Sacred Spaces - A Peek Inside My Altar Room

(Doorway to the Altar of Hera)

(The Altar Room)

Recently, in the Den, Zech brought up a great topic on the differences between indoor and outdoor sacred spaces. I consider myself extremely lucky to have the best of both in the most serenity filled room of our home and I thought I'd take the opportunity to give everyone a peek at some of the things inside my altar room.

Above is a photo of the double folding glass doors that divide the Altar room from the rest of the house. It is located On the south side (front) of the house, extending the front wall to the edge of the front porch which is to the left of this photo. Just in front of the photo is the front primary flower bed which also holds herbs, three watermelon vines, is backed by a panel of purple morning glories and crowned with 5 lilies. At the back (center) of that flower bed stands a large peacock. On the west side, tall ivy and flower vines cover the west wall and the edging is allowed to grow wild to help support the birds, squirrels, and the groundhog that lives under our neighbor's front steps.

The room itself sets just over 4ft above the ground with a large crawl space under it that is accessible through a hinged panel on the west side of the house. The loose sandy soil that lies beneath the Altar Room is the most likely place that someone in the distant future will uncover hand engraved stones that offer names, dates, and one to two line fragments of story referencing old Gods, magic, and immortality.

The East, South, and West walls of the room are primarily made of panel windows that open in the same manner as a cupboard door with the original latch locks on both the top and bottom of the windows which opens three entire walls up to the outside and offers direct light any time of day (or moonlight by night). And the North wall hosts two 3 foot solid strips of wall before breaking for the wide double doors that lead into the shadowed living room that is decorated in antiques, family photos, and accented with glass tables, crystal, and bronze.

(Greek Treasures)

Philosophers and sages throughout the years have played with attempting to describe metaphysical connections to lands we have never stepped foot on. And I have a few of them, all of which are located in central or western Europe. A remnant of a past life, an illusive dream, unbreakable bonds with the people I have met there, or something mused into my mind and heart from a mundane source...who knows? The point is not in the knowing but in the enchantment. And, for me, these lands are enchanting. The way they once lived, the modern approach to life in general, the poetic notes that changed the world over dozens of times all came from here. And any time I get the chance to get something from this land I tend to jump on it. If it was hand made and imported (or otherwise inspired) from Greece I want it in my Altar Room. Having those pieces of the land itself is somehow important to me and makes the illusive dream of what once was seem more real--physical links in a stronger chain of connection with the homeland of my patron Goddess.

This "chubby Pan" statue was one of the first things inspired by Greek myth that I was gifted.

My mother actually received this statue from my Elementary School Principle who had been following a pagan topic newspaper series I was writing back in 2002-2003. The newspapers came to call the nearly 100 editorial series "The Year of the Witch". It was the first time in local history that pagans seemed to be coming out of the woodwork and "witchcraft" became a common and locally excepted word. The public loved following along with the series in the two local newspapers and sales of those papers went up almost 18% during that run. The series is kept safe now on microfilm in the local library's Heritage Room as well as the county museum.

The statue was a gift from my old 5th grade teacher and Principle for a job well done by way of community involvement and education. She said that I had "turned into the teacher". Which was a nice sentiment. But, my mom being my mom refused to take the statue from her for nothing. So, she gave her 50 cents for it. Today, this same statue retails for about $100.00 unpainted.

This cup is one of two 24k gold trimmed, hand made cups that rest on the Altar itself. They are the very first actual imported items I ever received.

I came across these at a yard sale and bought them both for $2. After a meticulous cleaning and cleansing the cups became side pieces for my Altar over the years.

They have thick bottoms that make them heavier than they appear and are numbered. On the bottom of the cup is a decorative bordered "S" and they read "Hand made in Greece in 24k Gold". I have number 8 and 14 in the collection along with a matching small vase that is simply numbered 124.

The only time that I ever actually use these cups is for extremely special and rare occasions and the only thing that ever goes into them is sweet dark red wine (which is rare in and of itself). One cup goes to me and the other to Hera. Her's will rest on the Altar for a bit before being poured out into the earth in offering.

This is Hera's "Tiny Treasures" Offering Plate. The plate is milk glass, trimmed in gold, and has a wheat pattern gold ring surrounding its center.

Wheat was referred to as "The flower of Hera" in the late Bronze Age, for some reason that eludes me because I don't consider it a flower at all. But who am I to argue with the ancients?

The milk glass itself is sympathetic to the myths of Hera nursing mortals and demi-gods such as Hercules and Achilles to imbue them with her power, or as in the case of Achilles, her rage, which is one of the blessings that made him such a great warrior.

On this plate is where I place items such as river stones, polished glass from the beach, bits of pear or willow bark, flowers, or any other tiny treasure I might come across on one of my many adventures.  It is also where I place the two necklaces I never leave the house without every night before going to bed. And always present at the center of the plate is the red box that holds "The Eye of Hera" itself from many of the Denian Myths that you can find in the Den Archive.

"The Wings of Icarus" -- A gift from my beloved Braegan, are proudly displayed on the east side of the north wall of the Altar Room. Every "Angel" should have wings right?

In the Myths, Icarus was the one who was linked (along with his father) in creating the Labyrinth of the Minotaur on Crete. Both were imprisoned by King Minos and Icarus's father fashioned two pair of wings to help them escape.

But, despite being warned, Icarus flew too close to the sun and it melted the wax holding the wings together. Thus, he plummeted to his death. His wings are a reminder of the hidden dangers of being over-ambitious.

On the opposite wall of the Wings of Icarus rests this newly included hand painted copper plate. Another actual imported item that was made in the 1950s.

We found this item just this past weekend while we were out on one of our adventures. I thought it was proper to have a hand made Greek import displaying a Greek Temple in the Altar room. Can't get much closer than that! And the common decorative border on this plate also matches the border on the gold cups and vase that rest on the other side of the room.

This Greek style plaster column rests on the left side of the Altar itself and is a display of simplicity.

For some reason the colors: purple, white, pink, yellow, blue, and gold have always been present somewhere in my dealing with Hera.

The peacock feather accent is common throughout the room with a total of 7 peacock feathers and one statuette present near or on the most sacred items.Two rest on the Altar itself which I cannot display here.

The notion behind the peacock feather relates to the Myth that Hera placed the eyes of Argus (Hera's hundred eyed giant) into the feathers of one of her favorite birds.

Argus was Hera's "spy" and whatever he looked upon she could also see. So, by placing peacock feathers in the Altar Room (or anywhere else in your home) you are pretty much offering the Goddess a free peek at anything that goes on there. Here, Hera's eyes are always watchful.

This is Charlotte, my 11 year old rose haired tarantula in her newly designed "Sisters of Fate" inspired tank.

Charlotte is the spider priestess of the Sisters, spinning, measuring, and cutting her silken threads of time and fate over green glass decorative stones, a small Greek vase, the "Sphere of Time" (which was my very first scrying glass) my gold "Time Teaser" necklace that is inlaid with crystals surrounding a clock face, a golden ring that I discovered on one of my adventures, and another necklace that was a gift from one of my own three sisters.

This many eyed, stinging haired, nearly one inch fanged guardian of the time treasures is a constant muse and aid in many of the things I write, spin, and plan in both the Denian Universe and life in general. A reminder that the past sometimes weaves the future.

These are just some of the many items in my Altar Room dedicated to Hera and it is added to, cleaned, cleansed, redecorated, and visited on a daily basis for the burning of candles and incense. The room is also home to three potted plants, has a scattering of sea salt and white sage in and on nearly everything, has a place for putting coins to be tossed into the river on certain occasions for certain things, an antique trunk where I keep all of my hand written journals and favorite books, a chest that holds rare photos of my son and daughter, and so many other hidden wonders that it would be nearly impossible to put into just one blog.

All of this in the love and service of the ever present and rather over-protective Queen of the Gods who has guided and empowered me so that I am able to do all the things that I do. The more I learn about her the more I learn about myself. This Altar Room is the sacred testament of an epic life, a legendary journey, and an ancient Goddess walking new streets.

Today, just about everything that I am able to cook up for the Denian Universe is mused or conceived of in this one room. Both Braegan and I are extremely protective and territorial of this room. Visitors have access to every other room in the house but this room is a different matter entirely. We have only allowed family members in here twice and they are about as far as you can get from being pagan. But even they describe the smell and feel of the room to that of a church. And coming from non-pagan people that is about as good as a compliment as you can get and  sign that you must being doing something right. No matter what the path or what one believes there is something spiritual here. And it has been nothing but a blessing that permeates every aspect of our lives.

Blessed are those in the eyes of the Gods -- Pitied are those that need them.

The ULTIMATE Pagan Experience

DENIA

Follow the link above to go off of the edge of the map and see for yourself.

A Serious Shop for the Serious Witch

This isn't some pany anny shop for a bunch of teeny bopper wanna-bes. If you are looking for SERIOUS tools for SERIOUS workings this is where to find them!

At Windweaver Creations we've got 20 years of experience making fine metaphysical jewelry, and wands.

Website: http://www.windweavercreations.com/
Phone:919-802-5569
Email:wyndeweavyr@yahoo.com

The Heraian - Sacrifice

Denia - Prelude

Immortal Beloved

"I like a look of agony, because I know it's true; men do not sham
convulsion, nor simulate a throe. The eyes glaze once, and that is
death. Impossible to feign the beads upon the forehead by homely
anguish strung. "

Emily Dickenson

"Immortal beloved"

This rose is such a delicate thing,
so full of perfumed pain.
A rose once blue, faded to grey
like the sky on a cold winters day.

In the heavens we dance
the sun and the moon
holding on to hopes and dreams
that we'll meet again soon.

We pass up above
with no earthly cares
singing songs of dreams
and listening to mortal prayers.

There are times when we touch
and the world turns a purple hue,
an angelic soul of light
colored by shades of you.

Darkness and death,
old pain and flowing tears
immortal love and light,
a warrior with no fears.

This rose is such a delicate thing,
so full of perfumed pain.
A rose once grey, now the color of blue
come to life again because of my love for you.

And now death and darkness
gazes upon us in shame
And as we dance we leave them to wonder
if they have missed in their aim.


Angel Snowden

Heroes

Just about anyone can quickly name off a hero of theirs and just as
quickly give you a few reasons why they are a hero. They can recall
tales and stories, some are true and some only have truth in the eyes
of the one telling the tale. I suppose in the end one truth is just
as good as another. Because it doesn't matter if the story really
happened or not, it doesn't even matter if the hero named is a real
person or a character in a book. What matters is that it inspired
the heart and soul of others. It may have given them hope or
knowledge, or understanding when all else failed.
Many of the heroes today are quite different from the heroes of old.
One does not have to be a great warrior, a demigod, or even wise to
become a hero these days. No, today anyone can be a hero and all you
need to become one is for someone else to vouch for you.
I think that the one detail about a persons character, be they
fiction or real, that makes them a true hero is the fact that they
have weaknesses. That in all their gifts and powers they are still
challenged and we are allowed to witness their trials and see them
overcome the most impossible situations. We watch their story unfold
so closely that we feel as if we are part of the telling. We find
ourselves following them, emulating them at times, and always looking
to them for our own inspiration. They become part of us in ways that
no other can. And it could be said that a scrap of their spirit now
dwells in our own. A muse backed by the idea that when we come to
trials in our own lives it seems to parallel the life of our hero and
we recall what they went through, how they reacted, and how they
pushed through against all odds.
One of my own long time heroes is nothing more than a fictional
character. But I could tell you countless stories of his life. I can
tell you who he fought, who he loved, who he lost… I can tell you
about it all. I can tell you all about his strengths, I can tell you
his weaknesses, and I can tell you how he has influenced the forging
of who I am in so many ways that you might think I was mad.
It's this same figure that gifted me a love of history, philosophy,
art, religion, antiques, and even Shakespeare. I saw the world
through his eyes. I saw history unfold in ways no book would allow
the eyes to see. This character inspired me into martial arts and
actually learning how to use a sword beyond the idea of just saying
that I know how. And after years of training to fight with him as my
constant inspiration I ended that training by being gifted an
authentic replica of his sword. A sword that is dearer to me than
anything because I went through the trials of actually earning it. A
challenge I took on so long ago I can't even recall the exact year I
started. But I do know that I was gifted the sword when I was only
sixteen. It's the only possession from those years that I still have
with me. If fact, it is presently setting within arms reach. Not
because I need it for protection but because something he said a very
long time ago has been echoing in my mind. "Keep it close. Make it
part of you. It may be the only true friend you have."
This figure from my teen years is still as much an influence on me
today as he was back then. He has become so ingrained into my own
life that even the way I like to dress is reminiscent of his person.
This same person inspired the code of honor that I wrote and have
received great support and reviews on. I could even lend him credit
for how I write, what I write, and how I put it out there for the
world to read. The things he knew seeded the knowledge that I have
now. At one time I wanted what many people with a hero wants, to
become the hero myself.
Of course I didn't. Instead I celebrated my own identity. And once
again I was mused to do this with a lesson of the same sword. "I told
you to make it part of you. But you can not do that when you do not
know who you are."
It's odd how life unfolds in ways that new and bigger challenges come
along to confront us. Sometimes when they do we can't go forward to
find the answers. We have to go back to the basics, back to our
roots. We have to take the time to relay our foundations so that we
can once again stand strong and like our heroes from the past,
overcome the most impossible situations. But at the same time we
should never forget the people who are here in the present and how
they helped us…or how they hurt us. Either way they taught us
something about ourselves because other people make excellent mirrors
and sometimes they can be a good example of what not to become. With
heroes come villains and without villains there wouldn't be much of a
story to tell.
Heroes are the self-sacrificing ones. While villains are those with
hidden agendas and unyielding natures whose one and only obsession is
themselves. Up on that pedestal it is hard to tell fiction from
reality. But some people can't handle reality so they are probably
better off in a self-made world where they appear to be strong and
untouchable. It's the same downfall of every villain. Because sooner
or later they loose their balance or get called out and their little
world comes crashing down.
I should probably be thankful that I am down here on my foundations
rather than with my head in the clouds. In light of current events I
know that I have a lot of self-sacrifices to make in the near future
in order to have a future at all. It wont be comfortable, it wont be
anything to celebrate about, and it will be a rather humbling
experience I think. An impossible situation where the only way to
defeat it all is through self-sacrifice but I take comfort in the
shallow thought that when this story unfolds to all the telling there
will be a lot less villains around to see the final chapter and in
all reality there is one person out there who I owe nothing less but
my absolute best to. I swear to you all here and now that I wont let
her down because she has more faith in me than anyone has ever found.
If I can repay that faith…then and only then will I be a true hero
myself.
We may have come to the part of the story where the reader
thinks, "This is it! There is NO WAY that he can make it out of this
situation alive." It's odd how we can read a book or watch a story
unfolding and have this very thought about the main character. That
one single moment of doubt seems to creep into our minds even though
we know that the story is far from being over. And we just might be
coming to the part where we see a different kind of hero return to
the story to lend a hand when everyone else has turned their backs or
ran away for whatever reason.
Or…maybe I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.
Either way, take comfort in the fact that I, like my age old hero,
have a hard time dieing and my sword is still as sharp as it was the
day I got it.

Angel Snowden - 2006

Early and Late

For as long as I can remember I have been a night owl. My favorite
time of day is always the twilight hours when the world is a shade of
blue. It never last long but it's my magic hour just the same.
There's something about the world early in the morning and late at
night. It's always so peaceful.
As life turns out I will be getting more of my fill of the early more
so than the late starting tomorrow and the night owl will have to
turn into an early bird with a new first shift joby-job. Hence the
reason I woke this morning at 5a.m. so I can get use to my new hours.
And I have to say that at the moment…it sucks!
But it's a good job and one of those that I had to fight through hell
and high water to get. It's the first time since I started college
where I managed to get hired based more on my education rather than
my charming personality. We all know how much of a people person I am.
Most people in my place have probably said the same thing I did. Last
week I was telling myself to switch hours, or that I had to try to at
least. And of course I didn't do it until today. I could probably
justify that. But I wont. I will just say that what I should have
done is what I should have done. And I know that because I have been
up for over an hour now and the coffee hasn't kicked in yet. Of
course, neither has the sun. It's still dark outside. But it wont be
too much longer before the birds are chirping and the rest of the
world wakes up and tries to catch up with me instead of the other way
around. Which is probably the nicest detail of it all. I've been
going too slowly for too long. And when you slow down like that too
much a lot of things catch up with you and you have to fight them
off. Or pay them off depending on what they're after. This seems to
be the game of life these days. Run, run just as fast as you can and
throw money on the trail to keep all the things chasing you
distracted long enough to get ahead. Get far enough ahead and we have
a habit of thinking we are successful. Then we stop to bask in the
glory of the moment and our own capabilities and achievements.
Reminds me of Aesop who wrote in one of his fables, "Take your time.
I'll have forty winks and catch up with you in a minute." - The
Tortoise and the Hare

Angel Snowden - 2006

Warrior of the light and his demons

Taking the decision to follow the light
Warrior of the light had begun to believe that it is better to
follow the light. He had already betrayed, told lies, strayed off his
path, paid court to the darkness. And everything continued going
well – as if nothing had happened. Now he wants to change his
attitudes.
When taking this decision, he hears four comments: "You always
acted wrongly. You are too old to change. You are not good. You don't
deserve it".
He looks towards heaven, and a voice says: "well, my dear,
everyone has made mistakes. You are forgiven, but I can't force this
pardon. Decide for yourself".
The true warrior of the light accepts the pardon and then takes
some precautions.

Another wrong step
As if nothing had changed overnight, the warrior takes another
wrong step and dives once again into the abyss. Ghosts provoke him,
loneliness torments him. Now that he is more aware of his acts, he
did not think this would happen.
But it did. Shrouded by darkness, he talks to his master.
"Master, I fell again into the abyss ", he says." The waters are
deep and dark".
"Remember something ", responds the master. "What drowns is not
the dive, but the fact of staying under water ".
The warrior uses his remaining strength to get out of the
situation he is in.

Understanding the sense of truce
A warrior of the light does not keep always repeating the same
struggle. If the fight, after some time, neither goes forwards or
backwards, he understands that he must sit down with the enemy and
discuss a truce.
Both have already practiced the art of fencing and now need to
reach an agreement. It is a gesture of dignity – and not of
cowardliness. It is a balance of strengths, and a change of strategy.
After outlining the plans for peace, the warriors return to
their houses. They don't need to prove anything to anyone; they
fought the good Fight, and kept faith. Each one gave in a little,
thus learning the art of negotiation.

Taking care about what you say
A warrior knows that the darkness uses an invisible net to
spread its evil. This net catches any information floating in the air
and transforms it into intrigue. All that is said about someone
always ends up being heard by that person's enemies, increased by a
dark burden of poison and evil.
For that reason, the warrior when talking about his brother's
attitudes, imagines that he is present, listening to what he says.
Thus, he develops the art of prudence and dignity.
He gets closer and closer to the light that came in through his
window and now lights up all his soul.

Love and battle
The Warrior of the light sometimes fights against someone he
loves.
He has learnt that silence means absolute equilibrium of the
body, of the spirit and of the soul. A man who preserves his unity is
never dominated by the storms of existence; he has strength to
overcome difficulties and forge ahead.
However, often he feels challenged by those from whom he seeks
to learn the art of fencing. His disciples provoke him into a fight.
The warrior shows his skill: with some strokes, he hurls the
students' swords on the ground and harmony returns to the place where
they have met.
"Why do that, if you are so superior"? asks a traveler.
"Because in this way I keep the channel of communication open",
replies the warrior.

Loneliness and dependence
A warrior, when he suffers an injustice, usually tries to be
alone - so as not to show his pain to others.
It is good and bad behavior at the same time.
One thing is to let your heart heal its own wounds slowly.
Another thing is to stay in deep meditation all day, fearful of
appearing weak.
Inside each of us is an angel and a demon and their voices are
very much alike. Because of that difficulty, the demon nurtures this
solitary conversation, trying to show us how we are vulnerable. The
angel needs someone's mouth to express himself.

Haste and patience
A warrior of the light needs patience and speed at the same
time. The two greatest errors of strategy are: to act too early or to
let the opportunity go away.
To avoid this, the warrior handles each situation as if it was
unique, and does not use formulas, recipes or other persons'
opinions.
The caliph Moauiyat asked Omr Ben Al-Aas what was the secret of
his great political adroitness:
"I never intervene in a matter without having studied my
withdrawal beforehand; on the other hand, I never entered and wanted
at once to leave quickly", was the reply.

Peace and activity
In the fight interval, the warrior rests.
Very often days go by without doing anything, because his heart
demands this.
But his intuition stays alert. He does not commit the capital
sin of Sloth, because he knows where it may lead: to the warm
sensation of Sunday afternoons, where time goes by – and nothing
else.
A warrior rests and laughs. But is always alert.

Warrior of the Light, a www.paulocoelho.com.br publication

Till Death

"I dislike death but there are things I dislike more than death. Therefore there are times when I will not avoid danger." – Mencius



There are times in every warrior's life where the interpretation of the code they live by leads them into confrontation. Long ago, the dangers of social interaction where much less defined and common than they are in the push button world of today where everyone is only a click away from the rest of the world. As social interaction increases it is easy to see it's many positives but not so easy to see it's many dangers.

The act of judgment is more important now than ever despite the notion that in judging others we are somehow wrong. Granted, no one is perfect and everyone makes mistakes, but once is a coincidence. Twice is a pattern.

We are often attracted to like-minded people or those who are in our social class. We get certain feelings from the people we interact with and despite what we say about the idea of judgment, we have already done the one thing we tell others they shouldn't do. Judgment of those around us is part of nature and despite your beliefs you can't fight nature.

We sometimes judge simply to protect ourselves. The people we associate with can do us just as much harm as good and being guilty by association is still guilt. Guilt is something that no one I have ever encountered handles very well. Their first instinct seems to be to excuse it or to minimize it rather than simply admit to it. Guilt is one of the many checks and balances of life and it is a common bond we all share on one level or another. But it is an emotion that hurts and because it hurts we act on another primitive instinct, self-preservation.

It is often self-preservation that leads some to use the same line over and over again when it comes to being the defendant. "Don't judge me." They are quick to judge others but when someone comes along and judges them all of a sudden it's wrong or the outside party has no right to do it. And if that doesn't work they will say, "You don't know a damned thing about me." But often enough we don't have to know anything about them because we don't judge their principles; we judge their actions. And as the saying goes: "actions speak louder than words".

So what does one do when someone comes along in judgment of our past actions? Do we attempt to explain it? Justify it? Do we run and hide from it? Do we use the all too common lines of "Don't judge me" or "You have no right"? If they have no right what gives us such a right?

And what if none of our tactics or excuses work and they other party still seeks a fight are they right in their actions? What if they are judging us the same way that we have judged others? Does that make them wrong or somehow evil?

Sometimes judges are not seeking to destroy our character so much as they are seeking justice as dictated by their code of honor. That does not make them evil. It makes them just like us.

It's a moral dilemma that could play out in various ways depending on the circumstances. But for an honor-bound warrior there is a less complex answer: You accept the fight and do your best, knowing that the other will do the same and let fate decide who is right and who is wrong. Keep your honor in mind and when it comes to the final blow realize that they have not done anything we wouldn't do in their stead. In battle, the Gods are the only true judge in who is right and who is wrong. The matter is settled by fate rather than point of view and in this you both might find that you are either wrong, or right, depending on how worthy fate has deemed you.

This does not mean that you have to accept every single challenge that comes along. Sometimes people do challenge us out of sheer stupidity rather than honor. If fair warning of what they are really getting themselves into isn't enough to teach them their limitations, a more direct approach might be inevitable.

I think that there are some things worth living for and dieing for and even killing for if you have to, but not all the time. Sometimes the only honorable thing to do is walk away, especially if the other party is acting out of an idea or notion that is less than honorable.

However, we are all responsible for our actions. Sometimes it takes action to correct action, rather than words or excuses. Because of that, there are times when honor will place us in harms way. Just as there are times when judgment of ourselves will lead us into combat with others…but we will return all the better and without guilt or shame with our honor intact…with our shield or on it.


Angel Snowden - 2006

Prodigal Son

One of the many trends and social problems in the pagan community
today is the want and almost need to seek out a teacher. Many people
have attempted to explore the idea of what makes for a good teacher
and most of the time it ends up in a debate not long after someone
writes an entire article of credentials. Highlighted titles such
as "Elder", "High Priest or Priestess", "Reverend", and "Master" are
just a few of the labels we see wrapped around teachers who are
seeking students rather than students who are seeking teachers. I
always worry about the intentions of the label wearers and in
observation I often see the same bug light effect happening. The
students are lured into the trap and burned when they find out that
the "wise master" isn't so "wise" after all. Which is why they needed
the label in the first place. If you can't be good you can always
look like you are.
I've never added a label or title to my signature or to any of my
works. I don't consider myself a teacher and never thought about
being labeled anything by myself or anyone else. No one comes to me
and says "Master", "Teacher" or any other combination of point of
views. Besides, my name is Angel. I don't think I would answer too
much else because that name means more to me than any title out there
that I could gain or earn in the eyes of the pagan community. It's a
name that holds more value because it's who I am rather than what I
do. It couldn't be earned, it couldn't be gained, and it can never be
taken away by anyone who would like to prove otherwise. It's not a
title; it's who I am and it has a history and story that is unique to
me.
But antithetical to my point of view on label wearing teachers there
are many people out there who are just that. I simply tend to be more
open-minded to teachers who are not out hunting students. The ones
who simply do what they do and should someone see them as a teacher
they remain humble about it and even cringe at the idea.
It takes a lot for a good teacher to want to take a student under
their wing. And there has to be something about the student that
makes them worth teaching. I also think that a good teacher will not
take on more than one student at a time and maybe only one period.
Though these types of teachers are few and far between.
One of the many reasons for this is that "the young", meaning those
new to this magical world of ours, do need a lot of attention and
they tend to get themselves into trouble from time to time. It can
get fairly stressful when you truly love and respect your student
enough to allow them to make their own mistakes. Even if it might get
them hurt. An almost parental instinct kicks in and some teachers
fall to the notion that they have to protect their students from
everything they get themselves into. Which doesn't teach them
anything but dependency.
It's sometimes awkward when we teach someone what we know, and then
the time comes when they want to go out alone. They do great for a
while but then run into something or someone that they don't know how
to handle. Something that messes with their heads and in fear and
panic they do the only thing they know to do. Go back to their old
teacher for help. And if the teacher was really that good the idea
that the teacher will know just what to do to fix it is nearly the
natural thing to do. Chances are good that an experienced witch will
have already confronted the same problem before anyway.
So the student returns and in this they learn a valuable lesson as
well. That if for whatever reason they thought they were ready for
anything because of ego or because they had a good teacher, time has
made them a liar.
Upon their return the relationship is not always a student/teacher
situation so much as it is simply a friend in need. Just because the
relationship changes doesn't mean that it has to end. Which is lesson
number two that goes to both the student and the teacher.
No one is good enough or powerful enough to always do everything on
his or her own. Even the greatest warriors and witches of all time
had their mentors and loyal friends who they could turn to for advice
and aid when need be. They did so willingly and humbly and that was
what made them great in the first place. Not everyone is made to be a
teacher. But everyone is made to be a student. Being a student is a
title that people should be proud to wear for as long as they can. A
good teacher knows this and that is proven when they honestly say
that their student taught them just as much or even more than they
ever taught the student.
Another facet of this all that often remains untouched in discussion
is that there are just as many people out there who teach the young
ones to be negative and destructive as there are witches who teach
honor and integrity. I have had confrontations with people before who
acted and carried themselves the way they were taught to even if it
was wrong. But the excuse of "He or she made me what I am." doesn't
minimize or justify their personal choices. Commonly enough there is
usually an analog of the first person to "find us" somewhere in our
being even if we have been cultured since. For good or ill that is
where our true credentials lie.
If we have had a good student and we have faith in that student we
can't always be there or fight their battles for them. We can't fight
in their stead and expect them to learn how to confront the many
challenges that lie ahead. In all of our love and friendship we also
have to teach them how to stand on their own. Even if it means there
is a good chance of them failing. The hardest thing for any teachers
to teach themselves is to have faith in their students and to let
them know that they are strong enough and smart enough to take on
challenges alone. To teach them that sometimes you simply have to
choose your weapon, choose your ground, and do the best they can,
come what may.
If they succeed they will be better and stronger for it. And if they
fail, it might be a bitter lesson but it is a lesson that will teach
them more about themselves than anything a teacher can come up with.
Some things in life can't be taught. They have to be learned.

Angel Snowden - 2006

The Nail

Last week I did a small project resealing a porch roof. I get called
in to do these things from time to time. I've been doing roofing
projects of all kinds since my early teens. My favorite job of all
time was one where I simply had to make my way around a building roof
with a chain saw and cut all the support beams until the whole thing
just collapsed into the foundation, the dream job of some sixteen
year olds. The building was getting demolished anyway.
But this job was just a simple matter of spreading pitch. Goes on
kind of like paint but in an hour it's tar. Then in a few days it's
rock hard. It was the kind of job that is short, sweet, and easy
money. With mother natures blessing the new coat had plenty of time
to set before the test of rain came along and rain it did.
The roof had been a waterfall just before the new coat. But with it,
it went from being a flood hazard to the Niagara trickle.
I had put the pitch on rather heavy after redoing all the seam work.
The entire roof sealed up perfectly. All except for one small nail
hole. A shingle nail that had been punched through the woodwork, Gods
knows how long ago, was the only place on the newly covered roof that
still dripped water. But that one tiny little drip could cause
hundreds of dollars in wood damage over time. The invisible hole
would drip every time enough water got to it and direct that moister
straight into the very bones of the porch, eventually rotting it away.
This roof was built from treated wood, covered in tar strips,
shingled, seam sealed, and then pitched over but that one flaw, that
one tiny hole, that one imperfection could destroy the whole thing
given enough time and weathering. And in this we find a lesson.
That roofing nail, although completely inconspicuous from it's many
brothers and sisters was hammered into the roof in such a way that it
became an imperfection rather than a characteristic. A simplistic,
unseen flaw that could end up destroying the entire structure over
time was covered up and hidden away from everything but time and
weathering. By the time it was discovered gross damage had already
been done to all the materials surrounding it, damage that would
spread if given the chance or more ignorance.
Humans are the very same way and we treat ourselves much like the
roofers of the past treated this nail. We see something or we do
something wrong, even the tiniest of mistakes, and instead of fixing
the problem we simply cover it up or try to hide it. Before you know
it we are feeling the effects of that flaw in our character and we
see it seeping through to many other aspects of our lives. All the
while thinking we are in control of it. We covered it up. We hid it
from the world. If we ignore it, it will go away after a while.
But it never does.
More times than not we don't realize that until it is too late and
the damage has been done. And now instead of having one little secret
or one little flaw, now instead of one mistake or one bad choice, we
have a wealth of other problems that will cost us much more in the
end. All because we thought that one tiny nail, one small hole in the
structure of our being, could be covered up and hidden. But when life
brings us rain, that tiny hidden hole becomes a rotting problem that
the entire world can see.
Everyone makes mistakes and everyone has flaws. These are the very
details that make us both unique and mortal. It is a common bond we
all share yet we always seem to be ashamed of them. But just like
that nail, no matter what you do to try and cover it up and hide it,
if you don't except it, deal with it, and fix it properly it will
cause you a lot of other problems and rot away your soul.

Angel Snowden - 2006

Old Man Robur

This morning while walking to the post office to mail out a package I
noticed the early autumn chill that seems to be lingering in the air
as of late. The low hanging clouds that just wont seem to drift away
and the splotches of color that are starting to emerge in the many
greens of the failing summer.
It was the kind of morning that didn't muse much thought. The
imagination seemed to be held in a lull of what seemed to be twilight
but was actually noon, a trick of nature that leads many straight
into seasonal depression.
Downtown is buzzing this week with farmers plotting to take off their
fields and the county fair taking place on the north end of town, the
very highlight of the year in small town Ohio. But I scarcely noticed
the fracas in my dreamy state. I just walked right through it all the
way to the post office where I sent out my package with a smile and a
thank you to the elderly woman behind the counter and once more I
made my way through the dividing gray of sleep and awake that has
fogged over my little village. For a moment I wondered if any
traveler wondering about in such gloom would, in a little time, give
into the daze in the air and begin to dream of brighter places or in
antithetic thought, see apparitions.
I've walked this same path through town countless times. With each
passing I take brief moments here and there to admire the older
houses. Some Victorian, others English tutor, all of them having
their own charm. Along the way there is a place where the sidewalk
ends and I always find myself confronted with the notion to keep
going forward despite of the missing path. But I always make the
ninety degree turn that will take me to the other side of the street,
to a brick laid sidewalk, the crosses in front of a wooded ravine
that leads shortly to the river bank.
That turn always lingers in my mind and I wonder how many others make
the same decision everyday but in a more metaphorical manner. Where
the sidewalk ends…so does the journey. Time to make a ninety-degree
turn and head in another direction rather than taking the road less
traveled. Best to go the easy way these days. No point in taking on a
challenge that has not all ready been concreted over.
It was a cringing thought. But one that would help me today and muse
the most unlikely of writings. Only because I did make the turn where
the sidewalk ends and ran straight into an old friend of mine named
Quercus Robur.
Quercus is the silent type. Most of the time he just stands there in
the same place, watching pedestrians walk down the street without
giving him so much as a glance. In fact, the old man has stood in the
same place for so long that he is often ignored as being part of the
landscape.
I don't know what mused him to call out to me today aside from the
fact that I too have passed him by so many times with not so much as
a smile or nod that he may have wanted at least some attention. My
name was the only word the old man spoke. And when I looked towards
him and gave him a slight smile he tossed me a gift that is presently
setting right here in front of me as I write this article.
Old man Robur made this little present with his own hands. And there
is more of him in this little thing than in any of his many tales.
I've been contemplating it all day. And much like a Zen koan I could
probably contemplate over it forever.
It's such a small thing, green with a hint of brown and topped with a
button. It feels cool to the touch even though the room is warm and
it is setting near to my crystal desk lamp. There is such a powerful
magic held inside this thing. A magic that no witch could ever weave
which is such an odd detail considering that Quercus Robur doesn't
know the first thing about magic or witchcraft. But this thing has
the power of immortality, strength, and ancient wisdom locked inside
of it. No man can recreate it, no computer can reprogram it, and no
key can unlock it save for nature itself. It's one of a kind and yet
Mr. Robur has made thousands of these things, all with the same
magical touch and the same powers just this year alone. In fact…aside
from just standing there making these things is about all he does. He
makes them and sets them out for anyone to have freely with no
questions asked. But most people never stop by to pick one up.
To me it is the perfect gift from a very old friend. To everyone else
who walks down this same path through town, it's just an acorn.

P.S. "Quercus Robur" is the Latin name for "the common oak".

Angel Snowden -2006

The Art of Water

The other day I went down to the riverbank to gather wildflowers,
vines, and dried leaves to accent our sitting room with before autumn
comes along turning the world to gray. I have wanted to get a clip of
oak leaves so I searched the bank for the certain tree. It wasn't too
difficult to spot. The oak that caught my eye was massive even by oak
tree standards. When I got to the base of this silent sentinel of the
river I was first held in awe as I looked up high into the canopy to
see it's crown splattered with sunlight. The tree had grown so large
that there were not any low hanging limbs to get a clip off of and
just standing there in its shadow was intimidating. It would take the
arms length of five people to circle the based of this tree.
This oak has most likely weathered hundreds of years of Mother
Nature's wrath. From ice storms to droughts this oak has seen it all.
But as mighty and powerful as it seemed in all its long years of
experience it had one deadly weakness.
The bottom foot and a half of the oak had no bark on it. Live wood
has been exposed, smoothed and polished by the frequent floods the
river has seen in the past couple of hundred years since irrigation
has taken its toll. Now the base of the oak is soft to the touch and
starting to slowly rot away. Being that it is only a few short feet
from the riverbank the oak may never have the opportunity to heal
itself and grow protective bark over this weakened area. And because
the weakness is in the very foundation of the tree it will likely be
the great oaks greatness that brings it crashing to the ground one
day.
Closer to the bank of the river there are some rather large stones.
Nearly all of them are cracked or split apart completely, another
power of the river in winter. Water has a way of getting into the
smallest of fractures and when nature gives it reason to turn cold it
becomes relentlessly hard and expands with such force that even the
mighty boulder can not withstand the pressure.
Even the very earth that granted life to the oak hundreds of years
ago and played cradle to the boulder for even longer is being cut and
carved by the river. Over the last few thousand years the river has
been mother natures cutting tool to forge this landscape I call home.
The lesson provided in such graphically subtle detail was one that no
nature-loving warrior could deny.
Inexperienced warriors have a habit of being very firey. They like to
rush in on a whim, often without good reason aside from the fact that
their spirit needs the fuel of a good fight to make them feel alive
again. But like any fire, they soon burn out, offering the world
nothing in their legacy but ashes and a path of destruction. And the
path that they forged in all their rage and burning might will soon
be covered up with new life, leaving absolutely nothing of them
behind but darker dirt.
An experienced warrior will seek out the lessons of old Man River and
learn the art of water. It's an art that has two sides, both being of
great wisdom that is older than the oak and the rock together.
The first being that water is the giver of life and it gives life
freely without reason or due. And like life it should be respected
for its many wonders and priceless gifts. Life is not so indifferent
from the river. It never stops and it is never the same day to day.
Events and changes that take place far beyond its banks affect its
flow and all the things it carries with it. And just like the river
we have a habit of following the path of least resistance all the way
to our destiny and death where the banks of life give way and our
soul is released into the great beyond. Sometimes to stay there and
sometimes to find another tributary and path to follow through the
earth once more until ultimately we reach the very end of learning
and growth and become one with the ocean of infinity.
Granted events take place that change our course or put up dams and
obstacles that seem to choke us nearly to death at times. But no
matter what life throws in our way, if we survive it, regardless of
the pain of pushing through it, we keep on flowing. And all that pain
and stress is nothing more than an afterthought, a tale to tell of
just one challenge along the way. You can obsess over it by flowing
through life backwards so that it is the only thing you see or you
can turn around and look at what is coming at you next. Waterfalls
are not so scary when you know exactly where they are. But if your
not looking ahead you're going to miss them and fall flat on your
back.
The second lesson is carved in wood and stone. And the lesson is
simple and warrioristic.
That lesson is: If you tower over me for too long I will strip away
the defenses at your very core, soften you so delicately you never
noticed in all your strength and might, and I will turn your own bulk
and pedestal against you. And when the day comes that your mass alone
brings you down I will have no shame or guilt. I will simply carry
you away to the great beyond and there let you sink to the bottomless
nothing where you will learn what you never took the time to learn.
Hold yourself high for too long and you will find yourself at the
bottom.
If you are a rock, dead set on where you stand, hard and rough to
anything that touches you, I will find your flaws and wash them
clean. I will soften you and polish you into the shining stone that
you are and you will be beautiful to all who look upon you for
strength. And then I will flow around you and continue on my journey.
Yet, should nature give me reason I will turn cold on you. I will
show you that although you think you are hard, I can be harder.
Because it is not in your nature to give at all, I will open your
weaknesses for the entire world to see and you will live out the rest
of time in pieces. But do not be ashamed at this fate. For one day a
wanderer will come along to find you in my wake and they will learn.
Not from your strong unyielding personality but from your flaws.

Angel Snowden -2006

The arrogance of power

The master and his disciple were talking at a street corner when
an old woman came up to them:
"Get away from my window!" shouted the old lady. "You are
disturbing the customers". The master apologized and crossed over to
the other sidewalk.
They went on talking until an officer came up to them and
said: "We need you to move away from this sidewalk. The count will be
passing by here in a few moments".
"Let him use the other side of the street", answered the master,
without moving. Then he turned to his disciple and told him: "Don't
forget: never be arrogant to the humble. And never be humble to the
arrogant."

The arrogance of sanctity

The Zen monk spent ten years meditating in his cave, trying to
find out the path to the Truth. While he was praying one afternoon, a
monkey came up to him. The monk tried to concentrate, but the monkey
drew closer and seized the monk's sandal.
"Damned monkey!" said the hermit. "Why have you come to disturb
my prayers?"
"I'm hungry," said the monkey.
"Go away! You are disturbing my communicating with God!"
"How can you talk to God if you cannot manage to communicate
with humble creatures like me?" said the monkey.
And the monk apologized, feeling ashamed.

The arrogance of force

The village was threatened by a tribe of barbarians. The
inhabitants were abandoning their houses and fleeing to a safer
place. At the end of a year they had all left – except a group of
Jesuits.
The army of barbarians entered the city without any resistance
and held a great feast to commemorate the victory. In the middle of
the dinner a priest appeared.
"You came in here and drove out peace. I beg you to leave at
once."
"Why haven't you fled yet?" shouted the chief of the
barbarians. "Don't you see that I can run you through with my sword
without blinking an eye?"
The priest answered calmly:
"Don't you see that I can be run through by a sword without
blinking an eye?"
Surprised by such serenity before death, the chief of the
barbarians and his tribe abandoned the place the next day.

The arrogance of envy

In the Syrian desert, Satan told his disciples: "Human beings
are always more concerned about wishing evil on others than doing
good to themselves".
And to demonstrate what he was saying, he decided to test two
men who were resting nearby.
"I have come to make your wishes come true", he said to one of
them. "Whatever you want will be given to you. Your friend will
receive the same thing – except double".
The man remained in silence for a long while, and then he
finally said: "My friend is content because he will have double, no
matter what my wish is. But I have prepared a trap for him: my wish
is that you make me blind in one eye".



Warrior of the Light, a www.paulocoelho.com.br publication

Aristotle The Muse

A flatterer is a friend who is your inferior, or pretends to be so.
Aristotle

A friend is a second self.

All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance,
nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, and desire.

All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind.

All virtue is summed up in dealing justly.

Dignity consists not in possessing honors, but in the consciousness
that we deserve them.

Education is the best provision for the journey to old age.

Happiness depends upon ourselves.

Humor is the only test of gravity, and gravity of humor; for a
subject which will not bear raillery is suspicious, and a jest which
will not bear serious examination is false wit.

It is in justice that the ordering of society is centered.

It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought
without accepting it.

It is unbecoming for young men to utter maxims.

Law is mind without reason.

Man perfected by society is the best of all animals; he is the most
terrible of all when he lives without law, and without justice.

Men acquire a particular quality by constantly acting a particular
way... you become just by performing just actions, temperate by
performing temperate actions, brave by performing brave actions.

One swallow does not make a summer, neither does one fine day;
similarly one day or brief time of happiness does not make a person
entirely happy.

Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work.

Poverty is the parent of revolution and crime.

The gods too are fond of a joke.

The moral virtues, then, are produced in us neither by nature nor
against nature. Nature, indeed, prepares in us the ground for their
reception, but their complete formation is the product of habit.

The only stable state is the one in which all men are equal before
the law.

To give a satisfactory decision as to the truth it is necessary to be
rather an arbitrator than a party to the dispute.

To perceive is to suffer.

We are what we repeatedly do.

Young people are in a condition like permanent intoxication, because
youth is sweet and they are growing.

It is not always the same thing to be a good man and a good citizen.

Misfortune shows those who are not really friends.

Education is the best provision for old age.
Aristotle, from Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers

Hope is a waking dream.


http://www.quotationspage.com/quotes/Aristotle/

Paying for the same thing three times

There is a legend in the region of Punjab, about a thief who
broke into a farm and stole two hundred onions. But before he could
make his escape, he was caught by the farmer and led before the judge.
The magistrate past sentence: the payment of ten gold pieces.
But the man alleged that the fine was too high, so the judge offered
him two alternatives: to be whipped twenty times, or eat the two
hundred onions.
The thief chose to eat the two hundred onions. When he had eaten
twenty-five, his eyes were already filled with tears, and his stomach
was burning up like the fires of hell. Since there were still 175 to
go, and he knew he would never bear this punishment, he begged to be
thrashed twenty times.
The judge agreed. But when the whip tore into his back for the
tenth time, he implored for the punishment to be stopped, for he
could not stand the pain. His wish was granted, but the thief still
had to pay the ten pieces of gold.
- If you had accepted the fine, you would have avoided eating
the onions and wouldn't have suffered with whip - said the judge. -
But you preferred the more difficult path, not understanding that,
when you have done wrong, it is better to pay up quickly and forget
the matter.


"Warrior of the Light, a www.paulocoelho.com.br publication

The Mask and Mirror

One of the hardest and most important lessons to learn on any pagan
path is the one of self-study. There is an odd and often difficult
phenomenon that happens in the realm of metaphysics that begins at
the start of almost any path and often reoccurs through the growth
process and awakenings that come with the journey. It is an all to
common mistake that leads to many downfalls sooner or later. That
mistake happens when we get into a situation or state of mind where
we no longer want to be who we really are. So we rename ourselves,
put on a fancy mask, and march off into the pagan world disguised as
what we want to be rather that what we are.
With the mask all of our faults and insecurities are hidden from the
rest of the world. The longer we wear the mask the more we start to
believe what we are asking the rest of the world to believe, until
we begin to loose our true identity completely. With the mask we
appear strong, wise, powerful, and every other characteristic we
want to be is often highlighted in the mask. We wear the mask to
make up for the areas we lack in rather than trying to take up the
slack through self-improvement. This is one of the side effects to
life in a push button just add water society. We are programmed to
want everything right now with as little effort as possible. That
includes identity.
One of the first lessons I learned in the study of witchcraft was to
always keep a clear line between who you are as a person and who you
are as a witch. That the mortal side of you and the immortal spirit
side should be two different personifications and the magical side
should be hidden from all other mortals and witches alike. Wiccan
rumor has it that if another witch knows your magical name they can
use it against you in spell work and curses. They often warn you to
be secretive about such things. It's all one of the biggest loads of
crap I have ever heard. Thank the Gods that I have been cultured
since those early lessons or I would be in the broom closet with all
the other frightened people.
There should not, under any circumstances, be a line between who you
are as a witch and who you are as a person. Your metaphysical side
should be a direct spin off of your true personality and spirit. In
order to achieve that you have to know exactly who you are, what
your about, and where you came from. That includes all of your
strengths and weaknesses. The latter being the hardest to accept
even in a world where our weaknesses are so highlighted as topics
for discussion and sympathy. It would seem that people will wear the
mask of strength and wisdom until they are in need of a bit of
attention. Then the mask changes and the new illusion is allowed
play out in order to gain what we seek. And even the quest for
sympathy is often a self-centered and self-gain tactic. The question
is: exactly what are we gaining by it? There is a huge difference
between needing a friendly ear to listen and playing the victim of
some circumstance. It's the very same difference between the mask
and our face.
All too often people start their journey with a bag full of masks.
But sooner or later they run out of them or get into a situation
where there is no mask in the bag that will work to cover up what
they are trying to hide. They run into someone or something and
their true nature is called out. Just like the magic mirror gate.
Confronted by their true nature they run away screaming because they
are afraid and ashamed of themselves. And if they are a mask wearer
they should be. Those are both emotions that come with the
realization that you're doing something wrong. They should fix it
rather than running away from it. But for the most part that comes
to what is in your true nature. Your primal fight or flight
instincts and which one rules over you. Are you a fighter or a
runner? Neither is necessarily better or worse than the other. It's
simply about self-preservation. Which happens to be a very powerful
detail of mortality.
Sooner or later everyone will come to the magic mirror gate. Every
path leads to this same place because this is where we learn the
most important lessons of any spiritual journey. And those lessons
are based on fundamental and undeniable truths. Which is what nearly
everyone claims to be seeking but few actually put into practice for
a number of reasons. One of the strongest being fear. But the mirror
knows that where there is fear there is power. That is why we only
see ourselves in it rather than the masks we wear. People are often
afraid of who they really are. They should be, because people who
discover that about themselves unlock tremendous energy and
potential, enough energy to change the entire world for better or
worse. No matter where they go or what they touch, their identity
and power cannot be denied or stopped by anyone. These are the souls
who offer the world nothing but truth. And because of that they can
never be called out for being a fool or a liar. Anyone with that
kind of power should no longer fear himself or herself but they
should fear what their power can do. Having that kind of fear is the
very first sign of true, unmasked wisdom.

Angel Snowden -2006

Immortality

How do human beings respond to changes?

Badly. Always very badly. One of the most widespread myths in the
whole world – the myth of the vampire – reflects this idea.

What is a vampire? It is someone who at a certain moment in their
existence becomes immortal. In other words, after that moment their
body will no longer follow the normal course of nature; they will
become forever young, and they can live as long as they like without
having to deal with problems caused by growing old.

The vampire's only diet is a little blood every day, and their only
care with their skin is to avoid sunlight – but after all, this is a
very small price to pay to enjoy all the possibilities of eternal
life.

Except for one thing: vampires stop in time, while the world carries
on changing. Everything that they were always used to begins to
change, and even though they have all the time in the world to adapt
to these changes, they desire immortality precisely because they
were happy with the world in which they lived. They are not
interested in accompanying these changes.

Let us imagine a human being who becomes a vampire right at the
finals of the 1986 World Cup. He could smoke on airplanes, did not
need to puzzle over picking what channel to watch on the television –
the choice was so limited. He had an actress for a sex symbol,
understood all about carburetors and fought for his socialist ideal,
convinced that the Soviet Union would soon have more capable
governors, and the yearnings of the people (called the proletariat)
would at last be respected.

One fine day he falls in love with a 22-year-old sociology student.
He admires her beauty, her enthusiasm, her idealism. He suggests
transforming her into a vampire, but she refuses – she has seen too
many horror films. She is in love too and does not want to lose him,
but she sets one single condition for going ahead with their
relationship: he must never suck her blood. The vampire has no
choice but to keep his word. They get married in the registry office
to avoid mortal crucifixes.

Twenty years roll by - in fact fly by, because another four World
Cups have taken place. The former university student is now 42 years
old, working in a bank (unemployment problems) or else writing
useless Master's and Ph.D. theses and dissertations merely to
justify her life as a professional student. Carburetors have
disappeared from the face of the earth. In horror he leafs through a
magazine and sees his old sex-symbol actress transformed into a
hybrid product made of plastic, Botox and silicone, her face coated
with tons of makeup. He feels guilty for having 200 TV channels and
only watches the same ones as long ago.

The Soviet Union has collapsed. He was obliged to abandon his
beloved cigarettes (although it did not affect his health, don't
forget that vampires are immortal), because smoking became
impossible, either because of laws or because of the way people
looked at him in restaurants. And worst of all: everyone is talking
about chat, Internet, iPod, rave and so on. The vampire tries to
keep up to date, but everything seems absolutely complicated,
irritating and senseless. He looks at the computer as if he were
looking at a clove of garlic – with a mixture of horror and
impotence. He will never be able to manage one of those, although he
has tried several times.

His friends are retired, spend their days playing cards – they also
do not know how to deal with computers, but they do not mind, the
group has grown old together, they all have the same interests and
can share experiences.

The vampire stays young. Immortal. Now he is faced with eternal
depression. He attempts suicide, going out in the sunlight or
looking at crucifixes, only to discover that these were myths
created by the Church and cause him no harm at all.

He is left with one consolation: there is still one political figure
that he knows all about (because all the other governors across the
world have changed).

But Fidel Castro will also pass. And then nothing, absolutely
nothing, will remain of the world that the vampire once loved so
much.

Warrior of the Light, a www.paulocoelho.com.br publication

Traveling in a different way

When I was very young I discovered that, for me, a journey is the
best way to learn. I still have this pilgrim's soul to this day, and
have decided to relate some of the lessons I have learned, in the
hopes that they will be useful to other like-minded pilgrims.

1] Avoid museums. This advice may seem absurd, but let us
reflect a little together: if you are in a foreign city, isn't it far
more interesting to seek out the present, than the past? Usually,
people feel obliged to go to museums, because ever since they were
small they have been told that traveling is a search for this type of
culture. Of course museums are important, but they require time and
objectivity - you need to know what it is you want to see there,
otherwise you will come away with the impression that you saw several
things which are fundamental to your life, but cannot remember what
they were.

2] Frequent bars. Unlike museums, this is where the life of the
city can be found. Bars are not discotheques, but places where the
people gather to have a drink, pass the time, and are always willing
to chat. Buy a newspaper and observe the bustle of people coming and
going. If someone speaks to you, strike up a conversation, however
banal: one cannot judge the beauty of a path merely by looking at its
entrance.

3] Be open and forward. The best tourist guide is someone who
lives there, knows everything, but doesn't work at a travel agency.
Go out into the street, choose someone you wish to speak to, and ask
him or her for directions (where is such-and-such a cathedral? Where
is the post office?) If this bears no fruit, try someone else - I
guarantee that in the end you will find excellent company.

4] Try and travel alone, or - if you are married - with your
spouse. It will be harder work, no one will be looking after you, but
this is the only way of truly leaving your country. Group travel is
just a disguised way of pretending to go abroad, where you speak your
own language, obey the leader of the pack, and concern yourself more
with the internal gossip of the group than with the place you are
visiting.

5] Don't compare. Don't compare anything - not prices, nor
cleanliness, nor quality of life, nor means of transport, nothing!
You are not traveling in order to prove you live better than others -
your search, in fact, is to find out how others live, what they have
to teach, how they view reality and the extraordinary things in life.

6] Understand that everyone understands you. Even if you don't
speak the language, don't be afraid: I have been in many places in
which there was no way of communicating with words, and I always
found support, guidance, important suggestions, even girlfriends.
Some people think that if you travel alone, you will go out into the
street and be lost forever. All you need is the hotel card in your
pocket, and - should you find yourself in extreme circumstances -
take a taxi and show it to the driver.

7] Don't buy much. Spend your money on things which you won't
have to carry: good theater, restaurants, walks. Nowadays, with the
global market and the Internet, you can have everything you want
without having to pay for excess baggage.

8] Don't try and see the world in a month. It is better to stay
in one city for four or five days, that visit five cities in a week.
A city is like a capricious woman, who needs time to be seduced and
reveal herself completely.

9] A journey is an adventure. Henry Miller said that it is far
more important to discover a church no one has heard of, than go to
Rome and feel obliged to visit the Sistine Chapel, with two hundred
thousand tourists shouting all around you. Go to the Sistine Chapel,
but also get lost in the streets, wander down alleyways, feel free to
look for something, without knowing what it is. I swear you will find
it and that it will change your life.



Warrior of the Light, a www.paulocoelho.com.br publication

Discovering True Fear

A sultan decided to travel by sea with some of his favorite
courtiers. They joined the ship in Dubai and sailed out into the open
sea.
However, as soon as the ship moved away from land, one of his
subjects - who had never seen the sea before, having spent most of
his life in the mountains - began to be overcome with panic.
Sitting in the ship's hold, he cried, shouted and refused to eat
or sleep. Everyone tried to calm him down, saying that the journey
wasn't as dangerous as all that, but although he heard their words,
they had no influence on his heart. The sultan did not know what to
do, and the fine journey upon calm seas and under blue skies, became
a torment for the passengers and crew alike.
Two days passed without anyone being able to sleep because of
the man's cries. The sultan was about to order the ship to return to
port, when one of his ministers, who was known for his wisdom, came
over:
- Your Highness, with your permission, I will be able to calm
him.
Without a moment's hesitation, the sultan said that not only
would he allow it, but that he should reward him if he succeeded in
solving the problem.
The wise man asked that the man be thrown into the sea. Right
away, content because their nightmare was about to end, several crew
members grabbed the man struggling in the hold, and cast him into the
ocean.
The courtier thrashed about, sank, swallowed plenty of seawater,
returned to the surface, screamed louder than ever, sank again, and
managed to surface once again. Just then, the minister ordered for
him to dragged back on board.
From then on, no one heard so much as a single complaint from
the man, who spent the rest of the journey in silence, and even
commented to one of the passengers that he had never seen anything so
beautiful as the sky and sea touching on the horizon. The journey -
which had before been a torment to all those on board the ship -
became a pleasurable, peaceful experience.
A short time before they returned to port, the Sultan went to
see the minister:
- How did you guess that, by throwing that poor man into the
sea, he would calm down?
- Because of my marriage - replied the minister. - I was always
terrified of losing my wife, and was so jealous that I never stopped
shouting and screaming like that man.
"One day she could take no more, and left me - and I tasted the
terrible experience of living without her. She only returned when I
promised never again to torment her with my fears.
"In the same way, that man had never tasted salt water, and had
never known the agony of a drowning man. When he felt that, he
understood only too well how marvelous it can be to feel the planks
of a ship under his feet.
- Wise counsel - commented the sultan.
- In the Bible, a holy book of the Christians, it says: "all I
most feared, came to pass."
"Some people can only value what they have, when they endure the
experience of loss."

Warrior of the Light, a www.paulocoelho.com.br publication

Scrying

Tools for scrying and divination are some of the most popular
gimmicks to today's witches and psychics. From the expensive crystal
ball to elaborately decorated black mirrors these items are often
seen on alters and metaphysical shop shelves all over the enchanted
world.
Scrying differs from divination because as the root word of
divination suggest one is seeking "divine" aid in answering questions
or gaining insight. Whether the information comes from a spirit on a
Ouija board, a fairy in a stone, or from the Gods themselves outside
energies are at play.
Scrying on the other hand is a technique that finds its base in
sensory deprivation. As a form of meditation scrying is a technique
to aid one in tapping into the subconscious by depriving the
conscious of the normal flow of information that normally enters into
the brain through our senses. When the deprivation reaches a certain
point the brain hyper reacts and starts looking beyond the physical
and obvious for more information. The end result of which has been
named "extra sensory perception" or E.S.P.
Mystics and psychologist alike have both experimented with sensory
deprivation on many different levels. Techniques have varied from
having a subject stare at a plain black circle drawn on a piece of
paper for extended periods of time to elaborate sensory deprivation
chambers that not only stops information from flowing into a
conscious mind but also keeps the subject from any kind of physical
movement.
Inside such a chamber one would be bound and suspended in complete
darkness and silence. Unable to hear, see, taste, or touch anything
at all. The technique is strongly warned against because the most
common reactions can be stress, panic, shock, hyperventilation, high
blood pressure, heart failure, stroke, and even death.
Safer techniques can include setting alone in an unfurnished or
completely dark room where sound is kept to an absolute minimum. Or
by using any of the tools previously mentioned.
One of the most popular and affordable to make yourself is a black
mirror. The metaphysical market offers a variety of decorated black
mirrors. The mirrors themselves are a simple sheet of glass with a
coating of high gloss black paint on the backside rather than the
silver of normal mirrors. The difference makes the reflections in the
black mirror shadowy and hard to focus on. Those who gaze into such a
mirror, from the beginner to the adept, would have an easy time
interpreting distortions in their reflection because the visual image
is not as defined.
One of the most affordable was to create your own black mirror is
with a can of high gloss black spray paint and a picture frame.
Decals are optional. You can create the same tool for $2 that some
shops will charge you $150 for.
Scrying also steps into the realm of the elements. There are multiple
techniques and practices for fire scrying, water scrying, sky
scrying, and even crystal scrying. Fire scrying seems to have gained
in popularity, especially with the common candle magic that has
swarmed into the pagan world, mostly through the Wiccan outlets,
which has produced a large amount of books on the subject. Less
common would be water and sky scrying. Crystal scrying seems to be at
a midway point of the metaphysical interest level.
Crystals of all shapes, sizes, colors, and values are adored by the
pagan mind. And there is page after page of attributes that have been
labeled by someone or other to nearly each and every one of them.
Such attributes even fall outside of the metaphysical community and
are accepted by the populous in the form of birthstones.
Crystal scrying is sometimes seen as being more difficult. Crystals
don't always distort in our vision the way that a moving flame or a
night sky might. So one of the ways to make crystal scrying more
productive is to add in an element of distortion, the easiest being a
flame.
By setting a candle or other light source behind the crystal the
facets of the crystal seem to come to life as the light dances off of
each one in turn. The eyes are almost subconsciously attracted to
each change in the light, each movement, resulting in a stimulated
conscious R.E.M. that will make the outcome much more vivid.
A step up from this might be a crystal that can hold a candle
internally, a flame inside the crystal itself offering a more
balanced light to scry into. A decorative glass candle holder makes
the perfect scrying tool and glass is nothing more than a common
crystal. It just happens to be so common that we often take it for
granted. However, value can come with just a bit of imagination.
Offering names to your tools helps to make them more personal to you
and the path you follow. Not to mention from King Authors famous
sword to every great fiction story imaginable the magic thing-a-ma-
jig that held more value than any other object in the land always had
its own name. A name is most likely the very first thing you were
gifted and so it is only natural that we return that gift to the
things we gift ourselves and our stories on this enchanted quest for
knowledge and magic.

Angel Snowden - 2006

The Storybook House

"Run, run, as fast as you can
you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man."



When my daughter was only about six months old her mother and I bought her a storybook house and matching pick-nick table. I had made plans to set the house up in a flower garden with a brush backdrop and white fence broken by an ivy-covered archway. Since Piper was so little then I figured the flowers in the garden had to be little too. Flowers like primroses, alyssums, and baby's breath would make up the majority of the garden and a taller wildflower mix would have added color to the brush backdrop. Just to the side of where the house sat I had dug a hole large enough to place a fifty-gallon drum half way into the ground. I covered the top half with topsoil and planted grass seed, moss, and ivy vines in it to cover the top portion of the barrel. The end result was something that resembled a small but mysterious "cave" that lead into the depths of the brush pile.

The location for all of this was in a pine and Chinese elm tree line that made up the wind block on the north side of our property. The pine kept things green all year round and the Chinese elms stood like sentinels on both sides of this secret little garden keeping just the right mix of light and shadow about the place.

Not too far form where the house sat hung the hammock where Piper and I had spent many hours just swinging back and forth while singing a song from The Lion King 1 ½. But the song always ended at "Snoozing in a hammock by a trickling stream…" at which point we would both look at the ground and start complaining that there was no stream!

Sounds like a daddy/daughter fairy tale world hu?

But this fairy tale never got a proper ending. I lost Piper before the project could be finished.

About a year ago Piper's storybook house was moved to my mothers property along with the matching pick-nick table. And until today it sat there looking like the abandoned dream that it was. I spent a good deal of time this afternoon picking up limbs and cutting down the weeds that had grown up around it. I cleaned the house inside and out, restacked the firewood that sets off to its side, fixed the high fence backdrop, fixed up the pick-nick table with a flower centerpiece, and cleaned the pond that was built just in front of the house. I found out that the pond is now a haven for a fair number of bullfrogs, the size of bullfrogs that could make a good attempt of eating one of my mother's dogs.

When the clean up was done and everything placed back into some semblance of order the dream that once went blurry was as clear as crystal, as if every element, including Piper, was right there waiting to turn from a dream to reality. Then my mind started racing trying to come up with ways to make a new garden with new secrets. I can almost see the new garden just as I did the first. With all the add-ins that would make this garden special to a very special little girl, even if she will never see it.

It's too late in the year for planting a new flower garden or spending too much time doing the set up. For all the physical stuff it is just the basics for now. But the mental and emotional stuff is quite another story. That's already complicated.

Just last week my sister came to me and hinted about getting the storybook house and moving it to her property for my nieces to play in. In hindsight I can see it as a reasonable request. The house was meant to be used and not setting in the backyard near a pond that makes it off limits to the little ones. The front door of the house only sets about 10 feet from the ponds edge, a bit too close for comfort when it comes to skipping toddlers.

I was a bit defensive of the storybook house when my sister hinted at the idea. Before she even finished what she wanted to say I told her that the house has to stay where it is with all the enchantments and warnings of the candy cottage. But a witch doesn't live in this house, just memories and fairytales that will never be written.

I was mused to write about the house this evening. Like a lot of other writings I had the title right there in the front of my mind like a large print sign on the side of the forest trail. The message of this work is a bit illusive to me. Kind of like the gingerbread man. Always head of me no matter how hard I try to put this all into perspective for all of you.

I think about the best I can do for you tonight is simply read what the sign there on the edge of the path says. There is a message on both sides. Walking towards the storybook house the sign reads "Welcome to Piper's Place."

And when leaving the house and walking away from everything that lives inside it the reverse reads "Welcome to the rest of the world."

One of these days…I'm going to paint over the backside of that sign.



Angel Snowden -2006

The Forest Cellar

This past spring the farm next to my mothers house decided it would
be in their best financial interest to cut down two rather large
sections of wooded area that set at the back edge of their field. The
two forests were separated only by the railroad. Until there clearing
the land was pretty much virgin. The farmer never did much cutting or
clearing of the trees or floor.
I had a sentimental connection with these two wooded areas because
this was where I shot and killed my first deer. I was 8 years old at
the time and the deer had 8 points. The only off detail was that I
shot it 9 times. But that is another story.
The forests are gone now leaving a rather long stretch of black soil
where the old trees once stood. I grew up in the forests around my
area. They were my playgrounds and I knew every single inch of them.
Somewhere along the way I had the odd thought that the tress were all
directly and physically connected at their roots. A tress root can
run much deeper than its height and spread out as far as four times
the width of its branches. It is fairly easy to picture what the
forest floor must look like far below the surface. And if we could
cut the earth away we would see that the tree roots have all grown
together creating, in essence, a single organism from many, a picture
of physical unity.
I was able to see some of this first hand while watching them removed
all of the trees and bulldoze the land until it was plantable. And
now, where once a tangled forest stood side by side with its sister
there is a flat cornfield. Some might think that to be a great loss.
I saw it as a great opportunity.
The clearing of the two forests opened the door to the forest cellar.
This is all virgin soil and everything that has ever dropped in it
was protected by the root base and foliage that covered the ground
for countless years. The wonders that this stretch of land now has to
offer could be plenty or nothing at all. But the opportunity for a
treasure hunt is guaranteed.
I went and spoke with the landowner today who is an elderly woman who
leases the land out to other farmers, to see if she would mind if I
went back and spiraled the field for whatever might be back there. I
spent about 30 minutes with her while she was telling me about the
arrowheads and other things that the workers found while clearing the
forests out, and the rather nice price of tree trunks she sold to be
made into telephone polls.
She said that she didn't think that the workers spent any time
actually looking for anything back there but I was more than welcome
to go back and look around any time as long as I didn't hurt the
crops. Not too difficult since the field was planted with corn.
The planting of the field helps too because it means the soil has
been tilled and turned. So what is on the surface now was about a
foot under the forest floor went it was still standing.
I didn't have the opportunity to explore the fields today but I'm
going to try and make it in there over the next few days and see what
little secrets my old hunting grounds has to offer now.

Angel Snowden -2006