but couldn't in front of the townsfolk. So he just pointed to the soldier holding the end of the rope, and he commenced to hauling on it.
Goody Hawkins felt the rope tighten and her ears started to ring, and she took what she was sure was her last breath. But suddenly there was a scream, and the rope went loose. Her head cleared, she looked around, and saw the soldier who'd been pulling her up holding onto his arm, where there was an arrow sticking out of it.
Folks was shouting and running all over the place, and Goody Hawkins saw that a whole tribe of Indians had come out of the woods like magic with bows and arrows and spears and all. The soldiers couldn't get a clear shot at none of the Indians, what with folks running round like ants when their hill gets kicked over. And in the middle of all that hollerin' and confusion, Goody Hawkins felt a sharp blade between her wrists, cutting the ropes that tied her.
There was two Indians there, a big young man and Goody Hawkins' friend Namequa who held a finger to her lips to shush her. The young man scooped Goody Hawkins up in his arms, and ran into the woods carrying her. All of a sudden, the Indians disappeared like morning mist, and when the folks looked round, Goody Hawkins was gone too.
The folks never saw her again, and Namequa's tribe were never as friendly to them. Goody Hawkins' cottage was just left to fall down and rot, and nothing in it was ever touched. But some folks was sorry Goody Hawkins was gone, 'specially when they got sick, or their children or animals.
And one day a mother whose little baby was sick as could be and nobody could help her, she went into the woods by herself, carrying an iron pot. She walked into a clearing, and waited, listening. The woods got quiet, like they were listening too, and the lady commenced to talking about the baby's problem and asking for help of whoever was listening. She put the pot down, turned around, and walked out of the woods without looking back. The next day, she came back, and where she'd left the pot, there was a little bundle of herbs, wrapped up in a soft deerskin. She ran home with it, and made it into tea for her baby, and the baby got better.
Well, word of the cure got round among the womenfolk. Real quiet like, it got round, not like the lies 'bout Goody Hawkins had gotten round before. They kept it a secret from the preachers, and after a while the preachers forgot about Goody Hawkins.
And ever' once in a while, a woman would slip away from the town, out into the woods, carrying some small thing, that she thought Goody Hawkins might be able to use, knowing that Goody Hawkins was out there somewhere, and would hear them. And always there would be an herb packet there the next day, or a little charm, or some such. As the years went by, the herb packets stopped appearing, but the woman who turned back would see a shaft of light fall on some plant, and would take of that back home with her. And finally, even that stopped, but somehow the help always came, somebody got better.
Tsk! Asleep already. Good.
"Child, what are you doing out of bed?"
"I feel better, gramma!"
"Let me feel of your forehead. Well, that's fine."
"Gramma, can I have my coat?"
"Where are you going, child?"
"Out to the woods, gramma."
"What's that you have there?"
"It's a picture, gramma, look."
"Well, that's right nice. I think I can guess who that is. And I see you've given her back her silver bowl! She'll be happy. Off you go, then."
"Bye, gramma. I'll come back soon."
I would like to add a little comment here: It's a sad story to know that things like this actually happened. Just think of all the lore and information that was lost because of supersticion and zealous christians. I have nothing against Christians, just so long as they remember that God gave every one free will to follow they're own paths. And it is not theirs to judge. Such a shame, and sad story.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 12:04:28 GMT -5
someones experience lol
Misplaced Deity sought by Christians.....!
So, I'm standing at a bus stop and they pull up. A car load of well meaning, bible thumping nut cases that are just frantic! The middle aged professionally dressed woman rushes forward...She takes my arm and with trembling voices she asks...."Have you found Jesus?" Her eyes plead with an urgency that is out of proportion to a bus stop Now normally I just politely decline the sermon, and free religious paperwork that such folk pawn off on unsuspecting by-standers. But, unfortunately for her, she is the forth car to accost me in the last 9 minutes. So by now I'm beginning to wonder what the heck is wrong with these people. I mean if its not Christians it is the Jehovah's Witnesses. Can a simple Druid get no peace? So calmly as I can muster, without being sarcastic I reply, "You People lost him, again??" The woman looks confused. This is not the response she was hoping for and she needs to regroup. She takes a deep breath intending to launch into her sales pitch for her God, and church, paying no heed to the concept that I might not be into being converted. I decide to not let her get going so I launch into a speech of my own... "What is wrong with you Christians? Every time I turn around you've lost Him!" I hit her with a glare of accusation. "I mean really..." I take a measured breath. "How do you expect to have anyone follow a deity that you can't even find!" The poor woman looks stunned. This isn't going so good. Panicked she looks desperately to the car... Surely one of the men can help....Undaunted I press on... "Maybe the problem is with you people... I mean Muslims never seem to loose there deity. Come to think of it neither do Jews, or Pagans of any kind." I look at the man getting out of the car. He's all smiles. "I realize You people used to burn people like me at the stake... What was that about... deity even? I may be a Pagan-heathen, but I have never ever woke up panicked that I couldn't find my Goddess or God. They are always right where they should be... In the fire of my candle, in the air that I breathe, in the earth that I stand on, in the water of my spring. I never feel abandoned by my deity(ies)." "Of course, you Christians aren't much fun..." I continue. By now they are all out of the car. Befuddled, aghast, and at a loss for words. "Of course," I offer trying to give them some defense for losing Jesus. "He could have left due to religious differences. If I remember correctly He was Jewish. So if you are really so eager to find him..." I smile gently to soften the blow. "Check the nearest synagogue. He's probably in there. Also you folks should try and remember that this is America... Where freedom of religion means ALL religions." Slowly they climb back into their car and drive away. I stand at the bus stop... No pamphlets, no bible, no dogma. I haven't found Jesus, but I haven't lost him either:) Someone sent this to you because they believe no one can have to much Deity. It is a blessing in disguise. You can keep it to your self or Pass it on. Oh, and if you've found Jesus, please get his face on the evening news A.S.A.P so the Christians can stop looking for him.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 12:06:35 GMT -5
"zanykat" thank you for your time
This little thing was posted on another group
What Do You Value Most? ========================
A young man learns what's most important in life from the guy next door.
It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man.
College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son.
He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him. Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
"Jack, did you hear me?" "Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said. "Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him, he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him. "I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said. "You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said. "He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important. Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.
As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown.
Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.
The night before he had to return home, Jack and his mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.
Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time.
The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture...
Jack stopped suddenly.
"What's wrong, Jack?" his mom asked. "The box is gone," he said. "What box?" Mom asked. "There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.
It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.
"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."
It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox.
"Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.
Early the next day Jack retrieved the package.
The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago.
The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.
"Mr. Harold Belser" it read.
Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope.
Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.
"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett.
It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter.
His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover.
Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser."
"The thing he valued most...was...my time."
Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days.
"Why?" Janet, his assistant asked. "I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!"
"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away."
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 12:50:50 GMT -5
Flower Fairies/Tree Nymphs ~~Mary Summer Rain
Once upon a time, when our Earth was very young, all living plants, flowers and trees were the same color -- a very dull gray. Mother Nature looked down and thought how beautiful the world would be if everything was a different color.
She called upon some of her Spirit Babies who like to play with paints. These Spirits were always busy thinking up new colors to paint with. Mother named them Flower Fairies.
Since each Flower Fairy was in charge of a different color, Mother Nature said to them, "Go down on the Earth, and spread your glorious colors on all living plants, flowers, trees and grasses. And when the seasons change, make the colors change too. Go and paint the morning and evening skies. Paint the deserts and the lonely mesas. Painting all you see. I leave the color decisions up to you."
And so the little Flower Fairies giggled with so much happiness. With painting pails and brushes in hand, they came to the Earth and spread all their wondrous colors all about. They had buckets and buckets of hues, tints, and shades of every color.
Tree Nymphs The dictionary tells us that a "nymph" is a "female Nature Spirit". A Tree Nymph is a girl Nature Spirit that lives among trees. Mother Nature gave these special Babies of hers a very important task to do.
In the Spring time, when all the mother birds are busy building their nests, the Tree Nymphs gather twigs and pieces of straw to help the birds. And when the mother bird has to sit all day keeping her eggs warm, the Tree Nymphs bring her food. After the eggs have hatched out and the baby birds are noisily chirping and peeping for food, the Tree Nymphs watch over the little baby birds while their mothers go our in search of food for them.
The most important job of all though, is when the baby birds decide they want to try to fly like their mamas. Their wings are not always strong enough to hold them up and sometimes the Tree Nymphs are ready to catch a falling fledgling and return it to its nest.
Mother Nature loves all the birds so she sent them Tree Nymph Spirits to guard and watch over them.
The Fairies had such a fun time painting the tree trunks warm browns and chalky whites. Then they spread shades of lush green on each and every leaf. The flowers were gently brushed with tints of every soft color they had.
Just when they were all done, autumn had arrived. Now they started all over again with paints of orange, gold, red, and yellow to dazzle the eyes of all who looked upon them.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 13:00:53 GMT -5
My Mom Is a Witch
Written by: Judith Barish
Here's 7-year old Casey talking about the witch. "She had a green face, red eyes, really pointy nose, a pointy black hat and an owl." It was Halloween, and the kindergarten class was reading about monsters and witches.
Casey's mother Deborah called the teacher to complain. "I'm so sorry," said the teacher. "Is Casey scared? Is he having nightmares?" "No," said Deborah.
"His father and I are witches, and we don't appreciate Casey being exposed to stereotypical images of crones on broomsticks."
While other kids attend Hebrew School or Easter Egg hunts, witch kids accompany their parents to pagan rituals. They dance around the Maypole on May Day.
At Halloween, they attend the Spiral Dance. At the Summer Solstice, they help construct and burn a wicker man on the beach.
Most kids brought up in a pagan community take to the rites with zeal. "It's fun for them," said Anne Hill, who co-authored a book on raising children in a goddess tradition. It's cool to be a witch, said Casey, who even has his own witch name. Eleven-year-old Hazel assembled her own altar decorated with what her father called "power objects:" feathers, candles, bones.
Black magic? Nah. Pagan children apply their witchcraft to the mundane details of gradeschool life. "Casey's first spell was for the elephant at the zoo,"
Deborah told me. "The Asian elephant lost its mate, and Casey was very sad about it. When we got home, he made a circle of all his elephant toys, put a candle in the middle, and made a spell so that the elephant would get a new friend."
When fourteen-year-old Shannon got her first period, her parents and the rest of their coven celebrated a ritual in her honor, complete with presents.
Another preteen wanted to know if there was a ritual for shaving the first hair that grew under her arms.
Do pagan children ever rebel and become, say, investment bankers or Mormons?
Elissa was so embarassed by her parents that she told her friends she was a Christian. But she is a rare straight arrow. For most witch kids, equinox rituals and the sun god are their cultural heritage, like First Communion and the Virgin Mary are for Catholics.
In the Middle Ages, Deborah might have been burned at the stake. At the end of the millennium in California, she was invited to talk to Casey's class.
Afterwards, the teacher heard a different parental complaint: "My child can't separate fantasy from reality -- he insists Casey's mom is a witch."
~Disclaimer~ I am not the author of the above writings,nor do I claim any credit.The author,if known,has been given proper credit~However,I am the designer of this page and therefore request that no alterations, deletions, additions or adjustments be made to this page.This material has been provided for educational purposes. >>
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 13:17:12 GMT -5
Snow Pixies/Nature Gnomes ~~Mary Summer Rain
Long ago, the season of winter was very gloomy. All the lush trees were bare of leaves. The once green grass was brown and dry. And all winter long, everything was cold, grey and brown. "How drab everything looks!" said Mother Nature. So she decided then and three to dress winter up.
She called upon her Babies again. These she named Snow Pixies. These little Spirits were always very busy weaving beautiful designees out of a cold, white, fluffy material. Mother Nature went to them and said, "Do you think you could drop all your lovely on the Earth in the winter? Your designs sparkle and glisten so, I'm sure they would make the dull winter turn into something beautiful!"
Well, I'll tell you! Those little Snow Pixie Spirits were just so excited! For now they had something to do with all those designs they were making. They busied themselves and made billions and billions of the snow designs and, when they were done, they sprinkled them from the clouds all over the dull, brown winterlands.
As it happened to turn out, the Snow Pixies changed the winter into a splendid world of glittering white. The Ssnow mad the whole land turn into a quiet, gentle hush. The snow became a natural blanket for many woodland creatures and it kept bitter, blustering winds from their nests, burrows and dens. It aslo gacve children whole new sledding, sliding and building games to have fun with. People figured out things to do with the nsow too. They made up a ski game, made snow moobiles and snowwhoes. Everyone was so happy with all the Snow Pixies work.
Nature Gnomes
Most people think gnomes are little, wee men who live underground and guard treasure. Actually, gnomes ARE little, wee men about as tall as your knee, but they surely don't guard treasure of silver and gold. Gnomes guard Mother Nature's treasure ... her animals.
Now, since these Nature Gnomes Spirits are so small, and are like little old men with long, silky beards, they can appear to look quite funny. Since Gnomes don't much like being laughed at they take great care that people don't ever see them.
Mother Nature send the Nature Gnomes to live on the Earth to care for all her beloved animals. She gave them a special home in her rich ground so that they could live all over and hear the cries of any creature that needed help. It was the Nature Gnomes that put the white spots on the baby deer's back so that the little fawns would blend in with the forest floor to protect it from any enemies. The Nature Gnomes make noise in the woods so alert animals that hunters are nearby. They tell the animals to take cover and get into their homes when a storm is approaching. They are ever on the lookout for the scent of smoke and are the ones to alert the animals in the event of a forest fire. And they guard over hibernating creatures so that they can sleep through the long winter in peace.
If you SHOULD ever spy a Nature Gnome when you're deep in a woodland forest, please don't giggle at him. Tell him how much you appreciate all his loving work.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 13:38:13 GMT -5
SO, YOU WANNA BE A WITCH, EH? Well, sit right here, by my side, and I'll tell you the secrets of the tide ... And just get comfy, honey child, While I speak of nature, free and wild. But, you don't have a cloak, or pointed hat?? Bah!! and Piffle!! .. What's with that? The Witch is worn within the soul, not donned for occasions, or kept in a bowl. When you think of witches, you tremble at magic? Oh, silly girl, that is indeed tragic! Well, take a deep breath, and hold tight to my hand, and together we'll dream to the edge of the land. Where forest and sky kiss the edge of the waters, Where spirits as we, claim a kinship with daughters of elements born before words are remembered, and feelings, and thoughts are no longer hindered. Tis the every day things, that witches are 'ware of, The Sun and the Moon, and the wee tiny cherub, who tugs at our heart strings and drives us to madness, yet gives us such joy, and fills us with gladness. A soft gentle rain, nudging buds to full flower. Hurricane! Twister! .. Such terrible power! Candles, and hearth fire, warming and scented. Forests ablaze! .. Volcanic stacks vented! A mantle of snow, both preserves and gives pleasure. Avalanch! Iceberg!! .. So full of treasure. The Warmth of the Sun, bringing Life we so cherish. Bleak desert landscape. Burnt tundra... we perish. Now open your eyes, and look closely at me. You came her so fearful, now what do you see? A kindly old woman? An evil old hag? A cloak of maturity? A dirty old rag? Both sides of the coin. Light and dark we encompass Good and evil abide, and still walk among us. So be very sure, that a Witch you will be ... for we own it ALL ... you and me .... you and me.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 6, 2004 22:27:46 GMT -5
Rainbow Leprechans/Spring Sprites/Merry Mermaid ~~Mary Summer Rain
Many people in America will tell you that there is no such thing as a Leprechaun. You must go and ask the Gentle people of Ireland, for they truly DO believe in them. They even leave food out on their doorstops at night for the Little People.
Mother Nature has found a very unique job for the little elf spirits called Leprechauns. They have taught the people on Earth the meaning of REAL treasure.
The tale was spread far and wide that the Leprechans loved gold, and that they gathered and hid all this gold treasure in a big pot at the end of every rainbow.
Well after many years of searching for the Leprechans pot of gold and never finding it, people lost all interest in it. Everytime they got near the end of the rainbow, it would suddenly disappear.
The people now began to realize that the little Leprechans were trying to teach them to appreciate the treasure of the magnificent rainbow itself. The people learned to love the gift of nature and not to look for selfish prizes that were never there at all.
The next time you see a beautiful rainbow in the sky, be thankful for all the good things you have in life. And don't forget to thank the Lerprechans for the rainbow too!
Spring Sprites
A sprite is a small Spirit.
The Spring Sprite was asked by Mother Nature to make sure that the Season of Spring each year went as planned.
We can thank the Spring Sprites for the sweetness they put into the first Spring day to tell us that the long days of winter are over with for another year.
They have an awful big job to do, for they not only prepared nature for the Spring Season, they also help all the animals prepare too.
Have you ever wondered where the morning dew on the grass and flowers comes from? Well, it's all the doing of the Spring Sprites. Before the sun is awake, they sprinkle little drops of fresh water on all the newly born flowers and grasses to give them drinks for the warm day ahead.
The Spring Sprites make sure every caterpillar is safe in its cocoon so the Woodland Elves can guard them until they become butterflies. They gently touch each and every tree bud so that the leaves can unfold to greet the sun.
They dance on the flower petals and every bloom sends out a different scent in return.
The next time you leave footprints over a blanket of fresh morning dew, whisper thanks to the Spring Sprite Spirits ... they'll always hear you.
Merry Mermaid
Mother Nature could see that all creatures of the land were well cared for by her Nature Spirits. It gladdened her heart to see such a good job being done. "But what of all my sea creatures? Who will care for them?" Said Mother Nature. "I will". said a lonely girl Spirit. "I would like to care for the little creatures of the sea."
And so it was that Mother Nature gave the little Spirit girl a special body of water that would enable her to swim under all the seas and waters of the world. And Mother Nature named her Mermaid.
The little Mermaid was so happy to be able to help Mother Nature that she spent all her days spreading happiness among the creatures of the sea. She did a good job too!
Have you ever heard anyone talk about a "school of fish?" This means many fish of one kind swimming all together. We have the little Mermaid to thank for that because she taught them all to stay together for safety.
She taught the octopus to hide himself by squirting out black ink at his enemies. She showed the tiny tropical fish how to quickly dart in and out of the coral to escape from harm. She taught the big, gray porpoise to guide lost boaters to the shore.
You will probably never, ever see this very merry Mermaid, because deep under the sea, she is having too much fun.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 7, 2004 13:09:58 GMT -5
The Vision of the 12 Stones by David Sunfellow
There is blackness, everywhere. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to touch, or taste, or smell. There is only blackness and a silence so profound it cannot be described. Suddenly, without warning, there is a tremendous explosion. Blinding light and deafening thunder shake the deepest recesses of darkness. Stars, moons, planets, stellar nebulae, solar systems, galaxies anduniverses all come whirling into existence. As the universe gradually takes recognizable form, we see our solar system develop. We see our sun and planets. We see moons, asteroid belts, and comets. Then our planet fills our mind's eye. We watch it evolve through its many stages: Primal gases whirl around, volcanoes erupt, vast oceans of water form, land rises from the tumultuous seas -- and then begins to cool. Now, for the first time, life begins to form in the oceans and in the thick, gaseous air. Creatures come into being and begin their long journey to ever-increasing consciousness. We see the first one-celled creatures and watch them slowly transform themselves into new, more complex and aware creatures: plants, ferns and trees; fish, amphibians, and animals that can live on land, in the sea, and in the air. Ages pass and vast numbers of species come and go. Some disappear in the twinkling of an eye, the result of some global catastrophe, while others slowly evolve into other forms. Finally, after eons of growth, we see the earth as she exists today. From the deep recesses of space we look at her and are stunned by her magnificent beauty. And we are also shaken by how fragile she seems floating all alone in the vast darkness of space. Looking closer, our hearts begin to ache with a pain so deep we can scarcely bear it. Silently we cry out, "What has happened to our mother?!" Her once brilliant skies have become dull and toxic. Foul stenches rise from her tortured waters, lands, and skies. Holes form in the blue canopy she has clothed herself in, allowing the deadly rays of the sun to penetrate her in most recesses and destroy the creatures she has so long protected, nurtured and loved. Tears come to our eyes. An unbearable sadness wells up within. We pause and solemnly reflect on how this could happen. And as we reflect, we begin to hear the faint beating of a drum. Like the sound of some primal heart beat, it calls to us and we are pulled down through the earth's atmosphere to the surface of the planet. Silently we pass over shimmering oceans and lush continents; across vast deserts and sparkling glaciers; through forest-covered mountains; down wild rivers and dense life-filled jungles. Then we pass through the places that man has touched: Through densely populated cities and sparsely populated towns; through seemingly endless places of deforestation, pollution, and man-made desolation. And as we do, we begin to see, hear, and feel hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, droughts, and other natural disasters -- all of which have been caused by man's abuse of the earth. And all the while the drum continues to beat and grow stronger, deeper, and more powerful. As we approach the origin of the drum, an ancient chant, made by a multitude of beings we cannot see, softly joins the drum. Day turns into night and the desolation of man is left behind. A panoramic view of starlit skies comes into view. One mountain range, dominated by jagged cliffs, draws our attention. On one seemingly inaccessible cliff we see a fire burning and notice two Native American figures -- an old Medicine Man and a young brave -- sitting silently around it. Slowly, we circle them and study their faces in the flickering darkness. Lost in some deep reverie, we realize they are watching the same vision we are watching. We move closer. The deep wrinkles of a long life, well lived, cover the old man's face. He seems as old and strong as an ancient redwood and as full of life as a new sapling. Entranced by the power of his presence, we find it difficult to look away. Beside him, the young brave is equally captivating. A purity seems to emanate from him. Somehow we know he has a powerful dream buried deep in his heart - a dream that he will someday find and fulfill. Suddenly, the old man takes a deep breath and slowly opens his eyes. For a moment, he quietly stares at the young brave. And then he speaks. "Did you see?" The young brave opens his eyes. His face is flushed with deep concern and unsettled feelings. "Yes, Grandfather, I saw." "What do you think it means?" Painfully, the brave answers, "Our Earth Mother is dying!" "The earthquakes and volcanoes. The raging waters. The wars. The sick and starving people. The weather. The world is coming to an end isn't it, Grandfather?" The face of the old man fills our mind once again. We watch as he patiently soaks up the young brave's tortured questions, but does not answer. Instead, he looks compassionately into the brave's questioning eyes. "Grandfather, I have heard the old ones talking and I know the wise ones among our people are gathering in the sacred places. What am I to do? Where am I to go?" "Before doing and going, you must understand." "Understand what, Grandfather?" "Why the Earth Mother suffers." There is a long, thoughtful pause, while the brave studies the old man's face and patiently waits for him to explain. "Put your hand upon the Earth Mother, my son." Tenderly, the brave places both hands firmly against the earth. To him, she is a living being. He feels the life force pulsating through her immense body. "Now listen. What do you hear?" A few moments pass. He searches the earth, and himself, for some sound. Startled, the brave looks deep into the old man's eyes. "I hear the sound of her heart beating! It is everywhere!" "Yes. Now listen again, even more deeply." Taking a deep breath, the brave closes his eyes again. Listening with all his might, he follows the sound of her heartbeat to another sound, which startles him even more. Again his eyes open in amazement. "I hear another heart beating! Whose heart is this?!"
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