Looking outside in, all is well.
Inside, a dozen screaming demons demand to be sated.
I am unable to hear my creative heartbeat in this cacophony.
My pen is still, my clay unmoulded.
The gentle hands that made music are idle, the odes remain unsung.
This is my hell; a damnation of nothingness, inspired by none.
©️ Youthemeus 2021
Leave Not A Piece Of Me Behind
Leave not a piece of me behind
lest a mote of me dance blissfully
racing sunlight in a dusty room.
Leave not a piece of me behind
where foot once pushed on softened soil
to leave my name in earth’s remembering.
Leave not a piece of me behind
for moon-doused imps to twist and shout
and shyly peep through curtains crack’d.
Leave not a piece of me behind
like the heart’s fine grist, to grit and grind
with words a-whispered claiming breath.
Instead
wind up the song, full dance the circle.
and there you’ll be, and there I’ll find
the piece of me I left behind.
©youthemeus 2020
It’s a complicated tree, my mind.
A rustling collection of bits and pieces that blow away with the kiss of the breeze.
Some ideas are stuck fast to the branches; stubborn leaves that will not allow themselves to change for neither reason nor season.
Occasionally, thought-fruit falls to the cool, soft ground below with a resounding “thwomp!”.
I then have to discern whether it is ready for consumption, needs to ripen further, or has already spoiled and is not suitable for anything but ant food.
Today, a small but beautifully formed apple has landed and gently rolled towards my feet.
I offer the first bite to you, gentle reader.
However, you will have to decide whether I am muse or serpent.
It doesn’t matter, the energy is the same.
Let’s have a beautifully creative day.
©youthemeus 2019
The words which we don’t dare to speak,
Are the words that weigh us down.
The silent words that tell of pain,
Are those that help us drown.
The stories that we cannot tell
Are those that keep us bound.
The things that we can never say,
Will keep us in the ground.
The truths that can’t be said aloud,
Are those that stop our breath.
The sentences that set us free,
Unspoken, hasten death.
The darkness that we keep close by,
In the suffocating still.
The nothing we believe we are,
The void we never fill.
Though in the gloom; a spark! a breeze!
Of something simply kind.
A hand that reaches in the fire,
Bids us leave it all behind.
To tell our truth, to damn those lies,
Is to walk in light unknown.
The freedom that we yearn for now,
Grows the seed that hope has sown.
©youthemeus 2017
When new friends find out that I follow a pagan path, their first comment is usually, “Oh! So, you don’t believe in God, then?” My answers tend to contain the familiar themes of “I believe in lots of gods and goddesses, some of which have names and faces”, or “it depends which gods you are talking about.” A discussion on the “Olde Ways” usually ensues and we may also talk about the ways that society was shaped by organised religions or how life is a constant battleground for those who choose to follow narrow doctrines. I find this particular exchange of ideas interesting and have learnt much over the years just by listening to other people discuss their belief systems.
However, if I were really open and honest, I would tell my friends that I actually DO believe in God*.
I just don’t like him.
Simple as that.
By making the preceding statement, I have probably caused offence to many who count themselves as “faithful”, “saved” or “chosen”. I would hope never to propagate a crisis of faith in anyone and would never attempt to change someone’s mind about their god; it is not my path with which to interfere. Nonetheless, I do feel it is appropriate to discuss the fact that God might be a nasty piece of work and that we should be able to say so without fear of censure.
God can be a bit of a brute, really. He is demanding, jealous, vengeful and angry (his words, not mine). He wants to be worshipped, followed and loved above all others. He demands utter devotion, faithfulness and (if necessary) the ultimate sacrifice. He gives and then he takes away again. He creates, only to destroy. He shows his love and confidence in someone by grinding their face into the dirt and then lifting them up by the hair to see if they still love him. He smites, saves, incinerates, heals, drowns, and visits plagues and pestilence on whole races of people. He tells us that there is no rock that he can’t look under, no depth that he can’t reach. In the middle of all of that hostile language, he also tells us that he loves us and can protect us. In any other circumstances, we would call this type of behaviour abusive.
Personally, I don’t have a problem with God. He does his thing (very well) and I do mine. I know that he exists, and therefore believe in him; but, as yet, I have not worked out his real name. He is really quite vague on that issue, and that in itself is suspicious. I don’t think his name will turn out to be one of those forbidden words, or the secret symbols that we are told represent him. He may just be called Cloud-Drizzle or Sparrowlegs. These are not really names that inspire awe – that may be why he’s keeping schtum. Who knows? Whatever he is called, God is a guileful character. Perhaps he did not expect the human race to play along with him to this extent and for such a long time. Maybe he just was looking for mischief and everybody got carried away, men grew their beards, slaughtered a load of goats and started stoning women to death in his name. (That’s another thing that I don’t like about him. Quite frankly, he has a dreadful attitude towards women.) After a few thousand years, it could be that he believes his own publicity and has become a self-fulfilling prophecy, a kind of circular theological argument. Again, who knows?
In contrast, the gods and goddesses that I spend time thinking about are energetic expressions of different elements, personalities and pathways. Some are easier to work with than others. All should be treated with respect and their individual aspects should be acknowledged. Occasionally, some of my pantheon can be quite demanding (Hecate, you know who I’m talking about). Conversely, some just love to drift in and out on a casual basis (like peripatetic deities, I suppose).
God is not like that, he is an all or nothing type of being. He seems to gain some pleasure from watching the “believers” argue over which of them are his favourites. Sadly for them, the answer is that he doesn’t much care for any of them. Again, as in many abusive relationships, these believers justify, excuse and ignore his bad behaviour. What is it that keeps them going back to him? Is it love or fear? I wonder if some of them can actually tell the difference. Luckily, I can judge when an energy is manipulative or intimidating. I stand firm in my own place of power and call him out to account for his actions. At time of writing, I have had no acceptable explanations. I’m still waiting. (Waiting for God-Oh!)
So, when you are able, take yourself to your own sacred space and gather your gods around you. It doesn’t matter whether your gods hail from Olympus, Asgard, Kirinyaga or even whether you find them in the rivers, rocks and trees. In their (fascinatingly beautiful) differences and intricacies, you will find that they have all that you need for the rich spiritual tapestry of your life.
I will offer one word of caution, though; if you do find a jealous, petulant and controlling character along the way, make sure to ask him his name.
Just in case.
~ Youthemeus
The actual card does not have the copyright text running through it!
To address the lack of easy to use calendars for us “Down Under”, I have created some postcard-sized “Southern Hemisphere Sabbats & Esbats – 2015”
I hope that you find them as useful as I know I will!
On the reverse side it reads:
I’ve got a couple of hundred and am selling them on eBay for a silly price (10 for $6.50 with free postage). Basically, this only just about covers the cost of printing and eBay fees!
Link to eBay: http://r.ebay.com/BwXuDR (Sorry, these are only available in Australia)
(For all you sunset lovers out there, that sunset was over Glenelg Beach, SA)
Song of the Earth Witch
My strength, my thoughts, my guile is found,
both in the earth and all around.
With corners called, the towers surround.
My words, my spells with intent compound.
E’en, from my lips my chant doth sound,
Yon circle spins my magic round.
And when my work is all laid down,
I plunge my roots deep in the ground.
The shadows fly, my wishes bound.
So mote it be! Let this resound.
The Crone and The Keys
“You have the keys to life,” she said,
As she sat and scratched her wizened head.
“And I can teach you nothing else,
than just to look inside yourself.”
Deep in her ancient eyes, I saw
Ninety sunsets, maybe more.
The autumn woman, wise old Crone,
Turned, pointing, fingers all a-bone.
“You, maiden! You, mother! You, future me!
The secret of it all, you see,
Is to let love guide your every step.
And treat all Magic with respect.
Your path is long, the climb is steep;
You’ll lose more than you ever keep.
You’ll heal, you’ll grieve, you’ll laugh, you’ll grow.
You’ll need our Craft where’er you go.
But when journeys o’er, and the years retreat.
Be proud, my dear, of a life complete.”
And turning, she pressed her hand in mine,
“Live well, live long – and don’t waste time!”
I watched her rise; her joints complained.
Very little of her light remained.
Then gone she was, no trace to find,
Of that sage old Crone and her infinite mind.
© youthemeus 2014
Once a month, our Moon shines full,
O’er town and field and marsh.
But us old-timer moanin’ Gnomes,
Find her light a little harsh.
Please be so kind and stop a while, to help adjust our dress.
We’ll be very grateful for your time and gentle thoughtfulness.
A little cape, a tiny hood – that’s all we need tonight.
Then we can slumber peacefully whilst Sister Moon is bright.
I am the wind, I am the air.
I am the breeze that kisses your hair.
I can caress, I can bombard.
I can play gentle, I may blow hard.
I bring the rain, I bring the snow.
I scatter dust wherever I go.
I blow through the hills, I blow on the beach.
I blow some things just out of your reach.
I carry seeds, I carry fire.
I lift the birds, higher and higher.
I have power, I have great force.
I can make all ships alter their course.
But, in the dark, when we’re alone in the night,
I am your breath, the whisper of life.
I am your friend; since your very first gasp.
And I will be with you til you breathe your last.
I am the wind, I am the air.
I am the breeze that plays in your hair.
Youthemeus 