Friday, March 22, 2013

That Time of Year

Earth Hour is tomorrow evening, 8:30 to 9:30 PM your local time.

I write about this every year because I believe that every year we need reminding of the power of powerlessness.  

One hour of our time- without electric lights- can change so very much.  Consider this- what if we turned off our lights every day for just one hour longer?  How much energy would we save?  How much power would recharge?
This may seem like an utter aside- but go with it.  I try every night to read by candle light.  It does two things for me- keeps the electric buzz away and restores the simplicity for which I so long.  I doubt that I am changing the world or making any ostensible mark on the electric grid by this hour of candlelit ease.  I doubt that anyone even cares. 

But tomorrow- tomorrow we can all change the world and indeed make a terribly ostensible mark on the electric grid.  Tomorrow I hope that everyone cares. 

Much love, 


Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Ostara- the Equinox

I realize that I blog about the big Witch Days all the time- assumedly to the point of your, dear readers, annoyance.

So about the Spring Equinox- this is what I give you: "This season is Wild and Untamed."

Much love,
and until next time, my dear ones, Happy Ostara.

Friday, March 15, 2013

'Till Human Voices Wake Us-

And We Drown.

I have a book.  It is a TS Eliot compilation published sometime in the 1950s, that I picked up somewhere in my world travels at some second hand bookstore.

Over time, it has become my Bible.  That's right, folks, this Witch has a text of religious sorts.  She has a Bard, in a manner of speaking... or writing, as it were.

It goes everywhere with me; it lives in a constant state of motion because I live in a constant state of motion.   The only difference between his book and my passport is the stamps.  And... well... the photo of me.

I have written in every spare margin with Chinese pencils and Australian pens; I have memorized entire passages; I have accidentally torn bits off and rather intentionally taped those bits back in.  I have read poems aloud- to birds, to no one, to foreigners who did not understand any single word of it.  And I have lived and died by those words- those worn, weary, wrenching words.  I have not known another poet the way I know Eliot- nor has another poet known me in such a way.

For every moment I have, every emotion I feel- Eliot has a line.  He has a word, a stanza, an entire poem.  His literature helped me to define myself.  He gave a voice- a worn, weary, wrenching voice- to the unrelenting madness that unfolded in my head, that unfolds in my head.  I feel intimately connected to his work.  The first time I heard this voice was upon reading the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, when I finally reached the final stanza:

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown. 

Nothing, to my adolescent mind (and you should not be even remotely surprised that I began dabbling in Eliot as an adolescent), ever read so perfectly.  I became obsessed with the power of the last line.  And that obsession has grown, lingeringly and deliciously, over time.

All of it all of it all of it!  I cannot express or communicate the depth of my fervor for this poet's poetry! Other people get songs stuck in their heads- I get poems.  Read Part III of East Coker (out of Four Quartets) and be utterly captivated by the following:

So I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. 

And then tell me that poetry can't be stuck in your head.

To be honest- that final Prufrock line has been stuck in my head all day- prompting this particular blog.

For each and every one of you I wish an Eliot- a Bard, a Bible, a Voice.


Thursday, March 7, 2013


- The Guilty Pleasures Edition.

Deception.  Love it... hate it...- Don't care.  All I know is that I can't stop watching it!  Deliciously ridiculous and not even remotely scandalous, it's brilliantly silly and delightfully absurd.  There is sex, tons of drugs, and murder.  In Manhattan.  Amongst the wealthy.  Stellar and Guilty.

I want you to... LISTEN TO THIS SONG.  I hate myself, but it is what it is.  Poppy, precious, and oh so guilt-inducing, 'Stay' introduced me to Mikky Ekko- who does a bang up job at the whole 'musician' thing.

White Zinfandel.  Weirdly enough, even as a wine-o, I like it.  For this guilty pleasure, I have to thank my brother's in-laws.  His sis- and mom-in-law prefer this wine and, go figure, it does not suck.  Even for the sweeter side of wine.  I had a white zin from Rex Goliath the other day and it was simply delightful.

Mountain Hardwear Monkey Fur Fleece.  I bought one the other day and have since to take it off.  I like to pretend that I am wearing something akin to the softest blanket you will ever ever have in your entire life.

And finally, always, BOOKS.

Until next time, loves...