Youthemeus

Because there are few things we can be sure of….

St. George’s Day 2014

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Today is a day to pay respects to my English heritage. Therefore, I make no apologies for the origins of the blood in my veins.
I love my Mother Country, her gentle curves, her secret groves. I love her brutal moors and dramatic shoreline. I honour her quiet places and her ancient stones.

In the marrow of my bones is the rich soil of her lands, the chalk of the south and the granite of the north. Her tides ebb and flow along the estuaries and fill the bays and coves; so, too, my life and experiences flow and flood

Nestled in the mighty oak or hidden under a summer willow; there you will find my peaceful heart. Sown throughout the fields – both young green and wise gold – is the story of my life. The blackbird sings me home and the buttercups celebrate my return.

This is my England.
Noble, ancient, magnificent, beautiful.

Today, I rejoice in having been born in such a blessèd country.
Today, more than ever, I am English and proud.

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The shadow of a gecko

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I was feeling cut adrift, whirling loose in the wind. Like a piece of sail ripped from its lashing.
My mind churned, spitting out worries like cherry stones.
The clock shouted time’s passage with each clock-click tock-tick tic-tac-toe.
Lists upon lists upon lists in a tower of to-do. Lists listlessly listing, tilting, toppling; balanced upon the acropolis of my thoughts.
Anxious energies were stealing the oxygen. My heart was trying to escape my ribs in an attempt to reclaim the precious air.
The spiralling whirlwind picked me up and span me, spun me, would not stop spinning me.
From the corner of my dizzy eye I caught a movement.
I looked.
I looked again.
The world stop turning.
The flags grew limp, the air grew still and calm stepped back into my presence.

I saw the shadow of a gecko on the wall.
A shadow on the wall.
The tiny shape clung and cleaved to the impossible surface.
Amid the maelstrom, the creature moved with purpose and focus.
Its shadow lay on the wall, reminding me to be. Just be.
I am only a shadow, and the wall is not my experience; it is merely one of many ways that I express myself.
I am the gecko in the light.
It’s my shadow that is feeling the wall, that is all.

The shadow of a gecko guided me home.

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Guru-matic – It has all the answers!

Every home should have one!

Every home should have one!

Diary Entry #262:

My endless quest for enlightenment continues. My go-to-guru list now numbers in the hundreds.
I think I may have finally mastered my understanding of Zen Donkey Wisdom; I can now find my ass with both hands.

Frustratingly, I am finding it hard to choose what to put in my sandwiches; Lunch Guru is on a retreat so is of no help to me.
I fear I may starve.

The days are long and empty; Guru Happy Face will not return my calls and Sri Master Bouncing Cheeseball is booked for the next month.
According to Ascended Plutonian Bus Conductor, my problem is that I am not doing enough work on my Sacred Gizzard Chakra.
When I can raise another $500, I shall certainly be attending that workshop again. Fifth time lucky, hopefully.

For now I sit, Merkaba in hand, gazing longingly at the Crystal Healing Unicycle that I bought.
If only my Transverse Vacuous Pressure Point would close up, I might be able to ride it again.
(At the moment, it’s rubber rings and ointment until the pain goes away.)

Without the wisdom of my beloved Closet Lightwiggle Journeyman, I am uninspired as to what to wear. So, it is with heavy heart and odd socks that I sign off.

I have consulted the Starvision Magic Almanac and apparently tomorrow will be a better day.

Live long and prostate. (That’s a Plutonian phrase apparently. Thanks to APBC for the input.)

 

PS: see attached advert from the Gullible Times. Thinking of sending off for one.

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In praise of the witches’ cackle

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In popular culture, the witch is often portrayed as an ageing crone, chanting over a steaming cauldron and cackling in the moonlight.

Moonlight, cauldron, crone, chanting; we understand the significance of all of these. The significance of the cackling, however, is harder to define.
Is it diabolical ecstasy or a sign of madness? Are we drunk on power or dizzy with the moon?

The answer to these questions is very simple.

We witches cackle because when we get together it is impossible to keep a straight face. The outside world looks on as we invoke our gods and goddesses; perhaps thinking that we greet them stony-faced and in mournful humour.
The reality being that, as each entity and energy draws close we feel the power and joy that they bring.

No-one can experience the dark humour of Hecate or the mischief of the Elementals without a little grin. How many times have we giggled as the candles blow out, or the charcoal won’t catch light? When we stop taking it all so seriously and just enjoy our craft and our rituals, laughter surely follows.

In our community, we are blessed with the company of like-minded souls, misfits and raggle-taggle wanderers. We gather together, as one, in our motley crew then we form a circle and celebrate. We dance, we sing, we cast and we laugh because we have pushed away our cares for a while. We are in the presence of our ancestors, our deities and our magical family.

In the witches’ cackle is the beauty of belonging, the joy of sharing and the song of our soul.

To our cackling brothers and sisters: we hear ourselves in your laughter and we bless you for your happy noise.

Our circle is open but unbroken.

~ Youthemeus

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