Making Bright Out of Shadows

In darkness, away from leaf-song and rain-scented soil, hearts wilt and die. In the light, where words speak halved thoughts and poetry kisses riddles, stories will die. I hear it. I think it… Then, that something that binds us (do you know what it is?), that thing made of mud, daydreams and wild bits of you and me, fills my bones with chants of Maybe… and I know better—stories only die if you let them and hearts always live if we read.

Making bright
out of the shadows,
the soul smiles…
while I remember
the power of ink.

the (not so) wee notes…
– Last Sunday, I wasn’t having the best of days. I was feeling a bit gloomy, out of sorts… So, I put on my super-power skirt (everybody should have something—in their closet, bookcase, wallet…—that instantly fills them with good memories. I wore the skirt in question, for the first time, during a dance while I was a junior in high school, the same night I figured out that life was freaking weird, but since I was weird, too, then life was yummy). Anyhoo, I put on brown combat boots and my super-power skirt and a dear friend and I went thrifting. The thrift shop was closed when we got there, so we laughed a tad madly, went to the grocery store and bought two pies (I got peach!), and life was yummy. When I saw this rather dark picture (below), taken on the bus on our way back from pie shopping, I noticed how my smile shines through the gloom (I have super-power teeth, too), and I thought, Yep, life is yummy and then some.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

The Pretty Corpses of Flowers

I was about to post a rant about some woman who wanted to sell posters of one of my blackouts… without paying me. But as I reread what I wrote, my blood began to boil… So, I deleted the whole thing, and opened my “Awesome Things My Love Says” folder.

My sexy Piano Man has a way with words that reach my heart and my funny bone. The other day, he texted me after a show, to say, “Warning! I’m bringing home some flower corpses.” He knows I don’t much care for flowers that have been cut just for decoration, and he also knows that if the poor things were already mutilated, I wouldn’t want their sacrifice to be for nothing. I do my best to find a way to show them some love.

It was a big bouquet. Some of the flowers are still drying. But the roses, carnations, and some greenery and fillers (whose name I don’t know), have dried quite prettily.

I used a rose petal on this stitched poem. Some of the outer petals I offered to the moon, now sit by my typewriter in view of the window. I put together a bouquet I can glimpse while I’m writing. The leaves and other greenery went in a jar until the muse thinks of something. The fillers are in a wee bowl, in front of a sculpture of Old Man Death (you know how much the grinning Reaper loves his flowers).

By the time I was done, I was grinning as toothily as… well, as toothily as me. Playing with nature (even mildly dead nature) is good therapy, picturing the bloody things my muse thinks should happen to those who want to steal our mind-babies… not so much.

Pagan Culture Is Not Dead

I had an exchange with a friend who suggested that my “writings have been moving further and further away from their original witchy themes.” According to said friend, “[my] Pagan Culture died the day [I] moved from Blogger to WordPress.”

He is, of course, mistaken. My views have evolved (and thank goodness for that), my writing has been growing, and my blog has been relocated… but Pagan Culture is not dead. His notion is silly and rather sad. I say this because he has based his comment on the fact that I rarely ramble about what he considers “the important current events about the Pagan and Witchcraft community.”

My blog is about… well, me. I have always been a solitary witchy woman. Even when I took part in events put together by local and virtual groups, my practices were my own. My blog posts have always been about my life and my writing, about how I perceive the world—witchy and otherwise. My blog changes and grows with me. The same is true of my fiction and poetry.

In 2009, when I started blogging, my main concern was to show people that Witches were just… people: individuals who approached the world and its creatures in their own ways. I’m almost certain that in seven years, most people who know me also know that I’m a witchy woman. They might not be sure of what that means, not exactly… But following my blog has probably showed them that labels don’t matter all that much. I am people. My words speak to others. That is good.

And that, my Wicked Luvs, tells me that I’ve accomplished my initial blogging goal: anyone who takes the time to really, really look… has seen that Witches (or at least, witchy me) are neither better nor worse than they are. We are just different people—like the rest of the world, we love, we cry, we laugh, we get sick, we grow, we believe in magic, we are so freaking sexy… and some of us are extremely modest. Really, I’m very serious about this part, my modesty knows no bounds.

My Pagan Culture is alive and witching. It’s also free of stagnation. Since stagnation is the scum of the universe, freedom from its tentacles is a blessing. Don’t you think?

Read you later, my Luvs. Write you always…

P.S. On other non-dying news… If you haven’t joined Witches in Fiction 2016: Spelling Healing into a Rotting World, just follow the link. It would be very nice to have you… and coffee… or tea.

Yes, my teeth are quite sharp… and rather numerous.
(if you see the adverb police, tell them I was having one of those days *cough, cough*)