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The Wicca Man Jul 2013
I could answer your questions with a simple, off-the-cuff explanation but have ended up writing this essay: the more I thought about what you’d asked, the more the I felt it warranted a fuller explanation so I will try to explain why I call myself a Wiccan and how I come to be following the Wicca Path. And apologies in advance for the length of this!

As well as my love of Literature, I love History with a similar passion. My degree was in English and History and although I specialised in Shakespearian and post-Shakespearian literature and Modern History, I have a long held fascination with Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and spirituality. It is the mysticism of the Old Religion that seemed to attract me most and I found myself drawn particularly to the Celtic and Welsh mythology and have read extensively about it: Cornwall and Wales (mid Wales in particular) are my two favourite places in the world. I have read a lot about Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and religion over the years, both fiction and non-fiction.

Although Jewish by birth, I was brought up by my father who was a confirmed atheist so I lost out on any formal religious influence as I was growing up. Perhaps because of his views, I developed a distrust of formal, mainstream religion. That’s not to say I felt I had no spiritual beliefs at all, it’s just they were untapped and unidentified; I felt I was reaching out for something but it never took on any tangible form, rather like in a dream when you cannot see clearly the faces or forms of the inhabitants of your dreams.

By the time I got into my forties, I realised there was something seriously lacking in the spiritual side of my life. These beliefs were compounded by three events:

    * reading James Lovelock's Gaia theory [which inspired me to write one of my favourite stories, Gaia's Last, published here];
    * my discovery of Jean Auel's Earth's Children series of books , Clan of the Cave Bear, etc. which go into extraordinary detail of Cro-Magnon peoples' belief in nature spirits, worship of The Mother and Shamanism;
    * a sudden change in my circumstances that forced me to re-evaluate every aspect of my life and my existence.

It was at this time I began to research the Old Religion: paganism, nature-worship, whatever you want to call it, and this led me to discover Wicca.

The more I read about it, the more I realised it fitted in with my current state of mind and outlook on life. Maybe there is a sense of escapism inasmuch as the roots of Wicca look backward to a simpler time and as I was having difficulty coping with the complexities of the changed circumstances in my life at the time. Wicca seemed to offer exactly the spiritual needs I was lacking.

That is not to say that Wicca is old-fashioned and out of date. Rather the contrary in fact. Whilst its roots acknowledge the Old Religion, Wicca is relatively modern having been developed by a guy called Gerald Gardner who published a book called Witchcraft Today in the 1940s I believe which re-established in the public eye the old pagan beliefs that have been around since the dawn of man. These beliefs never really disappeared even through the worst of the atrocities perpetrated against followers of the Old Religion [The Burning Times ]. (And just to make an important point about the title of the book and Wicca in general, Witchcraft in the pagan and Wicca context is NOT Black Magic or Satanism as the tabloid press or mainstream religion would have you believe; it could not be further from them. It is simply an acknowledgement of the existence of natural forces that can be used or channelled by those who choose to learn these ancient skills).

I have seen Wicca [and other forms of Paganism] referred to as Green Magic and that seems the perfect definition; it is immensely comforting to work so closely with the natural world and to feel such a part of it.

So for me, Wicca is an ideal spiritual antidote for the impossibly fast-paced, self-serving lifestyles we all seem to be caught up in these days, often through no choice of our own. It is as valid a belief system as any other practised throughout the world and is nothing like the forms of Wicca popularised in the media with TV shows like Charmed and its ilk!

Wicca is it is not something to be taken on lightly - Wicca practices should be treated with the same reverence as those in any other belief system. It requires study, practice and dedication.’

I have to confess to have been lacking in all three since I originally wrote this so have vowed to myself to rectify these shortcomings. I feel excited about my rekindled sense of spirituality and more at peace with myself for making this decision.

Go in Love & Light!
I hope people don't object to my posting this; I am a passionate believer in freedom of speech and of expression. I hope people here are open to these views, which are mine and in no way do I want to foist my views on anyone or indeed, cause offence.
Shewrites Nov 2018
Wish you were here with me
Gazing upon the city lights
under the starry sky
We'll hang a lovelock
in the bridge
with our names
engraved on it.
Today was cold
Because of Autumn's breeze
Wrap me around
Your cozy arms
And make me warm
I miss your touch.
I miss you
And ill see you soon my love!


Lots of love
Shekinah
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Elegy for the Forgotten Oldsmobile**

July 4th and all is Hell.
Outside my shuttered breath the streets bubble
with flame-loined kids in designer jeans
looking for people to **** or razor.
A madman covered with running sores
is on the street corner singing:
O beautiful for spacious skies…
This landscape is far too convenient
to be either real or metaphor.
In an alley behind a 7-11
a Black **** dressed in Harris tweed
preaches fidelity to two pimply ******
whose skin is white though they aren’t quite.
And crosstown in the sane precincts
of Brown University where I added rage
to Cliff Notes and got two degrees
bearded scientists are stringing words
outside the language inside the guts of atoms
and I don’t know why I’ve come back to visit.

O Uncle Adrian! I’m in the reservation of my mind.
Chicken bones in a cardboard casket
meditate upon the linoleum floor.
Outside my flophouse door stewed
and sinister winos snore in a tragic chorus.

The snowstorm t.v. in the lobby’s their mother.
Outside my window on the jumper’s ledge
ice wraiths shiver and coat my last cans of Bud
though this is summer I don’t know why or where
the souls of Indian sinners fly.
Uncle Adrian, you died last week—cirrhosis.
I still have the photo of you in your Lovelock
letterman’s jacket—two white girls on your arms—
first team All-State halfback in ’45, ’46.

But nothing is static. I am in the reservation of
my mind. Embarrassed moths unravel my shorts
thread by thread asserting insectival lust.
I’m a naked locoweed in a city scene.
What are my options? Why am I back in this city?
When I sing of the American night my lungs billow
Camels astride hacking appeals for cessation.
My mother’s zippo inscribed: “Stewart Indian School—1941”
explodes in my hand in elegy to Dresden Antietam
and Wounded Knee and finally I have come to see
this mad *** nation is dying.
Our ancestors’ murderer is finally dying and I guess
I should be happy and dance with the spirit or project
my regret to my long-lost high school honey
but history has carried me to a place
where she has a daughter older than we were
when we first shared flesh.

She is the one who could not marry me
because of the dark-skin ways in my blood.
Love like that needs no elegy but because
of the baked-***** possibility of the flame lakes of Hell
I will give one last supper and sacrament
to the dying beast of need disguised as love
on deathrow inside my ribcage.
I have not forgotten the years of midnight hunger
when I could see how the past had guided me
and I cried and held the pillow, muddled
in the melodrama of the quite immature
but anyway, Uncle Adrian…
Here I am in the reservation of my mind
and silence settles forever
the vacancy of this cheap city room.
In the wine darkness my cigarette coal
tints my face with Geronimo’s rage
and I’m in the dry hills with a Winchester
waiting to shoot the lean, learned fools
who taught me to live-think in English.

Uncle Adrian…
to make a long night story short,
you promised to give me your Oldsmobile in 1962.
How come you didn’t?
I could have had some really good times in high school.
Indian/Native America/First Citizen (take your PC pick) poet of considerable talent and power.
Donall Dempsey May 2017
"FIRST THERE IS A MOUNTAIN, THEN
THERE IS NO MOUNTAIN, THEN THERE IS."

she was Swedish
squeamish that a man could
still live at home with his "Mam"

she tried to get him
to...you know...think
about an "ecological self"

"You gotta think..."
she informed him
"...like a mountain!"

he looked like he had
just fallen off
a continental shelf

"Mannnn!" she thought
"He's just never grown up
a Mammy's boy...devoid of self."

he hadn't heard of Lovelock
or even Arne Naess
she spoke better English than he did

he blushed when asked
if he had read Luce Irigaray's
THIS *** WHICH IS NOT ONE

had never heard of Simone
de Beauvoir's THE SECOND ***
just the word made him blush

all he was intent on
was getting his hands on
her ample *******

so shortsighted to go on
a blind date...never again
he talked only to her cleavage

she gave him her number
a false one
the Well Woman's Centre

sang as she quickly
hurried away
Donovan's "First there is a Mountain..."
Arry Jan 2020
Green and black striped cardigan she wore, my gaze rose as she began to talk,
To me her name was still unknown but I befriended her curvy lovelock.

In class she was a gift to my sight, elegant plaits with her complexion being bright,
Some incredible day she held my hand right and said out loud, "I like your watch, the one which is white."

From that moment on a journey began,
Young and immature with fictional plans,
Clashes we had but I still remained her fan,
Because forgetting her is something I never can.

She's not here, but she never left,
Stole my emotional front yet I can't charge for theft,
Because any girl might claim these lines written above,
But I wrote this message for the only one I love.

Black jumper and red skirt she wore,
My gaze rose as she began to talk,
To me her name was more than her own, oh I'm so in love with her curvy lovelock.❤️

-Utkarsh Upadhyay
Like their red-haired counterparts, The Ronnong-wetowanca and Adena giants of the Ohio River Valley, The Si-Te-cahs were the enemies of many Indian tribes of the region. also according to the Paiutes, the Si-Te-Cah were hostile and warlike and practiced cannibalism. The Si-Te-Cah and the Paiutes were at war, and after a long struggle a coalition of tribes trapped the remaining Si-Te-Cah in Lovelock Cave. When they refused to come out and be slaughtered, the Indians piled brush before the cave mouth and set it on fire, annihilating the Si-Te-Cah.

"My people say that the tribe we exterminated had reddish hair. I have some of their hair, which has been handed down from father to son. I have a dress which has been in our family a great many years, trimmed with the reddish hair. I am going to wear it some time when I lecture. It is called a mourning dress, and no one has such a dress but my family." — Sarah Winnemucca Hopkins,
*Life Among the Paiutes: Their Wrongs and Claims
Patrick Kennon Jul 2017
Moon spilling through a cloud, east
Eyes locked in incense spirals
A lovelock of moonstones
Ideath worn proudly
ideath worn quietly
Someone on the other end
breathing and her
Something between
like a rod of tired wind
Silent wind

The type of wind that blows down
egos and
dreams
and all ambition
ideath and trout
and i and the letter


And somewhere behind it all
An inspired lover
drawing his lovers portrait
for the first time
in flowers
only
flowers
Patrick Kennon Sep 2017
A slash of a smile, kimono stripped shoulders
Koi scale tattoos, Okinawa rainy day blues
Drown yourself in *****, fight 'till you lose
Pale skinned pathological lover
Soulstone hustler, rustler & bustler
Revolving revolvers under samurai dusters
Wild west Tokyo rose blessed
Handwritten love letters on a desk, kiss sealed
A bowl of cornmeal, these things we steal
A lovelock of hearthsouls, sous chef gazpacho
Tasty cannibal nachos, eating hearts in a palm grove
Children gathered round a stone
The feeling of truly being alone
Making tools from your enemies bones
More brutal than any historical score
We sleep, we snore, 2+2=4, once, no more
Coconuts falling on the shore for eternity
Every blade of grass is holy to me
It's the bullet we see that gets us
We can all love each other is we let us
Balloon powered spaceships, liftoff
Raise your sails on the submarine
Big, square, wheels on your SUV
Life is like a tree, just growing
Forget all your worries, let's just get going
Donall Dempsey May 2018
"FIRST THERE IS A MOUNTAIN, THEN
THERE IS NO MOUNTAIN, THEN THERE IS."

she was Swedish
squeamish that a man could
still live at home with his "Mam"

she tried to get him
to...you know...think
about an "ecological self"

"You gotta think..."
she informed him
"...like a mountain!"

he looked like he had
just fallen off
a continental shelf

"Mannnn!" she thought
"He's just never grown up
a Mammy's boy...devoid of self."

he hadn't heard of Lovelock
or even Arne Naess
she spoke better English than he did

he blushed when asked
if he had read Luce Irigaray's
THIS *** WHICH IS NOT ONE

had never heard of Simone
de Beauvoir's THE SECOND ***
just the word made him blush

all he was intent on
was getting his hands on
her ample *******

so shortsighted to go on
a blind date...never again
he talked only to her cleavage

she gave him her number
a false one
the Well Woman's Center

sang as she quickly
hurried away
Donovan's "First there is a Mountain..."
Moon Flower May 2019
real beauty is authentic
amazing adorable alluring angelic
excites the keenest of pleasures
stirs emotions through the senses

chemistry love vortex electric
enthralling enticing enchanting energetic
weak knees light- headedness
uncensored thoughts freudian slips

hypnotic desire tantalizing magic
mesmerizing mystical marvelous magnetic
risqué intense lascivious
euphoria perfected delirious

hair, waist- long natural baby blonde lovelock
light lingering lavender lovely luscious lilac
charismatic aura illuminates confidence shines
blue-green mirrored black iridescent eyes

my words have no hidden meaning specific
sassy sensitive selfless sincere sympathetic
bubbly sweet honest never lies
kind loving caring altruistic wise

complex multiple layered thinking
self- awareness unbiased honesty
life societal world understanding
conscience ethical moral complexity

written word undefined
best I could do is the first line
visual physical distractions
not for your eyes to see
take time or you may miss her
real genuine purity

character defines beauty
look inside her soul and spirit deeply
insightful glowing fascinating vibrancy
most beautiful woman discovery

— The End —