My Plans

 All hail Venus Cloacina, and welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Wow, what mayhem. First we had Donald Trump, then we had a deadly pandemic, and now we have World War III. It's like the 1960s all over again. What can I do except go along with the flow and hope for the best?

For those of you just hopping aboard, I am an Appalachian American, living ex patrium for most of my life. Up until 2011 I had a hold on the old sod as part owner of my grandfather's farm, but then it was sold, and I was truly bereft.

Now I have land again, praise Cloacina, and only about a mile and a half from my grandfather's farm. At four acres it's small by mountain standards, but oh boy it has some qualities.

Probably the best thing about it is how flat it is. This is the mountains, after all. And it's shady! Lots and lots and lots of trees. You can feel them talking to each other underground. On top there's leaf litter and moss and fallen branches. The ground is springy, soft on your feet, from all the years of undisturbed leaf fall.

The ink is dry on the transaction. The seller has been paid. And everyone is asking: Anne, what are you going to do with it? The land, they mean. Tiny house? Big house? Vacation house? Gonna move there?

Nope.

When those trees talk to one another, I don't want them saying, "OH SHIT, CHAUNCY, SHE'S CUTTING ME DOWN!" Nor do I want to plow in a driveway, or sink a septic system, or try to persuade the state of Pennsylvania to run an electrical line up through the woods.

I don't want to start a trash heap (though it's a time-honored Appalachian tradition). I don't want to build a fire ring in all that leaf litter. I don't want to hang fairy garlands from the tree limbs or build some monument (though there is already a nice cairn there probably made by some farmer 100 years ago).

I've had ten long years to think through what I would do if I got a little bit of land in the mountains. And what I decided some years ago was that I didn't want a parcel with a house on it. Why do I need something more to worry about? Or a place I'll feel obliged to go just to "keep it up?" Phooey on that!

I want this land to look just like it does now. Worst I'll do is snip down a few pine seedlings to make myself a place where I can view the sunset and the meteor showers.

Some people think it's ridiculous to purchase a property while having no plans to alter it in any way. Those people aren't Druids.

See, the way I look at it, I bought a church. I'm going there to worship, and when I leave there will be no trace that I visited at all. This I consider to be bliss.

I'll close today's sermon by thanking my dear Yellowdog Granny for the bear spray. When your new next door neighbor is the state game lands, it's better safe than sorry. Hope I never, ever need it!

Interview with a Bored Goddess: Queen Brighid the Bright

My goodness, have we ever strayed from our Mission Statement here at The Gods Are Bored! How long has it been since a deity sat for an interview? Can't even recall the last time. Thankfully, Imbolc is upon us, and Queen Brighid the Bright has settled in by the fire with a piping hot cup of Irish breakfast tea. Please give a warm and wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to the Goddess Brighid the Bright!

Anne: How's the tea, great Goddess?

Queen Brighid the Bright: First rate! Your firewood is not well seasoned, though. 

Anne: Our first shipment was so well-seasoned that we burnt through it all. Now we're stuck with this smoky stuff that sizzles and leaves creosote in our chimney.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well, we can't have that, now can we? (Blows on the fire, and it leaps with purple flame.)

Anne: Snap! Thank you!

Queen Brighid the Bright: Anne. Anne! What's this?

Anne: Emmm .... the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle? (hides her head)

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well! I'm not inclined to scold you, Anne, but what the hell?

Anne: It's a pandemic, Goddess. I'm basically in quarantine. So I sit around here and cross stitch and do the Sunday crossword puzzle.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Like a geezer.

Anne: Oh, you cut me to the quick! Don't think I don't know that these stodgy hobbies are pathetic. But take it from me, they beat Twitter.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Twitter? You mean the sound birds make?

Anne: Close enough. But fear not, dear Goddess. I have enrolled in an online course called "Navigating Tower Time". I'm going to start it tomorrow.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well, see that you do! We don't want to get lax in our spiritual path, do we?

Anne: It's hard not to get lax in everything when I'm pent up at home, day after day, week after week, month after month.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Chin up, Anne! Imbolc is here, the lambs are being born, it's halfway to equinox, and my goodness! Your larder is bulging.

Anne: Pandemic supplies.

Queen Brighid the Bright: What are these six bottles of Clorox all in a row?

Anne: Five mistakes based on a shortage.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Four dozen rolls of toilet paper?

Anne: We ordered it in bulk from Amazon.

Queen Brighid the Bright: How are Amazons to work with? I should imagine they drive a hard bargain. I've never met one.

Anne: They're ruthless, and they dominate the landscape. Great Goddess, will you listen to a petition?

Queen Brighid the Bright: Of course! I'm not as bored as I used to be, but I still grant petitions! What can I help you with, Anne?

Anne: Place your gentle hand on my daughters.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Done. Anything else?

Anne: Protect me from COVID-19.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Perhaps The Morrigan would do that better. She is crackerjack with corvids.

Anne: COVID-19 is the name of the disease. It doesn't have anything to do with crows.

Queen Brighid the Bright: What a ridiculous name! What happened to descriptive disease names like smallpox and yellow fever?

Anne: Good question. Maybe people would take it more seriously if it was called "drowning on dry land."

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well, whatever it's called, I'll protect you from it. Looks like you've got all kinds of solid Appalachian magic going on already. But I'm always glad to pitch in.

Anne: I imagine you'll be really busy on Imbolc, but if you have a chance, pop in. I have a wonderful smudge stick that my daughter The Fair gave me for Yule. I'm going to purify the whole house.

Queen Brighid the Bright: As well you should. And keep the faith, Anne. Quarantines don't last forever. It only seems that way.

Anne: And how, Goddess. And how.

The Magic Boost

My friends, I sit here every day doing more or less the same thing, which is next-to-nothing. My state is open, but I don't go anywhere except the grocery store and the pharmacy.

That will change when September rolls around. I will be expected to report to my classroom. There have been no plans revealed about what that classroom capacity will be and how my students and I will be protected from the novel coronavirus.

Having worked in a school for 15 years, I'm here to tell you it's a swirling miasma of contagion. In January, just before Covid, I had a virus that had me coughing for weeks. My English department colleagues all caught it too.

I listen to the news obsessively, so I know what I can do to protect myself: masks, hand-washing, face shield, hand sanitizer, don't touch face, social distancing. I'm prepared to do all of that.

But one never wants to leave any tool on the table, so I have turned to magic for a boost in my protection. Magic doesn't replace the mundane safety measures, but it can enhance them.

If you're looking for a good place to start learning about a magical practice, I highly recommend John Beckett's new online course Operative Magic. John is a Druid and a very reasonable, approachable person. His course is six sessions, homework optional (mostly to get his very helpful feedback). John gives a nicely-done history of magic, the philosophy of magic, and then concrete information on how to create a spell. The course is $50, which I call money well spent. I only have one session left to complete, so I've gotten a good view of it.

There are also two books I will recommend if you feel any affinity for organic magic stemming from Appalachian traditions. The first is Staubs and Ditchwater by Byron Ballard. Byron is a hedge witch working as a Pagan. The other book is Backwoods Witchcraft by Jake Richards. Jake works through the Christian tradition, which is to be expected -- generations and generations and generations of Appalachians have been Christians. But what's interesting about Backwoods Witchcraft is how ancient and British Isles it feels. Both of these books show you how to do spells using items you have all around you in your house and yard.

Skeptics might say, "Why turn to magic? Isn't that just a bunch of superstition?"

My answer is, "Why not? And what you might call 'superstition' I call 'covering the mystical bases.'"

This pandemic is the most dangerous existential threat to my existence since I was a blithe teenager doing stupid, reckless stuff. I'm not leaving tools on the table. That would be foolish.

How To Build an Outdoor Pagan Shrine

Here's a timely little post for all of you who are basically stuck on your own little plot of land. Which  should be all of us right now. So weep not for your lost freedom! Today I'm going to tell you how to build a backyard shrine!

The dictionary defines a shrine as "any structure or place consecrated or devoted to some saint, holy person, or deity." Any religion qualifies! Or none at all. I've seen shrines to Elvis in Baltimore. Shrines can be very comforting -- places to meditate, commune with the deities, Ancestors, and Nature Spirits. They need not be large. Here is mine:

You can see a conch shell on there that helps for sizing.

Looks so complicated, but trust me. I have no building skills. You can do this, fabulous you!

When I decided to build a shrine in my yard, I did what every sensible modern person would do: I Googled "backyard shrine" in the Images tab. Of course all the photos are of Catholic shrines, but hey. Go ahead and appropriate. The Catholics sure did.

So when I looked for an image, this lil puppy showed up:

My shrine is not this high or wide, but it's built on this principle.

First I put down a sheet of plastic, so that weeds wouldn't grow up through the shrine. This really works, and it doubles as a nursery for mosquitoes. Hey, bats gotta eat! If you don't like mosquitoes, skip this step.

Next I gathered up bricks I already had in my yard, including some of those nice pavers. I laid them in a semi-circle. Then I went to the landscape store and bought a flagstone and two bags of gravel. Put the flagstone in the semi-circle and poured the gravel around it. This is what it looked like at that step:

As you can see, it was Samhain when this photo was snapped. You could easily stop right after this step and have a tidy and wonderful shrine.

Me, I had some extra ambitions.

I grew up on Polish Mountain, as had seven generations of Johnsons. I miss that mountain like a lost lover. So I drove to Polish Mountain and loaded my trunk with rocks from the mountainside. I took one really nice flat stone from behind my great-grandfather's house to use as an Anchor Stone. I also dug out some little pieces of crumbly shale to put over top of the generic gravel. I placed these mountain stones over and around the bricks. No mortar. No cement.

Voila! Done.

Except this is just the beginning. This is where you really begin to personalize your shrine, so that it is pleasing to your Gods and your ancestors and the spirits of your place.

You can see that my shrine looks bright and shiny. That's because I went to the beach and collected white pebbles and sea glass to put on it. (There are sea shells too.) I put marbles on there, and crystals, semi-precious stones, trinkets, Mardi Gras beads from the Mummers Parade, silk flowers from the Fairy Festival, and souvenir rocks from hikes. Please note: If there are signs on your hike that say "Don't take the rocks," don't take the rocks! You don't want a sneaky shrine.

A shrine should be fluid. You put new things on it and take the worn-out things off. You re-arrange the rocks and add seasonal garnishes.

Once a year I gather up all the shiny stuff and give it a good bath. Last year when I was doing it, my phone fell into the bucket of water and was in there for awhile before I noticed it was gone. I pulled it out of the water, and it started right up. Not a single problem. When you seek to honor entities on a shrine, They will appreciate it.

When it's not too windy or too dry, I light a candle on my shrine at night. On the solstices (weather permitting) I let the candles burn overnight or for 24 hours. I use jar candles and hurricane globes that I buy at the thrift store. On Samhain I always put a jack-o-lantern on my shrine.

I tend this shrine gently almost every day and do my devotions there on full and dark moons, on holy days, and when I need to petition the Gods, Ancestors, and Nature Spirits.

You know what's the most brilliant thing about my shrine? It's portable. I can pick it up and move it anywhere. No mortar, no cement.

So ... you've got a little piece of ground and a lot of time on your hands, right? Building a shrine is the perfect way to spend a long afternoon outdoors! Go forth and give it a try! And share your results with me. I would love to see them.

Summer Solstice 2020

The longest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere means that now the wheel will turn, and we begin our descent into the darkness.

And this time, we need to rage against the dying of the light, because there is important work to do. Work that requires energy.

There's a great evil afoot in the land. It's bigger than Trump. It's the Earth herself crying out against the destruction wrought by thinking apes.

It's time to ward our houses and tend our gardens. As you work on your land, say the following petition:

"I'm doing this for Gaia. I'm doing this to counter the evil afoot in the land."

So now you're saying, "But Anne. I don't have a garden!"

A house plant in a pot counts as a garden. Anything that grows from dirt counts as a garden. Even a sky plant is a garden!

We've got to tend the Land. It's practical and symbolic. The more growing things we cultivate, the more oxygen goes into the sky. Every dandelion counts. Grass counts too -- just ask Walt Whitman.

Go to ground. Go to Gaia.

Solstice energy.

Requiem for My Ancient Black Oak

Please do not think I am a vain, self-centered Karen. I hope y'all know me better than that. Because I know what's going on in the news, and I care. But I've taken an existential shock of a different kind.

On Wednesday, June 3 I went in a bus with three other teachers to deliver gift bags and "Class of 2020" signs to 30 members of the Vo-Tech graduating class. Our bus route was entirely in Camden, and I knew about 20 of the 30 kids we feted. Two of them -- the first and the last -- were my favorite students from that year.

I'll have more to say about this experience at a later date.

While we were in Camden, I noticed an ominous black cloud to the west. It moved faster than any storm I have ever seen. And when it hit, it was like a hurricane. All celestial Hell broke loose.

Let's just say I was glad to be on something as sturdy as a school bus, parked by a field with no trees.

The storm passed as quickly as it came, and we actually went ahead and finished delivering our gifts.

While I was in Camden, the storm ripped through Haterfield. And it toppled the Black Oak where I have done my rituals. The tree was 350 years old. It was six feet in circumference. It demolished the house across the street, but miraculously the family living there had just come outside because a little girl was crying and scared of the storm.

How did I find out about this? Glad you asked. The shitty way. Thursday night I saw an off-hand message on a Facebook thread. It wasn't even directed at me. It said, "Did you see the big tree on Lake Street came down?"

It was dark when I read this, but that didn't matter. I leapt out of my chair and ran to Lake Street. And there, to my sorrow, lay my ritual Black Oak. I'm not ashamed to say I cried out loud.

EXHIBIT A: ANOTHER CASUALTY OF 2020

Well, as you can see, this tree was not as healthy as the borough inspectors claimed. But it's so massive that the borough will need to get a crane to lift it. It can't be sawed up.

I never walked past that tree that I didn't give it a little prayer. Part of that prayer was "may the wind and rain be with thee." Oops.

This morning, early, I went up to the site and did a requiem ritual for the tree. I mean, a whole ritual, not just a prayer.

The Haterfield Shade Tree Commission claimed that this tree was the second oldest Black Oak in New Jersey. It was standing on this spot when William Penn arrived in America. But it can't have been terribly healthy, that hollowed out with no root ball.

The people whose house it hit escaped with their lives. They will get a new house. But there will never be another ritual tree like this one for me. We go way back together. Family.


Oh, tree. Blessed be.

Solitary Religious Service for a Time of Pandemic

           Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" I'm Anne, always Anne, and today I'm offering some terrific free advice. We could all use something free right now.

In troubled times, religious worship takes on even more significance. I remember during 9/11, the churches were packed. Sadly, we can't pack ourselves into anything right now, even if we feel the need to access the Divine more than usual.

This is where solitary-practicing Pagans can lend a hand. This post is long because it contains the text of a ritual that I have practiced for a long time, doing all the roles. It's a broad and general ritual, which I will make even more broad by suggesting deities instead of leaving specific deities named.

Christian teens, you can totally do this! Just plug in "God." And take a good look at the rest of this, because it might have some real appeal.

If you're comfortable in your solitary practice, you go! I'm so happy for you.                                    

Ritual for Solitary Worship

If a specific speaker is identified, just read all those roles.

Herald:        By the Light of the Sun and Moon, by the Power of Sea and Stone, by the Beauty of Flower and Field, I will now undertake this moment of worship. This is my ceremony to honor the Gods, Ancestors, and Nature Spirits. 

Druid 1:       Let us take three breaths…

                        Together with the Earth beneath us…

                        Together with the Sky above us…

                        Together with the Sea around us…

Druid 2:       I have sought this holy light, in the Sun’s (or Moon's) sight, to celebrate this, a Rite of Worship. Let all disturbing thoughts be laid aside. May I be granted peace from all quarters, for only with peace can the work proceed.

Face East:              I salute the Hawk of Dawn, from which rises the warmth of the Sun. I call upon the Powers of the East. May there be Peace in the East!

Face South:           I salute the Great Stag in the heat of the chase, and the crucible of the Sun. I call upon the Powers of the South. May there Peace in the South!

Face West:             I salute the Salmon of Wisdom, who dwells within the sacred waters of the pool from which all rivers flow. I call upon the Powers of the West. May there be peace in the West!

Face North:           I salute the Great Bear lighting the darkened sky at night, whose path marks the fruiting of the bountiful Earth.  I call upon the Powers of the North. May there be Peace in the North!

Back to Center:                 May there be Peace throughout the whole world.

Druid 1:       Gods and Goddesses of this most sacred place, I ask for your blessings in this my  ceremony. I will recite the prayer that unites all Druids.

                 Grant, O Gods and Goddesses, thy protection, and in protection, strength,

                        And in strength, understanding,

                        And in understanding, knowledge,

                        And in knowledge, the knowledge of justice,

                        And in the knowledge of justice, the love of it,

                        And in the love of it, the love of all existences,

                        And in the love of all existences,

                        The love of the divine and all goodness.

Face in the direction of your choice:           Why do I come today to the Gods?

            I honor the power of the Gods in every season, as all times and seasons are important to the life of humankind. I celebrate growth, the dance of life, vibrancy shimmering through the day and night. I honor the sun in the sky, with its many faces, as it makes the transition from its northernmost rising at the summer solstice toward the south for the winter. I honor the waning of the year, the slide into darkness, the harvest home. I honor the Wheel of the Year.

Druid:            I will let my sickle down

                        As the nourishing ear is in my hand

                        I will raise my eye to the heights

                        I will turn on my heel to the right

Druid:                As the sun travels

                             From the eastern quarter to the west

                             From the northern quarter to the southern quarter

                             As the sun rests at center, I will honor the Gods.

Druid:        Let us meditate upon the things in our lives that nourish us, the things that we wish to preserve in troubled times. 

All: Meditate quietly.

Druid:  Think of how you can open yourself to that which would smooth you and soften your way as you pass along this challenging path. This is a time for meditation: for relaxing what is hard and sharp and becoming at peace with the elements of time and tide. Think of the power you have to protect yourself, and those things which are outside your control. Both of these are sacred. They are the way of the world.

At this time you address your deities personally, petitioning them for clarity or asking them to hold you and your loved ones in the Light. Any concerns or celebrations are acknowledged. Stay in the presence of the Divine as long as you like. You can kindle a bonfire, do a dance, some drumming or singing, or even make a craft. At the end of this period, complete the ritual as below.

Druid 2:      This time has passed; may it come again in the fullness of the year. As the celebration ends, let its fire be lit in my heart. May my memory hold what the eyes and ears have gained.

 (3 times) 

I swear, by peace and love to stand,

Heart to heart and hand in hand.

Mark, O Spirit, hear me now,

Confirming this, my sacred vow. 

 Three Awens or other closing spiritual exclamation

Druid 2:       May the spirits of the four directions be thanked for their blessings.

                                    

Face East:              In the name of the Hawk of Dawn, from which rises the warmth of the Sun;  I thank the Powers of the East.

Face South:           In the name of the Great Stag in the heat of the chase, and the crucible of the Sun, I thank the Powers of the South.

Face West:             In the name of the Salmon of Wisdom, who dwells within the scared waters of the pool from which all rivers flow, I thank the Powers of the West.

Face North:           In the name of the Great Bear lighting the Darkened Sky at night, whose Path marks the fruiting of the bountiful Earth, I thank the Powers of the North.

Return to Center:                 May the harmony of the land be complete.

Herald:         May the blessings of the Divine be always with us. I declare this ceremony is now closed in the apparent world. May its inspiration continue within my heart.

Lughnasadh 2017

Our Pagan festivals are associated with the growing season, although we look at them metaphorically these days. Therefore, metaphorically speaking, I'm going to say that this has been a year of famine. The crops have wilted in the fields, everyone is ill, and a growing sense of desperation has taken hold of the land.

This is a Lughnasadh with a questionable harvest. How are we going to make it through the dark season with what's happening now? What would Tailtiu and Lugh advise us to do?

First of all, we need to share. We need to look out for the less fortunate among us. We need to chide and hold accountable those who want to squirrel away more than they need. We need to respect leaders who show compassion and dignity and ... leadership.

This will be a lean season. Some years are tough. Can't speak for you, but I don't feel like playing games or building bonfires the way I have in Lughnasadhs of yesteryear.

But I do have a burning desire to help the tribe, our whole tribe, the ones I like, and the ones I don't. A famine spreads misery far and wide. We have to help everyone.

A lean Lughnasadh, this one. We'll have to make do. The future of the tribe depends upon it.

Imbolc 2017

All hail and welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Today is Imbolc, the lambing season, when all the candles are kindled and all the faithful stay home to freshen their hearths!

Well, that was then. This is now.

Now I do truly hope Queen Brighid the Bright will forgive me, but I must squirrel away the sick days I will actually be compensated for. This will be the final Imbolc that finds me healthy enough to work, so Goddess ... please understand. I had to go to work today. My religious holidays are not recognized by the state of New Jersey, and my compensated sick time ends with June 2017.

My home and hearth has been tense since November 9 and especially since January 20. Tempers are short and anxieties high. Every night brings a new and alarming report. If that isn't bad enough, I have the unfortunate habit of reading Yahoo comments. Today I saw a little note from someone who wants to shoot and bury all "libtards." Yes. Shoot and bury.

Although I feel extremely unworthy, I will still petition the Goddess to preserve my home and hearth, to restore what passes for balance in this environment, to keep minds easy -- including mine.

Imbolc is a good moment to reflect that at least we have seasons, that the darkness can diminish in the sky, if not in the headlines. This is the moment between solstice and equinox, rolling toward a new growing season. Let's light the candles, it'll be all right. Light the candles, it'll be all right.

What a Day!

You've got to understand. I grew up in a different century. We knew how to protest, all right, but the whole taking pictures thing? Not so much.

I went to the Women's March on Washington. I was surrounded by a sea of people, and the pussy hats were a great touch. But my experience of the event was limited by the crowd, by being literally stuck in one spot for two and a half hours and then being lugged by the determined Heir all the way to the White House.

I walked eight miles and stood for 150 minutes. Holding my working wand in one hand and my Heir in the other. I didn't take many photos, and the ones I took didn't turn out.

Words must suffice. Sort of.

Heir and I boarded a rally bus in Martinsburg, West Virginia at 7:00 a.m. We were each given a WV Resist button that I will treasure forever.

EXHIBIT A: On the Bus

As we rolled down the highway toward the capital, the road became chock-a-block with rally buses, from all over the place. The closer we got to DC, the more buses we saw. And then, gosh, the lot at the stadium! Acres and acres of buses, all alike! More than 1200 of them. This would become an issue later.

My eldest daughter is The Heir. I have learned this about The Heir: She wants to dig in and get the most out of any extreme experience.

We walked from behind RFK Stadium to the Capitol building. And that's when it became surreal for me.

I live very near Philadelphia. It is an historic city. I am used to historic buildings either being modest little brick structures like Independence Hall, or Victorian extravaganzas like City Hall and 30th Street Station. I hadn't been to DC in a decade, and I had never walked all around it.

The buildings are huge. They are imposing. They are gigantic. And they're all epic. Half of them are built to look like Ancient Greece. They lie across the landscape like sleeping giants. When your historical compass is set on Independence Hall, the Capitol building seems like an entire planet.

EXHIBIT B: Independence Hall, Philadelphia

EXHIBIT C: U.S. Capitol Building, Washington, DC

Well, I guess you had to be there. It just felt monstrous, this great big building that I'd only seen in pictures before, or maybe once when I was in grade school I went to see my senator.

Heir is big on surreal stuff. She saw the stage, and a crowd that even Godzilla wouldn't attack, and she waded right in. I got out my working wand (I carry it everywhere) and held tight to the sleeve of her coat. And in we went, right to the thick of things.

I work with a co-teacher in one of my classes. She, like me, is politically active. She and her daughter took a bus from New Jersey. Before we went our separate ways at school on Thursday, she teased me about running into her, predicting that I would. In all that crowd. And damn. I can't believe it.

EXHIBIT C: What Are the Odds?

See the pussy hats in the background? They made the march. If you see a crowd of a half million people, and the crowd shot is mostly pink, that is beyond a doubt the Women's March on Washington.

Heir and I bused in with a good friend of mine from West Virginia, and then we ran into my colleague and her daughter, but Heir was not in the socializing spirit. She wanted to DO THIS THING. So we went our way and wound up gridlocked on the far side of the Smithsonian Museum of the American Indian. There, people were climbing the trees to scope out the crowd. Heir found a high spot that wasn't in a tree, and we camped there for a long time. We couldn't move. The people around us couldn't move. We did what we could to ferry the people who were panicking to a less gridlocked area, but there wasn't much we could do.

There were no police in the crowd.

When you're stuck in a mob for hours, a lot of things run through your mind, especially if you're an anxious person. Like, what if someone sets off a bomb? Or, what if everyone has to run from something? Or, how can I get out of here and back to my bus?

But it didn't matter. We were all in this together. Everyone was polite, everyone was kind. Lots of people were very old! I couldn't believe all the senior citizens, the retirees. (One sign: "I did this in the '60's! I'm Back!" And of course: "Now You've Pissed Off Grandma."

Almost everyone had a sign. My favorites were "Never Underestimate the Power of a Faggot with a Tambourine" and "Resist, hon ... Baltimore." I also saw about a dozen people in various iterations of vagina costumes (head, whole body). Some folks will be creative!

You know what I may mostly remember about the Women's March on Washington? Talking about curriculum and standards with three retired teachers from Connecticut. We had lots of time to bond.

Finally, around 3:30, Heir reported that she saw movement. The pack started to break up a little bit. Some people went one way, some another. Someone told us that the march part of the day had been cancelled because there were too many people. Heir wasn't hearing it.

We surged off toward Pennsylvania Avenue, me clinging to Heir, and in 30 minutes we found ourselves marching and chanting right up the route the Orange Menace and his poor, sad spouse walked the day before. We knew this because the bleachers were still standing, and they were full of pink-hatted, screaming, chanting, sign-waving protesters.

Here is what we chanted:
*This is what democracy looks like.
*My body, my choice.
*Hey ho, hey ho, Donald Trump has got to go!
*Donald Trump, go away! How do you like your first day?
*Black lives matter.


 Heir and I walked the whole way to the White House, and we even saw it off in the distance through about six fences. We left our signs there.

EXHIBIT D: We Left Some Reading Material for the Orange Menace

That's my Heir. Isn't she beautiful?

By this time we had marched four miles. All that remained was to retrace our entire route in time to get back on the bus at 6:00.

Heir seemed to know where to go. We walked and walked. Then Heir said, "Oh, look!"

It was the Environmental Protection Agency.

I had been near tears many times during the day. But this is where I lost it. I took my working wand, and I held it to the building, and I spoke intentions into the bricks. Stay put. Stay put. May all those working inside stay put. (I hope you'll add the EPA to your spell work as well.)


EXHIBIT E: Anne Doing Spell Work at the EPA

You can tell that's me because of the gold sneakers. Those are the shoes I wear to the Mummers Parade. I was sure I could walk miles in them, because I've done it before.

It got dark while Heir and I walked back to RFK Stadium. By the time we got to Lot 7 to find our bus, we had done eight miles or more. We had a tough time finding our particular rally bus, but with the help of my WV friend we finally collapsed into a seat, clutching the peanut butter sandwiches and water bottles the bus captain was handing out. Heir and I were the last ones back to the bus.

We rode back to West Virginia. The traffic was bumper to bumper almost the whole way. Heir and I were totally exhausted. We did it, though. We rallied, and we marched. I even did a little magick.

Sunday, Heir and I took the scenic route home. We passed my great-grandmother's house, which has not hardly changed at all from the old pictures from 100 years ago. We stopped by Baltimore, hon, to see Heir's grandmother. Then it was a long drive home in super heavy traffic, and then it was over.

Heir and I prepared for the worst. We wrote Mr. J's phone number on our arms in sharpie marker. We wore bandannas to protect our faces from tear gas. We didn't know what might happen. When push came to shove, though, I never saw a more benign crowd. Everyone was kind and gentle. Everyone drew energy from everyone else. In a crowd that size, such good will is essential. Any nastiness would have produced unparalleled mayhem.

Where do we go from here? As for me and my house, we will use our talents to oppose the Orange Menace. I imagine I'm preaching to the choir here. Please climb aboard.

It's All About Justice

The prayer that unites all Druids has lines about justice, the knowledge of justice, and the love of justice. How can a species be endowed with an understanding of justice and then just disregard it?

When a handful of families control more wealth than all the rest of the people on the planet, this is injustice. They can use any tool to divide the rest of us, to have us quarreling on any number of issues, to encourage us to form tribes based on birth, location, ideology. While we fight and die, they watch.

If our species engaged in egalitarianism, with level heads and warm hearts, we would soon set this planet right. We would have respect for animals, plants, the soil, the water, and our population growth. Employers would pay workers a living wage, and the bosses would live modestly themselves. Respect and camaraderie would rule, and justice would follow.

This cannot be achieved by coercion (it's been tried), which is why I despair for our species.

All the same, I will march for justice.  This is the sign I will carry to the Women's March on Washington.
                                                                           
The last resort for the few at the top is to abolish group efforts toward seeking living wages and respectful treatment. People living in fear can be controlled. The end game for the billionaires is control. They are truly supervillains.

So, while I feel that destruction of the environment is the most pressing issue facing the human race at this time, I am moved to speak for justice. For collective bargaining, a process that helps anyone within its gates -- Black, White, Muslim, Pagan, man, woman, child.

It's 5:00 and I've been awake two hours. I'm frankly scared about the march. But I will go anyway. This is my last post before I leave, so if you have an extra moment or two over the next few days, I beg you to watch this wonderful scene from the film "Matewan," by John Sayles. It perfectly articulates my philosophy, and it's why I'm carrying my union sign.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RSaBoDl_9k


Peace to you all,
Anne

Alban Arthan 2016

Oh, these dark and dreary days! Is it any wonder we cover the front of our houses with lights and bring trees inside as if to keep them from freezing?

Alban Arthan is upon us.

Alban Arthan is the Welsh name for the winter solstice festival. It's all about the Light -- getting it back and powering up for some big work ahead.

Alban Arthan sometimes relates to King Arthur, who lies asleep in his mountain, waiting for a day when he will be needed again to re-establish peace in a warring kingdom. It also refers to the Great Bear, that constellation that always shows us the North.

This year I'm thinking more about King Arthur. I will call upon him to arise.

Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Either way, I have to be willing to become a keeper of Excalibur myself.

We are entering a period of great national (and by extention, international) peril. Everything we have come to count on is now at risk. Being a woman of a certain age, with grown children who no longer need me for survival, I have to be willing to do my part to fight back against the Darkness.

Are you with me on this?

I don't even know what I will be asked to do in the coming years. I do know it will be uncomfortable, expensive, time-consuming, and perhaps fruitless. Nevertheless, it must be done. This evil man, and the evil men and women he is promoting into power, can only get the momentum to wreak havoc if all the people who oppose and disdain him sit back and watch the train wreck.

So this year, on Alban Arthan, I will heed a call to action. The barbarians are no longer at the gates. They are in the halls of power. I will not bend my knee to them, oh no, not me. Where's my sword?

Don't Be Jealous of My Druid Grove

Envy is a sin. I want you to keep that in mind as I describe my Druid Grove's Lughnasadh ritual. Of course we all strive for perfection. Can I help it that this Grove has been together so long that we have achieved it?

A good location is important for any worship. Here's ours. It's an easy 26-hour flight to Fiji. We don't mind the commute a bit. Worth it to praise the bored gods the way they ought to be praised!

Our leader, Archdruid Wallace, insists upon careful observation of all ritual activities. You'd better not forget your lines or your cues.

This is one of our seven altars. We used this one today because all the native flowers were coincidentally blooming at this one moment.

Our Chief Priestess is so misunderstood! Her colleagues at the Fed belittle her all the time about her "silly hobby." And props to her. She works in a building with $80 million in the basement, and she never contemplates revenge. Strong woman.

I know attendance can be an issue for some of you folks, but as you can see, Black Oak Grove has it going on. Not to brag or anything.

We held our Lughnasadh Ritual on August 3, and as always, it was perfect. Let's face it, perfection should be the goal of every worship service. The Gods and Goddesses will not accept a ho-hum performance.

OKAY, ALREADY, BACK TO REALITY

Black Oak Grove met in a local state park. The pavilion was not available; it had been leased.  We were eight in number, a high for us since about 2009. We didn't have an altar ... or mead ... it started raining ... our fire was small and listless ... and we loved every minute, and the Gods love us. Wherever and whenever someone raises a prayer to the bored deities, They are simply delighted.

Postscript:

A reader of this blog came to our ritual! His name is Cliff, and he's a great guy. I snapped this little photo of him while he wasn't looking:

Black Oak Grove: Bored God approved since 2005!

Guest Post: John Beckett

Worship the Gods

by John Beckett

Under the Ancient Oaks

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/johnbeckett/

One of the maxims of the famous Temple of Apollo at Delphi is Θεους σεβου – worship the gods.  When asked, I usually give a rather generic definition of “worship” – acknowledging what we find of greatest worth.  That definition accommodates polytheists, monotheists, and non-theists, and it accurately reflects the practices of our mainstream culture that worships money, power, entertainment and celebrities. 

But I prefer to take this maxim in its original context and actually worship the gods and goddesses of our ancestors.

I worship the gods by learning who they are.  The Greeks have a wonderful collection of stories well-preserved from antiquity.  The Norse and Celtic stories are less certain (they weren’t written down till well into the Christian era), but they’re more than adequate for telling us who the gods are and what they value.  Other cultures and other gods have even less, but even if all we have is a name or an image, it’s some place to start.  Modern scholarship may be largely done by non-theistic academics, but their work can be helpful as well.

I worship the gods by talking to them.  Prayer is a very old spiritual practice, and the fact that some people pray like a four year old visiting Santa Claus is no reason for us to abandon it.  If there are ancient prayers to your gods, use them.  If not, write your own.  Or simply stand under the sky and speak the yearnings of your heart.  Not sure what to say?  Start with what you’re thankful for.  Gratitude alone isn’t enough, but it’s a good place to start.

I worship the gods by listening to them.  Sit in meditation and listen with more than your ears.  It helps to have a statue or a picture or a candle as a focus for your intention, but rocks and flowers and trees work well too.  Listen.  I’ve yet to hear an audible voice, but I’ve experienced thoughts coming out of nowhere, feelings of peace, and calls to righteous action.  I’ve seen signs and omens in the natural world.  None of that will convince an atheist I’ve actually heard a goddess, but it’s more than enough for me.

I worship the gods through hospitality.  I greet them daily.  I burn incense.  I offer them food and drink.  The gods are neither our servants nor our masters.  They are our most honored guests – I try to treat them appropriately.

I worship the gods by embodying their virtues.  I worship Cernunnos by caring for the natural world.  I worship Morrigan by reclaiming sovereignty for myself and for others.  I worship Danu by working to create a new and better world.  I will never have all their strength and wisdom, but through diligent effort I can become more like them.

I worship the gods by telling their stories.  Even the old goddesses and gods whose names are part of our mainstream culture (such as Apollo, Jupiter and Isis) are rarely known as anything more than caricatures, as “the god of somethingorother.”  When we tell their ancient stories, we present them as the full, complex beings they are.  When we tell their modern stories, we remind people they did not die with the coming of monotheism but are still active in this world... and still looking for people to help with their work.

There are many ways to worship the gods.  These are a few that have been helpful to me and to other modern polytheists.  Because of our worship, divine boredom is growing smaller and smaller.

And that’s a very good thing.

What Druids Think About #1: Stem Cell Research

Hello and all hail! How is your summer going? It's hot as all get out here in the Smokestack State.

For those of you just joining us, my name is really Anne Johnson, and I am a Druid.

If you read up on Druids, you'll find that there's not a whole lot of solid source material. Even the name comes from the Greeks and/or Romans. But I have always thought of the Druids as a social caste. They were not rulers or warriors, nor were they growers and hunters. They were the educated people who gave advice, sang songs, performed religious rites, conducted legal business, and taught the next generations. Mind you, no one Druid did all of these things! They were just the educated caste.

I'm pretty educated myself, which is why I accept the mantle of Druid without completing a great deal of religious study.

This week I have been touring all sorts of large businesses here where I live in Southern New Jersey. I'm doing this as part of a teacher group. It was an honor to be chosen for this three-week workshop, and I'm learning a lot.

On Monday, our group went to the Coriell Institute, a research lab that collects and stores genetic material for use in curing diseases.

The good news is that stem cell biology has reached a phase in which they need not use human embryos for stem cells. They can take a cell from your skin, reader, and re-program it back to stem. Then they can tell it what kind of cell to turn into. Then it turns into that kind of cell.

Coriell also collects genetic material that scientists use to pinpoint the less than one percent of DNA that varies from person to person. These are the markers that predispose you to certain syndromes, or certain adverse reactions to medication, or mental illness ... the entire spectrum of hereditary diseases. It is already possible to get a scientist to analyze your personal DNA to find all the predispositions you have in your genetic code. (Coriell collects DNA and analyzes it, but they're not doing any further collecting from the likes of you and me, ever since they got permission from the Air Force to use its personnel and no one else. We'll call this Ethical Conundrum A.)

 All over the country, researchers are using stem cell research to try to find cures for cancer, Parkinson's Disease, Alzheimer's Disease, and a laundry list of rare genetic disorders that cause suffering and early death. Some day in the future, when you and I get sick, doctors will be able to make stem cells from our skins that will be re-programmed to get in there and fix what ails us. Heartbreaking diseases like Alzheimer's will be as gone as polio.

As we were leaving the Coriell lab (where we all got to see specimens stored in liquid nitrogen, like something out of science fiction), some of the other teachers were joking about how great it would be to get those stem cells cranked up until we could all be 13-year-olds again.

I was thinking the opposite. I was thinking, where's the end game? Let's call it Ethical Conundrum B. Are we going to have Americans who live to be 150, 200, or longer, while the rest of the world starves to death? And what if the rest of the world doesn't starve to death? What if new methods of water purification are found? What if GMO plants make deserts tillable?  Will we stop having babies, because everyone is living forever?

Does this stuff ever bother you?

This is what Druids should think about. We should think of ourselves not as individuals, but as members of the Body of Humanity. It is imperative that we die. Don't think for a minute that I'm one of these cocksure religious people who fully expects eternal life/reincarnation/alternate reality. I dread death. It very well may be the end. But we need to do it.

Can we afford to upset the balance of life on this planet more than we've already done? Can we even keep going at our current pace? When does curing a disease become worse than the disease itself?

A character in Romeo and Juliet observes, "We were born to die." It has been that way so far. Think about a world where death is optional, or prolonged indefinitely. What's a Druid to do?

May Day Fairie Festival at Spoutwood Farm 2013

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Story time! My story, that is. Annestory. Sometimes it just happens that I have to open my shirt and gaze into the ol' navel for the sake of future reminiscences. This is one of those times.

Every year my daughter The Spare and I go to the May Day Fairie Festival at Spoutwood Farm. There are more and more faerie festivals popping up all the time, but Spoutwood is one of the oldest and best situated for pleasing the fae.

If you pop around YouTube or any other image place, you'll find an abundance of video and photos of this annual event. What follows here is a written narrative, from one person's point of view. So maybe I'm doing this for more than just my own sagging memory. Maybe there's a niche for words about Spoutwood.

I had my little Dodge all packed to go last Thursday night when I got a call from Spare. Here's how it went:

Spare: Mom, please don't scream at what I'm about to tell you.

Anne: ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?

Spare: It's good news. But you've got to promise not to scream.

Anne: I'll do my best.

Spare: I won a scholarship at my school for the child of someone who marches in the Philadelphia Mummer's Parade!

Anne: SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! *gets all teary*

Spare: Yes, pretty much I'm being rewarded because of your crazy antics.

Anne: *teary* All's right with the world!

The moment I clicked off the phone, I went to my Two Street Stompers treasure trove and fished out this year's suit, my slippers (Adidas spray painted gold), and my parasol. For good measure I pinned on the 2012 championship ribbon we got this year as well. I hadn't planned on rocking Spoutwood in my Mummer's suit, but I was too proud of dear Spare not to.

Anne's List of Portables to the May Day Fairie Fesival at Spoutwood Farm:

1. Stuffed dragon, "Big Red." Goes every year.
2. Wearable faeries, Puck, Chance, and Yule. They go every year.
3. Blindingly neon tie-dye t-shirts and yoga pants from Woodstock Trading Company. The pants were new this year.
4. Mountain hat, also from Woodstock. Pin on hat, "My Heart, My Soul, and My Grave are in Appalachia." Goes every year.
5. Druid cloak. Goes sometimes in cooler weather, glad I had it this year.
6. Money. Because money spent at Spoutwood helps artists, performers, and an organic farm.
7. Drip-dye camisole made by Spare.
8. Comfortable sandals.
9. Comfortable boots.
10. Quartz crystals. Take them every year.
11. Mountain tribe flag made by Pam and Rita Kryglik. Second year.
12. Star Wars Day sign, made by me and Extra Chair.
13. Drum.
14. Sunscreen.

DAY ONE, JUST ANNE. WEATHER: MAGNIFICENT

*Sat at a standstill on the Pennsylvania Turnpike for 30 minutes, feeling sorry for whoever had the accident that caused the backup (note the Spoutwood frame of mind already asserting itself).
*Driving through the verdant Pennsylvania countryside on the way to Spoutwood, I noticed a dead deer at the edge of the road. A portent of deity?
*Arrived one heartbeat shy of missing the opening event at which I had to represent Spare and Mountain Tribe. Had to barter my way into the festival by leaving my Mummer parasol as surety.
*Bid hello from the Mountain Tribe on behalf of Spare. Nick of time.
*Looked out over the landscape and cried for joy at being there.
*Retrieved parasol and paid for a 3-day pass.
*Ate lunch with Michael Bull.
*Drum circle with King Trolland. Forever after known as Drum and Mum.
*Said hello to vendors, old and new. This year Cucina Aurora was there! Squeee!
*Party at the Hampton Inn where we stay. All visitors, performers, vendors, and volunteers were invited. This was a lovely way to get to talk to otherwise very busy people.
*Spare, Mr. J and Spare's friends arrived.

DAY TWO, ANNE, SPARE, and MANY FRIENDS. WEATHER: BEYOND MAGNIFICENT

*Nice buffet breakfast at the Hampton Inn. I'm too old for camping, and Spare is pretty prissy.
*Driving through the verdant Pennsylvania countryside on the way to Spoutwood. Wait! What do I see? A DEER CARCASS COVERED WITH VULTURES!!!!! Oh, blessed festival that is sanctioned by Sacred Thunderbird!
*Arrived at Spoutwood full of Mountain Sass.
*Greeted incoming guests with Star Wars Day signs, to whit
                     Help us, Obi-Wan Kenobi
                     You're our only hope
                     May the Fourth
                     Be with You
(Okay, nerds, I know I got it wrong. But it's the thought that counts.)
*SISTER! With her cutest dog!
*Mountain Tribe friends! Wow, we are getting clicky! Big Red makes friends for keeps! Maebius and his fantastic son, Jeff, Sis, Jeff's friends, Spare's friends, and (as always) a few people strolling past who were offered the bribe incentive of a token if they would march with Mountain Tribe.
*Tribe Ceremony to Crown the Spoutwood King and Queen. This was Spare's first year as leader. Oh, my three readers, if you only could have seen her strut! In her shiny white Winter Faerie tutu, she's the perfect counterpart for the leader of the River Tribe, who smears himself with mud from head to toe. She was so poised and beautiful. The mountains are proud to call her theirs.
*Drum circle
*Musical interlude -- watched Telesma with Sister, danced to Cu Dubh with Sister.
*Healthy hot dog and smoothie
*Drum circle
*Closing ceremony, where everyone who cared to said how long they had been coming to the festival, and why they like it. I said it was good to have a farm to come home to, now that I'm no longer an Appalachian landowner. Now Spoutwood is my farm.
*Supper with Spare and her posse at Ruby Tuesday, literally the only restaurant approaching real food in the general vicinity.
*Nightcap with the sprightly Bibi!

DAY THREE, ANNE, SPARE, AND EVEN MORE FRIENDS. WEATHER: GLORIOUS

*Caught a set of Cu Dubh before Tribal Ceremony.
*Mountain Tribe! Maebius and Sis not there, Pam and Rita there, Jeff and friends there again, Spare's posse taking photos and toting banners! Spare and the other Tribe leaders each got a flute. They are challenged to learn a song (or bribe encourage some musical friend to do it) for next year's ceremony. Whew. Sis plays every kind of flute known to humankind and the Bored Gods! River Tribe boasting they have two professional flute players ... well, I'm sure they're no match for the piccolo soloist for the Williamsport Community Marching Band!
*Hugged the Moss Man.
*Pictures and chat in the soft spring grass with Pam and Rita.
*Another nice healthy hot dog! I'm gonna live to be 100!
*Final drum circle. Some dude proposed marriage to his sweetheart in the middle of the dancing throng. (And for the record, this was the very first year I had my own drum. Heir gave me a drum for Christmas, a little, portable bongo drum. So sweet of her, and the perfect instrument for someone like me who is challenged by the idea of counting to four.)
*Stood on the hillside with Spare, hugging and crying because the festival was over.
*Drove back to the city via Pennsylvania Turnpike. Dropped Spare and roomie off in the city, took Spare's other friend home to Snobville.

There's a magic word that everyone says at Spoutwood. It's "Kubiando." The word is original to the festival and was coined by a little girl who went there, many years ago. The faeries gave this word to this festival so we would all have a way to channel great energy from the Earth into ourselves and out to the sky. So we say "Kubiando" a lot at Spoutwood. Sometimes in large groups, sometimes just as a greeting, sometimes as a cheer.

There are other Beltane observances at Spoutwood as well.

• Love your Mother.
• Love the faeries.
• Be kind to yourself.
• Be kind to the Earth.
• Be kind to each other.

Now I will finish this narrative with a thanks to Rob and Lucy Wood, Spoutwood's owners, for throwing open their lovely, stream-fed farmland to 10,000 guests every year. May Kubiando be with you two wonderful people, and to everyone who volunteers their time and trouble for the festival. Those who work on behalf of the fae will be rewarded by the fae. So mote it be.

To friend this blog on Facebook, search The Gods Are Bored. We're still learning how to tweet, not ready for prime time yet.

Lughnasadh 2012

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," Lughnasadh edition! Or, if you prefer the bored gods native to North America, Happy Feast of the Green Corn!

This is another of those fun summer parties we have (May Day being the other) that contain an underlying message of growth, fertility, making plans, and appreciating the weather that nourishes. For me, this holy day is also a moment to consider what happens when the weather (or life) does not nourish, when there's a drought, or a flood, or lightning strikes that decimate your favorite tree.

Well, this is where the atheists think that all religious people are silly. We thank the deities when our crops yield and mature, and we petition the deities when the sailing is rough.

With ample evidence to believe that the universe is completely random, there are also those uncanny moments that just don't seem possibly to be coincidences. This is my experience, anyway. Furthermore, I have said it before, and I'll say it again: If human beings represent the highest level available in the entire universe, then it's a damn sorry universe that ought to just fold in on itself and try again, sooner that later.

At the beginning of July, I went to Polish Mountain to walk the land and honor my ancestors. There's a very small burial plot near the foot of the mountain that has some recent graves in it ... enough for some kind of perpetual care fund. In that burial ground is a small stone for an ancestor of mine who fought in the Revolutionary War. Just as I was honoring this stone, a vulture swooped low over the hillside. It rounded once and then sailed off to the west.

I believe in free will, but I also believe in synchronicity and in  Higher Powers. Stored within us are parts of our brains that we don't even use. I'm stealing from Robert Anton Wilson when I say that, should we some day be able to tap into those unused brain areas, we might really experience the gods.

How does your garden grow? Has this season been plentiful, or has it been fraught with peril and uncertainty? Either way, kick up your heels today ... just because the time of life is short.

Blessed be,
Anne

Wiccans 4 Gettysburg

Greetings from "The Gods Are Bored!" My, it's hot out. Hope you and yours are staying cool.

I had a wonderful bored deity all lined up for an interview yesterday, but it turns out He got an assignment and had to postpone. We'll see if we can't get Him in here soon, because He does some really interesting things.

In the meantime, I grabbed this email from a Red Oak Grove member, to whom it was sent:

Greetings from Four Points by Sheraton Chambersburg in ******Chambersburg**,
**PA****! I hope that you are having a wonderful summer and had a blessed
Summer Solstice a few weeks ago!

 
It is my understanding that many followers of the Wiccan Tradition enjoy
making pilgrimages to places where there are a great number of reported
instances of supernatural activity—such as ****Gettysburg****. It is with
great respect and this understanding that I write to you today. As we are
only 30 minutes from **Gettysburg**, I would like to invite you and your
fellow followers to stay at our hotel should you ever decide to make a trip
to ****Gettysburg****!

 
Should you ever choose to bring a group to our hotel, we would like to
offer you a discounted rate on sleeping rooms. This rate would be valid
for rooms with either one king or two double beds, a full bathroom, free
wireless internet, a television equipped with in-room movies and games, a
telephone, a state-of-the-art one cup coffee maker, an ironing board and
iron, and so much more, including unbeatable comfort! Included in the
price of the room is also our hot and cold buffet style breakfast served
every morning. We have the largest indoor pool in town, a garden
overlooking Falling Spring Creek with a grilling area and picnic gazebo, a
workout room, a coin-operated laundry facility, and Premium Sustainable
Coffee available in our lobby 24/7! It just doesn’t get any better than
this!

 
We also have four different meeting rooms, should your group ever desire to
have a place to meet, talk, form a circle, or simply mingle while in our
area. If you decide to book a group with us, I am more than willing to
work out a great rate for you on the meeting rooms—if you book enough
sleeping rooms, you could even get the meeting room for free!

 
I hope that you will take advantage of this offer and bring a group to ****
Gettysburg****. I myself really enjoy learning about the supernatural
activity in ****Gettysburg****—it is simply fascinating! If you would like
to discuss booking a group with us, or would like more information, please
do not hesitate to contact me. I look forward to any opportunities to work
with you in the future! Blessed be!******


Well! I don't know where to start laughing about this one! A tremendous amount of research went into this email, don't you think? I, for one, did not know that people who follow the Wiccan Tradition make pilgrimages to places of mass slaughter in order to talk to ghosts. I thought that was what Psychics do. If you are a non-psychic Wiccan, and you would be interested in going to ****Gettysburg**** to enjoy the high quality supernatural activity there, would you please comment below? I just want to see if there's anyone who identifies as Wiccan who would want to book such a trip (and book it at a Sheraton hotel. And book it at a Sheraton in ***Chambersburg, PA***, which is 30 minutes from ****Gettysburg****, which has its own Sheraton).

Let's briefly and off the top of my head recount the facts of ****Gettysburg****.

The battle lasted three days and produced 44,000 casualties. It occurred during the July 4 week. The weather was hot as hell, so the wounded quickly got gangrene or died of dehydration. Think of this: Not one single battle in either WWI or WWII produced as many American deaths as ****Gettysburg****. In three days it produced more casualties than the whole Iraq War (not counting Iraqis).

Do any of you Wiccan readers want gory details on the weapons of mass destruction employed at ****Gettysburg****? I didn't think so.

Moving on. What's with the asterisks ringing poor ****Gettysburg**** in this missive? I guess it makes the name stand out better. Kind of like ****Mass Bloodletting**** or ****Bodies Strewn Everywhere over a Shell-Pocked Landscape****.

Do I think there are ghosts at ****Gettysburg?**** Yes indeed. Do I, as a Pagan, want to seek them out for a seance? Oh HELL no! I've been on that battlefield. It's hardly bearable in the bright daylight, with poorly-dressed tourists snapping pointless pictures at pathetic monuments to decimated regiments.

Now for you psychics out there who might want to help the remaining tortured soldiers to cross over. Let me ask you this: After a day (or night) of that kind of Work, would you want to retire to some sterile McMotel that looks like every other McMotel of its name brand, from Abilene to Yuma? Can you imagine having a circle meeting there to talk about the supernatural experience on that hollow ground? (It is hollow, there's limestone underneath with caves.)

I'm sure the Four Points Sheraton ****Chambersburg**** (not ****Gettysburg****) hires relatively intelligent people. I mean, the invitation above doesn't have any grammatical errors in it. But the assumption that Wiccans would want to go to Gettysburg and mess with its horrific karma is a bit of a stretch.

I saved the funniest part for last. The email was sent to a Druid grove. That's kind of like inviting a lot of  Methodists to ****Gettysburg**** because everyone knows that Baptists like to hunt for ghosts.

Geez, I was thinking of unsubscribing to that Druid message board! Changed my mind. Laughs are all what I'm about, even when the topic is more sad than funny.