Come to Camp!! You know you want to!

Registration is OPEN for the 2016 Spiralheart Witchcamp 6 day intensive!

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It’s that time again– online registration for this year’s witchcamp is now officially open! Our community has been steadily growing over the past few years and we are hopeful that it will continue to do so. We are hosted at the gorgeous Four Quarters Interfaith Sanctuary, and space is limited; register soon to reserve your spot!

This year we’re privileged to offer 4 different paths, facilitated by an incredibly talented group of witches. We’re working with the story of Medusa, as Athena’s shadow self. So far, it’s shaping up to be an incredibly powerful year. 

Hope to see you all there!

Silence is Never Consent

REBLOG Silence can be complicity would be an improvement, but the word “can” must be emphasized to not go down the same bullshit road that “silence is consent” does.

Camilla Laurentine's avatarFoxglove & Firmitas

We have to be careful about the rhetoric we use, especially in a forum that relies completely on written word.  I saw this this morning, and I decided not to address it on Patheos, because I don’t want to derail the conversation on racism that is happening.  At the same time, I am not okay with this:

A Quote from a Patheos blog reading, "Thank you for all your support in this discussion, but especially for this. It explains in great detail exactly why I wrote what I wrote. Silence is consent, and I do not consent to racism in my community." The identity of the quoted has been blurred out. Identity withheld due to my assumption that the person quoted simply didn’t think this through before saying it since their chances of being raped are statistically less than mine.

By all means, draw lines when you feel they are needed.  Tell me what you don’t consent to even, because that’s really, really important. But silence?  Silence is never consent.  Ever.

I’m not unaware of the necessity for white people speaking out against other white people’s racist BS.  I will even agree that our silence when it comes to issues of white supremacy allows it…

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Brigid (silent) Poetry Slam, year 11

Brigid of Endless Waters

Kneeling at Her well
With unflinching eyes
I see reflection of my sharpened parts.

I wish for rounded edges
to my tongue,
a softening of the word-blows
I know myself
to land on others’ ears.
I seek healing of long held,
long protected lesions.

I note the slivered pieces,
guarded by thorny bits
wrapped ‘round wounded spaces.
Some thorns point inward,
the wounding freshened by me.

I dip my cup and drink,
dip and drink.
Water smoothing
and quenching,
still feeding the thorns,
more growth.

I dip and drink one long drink,
allowing the water
to sate and soothe,
to polish and nurture all,
even the rough thirsty places.

I dip my cup and carry some home.

~Pamela V Jones Feb 2016

 

This is my 7th year contributing to the Silent Poetry Festival  which has been going on since2006, and has become a wonderful, international event, with people posting poems in honor of Brigid on their blogs, Facebook, Twitters, Tumblrs, and other such devices.

Details here.

Brigid oil blend in the Etsy shop!

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Brigid oil blend

A mix of essential oils, heather tips, and blackberry in a jojoba base. Available in 1 and 2 dram sizes.

Brigid – the lady of fires: hearth, head, and heart. She is associated with smith crafting, word crafting, and the healing arts. Uses: to wear as a perfume or invoking oil, to dress candles for spellwork, to infuse incense (a drop or two on the cone, stick, or loose herbs will do it), to pay tribute in an oil warmer, and for prayer and meditation.

(Oil is pictured here with water from one of Brigid’s well, and with Brigid’s fire, passed from person to person over the years. Water and fire not included with purchase.)

Love can break you open, if you let it

Anyone who doesn’t believe Love is an actual Force, and can be a catalyst for swift change hasn’t been paying attention. For me, I started a long lonely climb out of the place I had been with the turn of the new year. It felt like an ascent in mud. Then the despair in me broke open. It happened shortly before this past weekend and it occurred via Love. For you-know-who-you-are, I am grateful.

This is the me I always am in my head. I haven’t been the me in my head on the outside of me recently, either in dress, or in what I let loose to the world. Today I returned to dressing the part – the part called Me. Today I let loose the new-old me again. These fabulous pants (I ordered 5 different pair recently from http://www.harempants.com/ ) are so comfortable!

(I tell myself someday I’ll master the Art of Selfie™ w/o a mirror. Some lies are okay to believe.)

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Let Love break you open!

*twinkles* ssssss

The Journey

“One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
‘Mend my life!’
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognised as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.”

Mary Oliver

Impact and obliviousness

It’s been an interesting 24 hours. I have spent decades underestimating my impact in various spheres of my life. I never fail to “dog head” when my oblivion is brought to my attention. Like, wut?

It has now hit the level of embarrassing. In efforts to keep my ego in check I have put on blinders, and as beloveds shifted away, I thought I spoke into a vacuum. What and how I expressed myself mattered little, I surmised, ignoring that all of us have impact larger than our awareness.

I have been purposely removing those blinders and paying attention in my offline life for about 4 months and with a concerted effort starting 2 1/2 months ago. (Yes, I know the exact date I moved from “things take time” to “START NOW”.) It hasn’t yet bled over to my online life.

In the last 24 hours I’ve been having front-and-center plus behind-the-scenes conversations with a number of folks ~ their impressions of how I present myself online consist of a gamut of viewpoints, covering a great range, but a couple of core things overlap.  It has been fascinating, in the best sense of that word.

What I do know is that my online self used to be a really close match to my offline self, and the chasm between the two has grown. (There are a hundred reasons for it, but none matter to the point I’m writing about.) I started righting that with the magical turn of the calendar page, but it is a slow process, with backslides. Time is the only proof that will show it, so you’ll just have to trust me. Or not. Your choice.

Here on this blog is mostly Boneweaver, keeper of the Dead, chronicler of the learnings and foibles of walking my spiritual path. Other venues have seen SJ PJ, *rawr*ing up a storm. Neither of those is all of me. Both of those are not all of me. (Never will *all* of me be out there. C’mon, I’m pretty open, but I keep more than half of me to myself.)

I desire to pull the edges of that chasm closer together. I don’t wish to eliminate the chasm – the abyss in the center is where the Mystery lies – but I wish to move back to where when I met someone offline who had known me only online they would say, “You’re just as I thought! Except nicer.” (What can I say, text reflects me harshly. I try not to use too many extra words. *looks at length of post* I have really edited this down from what’s in my head – I swear!)

I wish to reflect more of me in all of my online spaces. Compartmentalization of me has not been good for me, and as I have impact with what I choose to put out in the world, it has not been good for others, either.

One thing that I am just getting brave enough to put out here is the art I do. I don’t often see myself as courageous, but with my art, every post is a steeled-nerve act of bravery. I’m taking lessons from someone who has been refining her skill for decades. They are donation-gratefully-accepted-free lessons through Facebook. You can find the first lesson HERE. It is my gift to myself, conquering the fear and rewriting the old story that I can only art in abstract because the skill of realism died with my father.

And now it’s your turn — what would you like to see more of from me? I really am interested to know.

(And I’m going to hit publish before I chicken out, so read through the typos, please.)