For the tribes of the grand elder women...

So appropriate for this day, Samhain (Sah-win), the day when the veil is thin and the Ancestors lean in to listen:

Hymn of Gratitude, For We Are Pleased by Dangerous Old Women and Their Wild and Wise Daughters.

by CP Estés

For all the elders of the world,

each and every kind ever created,

those who have been carried gently by the waves,

and those who have been half-wrecked

by any number of storms and squalls,

those who have clung to the wreckage long enough

to make it halfway in,

and thence to have gained landfall.

For the elders,

who in all their variegations,

in all their sorrows and talents,

who now stand shy or certain,

semi-disheveled or pulled together,

but nonetheless hip-wide and proud.

For the tribes of the grand elder women,

in all their feathers and pelts,

and all their leaves and skins and skirts,

and all their las ropas guerreras,

their warrior full-dress,

in their wings and sashes and shawls,

with their ceremonial broaches and necklaces,

and staves of authority,

in all their athletic and tender pride,

in all their beaks and tails

and tulle and toile,

all flashing and sashaying,

and all their sauntering and sensuality,

in all their unexpected and outrageous behaviors,

and all their eccentricities,

in all their tribal paint and lace and denim,

in all their clan colors and insignias of power,

all their fierce and gentle blood and shining eyes.

For all their conserving and sacrificing and generous ways,

for their supreme caring

that decency, creative life, and care for the soul

should not vanish from the face of this earth.

For all this blessed beauty within them,

for them let us pray strength and healing,

straight down into their courage bones forever…

…let us be granted that we stand in their danger

… forever

Amen

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her kind

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Her Kind
by Anne Sexton


I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

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I have found the warm caves in the
woods,

filled them with skillets, carvings,
shelves,

closets, silks, innumerable
goods; 

fixed the suppers for the worms and
the elves:

whining, rearranging the disaligned.

A woman like that is misunderstood.

I have been her kind.

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I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes,
survivor where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.~

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sitting here holding a basket of fire

I usually start with the pictures. Tonight I start with the words:

The Witch's Life
by Anne Sexton

When I was a child
there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch.
All day she peered from her second story
window
from behind the wrinkled curtains
and sometimes she would open the window
and yell: Get out of my life!
She had hair like kelp
and a voice like a boulder.

I think of her sometimes now
and wonder if I am becoming her.
My shoes turn up like a jester's.
Clumps of my hair, as I write this,
curl up individually like toes.
I am shoveling the children out,
scoop after scoop.
Only my books anoint me,
and a few friends,
those who reach into my veins.
Maybe I am becoming a hermit,
opening the door for only
a few special animals?
Maybe my skull is too crowded
and it has no opening through which
to feed it soup?
Maybe I have plugged up my sockets
to keep the gods in?
Maybe, although my heart
is a kitten of butter,
I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
Yes. It is the witch's life,
climbing the primordial climb,
a dream within a dream,
then sitting here
holding a basket of fire.

    

 mouse over images for source

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WARNING: F Bombs Ahead!

For Jenny, who has ick, and loves to say fuck. A lot. She also cooks sometimes.

So first, there's this: What The Fuck Should I Make For Dinner?

Once you know what to fucking make, you'll need to fucking shop. With this:

While you're making fucking dinner, wear this:

And for after fucking dinner fucking coffee, there's this:

Fucking bag, fucking apron, fucking mug available right fucking here.

Fucking feel better Jenny. 

Fuck yeah!

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offer her a chair

I love a chair by a window, best of all if it faces out.

 mouse over images for source

When fortune calls, offer her a chair.

~ Yiddish Proverb

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aspirations of the willing heart

Wedding weekend was perfect, all the way through -

From rehearsal...

to The Big Day.

There was lots of kissing and smiling and laughing.

So happy!

Love! 

 What is a vow,

but an intention

spoken out before the world

so that the world, in hearing,

might take part

in aspirations

of the willing heart?

In our coming here today

to join and bless

the joy of your becoming wed,

may we enter in

the truth of the words you've said,

"I do."

~ Maureen Tolman Flannery

I couldn't be more pleased!!


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