Youthemeus

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

Will the real Almighty please stand up?

Who's throne is it anyway?

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

 *I’m giving him a big “G”, just so we know who we are talking about.

 

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The Crone and The Keys

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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

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The Gnomes’ Moonsong

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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.

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I am not a gargoyle!

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Very pleased to meet you, my name’s Doil.
Though I’m a grotesque, not a bloody gargoyle!
Those ‘goyles, you see, shoot rain out their spouts.
Whereas us grotesques all just sit about.

Come rain or shine, we are your lofty charms.
We scare away things of misfortune or harm.
But it’s lonely up here where the wind does play,
So blow us a kiss and make our day!

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Hail, Lady Moon

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I asked The Moon,
“Dear Lady, how is it to be The Moon?”
She sighed,
“Child, I have a heart that breaks and heals and breaks again.”

I asked The Moon,
“Why Lady, do you grieve so?”
She whispered,
“When men see me in my glory, they remember how much they love me,
and we dance like joyful lovers.
When I am quiet and dark, they forget me. I must dance alone.”

I asked The Moon,
“Beautiful Lady, why then do you go from our sight?”
She breathed in my ear,
“Because those faithful souls who truly work my magic will do so in the velvet blackness. It is they who heal me and persuade me to return once more to shine for those in need.
These silent, invisible ones are my children, the shadow walkers, the cloud sailors.
They are with me, in the dark. ”

I asked The Moon,
“My Lady, may I love you thus?”
She kissed my brow, “Why dearest one, you have always belonged to me. I have watched you sleep each night, sang my secrets into your dreams. We are as one.”

She sighed and shook her platinum hair, “Now come to me, let us paint the trees silver and keep the people from their slumber.
It is time to dance behind the clouds and set the dogs a-barking.
Come to me, my very own, my beloved Moonchild.”

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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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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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The parable of the ant.

The leaf:  his raison d’être

The leaf: his raison d’être

Today, I watched as a worker ant struggled to get through a tiny hole in the fly screen.
He was carrying part of a leaf, it was bigger than he was.
All around him other ants toiled with their loads, following one another in a seemingly endless line of leaves and ants.
Fixed on their purpose, they journeyed on; no one of them broke ranks except the little ant at the fly screen.

He pushed and pulled, trying different angles and approaches; but he just could not get the leaf to go through.
Because he would not let go of the leaf, he could not get any further.
I wondered how he was going to resolve his dilemma. He wanted to get to the other side of the screen but he did not want to let go of his leaf.
This leaf was all he had, his only treasure. How could he possibly let it go? What would be the point of being on the other side of the screen if he did not have his leaf?
Who was he without his life’s purpose?

After a long while, the ant seemed to pause. He put down the leaf in the dust and approached the screen.
The ant tentatively poked his antennae through the hole to see what was on the other side.
He pulled back from the screen and returned to his leaf. He moved it one more time towards the screen, as if willing it to go through on its own.
Once more he stepped away from the leaf and returned to the screen. He poked his antennae, then his head, his thorax and finally his abdomen through the hole.
Now fully on the other side of the screen, he gazed wistfully at his beloved leaf; his one possession, his companion, his status symbol, his raison d’être – the leaf.

Without warning, a small breath of wind spirited the leaf away as the ant looked on.
He turned away from the space that once was his leaf (his very life) and studied his new surroundings.
The ant found himself in the shade of a beautiful plant that was green, lush and thrumming with activity.

He saw other ants, free from their leaf-burdens, traveling up and down the stalks of the plant.
Not one of them was traveling behind another, they walked side by side, or on their own.
Some ants even traced lazy spirals on the leaves as they expressed themselves.

This is what the little ant knew was waiting for him. This was his chance to be his authentic self.
In order to become real he had to stop being part of another’s reality.

By letting go of his old behaviour, he received more than he could have imagined.
By stepping out of the line, he became the master of his own path.

Today, I learnt from an ant.
I am shedding my leaf and pushing through to other side.
Why don’t you join me? I hear it is lovely over there.

 

Namaste
~ Youthemeus

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The Hawk-man and the Cougar

The Hawk-man

The Hawk-man

The Hawk-man approached from the other side of the circle; gliding through the dancers’ dust.
The light from the fires flicked and spat behind him, casting him in intermittent shadow.
As he stepped in front of me, I could see that he was wrapped in a pony hide; it was mottled and fluid, the pony spirit still running wild within.

He opened his arms to reveal a sleeping cougar which he placed at my feet.
I looked at The Hawk-man’s face, his rocky features and midnight eyes were sheltering beneath a hawk’s head.
The hawk’s eyes were also fixed upon me and held me in an unfathomable gaze.
On The Hawk-man’s left shoulder there perched a crow, on his right an eagle.

Crow spoke first, “Are you true?”
I had no words in my mouth to answer him.
“I will know if you are not true,” he said “and you will hear me laugh each time you form a lie in your mouth. I will laugh until you speak the truth.”

Eagle spoke next, “Are you pure?”
Again, no words would come for me to use.
“I see every little speck and spot that is in your life,” he continued “I will observe each patch of discolouration and I will swoop down to snatch it up until you live in purity of spirit.”

Then The Hawk-man bent forward to allow Hawk to speak.
“Are you free?”
This time I did not try to answer, just to listen.
“I can tell the difference between true freedom and passive compliance.” he said. “When you think you have freedom but in your heart are still bound; I will come and tear at your tethers until you are truly free.”

Cougar then awoke; warm and smooth, curled at my feet.
“Are you sure?” she said. “I, Cougar, am certain of wherever I put my feet, each step is taken with utter conviction.”
I looked at her mouth moving with these words.
“Each step you take that is on loose ground, I will know. I will come and curl myself around you until your feet find the firmness again.”

The Hawk-man straightened himself, wrapped his cloak around him and turned to walk away.
The cougar remained at my feet, vital and heavy.

“Hey! Hawk-man!” I called, “is there anything else?”
He did not even turn as he called back to me, “I have given you everything, now you must work with it.”

I looked at the cougar once more, she was asleep again.
As I gazed downwards, by my right foot appeared a flint blade in a leather pouch, three fire sticks and a small cooking pot.
I knew, then, that these few items symbolised my ability to survive with just the basics for living.

At my right foot were two large grinding stones, black and well-used. Between them were herbs; sage, rosemary, thyme and mint.
This, then, was my path.
I was to make medicine.

I have been given my healing tools and my tools of resonance.

Am I True?
Am I Pure?
Am I Free?
Am I Sure?

My journey begins now.

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First the singing crystal, now the talking stone!

My new friend!

My new friend!

Yesterday, I sat on a deserted beach in the sunshine of early Spring.
I had come down to the sea to pick up some stones which I needed for my energy work.
(I get the person that I am reading to hold a stone that they have picked at random from my large collection; when they have imprinted their energy pattern onto it, I tell them what I see.)

It’s a lovely gentle process, does not have the weight of expectation or misinterpretation that can sometimes get in the way with cards or other such tools. It is just a stone, no pre-judgement  is attached to it; it’s just a stone.

I must admit, that I had never talked to or communicated with the stones other than when I had one handed to me for a reading.
Yesterday, I was nudged/moved/cajoled (whatever!) to hold a conversation with the little stone (pictured above) that was still wet from the ocean.
No human had held it before and engaged it in conversation. We were both quite surprised.

This is what it had to say,
“I once was mighty, now I am small and I will become smaller still.
That is OK; my essence is still everywhere.
As much as my essence was in the whole mountain, now it is in the stone; soon it will be in every grain of sand.

It’s OK.
We go through constant change, all of us: living things and things that have no “consciousness” – we all go through change.
It’s OK.
My essence will always be here, it may just be scattered into a million, billion pieces.
But, it’s OK.”

I got a huge sense of tranquility and acceptance from this beautiful stone; I’m sure spending billions of years being kissed by the ocean will do that to an entity. There was a neutral, non-judgmental feeling from this stone and it was so very easy to talk to.

I suddenly realised that I was now in the middle of hundreds of thousands of stones that potentially all had a story to tell.
This thought was quite staggering and it took me a moment to breathe that realisation into my heart.
Unfortunately, I did not have a millenium or two to spare – it was nearly lunch-time, after all – so, I made my excuses and left.

Next time you are lucky enough to stumble on, trip over or just find some stones that particularly appeal to you; pick them up.
Introduce yourself and lovingly ask if they would like to share anything.
Don’t forget to send them some love in exchange for their messages.

You may just find yourself having conversations that will astound you.
Just don’t get them all to speak at once!

Namaste
~ Youthemeus

You can read about my adventures with the singing crystal here: How to get a crystal to sing to you

Here’s little something from Paul Weller to get you in the mood for some stone-talk.

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