Passing a 7-hour layover with caffeine and sagas. Pretty much what I do at home anyway.
Everything about this is so Heathen-in-the-real-world that I know I would geek out and run up to you and say hello if I encountered you in public.
Apologies in advance. I’ll try to play it cool.
tassledown said: I’m having a moment where I have two Gods I want to honour and no space for each of them to have their own little altars. *Groans* (In addition to my main shrine) Fortunately one of them is forgiving and has been moved to a nook for the time being.
Ugh - why does this have to be so complicated?
I have a similar issue. Thunor and Eostre share a shrine, but thankfully they seem to get along, maybe especially during this time of the year. Stuff growing, turning green, farmers planting, rain falling, etc. (Just a theory.)
I’m convinced that no one has a house set up to do their altars/shrines the way they want.
I will tell you how to paint a Texas spring
begin in the winter, with the rain
(this will be a watercolor)
so that when the earth turns and tilts to the sun
the roots have grown deep
look for the new green
grass waking from its lion-gold sleep
for the rose bushes and their red-rimmed buds
now get closer
nose to the ground
so that you can smell the soil
and look for the blue bonnet leaves
they are palmate, outlined in white, and furred
they catch the water like beads of mercury
they will not bloom yet
first look up, to the mountain laurels
ever-green, festooned with tangled seed pods
(have you ever opened one? The seeds inside are hearts-blood red, and poisonous.)
they bloom first (along with the redbuds, the Mexican plums)
but the mountain laurel is most decadent
their blooms look like wisteria
smell like artificial grape
and nothing about them seems real
then the blue bonnets come
like the mountain laurel’s reflection (they are related, family Fabaceae, and both toxic)
and the road sides are painted the color of a twilight sky
as you shed your winter clothes and step into my spring
that beauty and death grow together
the fledgling birds are killed by dogs
the cottontails go to feed the coyote
never believe I am the rose’s first bloom
I am equally the thorn.
((I hope thorswoman didn’t think she’d get away without retaliation!))
Oh my lordy.
See, this shit is why we need to be vocal as a heathen community.
Because the racists, the bigots and fascists don’t want us to be. They’re like spiders- they want a nice quiet place to hide where no one sees them and they can weave their webs.
And you know what happened next after I took this screengrab? Fucker left. Because they’re cowards. When they know they aren’t welcome, and no one is coming to defend them, they run.
THAT is why we need vocal opposition, not just ignoring them. Ignoring fascists is like ignoring a suspicious mole- address it quick and you’re probably fine, but let it go and soon you’ve got a fatal tumor.
Enough is enough. It’s time to cut out the cancer from Heathenry.
This hammer crushes fascists.
Sons of the prophet
(and daughters too)
say we all begin similarly:
darkly, with necks stretched out.
Flying down crooked paths,
you know this to be true.
With words and less,
with muffled sounds and less,
with breath and less,
we double back on the selves we were
to become the selves we were supposed to be.
We reach back for each other too
because though our paths are far apart
they all lead in the same direction.
Toward him or them or what.
Just because you cannot see
doesn’t mean that you cannot see the way.