Friday, January 30, 2009

another trip to the welfare office...and off goes my brain.

Last wedensday, I had a 2pm appointment with my CALWORKS worker. After 1 hour and 15 minutes of waiting, I grabbed somebody with a badge and pleaded with them to find my worker. They came back 20 minutes later and told me that he had taken a "late lunch."

I left.

I had to go back there today. This is the "reaffirmation" appointment. Every year we have to fill out the volumes of paperwork that we had to fill out when we first applied. 99% is monitoring, because you know how we welfare mothers are. Greedy. Pathological. Dirty. Spreading our legs and pooping out babies because it gets us so far. Ya. We get off on screwing the system.

Ahem. Anyway, this time I spotted my worker on the way in, so I ran up to him and tugged on his sleeve like I was a 6 year old child. "I'm here! I'm here!" I squealed.

He told me to sign in and pointed me to the huge line consisting of moms, dads, babies in strollers with toddlers hanging off the sides, and seniors. I reluctantly took my place.

I began to eves drop on a conversation taking place close by where I was standing. An African American woman, mid/late 30's robust, wearing a grey sweatshirt and camo pants asks an African American man, early 20's, long legs stretched out and crossed, sitting next to her if he would like to hear a joke. He nods his head and shrugs. I imagine he's thinking there is not much else to do while waiting.

"A black kid asks his mom for a cell phone. She looks at him and says, 'well then, you better go out and get yourself a job, then.' "

The young man nods and furrows his brow a little. He doesn't know where she's going with this and I don't either. I'm trying to not look totally fascinated while straining to hear every word.

"And then a white kid asks his mom for a cell phone. And you know what she says?"

No! Please tell me.

"which one?"

At that, both of them burst out laughing and so does another African American woman sitting across from them. I stood there swimming in my head. Holy shit! Does she realize what a profound statement she has just made? The fact that that is the funniest joke ever and that a white person would never get it. The fact that it is a racial joke, but while African Americans get "Drunk Negro Cookies" served at the local bakery, the joke about white people is that they are privileged.

the woman went on to say that she has a 17 year old, and 11 year old, and a 7 year old. They all know the value of hard work because when they want something, she only gives them 50% of the cost and they have to make up the rest. And this is for Christmas presents. She says they've gotta know the pain, sweat and blood that she expends to give them things.

"Which one?"

I thought about my own daughter. I got her a Nintendo ds, she's had it for a year, and it's already broken. I overdrew my account to get it for her. She drew all over it with a marker. I promised her today that if she got 10 out of 10 homeworks, I would get the brand new Mario Brothers Game for her after school. It costs almost forty dollars. I wondered how hard that woman would have laughed if I told her that I reward my daughter with expensive gifts for doing her homework.

This Christmas she wanted a lap top. At my sharp look, she exclaimed, "But Adela has one!" I told her that I didn't even have a lap top. She still asked Santa for one. I told her that I told Santa he's not allowed to give her a lap top. She told me that she didn't like me anymore.

My daughter passes for white. The only thing mildly Philipina about her is her slightly, almond shaped eyes. Otherwise she is pale skin with freckles and reddish/auburn hair. She feels fully entitled already as a white person at 5 years old.

They must have taught her about race during Martin Luther King day, because she came home every day for a week talking about how her skin was white, and most of the other people in her class are brown, and did I know that they used to make the people with she stops and looks at her arm....Which one is good, and which one is bad? Oh yah, brown is the bad one...did you know mom that they used to have to work for white people? They were slaves! Oh and we played "slave" today at recess.

I was disturbed. I asked her who she played. She told me that all the kids took turns being owners and slaves. I asked her if the teachers knew that they were playing this game. At this point, I think she sensed my discomfort and so shrugged off the question, asking me instead for ice cream in the most annoying, whiney voice she can muster. I don't want to push these things, because other wise she won't tell me anything, so I act nonchalant, hoping to get more information later.

Over fresh, strawberry, organic ice cream at the local shop for three bucks a scoop, she compares her skin to mine. "You're kind of brown, mom," She tells me, "but I love you anyway." But I love you anyway! How the hell is she learning this? Is society's white supremest message so slithering and subtle that it is able to permeate my own daughter, the daughter of a feminist woman of color, that it could penetrate into her being already? Have I raised her with white privilege? I do buy her a lot of things. In my defense, I think that I am trying to make it up to her for her dad not being around. Kids are pros at exploiting any kind of guilt that they know their parents have.

I am not really sure where to go from here.

Oh yes. Sitting at the welfare office today, I realized a few things. I am mostly marginalized, low socio-economic status. I am fat, so I get no societal koodos for being hot, I'm a single mom, I'm on welfare, so I'm stigmatized. I'm a woman of color, so I'm stigmatized. I'm a radical feminist, which is not so cool with the dominant culture. On top of that, I'm a smoker which is now looked upon the same as being a heroine addict.

But in that office today, the one thing I wasn't, was black or mexican. And that is partly the reason I was able to get in and out of there in less than an hour. Less than an hour. There was one woman there who had been waiting for two hours. Finally, she stood in the line again just to ask the receptionist where her worker was. The receptionist told her that her worker never came in today. They couldn't tell her that 2 hours ago? Her eyes filled up with frustration and tears.

Most of the workers are immigrants. Not white. There are very few white people I think who go to or work in the Department of Social Services. However, the majority of the workers that I saw were armenian or persian, and were old men. My worker is an old, armenian man as well. Even though I'm more robust than I used to be I still no how to charm an old man. I owe that to my years working in a bar and working in strip clubs. I projected the image of the damsel who would be in distress if it weren't for her hero, mr. social worker. Seduction and manipulation are both arts of war. Ones that every girl learns before she reaches 12, I imagine. Women have survived extreme oppression for thousands of years because of those concentrations. Those arts of war.

Oh, I only have one child? I'm asian? I think the "model minority" stereo type is working in my favor here. Well I must not be trying to defraud the system. I don't fit the bill for that. I'm not black or mexican. How proud he is of me for going to school. How proud he is of himself. He takes credit for my decision to further my education. He tells me that he loves to help people. My face beams appreciation that floats over a dark sea of resentment. Is that why you took a lunch during that appointment you booked with me last week?

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

where is the time agoin'?

It's the second week of school and it's already kicking my ass. I haven't had time to blog/journal, and I can feel myself sag heavily with the weight of things to say piling up on top of me.

I don't have much time because my online class is about to start. It's a short fiction class and we get to read Brokeback Mountain. I hope the sex is more graphic than it was in the movie, although when Heath Ledger licks his fingers while Jake Gyllenhaal is on all fours in front of him, well, I felt strange, hot tinglies and got goose bumps on my arm.

I also haven't had time to read all of my favorite bloggers and that makes me sad. I have a lot of catching up to do.

I just want to end with a funny thing that my friend said to me the other day. She might read this so I want her to know that I love her to death and wouldn't trade her for the world.

"You don't act very feminine for someone who is a feminist."

Friday, January 23, 2009

I'm going to take this advise...

Today's horoscope is spot on.

"Remember that it is okay to have a little down time, dear Leo. Don't feel like you need to always be up and on stage. Take some time for yourself to be mellow and quiet. Today is one of those intense days in which you feel overpowered by the energy around you. Don't resist this feeling. Sink into your emotions and experience them for the power that they can bring to your overall psyche."

Interesting happenings and rambles (aka update on my life)

The first week of the semester and school is already kicking my ass! However, I love my classes, and my professors. I'm trying an online class this semester and so far I love it! I'm going to be doing what I love most this cycle. Reading, writing, and talking about reading and writing. Since I'm a Women's Studies major, I get to read and write about women! How great is my life?

If you asked me what I would do if I won the lottery, I would say, "travel, see lots of live music, and read and write instead of working." Ummm, hello? I don't need lots of money to live my dream. That in itself feels so freeing.

Recently I posted about how the Universe will drop something delicious into my lap this year. It would be something that I would not even imagine could happen to me. I also posted during my pluto transit phase that pluto is supposed to leave a great gift after fucking up your house. Well, I think it's happening.

Yesterday, I get an email from the assistant editor of HUSTLER magazine. She is a woman and a mother by the way. I still have no idea how she found me, but Apparently HUSTLER has a column called "College Report." I was asked to cover the Esha Momeni story at CSUN. I was asked to write a 750 word feminist piece with pictures for a national porno magazine. A magazine that has a 99% male readership. A readership that I now have an opportunity to appeal to. God Damn, I'm gonna make feminism sexy!

And I am going to be paid $1 per word!!!!!! I know labels suck but my whole life I've wanted to call myself a "freelance writer." I need to not only be published, but be paid in order to hold that title. Ahem, Well folks, ask me what I "do" please. I won't hate on you anymore. Because I'm gonna say that I'm a freelance writer!

This certainly falls into the category of something that I could not have imagined would happen to me this year.

It's amazing how the same things that excite me, and bring me joy, also give me panic attacks (please pass the bong and the prozac). I'm scared shitless. This is so different for me. Before I had no credibility and when I spoke my "radical" ideas, people rolled their eyes at me. So I made an effort to make myself smaller. Instead of choosing to burn brightly like the sun, I chose to cover myself with dark clouds and rain and burn resentfully and quietly behind them.

On my recent visit to my high priestess in Ojai, she told me that I do a dis-service not only to myself but to the world by making myself smaller. She said it was time to shine. Yesterday when I spoke in my "women and violence" class, I thought I would get a lot of eye rolls. Instead, the entire class applauded. Of course this made me turn red and sweat profusely, I can't help it. But I also felt so good. I felt like I'm a capable human being with something important to say. For a moment, I felt like a Goddess who has mastery of this human form instead of struggling with being human all of the time. It felt as good as falling in love.

I was given a beautiful, green stone by my high priestess to keep for her until she calls on it again. I am so honored, because this stone has been used for many years by so many women in various Goddess ritual to invoke Earth, including the founders, and including myself. Below is a picture of it on my altar. next to it you see a spell card and it is for health. The other spell card next to my cauldron is for wisdom. The candle behind it is a candle spell a very sweet, Goddess women made and gave to me with a picture of Themis holding scales. This is a spell for social justice that I have been burning through for almost 2 years. My altar is my own little Universe that I control and create. It represents what I want my reality to hold.


...we flow with Her...

It's a dark moon again. For witches, this is THE time to banish/release anything in our lives that isn't serving us. All of those ugly things that we shove into our deep, dark, insides needs to come out or it will toxify. Speak it, write it, burn it. However it's released, know that the dark moon will hungrily receive it and transform it.

Why is it important to release this shit? Have you ever been constipated? It's the same, but spiritual. We want to make space so that we have room to plant good things that will make us happy. And we do that at new moon which is on Sunday.

The moon at this time, 3 days before new, can be viewed as a void. A black hole that sucks, sucks, sucks. Check out your mood during this time. What is being sucked away from you? Energy? Peace? Make a conscious decision to give the Universe your stress, sickness, and weariness. She will gladly oblige. Intention is everything.

And yes, this is also the time for hexing. As Dianics, we do hex, bind and banish. But there is a trick to it. Know that every single thing you send out WILL come back to you. When it does get back to you, it will be stronger and that's why we say, "It comes back 3x3."

If one hexes someone for say, littering, then the hexer (hexer. Is that a word?)better make sure they never drop anything on the ground or they will be the victim of their own hex. I have hexed rapists and pedophiles with impunity and I have no fear of retribution because I will never rape anyone.

Do not send specific punishment to a person. That will certainly come back to you. Instead, simply hold up a mirror. The intention is that everything the person does will be reflected back to them. If they do harm, harm will come to them. If they have a sudden change of heart and cause joy, they will in turn receive joy. My high priestess recommends appealing (in meditation) to the person's mother before hexing them to give them a chance. Always give Goddess veto power, as with any spell, to insure that the greater good is not being interfered with.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

portals and nature spirits

remember when we were children and could spend hours with the stones, going through tiny portals and leaving time behind?


Thursday, January 15, 2009

the stripper pulp experiment...

Chapter 1

We nighttime girls called the day shift at the club the dog shift. Everyone knows that the ugly girls are hired for the day shift. They usually had to be extra sluttish in order to make any cash. I was confident that my 600-dollar hair extensions, sweet smile and granite ass would blow these "but-her-faces" right off the stage and cash right out of the guys's wallets. It worked well at night, anyway. I brushed on another layer of black mascara and signaled the D.J. that I was ready to go. I asked him to play some Marvin Gaye for me.

The P.A. began to blare, "Let's get it on" and I took my cue, stepping out onto the stage. "…and here comes the beautiful, Marianna! That's right; she'll bake your tamale. Speaking of tamales, gentlemen, don't forget to take advantage of our free lunch buffet over there behind the stage. Yes, we do take good care of you at the Zebra so show your appreciation to your cocktail waitress and of course, the phenomenal and sexy, Marianna!" I was used to this cheesy, racist DJ intro, minus the buffet part of course.

I looked out at my audience and saw only two men sitting in front of the stage. There were five people standing in line at the buffet, but three of them were dancers.

Are they actually eating strip club food? Another dancer named Candy smiled at me before shoving a forkful of macaroni salad into her mouth. I smiled back just to make sure she wouldn't go in the dressing room and try and pee on the lipstick I had left on the counter. You never know about these Dog shift girls.

I twirled around the brass pole and landed on my knees in front of the first guy. He scratched his head and leaned forward with anticipation. Slowly, I untied the back of my mesh bikini top and tossed it on the floor. As his mouth widened in a grin, a piece of stray, fried chicken fell from his lips onto the stage. Hmmm. Attractive. I turned around and bent over to give him the canyon view and hide the look of disgust on my face. Closing my eyes helped me get into the music and I went through my routine.

As the song ended, I crawled on all fours up to the chicken guy. Wearing my most seductive smile I said, "Hey baby, wanna private dance?"

"Is it two for one?" He replied.


"That's okay. I'll wait."

I opened my mouth to protest but instead decided to give up. I picked up the dollar he had left next to his plate and approached the only other guy at the stage. Before I could even finish my one sentence pitch, he shook his head and said, "No English."

Not a stellar beginning. I tossed my two dollars onto the dressing room counter and slumped into a plastic chair. It wasn't even 1:30 but I needed a drink. Just then, the dressing room curtain parted and the club owner, Fat Mike, sauntered through. Fat Mike was an older Persian man, who squeezed into the same, fancy Armani suit day after day. He had recently bought the club from the previous, Armenian owners who sold it to him for exactly one million. I think he got it so cheap because he agreed to launder their coke money through the club.

He was always very friendly but most of us tried to steer clear of him. He was known to occasionally take a new dancer into his office for a "meeting". I had seen a few new girls go into his office and not come back out for a long time. When they did, they usually didn't come back into the club to work or worse, left crying. No one actually said what happened in there but the rumor was that he had a bottle of Patron spiked with GHB sitting on his oversized, oak desk.

"Marianna!" He cheered and kissed me on the cheek. "I am so happy that you come in day shift! But Why? You do very good at night."

"I'm leaving for Hawaii tomorrow and I need spending cash." I replied.

"And how much spending cash does a pretty girl like you need on vacation?"

"At least two grand if I want to have any fun."

"Ah, but there are easier ways to make that money, Marianna." He began to massage my shoulders with his meaty hands. They smelled like garlic.

"Yes there are but you know I like to keep it clean, Mike."

He laughed and patted my shoulder. "Such a good girl you are. But if you ever want to become bad, well, let me know and I can make you much money, my dear."

"I'll make sure I do that, Mike." I shot him a fake smile.

"You know, you are not supposed to smoke in here, sweetie. It against the law now. But if you want to, you can come back to my office and smoke. Relax and have a drink until more customers come."

Immediately, I put my cigarette out on the dressing room counter. "I think there are some new customers," I said, and walked out of the room.

It was time to make some cash.

"Hey baby, want me on your lap naked?" I methodically worked every guy in the club, from left to right. Not that there were very many. Selling dances was a numbers game, and I would diligently work my way around until one of these numbers flipped and said yes.

"No, thanks," said the first guy.

"Will you do it for ten bucks?" the second guy said. I told him this wasn't a flea market.

I never understood why men never seemed to get the way business works in a strip club. They are supposed to pay, and I am supposed to dance naked for them. It is a very simple concept. Yet, it seems to me that most men think that we dancers are here looking for a mate. Sometimes I'll sit and talk with them for a minute before asking them for a dance. Then they act all hurt and whine that I was just talking to them because I wanted a dance, not because I really liked them. No shit! Whether I like someone or not, I've got bills. I'm here to work. If I were looking for friends, I certainly wouldn't be looking in a strip club. The only friends I'm looking for in here are green and fit in my purse. It doesn't take a brainiac to realize this.

My heart was beginning to sink but then I looked up and saw Bryan coming through the front entrance of the club. Bryan was my regular customer. He has been coming into the club at least three nights a week for the past year and loyally doles out two to three hundred dollars on private dances with me every time. I had called him earlier and told him that I was working the dog shift today. He had found that hilarious and said he would try to make it.

"Bryan, Honey! You made it!" I ran up and gave him a big hug. "Oh baby, you don't even know how glad I am you're here."

"Hey beautiful." He smiled, but I could see that he seemed nervous. Bryan was never nervous. His eyes quickly darted around the place and I noticed that his hands were sweaty.

"Are you okay?" I said, leading him straight to a private dance booth. I could sense the other dancers lurking in the background like hyenas around fresh prey.

"Yes." He said, but I could tell he was lying.

"Let me make you feel better." I sat him down and straddled his lap. Slowly, I began to move my hips back and forth and exposed a nipple two inches from his nose. Usually this made him crazy but he seemed preoccupied. "Hello, boob to Bryan, come in Bryan. Gees baby, are you sure you're okay?"

He looked straight into my eyes and said, "I need to ask you a favor."

"Um. Okay."

"I need you to hold this for me." He pulled a very small key from out of his jacket pocket. "No questions asked. Then I need you to go home."

"What? I can't go home. I just got here and I need to make two grand for my trip tomorrow."

He opened his wallet and counted out twenty one-hundred dollar bills. "Will this suffice?" he said, as he put the cash in my hand. Dazzled by all of the cash, I nodded my head and took the key. I undid the clasp of my necklace and hung the key right next to the tarnished, butterfly pendant that I never ever took off. My sister gave me that necklace. It was a long time ago.

I wondered what the key was for but before I could open my mouth to ask him, he said, "No questions." Then he stood up.

"Don't you want to finish the dance?" I wasn't used to being pushed off someone's lap.

"Baby, you know I love you, but I really can't right now. There is a note that I left in your car that will tell you what to do with the key. After 9 tonight, follow the instructions on the note."

"How do you know which car is mine?"

He laughed and said that he likes to know what kind of car he's been making the payments on. I told him he was a weirdo and escorted him out to the door.

I tipped out the club and grabbed my things out of my locker. I needed to use the bathroom, but it was locked and I could hear two girls sniffing lines behind the door. Candy was checking herself out. She bent over in front of the full-length mirror and adjusted her clit ring. Two small, weighted balls swung from delicate chains that hung from her pierced labia. She noticed me looking and said, "Oh these. I use them for self-defense." she smirked. "You know, you're going to have to use the men's bathroom out there." she pointed out to the public restroom . "Those bitches will be in here for a while."

I decided that I would rather piss my pants than use the public restroom here so I grabbed up my things and walked out towards my car. I checked my 68 mustang over from front to back but I didn't see a note anywhere. Annoyed, I sat down in the driver's seat and called Bryan on my cell. The sound of a ring tone came from my back seat and I almost did piss my pants. What the fuck is that? I grabbed the phone from the back and saw that it was my phone calling it. Written on the touch-screen in permanent marker were the words, "WAIT FOUR SHE NOT."

I sat there for a moment confused and a little scared. Was this the note? How the fuck did he get in my car? However, I was too excited about the two grand in my purse to acknowledge the pang of dread coming from my gut. Aloha bitches! I shrugged off the bad feeling as I backed out. I didn't notice it then, but a black Mercedes with tinted windows silently followed me as I made my way merrily back to my apartment loft in Korea town.

Friday, January 9, 2009

One foggy morning in Watts

I went to Watts at 6:30 this morning to bring my daughter's two cats to a free spay clinic. The foundation that runs it is pretty cool. It was formed by one of the co-creators of the Simpsons. Yes, not all rich people are ass holes. This guy spends a lot of dough trying to help animals get proper vet care, along with rescuing dogs from the pound and training them as service animals for the hearing impaired. Impressive.

In case you've never heard of Watts, it's one of the more notorious places of L.A. Watts, Compton, South Central. It's the very scary ghetto to most Westsiders, who shake with trepidation if they have to go east of the 405. My mom actually called in sick to work because she insisted that I was in imminent danger without accompaniment. I assured her I would be okay and that an elderly woman and 5 year old girl weren't exactly what I'd call security.

Now that I'm privileged enough to have bought myself a digital camera (thank you student loans) I was able to take some pictures of this feared place.

waiting for the train to go by

amazing art, everywhere

I even found a Goddess...

She's holding a pen;)

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

more dreams

I'm up early this morning with a stuffed up nose that I can't seem to blow enough. I think that I might be pmsing because I'm dreaming heavy again which is usually a sign that the flood gates are getting ready to open. Here's last night's latest installment from my twilight other world.

I was on a tour bus with other tourists riding down the coast of some very beautiful, tropical land. The water in the ocean was crystal clear and I could see all of the underwater life swimming around. All of the sudden, I saw the hugest whales swimming in the water. Everyone around me was exclaiming in awe. The tale alone on these whales was bigger than the tour bus itself. One whale jumped out of the water gracefully. However, this caused a huge tidal wave that was coming straight for us. I was terrified of getting washed into the ocean with the bus so I jumped out through a window and ran up a hillside. I watched the bus go into the water and the tiny, krill sized people were swallowed up by the magnificent whales.

Monday, January 5, 2009

a dream

The evening that Israeli ground troops moved into Gaza I had this dream. My home town, Green Valley, was invaded by outlaws. They came in trucks and closed off the canyon so that nobody could get out. I tried to use my cell phone to call my mother but it wouldn't work. I went to a payphone to call 911 and it said I needed to deposit 40 cents in order to call 911. I knew that nobody was going to come and save us and I needed to plan my own escape. I knew the mountains there better than anyone, and so I set off hiking my way to freedom.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

According to nip /tuck, all I want is to be cut up...

I caught the new promo for season 6 of nip/tuck. I never watched the show because frankly, it's too painful to watch. Women prostrating themselves to men with scalpels who are revered as Gods. And the trailers were always disturbingly/horribly violent.

Well the season 6 promo doesn't dissapoint. Complete with maimed, corpse like dancers who are alluringly sexy and dancing with bloody scalpels, eager to be put on the block. Some disembodied body part art that mimicks ManRay and the Black Dahlia murder completes the lovely display, all to the tune of "flashing Lights" by KanYe West. My favorite part is at the very end, where the beautiful blonde's face changes into what I assume it was before surgery, and her stitched up eye reacts in terror.

At the Beverly Center, they had the corpse dancers in little boxes. You could chat with them online and then watch them do a sexy dance. I love sexy dance, but what bothered me was the little dresses that are hospital gowns with parts cut out and lined with red. This gives the impression that they are slabs of meat on an operating table. And that they are in little glass boxes like toys or something.

I have a problem with mainstream media promoting violence or domination on women as sexy or sensual. I have a problem with violence being equated with sex period. And we wonder why sex assault is so prevalent in our society. Because we encourage it. Now the usual spiel I get back on this sentiment is that I shouldn't have the audacity to censor what a man can get off on. Well, we don't let men get off on child-porn, they go to jail for that. But women are so devalued that we can be depicted as getting off on getting cut up. How nice for us.

death walkers

I really admire people who work in hospice. That is some serious priestessing and it takes a powerful heart. When I was working in a hospice environment I cried every day. I couldn't stop all of my heart energy from draining out of me and it made me physically ill. I felt like I was getting pulled along with the patients. Scared the shit out of me. The other care-givers would just shake their heads when I would go around the patients room, looking at all of the old photos, trinkets, gifts from family, my eyes filling up with tears. I don't think they were surprised when I quit after only a few weeks.

I think of it because I am reading about this guy, Dannion Brinkley, who runs a hospice. When he is attending someone at their moment of death, he refers to himself as a midwife. That is someone who usually attends a birth. He sees it as delivering a soul into a new life. To him it is birthing. That is spoken like a true death-walker.

My friend, Kel is a death walker. Her and her family attended at their mother's death. Everyone stood around the hospital bed, and when the moment came, Kel felt such light and joy flow through her that she opened her mouth and laughed gleefully. The rest of the family thought it was so inappropriate but as a death walker, it is a completely appropriate reaction. They are not burdened by the illusion of death that we all experience.

Carrion birds, especially the crow/raven, are sacred to death walkers. That is because these beings, are "death eaters". They are considered one of the forms of Morrighan, the Celtic death Goddess. Dying Warriors would call to Her on the battlefield to carry their souls to the afterlife. Ravens would eagerly feast on the bodies left after a battle. They would "eat" death, and then fly off. People saw this as a gift, that the birds were carrying them to a new life. Now Morrighan is somewhat feared as many dark Goddesses are, but to them, She was salvation.

How I would treat my partner...

I would validate their thoughts and feelings

I would cherish every moment with them, good or bad

I would do my best to make their life easier and joyous

I would show them the utmost respect for just being alive

I would show them how grateful I am to have them in my life

I would love and nurture them

I would support their endeavors

I would help them reach their full potential

I would constantly build them up, reminding them of how wonderful they are

I would make them soup when they are sick

I would hold them when they cried

I would massage them when they are sore

I will stand up for them

...all of these things that I would do for another....I don't even do them for is my intention now to treat myself as well as I would treat a lover....All of these things I will do for myself......because I am whole unto myself...

Blessed Be

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Another List of New Year's Resolutions?

No - How tired is that, right?

Well, it sort of is but disguised as "goals" or "intentions" for this cycle. All of the outward stuff. How boring! Yes, I know, but I'm posting it anyway just to give myself some accountability and see how realistic I am being. Here it is:

- to refrain from eating fast food
- to apply sustainable practices to my food habits that nourish my body as well as my relationship with Earth
-----buying organic and local
-----eating more fruits and veggies
-----no gluten
------less packaged/processed foods
----------------- -cooking more at home
----------------- -finding new recipes
- to grow some herbs in pots
- to learn how to compost and do it in a small container
- to grow some medical cannibas
- to progress to the next belt level of Krav Maga
--------- - attend classes 3-5 times a week
- to have a daily yoga/pranyama/meditation practice
----------- - 15 minutes to 1 hour
- to do a self blessing daily
- to do ritual on all esbats and sabbats
- to walk to bring/pick up Mikyla from her school
- to get A's in all of my classes
- to create and follow a financial budget
- to have a home managment plan
- to have Mikyla on a proper schedule with a proper bed time
- to have a strong writing practice
- to have a self-care/nurture practice
---------- make my own herbal skin care products
---------- make time to use them!
- to have an organized system for remembering important dates/assigments/moods/moontimes/birthdays/bills

- to create a schedule that incorporates all of the above
- to choose not to procrastinate when it comes to these above activities
---------lessen anxiety

- to read to Mikyla at bedtime
- to have a savings account with money in it
- to write a novel
- to go camping all alone
- to go to Montana and build a straw-bale structure in the summer

- to make this process of achieving these goals fun and successful!

Friday, January 2, 2009

my tattoo is featured on neopagan ink!'s a blog on tattoos and I looked today and mine is on there!

Thank you, Livia Indica, for featuring my tattoo!