GREEN EGG

ISSUE No. 154 YULE 2010

Green Egg Magazine

Table of Contents
SHORT STORY THE QUIET NEIGHBORS (Diane Wing)....33 POETRY ARADIA (Radagast the Bard)....2 UNEXPECTED JOURNEY (Hemlock Evergreen) 48 CEDAR OF YULE (Rose Wise) .65 YULE VISION (Radagast the Bard)...66 FEATURES HOW ENKI SURRENDERED TO THE EARTH MOTHER AND QUEEN (Billy Rojas).....7 IONA, MYSTIC ISLAND BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH (Iona Orr Miller)....18 SCIENTIFIC PROOF OF PREMONITION AND PRECOGNTION (Tom Donohue)..30 CAN YOU GO GRID-LESS FOR 30 DAYS? (Richard Alan Miller and Yvonne-Marie Zancanaro)..59 THE SEVEN DIRECTIONS (Diane Wing)..62 OUR GAY COMMANDER IN CHIEF (Harvey Wasserman)..67 COLUMNS EDITORS PAGE (Ariel Monserrat)....5 CRITTER CORNER BEFORE THE BREATH (Sandra Eckert) ..16 IN MEMORIAM, LADY SINTANA32 ON THE ROAD WITH KENNY KLEIN (Kenny Klein)..51 MUSE REVIEWS, THE DRUID ISLE by ELLEN EVERT HOPMAN (Ariel Monserrat)..69 MUSE REVIEWS, THE TRUE NATURE OF TAROT...70 CONTRIBUTORS SHOWCASE ..72

Oberon Zell ~ Founder Ariel Monserrat ~ Publisher/ Managing Editor Tom Donohue ~ Scie nce Editor/ Layout and Design

GREEN EGG is the official journal of the Church of All Worlds, whose mission is to evolve a network of information, mythology and experience that provides a context and stimulus for reawakening Gaea, and reuniting her children through tribal community dedicated to responsible stewardship and evolving consciousness. We publish every other month. Visit the website at: http://www.greeneggzine.com copyright 2010 Church of All Worlds. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher. Opinions expressed are those of the authors.

Editors Page

Another of our new contributors is Diane Wing, M.A., a veteran Tarot card reader with over 30 years experience in Tarot. She has written an excellent book for Tarot reference and it is equally good for both beginner and advanced practitioners. We also have an excellent short fiction story by her, in the wondrously horrific manner of Alfred Hitchcock. It is a cautionary tale of magick gone wrong. We also have poetry from Radagast the Bard. Im sure you all will find his work as riveting as we have. Look for more writing in Green Egg from these luminaries in the future. As Green Egg grows and its readership increases, we are finding ourselves with a growing amount of work to be done. For this reason, we will be publishing 4 times a year now, instead of 6. The good news is that the issues will be longer with an even better quality of contributions than weve had. Its hard work producing a quality magazine every 8 weeks! We also are finding ourselves acquiring new projects as well. One of these projects, the Pentacle Project, will be launched shortly after the New Year. It is a project to promote awareness of the fact that Pagans are, sadly, still very much under attack in America. We are seeing this increase in the Southern states, but the other states are not immune. Young people are committing suicide because they are harassed by their classmates. You hear a lot about the bullying of young LGBT people, but you dont hear much about it happening to our young Pagan kids. As usual, the mainstream media doesnt pay much attention to Pagans and, while I tend to think thats generally a good thing, in this case, it isnt. There are those who would deny our rights because they think we are Satanic and they dont think of it as civil rights, because after all, we chose to be Pagan. They use the same argument for our young gay and lesbian school children, maintaining that because they chose to be gay, they dont deserve civil rights. The

By Ariel Monserrat
Lots of changes are happening here at Green Egg. Since weve decided to make it free to all, it means that more people have access to viewing it. Because of that, weve had several brilliant people come forward with excellent articles. We are proud to have Richard Alan Miller, who made a particle accelerator at the age of 16, writing for us. We also have Iona Miller, writer extraordinaire writing some highly informative articles for us. Both have a major following in their own right and we are very excited and proud that they want to write for Green Egg. Richard has been writing for Green Egg since its inception and is happy that Green Egg is being published again. He is continuing a 40 year tradition of writing for us.

Pentacle Project will hopefully help to make people aware that we dont have true religious freedom in America, at least not for Pagans at this time. You will be hearing more about the Pentacle Project after the first of the New Year. Times are difficult right now and there is much happening in America that doesnt look promising for our future. We here at Green Egg will continue to do our best to

bring our readers new ideas for new paradigms and to alert you about things we think are important to Pagans. We hope you all have Happy Holidays, a merry Yule and a wonderful New Year in store! Peace and love to all, Tom and Ariel

ON THE COVER

(Snegurochka) The snow maiden, is a character from Russian fairy tales. In the earliest versions of the story she is the daughter of Spring and Frost. Since she is the progeny of supernatural beings she is immortal. As in so many classic fairy tales, she feels attracted to a young man but finds that she is not really able to love. She goes to her mother, Spring, for help. Her mother grants her the ability to love but when she actually experiences love, her heart warms up and she melts. In later versions of the story she doesnt melt but turns into a mortal human and will eventually die. For her and many other mythic heroines, the price of love is mortality. In still other variations of the tale, she is a Pinocchio type character who is built from snow by an elderly childless couple. Once again there are several variant conclusions to her story, usually tragic. Sometimes she melts in the spring; sometimes she is vaporized while jumping over a bonfire on the eve of the summer solstice. In the present day she is most often identified as the granddaughter of Ded Moroz (grandfather frost) the Russian equivalent to Santa Claus.

How Enki Surrendered to the Earth Mother and Queen

By Billy Rojas

Enki and Ninhursag is perhaps one of the most difficult Mesopotamian myth for Judeo-Christian Westerners to understand, because it stands as the opposite of the myth of Adam and Eve in Paradise found in the Old Testament Bible. Indeed, the literature created by the Sumerians left its deep imprint on the Hebrews, and one of the thrilling aspects of reconstructing and translating Sumerian belles-lettres consists in tracing resemblances and parallels between Sumerian and

Biblical motifs. To be sure, Sumerians could not have influenced the Hebrews directly, for they had ceased to exist long before the Hebrew people came into existence. But there is little doubt that the Sumerians deeply influenced the Canaanites, who preceded the Hebrews in the land later known as Palestine (Kramer, 1981:142). Some comparisons with the Bible paradise story: 1) the idea of a divine paradise, the garden of gods, is of Sumerian origin, and it was Dilmun, the land of immortals situated in southwestern Persia. It is the same Dilmun that, later, the Babylonians, the Semitic people who conquered the Sumerians, located their home of the immortals. There is a good indication that the Biblical paradise, which is described as a garden planted eastward in Eden, from whose waters flow the four world rivers including the Tigris and the Euphrates, may have been originally identical with Dilmun; 2) the watering of Dilmun by Enki and the Sun god Utu with fresh water brought up from the earth is suggestive of the Biblical But there went up a mist from the earth and watered the whole face of the ground (Genesis 2:6); 3) the birth of goddesses without pain or travail illuminates the background of the curse against Eve that it shall be her lot to conceive and bear children in sorrow; 4) Enkis greed to eat the eight sacred plants which gave birth to the Vegetal World resonates the eating of the Forbidden Fruit by Adam and Eve, and 6) most remarkably, this myth provides an explanation for one of the most puzzling motifs in the Biblical paradise story - the famous passage describing the fashioning of Eve, the mother of all living, from the rib of Adam. Why a rib instead of another organ to fashion the woman whose name Eve means according to the Bible, she who makes live? If we look at the Sumerian myth, we see that when Enki gets ill, cursed by Ninhursag, one of his body parts that start dying is the rib. The Sumerian word for rib is ti . To heal each o Enkis dying body parts, Ninhursag gives birth to eight goddesses. The goddess

created for the healing of Enkis rib is called Nin-ti, the lady of the rib. But the Sumerian word ti also means to make live. The name Nin-ti may therefore mean the lady who makes live as well as the lady of the rib. Thus, a very ancient literary pun was carried over and perpetuated in the Bible, but without its original meaning, because the Hebrew word for rib and that for who makes live have nothing in common. Moreover, it is Ninhursag who gives her life essence to heal Enki, who is then reborn from her (Kramer, 1981:143-144).

Ninhursag looked around the land, her stony body, and remembered the taste of the wondrous moisture of the Sweet Waters God within herself. She wondered whether the land should not feel the same loving touch without. She said then to Enki: I heard your heart speak, Enki dearest. But if I feel your wondrous moisture within me, I look at the earth of Dilmun, also my body, and feel its longing for the gifts that you, dear heart, for sure can bring. Thus I ask you: what is a land, what is a city that has no river quay? A city that has no ponds of sweet water? Taken by surprise, Enki realized that indeed he had given his whole essence to the beloved, but forgotten to look after her Earthly Body, the land. He then rose to the challenge of providing water for the land with aplomb. He replied: For Dilmun, the land of my ladys heart, I will create long waterways, rivers and canals, whereby water will flow to quench the thirst of all beings and bring abundance to all that lives Enki then summoned Utu, the Sun God and Light of the Day. Together, they brought a mist from the depths of the earth and watered the whole face of the ground. Then Enki and Utu created waterways to surround the land with a never-ending source of fertile Sweet Waters, and Enki also devised basins and cisterns to store the waters for further needs. From these fertile sweet waters flow the four Great Rivers of the Ancient World, including the Tigris and the Euphrates. Thus, from that moment on, Dilmun was blessed by Enki with everlasting agricultural and trade superiority, for through its waterways and quays, fruits and grains were sold and exchanged by the people of Dilmun and beyond.

After Time had come into being and the holy seasons for growth and rest were finally known, Dilmun, the pure clean and bright land of the living, the garden of the Great Gods and Earthly paradise, located eastward in Eden, was the place where Ninhursag-Ki, the Earth Mother, Most Exalted Lady and Supreme Queen, could be found. There she lived for a season during the Wheel of the Year, when the Earth lay deep in slumber before the onset of Spring, in the land that knew neither sickness nor death or old age, where the raven uttered no cry, where lions and wolves killed not, and unknown were the sorrows of widowhood or the wailing of the sick. And it was in Dilmun, at that time that Enki, the wise god of Magic and the Sweet Waters, the Patron of Crafts and Skills, met, fell in love and lay with the Lady of the Stony Earth, Ninhursag-Ki. The Earth Mothers kiss did change the carefree and sexy Sweet Waters Lord. Ninhursag had wholly captivated him through the most profound of all bonds, the thread of enchantment and passion called Love. So profound the feeling was that the God of Sweet Waters, Magic and Crafts proposed to Ninhursag, with the enthusiasm of a young lovers heart.

Ninhursag rejoiced in prowess and said to him:

Enkis

mighty

Enki replied: Ninhursag, dearest Nintur, beloved, how can anyone quite compare to you? I cannot resist your wild, sweet ways, so lie with me one more time and fill my body, heart, soul and mind with endless delights! For me you will forever be my fierce Damgalnunna, my Great Spouse, passionate and very much loved! Ninhursag laughed and welcomed the eagerness of the Sweet Waters Lord. Nine days later, the Great Goddess gave birth to a lovely girl without the slightest travail or pain. The girl was called Ninsar, Lady Verdure, the Mistress of Vegetation, the green carpet of grass, leaves and flower beds that cover the surface of the earth. Enki was overjoyed with the birth of his and Ninhursags child: How perfect, how lovely is our Ninsar! I love already the woman in the girl-child, the young Anunnaki goddess and Mistress of Velvet Meadows and Green Fields. The ties that bind me to Ninsar are strong and tempered by an even greater love, for in her face I see also Ninhursags, the one and only to my wandering heart. The Great Lady, holding Ninsar in her arms, kissed Enki in the mouth, and said: Soon my time to leave Dilmun will come, but to this holy land I will surely return at the beginning of the earths rest in the Middleworld. I need to leave, for without my loving touch Spring cannot come back, the winds to dismiss Winter wont blow, all there is wont sing or mate until I invite them to return. But before I go away, I endow Ninsar with the power to grow in record time, and in holy Dilmun Ill leave my youngster daughter safe and sound from any illness, hatred or harm. As the Great Lady had declared, nine days later Ninsar was fully grown, charming and graceful, a sight to behold. Ninhursag then left for the Middleworld. Enki knew

Beloved, the powerful touch of your sweet waters, the essence of Mother Nammu that lies deep within you, transformed the land, my stony body. I feel the power of life throbbing within to be revealed without upon my surface as I give joyously birth and sustenance to the marshes and reed-beds, that from now on will shelter fish, plant, beasts and all that breathes. Thus I call myself Nintur, the lady who gives birth, the Womb of the Damp Lands by the riverbanks.

he would miss his beloved terribly, but while she was busy in the Middlearth giving her Essence for the land to grow happy and gay, equally busy was Enki in holy Dilmun. It was his sacred duty to oversee the rise and fall of all fertilizing waters that flowed from Dilmun to feed the rivers, lakes and ponds of the Middleworld to make the land ready to receive the Spring seeds. Thus, as much as he missed Ninhursag, Enki knew he could not leave Dilmun before all waterways were filled to ensure that the people would have plenty of water to grow their crops. Enkis essence, the fertilizing power of the sweet waters, should reach every piece of land in the Middleworld that had been worked and ploughed. It was at the end of a day he had spent totally absorbed by the mighty task of controlling the water flow to the Middleworld that Enki saw Ninsar walking on her own along the marshlands. Indeed, a lovely goddess she had become, and Enkis eyes fell on the Maidens. Deep within, the Sweet Waters Lord felt a longing he could not as yet define. He only knew that after Ninhursags departure, no other maiden had touched his heart the way this one did. Indeed, she who walked on her own along the marshlands was the closest version to Ninhursag his eyes had the luck to find. Enki did not lose time and immediately started wooing the young lady, encouraging her to love him wildly by the riverside. Curious and eager as Ninsar was to experience the power of love in her body, mind, soul, and heart, she, the young goddess of Green Fields and Luscious Meadows, yielded to the Sweet Waters Lord, and together they made wild love. But when morning came, Enki looked into Ninsars eyes and found her a loving, but pale portrait of Ninhursag. What is in her that was so alluring last night, but now in the broad day light seems to have lost substance? Lovely as

she is, she is not the one I surely miss, thought Enki. Despite the doubts he felt deep inside, Enki stayed with Ninsar for a while, because he knew his seed could be in her womb. So he stayed with her until the ninth day, when Ninsar gave birth to Ninkurra, another girl-child, the future goddess of Mountain Pastures. As before, Enki rejoiced at Ninkurras loveliness, at her cheerful smile and sweet face. Again, Enki saw in Ninkurra twice the mark of his beloved Ninhursag. Sadly, Ninsar realized that although she had been passionately loved by Enki for a time, there was a longing in his eyes, his body, soul and mind she could not satisfy. Bonded to him I for a time was, thought Ninsar, but he does not want me for myself, this I can tell. Mine is not the mind, body, soul and heart that holds his for a minute that means eternity, so Ill let him go, now and forever. I need to be loved for who and what I am, and not to be a mere replacement for whom I know not he loves. Thus, when Enki left her and young Ninkurra, Ninsar grieved deeply, but found hope, meaning and sustenance in drawing from her all-one-ness, her inner and outer resources to heal and grow with the experience. She also kept a watchful eye on Ninkurra, who, like herself, grew in record time. Lovely, resourceful Ninkurra demonstrated enormous energy by climbing the highest heights, up to the mountain tops, but also keeping her essence tied to the ground. This way Ninkurra, the Goddess of Mountain Pastures grew safe from all hatred or harm. Another nine days passed by, and as Ninkurra played at a mountain top, curiosity led her to explore a well that surfaced out of the blue to water the greens and wild flower beds she had just

made grow. To her sheer surprise and delight, the well took the shape of a handsome god, who introduced himself to her as Enki the Sweet Waters Lord. Again, Enki looked at Ninkurras young and cheerful face, and desired to dive into the maidens embrace, for she reminded him twice of Ninhursag, the one and only to Enkis wandering heart. The maiden at the mountain top though had attracted the Sweet Waters Lord. Had he again fallen in love?

Ninkurras eyes, and frowned at Enkis unbridled lust. Ninhursag knew how charming Enki could be, but no matter what, young Uttu the Weaver should be advised to avoid the riverbanks, or the places where Enki and herself could be found alone or unchaperoned: Daughter Uttu, beware of the marshes and the riverbanks, where Enki, the Sweet Waters god, reigns as Sovereign. There he will see you, there he will desire you and want to make of you his own, only to leave you all alone later on!, was Ninhursags stern advice to Uttu. For a time young Uttu did follow the Great Ladys advice and kept her distance from Enkis lusty sight. But one day Enkis desire won the young goddess heart, when he brought to her delicacies from the garden of delights: apples, cucumbers and grapes, all this and more Enki offered to the young goddess. Then Uttu, full of joy, opened herself to welcome Enki, the crafty god, and he embraced her with heartfelt glee, lying in her lap content and happy. Loving strokes, kisses and hugs they shared, until Enkis seed found its way to Uttus young and yet untried womb.

Ninkurra, who had lived a life so sheltered at the mountain heights, was fully bewitched by the easy charm of the older, more experienced god. Thus she joyously yielded to him and love they made for nine days and nine nights. But Enki soon realized that as lovely as Ninkurra was, she could not be compared to Ninhursag. As before, the Sweet Waters Lord left Ninsar after nine days, when Ninkurra gave birth to another lovely girl-child called Uttu, the Spider, the Weaver of Patterns and Life Desires. But Ninhursag, having kissed the earth to awaken for Spring to come, had returned to holy Dilmun. The Great Lady who saw and wisely judged all life forms, frowned at the sadness reflected in Ninsars and

Later, still lying on Enkis powerful arms, doubt entered Uttus mind, body and heart: Tonight you loved me so dearly, tonight I was your spouse, the one and only, your dearest, she thought . But will you love me in the morning, o lustiest of all gods? Will you stay in my arms and never let me go? And will you love for more than a holy night, and share with me happy and hard times? But when morning came and Uttu looked into Enkis eyes, she knew she still was not the one to hold captive the Sweet Waters Lord. With a tender kiss Enki took his leave, but did not say when he was going to come back, or ever returned to stay. Uttu swallowed stubborn tears, but

decided not to surrender to loss and sorrow, and more. I vow not to be bonded to Enki from this moment on, she promised herself with a deep-rooted resolve. If he does not want me for myself, for what we can together be, I will not carry any of his seeds within or without my very being! Uttu immediately turned then to Ninhursag for help. The Great Mother goddess, beloved by all, would know what to do, would ensure the best course of action. Wipe out Enkis seed of your body, and bury within the depths of the Earth the promise of life you shared with him, said the Great Lady and Womb of Creation. Let the Earth receive and transform yours and Enkis seed. And after you do this all, take your time so that your body, heart, mind and soul may heal. And I, who have known love, pain, sorrow and immense joy, give you, daughter, a very special blessing: may the wisdom of experience brought by such pain enter your being again and may you learn to ask as much as you give from your future lovers for as long as you live. Reciprocation is the key for everlasting relationships! Where Ninhursag buried Enkis seed, nine days later eight plants, luscious and strong, started to grow. Ninhursag laughed and declared happily to each of them: Out of the depths of the earth, out of my stony womb, eight plants came out to bring more blessings to the world! Eight they are, and from now on each of them will be both fathers and mothers, the very first Seed, of a new group of beings, whom Ill call Plants, creatures of green and color, that will nourish, heal and grow in the glory of Dilmun and the Middleworld. After a time, Enki returned, happy and carefree, as it was his custom to be. He

was not alone, but in the company of the two-faced god Isimud, Enkis vizier and friend. Both took long walks around the riverbanks, enjoyed the pleasures of the marshlands. Both saw the luscious plants.

What sorts of beings are those, Isimud, my faithful servant and friend? What is in them so new and yet so old that fills my heart with desire and my mind with deeprooted curiosity? I want to taste them, to know their hearts, I want to know their insides. What, pray, is this plant?, Enki asked Isimud, pointing at the closest one. My king, this is a tree plant, Isimud answered, and sworn as he was to serve the Sweet Waters Lord, Isimud then proceeded to cut down a piece of the treeplant and passed it on to Enki, who immediately ate it with greed. The taste of the tree-plant fuelled even more Enkis desire to know the nature of the other seven plants left.. He asked Isimud about the nature of the seven plants, their essence and content. Isimud

replied to all of his masters questions, cutting down a sample of each and passing them on to Enki, who devoured them immediately with glee. This way Enki got to know the hearts of the Plants World. Seeing that once again Enki had shown no respect or restraint, taking over to make his own, not only young maiden goddesses, but also the Plants World, angered Ninhursag beyond any measure. Enough is enough! exclaimed the Great Mother, Mistress and Supreme Queen of the Earth, outraged and furious at Enkis disdain for all beings, human or plants. Enki, youve gone too far by taking over the hearts essence of not only young goddesses, but also by taking into yourself eight primeval samples of the Plants World. It is good to feel desire and experience the need to be one with the beloved. But there is a profound responsibility implicit in falling in love and captivating someones mind, body, heart and soul. You, Enki, came out of the blue into many maidens lives, set yourself up like a squatter within their hearts only to leave them afterwards, never to return. But even then you were not satisfied in your lust to know and experience everything, so you turned to the newly created Plants World. You, Enki, tasted each one of the eight sacred plants, devouring them next with greed. You never asked, but always took without giving anything back, a sign of acknowledgement, a simple caress. To how many did you bring a little death to their spirit, to their hopes about a future with you? For all this, you deserve a mighty lesson, for it is high time that you, Enki, learn in sorrow what you did not learn in happiness: I will never look at you with a life-giving eye from this moment on. May the suffering you inflicted return to you threefold! With these words, Great Ninhursag disappeared, leaving Enki clearly divided between the joy of seeing the one and

only to his heart and the growing concern for her parting words. Because indeed Enkis health began to fail. A strange illness this was: eight organs of his body fell progressively ill. Indeed, they started to die in Enkis living body. The Anunnaki, the Great Gods, were disconsolate with Enkis suffering. Father An, the Skylord, Enlil, Lord Air and Enkis beloved older brother, all healer gods and goddesses of the land tried everything they could to no avail. Only Ninhursag could not be found anywhere, while Enkis health deteriorated little by little day after day. It soon came a time when Enlil left Enkis side to sit on the dust, so immersed he was in despair and worry for the health of his younger and favorite brother. The Air Lord grieved for Enki. A world without the Lord of the Sweet Waters, Magic and Crafts, how sad it would be! Enlil simply could not conceive life without Enkis cunning, humor and sheer energy. It was then that a fox, a creature of the wild sacred to Ninhursag, came to console Lord Air: Ive seen the suffering of the Sweet Waters Lord, Ive witnessed the lament of the greatest of the Anunnaki for Enki, their beloved brother. Only Ninhursag can heal him, only the Mistress of All Creation can make him whole again. Ill do my best to go and find the Greatest Lady of Earth, holy Ninhursag I am sworn to worship and serve till the end of my days. I will find the Great Goddess and bring her here to accomplish the healing of the sick god. The fox disappeared, but kept her promise, for Ninhursag relented and came running to Enkis aid. She went straight to the chamber where Enki lay in agony, and, with a wave of her mighty hand, Ninhursag dismissed healers, nurses and well-wishers. Their work was done. Ninhursags had just begun.

With immense tenderness, the Mistress of All Creation made herself comfortable by him on the bed, carefully placing Enkis head on her vagina. She then leaned forward and wrapped herself, arms, legs, breasts around the body of the Sweet Waters Lord. Enki was this way lovingly embraced by the Great Lady, kept safe and protected by her warmth, and arms that felt strong yet very sweet. Like a nurturing womb, the Great Lady wrapped herself around the Sweet Waters god. Ninhursag whispered softly in Enkis ear: Dearest, what hurts you? O beloved, my whole body hurts me, Enki managed to answer with visible effort. Ninhursag rocked gently back and forth with much care the sick god: I know your body hurts, dear heart, but soon you will be made whole again. Because Ill receive in my Womb of Abundance, the nest of creation, the seeds that you so greedily ate and that made you so ill. Ill take them all into my body so that they can bring healing, not harm to all beings. Let the Work begin! Enki felt he could not move a fingertip. At the same time, warmth started spreading all over his body, bringing new vitality, life force with it. Enki heard Ninhursags voice resonate all over his being: The first seed you ate and made you ill, I take its power into my myself and transform it into a newly born god, a younger brother and son to you, dearest. I therefore have given birth to the god Abu to set your body free. The Great Lady continued her mighty healing ritual, asking Enki for the names of the organs that had been affected. : Dearest, what hurts you?

My jaw hurts me. To the god Nintulla I have given birth for you to set your jaw free. Where else do you hurt, dearest? My tooth hurts me. To the goddess Ninsutu I have given birth for you to set your tooth free. Where do you still feel much pain, dearest? What hurts you? My mouth hurts me. Ninhursag kissed Enki in the mouth. To the goddess Ninkasi I have given birth for you to set your mouth free. What hurts you still, dear? My throat hurts me. To the goddess Azimua I have given birth for you to set your throat free. What hurts you still, dear? My limbs hurt me. To the god Enshag I have given birth for you to set your limbs free. What hurts you most, dearest? My rib hurts me. To the goddess Ninti, the Lady of the Rib and the One who makes Live, I have given birth for you to set your rib free. As soon as Ninhursag uttered the last sentence, Enki felt no pain or ache, revitalized and stronger than ever. Indeed, as if he himself had been reborn in the close embrace of Ninhursag. Gone was the pain, the fever, the shivers. I am alive, he said very simply, his voice full of wonder, and yet it feels so different from the moment I came out of the sea of mother Nammu or when I met Ereshkigal in the Underworld.

He moved into Ninhursags arms, for he wanted to see her face too. The Great Lady had closed her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips. She rested against the pillows of Enkis bed, still holding him in a loose embrace. Now it was his turn to act with immense tenderness, as he shifted positions to make her rest on his chest. You healed me by sending your soul into my body, he said, deeply moved by the Gift of Life he had been given, and more. This is why you are so wearied. And the reason why I feel so much more part of yourself as a consequence. How could I have been so stupid not to understand you or myself until now? It was you I longed for, your embrace, your touch. But beforehand I wanted you for me only, and desired all maidens, because I knew not of the extent of my longing for you and only you. How impossibly stupid of me to think that I should find your image in every maiden I came across just to leave them when I realized they were not you! They kissed passionately. I would never bind you to me against your True Will, beloved, said simply Ninhursag. And because you understood this great mystery, because you and I are indeed two of a kind, let all worlds know what I now declare: from this very moment on let it be known that I, Ninhursag, the Earth Mother, Wisest beyond all Beings in the Ways of Nature, built a house for my beloved and myself on a Rock, steadfast and solid... Let me finish this for you... for us, dearest, interrupted Enki Ninhursag with a kiss, I, Enki, the Lord of Sweet Waters, say that from this strong and solid rock that means Life, Love and Fruition for me, the Waters of Life will flow forever in all worlds we dare to fare.

They kissed and hugged passionately, sealing their shared Fate forever, for as long as they wanted to be together. For you I stayed here in Dilmun, the place of delights, where we are safe from hate or harm, continued Enki. Now I know that you made me ill to make me see that the bond that I feel for you is stronger than friendship or love. I know now that even if we cannot be together all the time, we will never be apart. But tell me, dearest, did you really need to be so radical and cast on me the eye of death? Indeed, Enki had come back to his normal enquiring self. Ninhursag could burst of joy, and her laughter was pure delight and mischief: This, Enki, you will never find out! Enki chuckled, half disappointed, half amused. Life with Ninhursag would never be boring, this he knew for sure. She would certainly drive him nuts with her assertiveness, wits, passionate ways and guts many other times in the future. But she was and would be forever in his future, he loved her and wanted her like no other. Ninhursag was his SoulCompanion, his Rock of Strength, the Inspirational Divine Feminine that brightened up his life. And if he could not have the last word with her, at least Enki knew very well how to quieten Ninhursag in the sweetest and wildest way for very long moments. With perfect skill and determination he started to kiss her holy body. All over.

can go on for awhile...or not. Soon, you'll see more water, and more tissue...and... feet. Followed by a nose. If everything is right. You pray for the nose. Sometimes you have to find it, turn it, set things straight. Scary times. You close your eyes, and visualize. Sometimes you pray. Sometimes you cry. Sometimes you laugh. You work hard. Then things can happen. They happen fast, or slow, and can be wonderful, or terrible. If they're normal, they're excruciatingly passionate. There is a point at which you forget to worry about getting dirty, or putting your hands where they've never been, or doing what needs to be done. You do it. You help, because it's right. You put your back into it. It's why you were there. And there's a life coming... So you sometimes pull, and you always get wet, and you wipe away mucous, and you hold that new life in your hands, and in that excruciating moment between being and not being, that moment when you're holding the most perfect, still and silent creature on the earth in your hands, on your lap, you're holding your breath too. You've done everything you can. You know now's the time...and you swipe with your fingers, and touch your lips to the moist nose, and...blow. What was still and perfect, not quite alive, not a living soul, stirs. An eye opens, a head turns, and you catch your breath too, and your life has changed. There's another soul in the world, and your breath was the first it felt in its still-wet, brand new lungs. You wipe it clean, rub it hard, check its sex, and hand it over to its mother to be licked...and loved...and taught to live in the world, taught to take nourishment, taught to be a goat, or a cow, or whatever it was meant to be. You let go, step back. And it's beautiful.

Before the Breath

There is a moment... right between; between...being unborn, and born. I've experienced it often this year. There's the reveal; she's ready, showing the signs, doing the little nesting dance, making a circles or meditating. She hears something no one else can hear. She begins to talk to her belly. Little lowing sounds, unlike her normal voice. Gentle. Consistent. She focuses harder, and may cry out. Or may just put her head down and push. This

You quiver with the miracle still in your bones, in your tired arms, in your heart. And for a day, or a night, or a week, you remember what you were witness to; what old voices whispered in your ears. And the circle is complete until you begin to step away from it...until the next time. When you'll be there again...and share the magic, the blessing of that moment...that longest second...before the first breath.

IONA
Mystic Island Heaven & Earth
by Iona Orr Miller, (c) 2010

between

Y Gwir Erbyn Y Byd (Truth Against the World) Druid Motto

Divine Dreamland Many holy sites are esteemed around the globe. The sacred isles of Britain have a spiritual role so rich that few comprehend their scope that is so disproportionate to their size. Sacred sites are natural meeting places of heaven and earth. A tiny, nearly barren speck of land, the Scottish island of Iona embodies an astounding holographic record of the span of human civilization, much of which is beyond the scope of this article. Each snippet of a hologram contains a smaller but intact version of the original image. The smallest parts of a hologram contain all the information possessed by the whole, demonstrating that separateness is an illusion. Cosmos is a superhologram, echoing the axiom, As Above, So Below. The "whole in every part" nature of a hologram or fractal provides us with an entirely new way of understanding Iona which has been called the Mecca of the Gael. This mystic island was sacred to megalithic, iron and bronze age Pagans, Druids and Celtic Christians alike. Windswept Iona is a time machine, a gem in the frigid sea, embedded in the back of the ocean like a planetary chakra.

Ionas holy ground formed as the first oceans were condensing on the blistering hot surface of the earth. These rocks are so old, they contain no fossils. Perhaps the first plants took root in Ionas thin soil. The island is the oldest rock on Earth, four billion year old remains of the Precambrian oceans eruptive spine. Her marble formed under vast heat and pressure. The metamorphic Lewisian gneiss shot through with green serpentine has resisted the relentless blue-foaming dragon of the devouring sea that eats up the land. Much of the island itself is highly-conductive and charged quartz, often said to enhance healing, telepathy, remote viewing, dreaming, and superconsciousness or store subtle information or energy. There are unseen things here that are eternal. From the mainland, the spiritually magnetic isle often appears like a mirage. Iona is the motherland of dreams, the ethereal ground of imagination and ground zero of Druid culture. Its spell draws us into its center. Ionas old Gaelic name Innis nan Druidhneach translates as the Island of the Druids. Their motto was Y Gwir Erbyn Y Byd (Truth Against the World). These Servants of Truth held greater power than the kings who took advice from them: All of nature was sacred to them and they were its students and stewards. These seers and overlords understood the workings of Nature and our nature. To the male and female Druids and their predecessors, the Shining Ones, (Siddhe, Fairies), the dead live through visions in dreams, more so for those in ones own lineage. In Druid lore myth is not plot, but image; not action, but rhythm; not character, but ghosts. Images animate the soul with guidance from higher dimensions. Alba or light is the Gaelic name for Scotland and Iona is her most ancient and holy capital. The island Iona is the

shape of a dove and curiously its name even means 'dove' in Hebrew, though it was named after the pioneering spirit, St. Columba, the dove of the church. The Rosarium Philosophorum equates the dove with heavenly light. Young visionaries, virginal children used as oracles or channels, are also called Doves in the magic tradition.

physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual metaphors. But it is more than a metaphor to be unraveled like a Scottish yarn. Indeed, an exciting and illuminating journey to the "heart of Iona" is a soulful initiatory journey into myth and eternity. Our journey does not have an ordinary aim. The history and legends of Iona carry us into a vortex of the imagination, a time machine carrying us back through ages. To be a living soul is to live with imaginal images. Rather than linear, time is cyclic. There is a Celtic saying that heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller, allowing Second Sight through the veil. These thin places may be inter-dimensional portals, a natural combination of radiation and magnetism that produces altered states of consciousness or amplifies psychic ability. In Iona, time is no barrier, for it has been said of this ground zero of Druid tradition and ancient spirituality: This island set apart, this motherland of many dreams, still yields its secret, but it is only as men seek that they truly find. To reach the heart of Iona is to find something eternal, (G.E. Troup).

Ionas colorful history is related to sea gods, King Arthur and Merlin, the Grail stories, St. Brighid and the Goddess -Sophia, Virgin of the Light, the archetypal soror mystica. Its mystery and magic includes tales of Templars, elves, fairies, and pixies; the Sidhe or People of the Hills, Tuatha De Daanan. Angels Hill on Iona is associated with supernatural beings. Iona was always an island of mystics and scholars. Ionas most ancient Gaelic or Pictish name is Ioua. The name, (a corruption of early Gaelic Iishona, pronounced, Ee-hona; the 's' in Gaelic is silent before an aspirate), is steeped in multidimensional mystique that can be gradually unfolded in

Ionas heart is the white marble that gave ancient Scotland the name Alba, or Albion (white). Known for its ethereal light, Iona has been the destination of many epic spiritual journeys. The name of this magnetic isle of dreams has been called a talisman of spiritual beauty. In her enduring and silent way, Iona continues affecting the spiritual evolution of humanity, whispering her deepest secrets only to a few of her 250,000 annual visitors. Even more make the astral journey to the Iona of the heart. The north of Iona is the traditional place of testing and ordeal, the south of work and labor, while the west is the place of mystic vision and the spirit. The east is the place of

rebirth, compliment to the west as the realm of the dead.

Sacred Pentagram of Scotland

marked by low lying boulders in a perfect circle with a central altar stone. Ionas leyline alignment extends to Montrose on the east coast of the Scottish mainland, passing through the ancient Celtic royal burial site at Dunstaffnage, then Fortingall, St. Marys Church, Grandtully, Aberlemno, which is marked by two ancient and inscribed stones, finally reaching Montrose (Mount of the Rose).

On Iona, vivid moments of focused experience are interspersed with those of emptiness. Magic happens in those gaps between breaths and waves when you attune with the singing wind and ringing stones. Ionas highest hill, Dn-I (Doon-ee), an iron-age fortress, hides a little pool amid the broken rocks and heather near the beehive cairn that marks the highest part of the island. From there you can also see the Cairn of the Back to Ireland. From the hilltop with its sacred well, St. Bride sang daily to her lost Bridegroom. Many generations have drunk from and ritually purified themselves in this holy healing pool called Tobar na hoige, the Fountain of Youth, or Well of Youth, in which the dark Goddess annually renews herself for her light phase. There are energetic alignments or grids of holy islands, holy mountains and holy wells in Scotland. Iona is a geomantic power site a vortex. Anchoring a pentagonal matrix of ley lines, (invisible currents of earth-energy), enchanting Iona is a gateway to the Other World. This telluric intersection of three ley lines lies in a swampy part of the island,

Pre-Christian Ionians worshipped the Mother Goddess, sister of the sun god Bel, also worshipped in Egypt and Asia Minor. Her sites are associated with sacred springs, fountains and wells. This Mother Church connects the Gaels with the cradles of civilization in Europe and Asia. Iona used to have a circle of standing stones and there are remains of over 350 megalithic stones. One site is called The Glen of the Temple, another, the Tabernacle of Culdees. The Culdees, remnants of the Druids, practiced hereditary descent and wore white robes like the Druids. Some of Ionas megaliths may have been carved into the numerous Celtic crosses of the island, some of which have gone missing. Both Druids and Culdees were called certain strangers. The term changed over centuries to Coli Dei, servants of the Lord, used for the Celtic Christian monks that worshiped on the island beginning in the 6th century.

Each footfall on Iona activates spontaneous memories, unconscious stirrings. Life is sung with ecstatic serenity. It resonates with the deep past as the ground of our being. The swirling ocean echoes the sounding of our unconscious. Legends of magical caves reflect images of the potentially luminous caverns of our heads. Iona is a place of sanctuary, healing, visions and prophecy. If she touches you with Fairy Ointment, thereafter, all the world and its inhabitants look beautiful. Each of us unravels the story for ourselves. It is a journey through the labyrinth of history and mystery. There are too many threads to follow in just one short article, but a quick search of any of these rewarding keywords + Iona can fill in the blanks. Royal Roots Scotland is named after Princess Scota of the aristocratic dragon lineage, who is said to have brought the sacred Stone of Destiny with her from Egypt. The Gaels are named after their common ancestor, Gael who was born in Egypt as the son of Prince Niul, who was a son of King Fenius the Antiquary of Scythia, and of Princess "Scota", a daughter of Egyptian Pharaoh "Cincris" or "Achencres". There is speculation that this "Scota" was Meritaten, the royal daughter of Akhenaten and Queen Nefertiti. She migrated after his monist religious coup failed, during a plague. She took the legendary Stone of Destiny with her. Her name Scota is Scythian for ruler of the people. According to Nicholas de Vere, This line descended through the Tuatha de Danaan. (the Dragon Kings of Anu), on the one hand, and the Egyptian Dragon Dynasty of Sobek on the other. The later strain included the bloodline of the Davidic House of Judah who married into the descent of the Merovingian Kings of the Franks. Her Cult of the Dragons Breath (cult

of the spirit of An, or Ankh) was a cult of the dead or ancestor worship. The descendants of Gael and "Scota" fled, migrating over succeeding generations, from Egypt, first to Candia [ancient Crete], then back to their ancestral homeland of Scythia, then to the Caspian Sea for several years, then to Getulia [ancient Libya], then to Galicia [northwestern Spain], then back to Scythia, and back to Egypt again. But the Scots Gaels come directly from the second Scythian-Egyptian royal marriage. The matrilineal Dragon Queen empowered the Grail King. There is archaeological evidence of a cultural influx in the Third Millenium BC. Another "Scota", a daughter of Pharaoh "Nectanebus", married the Gael's leader Ml [Milesius], and they sailed to the islands of Irena and Gothia, then back to Galicia, and finally on to the conquest of Ireland, the promised land of the Gaels, under the leadership of the eight sons of Ml and their mother, the second "Scota". Irish history records that Scota, the daughter of Pharaoh of Egypt arrived in the southern part of Ireland between 4,000 and 3,500 years ago. Scota is buried on the sloped mountains in view of Tralee Bay at a place called Glenscoheen (Scota's Glenn). Scota is the progenitor of Irish and Scottish kings, a royal lineage which eventually gave birth to St. Columba of Iona. The word Iona and the Egyptian On (Heliopolis, holy place, light), are related, as is the kind of theology practiced in both places. The age-old connections between Ireland and Egypt have been guarded for millennia. On was a word used to signify the holiness of light, and was used by the Solar-Cults of Egypt and Ireland. The place-name On is probably related to the Celtic Iona, the island seat of the Druids in Scotland.

When the island was a powerful Druid center it was planted with sacred groves of yew (Ioha), and the traditions of Iona involve rebirth and reincarnation. Another name for the island is Innis nam Druineach, meaning the Island of the Cunning Workmen, or sculptors; and still another is Innis-namDruidneach, the Isle of Druids. After the arrival of St. Columba, it was also called Icolmkill, "island of Columba of the Church." Eilean Idhe means "the isle of Iona", also known as nam ban bidheach ("the isle of beautiful women"). The title of Merlin as Seer to the King is well established in Druid tradition. The Merlins preserved the Mer-Line, the umbilical to the Mother or matriarchal line (mitochondrial DNA) -- the connection to the divine feminine and the ocean of greater consciousness. Folklore says, You walk Merlins line on Iona through the Mothers landscape body to the Mother." Columba is one of the three patron saints of Ireland. As a young royal, he was tutored by Druids. He relinquished royal claims, chose the monastic life and settled the dove-shaped island sanctuary of Druid overseers in 563 AD. He was essentially banished from Ireland for creatively editing the scriptures. Columba could only dream about what the Archdruid Merlins knew. Both the Druids and the monks used tonsure and performed baptisms. The local Picts considered the monasterys bronze bells very powerful shamanic medicine, instruments of art. Columbas monastery became a glorious center of pilgrimage. The guesthouse was always occupied. At first, access was restricted to high status pilgrims, royal and ecclesiastical visitors, or those in serious trouble. Later humble pilgrims were welcomed at the Celtic Christian monastery.

Sacred Kindred Columba took the Stone of Destiny to Iona as a portable altar. Opinions differ on whether it is related somehow to the Blarney Stone. This Lia Fal was called a speaking stone that named the king to be chosen. Columba used the holy stone, considered Jacobs pillow, as a coronation chair for the consecration of Aedan as first King of Dal Riada. Did he consult silently with the Stone before he did so? King Aedens Merlin (Emrys) was his elder cousin. He is the Merlin of Grail legends. According to Sir Laurence Gardner, The real King Arthur's father, King Aedan mac Gabran of Scots, became Pendragon by virtue of the fact that he was Prince Brychan's grandson. In this line Aedan's mother, Lleuan of Brecknock, was descended from Joseph of Arimathea. The name 'Uther Pendragon', meaning terrible dragon was invented in the 12th century by the romancer Geoffrey of Monmouth (later Bishop of St. Asaph). St. Columba himself established the monarchs of Dal Riada. St. Columba correctly predicted Arthur, eldest son and natural heir to King Aeden would not live to succeed his father. In doing so, in answer to an inquiry from the Pendragon about his succession, St. Columbias prophecy fulfilled the ancient Druid role, essentially meaning that St. Columba was a recognized Merlin, himself. His human sacrifice of the monk Oran to fight off demons in the building of his monastery ratifies the theory. Columba took fighting demons as seriously as the Druids did. He grafted his religion on the old craft. He is half-Druid magician and half Christian missionary. He tried to heal the split between the Scots and the Picts. Pict tradition was matrilinear so a system was devised for Pictish Princesses to marry Scots kings but successors could be chosen from

parallel lines of descent from sons, nephews and cousins. King Malcolm II deviated from the tradition of Druid election of successors to offer his daughter Bethoc the crown. She was married to Crinan, Irish royalty and Archpriest of the Sacred Kindred of St. Columba. The strongest hereditary claim of succession to the Scottish throne thereafter passed through Bethc. There was only ever one Arthur born to a Pendragon - Arthur mac Aedan of Dalriada. Gardner describes how Arthur descended the Merovingian line through his mother Ygerna del Acqs. His grandmother was Viviane I, dynastic Queen of Bergundian Avallon, a Merovingian kinswoman. King Aedan was a celtic church Christian of the Sacred Kindred of St. Columba, which incorporated Druidic ritual. His sacred sister-bride in the tradition of the pharaohs, Morgaine was a Celtic Priestess, a soror mystica and holy sister of Avallon, with whom he consummated the archetypal Royal Marriage. But alignment with the Roman church made Arthur a political and religious enemy of his own son Modred, who was Archpriest of the Sacred Kindred and an anointed Fisher King. In 608, Aedan died and was buried on Iona, similar to Arthurs reported burial on Avalon. Is Iona the mythic Avalon? Both were entrances to the underworld. The underworld of the Celts is called A-val or Avilion, the fire of the heart. If so, is Iona, not Glastonbury, the heart chakra of the world? Avalon was a school for Merlins, and Iona continued that tradition with a passion. Todays senior Stewart line claims decent from King Arthurs father, King Aedan of Scots, on the one hand and to Prince Nascien of the Septimanian Midi on the other. The Scots descent traces further back through King

Lucius of Siluria to Bran the Blessed and Joseph of Aramathea (St James the Just), while the Midi succession stems from the Merovingians male ancestral line through the Fisher Kings to Jesus and Mary Magdalene. If the Grail is the sacred bloodline, it resided in Iona on multiple occasions. Its spirit never left. The Stone of Destiny remained with Ionas monks until 843 when Viking raids caused them to move to Scone, where it was used for crowning Scottish Kings. According to an old chronicle, "no king was ever wont to reign in Scotland unless he had first, on receiving the royal name, sat upon this stone at Scone, which by the kings of old had been appointed to the capital of Alba." In 807, the Book of Kells was also removed from Iona to Kells to save this luminous treasure of Celtic art from invading Vikings. Illuminated manuscripts from Ionas scriptorium were thought to have supernatural properties. These Celtic designs were transferred to metal and stone. The Stone of Destiny was captured in 1296 by King Edward I (Long Shanks) and kept in England for 700 years. It was kept under the English throne through the coronation of Elizabeth II. It was only returned to Edinburgh in 1996 after an attempted theft. Land of Legends This primordial Dreamland is a magical burial place of over 60 Kings, including the Scots Macbeth and his victim Duncan. Known graves include 48 Scottish, 8 Norwegian, 1 French and 4 Irish kings plus numerous clan chiefs. Templar knight gravestones reveal their presence on the island. Megalithic remains suggest it was a prehistoric burial site, too. Iona is a borderland between life and death. Those buried there often arrived while still alive to prepare for their final journey. The

monks essentially died while living a very solitary life. A beehive cell or single hermitage was called a disert. An island legend tells of a lonely monk who fell in love with a mermaid. When she was banished, she shed tears that can be found today as small green tear-shaped crystals along Ionas beaches. There are also legends about magical green eggs, called Druids Eggs or Serpents Eggs. Ionas other tales include Blood Eagle tortures of monks by Vikings, Fairy Ointment, Place of the Great Crosses, human sacrifice, Earthworks, House of the Fairies, Culdees, and Moneymusk Reliquary -even Atlantean priestesses. Staffa the nearest uninhabited island facing Iona displays the gaping maw of the astonishing Fingals Cave, the Scottish end of the Giants Causeway, noted for its massive basalt columns. Looking out from inside this extraordinary cave, Iona is framed in the entrance. Caves are portals to the underworld, the world of the dead. Other ancient stories tell of Joseph of Arimathea visiting the island to trade in tin; some include his young nephew Jesus accompanying him. Another legend says Mary Magdalene was buried in a cave on Iona and in the future a Divine Woman from the fair isle will redeem the world. Though less is known of its pagan past, much more has been written on the Christian history of Iona after Columba drove out a rival monastic order, not the indigenous Druids, as is frequently but wrongly reported. But even Ionas Celtic Christianity must be seen in a pagan light. This was not the Roman church. The monastics of Iona lived simple, often solitary lives. The Black Nuns on Iona followed the teaching of St. Augustine of Hippo, in Egypt. They wore black habits, and their church was locally called an eaglais dhubh

(the black church). They pursued a contemplative and cloistered life. Their first prioress was Bethoc. Gravestones demonstrate the nunnery was favored for retirement and burial for ladies of noble birth from across the western seaboard. The ninth Abbot of Iona, who wrote the hagiography of St. Columba, demonstrates the hereditary succession: Adomnn was a descendant of Colman mac Setna, a cousin of St. Columba and the ancestor, through his son Ainmire, of the kings of Cenel Conaill. He was the son of Ronan mac Tinne by Ronat, a woman from the (northern Ui Neill lineage known as the Cenl nnda. Prehistoric Spirituality Narratives are frames best read in the context of their own cultural, mythological and philosophical origins. Perspective defines how wide or narrow that view is broad or fine strokes. The story of Iona begins in Atlantis, both a literal story of radical changes in coastal geomorphology from cyclical natural catastrophe as well as a metaphor of ancient wisdom sinking into the subconscious. With the fall of Atlantis, the collective psyche of humankind began to degenerate. The esoteric map of Atlantis is a map of transformation. Deep within there is an Atlantis of the soul, from which we yearn to recover what we sense has been lost our potential for transcendence. But it is transparency that makes us seers by allowing us to see through the veil of history and legend. Rather than answers, we might only find better questions. Very little informs us of who lived in Scotland from 10,000 B.C. until the Megalithic Age, roughly 3500 B.C. to 1500 B.C. Perhaps some of the earliest ancestors were refugees from the Atlantean Deluge. The primordial solar church existed in proto-Ireland before the historically

known "Druids." The Megalithic Irish (or Arish) were known as the Hyperboreans, which implied not only that they inhabited Northern climes but that they were the descendants of the pre-diluvian inhabitants of Atlantis, before the cataclysms that devastated the lands of the North-West. During the so-called "Age of Catastrophe," titanic cataclysms (following on from those that destroyed Atlantis) displaced the original inhabitants of Britain, who were forced to flee to the Continent across land-bridges now lost beneath the waves and known as Doggerland. The lost ground is a vast plain that joined Britain to Europe for nearly 12,000 years, until sea levels began rising dramatically after the last Ice Age. Taking its name from a prominent shipping hazardDogger Bankthis immense land bridge vanished beneath the North Sea around 6,000 B.C. Evidence suggests early migrations from the West to the East, preceding a return of the Scythian Druid kings. The Black Sea princes settled in Ireland about 800 BC. Arguably, it was the former who transmitted the elements of civilization to the world at large, before the return waves of CelticScythian "Druids". Anciently, they were one. But the Royal Scyths were masters of transcendent consciousness, called Sidhe (pronounced Shee), which colloquially means fairy or elf, but translates as powers. Many religious symbols were first employed by the Druid elders of the West, from the "Land of the Pure or Noble Ones." The high priests of Ireland were commonly known as Druids. The ancient priests were hereditary serpent kings who founded mystery schools. The Druids held the symbols of the serpent and the dragon in the highest esteem and considered them

insignias of royalty. They referred to themselves as Naddreds, meaning "Wise Serpents -- those initiated into the highest mysteries, that possessed healing abilities and great knowledge of architecture, astronomy and astrology. The Druid's pre-diluvian theology was based on the observance and veneration of the stars, of the sun, the moon, and the zodiac. From its inception, Druidry was a stellar religion. It is linked to the words for 'door' or portal and 'bringer of truth. Dragon Age These "enlighteners" were fully aware of the 26,000-year cycle of Precession of the Equinoxes. When their line arose, the star Thuban in the constellation Draco was the pole star. They were a hereditary caste of seers, philosophers, political advisors, priests, natural scientists, historians, doctors of medicine, judges, poets, royal advisors, musicians, geometers, orators, navigators, and magicians. The Bards sang oracular songs. They preserved 'knowledge' or gnosis. The solar deity of Beltane was known as Bel, Beli, Belanus, celebrated with vast bonfires. Iona still echoes symbols of the ancient solar cult on Easter, displaying an altar cloth showing the reborn rising sun. Druidry recognizes eight markers in the shamanic Solar cycle. Winter Solstice, called Alban Arthan [the Light of Arthur] is the time of death and rebirth. The sun appears to be abandoning us completely as the longest night arrives; it stops in its tracks. Our own inner journey is linked to the yearly cycle, in which whatever impedes the appearance of light or holds us back must be cast away. As one lamp is lit from a flint and raised up on the Druid's crook in the East, the year is reborn and a new cycle begins.

The dynamic between body and soul is revealed in the Druid natural philosophy of reincarnation, not in immediate rebirth but in reincorporation of the spirit into a new body after a length of time. Transmigration is symbolized by the serpent that sheds its skin. Funeral pyres were considered portals through which one could send letters to the dead. Memories arise with no known reality. Old patterns die so that new psychic patterns are born through the voids grace. Iona gives us the grace to breathe that void. Empty space is Ionas central metaphor, informing the vacuum. We become containers for the ceaseless flow of images. Second sight means to know again. We re-cognize our own images. We embody the idea of ancient hidden knowledge being carried through to our own time. From the light of Albion, the light of consciousness radiates out to the world. Some legends mirror the solar cycle, claiming Jesus and Mary Magdalene were on Iona, where she gave birth to His son, John Martinus. We can assume a spiritual significance for the association that implies a family lineage, a holy bloodline older than Jesus. Does Mary Magdalene lie buried in a hidden cave on Iona? She was worshipped there as the Holy (Saint) Bride, Mary of the Gael. The children and descendants of early Celtic saints, both male and female, belonged to the old British royal lineages. Does the Martins Cross on Iona, with its solar circle, encode such memories for those who can read them? The Winter Solstice, Alban Arthan, represents a time to open to inspiration and conception. All about us is darkness. Our only guide is Arthur, the Great Bear, the Pole Star (or the Southern Cross in the Southern hemisphere). Intuition is born in the stillness of night. This is the mystery of the rebirth of the inner light within

us. The Winter Solstice is the time when the seed of Light, represented both by the one light raised on high and by the white mistletoe berries, comes down from the inspired realms and incarnates in the womb of the night and of the Earth Mother. This is a potent time to open ourselves to the fertilizing power of the divine, which gives birth to our creativity. The Druids yew tree, Ioha, is a symbol of immortality. Great yew trees can be 24,000 years old whereas Ionas churches are far newer. The yews came first, planted on sacred sites of the Druids. Regardless of their symbolic names, the elements of light, consciousness and rebirth are woven and rewoven. Druid Isle An influx of proto-Celtic, Bell Beaker people into Britain is now dated from 2900 - 1800/1700 BC. They brought beer, new beliefs about life and death, divination, farming techniques, and mortuary practices along with the art of metallurgy to the Neolithic culture. Groups assimilated in complicated patterns of movement that involved explorations, contact, settlement, diffusion and acculturation. This culture spread from Ireland to the Carpathian Basin and south along the Atlantic coast to Portugal, Spain, France, North Africa, Sicily, Italy, the Balkans, and Germany. These trade routes remained open. Their shamans were Druids, whose power came from contact with the spirit world. Megalithic Druids preceded the later Celtic influx. Some suggest early migrations from the late ice ages to Scythia and back make the megalithic Druid lines cousins to their IndoEuropean invaders. Pre-Celts and proto-Celts are linked by the royal Dragon and Pendragon bloodlines. We can trace the dragon lineage, not only to a clan totem, but to the

astronomical fact that from roughly 4,000-1,000 BC Thuban in the constellation Draco was the pole star, around which the heavens revolved. The Druid's pre-diluvian theology was based on the observance and veneration of the stars, of the sun, the moon, and the zodiac. From its inception it was a stellar religion. Druids taught the children of the nobility and several kings. Druid means skilled or wisdom. It is linked to the words for 'door' or portal and 'bringer of truth." Astronomy is the science of light. Iona hosted a Druidical college till the community was assimilated by Columba for his own community, but the Highlanders still recognize it as the Druids Isle. The Culdees wore a white dress, as did the Druids. They remained scholars and occupied places which had a Druidical reputation. They used the Asiatic cross, now called that of St. Andrew. Notably, in an Irish version of the gospel of St. Matthew, the phrase there came wise men from the east is rendered the Druids came from the east. They translated the Old Testament, Exodus vii. II, magicians of Egypt, as Druids of Egypt," (Bonwick, Irish Druids and Old Irish Religions). The Druid "enlighteners" were fully aware of the 26,000-year cycle of Precession of the Equinoxes. They excelled in astronomy and astrology and ancient metrology. They knew the size and shape of the Earth. The seers were a hereditary caste of seers, philosophers, political advisors, priests, natural scientists, historians, doctors of medicine, judges, poets, royal advisors, astronomers, musicians, geometers, orators, navigators, and magicians. The Bards sang oracular songs. They preserved 'knowledge' or gnosis. The solar deity of Beltane was known as Bel, Beli, Belanus, celebrated with vast bonfires.

Nicholas de Vere describes ancestral proto-Scythian Druids in The Dragon Cede (2010): "Witch" in Gaelic is "druidhe" -- drui -- or "druid." In practical terms a Scythian druid was an overlord. . .hence, a witch was a Dragon." So, the Druids were Scythian-Draconian overlords who came to proto-Scotland in ancient "Celtic" migrations. The Druids sang the nature of the king and formed all society in so doing. A Pendragon tradition says the Land and the King are one. The king derived his sovereignty, not from the sword, but from Mother Earth. We cannot own land. The land owns us. In original Scythian practice there were Three Kings: Priest King, Peace King, War King. And the Archdruids ruled over all as High Kings. The sword comes from the stone. Sovereignty comes from the Earth beneath our feet. That is the symbolism. Summarizing, de Vere continues, "Briefly, the Dragon lineage starts in the Caucasus with the Annunaki, descending through migrating protoScythians to the Sumerians while branching off also into the early Egyptians, Phoenicians and Mittani. A marriage bridge back to Scythia infused the Elvin line of Tuatha de Danaan and the Fir Bolg, which branched into the Arch-Druidic, PriestPrincely family to the Royal Picts of Scotland and the ring kings of the Horse Lords of Dal Riada, through the Elven dynasty of Pendragon and Avallon del Acqs, and down to a few pure bred families today." Atlantis: Lost & Found The myths of lost Atlantis are Egyptian. The oldest known example of archeoastronomy with stone circles (Nabta Playa, Nubian Desert) is in presand Egypt, dated to the fifth Millennium BC. 2000 years before Stonehenge. This temple of the stars demonstrates the sky moves in a

predictable long-term cycle. An alignment with Sirius in 6088 BC and other alignments dated to 6270 suggest an estimated date 1500 years earlier. The site was used as a necropolis in the Saharan wet period of pre-history, roughly 11,000 5,000 years ago when the playa bloomed. The area became arid 4,800 years ago when the monsoon returned to the tropics. Egyptian culture moved to the Nile Valley. The circle of Precession is called the circle of Sidi or Circle of Seven, which is also a name for Stonehenge. The Welsh name for Zodiac or ecliptic is Sidydd. Sidi is the Arabic honorific, Lord, master, or saint. It refers to the seven (periods of) the pole stars. Seven shifting positions are also the model for the stellar crown of seven stones. Over the cycle of Precession constellations have sunk below the horizon in the Abyss of the heavens. In the Dragon lineage the astronomical mythos came down to Earth as seers and overlords the Siddhe, who described how to live in harmony with nature within the divine scheme of things. Galactic alignment of Earth with the core of the Milky Way is the long lost zero point of the precessional cycle. Precession defines the Great Year of circulation about the signs of the Zodiac. There is some evidence the Druids even placed a taboo on their people against speaking the names of the sacred planets, mandating euphemisms, such as brightness for the Moon. There were three cataclysms, or major geologic changes, in Earth's recent history. The first, around 20,200 BC, was declared as the starting point for reasons which are not clear and by people now unknown. The glaciers started to melt. A second geologic change occurred around 12,200 BC. There, again, was a sudden warming,

causing more glaciers to melt. Many people died. A third geologic change occurred around 8100 BC. This marked the end of the ice age with a climactic optimum. There was a sudden rise in sea level, drowning many coastal cities, many mammals became extinct, and most of the world's population died. Britain lost her solid connection with the mainland when lower lying Doggerland finally disappeared beneath the waves, severing her from the continent. These epic disasters came down as legends of pre-diluvial Atlantis and sent surviving megalithic inhabitants on nomadic treks across Europe, the Middle East, toward China and India and back again via Gaul, Egypt and Spain. Egyptian beliefs were in Druid practice, but Egypt was originally a colony of Atlantis, the true source of the Druids. Although the Scythians of later ages were originally affiliated with the Megalithic Arya, some of their number became spiritually and morally corrupt. Today, a few mainstream historians and archeologists hesitatingly accept that Western "Celts" (sic) had settlements in the Middle and Far East. This is because these migrations were relatively late, historically speaking. They date from approximately 600 BC onward. The Hyksos/Atonists were originally Scythians from the West who migrated through Egypt. The Ouroboros that bites its own tail can be traced back to ancient Egypt, circa 1,600 BCE. Also the serpent entwined around the (serpent's) egg, was a symbol common to the Egyptians and the Druids. It referred to the creation of the Universe, Precession and the Milky Way. The World egg also known as the Serpents Egg, or the Druids Egg is a potent symbol of the union of masculine and feminine. It depicts the creation of the

World from these two aspects of divinity and reminds us that we contain both male and female within. Survivors of drowned islands knew the nature of cataclysm. Arguably, according to de Vere's research, the Atlanteans were antediluvian Dragon gods of ancient proto-Scythia driven from their homeland by the Black Sea flood, now scientifically dated to 6,900 years ago when vast ice sheets melted inundating their freshwater lake with seawater. This led to mass migrations as the climate re-adjusted. Modern research suggests migrations went both ways many times and cultures mixed, even while the royal bloodline persisted. Legend says, "One group consisting of seven males, three females and one child, established an Atlantean colony on Iona. They built a small library for ancient sacred works. Around the library which they called their heart seed', they built a strong, almost fortress like Temple." They called Iona Aberuk, or "distant place of the heart'." It is said the Hyperboreans called it Luma or "bright land." The priestesses on Iona called themselves the Priestesses of Ank, or sacred well of life'. Ank is strongly suggestive of the Egyptian Ankh, symbol of life. Ionian priestesses were the basis for the Celtic legends concerning sanctuaries of Lady of the Lake' type anima women who regenerate the male psyche and often his physical form as well. Descriptions of activities on Iona throughout history echo Egyptian forebearers. The Egyptians had several classes of priesthood, but the SeshPer-Ankh were the scribes of the House of Life. These, too, were frequently associated with magical knowledge because of their connection with the sacred texts. The scribes worked largely within the Per-Ankh copying temple texts. They were

considered to be very wise and scholarly. The scribes were also considered healers, possessing medical knowledge. French Egyptologist, Dr. Serge Sauneron describes the activities of the scribes in the PerAnkh: "The main activities in the house of life consisted in preparing the religious works necessary to the cult, in recopying the old manuscripts, in correcting errors, in completing the gaps and passages short of lines; they developed the texts of theology or of liturgy particular to each temple; they prepared the magic books of protection, the astronomical tables; they recopied a thousand times, versions of the Book of the Dead; they discussed with ardor, between copying sessions, philosophical and religious problems, without neglecting medicine and literary activities . . . For everything was not just mechanical copying, in these studies; sometimes an original text, sometimes a theosophical exposition would be drawn up following meditation or the exchange of fruitful views . . . Some of the finest spiritual or ethical texts we possess were stimulated by the reflections and convictions of some obscure scribe whose name will never be known to us . . ." (Sauneron 1960.136) The migrations of Atlantis, Egypt, Scythia, Ireland, Scotland and Iona bring us full circle in the Celtic cycle. Weve seen the Cosmos in a fractal grain of Ionas sand. On Iona, the sANKHtuary, every stone could be a Philosophers Stone. The vision of the reborn spirit within us is that of heaven spread upon Earth.

REFERENCES de Vere, Nicholas (1985-2004), The Dragon Legacy, San Diego, California; The Book Tree.

de Vere, Nicholas, (2005-2010), The Dragon Cede, San Diego, California; The Book Tree. Dunford, Barry, Iona, Sacred Isle of the West, http://www.sacredconnections.co.uk/h olyland/iona.htm Dunford, Barry, The Mystery of the Mother Church, http://www.sacredconnections.co.uk/h olyland/motherchurch.htm Ellis, Peter Berresford, A Brief History of the Druids http://books.google.com/books ?id=PIXAREdVI_QC&printsec=frontcov er#v=onepage&q&f=false Gardner, Laurence (2003), Realm of the Ring Lords, Nexus Magazine. Gardner, Laurence (2002), Bloodline of the Holy Grail, Fair Winds Press; Rev Exp edition. Menzies, Lucy (1920), Saint Columba of Iona. Miller, Iona (2010), Iona Mystic Isle. http://ionamiller.weebly.com/ionamystic-island.html Sauneron, Serge (1957-2000), The Priests of Ancient Egypt, Cornell University. Tsarion, Michael (2007), Irish Origins of Civilization, Taroscopes: http://www.irishoriginsofcivilization.co m/irishoriginsexcerpts/book1_chap1.ht ml

Scientific Proof of Premonition and Precognition.

By Tom Donohue Researchers at Cornell University have just come up with the first real scientific proof of a psi phenomenon. Before proceeding, I would like to lay a little groundwork and define a few terms. In general, the term psi is used to describe those phenomena which appear to operate via some means other than the known physical energies. Communication from one mind directly to another is usually referred to as telepathy. Knowledge of events or objects in a distant or otherwise isolated place is called clairvoyance in the case of imagery or clairaudience in the case of sounds. Remote smelling or tasting are also said to occur. Precognition is factual knowledge about future events. Premonition describes a feeling or emotion about events which have not yet occurred. Finally, telekinesis means using the power of the mind to affect material objects at some distance. Most (but not all) acts of magick involve one or more of these.

Iona Millers Website: http://ionamiller.iwarp.com

A paper written by Daryl Bem, due to appear in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology before the end of the year, seems to provide evidence of both precognition and premonition.

A preprint of the paper is already available. I suggest that anyone who is seriously interested, download a copy before the powers that be decide that it has military or espionage applications. The authors give instructions to replicate the experiments and will provide any necessary computer programs which will work on most home operating systems. In one test, volunteers were told that an erotic image was going to appear on a computer screen in one of two positions, and asked to guess in advance which position that would be. The actual position of the image was randomized using a computer program. Volunteers guessed correctly about 53% of the time. In a similar experiment, images that were generally considered to be negative or unpleasant, like horror, violence or carnage, generated similar results. Real life spontaneous premonitions generally involve extreme events. Like a future plane crash or falling in love, or getting mugged. (The same could be said of telepathy and clairvoyance) It has always seemed to me that the emotional element was critical. Humans are rarely psychic about trivial or mundane matters. Erotic imagery certainly has a much greater emotional impact than Zener cards.

In another experiment, students were shown a list of words and then asked to recall words from it, after which they were told to type a collection of words that were randomly selected from the same list. The students proved to be more likely to remember words that they would later type. The study included nine separate experiments all of which were carefully controlled. One factor which I find especially wonderful about these experiments, is the fact that great care was taken to rule out any possibility of telepathy or telekinesis. For example, in the word recall experiment, the list of words that the students were asked to type, were not determined until the first phase of the experiment was completed. If the examiner had known which words would appear on the list, the apparent precognition could be dismissed as simple telepathy. Although telepathy between humans has yet to be demonstrated conclusively, most scientists agree that it is possible. Precognition is another matter entirely because it suggests the existence of an immutable future.
All previous tests of psi powers have resulted in figures so small as to induce doubt in my mind. In this experiment, involving hundreds of test subjects, a three per cent increase in accuracy is remarkable. I have read and reread the paper and can find no flaws in the method or analysis. Real proof, of course, lies in replication. I would urge my readers to attempt replication or find ways to improve upon Bems experiments.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zener_car ds While evocative pictures can never equal the impact of a future personal tragedy, they are certainly a step in the right direction.

In Memoriam Lady Sintana

In Atlanta, Candace Lehrman White was known simply as "The Lady."

Ravenwood Churchs Candace Lehrman, who as Lady Sintana founded Atlanta's Ravenwood Church and Seminary of Wicca, the first Wiccan church granted tax-exempt status in Georgia, has died.

Across the country, she was considered the person who shattered legal barriers and opened minds to the practice of paganism. In 1975, Mrs. White, aka Lady Sintana, founded Ravenwood Church, the state's first pagan congregation. By 1982, the high priestess had successfully challenged the IRS and Ravenwood became one of the first Pagan congregations in the country to be granted tax-exempt status as a church.
rbadie@ajc.com rbadie@ajc.com http://www.ajc.com/news/candace-hlehrman-white-619109.html

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The Quiet Neighbors

By Diane Wing
The house stood empty, accented by shredded curtains hanging on the front bow window like a poorly glued false eyelash. A rusty lawn mower was centered in front of the peeling garage door. The neighbors complained to the Township of Mulberry that the eyesore was bringing down the property values. Yet the old woman who owned it refused to sell, clean, or restore the deteriorating structure. The residents of Mary Street kept a close watch on the house, peering in the windows at the mounds of trash that decorated the living room and at the cracks creeping across the kitchen ceiling, multiplying like the lines that form around a smokers mouth. The owner, Emma Richardson, sporting seventy-plus years of lines herself, was nowhere to be seen. People talked about how she lived over at the local college in the staff apartments, not five miles from her decrepit structure. Resentment among the neighbors grew over the years, as they fixed, maintained, and improved their homes on Mary Street. The favorite topic of neighborhood get-togethers was home improvement: which contractor was the best, how much

do replacement windows go for, and should we get siding or stucco? Every weekend was devoted to lawn care or inside projects. And the house on the hill continued to rot. The house was built from stone and cedar, sat on a nice wooded lot, with ivy covering the front slope of the property. It was a perfect home for a newly married couple that could afford to spend around $260if it had been maintained. Or it could be sold for $180 so that same young couple could fix it up and improve the neighborhood, but Emma stood as firm as a Great Dane who knows hes going to the vet. The frustrated homeowners of Mary Street could not understand Emmas reluctance to part with the house, having to pay property taxes on a place she didnt even occupy. A woman of her age should want to scale down and have less to worry about. It had been 15 years since Emma Richardson lived in the once cheerful abode, doting on her husband, Henry, as he sat with his feet resting on the overstuffed ottoman watching football. Donned in a black-with-white-lace apron that was reminiscent of a French maid costume, she would bring him his favorite snack of Cheese Doodles and Lipton presweetened ice tea. Plenty of napkins lay on the tray table so

that Henry could smear the orange dye on the white paper rather than on the ivy-patterned cotton fabric that covered the arm of the high back chair he favored. In their 25 years of marriage, Emma had caught him using the chair as a napkin on more than on occasion. She often wondered if he realized he was doing it as he sat mesmerized by whatever television program caught his eye during his constant channel-surfing adventures. Her many years of experience taught her that he was less likely to do it if there were napkins within his reach. Once Henrys needs were cared for, Emma was free to occupy herself with cleaning the old but functioning kitchen appliances, dusting and vacuuming the three upstairs bedrooms, and scrubbing the two-and-a-half bathrooms. The pink and blue ceramic tile in the downstairs powder room was in style when they first bought the home 20 years before, but now looked dingy compared to the options that todays tile stores offered. She had dreamed of updating the bathrooms and the kitchen, reading magazines like Home and Better Homes and Gardens looking for decorating ideas. She canceled her subscriptions the day that Henry announced that he had quit his job. Over the years, Emma was

finding it harder and harder to forgive Henry for his many transgressions, some minor and several major incidents. She had gotten over the disappointment of not being consulted before their home was purchased. Henry had gone out by himself and decided on this house. Emma conceded, since it wasnt a bad house, yet it never quite felt like their house so much as his house. He had come home to their one-bedroom apartment and announced that they were moving next month, so she had better start packing. After dropping the bomb, he grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and plopped down into the ragged recliner in front of the television set. Before Emma could remove the astonished look from her face by closing her mouth, Henry had hit the power button on the remote and was flicking through the channels as though nothing had happened. She tried to understand when their financial situation prevented her from being able to make the home more to her taste, her creativity dwindling as Henry thwarted her ideas time after time. He didnt see the need to change anything. He bought the house this way, he liked the way it looked, and he was not going to spend any money on changing a thing. Emma would do well to get used to it. As long as she worked

to keep it clean, Henry felt that everything was fine. When she talked him into getting a new chair with an ivy patterned fabric for the living room, he agreed only because that was his spot, and he had started to feel the springs of his old chair poking at his butt. Emma fought to keep that chair pristine and safe from Henrys greasy assaults on the fabric. He did not feel obligated to expend any energy in maintaining the inside of the house, yet did much to contribute to the mess. Emmas job was to clean it up. His chores were limited to mowing the grass every couple of weeks in the summer and taking out the trash. Henrys general demeanor was enough to drive Emma up a wall: his incessant crunching, his demanding nature, his lack of personality, his constant criticizing of her ideas and appearance, and his lazy approach to life. Their marriage had lasted this long because their jobs afforded time to be apart from each other. Her ability to tolerate the situation was directly proportionate to the number of hours she had to endure his presence. Now that he had quit his job, a dramatic change was about to take place. The Guardian Corporation had provided the Richardsons with medical benefits and a lowermiddle class income for 10 of their

25 years of marriage. Henrys position as a security guard for local warehouses was steady and easy, two aspects which appealed to his lack of ambition. Since he worked third shift, Emma had gotten used to eating her evening meal alone and not having to share the covers of their queen-size bed. She had grown accustomed to seeing him for only an hour or so in the morning before leaving for her job teaching an adult beginners computer course at the local college and he was arriving from the warehouse in his blue, mockpoliceman uniform. The kitchen and the rest of the house stayed orderly due to Henrys absence in the evening and his sleeping during the day. When he broke the news that he had worked his last night for those political assholes, and that he was going to take a break from work, Emmas world, including her carefully maintained home, began to crumble. Her life turned into an exercise in futility, as what was clean was marred by his sloppy assaults in the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room. With Henrys once ordered schedule, he had found time to mow the lawn. Now Emma watched as the grass and weeds began to overtake the path from the driveway to their front door. The bow window in the living room grew dark as the garden blocked out the sunlight

that used to dance across her crystal collection creating prisms of color on the far wall. She avoided the neighbors, for they began to question why the houses appearance diminished with each passing day. She used all of her energy to clean up after Henrys disasters inside the house. There was nothing left to tackle the ever growing outside problems. Embarrassed beyond her capacity, Emma withdrew from the community, emerging only to attend work or to run errands and return home. Tolerance for Henrys presence grew thin, Emmas once caring attitude toward her husband turning to wishing he would disappear from the earth. Henry remained firmly planted on the ivy chair. His human form would have sprouted roots to intermingle with the creeping leaf pattern, if it was physically possible. Lack of water would have stunted the growth, since he had reduced the number of showers he took to two per week. There was no need to bathe if he was not going to leave the house. Three months into Henrys early retirement, he seemed content with his new schedule of watching television until 2 am, pounding up the stairs to the bedroom, and bouncing into their bed, waking Emma like clockwork each morning at 2:05 am. Then,

pulling the blankets up under his chin, he rolled, taking the warmth of the covers with him, and leaving Emma without a shield against the cold. She estimated that he must have awakened sometime in the late morning to early afternoon, given the clues of mustard splotches, breadcrumbs, and lettuce pieces left behind on the kitchen counter, rather than debris such as eggs stuck to a burned frying pan. He left that treasure for her on weekends, when he seemed to hanker for breakfast fare while she was out grocery shopping. They kept conversation to a minimum, not having much to talk about now that work was out of the picture and underlying anger framed each interaction. To talk about the lack of work was asking for a major confrontation. Emma found it easier to stay in another part of the house and read to distract her from the situation. It would have been suicide for her to attempt to interrupt the strong man competition that held Henrys attention. Any noise that would make him avert his eyes from the TV set him off in a complaining bellow that was not worth the trouble. It was much easier to avoid and ignore and to deal with her increasing anger in her private hell. The sight of him disgusted her. Meals were eaten separately

as her diet was consumed in the usual three sittings, whereas he fueled himself on a continuous basis throughout the day and night. She felt helpless to stop the endless cycle and repulsed by his spreading waistline and foul aroma. Trips to the grocery store were her only relief and a painful reminder of her situation. Wheeling the cart past the shelves filled with personal hygiene items like deodorant and toothpaste, she wished that there were some way to convince Henry of the importance of continuing to use these products. They had long since been eliminated from his routine, and the stench announced his decision to continue his silent protest against cleanliness. The dirt that crusted his body made a firm bed to plant his roots as the couch potato dug deeper into the soft cushions. Emma wheeled the cart slowly up and down the aisles, savoring her time away from Henry. On the opposite side of the sundry aisle, the Acme chose to display a large selection of magazines and paperbacks covering everything from romance fiction and New York Times bestsellers to physical fitness and self-help. Emma had long since given up perusing this section for the decorating magazines that used to assist her in formulating her dream. It was like a having an

open sore that would start to ooze whenever the dream resurfaced. Her eyes skimmed past all of the cheery covers claiming to hold inside the secrets of a well-dressed home. She rarely gazed at the paperback section, as she preferred hardback novels, yet this time one of the volumes caught her eye. Amidst the thick paperbacks adorned with handsome couples embracing was a thin publication with black Old English lettering on a silver foil backdrop. The words proclaimed that this was the Manual of Retribution A Guidebook for the Oppressed. What an absurd title. Odd to find it in a food store, Emma thought. She reasoned that although she had never heard of such a book, it must be fairly popular, as only one remained on the shelf. A quick scan of the entire paperback section revealed no other volume even slightly similar to it. The title seemed to be custom-made just for her particular situation. Careful as she had become in what she spent, she picked up the edition, looking for the price. Nothing appeared on the back cover nor on the inside front flap. There was an odd-looking UPC symbol printed on the back, again in black ink. Emma figured that the price would come up on the scanner at checkout. It could not

cost that much, the book was so thin. She threw it in the child seat in the front of the cart. Emma found the shortest line and quickly moved to where she could begin to unload her items behind the plastic bar that acted as a barrier between her purchases and the customer in front of her. The black conveyer belt moved steadily forward toward the cashier and within minutes, it was Emmas turn to be rung up. The cashier was a long-time veteran of this task, who rapidly scanned each item, listening for the beep that signaled that the sale registered into the total. Emma watched the screen as the cashier pointed the laser at each UPC symbol, anxiously waiting to see the cost of her frivolous purchase. She had been careful to place the book among the dry goods and not with any of the frozen foods, fearing that the cover could blemish from contact with water. The cashier grabbed the paperback and pointed the gun directly at the marking on the back. The beep sounded and she moved the item to the paid side of the register, but Emma saw that no price had come up on the screen and the grand total had not changed. Unaccustomed to deception, she was uncomfortable with the situation. She rationalized that the Powers That Be wanted her to

have this guidebook and so hers it shall be. Emma said nothing as she handed the money to the cashier, who took it and handed back her change and receipt. At home, she reviewed the receipt for an indication that the book had been acknowledged by the laser. Nothing appeared, not even an empty space between the items charged before or after the book was scanned. Odd, but, oh well, she reasoned. Emma decided to explore the contents of her discovery while she ate her solitary supper of a grilled chicken Caesar salad. Concentrating on the new book would help to minimize the backdrop of screaming fans that attended whichever championship playoff game Henry was watching this evening. A vision of Henrys greasy hair being held tight by a disembodied hand, his eyes wide, and his stinking breath escaping from a mouth frozen in an O shape suddenly blinded Emma to the stained kitchen curtains she had been looking at only a moment ago. She blinked but was unable to detach from the horrifying scene. Watching helplessly, a gurgling sound accompanied a rush of blood down the front of Henrys cheese-stained T-shirt. His head tilted back in an unnatural position as the sinew of muscle that held his neck onto his body ripped away under the gleaming blade of a

butcher knife. Emma gasped and dropped the book onto the kitchen table. At once the gory spectacle disappeared. No sign of disruption was readily apparent, and the house was quiet except for the usual noise from the TV. Emma peeked her head around the doorway to check on Henry, who burped loudly and crunched down on snacks from a freshly opened bag of the orange curls. She took a deep breath and returned to the kitchen table, gazing suspiciously at the silver cover and the raised black letters. Maybe her blood sugar was low and she needed some food. Maybe the vision was a result of anger pent-up over too long a time. She sat down to devour her dinner, trying not to relish the thought of Henry being out of her life. Although the scene had been horrific, the end result was freedom. It was out of character to feel malicious intent towards any living being, but these days Henry was more vegetable than animal, so there may be some justification in taking potentially brutal action. No, nothing could warrant such a fierce resolution. She chomped down another piece of white-meat chicken. Gingerly, she reached for the manual, squinting against another wicked episode of restitution. So far so good, she thought

when no vision blasted into her minds eye. Cautiously her fingers flipped to the Table of Contents. It read: Intent, Recipes, Clean-up, Afterward. There were four chapters outlining how to overcome the most oppressive situation and the subtle promise of emancipation. How could a book possibly solve this dilemma? But what if it could? It was definitely worth a shot. Certainly there was no other recourse being offered at this particular time, no other avenue to take toward redemption. Emma could leave him instead but where would she go? She had about a thousand dollars in a secret savings account, but that wasnt enough to live on. She wanted to stay and overhaul Henrys house; she wanted to make it her house. If he was dead, the mortgage insurance would pay for the house and his life insurance policy would fund her decorating projects. Then she would be at peace. Besides, he was a waste of life, undeserving of the vitality that The Universe had bestowed upon his filthy, overweight physical body. Did she dare to attempt this feat? What kind of karma would she be creating for herself by going through with this? If she were not supposed to use this book, it would not have been put in front of her and then given to her by a force

she chose not to question. Emma surmised that the force was connected to the light, a power that was trying to protect her from misery and save her from the despair inherent in her situation. She read on. Chapter One: Intent. The book instructed: Determine your intention. It asked: What is it you are looking for in your life? She asked herself: Had she ever intended to do anything about Henrys lack of ambition? Hadnt she resolved to ignore it and to find ample distraction so as not to lose her mind? Her efforts to encourage him to wash and to work met with resistance. She just wanted to survive. Had her intentions changed once the vision showed her an alternative to this lifestyle? Freedom was what she wanted, what she prized most, financial freedom and physical deliverance from this mundane and frustrating existence. To reclaim the pride she once possessed in her home and in herself. Lately she had lost the spirit to fight, to be optimistic, to be happy. Her friends had dwindled away as she stopped returning phone calls and curtailed her social interactions. She missed their company, the light and lively conversations over coffee, and the reality check they provided. Yes, to have her vigor restored to the same level as when Henry was a non-entity in her day-

to-day existence. Chapter Two: Recipes to destroy negative entity or individual. Emma was having difficulty figuring out what kind of concoction could deliver her back into the arms of the living. Ingredients: 10 candles, 3 sticks of sandalwood incense, 1 unwashed undergarment from subject (T-shirt, briefs), large pot of boiling water, 1 whole, dead fish. Place candles and incense around pot of boiling water. Take subjects undergarment and drop it into the boiling water. Lay fish on cutting board. With a large knife, cut the head off with one chop. Drop the head into boiling water. She always thought that in rituals or witchcraft of any kind, the candles had to be a specific color. This book did not say anything about that. Maybe this was not really witchcraft, so it did not matter. The recipe was reminiscent of the vision she had of Henrys throat cut and bleeding all over her overstuffed ivy chair. Emma was hesitant to use this particular recipe, for she could not fathom how she would get rid of the body afterwards, plus all that blood. She watched New Detectives, and knew about the chemical, Luminol, that when sprayed at a murder scene, shows blood under a fluorescent light as glowing green. Even after the killer tried to clean it up. Besides,

she was tired of cleaning up after him and didnt want yet another mess to attend to. Emma decided to see what other recipes would do the job with less fuss. Recipe to eliminate breath from enemy. Ingredients: 6 candles, Dragons Blood incense, scarf or cotton strap, 1 whole, dead fish, a piece of food bitten by the subject. Put the food into the mouth of the fish, then wrap the strap around its neck and tighten hard. Emmas natural vision was once again obscured. A blast of blinding light, which faded into a view of Henry sitting in the chair, noisily chewing on the artificially flavored, powdered cheese snacks he was famous for. As he bit into a particularly large cheese curl, the powder blew off and stuck to the back of his throat. He gagged and gasped, only to suck in too much air, making the deadly chunk lodge in his windpipe. His hands flew up to his neck as he tried to work it up or down to open up the airway. His failure to dislodge the orange twist turned him blue, his eyes bulging as a squeak for help escaped his lips. One last push of his orange-coated tongue was his last movement before he slid down in his chair, greasy hair discoloring the ivy backdrop. Henrys bloated face was transformed into a world of waves as though he were under bath

water with ripples cutting across the surface. Then the image faded. Emma blinked and refocused her eyes onto the pages of the cursed book. That was better. It would be easier to explain choking on a Cheese Doodle than a slit throat and several pints of spilled blood. She could hear Henry in the next room flipping through the channels looking for a mindless show to replace the act of thinking. Hadnt she tolerated enough? Was almost a year of hell without an end in sight enough to motivate her to eliminate the obstacle to her happiness? Besides, Henry tortured her even before he quit his job. She had endured him by ignoring his sloppy, lazy, ignorant ways. It was almost effortless when she saw him for only an hour per day. Now he was always around and not easy to overlook. Yes, choking would be best. Having decided on the method, she flipped the pages to the chapter about clean up. She figured that the paramedics could clean him out of that chair and out of the house. Or better yet, the medical examiners wagon could come and take out the load of trash her husband had become. Clean up for Recipe 2: Generally a choking victim will create very little debris around the body. The legal liability and explanations will be

minimal since it will be readily apparent as to the cause of death. It is highly unlikely that the closest individual to the victim will be suspect, since it would be difficult to choke someone using a piece of food. It would work just as she thought. No need to read on. She had found the information she was looking for. Emma peeked her head around the doorway to check on Henry one last time. He was engrossed in his program and chomping away as usual. She decided that the sooner she performed her deadly ritual the better, and that to wait would only prolong her desolation. Emma was too excited to finish her salad and anxious to acquire the needed supplies. She dumped the remainder of her dinner in the trashcan, and then pulled the phone book from its resting place under the counter. Opening to the Yellow Pages, she quickly found the heading, which read book dealers - retail. She looked down the rows for a small bookshop she had passed a hundred times, but never thought she would have occasion to visit. Her finger landed on the entry and a smile crept to her lips: Celebrations New Age Books. Emma dialed the number, and the shopkeeper picked up on the second ring. Celebrations New Age

Books, specializing in metaphysical books and supplies, how can I help you? the shop keeper said in a lilting tone that bordered on sounding intoxicated. Emma asked if the store had candles and incense in stock, Dragons Blood in particular. The reply was a matter-offact, Of course. Those are very popular items. We are open until 9 p.m. this evening. Thank you for calling. Emma went to the hall closet and grabbed her sweater. She was ten minutes away, and the store would be open for another thirty minutes. She told Henry that she forgot something at the supermarket and that she wouldnt be long. As he grunted in acknowledgment, Emma closed the door behind her. She made it to the bookstore and purchased the mystical supplies, then went back to Acme to select a whole fish. Emma usually bought seafood that was already filleted, but since she had no intention of consuming this particular fish, it really didnt matter. She selected a large bass for her ceremony. Driving home, Emma mentally took inventory of her scarves, thinking that the bright red one would be appropriate. The television was blaring and Henry was engrossed in a rerun of the Andy Griffith Show. He didnt seem to notice that

Emma had arrived home, so she felt no need to hide her treasures. With bags rustling, and the odor of raw fish trailing behind her, she walked into the kitchen. As she set the bags on the counter, she noticed a half-eaten sandwich on a plate. Henry must have made himself some dinner while she was gone. The partially eaten meal was evidence that Henry could not stand the temptation of his bag of beloved Cheese Doodles patiently awaiting his return. It was another sign that The Universe was providing the ultimate circumstance for her success. The book had not instructed her as to the position of the candles, nor where the incense should be placed, so she made a semi-circle pattern of candles and placed the fish at the base of the pattern. She lifted Henrys sandwich from the paper plate and, prying the stiff jaw open, fed it to the dead fish. Grimly, she wrapped the red scarf around the bottom of the fishs head, tied it lightly, and then listened for Henrys incessant crunching noise. At the first implication that he was gnawing on the lethal snack, she yanked the scarf as tightly as she was able around the fish. A short, gagging sound was heard from the other room, as though air was suddenly unavailable to her victim. Afraid to

let go of the scarf for fear that the choking would stop, yet terrified to continue, Emma held on to the ends of the red strap. Her eyes tried to avoid the blank stare of the bass, its lidless gaze accusing her of murder. The sandwich stayed lodged in its mouth, the motionless lips mimicking those of Henry, who clutched wildly at his throat, trying to eject the stuck morsel. His skin began to turn blue from a lack of oxygen, a sure sign that victory was just around the corner. Although Emma was not looking at Henry, she could see the slimy fish scales beginning to turn various hues of blue and green. It was difficult for her to observe the changes in the dead sea creature, and she turned away. With one last tug, Emmas scarf cut the fishs head down to the bone. She heard a hideous gurgling sound and ran into the living room in time to see Henrys last breath being released in a mass of blood. It ran over his bottom lip and down the front of his orange-smeared Tshirt. Emma ran back to the kitchen and leafed through the black book, looking for an explanation of what went wrong. Unable to discern a magical cause, she decided she had wrenched the scarf way too hard. No matter. The task was completed and the head was still on the neck. No one would ever suspect her. Time to

clean up the tools of her release, hide her treasured book, and call 911. As she dialed, she wrapped the fish, still sporting the sandwich she had wedged into its mouth, into a casing of aluminum foil. The emergency operator came on as Emma was dumping the fish into the trashcans outside of her house. The garbage men would be here in the morning to remove the evidence of her crime. With an ambulance and a police car in front of the house, neighbors came to see what had happened. For all they knew, either Henry or Emma could be ill, since they were rarely seen these days. They were such quiet neighbors. The crowd of onlookers was appeased when they saw the swollen body of Henry Richardson being removed from the house on a gurney. Even covered with a sheet, his frame was unmistakable. They understood that he was dead when they could not see his face poking out from beneath the white sheet; clean except for the bloodstains near the head. Emma was seen standing in the doorway, her face covered in shadows. She stood staring at the paramedics as they carried her dead husband from the house. She had an odd look on her face, one that could not be explained away as grief. There were no tears and her lips were pressed together, trying to stifle a smirk at the thought that the rest

of the trash would be taken away tomorrow. The saga was over, and Emma could look forward to making this house her home. She cleaned it from floor to ceiling, throwing out all remnants of her bondage. The chair that Henry occupied was removed from the house and replaced with a new recliner. She had ordered the chair in solid cranberry corduroy, thinking that it would not show dirt and would hold up for years. The thought crossed her mind that Henry probably would have liked this chair. Funny how she was still aware of his likes and dislikes. More than anything, she was thankful for the peace and contentment that was bestowed upon her by The Powers That Be through the advice of that blessed book. One evening, two weeks after Henrys sudden demise, Emma was reading a decorating magazine in her new recliner, when she heard a rustling sound in the kitchen. She slowly retracted the leg rest and silently put her feet on the floor. Cautiously, Emma tiptoed toward the kitchen, uncertain of what she would find. The small light over the stove was on, and as she turned the corner, she could see crumbs sprinkled over a section of the counter top. Not since Henry was alive did she have to put up with that.

Relieved not to have found a burglar in her home, she vowed to buy mousetraps the next day. Dealing with a mouse was minor compared to dealing with Henrys obtrusive presence. Emma wiped away the bothersome morsels and replaced the damp sponge in its holder. She noticed that there was no bread from which a rodent could have made those crumbs, but put it from her mind, deciding she was too tired to figure it out, and went to bed. The bed was warm and comfortable. She smiled and sunk deeper under the covers, glad not to have to share them with an odoriferous slob. Stretching to reach the light switch, she turned it off, and the darkness engulfed her. As she drifted off to sleep, the scent of Dragons Blood incense filled her nostrils. Her drowsy mind tried to remember if she had put the remainder of her supplies in the night table drawer. Dissatisfied with her power of recollection, her thoughts became lucid, and she was driven to find out if the package of incense was in the drawer next to her. Extending her hand toward the light switch, she felt pressure around her wrist, preventing her from completing the motion. In an effort to withdraw her hand, she made a fist and pulled harder to retract the appendage, only to find it locked in mid-air. A victim of the

invisible obstacle, Emma was unable to free herself. Terror roared through her paralyzed body, as she felt a presence sit down beside her on the bed. Mustering her courage like a novice sky diver ready to take the first leap, Emma held out her hand toward the unseen violator and felt nothing but cool, dead air. Another familiar scent entered the room: the noxious smell of artificially-flavored cheese puffs. Unwilling to believe it, but hard-pressed to ignore the obvious, Emmas intuition screamed that it was Henry. A spectral presence without vocal capability, his proximity was overwhelming, suffocating Emma by filling the space with putrid odors and pushing down on her chest, heavy in his nothingness. She had not seen anything in the book about the oppressor returning! Blindly battling her enemy to win the oxygen being deprived her, panicking at the low levels of life-giving air that was available to her, she thrashed about as a fish on a dock trying to fling itself back into the water. One last push against her, and the pressure was suddenly released. She gasped, pulling the air back into her lungs and simultaneously trying to turn on the light. Her hand batted at the wall near the light switch, finally hitting it successfully on the third try. With the room filled with light,

Emma focused her gaze on each quadrant of the space, looking for an indication that she was not dreaming nor was she going crazy. Was it guilt that prompted that attack, an inner demon launched from her superego coming forth to punish her evil deed? Yet how could that be, when her actions were justified and served as payment for all the needless suffering Henry had put her through? Just looking around this room, Emma was reminded of the invisible handcuffs Henry had affixed to her wrists, preventing her from spending any time or money to repaint the dingy yellow walls or the outdated orange and yellow flowered curtains. Outdated as they were now, she had chosen that color scheme during happier times, and then watched the bright, cheerful hues fade right along with her diminishing feelings toward her husband. She had a right to be angry, for wanting to be free of him. She had nothing to be sorry for. Unable to sleep, Emma went downstairs to the living room to allow the television to wipe away the disconcerting thoughts and to lull her back to sleep. She flicked on lights along her path, unwilling to walk the familiar hallway and staircase without sufficient illumination. If she stayed within the confines of the glimmer coming

from the 25-watt bulb overhead, then she would be safe from whatever that was in the bedroom. At the living room entryway, Emma turned the knob on the lamp next to her new, comfortable recliner. The cranberry corduroy fabric of the chair was now fully visible in the limited pool of light shining from the lamp. Emma ran her hand over the soft fabric, taking comfort in knowing that she had removed the old chair that Henry would have died in eventually, even if she hadnt killed him. A smile briefly touched the corners of her mouth, until an impression in the seat of the recliner caught her attention. The indentation was somewhat rounded and covered most of the square seat cushion. Emmas eyes involuntarily widened with the realization that the shape was that of Henrys over-sized derriere! Horrid to imagine that he had come back from the dead to destroy her well-deserved peace and to place his diseased rear on her special chair. The thought of him polluting the first symbol of her new life was despicable, but not surprising. He never had any respect for her while he was alive, why should he be any different as a ghost? The concave seat cushion was bad enough, but the orange crumbs smeared on the arm of the chair made Emma back away in cautious baby steps, her

anger overcome by fear. Once she put what seemed a safe distance between herself and the cursed chair, Emma turned and fled back up the stairs, focused on a pair of pants and a sweatshirt that were laying on the bathroom floor. Quickly changing from her nightgown to the semi-soiled clothes on the floor, she understood that this was Henrys house and no one, especially her, would be able to live here. She grabbed her handbag as she ran for the front door, locking the door behind her out of habit. In the car, she did not know where she would go, but she knew that she did not want to re-enter that house, at least not in the dark, and not alone. She would let it stay empty. That would teach him. There would be no one for him to annoy or to clean up after him. In the well-lit hotel room with the mismatched curtains and bedspread, she felt safe and blissfully alone. No ether from Henrys shroud had ever glided across this carpet. She could sleep here. She rummaged through her purse to see what items she had brought with her and saw the sinister black book hiding in the darkness of the inside pocket. Emma had not intentionally put the book in her purse. She had hidden it in the kitchen drawer under the

dishtowels. She opened the book to see what had gone wrong, to see what allowed Henrys return. She found the section regarding clean up from the ritual. She had remembered reading the part about not being a suspect when the victims cause of death was choking on a piece of food. But she had closed the book after reading that portion, satisfied that she had adequate information to perform the sorcery. To her horror, the section had another caveat that she had failed to discern: The fish must then be cooked at 375 degrees for 20 minutes and eaten by the person who performed the ritual. This will finish the cycle and allow the individual to digest the magnitude of the deed that was imposed on the victim. It symbolizes that the person has taken full responsibility for the act. Without this step, the victims soul cannot be released from the place of death. The residents of Mary Street could not figure out where Emma had gone. They hadnt seen her in months, and the grass and weeds were overtaking the yard. Those living directly next store to the house had been heard to comment that although the house was falling to ruin, it was nice to have such quiet neighbors.

Unexpected Journey

Is there a rare magic here what does it mean? Does a glamour abound in this place Ive found?

Walking along the mountain path The world seems at peace in this timeless place; Its as though all has paused after freshening rain, Calm and relaxed, yet full of expectation

In the midst of the woodlands, wetted with rain, Atop this brackened hillock, this bald in the woods

The white stone looks so cold as I hesitantly approach,

Sunlight sparkles downwards through the leaves, Myriads of crystals, raindrops really, Transforming blue sky into iridescent light Millions of tiny rainbows fueling my sight

Not out of fear but respect, out of honor Expecting its iciness to freeze my hand, and more, Its with slight trepidation I reach out my fingers

This monolith is chill to my touch, But not the cold of winter, its that of the Earth; Goodly it feels to my hands this summers day Midsummer now, it suddenly occurs to me

Yes indeed, day of magic and of the Sidhe; I acknowledge this as my gaze meets the stone As by the Gods it begins warming gently, Becoming warm as the soft skin of my Lady

Then to my amazement the stone begins to soften As my mind screams for my hands to pull away Walking along, making hardly a sound on damp leafy path Approaching an opening full of brightness as I rise, A small meadow is suddenly seen to my front, Full of green ferns and their heady, sweet aroma Slowly the translucent quartzite Ive felt Becomes soft tender alabaster flesh which can feel, And woman of such immortal beauty is there afore Yet there is more a shining white stone Rising almost six feet from out of its midst, Atop the rise of this woodland knoll; Sunlight sparkles on its rain-moistened surface me Standing there natural in all her glory, looking at me But my heart knows better, and they remain, As with eyes transfixed, the stone begins to change

Facing one-another, standing there, my mouth hangs agape, Then she smiles, when suddenly the birds begin to sing; Struggling, I try to find words, to form something to say She reaches out her hand to my lips and shakes her head nay

No conversation of words was to be had then; Our knowledge was exchanged via our eyes, Ancient of wisdom was she, yet innocent too, With her hunger and mine, to share, most extreme

Her fingers moved from my lips to my face Softly touching, as though a Man were never seen; Then she placed her open palm upon my chest, oer my heart And smiled again with the measure, as though knowing what was there

My hand reached out then to touch of her face, So soft and warm to my gentle caress as she leaned into my strokes, Her eyes shut in trust, and then, only then, did I notice the sound of her breath As her beauteous chest swelled with fragrant summertime air inhaled

Then I truly knew not what to do This woman standing aside me, pure as the morning dew, Opened her eyes and looked into mine: Such happiness at anothers touch never known before, And likely never to be known again

Into her eyes I gazed for hours; As the sun traveled across the sky I came to know things of a past long ago, And she of the present, of how changes have occurred

Photo

by George Drabinsky

Sometimes Id see the furrow of her brow As she triggered my memory of something - unkind So Id reach out and stroke her forehead And yes, finally, to gentle my soft kiss there

Then deftly, yet with footsteps unpracticed She stepped from the mound gracefully And walked peacefully across the glade, Walking with me, step for sacred step, into the morrows of Summertime,

Hers was a time of much less and yet, so much more, And likewise of violence, and of sadness, too, Why shed chosen to become hidden as stone Awaiting, patiently waiting, him who shed know

into the half a year ahead

half a year later

Yule it was as the children played, Running through the fresh-fallen woodland snow And into the midst of the glade covered in fresh blanket of white; One suddenly called to the other to come and see Two pairs of barefoot prints, one mans and one womans Emerged from the woods to merge in the center, Where two tall stones not there the day before Stood tall and proud, with a goodly feeling about

No snow was upon them, though it had just fallen that morn, One stone was of purest white, the other of palest gray, Where both pairs of footfalls ended this Yuletide day, To stand there together for forever and a day, till the ends of time Photo by George Drabinsky And yet, somehow, theyre together again in her Looking into her eyes, into which Id fallen in love, realm, I felt myself thinking, asking, if Id now set her free And his, for now hes finally gone home to his love Perhaps her eyes answered, as softly eyelashes fluttered Yet only till Yule, for then will the darkness be Hemlock Evergreen here

On The Road With Kenny Klein: A True Tale of Music, Love, Worry and Relocation
The Summer of 2010, Part I

before me like a ribbon in the sun. I had just done a Pagan event in Long Beach California with my band Odd's Bodkin. Well, my former band, as it turns out. The plan was to take them with me. Anna and I had split up a few months before, romantically speaking, but were still gigging together. And Stephanie Rosalyn, the adorable singer-flutist who had toured with us the previous summer, had left the band to be replaced by adorable singermandolinist Bianca, who left the band to be replaced by adorable (at least to teen-aged girls) guitarist Austen Mullins. (If you visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l64RG0lQ _XE&feature=related, you'll see and hear that final lineup in Long Beach. There's a good deal of video there with Bianca as well). So as I say, the plan was to tour with the band. But Anna's life got weird, and she decided not to go. Austen moved across town and out of touch. So I was left (cue dramatic music)...alone! Undaunted, dear reader, I climbed aboard my fearless Toyota 4-Runner, Big Red, and turned Red's nose toward Maryland. Ranch Exit I was less than happy as I roamed the highways and byways of California into Nevada, Arizona and Utah. For one thing, the first few events I was booked to do were expecting a band. All I had was me. (I know, you're thinking that's plenty! but organizers do not always think like we do, kind reader). I became very stressed wondering where I was going to procure a band to back me. For another thing, I had booked travel times thinking I'd have three drivers in the truck. It was just me, the Blythe dolls, and my imaginary friends, and the last two do not drive very well. I know this from bitter experience. Now if you've never placed yourself in a truck and driven three thousand miles, and repeated this exercise year upon year, you are not aware of just how much time you spend worrying and stressing. Oh, I'm sure there are those happy go lucky people who sing Beatles songs through miles of Utah, or chant mantras, but I am sadly not one of them. I drove through Utah making myself sick with stress that I'd never reach Maryland

June And Everything After Hello dear reader. Kenny Klein here, Pagan, musician, author and travelogue keeper. You may have read, in previous Green Egg issues, of my tours across the U.S. to play music at Pagan festivals and Ren faires. I generally tour from June through August each year. Generally. This year was different. My tour began in mid June, and was meant to land me back in Los Angeles by September first. As I sit writing this, in late November, my tour has finally come to what I think will be its true end, and has landed me in a completely different place and completely different circumstances than I could possibly imagine. Follow me, dear reader, and you will see. I left Los Angeles on a sunny, bright day June 7. The San Gabriel Mountains bid me goodbye (kinda) and the highway opened

in time, and that I would disappoint the festival organizers (read not get paid) by showing up alone. I was making myself kind of ill. Really. I started feeling nauseous. I was also so concerned about arriving alone that I sort of ignored the gas tank gauge. Until around seven or eight AM, when I noticed that the red you're so out of gas light had come on. This was bad. Well, I reasoned, I can get about twenty miles on empty. And there's got to be a gas station here in the Utah desert. Somewhere. I saw an exit sign ahead. As I approached, I made out Ranch Exit---No Services. Damn, I exclaimed to my imaginary friends (I don't curse in front of the dolls). I drove past that exit, certain another would soon appear. And so another did. I strained my eyes in the Utah morning to make out the green highway sign: Ranch Exit---No Services. Again? Don't people own gas stations in the desolate southern Utah desert? I mean, really! Miles passed. Red was getting hungrier and hungrier. In the distance, another sign. You guessed it: Ranch Exit---No Services. Things were not looking good. Red was getting very grumpy. I was nauseous and now worried about the gasoline situation. Then I saw a new sign. Green River, 18 Miles. Green River Utah. Not exactly a teeming metropolis, but a town. I'd been there before, several times. The town is famous for its melons, and I mean that literally, you pervert. The town of Green River is on the, you guessed it, Green River, and is an oasis of green in an otherwise barren (and gas station-less) desert, where the locals grow amazing cantaloupe and honeydew melons. Very tasty. But more important, it was a town large enough to have a couple of gas stations. If I could make it. I was conserving fuel, coasting down the many mountainous inclines, letting Red chug

up the mountains slowly and in low gear. Cars whizzed past me, but I kept my composure. A sign on the highway: Green River was now 10 miles away. On we chugged, on we coasted, Red and I. Another sign: now the town lay a mere 7 miles away. There is a fairly large mountain just as one comes to the Green River Valley, wherein lies the picturesque town of Green River. If Red could make it to the summit, we could coast all the way down to the town, and her thirst would be sated. Just at the summit, Red sputtered, gasped, and came to a grinding halt. Now I may be an itinerant musician, but these days itinerant musicians have things like cell phones and roadside assistance. Mind you though, just as I had been too worried to keep an eye on the gas gauge, I had also neglected charging the phone. Yes, I know, my mother tells me all the time what a terrible disappointment I am. So I called my roadside program on my quickly dying phone, and explained that I was seven miles from Green River Utah and had run our of gas. The very lovely woman on the other end of the phone spent about four minutes trying to figure out where Green River Utah is. Then she informed me that the program has no service stations in the area (what a surprise!), and she'd need to make some calls on her end to find one. She'd call me back. I probably had twenty minutes of phone power left. And as I hung up with the perplexed roadside woman, a jeep whizzed by me with at least six gas cans strapped to its roll bar. That gave me an idea. While waiting for the confused woman to call me back, I made a sign out of the art materials I just happen to always carry in my truck, saying GAS? and stood pathetically near my truck, holding the sign aloft. Now let me just mention that the I-70 seven miles from Green River Utah is not what I would call a high traffic area. Maybe ten cars passed me in twenty minutes. If you're someone who is used to the Beltway or LSD

or the BQE (neither of those is a drug or a sandwich), or perhaps the junction of the I10 and the I-15, you cannot really imagine the quiet and peace of the I-70 seven miles from Green River Utah. By the tenth or eleventh car passing in the space of fifteen minutes I was beginning to give up hope. My phone was nearly dead, the woman had not called back, and the rate of cars passing me was about one every three minutes. Just as I despaired and was about to consider walking to Green River, a car stopped about ten yards away, and a man hopped out with a little red gas can. He approached me, handed me the gas can, and said keep it! Then he walked back to his car and drove away. I was rescued! And my faith in the people of Utah was restored. I poured about half of the red gas can's contents into my gas tank and the other half onto my hands, pants and shoes, hopped into the driver's seat, plugged in my phone, and drove the seven miles to Green River, where a gas station loomed brightly on the horizon. Oh, and I left the mostly empty gas can on the side of the road. Someone may need it. I called my roadside program back and told a very relieved woman to stand down. Then I was on my nauseous way to points east.

By Denver I was sick. Worry and gas fumes had done their work. I needed a bed and a bathroom. I thought of Lunar Fire. That's not metaphorical. If you, dear reader, have never had the pleasure of hearing the band Lunar Fire (http://www.lunarfire.com/), you are missing out on an amazing, talented Pagan act. I had shared a bill with them at Wisteria last year, and I had run into them again at the Beltania music festival outside of Colorado Springs a month before my tour. Wandering, worried and nauseous, I remembered that the band, and their friend Kaewyn, live in Denver. In fact lovely Kaewyn owns Herbs and Arts, an excellent occult shop in that city. So I phoned Kaewyn and told her that I was a few hours away, and not feeling so well. She was so gracious, and invited me to come stay at her house (shared with half of Lunar Fire) and sleep in her guest room. I was very relieved, you can imagine, as I drove over the Rockies to Denver and bed rest. Kaewyn and the band members live in a beautiful Victorian in mid city Denver, a few blocks from her shop on Colfax Avenue (http://www.herbsandarts.net/). I was shown to a quiet, dark room where I fell onto the mattress and slept for hours. Waking up refreshed, I decided to check the internet. There on Facebook was an interesting missive. Pagan singer Wendy Rule was supposed to be playing at a Faerie Ball in Denver that very evening. But Wendy, it seems, who is Australian, was denied a visa into the United States just days before. Facebook was a-buzz with anxiety and misgivings over the fate of the Wendy-less Faerie Ball. Now where some see a problem, I see an opportunity (If only that was really true. But in this case it was). I e-mailed the organizer and told her I happened to be in Denver. She called me back, thrilled. Her Faerie ball was saved, and I had a gig that very night. The ball was very sweet. It was held in an event hall in downtown Denver (there was a fairly normal wedding going on concurrently upstairs...we faerie-clad Pagan weirdos received some looks). The room was filled

Thanks Wendy Rule!!

with vendors and faerie folk. I shared the stage with the Mountain Trance Band, whom I had met at Beltania, and with a Faerie Burlesque dancer (!!). I did a good set and was enjoyed by all, and of course they paid me, which I have to say I enjoyed immensely. I will make it a point to get sick in Denver more often. Thanks, Wendy Rule! The next day I left Denver for Kansas City, where I was scheduled to do a book signing and a concert at Aquarius/Vulcan's Forge book and jewelry shop. Because I had spent a nauseous day in Denver, I had to drive all night to be in KC on time, and I ended up almost killing myself by nodding off at the wheel. I'm alive, thank you, but I did end up driving in the grassy medium. And was it worth it? Well, let me say that I love Aquarius/Vulcan's Forge, and I love its owners, mother-son partners Barb and Russ. But I have never drawn well there, and I am not sure why. This gig was no exception. I nearly died in the medium for no audience at all. Nope, no one showed for the concert (I did get three people for the book signing). I do not tell you this, dear reader, to cast aspersions upon Barb and Russ, or on the shop---it's an excellent shop that has a long record of dedication and loyalty to the KC Pagan community, and I have stayed in Russ' house several times, and he has taken very good care of me. I also do not say it to elicit sympathy (OK, maybe a little). I say it to illustrate that the life of a Pagan performer is often unglamorous, fraught with financial hardship, and very unpredictable. We Pagan performers do it because we are called to it, because we love it, because we cannot see ourselves doing anything else. We know there will be shows like this, when no audience presents itself. But we are too stubborn and stupid to quit. I had a restful night at Russ' house, though, and with my stomach mostly settled, I left refreshed for my trip to Darlington, Maryland, home of Free Spirit Gathering. Fee Spirit Gathering Free Spirit Gathering is unique among Pagan festivals for several reason. For one, the grounds are quite large, and feature cabins

and a good-sized pool (I don't know if the pool is Olympic-sized, but I feel confident in saying it's Special Olympics sized). The cabins allow groups to form small communities within the larger community of the festival, and many take advantage of this by visiting from cabin to cabin. I camp in the Blue Star cabins, two cabins inhabited yearly by my Wiccan tradition, Blue Star (www.bluestarwicca.org). The festival site has a dining hall and a small lake, and a covered dance/concert area where acts like Kiva, Incus, and lil ol' me play. In all, it's a very good festival site, with space and facilities for pretty much any activity a Pagan fest might include.

The festival itself tends to be a little more intellectual than many others, with very scholarly workshops alongside more practical ones. I like this about FSG. There is a real atmosphere of learning and information sharing. It's not all dry intellectualism; there are copious amounts of squalor and frivolity as well (not to mention liquor and S&M). But the workshops tend to be more about the inner workings of magic and the Craft than those presented at some other festivals. So I was at FSG, managing to arrive alive, looking the place over for this year, strolling into the Merchant Area. There a pleasant tune befell my ears. I heard a woman singing and strumming. It was darn good. I approached said woman, and introduced myself. Turns out said woman was Kellianna (http://www.kellianna.com/). Now I know I'm kind of a jerk sometimes. You do not have to tell me this (so you can stop visiting my Facebook page and telling me I'm a jerk, OK? Cause I know). So I sort of felt this chick out to see what she could do. I expected her to be, I don't know, not so good. I've been disappointed by Pagan musicians before. So I whipped out my guitar, and asked what songs do you know? Turns out that like me, Kellianna is a human jukebox. We sang every song ever written

there in her E-Z-Up at the FSG merchant area. We sang CSNY, we sang Traffic, we sang Donovan, we sang Fleetwood Mac, and the ultimate test, we sang pretty much the entire Grateful Dead songbook. And we sang really well together. A musical love affair began that very afternoon (don't get too excited dear reader, no romantic love exists between Kellianna and I. But musical love, yes!). You may remember all that worrying I was doing about not having my band with me? Well, dear reader, it was stupid. The second day of the festival, Rob Petry and his girlfriend show up, their mandolin and bass in hand (or in tow in the case of the bass). Wanna do my show with me? I ask. Sure they reply. (It wasn't as smooth as I present here. There was consulting of schedules and bartering for alcohol, but I present the streamlined version). So I ended up with a kick-ass band for FSG, Kellianna sang leads and harmonies with me, and we did a great show (cause that's how we roll). It was probably one of the best shows I did all summer (hold that thought. More on that in a bit). With FSG done, I cleared out and headed back west (NOT my best planned-out tour, good reader) to Wisteria campground in Ohio for their Summer Solstice festival. And I was not alone in doing so. Turns out Kellianna was headed that way too. Summer Is A-Cummin In Wisteria is one of my favorite festival sites. Nestled in the rolling hills of the Appalachian mountains, set in Pomeroy, Ohio,and just a wren's flight over the Ohio river from West Virginia, the campground was once the site of a strip mine, reclaimed and made beautiful by a group of founders that include Todd Alan and Charlene Neff. The site has, among its many virtues, a full service cafe with coffee and an an excellent menu serving three meals a day, a swimming pond, and a huge, gorgeous stage built into the side of the mountain. Oh, and the Green Man pub, a typical Ren faire-esque pub with a music stage and a wine and beer menu. The site is well run, and kept clean and serviced by a group of volunteers who live in the Paw-Paw

area of the camp, so are collectively referred to as Paw-Paw camp (get it?). Music goes on at three stages throughout each evening (and at lunch time too), and the line-up of acts is always excellent.

It's probably no secret that the Wisteria Summer Solstice festival replaced PSG after there were issues between PSGs organizers and the festival's Wisteria hosts. PSG moved to Missouri, and Wisteria decided to run its own Summer Solstice festival in that time slot. I arrived at Wisteria and set up in my usual spot, the musician's ghetto opposite the main stage. Kellianna arrived soon after, and we set up a merchant booth together. Incus was nearby, as was one of my favorite bands, the Momentary Prophets. Years ago, Pagan musicians, who we'll define here as out Pagans playing music at Pagan events for a Pagan demographic (as opposed to acts like Stevie Nicks, who plays mainstream music to general audiences but who is liked by Pagans because of her aesthetic and attitude) were a bit of a sorry situation. There were few Pagan musicians who were schooled players. Most were homespun singer-songwriters playing as a hobby or perhaps semi-professionally. Most were not that great. Because of this, many Pagans were turned off to collecting Pagan music. But times have greatly changed. If you've read a few of my other tirades, you'll know that I feel strongly about the strength of the new crop of Pagan musicians. Of course through the years there have been a few great talents. Ruth Barrett and Cyntia Smith have always been amazing, and I have always been a fan of Lady Isadora. And I like to think I have a bit of talent myself (sometimes I honestly feel, if I may be

candid with you dear reader, that my songs are a bit too involved, maybe even too wellwritten, and so I alienate Pagan audiences who want simple chants).

INCUS But the new crop of Pagan musicians is brimming, swamped with, glowing with talent. SJ Tucker, Lunar Fire, The Moors, and The Gypsy Nomads are all excellent songwriters, great players and great singers. Incus is one of the new Pagan talents (http://www.incus.net/). The band showcases great violin, excellent bass, great drumming and keyboards and vocals by bandleader Jason, the songwriter and focus of the group. They use electronics as much as they do instruments, and have a tribal, ancient sound set in a modern framework. Incus did a great set at Wisteria, filling the huge main stage with sound and movement, using their troupe of fire spinners and belly dancers to fill the space with motion and expression.

Of course the Momentary Prophets played, and did an amazing job, as always (http://www.myspace.com/momentaryproph ets) They have a deep, tight harmony style, reminiscent of Crosby Stills and Nash vocals, with very rambling melodies around very unexpected instrument combinations. Everyone in the group plays three or four instruments, and they will depart from the standard guitar-bass-drums scenario of most bands to do songs on banjo, ukulele and dumbek, or recorder, mandolin and bass. Their odd instrument combinations, tight vocals and excellent lyric writing make them a surprising pleasure. They're also funny. Jake, the mandolin player and lead singer, kept up a running gag with myself and Kellianna all weekend in which we were the Von Trapp family, and each act's show was our attempt to escape from the Nazis. Yahwol.

So, Kellianna and I played our main stage shows on the same evening, which was perfect. More perfect was the fact that (recall all that worrying I did on the drive east...) Sarah Griffith, bassist of Incus, Jake of the Momentary Prophets, and Billy Woods the drummer, backed me, forming an amazing band; Kellianna did harmonies with me; and I sang my little hiney off. There is video of this on my website, www.kennyklein.net (follow the Kenny Klein link). The drumming at Wisteria is great. When the mood is right, and the planets are aligned, it's some of the best drumming I've seen at any festival. The stars must have been doing their thing during Summer Solstice, and there was excellent percussive expression. I played the huge mother drum, as I like to do. You can't show off too much on a thing like that. Just keep the rhythm strong, and even that is a workout. I also love the cafe at Wisteria. In the morning I can take my laptop down there, get a cup of coffee, and read my e-mail. It's my routine while at home, and Wisteria allows me to follow it there. Thanks, Wisteria!

Momentary Prophets

New York City (Get A Rope) When the festival at Wisteria was done, I had some gigs in my home city of New York. Yes dear reader, I was born and raised in the land down south (southern Manhattan). It's where I done learned to play Bluegrass and Country music (really), and where I spent my misspent youth. When I was a wee lad (actually in my late teens) I was taken in by a band of roving Bluegrass players who performed on the streets of Greenwich Village. It was a raggletaggle bunch of performers. The bass player, who played a Fender bass through a teensy Pignose amp, was never quite in rhythm (and when he was it was the wrong rhythm), the singer would always argue with the banjo player, and the banjo player would count a song in one rhythm and begin playing it in another. Despite all of this, these guys were great street players, and taught me pretty much everything I know about performing. Twenty odd years later (actually it's more like thirty) I still play gigs with the banjo player and his recent band, Minetta Creek Bluegrass (http://www.myspace.com/minettacreek). They are a Greenwich Village institution, and play all the local sushi bars and small cafes. Whenever I see a hole in my tour schedule on the East Coast, I call them and ask if they have gigs, and they always do. So I had two dates with them in little NYC bars. I stayed with my long-time friend and Blue Star priestess Megan Cummings in lovely Nyack, right on the Hudson River. Nice place. Forest on one side, the Palisades cliffs on the other. The only issue is proximity to Jersey, but I can live with that for a week or two. A bus handily takes one deep into Manhattan, so I spent a few very hot days in the city. It was the hottest few days, in fact, that they'd had there in years. You may see this as a problem, but I see an opportunity: New York women all broke out their miniest miniskirts and tiny halter tops in celebration of the grueling heat. It was a good visit. We played at the usual dive bars full of old hippies, doing the same songs we did thirty years ago (they are timeless classics, after

all). I played fiddle. A word about that, dear reader. Many Pagans have seen me at Pagan festivals or at Renaissance Faires, doing my show, playing the original songs featured on my brilliant CDs. My seven brilliant CDs at the moment. Available on my web site, www.kennyklein.net. Just saying. But I play a wide range of gigs, assuming a wide variety of roles. At the above mentioned festivals and faires I am alone onstage, or fronting my band Odd's Bodkin (which doesn't really exist anymore, but that has never stopped me). I switch between guitar and fiddle, and I sing all the leads when alone, and many of the leads when with the band. But I often get hired as a fiddler in Country and Bluegrass bands, to simply play my fiddle while others sing their songs or sing a traditional or contemporary repertoire (that's musician language). I also get hired sometimes to play top 40s music (yick...but it pays) or to do Country music in a bar or on a cruise ship. I obviously have different repertoires, and in fact different stage acts, for each situation. I have several times mentioned to someone I used to play music on cruise ships, and had them exclaim they have Pagan music on cruise ships? No, dear reader, they do not. When I take a cruise ship gig, I am playing top 40s music to drunk rednecks in string bikinis. Yes I prefer Pagan fests and Ren faires, but you gotta do what pays the bills. Country gigs lie in a middle ground, depending a good deal on the band that hired me. As Country gigs go I like playing with Minetta Creek because I get to sing a little, play fiddle a lot, and I'm not the one who has to deal with booking the gig (in answer to the question I am often asked, no, I do not have an agent. I book everything myself). I also like Gene, my life-long banjo player friend, his wife Bethe, and the other players they use. It's a good band, and often in rhythm. I also like the gigs they get in little bars and bistros around Manhattan, and many of the audience are folks that have come to see us since my days on the streets of Greenwich Village. Don't you wish you'd been there?

On To Brushwood And Fame! Not really fame. But at least they know me there.

and hot tub, its Faerie woods and acres of rolling meadows, Brushwood is beautiful, lush, and tranquil until the goldern Pagans and Hippies and Freaks arrive. Brushwood hosted two festivals this year. Sirius Rising, which has been there for a decade now, and Summer Fest, which replaces Starwood, the great festival which has moved to Wisteria. I was booked for both weeks at Brushwood, and I looked forward to two weeks of festival fun and Pagan connection.

The next gig on the books was Sirius Rising at Brushwood, another of my favorite festival sites. With its fire dance roundhouse, its pool

Coming Next: Part II, Brushwood And Beyond.

Can you go Grid-less for 30 days?

by Richard Alan Miller and Yvonne-Marie Zancanaro c2010

magnetosphere. This disrupted Victorianera magnetometers and the world telegraph system. The report outlines the worst case scenario for the US. The perfect storm is most likely on a spring or autumn night in a year of heightened solar activity something like 2012. Around the equinoxes, the orientation of the Earth's field to the sun makes us particularly vulnerable to a plasma strike. Sunspots are tangled knots of magnetism generated by the sun's inner dynamo.

The Problem: To add fuel to the 2012 stigma, the official NASA website is now stating a new pending potential for disaster. They report a new set of solar flares within the next two years. While the normal solar storm cycle is every eleven years, this new set begins early next year. And, they are predicted to be some of the largest ever recorded in history. http://www.nasa.gov/

Mainstream scientific concern has grown since the release of a recent National Research Council report (funded by NASA). Issued by the National Academy of Sciences, it is titled Severe Space Weather Events: Understanding Economic and Societal Impact, it details the potential devastation of the 2012 solar storms on our current planetary energy grid. http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=na sa+solar+flares+2012&qpvt=nasa+solar+ flares+2012&FORM=VDRE Because of the inter-linkages of our current cybernetic society, human civilization is in serious risk. The concern is a repetition of the 8-day 1859 Carrington event, where a large solar flare accompanied by a coronal mass ejection (CME), flung billions of tons of solar plasma onto the earths

A typical sunspot exists for just a few weeks. Then it decays, leaving behind a 'corpse' of weak magnetic fields." The conveyor belt is a current phenomenon on the sun. It skims the surface of the sun, sweeping up the magnetic fields of old, dead sunspots. These magnetic knots (corpses) are dragged down at the poles to a depth of 200,000 km where the sun's magnetic dynamo can amplify them. Once the corpses are amplified, they become buoyant and float back to the surface, as new sunspots When (not if) this problem occurs, these flares will be like an ELF spike, where most devices using computer chips will cease to function and, mostly need to be replaced. This would include telephones, your banking service, some automobiles,

and certainly delivery systems (like food to local supermarkets). This disruption in our power grid will even extend to hospitals, and basics (like those people with pacemakers). The primary scientific concerns are that the public is not prepared for these major inconveniences. Such situations like water from a well might need to be handpumped until power can be replaced. The report states that to expect delays in delivery systems for up to two weeks at a time. So, the BIG QUESTION is can you live off the energy grid for 30 days? The Solution: When Angie was five, we moved to a small cabin in 240-acre woodlot. For the next five years we lived without electricity, phones, television, computers, with water from an above ground stream, running into black plastic hosing. We chose to make this move so we would learn how to live well, if and when all other services failed. The experience was very educational. Looking back I recall driving into town and calling my Grandma. She was very upset because the electricity had gone out and she was unable to have breakfast. I remember my daughter laughing out loud. Are you going to be laughing and having a good time when all services stop? Or are you going to join the masses in panic and fear? You have more recourses than you may know. And, surviving a crisis safely requires an assessment of your means of survival now, when things appear fine. These are requirements: categories for critical

Food http://www.survivalcenter.com/guide/food.htm Medicine http://www.survivalhomestead.com/survival-medicine2.html

Fuel http://www.survivalblog.com/2007 /05/fuel_storage_for_survival_retr. html Heat http://www.survivaltopics.com/sur vival/heat/ Entertainment/distraction http://survivalpreparedness911.co m/Entertainment1.html

With solar storms, the power grid alone may be down for up to two weeks, and may even require new parts (computer chips) before being functional again. Water Facts: A person can live one month without food but only three days without water. For optimum health the amount of drinking water a person should consume is found by taking the weight of the person, dividing that by two, and drinking that number in ounces each day. Someone who weighed 150 lbs. would need 75ozs. per day. There are 128 ounces in a gallon, so someone who weighs 150 lbs. needs to drink gallon a day. FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) states, for emergencies, one should store at least one gallon of water per person per day. First the open water sources will most likely become polluted very quickly. For flushing a toilet this is not a problem. But if you want to wash clothes or do dishes contaminants in the water can still cause diseases and skin rashes. The Center for

Water http://www.survivalcenter.com/guide/water.htm

Disease Control receives over 4,000 cases each year of illness due to drinking contaminated water. (dysentery, typhoid, and hepatitis). Every family should have in stock water purification tablets. Fifty (50) tablets cost about $4.99 and can be found on dozens of internet sites, and at Wal-Mart and most sporting good stores. Although this may make water safe to drink, it is very advisable to also have a ceramic handoperated water filter. Ceramic filters take 99.9% of all contaminates out of any water. Hand-pump type filters cost anywhere from $30 (upward). Keep in mind the

larger filters are more efficient, processing larger amounts of water. Boiling water for the recommended 10 minutes to kill organisms may not be an option, especially if fuel is not abundant. And, boiling water will not remove chemical contaminants. At the very least you should have distilled water for your family in containers for 7 days usage. It is time for you to begin a survival plan, if you need to go off the grind for 30 days. For basic survival equipment for water, begin at http://www.equipped.com/toc.htm

Richard Alan Miller, Physicist www.richardalanmiller.com/ram/ andYvonne-Marie Zancanaro, Herbalist http://heritagemeadowsfarm.blogspot.com/

The 7 Directions
by Diane Wing, M.A.
Our mundane reality says that we have four compass directions that guide our physical travels north, south, east, and west. Yet our spiritual reality offers seven directions that guide our energetic path, offering us energies that assist us in manifesting the life we want or show us limitation for our own good. The seven spiritual directions are North-Earth, South-Fire, East-Air, West-Water, Above, Below, and Within. Lets take a closer look at these spiritual directions and how they can best be used to further our purpose in this lifetime.

is receptive and it is associated with the compass direction of North. It is connected with all things practical and wise. Caves, canyons, forests, and groves are harbingers of Earth energy. Earths vibrations also extend into the home, providing comfort and nourishment. Salt and/or the pentacle are the altar symbols for Earth.

North-Earth This is the realm of abundance, wealth, health, and prosperity. Ground yourself with the element of Earth and understand the physical and material aspects of the world. Earth carries with it a sense of dependability and stability. Earths colors include green, black, and brown, symbolizing nature and groundedness. Earth is the element associated with Taurus, Capricorn, and Virgo. Its energy

EastAir - Let your spirit take flight with the element of Air and explore the intellect and the rational mind. It is the realm of thought and allows movement and change. Air has projective energy that inspires us to move beyond our current state of being. The colors of Air include yellow and pastels symbolizing learning, harmony, breath, knowledge, memory, understanding, and youth. It is the element associated with Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius. Air is connected to the direction of East, a place of new beginnings. The athame or sword is the magickal tool associated with Air. Mountaintops, cloudy skies, and windy beaches are places where the vibration of Air lives. Incense is the altar symbol for Air.

South-Fire - Feel the flame inside of you with the element of Fire by gaining understanding of the masculine principle and the energy of the will. Fire is an ancient form of divinity and a symbol of Spirit. Fire purifies and transforms; it creates and destroys. It is a powerful force that releases energy through combustion. Fire is a motivating force that propels us. The element of Fire aids in survival by illuminating physical darkness and providing heat. Fire enlightens and is symbolic of the divine light within us. Fire is associated with the direction of South. The wand is the magickal implement connected with fire and gives messages regarding work, skills, and initiative. Fires colors include red and orange, symbolizing heat, passion, energy, courage, strength, and vitality. Fire is the element associated with Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius. Places associated with Fire are deserts, volcanoes, and ovens. On the altar, a candle flame represents the element of Fire.

West-Water - Submerge yourself in the element of Water. Dive into the world of the feminine principle, emotions, psychic ability, dreams, and intuition. Water is a passive element with magnetic qualities, able to receive and hold energetic vibrations. Water cleanses and flows, gives life, and is capable of destruction. It releases energy through evaporation. It is a powerful force, which can put out fire and cover the earth. It is an inspirational force that causes us to reflect, ponder, and create. The element of Water is necessary for survival. The fluid nature of Water encourages us to accept diversity and open to new experiences. It can be tranquil or rough and so represents emotions and moods. Water is associated with the direction of West. The chalice is the magickal implement connected with water and gives messages regarding love, happiness, and what will be received. Waters colors include blue, purple, and white, symbolizing purity, psychic ability, cleansing, and healing. Places to experience this element include well, lakes, ponds, rivers, beaches, and the ocean. Water is the element associated with Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces. On the altar, it is represented by a cup or chalice.

Above This is where we connect with Spirit and co-create our lives. Above is where we receive spiritual abundance and the ability to manifest our desires. Spirit signifies the energy known as God, Universal Life Force, or The Source of All That Is. The Source has no gender, no malice, no love, and no impetus of Its own. Spirit resides within all living and inanimate things, connecting all beings and things together so that each impact the other. Every person, creature, and plant on the planet, makes Its fabric ripple and change with each energetic impact. We can imprint upon it our hopes and dreams, hatred and anger, desires and goals. Each person chooses to brighten the pool with positive thoughts and actions or to pollute it with hatred and fear. We have the power to raise the vibration of the planet to increase harmony and peace or diminish it to an unmatched state of war and hate. The attitude of the energy is neutral, having no attachment to outcomes, nor directing activity. Its nature changes as the beings that interact with it change. Below The realm below is the place of grounding, stability, and nourishment. Grounding is a means of attaching your energy to the Universe and to the Earth. By creating a connection both above and below, a conduit forms, allowing a steady stream of energy to flow through you. In this way, positive energy flows in from the heavens and negativity flows into the ground. To attach to both is to know an intimate relationship with the Universal Energy, while experiencing an extraordinary relationship with the planet. It is not always necessary to ground in both directions. High intensity situations require that you ground mainly to the earth; to do so stabilizes emotions and evens out extreme bursts of energy.

Within This is the realm of selfmastery, self-knowledge, self-discipline, and self-control. It is from within that we foster and direct our power --or choose to give it away. Our reality begins within us and projects the life we live onto the external world. To change the way we live, the shift must come from within. We experience the depth of human experience that includes all of the other realms from within. It is here that North, South, East, West, Above, and Below come together and interact in ways that teach, drive, motivate, dispel, and empower. For those who need grounding or who have little to no self-awareness, the intensity of these interactions serves only to overwhelm. The depth in which we can go within allows us to learn about ourselves through the present lifetime and continue that learning in subsequent lifetimes. Being aware of and using the energies of all the directions is key to understanding the Self, your life purpose, and place in the Universe.

*The above article is an excerpt from Diane Wings latest project, Pathways: an interactive journey of self-discovery, a web-based card deck that allows you to discover answers to your questions and foster deeper self-awareness. Pathways will be available as a subscription service on www.ForestWitch.com in the coming months. Sign up for the Magical Monthly Newsletter on ForestWitch.com for announcements about the launch of Pathways. Diane Wing , M.A. 2010. reserved. All rights

Our Gay Commander-in-Chief

By Harvey Wasserman As conservatives scream and yell about gays in the military, they might remember that in all likelihood we have already had a gay Commander-in-Chief. His name was James Buchanan. He was the 15th President of the United States.

The nature of their relationship was never officially confirmed or proclaimed in public. They were widely referred to as Siamese twins, slang at the time for a gay couple. But there was no incriminating gap dress or heartfelt double-ring ceremony, civil or otherwise. It was not uncommon at the time for men and women of the same gender to live together and even share a bed while remaining sexually uninvolved.

President James Buchanan 1791-1868 A Democrat from Pennsylvania, Buchanan is discreetly referred to in official texts as our only bachelor president. In fact, many historians believe that he may well have been married to William Rufus King, a pro-slavery Democrat from Alabama who was our only bachelor Vice President. The two men lived together for years. Andrew Jackson, never one to shy from bullhorn bigotry, was among those who variously referred to them as Aunt Nancy and Mr. Fancy. Other Washington wags called them Mr. & Mrs. Buchanan, and the like.

Vice Pres. William Rufus King 1786-1853 Buchanan was once engaged to marry a wealthy young woman named Ann Coleman, http://lindholm.jp/chinf_buc.html but the complex affair ended with her mysterious, untimely death. When King became ambassador to France in 1844, Buchanan complained that I have gone wooing to several gentlemen, but have not succeeded with any of them. With no Moral Majority or Bible thumping fundamentalists to plague them, the KingBuchanan liaison was generally embraced as a political and personal fact of life in a nation consumed with real issues of life and death, freedom and slavery.

In 1852 King was elected as Franklin Pierces Vice President. But on an official mission, King contracted a fever and died, leaving Buchanan alone and deeply distraught. In 1856, Buchanan defeated John C. Fremont, the first presidential candidate from the new Republican Party. Buchanan did not run for re-election in 1860, when Abraham Lincoln was the victor. Buchanans presidency was plagued by economic and sectional disaster. He was a doughface northerner with sympathies for southern slavery. Devoted to consensus and compromise, he was swept away by the intense polarization that led to Civil War. Through his entire time in the White House, President Buchanan lived alone.

His niece served as First Lady. He stayed unmarried, and had his personal letters burned upon his death, further fueling speculation about his sexual preferences. Maybe its time those legislators so fiercely opposed to gays in the military face the high likelihood that at least one Commander in Chief would probably be among them.

HARVEY WASSERMANS HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES is at www.harveywasserman.com, along with PASSIONS OF THE POTSMOKING PATRIOTS by Thomas Paine, which portrays George Washington as a gay potsmoker.

THE DRUID ISLE

By Ellen Evert Hopman ISBN 978-0-7387-1956-6

healing and other ancient arts that the Drui were experts in, are struggling to steer clear of the Christian authorities and priesthood that is trying to destroy the ancient Drui way of life. It was a not uncommon practice for the Catholic priests to kidnap children and train them for a life spent in a Catholic monastery as devout Christians. This book is second in a series of three books, the first one being Priestess of the Forest. As much as I liked that book, this one is even better. The third and last of the series has already been written and is due out in early 2012. At times, it is difficult to read some of the passages in the book, knowing that some of the horrible events that befell the Drui really did happen, such as the aforementioned kidnapping of children by Catholic priests. But it is an aspect of Pagan history that does need to be told and that neo-Pagans should know. The book is full of herbal lore and healing knowledge as well. (Having been an herbalist and healer myself for 30 years, I can attest to the accuracy and correctness of the knowledge presented in the book on these two topics not that Ellens work needs any corroboration!)

Once again, Ellen Evert Hopman has created a book full of good information and excellent writing. This may well be her best book yet. Druid Isle is the second in a series of three books about life in the third century, set on a remote island off the coast of Scotland. It is a time when the power of Druidry is waning and those few who are still practitioners of

The story is set on a real island in the Hebrides. Besides doing traditional research in libraries, etc. Ellen travelled to Scotland and Ireland, and to Findhorn, the famous community in the very north of Scotland, where she heard about how Druid initiation was accomplished in the first centuries of the first millennia. She also visited the area and felt the stones

to extract the history. This is a practice that Native Americans use and it is why they think of rocks as the history keepers. I, too, have used this method many times when travelling and have established its accuracy for myself, as subsequent research revealed. As well, she also talked to the people of the area to find out what she could about the ancient Drui. Ellen, being a Druid herself for many decades, has drawn upon her own experiences and knowledge in putting together all that she learned in the course of gathering information for the writing of her book. She herself has been through the initiations described in the book, including lengthy fasting. The story concerns a young woman who is being trained by the Drui to be a priestess. Along the way she falls in love with a young man who was trained as a Catholic priest. The characters have depth and complexity and are wonderfully fleshed out. I read the book in one sitting basically, which is to say that I couldnt put it down. I could not find one criticism of this book and I highly recommend it to everyone, especially those who are on the Druid path. It is endorsed by such luminaries as Isaac Bonewits, Philip Carr-Gomm, Susun Weed and John Michael Greer, not to mention a number of other Druids and Druid organizations. Last but not least, the book inspires the reader to learn more about Druidism, its beliefs, practices and traditions. Fortunately Ms. Hopman has provided further resources for learning in the back of the book. -Ariel Monserrat

THE TRUE NATURE OF TAROT

By Diane Wing, M.A. Marvelous Spirit Press ISBN-978-1-61599-022

I have been reading Tarot for over 30 years and for the last 20 years or so, I

have considered the Angeles Arrien classic The Tarot Handbook to be my mainstay when I need to clarify something. Now, I have found a new Tarot book that I will be using as my authority on Tarot, in addition to the Arrien book. The True Nature of Tarot is a practical approach to reading the Tarot. One of the unique things about this book is that it is appropriate for a very new beginner, as well as an experienced old-timer. Ms. Wing has a gift for cutting right to the point, both in her instructions and possibly even more importantly, in her interpretations of the cards. While Ms. Arriens book contains lengthy descriptions of interpretation, Ms. Wings book uses an economy of words, yet still provides a thorough and accurate description of the meaning of each card. She uses the Rider-Waite Tarot deck as a model for the Tarot. This is an excellent choice for beginners, as the deck is often the Tarot readers first deck that they use to learn about Tarot. Ms. Wing is a professional Tarot reader of many years experience and she also teaches the art of Tarot reading. She helps the new student learn about grounding and protection when doing a reading and she also speaks to the psychic side of reading as well. In the opening chapters of the book, it is easy to see that Ms. Wing takes great care in describing how to provide new students of Tarot with a safe environment in which to learn and practice. One of my pet peeves is that Tarot readers usually have no actual counseling experience and while they may be excellent readers, often the message doesnt come through clearly and/or cannot be heard by the client because of how the information is presented to them. Ms. Wing is well aware of this problem in

the teaching of Tarot and her goal is to provide Tarot students with the necessary basic tools of counseling so that both the reader and the reading can be far more effective. Unfortunately, most of the Tarot books I have read dont address this issue and this is only one of the reasons I think so highly of this book. In addition to counseling, information is also presented on the importance and how-to of grounding, including several different techniques. This way, the student can choose what is most comfortable and helpful for them. Along with grounding, the intensity of energy coming through the cards and how to handle it, is also addressed, as well as choosing a Tarot deck, how to allow the students own psychic intuition to come through and deciding what spread to use to do the reading. The free-form spread, laid out according to the flow of energy, is introduced. I found this to be an intriguing idea and it has been one that is quite useful to me. Other spreads include the Journey spread; the Self spread; the Main Issue spread; Past Life Reading; and the Quick Answer spread. These are only some of the gems from this book. Other important information includes new ways of seeing patterns in the cards; choosing an ethical practitioner for a reading; learning good ethical practices for the professional Tarot reader; and much, much more. If you buy only one Tarot book this year, make sure you choose The True Nature of Tarot. No Tarot library would be complete without this book; you will treasure it for years to come. -Ariel Monserrat 12/10/10

TOM DONOHUE is a recently retired teacher from Lowell High School in San Francisco, where he taught for twenty years. Prior to that, he was a Public Health Microbiologist, first in Bacteriology then in Virology. He has been a researcher on telomerase at the Blackburn Lab, UCSF. under Nobel laureate Dr. Elizabeth Blackburn. He has been a member of CAW for twenty five years but considers himself Pagan since the age of seven. He has an identical twin brother who is also Pagan. GEORGE DULA The works youll find here have been written by me under the pen name of Hemlock Evergreen, by which many have come to know me. My current poetry writing really began in earnest around 2003 and is perhaps as much inspiration as it is invention. Its been strongly influenced by my spirituality and ancestry - which I believe will become evident as you explore my works. For most of my life Ive followed the Old Ways, living a deeply spiritual path with strong feelings of respect of our Living Earth. Professionally Im a website designer, photographer, instructor and emergency responder, finding pleasures in hiking with my dog, writing poetry, photography, and music. Instruments played include Native American flutes and drums, Scottish bodhrans, mountain lap dulcimer and jaw harps. I enjoy Celtic and Native American festivals, as well as 18th and 19th Century reenacting. Hopefully youll enjoy my writings and will see many of them here.

Email Address: eamellon@yahoo.com Wanderer of the Mysts (poetry & photography): www.wandererofthemysts.com Conceptual Solutions (web design & training):www.conceptualsolutions.com/webmaster.html Facebook Site: www.facebook.com/eamellon www.myspace.com/hemlock_evergreen www.witchvox.com/vn/vn_detail/dt_pa.html?a =uspa&id=173578
SANDRA ECKERT I'm 52 years old and contemplating my future. I have taught art for 22 years, and have recently begun reclaiming my "old hippie" roots by helping with the goat herd on Flint Hill Farm (www.Flinthill-farm.org), with memories of the "commune" I lived on in 1976 (it was really a run-down farm with 3 young couples, a woodstove and some livestock; heaven, in my memories). It feels right to be working with animals and agriculture again, particularly in this educationally rich environment. I have many interests, and I'm trying to use this last decade before retirement to decide where I'll focus my energies after I've finished teaching art. I'd love to own a small farm, having been born on a farm and having had several revisits during the course of my life. We'll see, won't we? KENNY KLEIN is a fiddler, guitarist, singer and all-around performer, a veteran of Renaissance Festivals, concert venues and smoky Country bars. Well known for both serious songs and for his tongue-in-cheek, spry lyrics, Kenny performs such original songs as "Maria's Not A Catholic Anymore," "Goth Girl

Blues," and his show ender "What Do You Do With An Old Dead Gerbil?". His stories of renaissance festival life and of the streets of New York are seriously funny. Originally from New York City, Kenny has traveled throughout the U.S.A. and Europe, playing and collecting fiddle tunes and songs. He has played main stage shows and pub shows at Renaissance Festivals, including Colorado, Georgia, Maryland, New York, Ohio, Scarborough Fair (Texas), Four Winds (Texas),and Northern California; He has performed in legendary folk bars and venues including Folk City (NYC) and Speakeasy (NYC), Ramblin Conrad's (VA), and Marie Poll's (L.A.). He's played with country bands in Missouri, Celtic bands in Belgium, and he's won fiddling championships in New York and Kansas. IONA MILLER is a nonfiction writer for the academic and popular press, hypnotherapist (ACHE) and multimedia artist. She has appeared in Nexus and Paranoia, authored several books and international publications. She is interested in the effects of doctrines from esoterics, religion, science, psychology, and the arts. http://ionamiller.weebly.com RICHARD ALAN MILLER has been at the forefront of many fields during his long and varied career. A solid-state physicist with graduate work at MIT, Miller was involved in groundbreaking work for cloaked agencies in the latee '60s and '70s. A colleague of Dr. Stanley Krippner, Miller co-authored in 1973 the paper, The Holographic Concept of Reality - a document whose implications for psychoenergetic systems are only now beginning to be realized. Like so many of idealists of his era, Miller became quickly disillusioned with the severe ethical compromises forced on him by what he recognized as corporate manipulation.

After a brief stint as an engineer at Boeing, Miller left the corporate world in disgust and entered the more spiritually satisfying world of the occult. He opened Beltane Books in Seattle and swiftly became " the Herman Slater of the West Coast." At this time he penned several works including his classic " The Magical and Ritual Use of Herbs. He wrote for Green Egg in the 1970s and the 1990s. ARIEL MONSERRAT has been a Pagan since 1996 and was a member of the Church of All Worlds. She and her mate of 7 years, Tom Donohue, moved from Northern California to the mountains of Tennessee in 2005. After a number of various careers, including that of psychotherapist for 15 years and flight attendant, she has finally found her calling as Editor of Green Egg. You can contact her at: wolvenwood@gmail.com and also at www.greeneggzine.com HARVEY WASSERMAN is a columnist and senior editor of Free Press. He is also senior advisor to Greenpeace USA and the Nuclear Information & Resource Service. He is author or co-author of a dozen books, including SOLARTOPIA! OUR GREEN-POWERED EARTH, A.D. 2030 and HARVEY WASSERMAN'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. For more information go to: http://www.harveywasserman.com/ DIANE WING is a manifestation coach, business development specialist, author, intuitive consultant, teacher, and Reiki Master dedicated to helping Witches who hide their magick to come out of the broom closet, focus their power, and make money doing the work they love.