About 2.5 million Muslims are converging on Mecca this week to take part in the annual Hajj. This year many pilgrims are adding extra step to their preparations for the ritual – getting the H1N1 vaccine…. From VOA. Full story

This site may contain information about: virus. For a different topic see recipes for cabbage. The blog is also related to: virus.

Few things in the life of the present day American are as predictable as the annual ritual they call Thanksgiving.  It is a day when members of the same tribe gather at the home of their oldest member and pretend to get along while they gorge themselves on food and drink and ignore the pressing concerns of their daily lives.  From my years spent living with the Americans, I will try to relate to you this interesting and quirky practice. The day begins when a parade of tribal members march through the main entrance. Each female carries a food known as green bean casserole and dons an expression of surprise as they are greeted and invited inside.  The men walk past me, some saying “Hello,” some simply nod, some point their hand at me in a gesture known as “shaking.”  (I am required to grab the hand they extend in my direction and initiate an up and down motion while looking into the other male’s eyes.)  Many of them pat me on the back and ask how I have been doing over the past year.  I start to answer that most of the things I have been doing are none of his concern and that it would be best if he discontinues asking about my work, but he has already walked away from me.  I would like to assume that his question was rhetorical, but I cannot be certain.

The women flutter from the entrance of the abode to the kitchen, where they quickly set down the green bean casserole, spin around and throw their arms around me, catching me completely off-guard.  The older ones touch their puckered lips to my cheek and exclaim something about how I am getting older.  Her statement seems obvious to me.  To be honest, I have always felt slightly violated during this practice, but upon seeing the beaming facial expressions on the women’s faces at the end of this “mini-ritual,” I am unable to object.

The house swarms with smell.  Turkey roasting in the oven.  Warm cinnamon littering a pile of desserts and seven varieties of yams (with or without marshmallow).  An odor known as “Old Spice” and the stench of a mystery flatulence that I’m reasonably sure did not emanate from one of my orifices, but somehow, I am accused of creating by one of the children.  This accusation delights the older men of the tribe, who join the child in laughing at my expense, albeit in a more subdued fashion, as the child, seeing that his elders approve, begins to twirl in circles and sing of my misdeed.  I imagine the stench is wafting around the room and will soon leave my vicinity but it seems to hover just under my nostrils like an anvil on a fishing line.  I wonder, “Is it appropriate to be as embarrassed as I am?”

The sweater vest makes a fashionable appearance on Thanksgiving.  Almost all of the elders are wearing one in various colors and plaid designs.  The younger children emulate their elders by wearing their own, although they sometimes complain that it makes them itch and scratch themselves in an agitated and overly dramatic fashion.  I believe they are not old enough to understand that one should endure the itch with sublime reservation.  Pretending things don’t exist seems to be a mark of maturity and masculinity among the Americans.

The clothing among most of the attendees is close to uniform, except for one whose clothing is black and torn at the knees and ends of the sleeves.  His shirt displays an image some of the elders find offensive.  I know this because I’ve overheard them talking amongst themselves about this one they call the “adolescent.”  For the most part, the topic is ignored and never acknowledged directly to the adolescent, who tends to mill about in the corner, fidgeting with his hair and muttering something to himself about the bourgeois-ness of the ritual he is currently engaged in and how it would be better to give this food to third-world peoples than to have this festival at all.

When the food has been thoroughly prepared, everyone gathers around the table and says “grace.”  This is a practice where one of the elders speaks to the gathered with everyone’s eyes closed and heads bowed.  The elder will speak of how they have much food, much camaraderie, and many things to be happy about.  He will ask for these things to continue over the next year and always concludes his address with the word “A-men.”  This word is a cue to everyone to repeat the word “A-men” and to lift their heads, open their eyes and begin feasting.

The Americans then ingest copious amounts of turkey, ham, a carbonated beverage known as “soda” or “pop,” a breading cooked inside the turkey called “stuffing,” and only a moderate amount of green bean casserole.  For some reason, although it is not eaten with as much fervor, everyone makes a point to compliment each female on the high quality of the green bean casserole she has (supposedly) laboriously prepared.

When the Americans have finished shoveling food into their mouths, the men retire to the “den,” where they promptly exclaim they have eaten too much, loosen their belts (presumably to give their stomach more room to expand; a curious practice, I must admit) and doze on the couch while a game of American football is broadcast over the television.  The men seem to not actually watch the game, or care much about the particular teams playing, but they will periodically open their eyes and remark on the admirable or reprehensible execution of a pass or catch.  This normally occurs after one of the children rushes up to one of the men and nudges him awake, whereby the man will announce to the assembled that he was merely “resting his eyes” and not actually sleeping.  I have yet to figure out if the eyes of Americans actually tire more often than their bodies.

Strangely, after viewing many games of football, I cannot find any connection between the ball and the foot.  It occurs to me that this may be some kind of cultural joke on the part of the Americans to outsiders.  It’s as if they are the only ones that truly understand why it is called “football” when the foot is not even used.  Perhaps they enjoy the superiority they feel by keeping this knowledge esoteric.  Perhaps they understand that the word “foot,” in “football” has another meaning from the standard use identifying the appendage of the human body.  Perhaps, they are just stupid.  As of this writing, I have felt too embarrassed to ask as I believe I would expose myself to harsh ridicule.  However, more research on this topic is on my agenda.

The women shuffle into the “dining room” to sip coffee and play an odd card game called “UNO.”  UNO is played by giving each person seven cards and placing the remaining cards in the center of the table.  Each person is charged with the task of ridding herself of the seven cards she was dealt.  Every player takes a turn in a clockwise motion around the table.  During a player’s turn, she flips over the card at the top of the center deck.  If she has a card that matches the card from the center in color or number, she then rids herself of one of her cards.  If not, she must take a card from the pile in the center.  The first one to get rid of all of their cards is the winner and is revered by the other women for the remainder of the day.

I believe this symbolic act of giving increases companionship amongst the women.  They seem to enjoy placing the cards back into the center pile, a sign of giving back to the community.  When someone has to take cards from the center pile, there is much jeering and taunting by the other women.  It is as if they learn from an early age to abhor blatant self-interest.  An admirable cultural adaptation, in my opinion.

Once the women have finished their game (sometimes games) of UNO, they stand up and walk to the den, gently (or rigorously) waking their husbands and informing them that it is time to leave.  The men rarely, if ever, disagree.  They stand up, refasten their belts, straighten their sweater vests and leave by bidding adieu in much the same manner with which they greeted each other.  They once again engage in the gesture of “shaking,” patting on the back and in some cases, wrapping their arms around others in a full embrace.  Each of the men remark to everyone else how it would be good for them to “take care,” or “take it to easy,” before uttering the word “goodbye,” thereby finalizing the interpersonal exchange.   To this day, I am still confused as to what they want me to take to easy, but I guess there are some things about this eccentric but fascinating group of people I will never understand.

My absolute favorite is white icing.
But it must be from a can.

Wands, Rods, and Staves

Walking Staves, Quarter-staves, and Canes

Scepters, Ritual Staves, and Ceremonial Poles

Art is an extension of one’s self, often manifest through an object.

Some of the stronger and more ornate pieces go for between $100 to $200.

Those are for very unique pieces that are often special request and rare materials.

Most of the work I do is affordable for anyone, from $5, $20, $40 on up to $80.

First I find branches or saplings that are dead or scheduled for clearing.

Then I meditate and offer prayers to the spirits regarding the wood.

Designs are made clear to me, so I begin by carving layers.

Next I sand and wood burn patterns, symbols, and text.

Then I oil the wood using organic oils, or stains.

Sometimes I add a thin coat of polyurethane if gloss (glamour) is desired.

Finally I add leather, metals, and other finishing details and allow its new life to begin.

“My own belief is that one regards oneself, if one is a serious writer, as an instrument for experiencing. Life—all of it—flows through this instrument and is distilled through it into works of art. How one lives as a private person is intimately bound into the work. And at some point, I believe one has to stop holding back for fear of alienating some imaginary reader or real relative or friend, and come out with personal truth. If we are to understand the human condition, and if we are to accept ourselves in all the complexity, self-doubt, extravagance of feeling, guilt, joy, the slow freeing of the self to its full capacity for action and creation, both as human being and artist, we have to know all we can about one another, and we have to be willing to go naked.”

May Sarton

Balance.  To find the balance in exposure and privacy.  Nakedness and the veil.  How much, and what, can be said in as few words as possible.  Words can become a seductive trap for both the one who writes and the one who reads.  Value lies in the spaces between words, in the things unsaid.

At times, on other venues, I’ve written primarily about sex.  Those writings have been burned now, for many good reasons.  It’s about what energies I allow into my life, and what energies of mine I allow out into the world.  It is about taking responsibility for using the immense power of one’s sexuality.  Privately, and in the world.

I once was an artist, a painter, trying to live that life in Manhattan for a period of years.  I began to write more than I painted.  I began to see that the true art was not in the objects one made, whatever their form, but rather in how one lived life.  Art was about revealing the Sacred in the everyday.  Magick.  Walking between the worlds.  Living life.  Acting in the world with awareness.  ‘Art’, or ‘magick’, or whatever word you choose for yourself, can be in the making of a cup of tea, the way one sees.  It can be a curtain across a window, or the touch of a lover’s skin.  It exists in a breath, or a kiss.  A meal, or in anguished tears.  It points to the unseen.  The practitioner becomes a priest or priestess.  The sacred ritual may be a sexual act, it may be hunting meat.  Words on a page or a walk in the world.  It may be simply looking into the eyes of another, without words, experiencing the Mystery.

I am simply a man, trying to live life as best I can in the moment.  Live with as much grace and courage as I can muster in the face of Mystery.  Trying to become what I already am, to understand.  Trying to serve Life through living.  Serve with my fears and joys, my uncertainties and what little I may have learned.  My weaknesses and strengths.  To serve with my Love.  At this time in my life, my love is really all I have left.  I simply must live it, as an offering to Life.  As best I can.

Depois do rompimento com Fernando, Diana decidiu arrumar o guarda-roupas. Tirou dos cabides todos os vestidos de verão que usava para encontrar o namorado, tirou da gaveta todas as calcinhas que tinha usado nos momentos íntimos do casal. Lembrava dos elogios recebidos ao vestir cada uma daquelas roupas, das situações vividas enquanto estava coberta com as casquinhas coloridas e floridas que escondiam sua nudez. Depois de reviver a história de cada peça, os cheiros… jogou tudo fora e sentiu-se pronta para recomeçar.

Enjoying some good old testament reading from the book of Exodus.
Tenth Plague: The Death of the First-Born.

The Passover ritual Consist of the slaughtering of Lambs during the evening twilight. ISRAEL were suppose to take some bold and place it at the door post of every house. That night God strikes down every first-born son the Egyptians; including animals. Those that have the blood of the LAMB would be spared.

Ideally everyone would have their own private altar, a sacred space which could be used as the focal point of prayer and meditation. However, sometimes circumstances prevent this from happening: lack of space, lack of privacy, money, etc. However, it is important to remember that the tools and physical objects we use in ritual are symbolic. They help, but in the end are unnecessary.

If you find you are in need of your own sacred space, consider building one as a mental construct. In this way, you’ll only need a private place to meditate, and good visualization skills.

Start by practicing visualization. When you see sometihing – a color, a shape, an object – close your eyes and try to reproduce it as accurately as possible. This may be difficult, but with practice, you will improve. Continue on with sounds, scents, textures, even tastes, until you feel comfortable enough to move on.

Now it is necessary to decide what you want your sacred space to look like. This may depend on your spiritual path, as well as your own personal tastes. It does not have to be an ancient building with pillars and statues. It can be an office building, a place you remember from your childhood, a clearing in the woods, anywhere.

Set aside a time each day, say a half hour, when you will not be disturbed (say before bed, or even while you are in bed, if you feel comfortable meditating in a lying down postion without falling asleep). Close your eyes and imagine yourself decending a long staircase, lower and lower, until you reach your space. What do you see? What colors are there? What does it smell like? What textures do you feel?

Have your altar set up in the center of the space. What items are on it? Statues? Candles? Pictures of loved ones? Ritual tools? Remember to bless and consecrate each of the items you will be using on a regular basis.

Once your space is set up, you are free to use it as you wish. Talk with your spirit guides, loved ones that have passed on, with God him/herself. Clear away negativity. Work though issues in your daily life.

When you are ready to return, walk back up the staircase. When you reach the top, open your eyes.

If you need to, draw a map or diagram of your space to help you visualize. Alternatively, if you have a physical space but travel away from it often, memorize it so that you can return to it when you need to.

November 16th

When we got to Japan we were devastated to hear that sumo season was over. Between that and only spotting one geisha, our to do list was looking pretty meager. Luckily Giles and Anne , in their infinite wisdom, informed us that the sumo tournament was only just beginning in Fukuoka so, ignoring Lonely Planet’s advice that people start queueing at dawn for the special (and cheap) ‘on the day’ tickets, we picked up our Japanese Rail passes and massive backpacks and headed straight for Japan’s second city.

We managed to blag the cheap seats for that day for 2,100 yen (around 16 euro) but it being only 11am, the stadium was pretty empty so we had someone else’s ringside (sweat splatter) seats until around 2.30pm. The tournament runs from 8.30am until 6pm every day for the duration of the festival, starting with the lower level sumos and moving onto the world’s best in the afternoon. Surprisingly, there are only around 800 sumo wrestlers currently competing, as Japanese boys move towards the country’s latest craze – baseball.

I had always imagined sumo to be an epic battle between two massive forces of nature so when the first few competitors came into the ring, weighing little over 14 stone, I was a bit disappointed. Fortunately as the day progressed, they got bigger, until they weight around 1 kilo less than a fully grown sperm whale. I was also surprised by the amount of ceremony involved (apparently sumo was originally part of a religious ritual).

The first person to enter the stage is a man in traditional dress (looking a little like a medieval squire) who sings/chants the competitor’s name. The sumo then hauls himself into the ring, a circle with a diameter of around 15ft on a sand platform. They stretch, lifting one swollen foot over their head before stomping it down on the ground and repeating with the other foot. Then they square up, squatting down, before standing up and walking out of the ring. The referee (also in traditional dress) dances about a bit and the sumos return, squat and sometimes, leave again.

After around 10 minutes of this the fat (or sometimes not so fat) men finally get to it. The referee starts yelping like an injured seal (apparently shouting encouragement) and they rush at each other, colliding and sending all their rolls of fat (and in one sumos case four boobs) quivering towards their rear in fear.

Oftentimes this is all it takes. One puts his shoulder down lower and the other, defying the law of gravity, soars over his back, suspended gracefully mid-air in a backflip for one terrifying moment, before he hits the floor/judge/closest audience member. And that’s it. After all the ceremony, chanting and prancing, they hobble back to the stage, bow and exit the room demurely. Sumo wrestlers, unlike Irish football fans, are not permitted to show emotion after winning or losing a bout.

The best fights are the ones where the wrestlers weigh about the same and have similar strength. When their shoulders meet, neither gives way and they wrap their free arm around each other. This leads to a standoff which, after a few minutes, starts to look a bit more like the world’s fleshiest cuddle.

You would think that seven and a half hours of watching a foreign sport in an unintelligible language with a seemingly endless routine of unrecognizable religious rituals, would be too much of a good thing. But its not. As the day went on it got more and more exciting and, as the more successful sumos arrived, the crowd got more and more excited. A queue of people waiting to greet the world champions formed outside the stadium and with all the screaming teenagers and swooning women, you would have been excused for thinking that you were at a Take That concert.

We left feeling like kids who had spent the day at Disney, practicing our squats and splits and stamping on the bus, just daring people twice our size to take us on. And why not? Sumo has it all – morbidly obese men, thongs, long flowing locks, bear hugs, elaborate costumes, injured sea creatures, gravity defying belly flops and the ever present fear that the next time they fall, it could be on you. What more could you want from a sport?

More photos of sumo in Fukuoka are available in the gallery.

Oleh : M Anis Matta

Lebih dari 3.500 tahun lalu, Nabi Ibrahim berdoa di atas gurun tak berpenghuni agar Allah menggerakkan hati-hati manusia untuk datang mengunjungi Baitullah.

Sekitar 1.500 tahun lalu, Nabi Muhammad, cucu terakhir Nabi Ibrahim dari putranya, Nabi Ismail, menunaikan ibadah haji yang pertama sekaligus yang terakhir, yang dikenal sebagai Haji Terakhir ( Hajjatul Wada’ ), bersama sekitar 100.000 hingga 125.000 kaum Muslimin.

Sekarang, setiap tahun umat Islam yang menunaikan ibadah haji berjumlah 3 juta hingga 5 juta orang, sebuah pencapaian yang luar biasa.

Doa Nabi Ibrahim terkabul tanpa henti. Rumah Allah itu menjadi magnet yang menggerakkan hati umat manusia untuk datang mengunjunginya. Bayangkanlah petani-petani miskin di pelosok pedesaan Indonesia atau pelosok-pelosok miskin di Benua Afrika yang harus menabung selama bertahun-tahun hanya untuk mengakhiri hidup dengan satu mimpi yang tulus: pernah sekali memenuhi panggilan Allah ke rumah-Nya di Mekkah.

Kekuatan apakah yang dapat dengan begitu dahsyat menggerakkan hati manusia untuk memenuhi panggilan itu? Kekuatan apakah yang menjelaskan bahwa secara ajaib populasi mereka yang melakukan ibadah haji terus bertambah? Mereka secara terus-menerus menunaikan ibadah haji, bahkan jauh sebelum negara terlibat mengurus perjalanan mereka yang akan berhaji. Ketika pada akhirnya negara mulai terlibat mengurus perjalanan tamu-tamu Allah, populasi mereka yang ingin berangkat terus bertambah.

Itulah tabiat agama. Itulah sejarah akidah. Imperium, dinasti, kerajaan, pemerintahan, dan rezim semua datang silih berganti, bangkit dan jatuh lalu hilang dari muka bumi karena sejarah mereka dirakit dari tanah dan darah sehingga ia sempit dan terbatas. Untuk bertahan, ia harus bersikap ekstrem dalam ekspansi atau defensi, dan akhirnya harus menjadi narsis dan posesif dalam mencatat sejarahnya sendiri.

Islam datang melampaui era primordialisme itu. Tanah dan darah mungkin menyatukan kita secara romantis, tetapi takkan pernah mampu bertahan lama. Secara mengesankan kita dihadapkan pada fakta sejarah bahwa khilafah-khilafah Islam sepanjang 1.500 tahun bangun dan runtuh silih berganti, dengan konflik internal yang juga berdarah-darah, tetapi populasi pemeluk agama ini terus bertambah.

Rasio umat Islam dengan penduduk bumi pada masa Rasulullah SAW adalah 1 Muslim dari setiap 1.000 penduduk bumi. Kini, rasio itu menjadi satu Muslim dari setiap lima penduduk bumi. Inilah bagian dari janji Allah sendiri bahwa agama Allah akan tetap terjaga.

Haji adalah salah satu penjelasannya. Ini merupakan ritual persaudaraan global yang semua prosesinya menyampaikan pesan kesamaan asal-usul manusia, kesetaraan derajat, peleburan perbedaan etnis dan warna kulit, semangat perdamaian, etika persaudaraan, dan pertukaran manfaat duniawi di tengah aura ibadah.

Sejarah abad ke-20 lalu, misalnya, adalah sejarah perang dengan lebih dari 20 juta jiwa korban di Eropa saja. Dan, itu berakar dari pengembangan ide tentang seleksi alam dan survival competition, keserakahan yang dipicu dari kekhawatiran akan kelangkaan sumber daya, dan seterusnya. Jadi, jika pemeluk agama ini terus bertambah, jawabnya terletak pada kerinduan natural manusia kepada perdamaian yang abadi, kesamaan asal-usul manusia, kesetaraan derajat yang tegas, persaudaraan yang tulus tanpa sekat etnis, dan warna kulit atau kewarganegaraan.

Makna persaudaraan global itulah yang divisualisasikan secara tahunan dalam ritual haji, agar petani kecil Indonesia bisa bertemu dengan saudaranya dari ujung Afrika, atau intelektual dari Eropa dan Amerika, atau seorang ulama dari bangsa Arab, atau seorang pedagang dari bangsa China. Pertemuan itulah yang mereka rindukan, yang mempersaudarakan mereka, dalam naungan ibadah sembari memetik manfaat duniawi seperti perdagangan.

Itulah ritual yang terus memanggil-manggil. Itulah ritual yang tak pernah sepi. Suatu saat ulama terkemuka negeri ini, Buya Hamka, yang telah berhaji selama tiga kali mengatakan, aku selalu rindu untuk kembali ke sana.

M Anis Matta , Sekretaris Jenderal Partai Keadilan Sejahtera

Sumber : Kompas , Kamis, 20 November 2008

Gambar : IslamOnline.net

PS : Bagi yang ingin mengetahui berbagai hal tentang ibadah haji, silahkan ikuti tanya jawab haji di halaman Konsultasi Agama.

Posted by Abdul Aziz on November 21 , 2009 | 23:40

we did it alone

inside the rain

queen of the may

lord cernunnos

i your morrighan

you my gawain

i ragnell

knew the answer

to your riddle

blood of my blood

fingers touch

ribbons cross

green then red

our promises

a year and a day

the ribbons will stay

on our altar

as the god and goddess

so will we underthesky

bone of my bones

around your chalice

the ribbons there

flesh of my flesh

unless before then

we no longer love

and untie them

our signal

of forever true

Our world is in trouble in a lot of ways and anyone, whether an individual or a government, who denies this is practicing the head in the sand technique. Overfishing has caused the closing of fisheries in numerous countries, caribou herds are threatened, whales are on the endangered list , rhinos and tigers and other large land mammals are in danger of extinction. The list of endangered or near extinct fauna is extensive. Not all are hunted by humans for food or trophyism but the ones that are hunted/farmed/fished for food run into more conflict.

There are the people who make their livelihoods/their jobs from hunting a particular land or marine animal. When they are told they can’t do this anymore they are rightfully upset, scared of a future that is uncertain at best. Then there are native peoples of the lands, whether they’re Native Americans/First Nations, Danes, Laplanders, or Fiji Islanders (to name a few), they all have centuries of traditions and customs.

In many pre-industrial societies, food was a focus of stability. Towns and cities were often built on fertile land near water sources. Herds of animals were domesticated or hunted near villages. Customs, rituals and spiritual rites took place around food and the creatures that sustained the life of a people. These were so ingrained that you cannot separate an animal from the ritual. Initiatory rites as well as rituals for sustenance and good hunting were common.

But time is time, and everything changes through time. The land shifts, erodes and buckles. Species ebb and flow with the changing seasons and shift in climates, and from natural disasters. Although a species can hunt another to extinction, especially if it’s transplanted from its natural habitat, it’s not common. Only homo sapiens have been so resilient, adaptive and creative to live anywhere and hunt what they need. In most ecosystems if the predator overhunts the prey, the predators flourish but then there is not enough prey and the predators die back, maintaining a natural balance.

Only the human species has been able to circumvent this natural balance, bringing technology to bear on the environment to the point of detriment for every living thing including people. And so we have species all over the world that are endangered, protected or becoming extinct and yes, there are many species becoming memories only. Then we have traditional cultures saying, “We have always done this. It’s part of our traditions. It’s you people who disturbed the balance, not us.”

Governments are trying to protect dwindling resources so there will be something to hunt in the future and have placed restrictions and moratoria on different species. Sometimes only a certain quota is allowed to be taken and then there is more conflict. As in the missing salmon this year on the Pacific coast. There was nothing to fish. If anyone, Native or other fisherman wanted to take the fish because it was their right, if would diminish a chance for that species to survive. And now we have Innu hunters shooting caribou in Newfoundland and Labrador.

The thing is, it is their right to do so and have some protection based on ancestral tradition. That’s fine, but conservation officials say that a particular type of caribou, the Red Wine, have moved in amongst the other more prolific herd. There is supposed to be less than 100 of the Red Wine caribou left and they’re protected. The interesting thing is that five years ago Grand Chief Penashue  said about hunters in the protected preserver, “The hunt in the Red Wine caribou range was not just an illegal protest, it was completely inconsistent with Innu values. … Putting a threatened caribou herd at further risk can never be justified on the basis of aboriginal rights.”

Yet today this same chief is supporting the hunting of the caribou because statistically fewer would be hit compared to the George River herd. Seems those ancestral Innu values have changed. So it’s only good to assert traditional rights when it suits you and because the ministry or the government aren’t working with you, it’s now all right to hunt endangered species?

What is not right is asserting traditional and cultural rights over species that are endangered. To do so is pure stupidity because there will be nothing to fight over or use in traditional ways in a very near future. This is the biggest problem when various cultures try to assert their rights because it’s always been done this way. And where do we draw the timeline if someone says, we’ve done it this way for a hundred years, a thousand years, or whatever. Just because one’s ancestors did it doesn’t mean we can continue to do it, whatever it may be. The world has changed and denying that does no good.

I support the right of people to keep their traditions (that’s all those unique cultures all over the world) but not at the expense of losing endangered species or in subjugating other people. Our ancestors did all sorts of things, including using outhouses, killing and beating people and eating foods we wouldn’t touch. They lived without central heating, they sewed everything by hand and only the richest (or the military) might have gone more than a hundred miles from their local village. Life was constant hard work. We cannot always say, because my people once did it I have the right to do it now. We have to be reasonable and holding a species as hostage to get your way is the same as saying well you won’t listen to me so I’ll just beat this kid until I get my way. They’re both innocent (caribou or child) and some healthy reasoning should come in to play as opposed to punishing/speeding the extinction of the species. In this case the Innu should be ashamed of themselves because even killing one more of an endangered herd lessens its chance for viability and recovery.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/labrador-innu-break-hunting-ban-kill-64-caribou/article1370834/

First, thanks for the well-wishes from everyone… they must have done some good, because it’s not quite Saturday yet and I’m already feeling somewhat better. Yay! Chicken soup also helped… it’s one of those colds where you feel gross for the first couple hours after you get up, and the last hour before bed, but during the day you feel fine. Very odd.

Anyway, here is my little offering for today; I want to re-iterate that I although I prefer to keep my spiritual beliefs pretty much on the DL, I never intend any offense by the use of religious words/imagery in poems. Sometimes this mix of intriguing elements just occurs to me, and I run with it to the finish. That being said: I have always wanted to do what is described in this poem. ^_^ That, and it’s an experiment in hidden verse (because “secret blank verse” is too long a term)… I also feel like hopscotch is a very deep, existential game. If you stop and think about it, that is.

Leaps of Faith

We cleared the leaves from brickwork,
painted out the Sephirot in all the colors of the rainbow

(colors of the trees in autumn, crimson
bloodstain, pale Egyptian gold, that self-destructive blue
the backdrop for deciduous suicides)

wrote out the Hebrew letters with a careful, practiced hand:
the crown flows down through wisdom,
beauty, understanding, roots of All Things, all
entwining, crossed-connected
Tree of Life
in two dimensions, and we toss a quartz-stone,
watch it land and interrupt the flow
(Gevurah, mighty presence of the Lord)

and though they might say we’re
irreverent, we know the kabbalah of footsteps, the
counting of the cracks in sidewalks, tracing their explorable
pathways leading to a deeper comprehension:
we play hopscotch,
realm by realm, creating and self-revelating,
six and seven, maybe we’ll get into heaven

(but if not
remember that we meant
no disrespect,
oh Lord)

Om Sathguru Sri Seshadri Swamigal Thiruvadikkae

Disciple:

Does mantra initiation usually involves some sort of special ritual performed between the Guru and the disciple?

Master:

More important than any ritual is the faith of the person who receives the mantra. One with faith can receive a Siddha’s mantra in any place, at any time, under any circumstances, and that mantra is guaranteed to bear its fruit. A Siddhapurusha’s mantra (Sri Seshadri Swamigal) is no inert one – it’s fully conscious and not bound by time, space, or ritual. Through the Siddha’s grace, it bears fruit immediately. Ordinarily, there is a ritual for mantra initiation, but the main ritual is faith. Where there is no faith, ritual becomes pointless, where there is great faith, ritual becomes unnecessary.

Let’s watch Only The Girls,
where she throw the book on the fire!
That would be Little Women.
As soon as Susan Sarandon (as Marmee)
starts talking, which is in the first scene,
I start weeping.
Mommy, you feel so happy and sad?
Yes, I do.
Even though we just watched it yesterday.

Yule Ritual for Children
by Michelle Balsley; November 17, 2000

Start this Seasonal Celebration early in the day, Make Sun symbol ornaments and White Stag Ornaments to hang on the Yule tree, You can always put some type of sealant on the ornaments and hang them outside on a special tree, if this is what you prefer.

Write your own songs to sing to the Lord on his day of rebirth. Decorate the house in Golds, Greens (Ivy, Pine), Whites, some Reds, cut out big Suns and Stars hang them around the house or make a mobile to hang from the ceiling.

Go walking through the woods, park and be on the look out for a Yule Log. And once you locate your Yule log, drill three holes in it, one for a White candle, Red candle, and a Black Candle (Maiden, Mother and Crone) place these in the holes that you drilled in the Yule Log and light the candles.

Decorate your Table/Altar in Golds and Whites.

Have the children and yourself, take a Ritual Bath, burn some Pine Incense or whatever appeals to your emotions and reminds you of Yule. Help each other get dressed for the Celebration of welcoming the rebirth of the Lord, and this is also the time to Thank the Lady. Everyone should have some part in helping to set up the Ritual Area, I use a Gold cord to mark the Circle, this helps the kids, as a Yule Ritual can be pretty long. (let the kids lay down in the Circle, the Lady understands-make special pillows, stuffed with Pine, Orange Peel, of course I wouldn’t suggest using Pine needles, nothing like having one stick you in the cheek, just use some Oil, these pillows are for the kids to put their heads on while they wait for the return of the Sun)

Once it gets closer to the Yule Ritual, have the Children welcome in the guests if any are coming.

The Ritual:

Lay the Gold cord on the floor
Cast your Circle
Call the Quarters
Welcome the Lady and the Lord

Mommy/Daddy:

"Welcome to our Yule Ritual, this is the time we look forward to our Sun/Lord/God to return, We have missed him high in the sky, smiling upon us as we start another day, his hugs are the rays that shin upon us as we work or play outside, his kisses are a warm breeze that gently caresses our cheeks, he is the green of the woods, the bright gold of the sun, he is the White Stag in the Woods, Protector and Watcher".

Children/All:

"Father/God/Lord we await your return". (Say as much as you want to, this is also a good short, sweet chant to use to raise any energy you may want during the ritual)

Mommy/Daddy:

"We light the Candles on the Yule log in honor the Goddess/Mother/Lady, White for the Maiden, Red for the Mother, and Black for the Crone". (Light the candles and let them burn, to almost the Yule log, don’t want the log to catch fire)

Children/All:

"We thank you Goddess/Lady for all that you have given us".(Once again another short and sweet chant to raise energy) At this time Share of some Cakes, Wine/Ale/Fruit Juice should be done. (One of our favorites is light and fluffy Divinity Candy, or baked sugar cookies that look like the Sun)

Share stories about Yule’s past and talk about what you would like to do next Yule Talk about what the Goddess and God mean to you and of course let the Children tell their Stories and feelings too! Exchange small Yule Gifts.

Mommy/Daddy:

"We thank the Lady and Lord on this day for the gifts they have given us, and for each other. Bright Blessings upon us all".

At this point you can either stay in the Circle and keep on talking until the Sun comes up, or dissolve the Circle, of course always thanking the Quarters and the Lady for being there. Go for a walk outside and Welcome the New day as the Sun comes back.

I know that this Ritual is not as formal, as some would wish, but you have to remember you are involving young Children with short attention spans (some adults have those, too!) These types of Short, Sweet and to the Point Rituals prepare your children for the more Formal ones later in this Lifetime. Blessings for a Bright Yule! (Copyright Michelle Balsley About this author: Wiccan, Married, two children, work full time outside the home, I live in a small town, love to write, read, swim, and laugh. )

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