Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Summer Solstice



It is the longest day of the year and it is the mark of the summer season. The summer solstice focuses on the attributes of the male deity in Pagan trads. The Sun is seen as the masculine representation of the Lord and the Moon is the feminine aspect of the Lady.

The solstice is marked by Pagan brothers and sisters with celebrations for luck, renewal, love, health and prosperity. Feasting and dancing and bon fires are wonderful elements of the feast and optimism of spirit is called for. Gather friends and family and cook food outside, play music, dance and have fun and celebrate the feast of the sun.

Burn some fennel, rue, rosemary, lemon verbena, St. Johns Wort, laburnum, foxgloves, and elder flowers to help usher in the season. These herbs will encourage prosperity and a greater sense of well being. Light a blue or white candle for peace and a gold candle (or yellow) to draw luck and money and success to you. If you have the ability, take a dip naked in a pool (just make sure the neighbors can't see you) and celebrate your unity with the elements...

Celebrations are June the 21st, but some folk begin their celebrations ten hours before the dawn of the sun on the 21st

Monday, September 19, 2011

Censorship

I had to censor myself yesterday. I know, we have to do it all the time, but I am a writer and I write for several bogs and my website. I write a lot of things, essays, research reports for mythology and I write fan fiction for True Blood.

I know what I am doing in not at all that unique. In fact it is down right common place in this day and age. But I do something that is sort interesting, at least to us, and that is I write a long novel length adventure story and I post it up, chapter by chapter on Wednesdays throughout True Blood's long hiatus.

Last year, I wrote Death's Door and it was bout a sickness going around the Vampires they were catching from True Blood. I know, it sounds like the plot of the comic books, but I swear I wrote it months before the comic came out and was more than half way through the story when they hit the market...

This one is called Wake the Dead and there is a dangerous Vampire on the loose...What makes this story and the one I wrote previous to it is we who are the members of the forum are actual characters in the story along with Eric and Bill and Pam and Jessica and Alcide and other characters either from True Blood or the books.

But I also write other things. One of the things I write for the members of the group are what we call date nights and I go into detail about what might happen with an enthusiastic Vampire. Or a werewolf.

Anyway, I also use the creative writing bits to help me think about the characters I write about because I usually go a little deeper into the characters and delve into their past. Eric of course being 1000 years old and a Viking is fun to get into. And in my stories, there is a lot of yummy tension between us. I am what I call in our stories, a sister wife to Bill Compton. That's because all of our girls have aligned themselves with one character or other and we have to share, there is no exclusivity in our group, we have to. So with a nod to Big Love we are the sister wives.

But, the thing is, up to now, all I have been writing about in that genre is about sex. I wanted to explore something else with the characters, I wanted to see if there was something more, and there is, so I wrote a little thing I call the Devil's Delimma. Eric wants my character, and I want him, but I know that as soon as we hit the sack it is all over with, I am just another conquest. So I was using this story to set up a situation where we would be friends... and nothing more, but I left the tale open ended, to continue the line of thought I was having about Eric and I was hoping other members of the forum would come up and write about their chats with their fave character.

What I didn't count on was one of our members would actually get fobbed off at me because of the story. She basically got jealous....Which puzzles me because she takes up a lot of the character time with Eric in the adventures. I just think it is brutally unfair of her to make me feel like I am taking something from her, when she doesn't even wait to see how things shake out.

So I did something, I have never done before. I took the story out. It is no longer openly available. It is on a blog I don't use too much and if I ever get in the mood to write more about our little meetings, I will do it there and not share it with everyone.

What I was hoping is they would remark on something I was thinking about as far the character. I chat with Bill and Pam and Jessica all of the time in the stories, and really Bill and Pam are around the same age and we sort of know what Victorian England and America was like, it was not that long ago. But Eric is ancient. I was hoping they would say something like..you know, I always wondered...and then add a question or an idea.

But no, they were upset I was stealing their fictional boyfriend away from them....Sigh...

So I censored myself and I feel like have been violated. I feel like I have been slapped back and told to stay on my side of the street, to get back to my level. And it hurts. Because I am a writer and I cherish my thoughts and imaginings and what I thought was going to be sweet and blameless relationship has become a battle of the wills. I should have let Eric bend me over and shag me...they would have accepted that better.

The thing that hurts the most is they thanked me for taking down the story....They thanked me for letting them dampen my creative spirit, they thanked me for letting them hate the story I wrote. They thanked me and that hurts even worse than being censored......

So thank you for breaking my heart.....I appreciate it....

Friday, April 22, 2011

Earth Day is the Mother's Day

I am one of those people who wished I could do more for the environment. I mean, I plant flowers and I try not to make a lot of waste and I love to see the green places and trees that cover the mountains and the critters who sometimes visit the yard. I feel close to the earth in my little green patch and I love it.

I am a Christian but sometimes I feel like a little pagan about the green things because my religion says this earth will pass away and we should not count on the survival of the earth. And I do believe that. But I think in many ways the earth's demise and ours is because we are not doing the very first job God gave his little humans when he made us and that is to be caretakers of the garden.

No, we are not caretakers of the garden. I heard one preacher say we are no longer responsible for the earth because the old earth, including the Garden of Eden was washed away in the flood, never to be seen again...And really, I sort of believe some of that statement because we won't ever see God's Garden again. And that is because of us.

Not because we are sinners, but because we are humans. We don't love what we are not close to and I think that is the reason why Earth will die and we will be evicted. Mother Earth is trying her very best to shake us off her skin with earth quakes and wild fires and hurricanes and floods because she is tired of us leaching off her. In Avatar, the hero, Jake Sully comes to chat with Awah, the mother goddess the Navi worship. He tells her "They killed their mother," and I believe we have.

I try to imagine our world the way it must have been when the Native Americans lived here. No great buildings, most Native Americans were semi nomadic and they had rules about resources. They would leave one camp for another to allow the ground to heal, to encourage the animals to come back and they left no trace of themselves except the memories of the elders. I think about the bears and the deer and the panthers and wild cats and the huge turkey buzzards and the hawks and eagles that used to call WV home. I think about the wild things that grew here and the innocent children of nature who lived here and thanked the Mother and her children for every bite of food in their mouths and every sip of water and every breath they took because all of it was precious. It was not a right to have, it was a privilege and if you didn't show respect and bless the spirits of all things all around you, they abandoned you to starvation and disease so ungrateful people would die off and leave grateful people behind.

But then there is this change, so called "civilized people" came and they scarred the earth and they took more than they needed and they killed for pleasure..not just each other...but their brethren, the bears and the deer and birds and they gave no thanks, asked no pardon, revered no soul...except theirs. Which is sad. Because they God they worship starts out his relationship with them as a gardener.

Pagans believe in a God and Goddess. They take many forms, but one of those forms is of the Green Man and Mother Earth. I feel no confusion in seeing the Christian God that way, because God was a gardener and he wanted us to take care of his garden. And the Garden of Eden was not just a place...it was the world entire. Wherever you put your foot there is the Garden of Eden. And when you do not spare her a moment, our Mother, our Eden, then we ignore our first job, our first parent. God created us, we are told, from the earth, from the Mother, and he blew the breath of life into us and made us in his image and the animals were not afraid of us and we named them and we cared for the earth. Man's sin was not simply eating the apple, it was he ate the apple and didn't plant the seeds so more trees could grow and more apples be made.

We are known by our fruits, or so the book says, and though it is a metaphor for living right and being good, it is a truth. What do you give back to the mother when you enjoy her bounty? I know not everyone lives on a farm or a rural place, but...even just planting flowers or picking up a piece of trash on the side walk or sharing clothes with people or being thrifty or walking to places instead of driving everywhere....this is a way of showing appreciation for our world. So even the city bound can be naturalists. And hug that tree a little, she will like it and I suggest you will too....

Peace and Blessed Be

Saturday, February 12, 2011

In the Circle of his Arms

It's been a year. A year since I looked up from a steaming pot of chicken and dumplins and saw my angel come through the door. So much has happened since then, I don't know where to start.

It's amazing...just when I thought no man could ever want me, I curl up each night and let the thunder of his heart beat sing its lullaby to me.I feel his warmth and his arms cradling me and I know without a shadow of a doubt he loves me more than anything in this world. I feel his love for me, not just in those precious times he is inside me but all the times in between.

Sean is the world to me. I love him more than my life. And I hope God forgives me if I love him just a shade more...God is so intangible but Sean is right there. In a way, loving Sean the way I do, I love God as well, because I find God in Sean...

Happy one year anniversary baby...I love you so much

Friday, January 14, 2011

I Hate You

Don't get excited...I don't hate YOU, but that is what I want to talk about.

I suppose it is a combination of things that is prompting me to write this entry in my blog. No, I am not referencing anyone who would decide that witches should be barbecued. I am talking about simple hate.

And I am not pontificating here, I am guilty of hate. God knows as much as we try we get fed up and decide "I hate you". It's a heinous thing to say. It's a dangerous thing to say.

I see hatred all the time on the net. I hate this, I hate that, I hate her, I hate him, I hate them. I hate the liberals, I hate the conservatives, I hate that religion or I hate this religion...Really.

If you practice some form of magik, regardless of your tradition, you hear it all the time: I hate the fluffy bunny witches, I hate the hyphenated tradition witches, I hate the Christian Witches, I hate the atheist witches. Hate, hate, hate.

And it doesn't stop there... I hate men, I hate women, I hate gays, I hate straights, I hate other races...Whew...it's enough to make you sick really. I guess that is what I am...sick to death of hate.

Now, I am no hippy flower child with peace signs painted on my face. And I am not looking to be voted Miss Congeniality but we have to stop hating. It really is the root of all evil.

Wars are started because of hate. Murders happen because of hate. Theft is because of hate. Adultery is because of hate. The break up of families is because of hate. Hopelessness is because of hate. Faithlessness is because of hate.

As a Christian I am asked to pray for those who hate you and spitefully use you. We are promised that pity is like coals heaped upon the hater's head. So that is what I am going to do...I am going to pity you.

I look at your faces. Do you know how ugly you are when your face is twisted while you spew out your vile words and you shake your fist at the objects of your hate? Who could love you? I know you don't love yourself. And perhaps that is the worst thing about hate. It reveals a deep seated inner hatred for self. So I pity you.

We are not going to be holding hands and singing Kumbya anytime soon, nor are we going to be taking long walks on the beach together. But I resolve to stop hating you back. I will pity you, and I will pity your children and your friends and your family because they must either be like you or are victims themselves of your tyranny of hate.

I will light a candle scented with lavender and inscribed with the pentacle and the peace sign and send up my greatest prayer for you, and for myself, that you and I both will transcend our hate for one another. I will pray for you. Because in hating you, I have become you. I don't want to be you anymore. I want to be free of you and if I can, I want to free you from it as well.

So, I light this candle for the following:

Myself: Aslinn Dhan Dragonhawk
Osama Bin Laden (Lord help me and give me strength)
KKK
The Phelpses from the Westbourough Baptist Church
Neo-Nazis
Nazis
Trolls and Flamers on the internet
Gay haters
Woman and Man haters
Drama Queens and Kings
Witch Haters
Religion Haters (Bill Moyer, Ricky Gervais, anyone else...you know who you are)
Anyone else not on this list but should be.

I don't expect you to fall down and have the scales fall from your eyes like Paul on the road to Damascus...But I hope some day you will feel the energy of not tolerance but acceptance, and instead of hating you learn patience and even a little pity.

Brightest Blessings Be

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Samhain



Another Samhain is coming and I am loving the coming Witches New Year...I simply love this Sabbat the most. It is time for us to remember those who have gone before us and a time to reflect on the old year and welcome a new year.

Things I Would Love to Accomplish this Year:

1. Get my new house painted on the inside and get moved in if the landlord will just move it along....
2. Get ready for my trip to Sweden and England to see my future inlaws....
3. Have a really great holiday season with my inlaws here in the states...
4. Love my boy more this year than I have ever...which isn't hard
5. Continue having good health...Which I have enjoyed for some months now...
6. Continue my work with my True Blood Fansite and finally get the adventure I have been writing finished.....
7. Be a better person to my fellow man....
8. Enjoy my life with little or no drama....
9. Stop and smell the roses....
10. Thank God for all He has given me...

What are your hopes for the New Year?

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Happy Mabon


I hope everyone is preparing for the fall seasons and the Sabbats we will be celebrating soon. One fo the things I love the most about the Sabbots for fall are the colors. The yellows and golds and muted greens and purples and black. I remember a particularly important gift I received at Mabon: My pentacle star.

When I decided to become a witch I seemed to see the five pointed star everywhere, and not just the star but the ring around it, the true witch's star. It has such rich meaning to us who follow the craft. Despite years of abuse by Hollywood, the pentacle and the pentagram, the transversed star, is full of symbolic meaning and all of it good.

The Pentacle symbolizes the spirit and the four elements. The Pentagram symbolizes elements of faith: Wisdom, Fortitude, Intention, Intuition and Empowerment. It enables us to seek and know one another. I love to see other witches wearing their pentacles and I can smile and say a quiet Blessed Be or Merry Meet and see that surprised but pleased look on their face. It is the feeling of not being alone in a society that often times lets you know they could do without you. You walk a little steadier, your shoulders are a little straighter and you feel recognized and treasured.

To all of those who wear the Star: Happy Mabon and a very blessed be.....

Aslinn.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Love and Magik

So, I have happy news. I am engaged to be married. I met the most wonderful man in England. His name is Sean and I am head over heels. He has left England to live with me in America. He is a very bright lawyer and he is my safe place.

One of the wonderful things about being in this relationship with Sean is he knows I am a witch. How could he not. When I met him I was boiling some mugwort for my bruises and he came in and asked me what I was doing. I told him what I was doing and told him I was a witch.

When our relationship deepened, I gave him a book about being in a relationship with a witch, either as a family member or a romantic partner. It explains some the basic things he should know about life with a Witch...which is basically, we are just like everyone else, we simply pray and work a little differently. He has accepted me wholeheartedly and I love him deeply for it.

So, one of things we must really think about is how to tell people we love who we are. This is not always easy and it will not always work out the way we would like, but being honest and being open to questions, even if they trouble us or make us feel defensive is always the best policy. Sharing yourself with the universe is always hard, we are raised to be so self centered and egoistic. But letting go and letting God is always the best way to do things.

Before you decide to tell someone, you may want to cast some spells that encourage acceptance and understanding and cool emotions. You might want to cast for yourself to have wisdom on your tongue and anger cooled, because sometimes they can upset you. You can also ask for protection from negativity, not only for yourself but those you talk to. All these things can help you when you decide, with trepidation, to step out of the Broom Closet....

Blessed be,
Aslinn

Monday, June 28, 2010

Back to Work

Thank you so much for all of your support and concern, and now I am ready to go back to work on my blog.

So, to begin writing again on my blog, I will write about following your path.

Because, in a way, I have been on the path but stuck along side of the road broke down, with my hood up so to speak. Now I am well enough to put my feet back on it and I rejoice.

So, something that I have been experiencing is meeting people who are just now putting their feet on the path to the Craft. As we all know, not all stay with us, but there is something exhilarating about being on the path. It is intoxicating and suddenly the world becomes brighter.

I remember my beginnings on the path, the rush to buy books and to study and know more and more. The feeling that...Wow...there is more to this than just waving a wand and muttering a few words. It is about finding the magik in yourself, that you have had all along and learning how to use it.

I hope that everyone goes on a path. And not just a path to magik, but a path to self. We are amazing creatures, humans, full of passion and joys and terrors. I think it is sad that so many of us do not go inside ourselves and explore our own human potential. We lose so much.

Aslinn

Friday, January 22, 2010

Hi

It has been such a long time since I wrote on this blog. Thanks to all who have sent me good vibes and best intentions.

It has been a long time since I have written on this blog because I had a relapse of my cancer, but I am much better now and I will be back in action, writing and musing and teaching and learning about the craft.

Blessed be to all who have sent me your best wishes.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Dead and Gone-Impressions

So, I have read the latest offering from Charlaine Harris, Dead and Gone. First of all I would like to say that Harris is not a strong writer. What I do like are the characters and the scenarios and world she has created, but in my estimation, I think she could do better as a writer.

Having said that, I will tell you something about the new book.

The new book takes place during the faery wars. Sookie's great grandfather, the faery prince Niall, is in a family feud with Dermott, his grandson, who is Sookie's great uncle.

At the same time, she is being pulled ever closer to Eric, the Sheriff of Area Five and the owner of the Vampire Bar Fangtasia. After much time has elapsed with the take over of the territory which once belonged to Sophie Anne, now definitely deceased, Eric has sent for Sookie and asked her to present a mysterious gift to him in front of the King of Nevada's representative. And Sookie doesn't even take the time to look at it, she simply appears at Fangtasia and with some cerimony, hands Eric the gift. He then unwraps it and reveals it is a cerimonial knife used in Vampire wedding cerimonies (between Vampires, that is, humans and Vampires are still restricted legally in what they can do.). He takes the knife in his hands and kisses it and the representative makes a statement of Eric and Sookie's vow to one another. Aparently they are now bonded together in a love match and that is a bond that cannot be broken by the King. And apparently, Quinn the were-tiger and Sookie's one time (and I mean that literally) lover has been banned from entering Eric's domain.

Sookie resents this high handed act by the Viking Vampire and lets him know about it. But she has bigger fish to fry. Sam and the other shifters have made the great reveal. Figuring that they have the advantage of being human with a quirk, as opposed to being dead bloodsuckers, the shifters have revealed themselves to the world. As a result, Sam's step dad shot his mom when she changed into her animal self and he has been called away and Sookie is put in charge of the bar. Under her watch, Jason's faithless wife has been found crucified behind Merlotte's and the FBI are sniffing around in connection with her work at the Pyramid in Rhodes with Barry Bellboy.

But the FBI and the Crystal story are just side stories that Harris resolves rather abruptly. The meat of the story is the faery war. Everyone is warning her about the impending battle. Dermott is ruthless and very anti human. He knows that Niall loves his great granddaughter and he figures that if he kills Sookie, this will lure Niall into an all out war. Claudine and Claude, Sookie's faery cousins visit with her and tell her to be careful of a man who looks like Jason but isn't.

Meanwhile, Sookie, being burdened by the stresses of the murder of Crystal and the other things in her life, she goes to Fangtasia just for the consolation of Eric's company. She forgoes the opportunity to give Eric a real reaming out for his use of her in the love match thing in favor of listening to Eric's back story.

Eric was the son of a chieftain and he married his dead brother's wife, Aude. Aude was older than he and I think he was very fond of her, even loved her. Eric had six children with Aude and she died with a post-parum infection, she and the baby. One night as he was returning from his courtship of another woman he was waylaid by a man who turned out to be a Vampire. He was made Vampire by a Roman soldier and he was subservient to his maker's whims, which included sex with the endlessly virile Viking Vampire. He explained that he eventually accustomed himself to that aspect as he learned how to be a Vampire. This is very intimate for the Vampire Eric to tell Sookie about how he was made and I think on some levels he was telling her the story to show her that he has some little commonality with her as he himslef was forced into a sexual subservience much like she was when she was being mad handled by her uncle Bartlett.

Sookie comes home with lots to think about but like Scarlett, she always puts it off. Things seem to simmer down for a while until she has to kill a faery in her garden who was sent to kill her. She contacts her Great Grandfather who comes with Sookie's great uncle to clean up the faerie remains.

That evening, Sookie is visted by none other than Quinn, the weretiger. Bill shows up and gets into a physical altercation with Sookie ending up in the middle of it. Knocked briefly unconscious, she awakes to Eric mopping off her face with a very wet wash rag, her mouth full of Eric's blood and no clothes on. Eric figures there is no time like the present to restake(heh, heh) his claim on Sookie. Whatever it is that Sookie has, it makes Eric shout something positively exclamatory in foreign language.

Friday, May 08, 2009

I don't know how to love him


I was speaking with my sister witch today on IM and I could tell that she seemed troubled, so I asked her what was wrong. She said that she had written a post on her own blog and she suggested I take a look at it.


In it she wrote of the Sacred Male, the God, and how she felt his robust and passionate energy. She likened him Wolverine in the X-Men movies and she expressed a longing for the sexual and passionate and sometimes violent masculinity of the God.


Now, I am not a Pagan, I have only one notion of God, but I respect the images of him conjured up by all people and creeds and trads. But I do see God in a way that is different from most all Christians. And I will try to explain here how I see him.


Early Christian thinkers were very interested in how to mold God's personal image so we could create an unique and special bond with him. They could not see God as the randy, lusty gods of the Romans and Greeks, nor could they see him as the other Pagans saw the sacred Male. So they did the unconscienable, they neutered God. Terrible thing to do.


And when folks go searching for some sprirtual other and they encounter Wicca, every third word is goddess. And I understand that. After being force fed this male centered religious dogma designed to strangle women from the rights to their own bodies and their sexual identities and from their material goods, any religion that praises the sacred feminine is a welcome change.


Unfortunately an imbalance occurs and when thoughts and hearts and yes, desires turn to the notion of the sacred masculine, there is a confusion and maybe even a sense of shame or embarrassment when desire and passion and need come to the surface and burn the body and the mind with that desire.


This is confusing especially to the Christian witch. God was always some one who was beyond our reach, who we could not understand as a sexual being. But, think about the Song of Solomon:


Song of Solomon



The song of songs, which is Solomon's.
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.
Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.
Draw me, we will run after thee: the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee.
I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.
Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me: my mother's children were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept.
Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions?
If thou know not, O thou fairest among women, go thy way forth by the footsteps of the flock, and feed thy kids beside the shepherds' tents.
I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots.
Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold.
We will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver.
While the king sitteth at his table, my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof.
A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.
My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi.
Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes.
Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: also our bed is green.
The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir.



Chapter 2



I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.
As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.
Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.
His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.
My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice.
My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.
My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.
Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.



Chapter 3



By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?
It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother's house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me.
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all powders of the merchant?
Behold his bed, which is Solomon's; threescore valiant men are about it, of the valiant of Israel.
They all hold swords, being expert in war: every man hath his sword upon his thigh because of fear in the night.
King Solomon made himself a chariot of the wood of Lebanon.
He made the pillars thereof of silver, the bottom thereof of gold, the covering of it of purple, the midst thereof being paved with love, for the daughters of Jerusalem.
Go forth, O ye daughters of Zion, and behold king Solomon with the crown wherewith his mother crowned him in the day of his espousals, and in the day of the gladness of his heart.



Chapter 4



Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.
Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them.
Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.
Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.
Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.
Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me from Lebanon: look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions' dens, from the mountains of the leopards.
Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.
How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! how much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thine ointments than all spices!
Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.
A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.
Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard,
Spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices:
A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon.
Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.



Chapter 5



I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse: I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk: eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved.
I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.
I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?
My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.
I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.
I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.
The watchmen that went about the city found me, they smote me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.
I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.
What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thou fairest among women? what is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us?
My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.
His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.
His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh.
His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl: his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires.
His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.
His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.



Chapter 6



Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou fairest among women? whither is thy beloved turned aside? that we may seek him with thee.
My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies.
Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners.
Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me: thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Gilead.
Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep which go up from the washing, whereof every one beareth twins, and there is not one barren among them.
As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks.
There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, and virgins without number.
My dove, my undefiled is but one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her. The daughters saw her, and blessed her; yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.
Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?
I went down into the garden of nuts to see the fruits of the valley, and to see whether the vine flourished and the pomegranates budded.
Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib.
Return, return, O Shulamite; return, return, that we may look upon thee. What will ye see in the Shulamite? As it were the company of two armies.



Chapter 7



How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince's daughter! the joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman.
Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lilies.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.
Thy neck is as a tower of ivory; thine eyes like the fishpools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bathrabbim: thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus.
Thine head upon thee is like Carmel, and the hair of thine head like purple; the king is held in the galleries.
How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!
This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.
I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples;
And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.
I am my beloved's, and his desire is toward me.
Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in the villages.
Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my loves.
The mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.



Chapter 8



O that thou wert as my brother, that sucked the breasts of my mother! when I should find thee without, I would kiss thee; yea, I should not be despised.
I would lead thee, and bring thee into my mother's house, who would instruct me: I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine of the juice of my pomegranate.
His left hand should be under my head, and his right hand should embrace me.
I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, until he please.
Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? I raised thee up under the apple tree: there thy mother brought thee forth: there she brought thee forth that bare thee.
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.
We have a little sister, and she hath no breasts: what shall we do for our sister in the day when she shall be spoken for?
If she be a wall, we will build upon her a palace of silver: and if she be a door, we will inclose her with boards of cedar.
I am a wall, and my breasts like towers: then was I in his eyes as one that found favour.
Solomon had a vineyard at Baalhamon; he let out the vineyard unto keepers; every one for the fruit thereof was to bring a thousand pieces of silver.
My vineyard, which is mine, is before me: thou, O Solomon, must have a thousand, and those that keep the fruit thereof two hundred.
Thou that dwellest in the gardens, the companions hearken to thy voice: cause me to hear it.
Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices.



Did you see all those sacred sexual images. While we know the writer is praising an earthly lover, couldn't this also be an indication of God's sexuality? His romatic and passionate view as a Male God for the women who follow and trust in him. Think about the visitation to Mary. The Angel makes its announcement and God overshadows Mary and I believe, in his own metaphysical way he made love to her while he was putting Jesus in her belly.


So sexual love and desire is part of the God, whether he is the God of the Pagans or he is the God of the Cross, the Christian God, and deny that part of ourselves, the part that desires God and the intimacy he designed for us to share with our lovers and with him, it to deny the act of God's love for us.


Love ye one another

And Brightest Blessing Be

Aslinn

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

Dead and Gone

So I lay here, all curled up, reading Dead and Gone and feeling a mixture of pleasure and pain for my poor beleagured Bill. I won't get into it yet, not until there are a few more days between the intital readings and rereadings of the book.

Let's just say there is nothing really settled for my favorite Vampire. :'(

Monday, May 04, 2009

Why I love the True Blood/ Charlaine Harris Stories


I wrote this post for the True Blood forum I belong to in response to a thread entitled: Why do we love Vampire stories?

I have only fallen in love twice in my life. The first was a man who I loved but could not love me back. The second was my husband and he died of NonHodgkin's Lymphoma about 13 years ago.

I have always loved the story of the Vampire, the scary/ sexy creature who desires you more than any other creature on earth. But I never really understood the character of Vampires like Dracula and Louie and Lestat until I read those stories after the death of my husband.

I always knew that my husband was going to die of his cancer, he'd been living with it for 2 or 3 years when we met. I suppose he reminds me something of Bill. He doesn't look at all like Bill, though they are about the same height and build and they have that same deliberate way of speaking. And my husband was very courtly, like Bill, even though he was an old hippy.

I remember, after he died, that I reread Dracula for a Victorian Literature course and I had of course read it before. But I cried like a baby over the Count. He was so sad and lonley in his Vampiric existance. And then of course the film by Francis Ford Coppola, I was miserable for Gary Oldman and the way he played the Count.

I think the thing that I really related to with the Dracula character were the passages you mentioned, crossing seas of time and love that never dies and the way Mina Murray says "take me away from all this dead," when Dracula blood bonds with her.

My husband and I did not want to get involved with each other. He was a dead man walking, twenty years my senior and I was a young woman barely 21. A lot of what happens between Sookie and Bill is the way mine and Jimmy's life began: an older man, a veteran (Vietnam) and a young girl with a lot of social stigma on us because of our age difference, and a sort of doomed romance thing going on that made it appealing (Believe me, the doomed romance thing was not appealing at the time). We worked together as Bill and Sookie do in the second book and Jimmy's illness and the fact that he was dealing with his war time memories, like poor Terry Bellefleur, (and Bill).

I hadn't really realized just how much alike this whole experience of loving a "dead" man is like the books.

I have to go away for a bit and think about this.

Whew ???

And he was very needy, like Bill. Even for blood. No, he didn't bite me, but when he needed blood for surgery, since I'm O-, the universal blood type, I donated blood to him when he had surgery so, we had something like a blood bond.

It's funny how you read something and the story seems one way to you and then as you have experiences your point of view changes when you read it again, because of the experiences in your life. I'm glad I put this post up and you responded to it. It makes perfect sense to me now why I am so hyped up over Bill and Sookie's romance. It's the true love that will never die.

Friday, May 01, 2009

What I have Learned from Cancer

What I have learned from cancer is pretty simple. The human touch is necessary. Not just the touch of nurses and doctors and chemo techs and radiation techs. But the touch of people who are not there to do a proceedure on you, who are not there to perform a chore or provide a service or any of the things associated with the disease.

My doctor, the one who sort of sounds like Stephen Moyer when I close my eyes, is a very proper Brit. I like him, though he is a funny doctor, and ordinarily,I am impatient with funny doctors, but today when he visited my room, he seemed down. I haven't any of my magikal energies back to any sort of level, but his aura was static-like and troubling.

He's had a "spot of bad news" as he said, in his very proper Queen's English. Apparently his brother was involved in a very serious car accident and will likely be paralyzed from the waist down. He is my doctor's twin brother. And my doctor is making the trip home soon to see him. I reached out and touched his hand. He has slender, delicate hands, the hands of a surgeon. They were very warm to me and though I think he felt uncomfortable with me touching him (I think this had more to do with his Britishness than with my being sick), he seemed to relax as I squeezed the hand that opened me up and birthed my little stranger. That seems so intimate, but I tell you, there was nothing more intimate than that moment, touching his hand.

And when he left, I thought how amazing it felt to hold another person's hand. How much energy I felt in the warmth and pressure of his hand. Then I thought about all the times that I was alone and afraid and I wished there was someone there to hold my hand. My mom did it for a while, and after a while she just couldn't bear to touch me anymore. And my dad was the same, though he chickened out sooner. And then there was my sister, who touched me like a nurse, perfunctory, like a professional.

Jaime and I used to hold hands when we were at club chemo. He had leukemia and he had even more pain than I did and sometimes I think he held my hand because he was in pain and he felt braver because he didn't want be scared in front of me. I was holding his hand when he died.

But to have a living person hold your hand, a healthy, well nourished, warm skinned person hold your hand is like lying in a warm bath, feeling the support and gentle pressure of the water holding you securely and holding you up at the same time. It is that cone of peace and normality that says there are still living creatures out there who will not shrink from your touch.

So, if you find yourslef in a situation where you are with the sick and you can't find anything to say, simply hold their hand, stroke their fingers and let them feel your living heat. It will be the touch of life for them.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Alchemy Lessons I have Learned

So, here I am, getting better now, after so long in the hospital and so long sick. I have many miles to go before I am well and I still have challenges to face. But I am alive and I am hopeful.

Owlthena asked me if the Craft helped me in anyway and I have to say that it did. Understanding the history of modern medicine through the Craft and understanding not only the physical changes but the metaphysical changes in my body have opened me up in a lot of ways to the notion of healing through magik. And all magik really is the act of nature and the super nature coming together to cause change. Since I know how many of the chemicals they used on me in their basic form works on a chemical and alchemical basis, I internalized and ritualized my process of healing or letting go. It really could have gone both ways and it still can, there are no promises to me from my doctors or from the medical community that I will live to celebrate a single post-cancer year.

What it has done is shown me how to redirect my energies and be even more determined to teach others the Way of the Wise, regardless of creed. Anyone who wishes to dedicate themselves to the ancient and noble art can learn witchcraft and embrace it as a part of their lives. But I reiterate, the Craft is not for everyone and it does not solve all your problems. What it can do is strengthen you to face those problems and use the energy that might otherwise be a source of anxiety and channel it into the world as pure magik.

Even now I am preparing by meditation and contemplation and renewed efforts at study, now I am getting stronger. I am depleted but I know that energy can come back to me in the form of simply working the Craft, pulling its chi into me and replenishing the reservior of magikal energies that once flowed through me. I will create energies by being creative in my Craft life and my personal life.

And I will try to temper my outspokeness with gentleness. I will continue to speak my piece and speak it bravely with no apologies for who or what I am, but I will temper it with compassion. And I will not tolerate hatred around me, I will shun it and keep it out of my life.

So I wait. A little over a month I will be set free from this world into the world of the living and I will embrace my possibilities and I thank all of you who have written me and been my friends on this blog and in the world. I hope you will always teach me about compassion and empathy.

Te Dia Agus Anam
Aslinn

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

My Book of Shadows


For those of you who may be interested, I have posted my Book of Shadows online through 4shared. Feel free to download it. It is free and I offer it as a gift to anyone who has been reading my blog and has been interested in the workings of a Christian walking the path of Witchcraft.

It is an Adobe document, so is you don't already have it, download one. It too is free.

Thanks to all who have been so supportive to me and Brightest Blessings Be.

http://www.4shared.com/file/100683406/d968be88/Aslinn_Dhans_Christian_Witches_Book_of_Shadows.html

Aslinn

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Bully

Sometime in my blog I talked about being a substitute teacher and how I was leaving the teaching profession, at least as a sub, and looking for other work. Of course I came down with cancer and haven't seen much in the way of a new job since I got sick.

But then I was watching the news and in the past couple of weeks two young kids, one of them eleven years old, killed themselves because they were being bullied in school. And the comments were primarily about how the school was responsible.

Let me tell you something. I want you to listen really close. For every one kid who is marginally interested in school, who sits quietly, who is polite, who does the best they can, who is a joy to have in the classroom, there are five who are absolute monsters. They talk to everyone like they are animals. Their every other word is either Fuck or Bitch and sometimes they are used together. They fear no one. They hate everyone and if you interfere in their activities, you can be guaranteed to be hit, slapped, punched or otherwise abused.

I am a 5'3" woman. I was a chubby woman when I was diagnosed but I was never a bruiser. There were kids who would stand over me and tell me what I was and was not going to do. They routinely told me to get my fucking eyes off their face and keep their name out of my mouth as I picked up the phone to call an administrator or the on campus police officer. I intervened on an obvious case of bullying and got got my right eye blacked, the socket broken and my nose busted. I was reprimanded for physical contact with a student. (I was pulling the bully off another child). The child got morning detention.

I had one young man stand over me and called me everything but a white woman and threaten to hurt me. When I complained that he did this not only to bully me but one of my students, the Principal said there was nothing that could be done, that he was diagnosed as antisocial and having a personality disorder and I should learn to put up with it because he was in my last class of the day and his meds were wearing off.

And let me tell you something else about your little cherubs. They cuss, they handle the foulest language, they have sex in school bathrooms, they smoke cigarettes, dope, and drink. They hate you, they hate school, they hate their class mates. They know too much about nothing and not enough of anything. They don't have feelings. They don't have empathy. They don't care about anything that does not effect them personally.

And the schools didn't make them this way. You did. You don't pay attention to your kids, either because you can't afford to take time off and be with them because you are too silly to use the seventy-five cent condom and you are working two menial jobs to support them or you are well to do and you don't have the desire. Your children are accessories, like those silly fucking dogs you carry around in your purses. Or you may be some mom who took dope during her pregnancy and you don't want to accept responsibility that you gave birth to a monster without the chemicals necessary for self control, behavior modification, even fear. Perhaps you are one of those parents who want to preserve little Susie's sense of self worth so you never say no, don't, stop it. You redirect, use positive emphasis, rationalize. Get a grip lady, life is not fucking fair.

I long for the days of special schools and paddling. I long for the days of parents being able to punish their children. If I were a parent today, and my child threatened to call CPS over the fact that they'd been give corporal punishment, I'd say go ahead, but first let me give you a reason to call them.

Not everyone should be in a school setting. It creates an unsafe learning environment for everyone, students and teachers. It becomes so unsafe that teachers, yes, teachers are afraid of your fucking kids. So don't blame the schools entirely. Our hands are tired much of the time. And parents, you were the ones who tied them.

Friday, April 10, 2009

The Passion of the Christ

I can't attend good Friday services at my church while I am still in isolation. I am doing well, considering. I have a long road for recovery but each day seems to be a little bit better. But I miss the little things, a nuzzle from my dopey cat. To listen to the rain tapping on the roof of the house (at home, I live in my attic). A sip of cool wine and the sounds of the wind coming through my open windows.

So, since I could not be at home for the Easter services I got a copy of The Passion of the Christ.

Please don't write to me and tell me how bloody and violent and gruesome the movie was. Don't write to me and tell me Mel Gibson is a Nazi. If you don't want to read my blog, move along. Those of you who do, please stay, and listen to what I have to say about this amazing movie.

I was raised watching all those technicolor Cecil B. DeMille movies that came out of Hollywood. Jesus was so perfect, with his beautiful skin and his long hair and usually cool blue eyes, those beautiful Anglo-Saxon Jesus who were so handsome but looked nothing like the Jesus of the times or the race that saw him in the flesh.

I still love those sanitized movies with scenes plucked right out of a Michelangelo painting where the image of Christ is super glorified even in his suffering. Maybe the painter was too afraid to paint the way Jesus would really have looked on the cross.

For one thing, Jesus was brutally beaten. Isaiah wrote in prophecy that the mob tore his beard from his face. I had a husband who had a beard and I could never imagine tearing out a patch of his beard. They brutalized him, forced him to carry his own cross and then stripped Jesus naked. No, Jesus did not have that modesty cloth around him when he died. Jesus was naked. Jesus was naked because the Romans knew that the most shameful thing that could happen to a person who considered himself a rabbi would be to appear nude in public, in front of both men and women.

Interspersed with the brutal and violent scenes of Jesus arrest, trial, torture and crucifixion, we see Christ as he was, a carpenter, making a table for a wealthy customer. We see Christ as the rescuer, rescuing the fallen woman from her persecutors. We see Christ as a little boy being rocked in his mother's arms. We see Christ as the teacher, the servant, the preacher, the forgiver of sins.

We also see Christ making affirmations: "Mother, behold, I make all things new," he says thickly, his face misshapen and bloody. We see Christ as the suffering and condemned prisoner being comforted by a woman who removes her veil and wipes his face with it. A primitive Kodak moment.

We see the Devil, mocking Jesus "No man can take on the sins of the whole world. No, No one, it is too much," We see the Devil mocking Mary, the Devil mocking her virginal birth and her holy infant by being the Infernal Mother and her Imp child.

And then Jesus does something amazing. He gives us his mother. John is standing there with Mary, his mother and Mary the Magdalene and he tells John that Mary is his mother now and we are told that he took her into his house from that moment on.

Christ dies, bloody and beaten and torn. A giant tear (or is it just a drop of rain, like so many that have fallen upon the earth) falls at the moment of Jesus death. The temple shakes and the curtain that separated the people from the Holiest of Holies is rent in two and the ark is depicted as gone.

And then the scene changes to a dark tomb being opened up and as the light of dawn rolls over the walls it washes over my super hero, an unblemished Christ, perfect in his wholeness, perfect in his resurrection, showing only the holes where his hands have been pierced and he rises naked from the tomb.

We look for the face of Christ in the imprint of the Shroud and on the veil we call Veronica's. These smudgy pre-technology Polaroids are the sign of faith, even if they are not real. They are expressions of our willingness to believe in the King of the Most High. We are looking for His face everywhere, from drawings and art on cave walls, church walls and statuary, on humble pieces of cloth, even on the trunks of trees and in pieces of bread.

Shall I tell you where the face of Christ can be seen? The face of a tired nurse who bent over me and wiped my brow when I had pneumonia, the face of my doctor who held my hand and gave me bad news and good news. The face of a lover who slept peacefully in the night beside me.

He is the faces of children, "Suffer the little children to come unto me for such is the kingdom of heaven." He is in the faces of old people you pass on the street. He is in the face of your fellow man. He is in the face of even your enemy "For I say unto thee that thou shall love your enemy and pray for those who do evil for they are poor in spirit."

For those of you who do not believe in some form of God, no explanation will suffice. For those who believe, no explanation is necessary.

God Bless you on this Good Friday.
And remember, God is in the rain.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Miss March


My Lilies


March is fickle, so they say.

I think of March as an elder woman, going through menopause, hot one minute, cold the next, who pees when she sneezes. Don't be offended, I mean no disrespect to the last month of true winter and into the first month of earliest spring.

March, as they say, comes in like a lion. She huffs and puffs and brings the sudden, unexpected snow shower, the damp rain, the first fogs and the first warm days. March is when you prepare the earth and get it ready to grow flowers and herbs and vegetables. It is the mucky month, as liable to be muddy and soppy as dry and frozen. Mom called and said that she saw a big black cricket, the fiddler of the field, hopping about in the leaves she was raking, leaves that had fallen down behind the huge saw blade I painted last spring just before I went to Virginia. She planted my multi floral lilies on each side of it. I wish I could see it. I wished I could put my hands in dear old mother earth and smell her richness and feel the dampness of her on my hands as I prepare her for the fertility of the season.

I long for the early morning symphony of the mockingbirds that nest in our holly tree, the repeating call of the south fat robins and watch the cocking of their heads as they listen to the minute traffic of the earthworms below the ground. I want to watch the swallows shopping the several bird houses trying to pick the right one where their young can be hatched and raised and finally fly away. I want to sit still in the evening and watch the starlings squabble over the bird bath. They come in a large group and I imagined them, like little vacationers. I could see them with little beach towels around their necks, one of those tiny inflatable float rings, little ray bands on their heads. Now I'm getting silly. But I wouldn't be surprised to see a tiny beach ball floating on the tiny ripples of the bird bath.

But March is the promise of spring.