The Lumineers – Angela

I’m always slightly disconcerted when songs have my name.

(By The Lumineers)

When you left this town, with your windows down
And the wilderness inside

Let the exits pass, all the tar and glass
‘Til the road and sky align

The strangers in this town,
They raise you up just to cut you down
Oh Angela it’s a long time coming

And your Volvo lights lit up green and white
With the cities on the signs

But you held your course to some distant war
In the corners of your mind

From the second time around
The only love I ever found
Oh Angela it’s a long time coming

Home at last

Were you safe and warm in your coat of arms
With your fingers in a fist

Did you hear the notes, all those static codes
In the radio abyss?

Strangers in this town,
They raise you up just to cut you down
Oh Angela it’s a long time coming
Oh Angela spent your whole life running away

Home at last
Home at last

Vacancy, hotel room, lost in me, lost in you
Angela, on my knees, I belong, I believe

Home at last
Home at last
Home at last
Home at last

Home at last


The Last Temple of the Celts

This is the last; the only one. There are no other structures housing statues of the old gods that are still honoured anywhere in the Celtic world. Whether you believe in such things on any level or not, the Tigh nam Bodach still represents the last survival of a vital piece of our own ancient heritage. It is a window into the primordial past of our peoples, into the minds of our ancestors and the wellsprings of our culture. It must be preserved. It is not impossible that the plans to develop Glen Cailliche will be resurrected in the future; if this should be so, it is imperative that as many people as possible should raise their voices to prevent it from happening. In my own opinion, the best solution would be to take the Auch estate into public ownership, ensuring that the valley may survive as a monument to the past; a shrine to the wild and the spirits that watch over it.”

Feral Words

druids The Druids Bringing in the Mistletoe, by Edward Atkinson Hornel & George Henry

The west of Europe used to be full of Celtic temples. In every settlement, every holy grove, every mountain top and ring of stones that held any import for the peoples of old there would have been some structure marked out as holy, a place to connect the people to the spirits who lived alongside of them. There were statues of gold and idols of stone, rings of trees wreathed with cloth, wells encircled by the swirling patterns of the art called La Tene. A vivid, distinct and technically accomplished culture did as all such cultures have done; piled up in its holiest of holies the greatest achievements of its civilisation, to honour the gods that it worshipped.

The afterglow of their achievements still hangs on the horizon. The illuminated gospels of Ireland, the giant carved stones of the Picts…

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Silence is Never Consent

Want to know what silence was for me? Silence was how I ONLY got raped instead of getting a beating on top of it. SO fuck you buddy and your thoughts on silence.
(I’m really not having a good morning here, forgive the profanity)

Foxglove & Firmitas

We have to be careful about the rhetoric we use, especially in a forum that relies completely on written word.  I saw this this morning, and I decided not to address it on Patheos, because I don’t want to derail the conversation on racism that is happening.  At the same time, I am not okay with this:

A Quote from a Patheos blog reading, "Thank you for all your support in this discussion, but especially for this. It explains in great detail exactly why I wrote what I wrote. Silence is consent, and I do not consent to racism in my community." The identity of the quoted has been blurred out. Identity withheld due to my assumption that the person quoted simply didn’t think this through before saying it since their chances of being raped are statistically less than mine.

By all means, draw lines when you feel they are needed.  Tell me what you don’t consent to even, because that’s really, really important. But silence?  Silence is never consent.  Ever.

I’m not unaware of the necessity for white people speaking out against other white people’s racist BS.  I will even agree that our silence when it comes to issues of white supremacy allows it…

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Songs for Hermes

This edition of Songs for Hermes is brought to you by Pearl Jam, and the song Off He Goes.

Off He Goes

1, 2, 1, 2…

know a man, his face seems pulled and tense
like he’s riding on a motorbike in the strongest winds
so i approach with tact
suggest that he should relax
but he’s always moving much too fast
said he’ll see me on the flipside
on this trip he’s taken for a ride
he’s been taking too much on
there he goes with his perfectly unkept clothes

there he goes…

he’s yet to come back
but i’ve seen his picture
it doesn’t look the same up on the rack
we go way back
i wonder about his insides
its like his thoughts are too big for his size
he’s been taken… where, i don’t know?
off he goes with his perfectly unkept hope

and there he goes…

and now i rub my eyes, for he has returned
seems my preconceptions are what should have been burned
for he still smiles…
and he’s still strong
nothing’s changed, but the surrounding bullshit that has grown
and now he’s home
and we’re laughing like we always did
my same old, same old friend
until a quarter-to-ten
i saw the strain creep in
he seems distracted and i know just what is gonna happen next
before his first step

he’s off again

Love Notes From Freyja, 11/9/15

Pagan Church Lady

I love you, child.  Like a drop of dew clinging to a flower, magnifying the sun’s light.  Like the cool underground river that feeds your roots.  I love you like your own blood, carrying and spreading life through you.

Like all these things there are times when you won’t feel it.  You are so immersed in my love and it in you that you do not notice its presence.  This is to remind you that even when you do not feel it, when you do not feel me, or worse, feel at odds with me, that my love for you is no less and you are not forgotten or abandoned.

rose dew

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Facets of Hermes, Ritual at Pantheacon

Reblog because Hermes
The Pantheon 2016 schedule is up! See it here: This ritual, led by me, will be a friendly and authentic introduction to my favorite trickster. Hermes was frequently a household deity in the ancient world, and thus, I have decided to make the ritual for him family-friendly. Hermes and I have been working together […]

To Poseidon

Beautiful. 💙

Magick From Scratch

To Blue-haired Poseidon I call
Earth-shaker, Sea-Ruler, Olympian
Father of thundering horse-hooves
Bringer of crashing waves

To Poseidon the Host, I call
Your halls have housed many guests:
Who grew to fair womanhood in the belly of Tethys
Who fled there from murderous wrath
To remember himself with your handmaidens
Those who sail
For you bring foul sea currents or fair
and those who are lost at sea
And pray you to return them safely home
The drowned, your share of the dead,
Who attend you
Until Life
With it’s irresistible song
Calls them forth again.

To Poseidon, the Occult, I call
Secret keeper are you
Who sired Despoina: Her name is whispers
Whose vaults conceal ancient unknown treasures
Guarded safe against the fires of alien piety

To Poseidon I call, Who Enforces Vows
You built up Troy for the Trojans
But the promised payment they never made.

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