About a week ago I was standing, bouncing my baby who was unhappy and in need of sleep. We were both exhausted and grumpy, she was teething badly. I was silently praying for help, for strength, for patience. Sometimes it’s Gods that come when I call. Sometimes it’s Family. This time it was my Paternal Grandfather who came. I had my head resting on hers gently and as I took calming breaths and she finally settled, I could smell him. I could feel his warm loving presence.
Hail to my Grandfather.
Found this article on the Proto-Indo-European language. I’ve heard something like this in my head since I was a child. I hear it in my dreams. It gave me chills. You can listen to the story below and find the article here.
Here’s the translation of the story (which may sound familiar to people who watched the movie Prometheus):
A sheep that had no wool saw horses, one of them pulling a heavy wagon, one carrying a big load, and one carrying a man quickly. The sheep said to the horses: “My heart pains me, seeing a man driving horses.” The horses said: “Listen, sheep, our hearts pain us when we see this: a man, the master, makes the wool of the sheep into a warm garment for himself. And the sheep has no wool.” Having heard this, the sheep fled into the plain.
Tuesday this week I was out walking dogs near my home and found three Amanita muscaria v. formosa, two had been trampled but one was just starting to bloom. I admired it in the morning and took a closer look in the afternoon. As I bent to take a photo I just barely touched it with my finger to see if I could get a look at the gills underneath, the head popped right off. I felt terrible, not meaning to pick it until it had bloomed/opened. I thought about it and hoped it wasn’t entirely my fault, these are sturdy mushrooms, my gentle touch was not enough on it’s own to damage it. So I nabbed the cap and stem, having a talk with it on my way home. I am terribly interested in actually trying this mushroom for spiritual purposes but with a small child I don’t want to lay my life in my very inexperienced hands. The mushroom, who I will use “they” pronouns for, was curious as to why I was so very excited to find it. I did my best to explain the whole oak tree connection, and the Mother of Rot/Mushrooms thing, and the spiritual journey with mushrooms but for the toddler bit. They seemed quite pleased by my attention so made an offer. Take them home, dry and place in a jar on my altar and they would offer as much assistance as they could without actually being ingested. I offered to gather one of each of the Amanita’s that I come across in my travels and place them all in the jar together, the whole family together. They seemed very pleased by this idea and agreed. So into the oven they went.
Last Wednesday, the 21st, while working I came across two immature Amanita muscaria var. muscaria. I was lucky enough this Wednesday to go by the same spot and they were still there! I picked the one that had opened completely, leaving the unopened one to w/Whoever wanted it. This one had a quieter disposition, wasn’t as chatty as the yellow Amanita had been. I explained the situation, they were pleased to be gathered. They are both now in a jar on my altar with a few of the oak leaves they were found in. They are quite pleased. So am I really. I already love putting things in jars on my altar and around my home. Now I need to read up on the others I need to find. My other favourite name for these mushrooms is now berserkur, that’s the Icelandic common name for them.
This is so important and so relevant to my life. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking. I love it.
Working with the dead is rough They brush your mind, with little thought to how raw they feel Their lives spill out upon you without filters, the ones who share the most, open skies raining on your head The Disir and the Väter can be the roughest When They speak, They speak in power It […]
