Bones' Apothecary: Barrel Cactus

First, you should know that "barrel cactus" isn't a single species of plant. It's a common name that includes two genera of cacti: ferocactus  and echinocactus.
Second, they're somewhat cute, in a ugly-sneaky-menacing way. Not dissimilar to small, ferocious, ineffective, squishy-faced dogs. You know the ones I'm talking about.

From here.

An example of a echinocactus. From here.

And a ferocactus. From here.

I know you see what I mean. 

So anyway, these guys all have some basic shared traits that make them easy to identify as barrel cacti. For example, they are cacti with a roughly barrel-like shape. Also, they are ribbed, spiny, and they produce flowers and fruit. They can branch, but often they're just a single column sticking almost-straight up, not unlike a giant penis of death.

From here.

This one is starting to bud.
I love how ridiculous they look with their flower heads.
From here.

They do tend to lean a bit to the southwest, as they grow toward the sun. This can be a problem as they get taller. See all that ribbing they have? During the rainy season, they fill up with water and the ribs flatten out a bit. Gives them plenty of room to store water for the dry season (which is most of the year, in the Sonoran Desert). It also makes them top-heavy when they're full of water. Being top-heavy and leaning a bit means that these cacti don't usually get very tall - after a certain height, they fall over. Then they die.

Like this. See how it's starting to turn gray, and the ribs are deep?
It's dying, and it isn't storing water anymore.
From here.

Wikipedia says barrel cacti are dangerous to people. I disagree; barrel cacti don't move around much (not like those damned jumping chollas - more on those in a later post), and they're not very sneaky (once they're past a certain size they're pretty obvious, and below that size... well, don't walk barefoot in the desert and you'll be fine). The problem, according to the wiki page, is that "a puncture to human skin from one of the spines is considered a 'dirty wound'. If the puncture is deep enough to draw blood, antibiotics may be needed; and could take up to several months for the wound to heal properly."

That's quite a stretch from the reference the wiki author cites for that "information." The cited reference, the Arizona-Sonoran Desert Museum website (which is a great resource), does say, "with all deep puncture wounds tetanus infection is a remote but real possibility." This is not at all the same as calling cactus spine punctures "dirty wounds" that could take "several months" to heal. Cactus spines are, in and of themselves, neither poisonous nor venomous, mkay? In my personal experience, brushing up against a cactus spine accidentally gives you the cactus-equivalent of a splinter. Obnoxious, yes. Deep puncture wound, no. Now, if you somehow manage to jam one of those babies into your flesh a few inches, yeah, that could cause problems. But the problems wouldn't be because the thing in your flesh is a cactus spine; you would have problems because there's a thing in your flesh. If you had a monster splinter in your flesh, you might have to consider a tetanus booster, too, no matter how benign the tree was before you splintered it.

Moving on to other myths...

No, you should not drink water from the inside of a barrel cactus if you're thirsty and want to play cowboy. It is not a "traveler's friend," despite that unfortunate nickname. The water inside a barrel cactus is highly alkaline, and causes diarrhea and headaches - more or less of each depending on the species. For example, fishhook barrel cactus (ferocactus wislizenii) juice is more likely to cause diarrhea and joint pain, while Coville barrel cactus (ferocactus covillei) juice causes headaches. If you're really afraid you might die of thirst, you still shouldn't do it. Diarrhea will further dehydrate you, and you will die. Instead, try the prickly pear cactus for liquid sustenance; it's far more friendly to our digestive tracts and neural sensitivities, and if you're seeing barrel cacti, there'll probably be some prickly pears nearby. Like this:

That odd looking cactus in the top of the picture is a prickly pear.
The little red fruits are actually quite tasty when cooked.
Prickly pear jelly is The Awesome.
Anyway, back to barrel cacti...
From here.

That is not to say that no part of the barrel cactus can comfortably be consumed; the buds and flowers can be cooked (parboiled; this reduces their natural bitterness) and eaten, or sun-dried for later consumption. The buds or flowers are available for harvest for a few months each year, typically starting in late spring or early summer. The easiest way to harvest the buds or flowers is with a stick or two - you can pluck those little suckers right off there with a couple sticks. The seeds can be ground up like flour and mixed with water if gruel's your thing. Not sure how that would taste, but it's edible.

If you really wanna get gutsy - and careful - you can cut that cactus open and use it for a container. Their structural integrity is quite good. You'll just have to dig out the interior.

There aren't a lot of medicinal uses for a barrel cactus, but there's a possibility it could help with pain. Remove the spines, roast a slice of the body, wrap the slice in a cloth, then press it to a sore area. Again, do not consume the body of a barrel cactus. It will hurt you.

I've found zero references to barrel cacti in a spiritual context, so I'll just share a bit about what I think of them. Your mileage may very.
This is a plant whose most common cause of death is it's own weight, as it stores more water than it can hold at its angle. It's almost a perfect metaphor for hoarding. It could be a reminder that we can't hold on to everything; we can't save All The Things. Or maybe the barrel cactus could be seen as a reminder to let go of things that are weighing you down and keeping you from growing. That which you think is saving you (storing all that water for the dry season) might just be what kills you. As the Buddhists say: let it go.


References are linked as they are used, except this one because it's a real book:
"Indian Uses of Desert Plants" by James W. Cornett, published in 2011 by Nature Trails Press.

bones' apothecary: agave

I have an agave in my front yard. You'd think a plant in a category called "succulent" would be... I don't know, nicer.

It could double as a guard, if it were just a little closer to the gate. Back before I knew what this cursed plant was (not so long ago), I referred to it as "that stabby plant out front." It's kind of a jerk, with its stabbiness. The sharp points are actually darker than the rest of the plant, so if you're not looking right at them (and are unfamiliar with the plant, as I was), it'll sneak-shank you as you walk by.

Yeah, me and this plant did not start out as friends. And honestly, "friends" is too nice a word for our current working relationship, which mostly involves me leaving That Stabby Plant alone.

Recently (tonight) I learned that pretty much that whole plant is edible. Also, when roasted, the inside of those pulpy leaves (aka, your shank-wielders) tastes like molasses.

You hear that Stabby? I could totally eat you. And revenge shall be sweet. 

Fortunately for Stabby, I don't own this property, and me removing a 7-foot agave that's probably ancient would not go over well with my landlord. So Stabby and I won't be parting ways any time soon.

Unless. Unless Stabby decides to flower.
I've learned all sorts of things about agaves tonight. For instance: most species only flower once in their lifetimes. Once they've flowered, they die; in other words, agaves are semelparous. A few (not the ones my region of the world) can get away with flowering twice before they're done. One gardening blogger recommended being "mean" to your agave plant - not encouraging them to reproduce, by not making their environment ideal. Withhold the pampering - the extra rations of water, the especially fertile soil - and your lovely agave could last decades! I might start fertilizing mine.

Not only out of spite though. No really! These plants are incredibly useful!

The seeds can be ground into flour.
The blossoms can be eaten, though they're bitter if not boiled first.
The flower stalks can be roasted and eaten, or juiced to make pulque - the main ingredient in tequila. I'm pretty sure that means agaves are medicinal.
The leaves can be roasted and eaten (you'll want to remove the husk after roasting, and before consuming).
The fibers from the stalks and leaves can be used in all sorts of things, if you're crafty like that. Weaving, brushes, et cetera.

It takes For Ever for one of these plants to bloom, though. Their common name is "century plant," because it feels  like it takes them a century to bloom, especially if you're waiting for it. Typically they'll bloom much sooner, within 20 years or so. And of course there's variation on that timeline by species. It appears - from my brief internet search - that smaller agaves tend to bloom sooner than larger ones. (Which makes sense - the larger plants spend more energy on somatic development as opposed to reproductive development.)

(Incidentally, the gardener I mentioned above refers specifically to the agave americana variety, which is the most common in the Southwest and probably what I have in my yard. Alternatively, mine might be an agave durangensis, which also appears similar to mine in the web pictures. It's hard to say though. I'm not finding any definitive information to discern the two, or any great pictures. All I can be certain of is that mine is not the striped variety of a. americana.)

 

one version of a. americana

a. durangensis

I've found very little to support any medicinal uses of agave, other than in the production of tequila (which really should not be ignored). There's some mention of agave sap as a disinfectant, but absolutely zero reason to suspect that's true; this is not a reference to the disinfectant properties of tequila, but a claim that the unprocessed sap has disinfectant properties. At best, I would venture that the sugar-like nature of the sap might  have similar preservative properties to other sugars.

As a representative in magical uses, I personally would consider agave an excellent guardian. The rosettes (the radially-oriented cluster of leaves) are fiercely protective of the plant, as are the stalks.  In fact, if you don't handle the dried stalks properly they'll get ya. The plant as a whole makes me think of fire: abundant in it's usefulness, but inherently dangerous and requiring mindful handling.

If you decide to work with the dried stalks, wear gloves. The fibers of the stalks are quite pokey, and they are so fine that it's nearly impossible to see them once they've embedded themselves in your flesh. They make wicked, hair-like splinters. There's one under my fingernail right now that's still working it's way out. I can tell it's still there, because the dried blood around it is still there. Also, it hurts. So wear gloves, and sand that thing down with a very fine grit sand paper. That'll make it better, but it's probably next to impossible to get all the fibers smoothed out, so I also recommend giving your agave stalk some sort of wrap where you plan to grasp it. I have both a wand and a staff made from agave stalks (wild harvested, not from Stabby). They came to me through my ten year old son, who collected them and brought them home as gifts. I used rabbit fur on my staff, but I don't hold it a lot. Leather would probably be better for something you're going to use often. Or any fabric thick enough to tame stray fibers and keep them out of your skin.

This staff is ridiculously tall, and I'll probably end up shortening it a bit. If I do, I'll take some off the top. I really like how the bottom 'bulbs' out and makes a solid base for the whole thing. It's good for grounding.

Notes

By the way, yuccas are part of the agave family, too, but they're a different genus. I'll talk about yuccas separately, and later.


Also, I'm in the market for a good southwest herbalism book. Comment with leads if you have any please!



References

http://www.gardeninggonewild.com/?p=7002 Gardening Gone Wild (blog) by Debra Lee Baldwin, "Uh-oh. My agave's blooming." Appears to have been posted in 2009, but I can't actually find a date for that post (I'm basing my estimate on the dates of the comments).

http://www.succulentguide.com/cactus/?genus=Agave Succulent Guide: Genus Agave. Lots of pictures, but no hard data.

http://www.succulent-plant.com/families/agavaceae.html The Agave Page. Somewhat better pictures and a little more information than the Succulent Guide.

Book: Indian Uses of Desert Plants, by James W. Cornett. 2011. Nature Trails Press. It's more 'glorified pamphlet' than book, but it's a handy little thing to have. It can be found here.



For more information

http://www.allaboutagave.com/ How to make agave nectar (a nice sugar substitute); this is not a step-by-step guide, just an overall explanation.

http://www.ars-grin.gov/cgi-bin/npgs/html/taxon.pl?1690 The US Department of Agriculture weighs in with the taxonomy of agave americana.

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10025868 Apparently agave leaves contain potential skin irritants in their pulp.

bones' apothecary: arnica

Names that I know of: arnica, arnica montana, leopard's bane, mountain tobacco

I've been using arnica to help with the nerve pain I get in my right wrist. The cause of the pain is similar to  carpal tunnel, combined with arthritis. A Wise Woman I am friends with recommended arnica - one teaspoon in a mug of hot water, like tea, no more than once a day - and it has been working remarkably well. So of course I had to research it a bit.

If you look up arnica on google, you'll come across a lot of warnings about taking it internally, typically with a caveat that it's ok to take the "homeopathic" versions of the plant, which "have no detectable amount of the plant in them and are generally considered safe for internal use when taken according to the directions on the label."

Well, if there's no detectable amount of the herb, then what you're taking is essentially a placebo. At least that's how I figure it. ...I'm not even going to get into placebos right here and now.

So anyway, the available online resources say not to take it internally. The adverse effects that one should expect, if one were to take arnica internally, are harder to find than the warnings. A common refrain goes something like this: "Since arnica is an unproven treatment, there is no clear advice on how to use it. Given its risks, talk to a doctor or pharmacist before taking arnica orally." That is not terribly helpful. Somewhere - I can't find it now, sorry - there was an article which mentioned gastrointestinal distress as a side effect of arnica; I imagine that's part of the toxicity to be wary of, but I have nothing to verify that.

So anyway, here's what I do: I put one dried flower head (which is about a teaspoon's worth) into a tea infuser, and put that in a mug of hot water (just below boiling temperature) and let it steep for a few minutes. Then I take the infuser out, let the water cool a few more minutes, and chug the whole thing.

It doesn't have much of a flavor. Just tastes like someone put a daisy in my water, which isn't a bad flavor, but it isn't good either. I don't think I'd bother trying to make this taste good. It's easier to just drink it quickly.

It might be better to go the recommended route and use arnica externally, directly on the site of injury. Here's a couple salve recipes I found for that sort of thing:

1. http://shalommama.com/arnica

2. http://frugallysustainable.com/2013/06/how-to-make-a-arnica-salve-the-perfect-herbal-sore-muscle-rub/


Please don't construe anything I say here as medical advice. I'm totally unqualified for that sort of work. 

image is from "A Modern Herbal"

UPDATE (added 15 May 2014) - through trial and error, I've discovered that for myself and a few of my bravest friends, arnica does not help for pain related to muscle damage, but does help for pain related to nerve damage.

Resources:

A Modern Herbal website (information is from the early 1900s) http://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/a/arnic058.html

Mountain Rose Herb Co. (a supplier) http://www.mountainroseherbs.com/products/arnica-flowers/profile

PubMed articles (actual scientific studies) http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/20412090

~


Okay, I just couldn't leave it alone. So here ya go - the homeopathy controversy, in my opinion.

I found an article (a proponent of homeopathy) that summarized their view of the controversy this way: 

• "Homeopathic medicines are diluted to such a degree that skeptics claim the small doses are merely placebos. They argue that, in theory, it is impossible for them to have any therapeutic effect because it cannot be explained how they work. Experienced homeopathic practitioners and patients make the counter-claim that they actually work in practice."

I'm going to ignore the obvious bias, since the author clearly intended to be persuasive, and go straight explaining why I think his "argument" is crap, and why it's analogous to creationists who say evolution is "just a theory." 

The most important bit here is that placebos work in practice. They also work in theory. 

While I just stumbled on this argument this morning, in my search for information on arnica, I can say with complete confidence that no scientist worth their salt would say it's impossible for something to work simply because we don't understand it. Science is, in fact, the pursuit of understanding the things we cannot explain. Placebos are one of those things that we know work (at least sometimes, and at least for some people), but we have lots of competing theories on why they work. Kinda like how we know evolution works, but we're still figuring out all the different mechanisms and applications. 

I would argue - with the article cited above - that it is impossible for the herb in any given homeopathic medication to work, because there is no detectable amount of the herb in the medication! So sure, the medication might work, but it's not the herb doing it. It's something else. The solution perhaps? The placebo effect? Both? No idea. But it's not the herb, because the herb isn't there. 

So, Larry Malerba, D.O., I think you're full of poo. And I think that you - and anyone who spouts this poo - is doing actual herbalists and their seekers a serious disservice. 

And I'm done here. 

H is for hiking in the green

Today I took a walk with poison ivy, hemlock, and wild geraniums.

Don't worry, I wore jeans.

I'm in Iowa with my son, visiting my mother. After Arizona, the world here seems painted in green. Green grass, green trees, green everything but the houses and skies. Sometimes, in the years since I left the more verdant climes, I have paused to wonder if I might like to be in a greener place.

I remember the womb-like depth of the woods were I grew up. I remember the welcome arms of that place, disguised as hickory branches, and oak and maple branches. I remember that place with love. It was green from its roots to its canopy. All shades of green with beautiful brown bark streaking through and flecks of blue sky trying to peek in from above. Beautiful, lovely, intimate. I miss that place.

But oddly, I don't miss the world being painted in green. And that is surprising. Isn't that the refrain - "oh I love the weather in Arizona, but I miss the green of ____ (insert non-desert place here)." It's so common, you don't even have to say the whole phrase to be understood by a fellow transplant. But it feels a little hollow to me. I wondered if maybe I didn't miss the green, after all.

Being here, surrounded as I am by greenery, I miss the many colors of the desert. I miss the variety. I don't want my vision tinted any one color, be it green, brown, or even rose.

I don't miss being surrounded by green.

But green is a sign of life! I hear myself argue. But in the desert, there is just as much life as there is here, if you know how to see it.

If your glasses don't wash the world with a single hue.

 

 

e is for emotional controls

Here's the thing: if you can't stow your emotional shit when it crops up at a bad time, who's in control - you or your emotions? "But Bones, my emotions are part of me!" Well duh. No fucking shit. Steering wheels are parts of cars, too, but we wouldn't mistake the part for the whole in that situation, now would we? Hell no. Your emotions do not fucking define you; they are not your entire identity, no matter how often they get mistaken as such or how free it makes you feel to belief it. Yeah, we all do this to a degree, some more than others. It's part of growing up, of being an adult, to figure out that you have to be in control of your emotions. All this "express yourself" shit gets a little too hyped up with some people. If some action makes you angry, that reaction isn't your entire identity, it's just one fucking reaction and it may or may not be valid. That's another thing: just because your emotions exist, doesn't mean they're right. You don't "have a right to be angry" just because you perceive some slight by another person. First, figure out if they even realized they slighted you, or even if you were actually slighted at all. And if they happen to be, oh, I don't know, in the middle of working on something that is delicate and/or dangerous, then fucking hold your goddamn tongue until both parties can actually fucking participate in the conversation. Fuck!


Perhaps some background is in order. The rant isn't entirely out of my system, but it's ebbing. Thanks for listening (or skipping the first paragraph, that's cool too).

I frequently have people comment in amazement on how "patient" I am, how "hard" it is to make me angry. It's not really that hard, actually. I'm not really that patient. But, I learned pretty damn early that emotional outbursts of any sort almost never  make problems go away. Usually things just get worse, which is something I prefer to avoid. And most stuff is too trivial to go through all the effort of being angry.

If an outburst does happen - nobody has perfect control, least of all me - I've found that it's best to regain some sanity before entering into any heavy decision-making processes or arguments, or... etc. As far as I know, that's a general guideline that applies to most people, not just me.

So as difficult as it is to do, I avoid getting irrational when I'm upset. And if I do get irrational, I shut the hell up until I can think coherently again. Not to brag, but: it's a grown up thing.


Why are so many people so damned invested  in being angry? People dump a TON of energy down that hole, for the silliest things. Of course it never seems silly to the angry person, but whatever it is had better be pretty damned important, if you ask me. Which you didn't, but I'm telling you anyway. So there.

~

This blog post is brought to you by the Pagan Blog Project, the letter E, and by recent events that shall remain unnamed - but it's been on the burner for a long, long time.

c is for Chimpanzees

Two species of primates conduct organized warfare. Humans, and "chimps."

By "chimps" I mean common chimpanzees, not their close cousins the bonobos.

In a sense, looking at chimps, if we could do so as a species, might be akin to seeing ourselves in a fun-house mirror: Our differing appearances belie our internal consistency.

Yeah, physically there's a lot of differences. But in ethnographic terms? Not so much.  The cultures of our species have more overlap then deviation. We both experience the range of "human" emotions - joy, fear, anger, hate, love, humor, etc. Their body language mimics ours in their shaken angry fists and their tender, loving kisses. They pass cultural learning to their next generations, thus developing regional behaviors not shared among the species as a whole.

It seems that in popular culture, chimps are more feared than liked. We're moderately aware of their capacity for violence - a rival to our own, no doubt - but we don't tend to notice that chimps, as people, are more rounded than that. They're more developed in their personalities than we would give them credit for.

In laboratory testing, Chimps recognized themselves in the mirror; they recognized that they were seeing themselves, not a different chimp. Theory of mind has long been held as an exclusively human trait; we presumed no other animals could have the same level of awareness or cognition that we do.

This is the lesson of the Chimps, as I see it: don't be fooled by the plain or off-putting appearance of another being. This is about empathy and perspective. So often we see someone or something and form an instant, two-dimensional idea of who or what they are; there's no shame in this, it's how our brains work. The shame is in allowing ourselves to believe that the little we saw in that sketch of the person, is all there is to them. Remember: what we see is only the surface, and people hide far more on the inside than the tip hides of an iceberg. This concept extends to ourselves, our theory of mind: the thoughts that occupy your time right now, are not all that defines you. Know your holistic self; know who you are seeing when you look in the mirror.


~

Jane Goodall on Chimps (2007)

b is for bonobos

"Isabel Behncke: Evolution's gift of play, from bonobo apes to humans"

The transcript of this video can be seen at the TEDtalk website.

It's available in 29 languages.

I recommend watching the video; a picture is worth a thousand words, and all.

It's also quite funny.

I recently said this about apes: "Apes are the thinkers of the primates; they use tools and seem capable of learning language (personally, I would argue that the great apes do, in fact, use language - maybe better than some humans I know - but that's a hotly debated topic). They have complicated social systems and emotions. They hunt, make war, practice altruism, heal each other, they experience joy and grief. They are the thinkers, and the feelers; great apes are the nearest of our kin. Though each species of ape has a different story to tell, a different lesson to teach, it's likely that the lesson will be related somehow to those truths. Their theme is social cognition: how do we think about our interactions? How do we act on our feelings? How do we process emotions and empathy?"

This holds true for Bonobos; they are a species of chimpanzee, which is a genus of ape. They are great apes, like us. And their lesson is: play. 

Play  in the Bonobo lesson is a means to empathy, and a means to community and personal happiness, regardless of the form it takes. But more to the point: play is a way of taking oneself and ones sexuality less seriously. It's as though they're telling us not to be such puritans; quit worrying about societal fears and just have fun with your playmates. Enjoy yourselves - that's what creates happiness and builds strong relationships. If you can't play together, somehow... well, that's not healthy.

b is for... my first Blogging anniversary!

Today's the day!

This is my very first "blogoversary" and I gotta say, I'm pretty excited for where this blog is going in the next year. I'm shifting my focus away from my own psychoses (ha!) and toward my art and writing, and my pagan path. Really, I'm not sure those three are actually separable.

I'm something of an animist, something of a polytheist; I use animal oracle cards and runes, and I'm learning tarot. My path, I believe, is visible in my artwork. That's especially true in the print I'm giving away today, titled Souls.

I have several projects going which I'll be blogging about: I'm working on building a primate deck, which I suppose will be a form of oracle cards, rather than tarot. I'll blog about my work with learning tarot via my new-ish steampunk tarot deck. I'm also helping Kourtney out with the Pagan Pages Blog Hop, and following along with the Pagan Blog Project. Occasionally, I peek in on the Pagan Blog Prompts and see what's going on there, too.

I've joined three reading challenges, too, just in case my blogging projects and the 19 credit hours I'm taking at the university don't keep me busy. They'll blend well with things I'll be reading, anyway, in the course of my studies and research, so it's not actually a big addition to my schedule. The buttons for those are on the left sidebar, if you wanna check them out (it's the Dystopian RC, the "This isn't Fiction" RC, and the "Get Steampunk'd" RC).

Speaking of steampunk... my fiction is going that direction. I'm hoping to finish my first story this year. I'll be adding some new poetry here and there, but that's not the focus this year that it was last year. I'm pleased with my first book of poetry, 40 Pieces, which I just finished at the end of 2012 and will be given away today. This year, my fictional story will be my priority.


If you're just stopping by to see who won the giveaway, here's what you're looking for: 

Congratulations to Magaly Guerrero of Pagan Culture fame!

Pssssst! Today is also Cletus' birthday. Pass on some birthday wishes on his blog!

a is for apes... in oracles

A while back I had an idea to create an oracle or tarot deck full of primates. This post is venture number one into that endeavor. It also conveniently features the letter A, thus fitting neatly into the Pagan Blog Project schedule. Win!

I'll start with apes.

But... there are some big differences between the different apes, you say?
Indeed. Don't worry, I'm all over it.

I'm debating whether or not to include humans when I actually make the cards. For now, I'm toying with that idea and trying to develop it a little more fully. Until then, let's discuss the ape family and some of its other members.

The scientific name of the family of apes is Hominidae, by the way. Little bit of trivia for ya. It includes all the "great apes" and humans, with orangutans in one subfamily and the rest of us - gorillas, chimps, and humans - in the other. Chimps and humans are even in the same tribe; the gorillas have their own tribe.

Did I say trivia? Well, it might be meaningful to this post after all. Let's see.

Oh, and in case you're wondering how I'm going to do cards for all 500+ species of primates, or how I'm going to group them without glossing over essential character differences in species, this post will be a great example of that. See, there aren't that many ape species, but some of them would be repetitious. Take gorillas and chimps, for example... well, hang on. Hold that thought.

Ok, so there are two recognized species of gorillas: eastern gorillas, which live in the lowlands of central Africa, and western gorillas, which live in the mountainous rainforests of central Africa. There are more similarities than differences in these species. They weren't even separated into two species until relatively recently. So, gorillas will be one card; the lessons each species has to teach is inclusive of both.

Chimps, on the other hand... there are two species of chimps, too, but these two species are vastly different in their behavior and ecologic solutions, thus they have very different lessons for us. Each species will have its own card.

Make sense? That's how I'm going to do this - one family/tribe/genus/species at a time.

~

Apes do have some common themes. Perhaps the group of them could almost be considered a sort of 'suit' - much like the suits of a playing card deck or a standard tarot - only there won't be enough apes to make a full suit. Regardless, the common themes of apes should be known and recognized in the deck I'm building.

So, without further ado, here they are: the themes you've been waiting for (or at least, the themes I've been waiting for)...

Apes are the thinkers of the primates; they use tools and seem capable of learning language (personally, I would argue that the great apes do, in fact, use language - maybe better than some humans I know - but that's a hotly debated topic). They have complicated social systems and emotions. They hunt, make war, practice altruism, heal each other, they experience joy and grief. They are the thinkers, and the feelers; great apes are the nearest of our kin. Though each species of ape has a different story to tell, a different lesson to teach, it's likely that the lesson will be related somehow to those truths. Their theme is social cognition: how do we think about our interactions? How do we act on our feelings? How do we process emotions and empathy?

~

Next time, I'll talk specifics: Bonobos.

a Pagan Blog Project post... sorta, but not really

Anglo-American Cataloguing Rules.

That's the first title I noticed when I glanced (ok, stared) at my bookcase just now. Google, which is the power behind my automatic spell check thingy, says I spelled "cataloguing" incorrectly, but the book's spine says otherwise. I'll trust the book. But I wonder if perhaps the spelling hasn't changed in the 60+ years since the book was published. Maybe it was right, then, and is wrong, now. And then I wonder, what about the other Americans? Do they catalogue differently? (Google says "catalogue" isn't a word, either. Clearly, google does not know everything.) But that's silly. Then again, maybe 60 years ago, they were the only ones running libraries in any sort of official capacity. That seems more likely. I don't know, just guessing. I'm not strong in librarian history, even as it blends with American history.

Actually, what seems most likely is that the title refers to the British ("Anglo") origins of the American cataloguing system, and has nothing at all to do with the race of person utilizing that system.

Funny how our minds first jump to issues of contention, eh? Or maybe that was just because I'm on the first day of the spring semester - which includes a course on historical African American literature (specifically, the autobiographies of African American women), and we're starting out with a text from 1865.

Surely, I must have a point.

~

After a brief lunch break, I've decided I might not have a point after all. But the post does  start with "a" so I must be getting somewhere, right? Maybe not.

~

Maybe I should take my medication earlier in the day. I think my brain's just now getting warmed up.

~

So, anyway, as I was saying... well, I'll let you know when I remember what I was saying.

~

This started out as a stream-of-conscious writing exercise intended to work up some "a" post inspiration for the Pagan Blog Project (see button on the right sidebar if you're not familiar). Clearly, that isn't what happened.

On the bright side, I did get an idea for my PBP post.

To be continued... (in a separate post because, really, would you  want to this one to go on any longer?)

a is for apples and adaptation: a statement in favor of firsts

Adapt to survive; adapt to thrive.

I'm taking a history course right now entitled, "Native Americans in US History." There are two main themes which I'm taking away from this course, which is nearing its end. The most obvious is that Euro-Americans have been some seriously genocidal motherfuckers. I think we all pretty much knew that already, but I'm getting a much more detailed account of our historical treachery and modern apathy through this course than anything I've gotten before. The second theme is far more uplifting, and that is a theme of adaptation.

We tend to look back on our histories as a listing of chronological events in which monolithic groups of people clashed or merged. Even those Euro-Americans who believe themselves sympathetic to Native Americans in the power struggle between them and the various invading entities (my white girl self included), tend to see only that the Native Americans were beaten back, and beaten down, until their cultures had been all but decimated. What I hadn't given much thought to, before taking this course, was that there were tribes and individual Native Americans who attempted to adapt their own culture in order live peacefully, or even successfully, within the new economic and social structures being built by the Euro-Americans. There don't seem to be many success stories, but some came closer than I had ever realized.

I'm not here to give a history lesson today. My point is, I'm realizing that when we look back we need to remember that nothing happens in a vacuum, everything that happens has a first time, and nothing stays the same. I suppose what I'm working toward is a theory in defense of UPG (Unverified Personal Gnosis), but I think it's more than that. It's a plea for us all to look at each other - all the other humans we encounter every single day - and remember that every thing has a first.

Last autumn, when I needed something for my first-ever offering to Odin, I scanned my kitchen for available potential offerings. My eyes found apples, and something told me that was appropriate, despite having never heard of any connection between Odin and apples before. I offered Odin an apple, just on a hunch, and there are plenty of anti-UPG people who would have cried foul. When I later learned that there was  a verifiable reference to a positive relationship between Odin and apples, I felt validated in my earlier UPG-based offering. It was a good feeling. Kind of a raspberry in the face of the nay-sayers. It was also my first intentional step onto the UPG path, because, what the hell, it seemed to be working for me.

The more I think about it, though, the more I'm inclined to view UPG as the continuation of the longest human tradition of all: adaptation. There had to be a first, after all. Every story we tell, every myth we learn from, every parable and every divine truth we uncover in our reference books - every single one of those had a first time. First time being told, being written, and even a first time being thought of.

When we stop thinking of firsts, we stop growing, and we shut out our natural capacity for adaptation. If we picture all our various cultural paths as branches on a tree, perhaps we can more easily recall that stagnation is death: the tree will die if new branches, new leaves, and even new roots do not continue to grow.

Our species is not stagnant; we are not static. We are dynamic.

a challenge for the pagan community

Here's a challenge:

"Write a blog post about what you hope to see for the Pagan community in 2013, and include what you are going to personally do to make it happen. It doesn't have to be a grand gesture, but be daring. Be brave with specifics, and even ways you're going to hold yourself accountable, it's for the good of us all, right?"

That's from That Witchy Place's facebook page. They're doing a giveaway and this is one of several ways to enter (the other ways are far less time-consuming!). Go ahead, check it out.

~

It's a good question, huh?

What I hope to see for the Pagan community in 2013... well... it's not a question I would normally consider because, well, it feels a bit presumptuous. And maybe that's indicative of a trend, or a pair of trends, we see in the pagan community. It seems that there is a spectrum of humanity that gets a central stage in the pagan community. On one end are the people who love to tell others what to do, and shout their news to anyone who might listen. On the other end, those who avoid giving such advice in an almost phobic manner. Most of us, I'm guessing, fall somewhere in between those two extremes. I'm perhaps a bit closer to the phobic end, despite being a blogger. I'm not a fan of telling others how to conduct their spiritual or even their public lives, and certainly not how to integrate those two areas of life. So envisioning a direction I think an entire community should go isn't exactly a natural exercise for me.

To attempt this, I'm going to tell myself that nobody's taking my words here as directives, which I'm sure is accurate. Hypothetically speaking, it might be nice to see the pagan community to...

hmm...

... to communicate better. Yes. To learn to listen without swallowing anything whole, nor disregarding anything whole; to learn to advise without assuming authority unless that authority has been conferred by your listener; to learn to hear each other with sympathy, if not empathy; these are the things I'd like to see.

As to how I plan to make this happen... that's actually easier than it might seem. Or at least, it's easier than I might think it seems. I has a blog, after all. But if I'm going to look at this as a proactive change, it has to be more than just continuing the same old stuff.

It's a happy coincidence that my first blogoversary is coming up in January. I'd already planned to refocus this blog to include more of my daily life. The Diary of Bones started out as a place for me to write about what I call my psychosis. I didn't expect anyone to read it. But... I have more than 3000 views in less than a year. So somebody must reading. And lately, my psychosis has been less prevalent in my writing. Obviously, I've started writing about other things. The focus has already changed. Now I'm just adding a little intent behind the momentum.

One of the things I've written more about (probably the topic I've been writing about most, in the past several months) is my spiritual path. In 2013, I'm going to continue writing with the Pagan Blog Project and sharing Project Pagan Enough. I'm also joining the Pagan Pages Blog Hop as staff. As I do move into 2013, I'd like to recall in my writing - and reading - the idea of better communication in our community. Every movement starts somewhere small. Perhaps this isn't revolutionary, but it's something that would strengthen our community and our members. Who's with me?

Psychology of Terrorism, part 2

See! I really am  getting my homework done!

Thought I'd share this excerpt. Sort of a quick 'part 2' of my earlier post on the psychology of terrorism. This goes into the "are they psychotic/sociopaths?" argument. It's a pretty casual piece, not too academic-y (that's a word, because I said so), and it interests me. Enjoy!

[The book being quoted is my textbook for this class; pretty sure I included all the relevant references in the quotes, so you shouldn't need the book for this to make sense. Let me know if I missed anything. If you're curious or otherwise interested, the book is "Psychology of Terrorism," edited by Bongar, Brown, Beutler, Breckenridge, and Zimbardo, published 2007 by Oxford Press.]

In the section “Third Floor: Moral Engagement,” the author discusses the relative moral engagement of terrorists from their perspective and the perspective of mainstream society.

“From the perspective of the mainstream, terrorists are ‘morally disengaged,’ particularly because of their willingness to commit acts of violence against civilians. However, from the perspective of the morality that exists within terrorist organizations, terrorists are ‘morally engaged,’ and it is the government and its agents who are ‘morally disengaged.’” (p73 - 74)

The above statement recalled the earlier discussion of whether or not terrorists could be considered anti-social, in terms of anti-social behavior as indicative of a psychopathologic condition. In chapter 2, page 15, the author refuted the idea of terrorists as having antisocial personalities: “The 9/11 attackers were willing to give their lives in the attack. So far as I am aware, no one has ever suggested that a psychopath’s moral blindness can take the form of self-sacrifice.”

“Psychopath” is a nebulous term, but the author seems to be using it as a synonym for ‘a person with antisocial personality disorder,’ so I will use it the same way for the sake of consistency.

Returning to the statements from chapter 5, quoted above, we know that a characteristic of antisocial personality disorder (APD from here on in) is a sort of moral disengagement. Of course there are more requirements in the DSM for an actual diagnosis, but this is perhaps one of the more recognizable and broadly-known characteristics.

With that in mind, consider the idea of broadening our concept of “self” so that it might include the small group in which a terrorist might find themself. When we diagnose an individualwith APD by citing their apparent moral disengagement from the well-being of other, one of the things we’re saying is that individual does not value the humanity of other people as being even with the individual’s human value. What if we were to expand that conceptually – could we come up with a sort of group-APD?

Perhaps that wouldn’t even be a disorder – certainly it could be considered “normal” (though unhelpful/unkind/etc) for one group to consider itself “more human” than other groups. It’s well-studied (at this point) that a necessary factor of warfare is the dehumanization of the “enemy” by soldiers of each side. On a conceptual level, this seems to be not terribly different from the moral disengagement one sees in APD, only on a group level.

This is especially pertinent, I believe, in light of the understanding that terrorists are “not angry about personal frustrations and insults,” but rather, they are angry for perceived insults to the group with which they identify themselves, as the author points out on page 17:

“Kinder recounts evidence that political action, including protest and confrontation, is motivated more by identification with group interest than with self-interest... Group identification makes sense of sacrifice by people who are not personally frustrated or insulted. The mistake is to imagine that self-sacrifice must come from personal problems, rather than identification with group problems... The power of group identification is thus the foundation of intergroup conflict.”

With group identification obviously such a strong motivator – which comes at utterly no surprise to anyone even passingly familiar with evolutionary psychology – why have we not considered a sort of group-APD? Could this be a sort of social psychopathology, perhaps distantly akin to mass hysteria? 

~

There will be more. Oh yes, there will. I'd apologize for subjecting you to this, but... I'm not really sorry. Personally, I think it's a conversation we should all be having. 

W is for Mr. Wednesday

I'm reading American Gods by Neil Gaiman. Again. I'm remembering the last time I read it, when I wasn't so much of a 'practicing' pagan, and I was too distracted by life to really pay attention to what was actually being said in any book I read. I read this book as an adventure story - which it is, at least superficially - but I missed out on the most interesting bits.

That is to say, I didn't give the nuances of the story a lot of thought.

Why, for example, is Mr. Wednesday - Odin - portrayed as he is? And... just how  is he portrayed?

Before I started re-reading this book, I read 'somewhere on the internet' - I should have marked it, but I didn't, and I can't remember where except that it was in a comment on some webpage about the book - that some person had read the book and thought Odin was portrayed very negatively, and therefor incorrectly. That sat wrong with me, though I wasn't sure why. I just hadn't been left with that feeling of negative portrayal, the first time.

Re-reading the book, this time with a greater awareness of the characters' stories (and identities), I grew to like the Mr. Wednesday who was portrayed, though I feel like Odin is somewhat less  of a con artist than he's made out to be.

I suppose if I had read the book (the first time) when I was a child - and more of an idealist - that I might have seen Mr. Wednesday as quite the villain indeed. Back then, I might have thought that anyone who even attempted a con, was a villain. But the first time I read the book was during my deployment to Iraq (with the Army). I was spending my days interviewing suspected terrorists, hoping to glean a bit of information that might save somebody's life. A little con-artistry for the sake of survival was nothing, on my scale of good-versus-evil.

Then again... my own beliefs of what deities are, in general, would negate the entire plot of the book. I believe the forces which we call gods would not cease to exist if we stop believing in them. They're still there, personalities and all (though "personalities" is a poor term for it), because they were always there. In naming them, we only recognize what is already true. At the same time, I don't think they're particularly concerned (to put it lightly) with taking human physical forms, subject to the same laws as human bodies, which was a central idea to Gaiman's plot. So, the Odin I'm getting to know would have no need of the trickery which occurs in American Gods.

But...  I have to wonder, how would  Odin act, if the situation in the book were true - if he were actually threatened with being extinguished by the disbelief of humans? And if he could actually be killed by a gunshot or starvation? I can't say I'd entirely negate the idea behind the characterization of Odin as a trickster in league with Loki. It doesn't really seem that far fetched. He is  ruthless, afterall. And if anybody could pull off the plot of the book, it's Odin and Loki.

Regardless, I'm not convinced that we should hold our differences against the author. He tells us very early on in the book that Mr. Wednesday is not exactly the Odin we know from lore:

    "Mead," said Wednesday. "Honey wine. The drink of heroes. The drink of the gods."
    Shadow took another tentative sip. Yes, he could taste the honey, he decided. That was one of the tastes. "Tastes kinda like pickle juice," he said. "Sweet pickle-juice wine."
    "Tastes like a drunken diabetic's piss," agreed Wednesday. "I hate the stuff."

This is a fictional Odin, a character based on Odin but with some artistic license applied.

We do get a glimpse of the "real" Icelandic version of Odin, the one who came before the American version in Gaiman's story. In his very brief scene, I got a sense of the Odin I'm coming to know; he was the wise god who had sacrificed himself for knowledge, an All-Father. The contrast made me realize the urgency of the American Mr. Wednesday.

The edition of American Gods  I have, has a section in the back which includes an interview with Neil Gaiman. In it, he is asked how his writing has changed since he moved to the U.S. from England (where he grew up). This statement begins his response:

"I wrote about America a lot in Sandman  [a previous publication of his, which I highly recommend], but it was a slightly delirious America - one built up from movies and TV and other books. When I came out here I found it very different from the country I'd encountered in fiction, and I wanted to write about that. American Gods  was, in many ways, my attempt to make sense of the country I was living in."

Ah, and there we see why Mr. Wednesday - Odin - is portrayed as he is.

If we were to take the gods of the old countries, and put them in situations where they could truly die of disbelief or any human ailment, and then set them in modern America, changing their natures to fit an American morality... what would  they do? Honestly, I think Gaiman may have it right.

x is for xylophone: a short story

When we were kids, little kids, before any bad things happened, my brother was partially deaf and had trouble learning words. Later, Mom would have his tonsils removed, and that somehow fixed his hearing, because the deafness was linked causally with frequent and severe ear infections. But until that happened, he said words like, "Kee qu-oom," which meant 'thank you.' Our older half-brother, who was a teenager at the time, delighted in giving the younger boy words to say, just to see how they would be repeated back.

"Hey, say 'thank you.'"
"Kee qu-oom!" *giggle*
...and so on.

Until one morning at breakfast,...
"Say 'xylophone.'"
"Xylophone!" *grin*
...and jaws dropped all over the table.

Some things just come naturally. Some times, it's a thing we least expect.

Working with Woden

hmm, yes, so... I've been busy, the past few days. Catching up on my life.
The new meds are working... Is this what "normal" feels like?

~

I'll tell you a story, the most important one of the last few days.

It's about Odin.
Actually, it's about how I came to Odin.

I had decided to do some Work.
And by Work, I mean a spell, but I don't like the word "spell" because there are too many connotations which make the word inaccurate for what I'm trying to communicate. This has nothing to do with me demanding anything from the universe, or trying to mold it to my will, or blue fire coming from... wherever. This is about me asking the assistance of the Energies around me. It's more like a prayer, but less passive.

I came to the idea for this work when I was faced with a loved one's problem to which I could see no way of helping directly. I asked my oracle cards - and was inspired to use them in a Working, to ask them to guide this person and help resolve the situation. So I got permission from the person to do this, and then figured out the details of how.

Six animals from my deck immediately jumped out at me as being the  right ones for this task. Then, as I puzzled over how I would conduct the ritual, I realized I wanted to ask one of my deities for help with this, too. I don't usually do a ton of deity work outside of my own internal pathworking, but it felt right. Since the two deities I have worked with most over the past couple years are Sretya and Hela, I thought of them first.

I dismissed the idea of asking Hela pretty quickly. I didn't want her deciding that this person was better off by shedding the source of the problem rather than working through it - that would have caused far more hardship; her help can sometimes be more brutal than what I was hoping to achieve.

Sretya was a logical choice, with her talent for finding the happy side of fate, but... she felt very distant, as I mulled the question around in my mind. So I thought some more. Was it wise to ask a goddess for help when she felt like she didn't want to be involved?

I don't remember where the inspiration came from, exactly, but somehow Odin came to mind.

Now, it's important to know that I've really never worked with Odin. Sure he was called on in some of the rituals I participated in when I was involved with a military open circle that leaned heavily toward Heathenism, but a) that was in 2008, and b) those rituals were holiday celebrations, not "working" rituals. As any pagan who has hung around for a year or two, and especially as one who has made even a cursory study of the runes, I'm familiar with Odin's story. But I'm using "familiar" as the military does: I would recognize it from 50 meters, but don't ask me any nitty-gritty details. So when it occurred to me to work with Odin on this, I was confronted with a couple more questions that had to be answered before I did anything else.

1. Is it rude/inappropriate/somehow-not-good to ask a god for help the very first time you work with them?
My instinct said Yes.

2. I was planning on working with my oracle cards, and I felt they were essential to this Work; would Odin, who gave us runes, be offended by the use of a different system in a ritual requesting his aid?
That worried me.

So I researched, and read blogs (Galina Krasskova's blog, Gangleri's Grove, was particularly helpful, especially since she just began a series focusing on Odin, and she knows her stuff). In the end, it was (divine?) inspiration that provided the answer. I realized, in a "dug" moment, that I should ask Odin via the runes. So I did.

I picked up my rune bag, which has been relatively ignored for too long, and asked, "What will result, if I ask for your [Odin's] help with this Working [which includes my oracle cards and would be our first together]. Then I reached into the bag and blindly pulled out Ehwaz.

Image from this site:
http://www.mysticgames.com/runes/Ehwaz.htm.
The image was the best part of the site.

I recalled that Ehwaz was something about togetherness... I found and opened my copy of Taking Up the Runes (by Diana L. Paxson; it's my go-to book for runes). Opened it with the intent to flip through until I found Ehwas... no need to flip: it opened to that page.

This is what I read:

"Meaning: Horse... Horses are also associated with Odin... Thorrson explains the meaning of Ehwaz as symbiosis between partners - man/horse, man/woman, for example - or opposites working together harmoniously toward a single goal." (page 196-197) Further reading confirmed my initial impression: this was as strong an affirmative as I could have hoped for.

It all felt right, except, I felt like I needed an offering for Odin. I was out of mead. I eyeballed my bottle of sangria, and dismissed it. I sniffed my already-open, half-full bottle of shiraz, and... it smelled like mead. Well then. That worked. For reasons I couldn't possible explain, because I don't understand it myself, I chose the best apple from the bunch I had bought a day or two prior (I'm planning on making pie) to add to the offering. I put the apple in the bottom of a larger clay cup, and poured the shiraz over it, until the apple was covered. It finished off the bottle. It felt right. The ritual went smoothly, and I felt like I had done all I could to help the person I was trying to help.

I also felt obligated to Odin, in a good way. He stepped in to help me in a time of need - I owe it to him to learn the runes and his stories better, and to include him in my practice. Each evening since that ritual, I've felt the urge to do something for Odin. The first evening, I flipped open Taking Up the Runes, randomly landing on page 134, where Eihwaz begins. Eihwaz, the yew tree, is sacred to Odin and represents the Worldtree Yggdrasil, where Odin hung to learn the runes. I'm not sure why I was surprised at the synchronicity. I began my studies there.

This is from the same website as the first.

Today, I learned that there is indeed a connection between Odin and apples. It wasn't just my own UPG.

vervet monkeys and totemism

V snuck up on me.

I lost track of the alphabet somewhere between last week and today.

Which means, obviously, that I'll be talking about Vervet Monkeys today.

Whaaaaa.....?

Please, try to contain your excitement.

Who said pastels aren't manly?

Actually, I do have a point (and it has nothing to do with colorful genitalia).

A recent revelation about how to read my animal oracle cards (or any cards) for divination has led me - as I said then - to view aspects of my spirituality differently. I started really looking at the qualities of each animal, as opposed to trying to memorize the meaning of each card. Sounds like a "duh" moment, but it took me awhile to get there. Anyway, this morning I was thinking about Vervets, because I was trying to think of a "V" word for my Pagan Blog Project post, and "Vervets" is a much better word than "vicissitudes." Well, maybe it isn't, but it's better for my brain this morning. I need something a little lighter today.

Thus, Vervets.

A friend of mine took that picture (above) while we were in Rwanda this summer. It's an adult male Vervet Monkey. You can tell because it has baby-blue balls. True story.

So having decided to talk about Vervets, I began pondering what lessons a Vervet might confer, were I to draw it from my oracle deck. Not that I have a Vervet card, but if I did. Specifically, I started thinking about what makes Vervets different from other monkeys, and from other primates.

And then I thought, "well it's not like drawing a vervet monkey would give the same advice as drawing a baboon." But... that sentence might actually not make sense to anyone who isn't into primatology in some capacity, so I'll expand. You can tell a lot about a species by how they play, because juvenile play is a huge indicator of how the species will behave as adults.

Vervets have a relatively loose hierarchy in their social structures, and they engage in about as much solitary play as social play. Baboons, on the other hand, have a oft-contested and rigidly enforced social hierarchy - their play is almost always social play, because those skills are important for them to develop. ... That's just one difference in the character of the two species; there are many more. We don't even have to go into their physical differences, which are great enough.

If I were to draw a Baboon card, I would interpret it as a lesson in hierarchies, power, and family loyalties. A Vervet would be a lesson in flexibility, oneness with your environment, and being comfortable in your own skin - even if you have baby-blue balls. It's like comparing vikings with hippies. Two very different animals. Each species of primate - and there are many - is different from the others.

So I wonder, for those who have "monkey" totems, which one do you have? It pays to do the research on this.

~

And then  I thought, maybe I should create a primate oracle deck. That would be interesting. That's a project for the winter holiday season, when I don't have to go to classes all week. I'll keep you posted.

underworld (into the forest)

The best memories of my childhood are of being in the forest, alone.

My thoughts were more clear there than they were in any other setting at that time. Today I learned that the imagery of the forest still has the power to bring me clarity of thought, or at least to bring to a state of calm which allows for a greater degree of clarity. This state of calm is not the calm of absence, the calm of lack; it is the calm of vibrancy, of womb-like life, a symphony of souls, blanketing the forest like a mist.

There in the foothills of the Adirondacks, I found shelter in the forest; it saved me from my home.

This could be a picture of the woods surrounding my father's house.
It isn't, but it  looks exactly like it, right down to the grown-over tractor trail.

Such a strong connection to the spirits, there... as though the Underworld were closer in a forest...
It seems there are many connections between forests and the Underworld - which I'm sorta using as shorthand for a comprehensive  label describing all things on the other side of the veil. 

I remember escaping into the forest, running from the tension and the hurt; the season didn't matter, the forest always welcomed me. It hid me, sheltered me from my step-mother, who rarely left the house and wasn't "fool enough" to go walking in the woods.  

We logged those woods, as a family, every autumn. We would be finishing up right around this time of year, if we still lived there. Logging was one of the few things we ever did cooperatively. Once every few years, Dad would hire a guy to come in with his percherons and cut down the trees of a certain size. That year and the few following years, we would spend the late summer and most of autumn finding the felled trees and harvesting them. Dad wielded the chainsaw, slicing the trunks and branches down to carryable size. My step-siblings and I (often it was just my step-brother and I, as my step-sister didn't care for this work) would load the pieces into the wagon. My step-mother helped with the loading sometimes; usually she just drove the tractor. In her defense (I suppose), she did usually make my step-sister help with the unloading, once we got the wood back to the house. There, Dad or my step-brother or I would chop it down smaller with the ax, so it could fit in the wood stove we used to heat the house. We'd stack it along the wall of the house, near the back door.

One year, my father's grip slipped, and he sheared off some of the skin on his palm with the chainsaw. He went back to the house, cleaned it up and put a bandage around his hand. My step-mother insisted he go to the emergency room. So he went, and the doctor took the bandage off, cleaned it out again, put a new bandage on, told him he was lucky, and gave him some painkillers. I doubt he ever took them. That was the year we had to wait to haul in the rest of the wood, and we ended up going back in between snowfalls so we'd have enough to last til spring. Only Dad was allowed to use the chainsaw.

I liked being there in the woods. It made me feel safe even when my step-mother was there. As though the strength of the forest overpowered whatever drove her and made her cruel. In hindsight, it seemed that it was true. I have so very few memories of her being angry while we were in the woods, and so many more of her being neutral, or even pleasant, during that work. There, I could shrug off what cruelty did come; it lacked significance.

I felt more powerful in the forest. There was no need to fear. In part, I think that was because there were no walls to close me in, to trap me. There were no corners to back into. But there was  space. There were many hiding places, and I knew them well. She could barely find the trail. It was more than that, though. The forest felt sentient and beloved, an active shelter for those who loved it back.

These are the citadels, the natural cathedrals, the monasteries of the sentient Earth. Starhawk writes, "Branches are patterns of flow, of collection, concentration, and dispersal." (The Earth Path, page 188) She How many mythologies can we think of which describe trees - or a tree - as connecting two or more worlds? This site (which is interesting in it's own right) lists more than a dozen cultures with "cosmic tree" myths. The Forest, with it's dramatic seasonal cycles, has long and wide been a symbols for human cycles of life. In a place that is so alive, so long-lived, and composed of trees to touch all worlds, it's no wonder there is such a strong spiritual presence. I've come to believe that forests are places where the Underworld is unusually close to our physical world. If nothing else, their patterns of branches and roots are powerful symbols of the cycle of life and death: we flow through, collecting and dispersing as our paths lead us from one world to the next, and back, again and again, and again.

This gorge was a twenty minute drive from our farm.
It's a tourist attraction, but still one of the most spiritual places I've ever been.

~

This post is an expansion of my last Pagan Blog Project post,
"Unobtrusive magic (under the bridge)." 
Let's consider it Part 2.

~

Image sources:

First image: http://traveltips.usatoday.com/hiking-old-forge-new-york-62421.html

Second image: http://www.planetware.com/tourist-attractions-/new-york-state-finger-lakes-us-ny-fl.htm

u is for... unobtrusive magic (under the bridge)

Unobtrusive magic... tends to be forgotten.

I love this song. Maybe "love" isn't the word for it. I feel this song, deep within me - I know this feeling, that singular connection to place. That unobtrusive magic. Nobody's looking for it, usually. No human had to call it, create it, energize it. It is. It is natural. It's the spirit of place, or the energy of life coalescing, and we only find it when our mind is quiet enough to hear it speak. Like in the song, it's easiest to feel the energy of a place when we're alone - when we're not listening for other people, other things, other whatever. But maybe that's just me. There have been times in my life in which I felt completely alone except for the place I was in - the place was  my constant, closest companion; I was lonelier for leaving it, and felt most comfortable when I was immersed in that place, and in solitude.

Every time I hear this song, it brings me back to Sioux City, Iowa. I was 11 or 13, or somewhere in there, and I rode my bike all over that city, alone and free for a few hours at a time. Those lonely hours were the least complicated, and most soothing hours of my time in that city. It was as if the city itself were my companion, and she was just as lonely as I was.

There have been other places where I felt that connection to a place, though each has its own flavor. Sioux City was the loneliest place I have ever felt. We had that in common. The woods of my father's farm felt matronly and maternal; I needed that so much, then, that I wonder if some of that wasn't my own projections. Either way, it served me well. The town I live in now feels happily social - its energy is fed by love from its inhabitants, and in return it sings vibrantly. If I think back far enough, I've always felt that energy - for better or worse - in my homes and even in places I've only visited.

We forget, sometimes, how important place  is. Living in a place that has an energy dissonant to your own never seems to end well for the person, in my experience. The place has to feel right, our energies have to mesh cooperatively, if not smoothly.

For me, the energy of a place has turned out to be one of the most important factors in where I chose to live. I'm so very sensitive to the feelings I get from things and places... any feel of dissonance throws me off, feeds my depression and taints my happiness like a slow oil leak fouling a clear pond. It's more dangerous for being unobtrusive - sometimes I don't realize it was there at all until I move away, and it's gone. It was like that in my last home. I thought all the miserable feelings I had there were circumstantial (a lot of crappy things happened there). Looking back, I'm not sure that explains all of it. Since I moved, I have felt an aversion to even driving through that area. Again, I would have thought it was just me, but others have mentioned it as well. Others, who have no reason to dislike the place, have said they just don't like going there, and they're not sure why - it "just doesn't feel right."

It's an unobtrusive magic, but no less important for being so.