https://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/2024/06/journey-to-queen-of-fairies.html
Crone Henge
blog description
Sunday, June 30, 2024
Sunday, July 3, 2022
Addiction blog
Wednesday, June 29, 2022
Addiction Epidemic--Just a Symptom?
http://www.julietwaldron.com
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS
Everyone knows we are in the midst of an opioid epidemic. Recent figures (necessarily an estimate) show 16 million people are addicted to opiates world-wide; 3 million of those are here in the U.S. 500,000 in the U.S are addicted to heroin.
"Opioids are prescribed to treat pain. With prolonged use, pain-relieving effects may lessen and pain can become worse. In addition, the body can develop dependence. Opioid dependence causes withdrawal symptoms, which makes it difficult to stop taking them. Addiction occurs when dependence interferes with daily life. Taking more than the prescribed amount of licit drugs or using illegal opioids like heroin may result in death."
"Symptoms of addiction include uncontrollable cravings and inability to control opioid use even though it's having negative effects on personal relationships or finances..." www.hhs.gov/opioids
You may also become addicted to pharmaceuticals which are commonly used to treat mood disorders, such as anxiety. Valium and Xanax are two treatments doctors have become ever more wary of over-prescribing. These drugs can interfere with the workings of the autonomic system of the abuser to the point of the stopping the heart.
In western cultures, alcohol is the traditional mood-altering substance, but this, too, when abused, can have deadly consequences for users as well as for anyone who gets in the way of, say, a drunk driver, or someone's alcohol-fueled rage.
"Excessive alcohol use was responsible for more than 140,000 deaths in the United States each year during 2015–2019, or more than 380 deaths per day."
Medical experts, however, now realize that substance addictions are not the only shape the dysfunction takes. Addictions to cell phones, to video games or to social media are a few of the categories that are currently recognized. All of these behaviors are on display inside any shopping mall or grocery store--or inside your own home.
Increasingly, too, it appears that societies too can suffer from addictions, and that these "macro-addictions" are might be the gravest of all. Exactly as in substance abuse, these societal addictions can cause many members of those societies to suffer great emotional and physical damage.
There is also another addiction, one to control, which appears to be an integral part of western civilization. Control, in and of itself, is not necessarily a bad thing in a world of 8 billion people (now straining our planet's resources to the breaking point), but that too is another subject too large for this small blog.
"Those who do not understand their past are doomed to repeat it" An apocryphal quote by now, but having a lifelong fascination with history/society, I have spent much of my life studying it . Although raised with a Euro-centric view, I have remained to open to changing my mind, to learning and expanding my understanding.
When European colonists came to America, they met people who lived in completely unfamiliar social systems. Certainly, in the context of history, there was no way for Europeans to see those new people other than as "savages." They did not share our traditions or our religious beliefs. Arriving on these shores having been born and raised within rigidly hierarchical systems of class--with Kings whose powers were still assumed to be God-given--and still carrying on brutal, atrocity filled wars of religion among Christian groups, Europeans could not see Indigenous people any other way.
Fly Away Snow Goose, set among nomadic hunter-gatherers, was my attempt--alongside my co-author, John Wisdomkeeper--to address this brutal cultural collision between colonizers and colonized. The various religious groups who arrived in The Northeast Territory- what was then one of the last frontiers in North America--may have believed that they were bringing "the blessings of civilization" to their small pupils in those reservation schools, but that is not the story we hear from ever so many of those who were removed from their families and marooned in places with inadequate food and none of the familial warmth and affection into which they had been born. Siblings were separated, and the children all kept away from their famiy's home for most of the year, further disrupting family bonds and separating them from their culture.
If they were taught anything beyond religious formula, it was to perform tasks such as scrubbing, ironing, sewing, manual labor. They were taught that only European ways,--and people-- had value, that they belonged to a "lesser race" doomed to be always inferior, no matter what they learned or achieved. Their stories, myths, and especially their languages, were forbidden. The cold strange religion (with rites conducted in a foreign language) they were forced to accept offered little solace. Unsurprising that in a few generations their heritage, their language and their stories vanished, leaving only broken souls behind. Alcoholism, domestic abuse, and violence plague today's reservations, and these are all symptoms of a vast cultural trauma and individual pain.
And this pain seems to have become endemic in our modern world, and, as we know, this pain doesn't spare rich countries. We have more material comforts than we ever had, but we appear to be ever-more dissatisfied and greedy.
Consider the words of the Wendat Philosopher and Statesman Kandiaronk, as related to future historians by an impoverished French aristocrat named Louis-Armand de Lom d'Arce, known to posterity as Lahontan who published several popular accounts of his many years in New France. Lahontan, who had become fluent in Algonkian, Wendat and other tribes 1703 book,titled: Curious Dialogues with a Savage of Good Sense Who has Traveled) would become foundational to the later works of Rosseau and other Enlightenment and revolutinary thinkers.
In the late 17th Century, Kandiaronk was a famous negotiator among the tribes--Mik'maq, Haudesaunee, Algonkian, and others, as well as with the French. He was frequently at the Governor of New France--the Comte de Frontenac-- table and attempted through reasonable discourse, oratory, and persistent negotiation to save his people and their way of life from the ever-encroaching, insatiable Europeans. His thoughts provoked revolutions and inspired political philosophers for the next 200 years.
"For my part, I find it hard to imagine how you could be much more miserable than you already are....
I have spent six years reflecting on the state of European society and I still can't think of a single way they act that's not inhuman, and I genuinely think this can only be the case, as long as you stick to your distinction of "mine and thine"...
I affirm that what you call money is the devil of devils; the tyrant of the French, the source of all evils....
Can you seriously imagine that I would be happy to live like one of the inhabitants of Paris, to take two hours to put on my shirt and make-up, to bow and scrape before every obnoxious fool I meet on the streets who just happened to born with an inheiritance? Do you really imagine I could carry a purse full of coins and not immediately hand them over to people who are hungry; that I would carry a sword but not immediately draw it on the first band of thugs I see rounding up the destitute to press them into naval service?"
~~Juliet Waldron
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fly-away-snow-goose-canadian-historical-brides-collection-book-8-juliet-waldron/1127581811?ean=2940158604010
http://amzn.to/2jZPtIR
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/fly-away-snow-goose-nits-it-ah-golika-xah-1
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/752162
I am indebted to David Graeber & David Wengrow's new book: The Dawn of Everything, for this introduction to the words of Kandiaronk, Wendat Chief, Warrior and Diplomat, and a truly
Monday, September 21, 2020
Hail the Traveler
(Uncertain from where this comes, but it's beautiful and I wanted to share after the death of our great heroine, RBG.)
Hail the Traveler
Commit you back from where you came
to the arms of your ancestors.
May there be peace where there was anger.
May there be healing where there was hurt.
Go quickly to the place that your old ones called Home.
For those who grieve your passing,
let there be healing.
For those who grieve for what you could have been,
let there be healing.
Hail The Traveler!
We celebrate your journey.
Thursday, February 13, 2020
IMBOLC, (Candlemass)
This festival is a power point on the wheel of the year. To our ancestors, one happening (one that only a few of us are today even know about) marked this date with great importance:
"Lambs are born; there is milk now."
Perhaps, down in your valley, the sun sets today in the center of the notch upon that looming crag.
Or, maybe, over there in the next valley, the sun sets at a particular spot, right there in the circle of stone built by wise ancestors.
The sun stays above the horizon for longer every day—and with that and some regular rain and no plague among people or livestock—there will be enough to eat again. If we are lucky, there will be plenty over to get us through the next winter, and enough to leave seed to plant in the year after that.
Besides the agricultural, there were contracts between men and families which must be made, oaths given, hand clasping hand, in a community where a man's word was his bond.
I think it's a good thing to remember such times, though long ago.
Our world is different, but aren't our basic tasks similar? Shouldn't we support one another in community? Shouldn't we celebrate the simple miracle of the lambs? Shouldn't we speak truth to one another?
So, let's suck up our courage and go forth to continue the work which will reshape our society for the good of all of us. Let's give up our fears and rally to put a brake upon those privileged few who sit like dragons atop the spoil of an entire planet's resources. Remember, even here in the 21st Century, "sunlight is the best disinfectant."
~~Juliet
https://bookswelove.net/waldron-juliet/
Tuesday, January 14, 2020
She Is
Be still and sense
leaves, bliss in whisper of air.
crystal glitter bubbles riming the edge
so the fallen fool can contemplate
the looking glass, gazing into glacier.
heart's pumping blood spilled
on sandy shores.
wind and rain and stinging snow.
heard souls at the gate
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
Life ~ Death
Jen's powerful meditation is perfect for the original intent of the founding mothers of Cronehenge, who now find themselves looking back as much as looking forward. Several of us have already taken this challenging mother-daughter journey.
We have already attended upon the first two Fates, Urd and Verdandi. Now, we who are Crones move into the presence of Skuld, where begins our final unwinding.
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
Urgent Message from Mother
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
SAVE THE ARCTIC NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE
I cannot believe that this vandalism of an actual treasure -- drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge -- is even being contemplated. It's time to ask where the souls of the people now proposing this atrocity are, and in what black hole of greed they dwell.
This is the only planet we have, and so much of what our grandkids' future will look like depends upon our generation's changing our attitude toward Mother Earth. She's not Ours. We're Hers. We're part of a system, a part that's taken to acting like a virus. here, at the bottom of the sky, we are goldfish in a small bowl, where no one's going to come and change the water. The way we're being taken by our corporate leaders can only end with the human race dying in it's own excrement.
There has to be a major mental shift inside the heads of a lot of people if we are to protect such places from the "take paradise and put in...." an oil rig tendency of the guys who have made themselves our masters.
The sad facts are that's it's just another shell game. The money from drilling is pie in the sky. Someone among our complicit legislator needs to feel the stirring of conscience and put unbiased eyes on the numbers. These show that drilling in the Refuge is the usual corporate scam, which ends with one rich guy (Think The Baron Harkonnen,) a lot of busted folks--and with the bill for the clean-up for the toxic ruin left behind-- as well as for the many "subsidies" the industry will require--all the responsibility of the taxpayer.
If the peasants stopped staring into the daily electronic Circus Maximus and looked around them, they'd see the shackles being locked onto to their ankles--once again--by the thugs who seem to always-- in this and every other human civilization to date -- eventually rig/bully/steal/murder their way to the top.
From The Audubon Society:
"The Arctic National Wildlife Refuge supports millions of birds that migrate through our state and all 50 states to raise their chicks in its pristine habitat. Birds like the Tundra Swan and Northern Pintail return year after year to nest on its coastal plain, while caribou undertake one the world's longest land migrations to reach the coastal plain and give birth to their young.
The Arctic Refuge does not belong in a tax bill. Yet the Senate tax bill, which could soon receive a vote in the House, opens the Refuge to drilling while avoiding regular order and real debate. The numbers don't add up. Leasing is unlikely to meet the $1 billion instructions--more realistic estimates suggest it would only raise $37.5M. U.S. oil production and exports are at record levels while oil prices are near record lows. Further, the bill makes oil drilling the primary purpose for the Refuge's coastal plain, limiting environmental review in a precedent that puts all of our federally protected lands at risk. The Arctic Refuge is one of our last truly wild places and an iconic American landscape."
The Arctic Refuge is even more--it's a living, breathing World Heritage site, a vital part of the heart-beat of our planet.
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Judy Chicago's DINNER PARTY
at the Brooklyn Museum:
Sunday, July 23, 2017
A Visit to the Fey
I was recently privileged to join in a procession of the Fey--behind no less a personage than the Queen of Fairies, as a part of her entourage. This doesn't happen to a human very often, and certainly not often to elder humans.
Old people remind the Queen of decay and death, things she does not allow within her realm, her realm which is eternal--ever-green--as they say. She and her subjects do not age; they are forever young and fair. Therefore, to sing to her and walk beside her people was a great honor for this old woman, definitely a bucket list item.
(Not to say I've never danced with the Fey. I, in the days of my youth--back in the now legendary and generally misunderstood sixties, back when I was young and fair, I participated in her rites--rites which raise energy, and all that naturally follows after, those encounters in the dark scented forest, where all celebrants channeled Venus and Mars. Never mind, it's all back of me now.)
The Fairy Queen is a lover of high fashion, of flashing sequined quirks, tinkling bells, supple bare flesh, bejeweled dresses woven with spider's web. She even loves kinky boots, so her devotees wore them too.
Her entourage was more than ready to indulge her every whim, and upon this high magical occasion, they certainly pulled it off. I wore the best dress I had, long sleeves, flowing in mauve, in blue and green. A generous member of Her court gilded my cheek with a star. I braided my long white hair and carried a wand taken from the Holy Laurel. At first I held an inspirational leaf between my lips, like the Delphic Priestess.
Oh, how these fairies shone as they walked, fairy lights and fairy dust around them, making music with their sweet voices, a procession through twilight, following the glorious Queen and her tasty Year King! Beguiled, I followed after. When they began to sing, I took the laurel leaf from between my lips, lifted my laurel wand and had the pleasure of joining my still true voice with theirs.
And what did we sing in our ecstasy--again and again in an endless spiral--but one of the songs which captivate mortals and carry them into a realm that is fickle, cruel, and totally enthralling, a song which the fairies will sing even as the silver flash of a sacrificial knife pierces their own cool fairy hearts:
~~ Walker
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Packaging Problems :( By J. Olmstead
Ok ! Hey this is great.. Saves on finding a container to store your unused portions away until your stomach demands a bit of ham.. Or frozen meatballs...
I seemed to have uncovered a small problem with this wonder technology .
And that is......how to get them unsealed to start with.
Dispite little arrows, dotted lines , clearly visible zippers , little printed tiny fingers pointing to how to get the package opened. I seem to fail miserably on achieving a clean open.
My packages often end up stabbed, scissored , shredded . Cursed at.. And occasionally thrown hard on the counter with.. I didn't want to eat you anyways...
Others are left with Ragged plastic edges that defy any form of closing at all.
So, into another container to store... This one with easy snap on lids..another brilliant invention .
If, one can find the right one in a drawer stuffed with containers...and lids...
All seemingly divorced. Or at least.. In a heavy argument.
There are a few places in the mexican market where I shop.. Mainly on the street.. Where life is very simple.
A round of homemade cheese is wrapped in plastic.. No seals.. And placed in a small clear plastic bag. Freshly made this morning .
Fruits and vegetables.. Fresh fish filleted before your eyes. Shrimp.. Similar .
Eggs.. Fresh baked rolls.. All slipped into an open ended plastic bag. Also Drinks served in a bag with a straw poking out.
I am more and more enjoying that loose, no nonsense way of bringing things home.
While I may on occasion break an egg.. Or want to put my drink down for a moment...
I am not reduced to a blithering idiot trying to get at the product. Stabbing. Cursing frustrated.
Ok, thank you for reading my lament...
On purpose, I did not put it in a sealed bag for you!
~~ Joy Olmstead
Friday, November 11, 2016
An Ancient Fable
Now, dear readers, after the events of the last week, it is time for a retelling of a very old story, first written down in Aesop's Fables. This, I fear, is a prophecy.
Once upon a time there was a lovely pond full of frogs, all happy and fat and singing. Things were largely good. The pond always stayed full; it didn't dry up like other ponds and leave them stranded in mud. There were lots of bugs and many large green lily pads to sit upon. Still, the frogs were not happy because they were bored. Things were dull here, always the same. They thought they might like to have a king so that he could devise things for them to do. Kings, they knew, paraded about in pomp and splendor, which would be entertaining. So they petitioned Jupiter, Father of Gods and Men, to send them a king.
Jupiter, understanding the true nature of kings, thought the little frogs were foolish, but decided that, as they weren't very bright either, he'd send them a king who would neither hurt them nor take advantage. He dropped a huge log into the pool. This fell with a tremendous splash, and the frogs, naturally, were terrified. They all hid, some down deep in the water, others under the lily pads and behind rocks. Trembling, they waited to see what this new king would do. Of course, the log did nothing.
After a while, the frogs recovered from their initial fright. They approached the log and swam around it. Nothing happened. After a little while, the young frogs jumped up on the log and took turns diving into the pond. Growing braver, they began to sit on the log and take in the sun and hunt for flies. The log was excellent for these purposes.
This was entertaining for a time, but pretty soon the frogs were again sitting around complaining about how boring things were in their lovely green pond. This king that Jupiter had sent, they said, was "a milk and water king," nothing to be afraid of. This king made no great displays of his power or courage; he didn't go to war. This king held no ceremonies filled where they all had to bow and salute. Eventually, the elder frogs made the log their meet-up place and here they sat around for hours upon hours, complaining endlessly about the state of the government. Near the end of summer, the log grew sodden and sank.
Once again the frogs petitioned Jupiter, Father of Gods and Men, saying that this king he'd sent hadn't added up to much. In fact, he hadn't been a king at all, hadn't done a single kingly thing during his rule. Now, he'd sunk, leaving them in the same state as before,
Jupiter had pretty much had it by now. After all, he'd been listening to them gripe all summer, so, this time he sent a large crane to be king over frog land. The crane was different right from the start. As soon as he landed, big feet entering the shallow water with a splosh, he began to gobble up frogs as fast as he could choke them down his long skinny neck. He ate and ate and ate while the frogs scattered, hopping and swimming in utter terror. The crane used his long bill to probe the mud where they tried to hide; he turned over rocks. When he found them, he skewered them like shish-kabobs.
The frogs who survived the first onslaught
"How now!" Jupiter said. "Are you not yet content? You have what you asked for and so you have only yourselves to blame for your misfortunes."
Aesop for Children (translator not identified), 1919. Illustrations by Milo Winter (1886-1956). Available online at Project Gutenberg