bunnyborealis

Most undisciplined, dear Hare!

2009-03-31T20:34:47Z

I've been reading all your messages of support. Thanks.

The "To Do" list is still shrinking. This means that the moment when I will *just* be sitting and writing is drawing nigh.

Emotional withdrawal comes with such an endeavor. Thanks for your offers to let off steam. Going to try to meditate instead.

Hopefully going out this afternoon to shop for the furniture, though it's already 1:30pm, and I wanted to get going before this. But I've done other things that have made the day productive - returned books to the Library, gone to the Pharmacy, the herb-store, and now I"m sitting resting while W takes a short walk and hopefully our schedules will finally be in sync so we can go out for the furniture part of the day. If not, then I go upstairs and work on the last little bit of schmutz/clutter.

Good wishes, this April Eve. How will we play the fool tomorrow?

BB

I know, been a while

2009-03-30T23:54:08Z

Well, I did it.

I went part time at my temp job so I can finish it.

Today, I spent my morning at work, and afternoon cleaning the office, in preparation for hours of uninterrupted writing. It's actually beginning to look like a space I won't mind being in. Except the chair. Grrr. Gotta find me a new 'puter chair. I don't have to be back in the office until April 13, and even then, we'll see how much they'll need me.

W's got a week off from school. Yea!

So, I know this is going to be like going cold turkey, but I'm going to try to discipline myself NOT to do email, or LJ or anything else with this computer UNTIL.... it's done.

One day at a time...

Bye, all!

This friending business

2009-02-08T19:58:03Z

Okay, I've jumped off to one side of my personal fence, and am limiting my continued creative output on LJ rather than deal with the hopelessly user-unfriendly facebook, which doesn't seem to do the same thing anyway.

But when I go in and see all the people who have friended me here, I don't know but a third of the names that greet me. I know, it's the nature of LJ to be anonymous. But most of my poetic content is marked "friends only" and deals with my own musings on Witchcraft, seasoned with a fair amount of just personal news for those who know me, and whom I know, because writing individual emails might keep me from keeping my friends in the "update loop."

So, if you've friended me, and I haven't friended you back, it's basically because I don't know who you are by the name you chose on LJ. Sometimes I have a mundane name to put an icon to. But even if I do, I want to *know* who's there, reading my stuff. If you notice that you're not 'friended' and want to be, write me an email at niklas_gander@yahoo.com and tell me who you are, what connection we share, and why on Goddess's Green Earth you'd be interested in *anything* I write in LJ.

End public service announcement #BH-56943.

Updates...

2009-01-26T00:29:26Z

Yeah, yeah, I know. I haven't been keeping up my end of the bargain. All my friends have at least posted things that let me know what's going through their minds, and I've just been quiet as a church mouse (which, by the way, aren't very quiet at all...)

So, the big things:

W and I are looking to move. The house we live in has become so expensive that its convenient location is now officially a luxury that we can't afford. So, we're looking to find a place, at least 1,750 sq. ft. 3-4 br, 2 bath house with yard for less than we're paying now (and from what I've seen on Craig's list, that's not hard to do). All those who sigilize desire, sigilize away. Oh, it would help if it didn't have a leaky roof, or a place where outside vermin can enter and wreak havoc in any way. Being buddhists, we can't exactly use traps, and if things are like they are here, the squirrel that made its home in our crawl space and that we were trying to discourage using camphor is now officially a nuisance, and is developing smells that waft their way into the rest of the upstairs (which I don't think is healthy). We can't put a trap there, as it isn't a finished crawl space, and the entrance isn't big enough for either of us to fit through. I kind of knew something was terribly wrong the last time I opened the little doorway to the crawlspace and saw all the fiberglass insulation torn up right by the little door, and it looked like the little imp had piled its shit up along the doorway, probably in an effort to block our ingress...

So, nice home, yard suitable for pooch, room enough to hide messiness, and still entertain, and a safe place for a library like unto Alexandria. It would be nice to move away from the highway too...

Another thing is that W has been putting in a LOT of hours at his job, which has meant that we're almost solvent! Still in debt, but able to make monthly payments on everything. Hooray for Ganesha. Hooray for the Mound Folk. Hooray for magic that worked.

I'm still figuring out what to do about working 40 hrs a week, and still finishing the diss this year. Either I quit, and lose that (negligible) income, to finish, and then look for a job all over again, or I stay working and try to re-engineer how I spend my time.

I have a new apprentice - not a Feri one, alas, but still Craft, and that has me enthused, since I have been feeling socially a bit like an island. Ironic when I *know* this place is crawling with Craft, and yet, not a drop to drink. She's already an elder in her own right, but at this point, wants to learn from me, and I like her energy a lot, so we're going to see where that goes.

Oh, and before I forget, If you've found me on facebook, you should be apprised of the fact that it is about the least user-friendly thing I've ever seen, and if you really want to reach me, use old fashioned email.

As ever,
Your Northern Hare

The Hare gets peeved

2008-11-15T23:05:00Z

So, on MSNBC they said in an editorial that the "issue" of Gay marriage is about love.

I don't think so.

I think it is, at least in part, about enlightened self-interest.

Like, who would you rather have teaching your 9 year old boy? A Catholic Priest who has become a sexual cripple because of ... well, any number of reasons, but probably not least among them a warped spirituality that says that sexuality is not technically a part of the whole person? Or a nice pagan boy, married for twelve years to his Leather Bear, and who loves to teach because he knows what it's like to have your eyes opened up to the world?

This society is operating on so many flawed assumptions that it's a wonder it's still standing - maybe it isn't, and that's why we're so hopeful about the new possibilities of change the new administration holds out to us. Perhaps we'll get up again, after having fallen repeatedly down five flights of stairs.

Mourning all the blind, deaf and mute who will never know a rose because they're so focused on the thorns.

Make our way smooth...please?

2008-11-15T06:03:23Z

I bring an offering of red flowers to the Lord of Spirits

Ganapati, open the way.

OM SUKLAMBARADHARAM VISNUM

SASIVARNAM CHATURBHUJAM

PRASANNA VADANAM DHYÁYET

SARVA VIGHNOPA SÁNTAYE

(Om, Attired in white and all-pervading,

O, Moon-hued, Four-Shouldered One

With smiling face so pleasing,

Upon you we meditate for removing all obstacles.)

OM GAM GANAPATIYE SVAHA

Happy holidays tooooo yoooouuuu!

2008-10-31T14:25:13Z

Thank the Old Ones. Another Samhain to take me out of myself. Another Samhain to try to rearrange my priorities. Another Samhain when I can petition my lovely departed to help me, as I help them, feeding them ... goat stew ... and shortbread cookes with way too much butter for any mortal's consumption, but which seems just about right when they've got the munchies ... and the liquore divina, the spirits that are traditional to my spirits. Heh, I find that it is surprisingly unsentimental for me that I won't be able to partake this year (or, at least not much). Just knowing that they will, and that they'll be truly happy to see the gosh darn trouble we went to find a bottle of it here in the barren alcohol wasteland that is Washington State, well, the lovely, precious, saffron-colored syrupy nectar will hopefully make everyone suitably happy.

Tonight... tonight, dear ones. I remember my dead...
Raven mab Cerridwen
Ann Larricq
Ed Gierke
Cris McPh. (hope you're having a little fun over there, Twinny)
Hilda Augusta
Josefina R
Anna J. Karlsson (å! du är rädd för nån exploSION!)
G Petrus
Holmkvistarna back to the stone age...
And all my loved ones too numerous to name...
And my teachers... Victor, Cora, Harry McB, Kaptén Elin i Lönnemåla, Brita Björns, Anders i Alehagen, Mor Lisa i Finshult, Kungsbackagumman... you got your own silk-bedecked chair tonight, guys. Play nice.

And with that, my dears, I must hustle off to work. Tonight is very special indeed. Take the opportunity to love them again. As my Dad would say "It lubricates the waterworks". There is power in catharsis. There is power in tears.

Happy holidaaaazzzze to all my friends on THIS side of the veil.
Ol' Nick

Encountering the ephemeral ego on LiveJournal

2008-10-31T02:53:06Z

Only not very ephemeral these days.

i'm frustrated....
                                                        .... with myself ....

i realize that i am *way* too preoccupied with things that don't mean a thing....
                                                                              ....... to anyone......

i bought a cookie...                  ...and waited in vain for the correct change, a penny short.

i grow impatient with those who can't be bothered to have an original thought, who spend too much time RE-acting instead of acting, RE-acting instead of perceiving, who've taken away a rich symbol from me and made me feel it trite.

The blessed hare, the trecan, caninos treis, three hares

                                                      .......... made into dust balls.

singular rip-off, and yet i find i care. why is that?

because i'm self involved. because i'm still waiting for the penny in my cookie change. because i think its MINE.

But i'm incapable of owning anything... really .... how can this mind, which isn't at all the same from one moment to the next, own an idea?

i'm working my way up to samhain, samhuine, savin, sawin, hallowe'en, all hallows eve, the night of infernal frolick.

i must grow and change. i must die and be reborn. i must find renewal. i must think creatively to find ways to fulfill my dreams. i must ACT, not RE-act.

i must go beyond...

                               ......thayata

                                                     ...........om gate, gate,

                                                                                     ............ paragate

                                                                                                                              ..............para samgate

                                                                       ...... bodhi...........

                                      so.........

                                                                                                                               ha..............................

A Night Hares Samhain

2008-10-05T05:24:53Z

I met a most ungracious houseguest. She was a sign, a portent, and bringer of poison and necral flesh. Odd that a guest made so welcome in our home would have shown her gratitude thusly, but then I remember that not all life knows a kindness when it is met, and assumes all a threat worthy of an aggressive defense. A spider, in my clan the harbinger of rain, was now my footbane. My Wise Healer applied an ancient magical recipe, a smear of herbs and earthy clay, to draw out the toxic remnant, and I am soon on the mend.

But perhaps the poisoned barbs prepared me for the coming dark. Perhaps they were the fangs of Dread Ana of the Forbidden Mysteries, and spread to my Sight as I went today amidst the cold wind and whirling leaves, this chilled and gray autumn day - gray, with the occasional pumpkin to provide the contrast of persistent life against the backdrop of cold withdrawal, and deathly sleep.

The spirits of the air, whirling about us and whispering their secrets in the rustling of spent leaves, come thronging and thick to ride our minds into the Dark Time, the Sabbat of the Dead. They tap, tap us on the shoulder to draw our attention when it has diminshed, too distracted to perceive the magic all about. Their laughter at the robust orange of the melon-gourd is infectious, and the great carven faces serve as embodiment of those who have gone before. The dead, Our Dead. And the Lord of the Pumpkin Heads is Jack, Jack o’ the lantern, who gleams out through triangular eye and sparely-toothed grimace. His is a smile more frightening than comforting: His a gaze to enchant instead of to look out.

We gather early on the day to carve the gourds, to honor the Dead by making Their waiting houses. Every slice of the knife is carefully planned, no hole left to chance, and soon, we are surrounded by the empty shells that shall house Them. We leave our finished handiwork to go our ways to prepare for the solemn rites which are to follow. Warm bath, the long-spent wings of Ancestor Moths, a musky earth-laden scent, and rising naked from the comfort of the water, our minds have already begun to slip their hold from the hard pavement outside. Our vision is softer, less crisp, and the diaphanous wisps of glowing mist linger in our hair, as if to drag us off to tomb and doom.

Once again, we gather, our minds as clear and crisp as the wind blowing all around us. As is our custom, we don the robes that have become our psychic cue to slow our breath, to move deliberately, and to notice every small nuance that would escape the festive party-goers on this night. One from our number sets out the pumpkin lanterns about our Circle, with their fearsome grin turned inward, so that our Dead may join with us and witness our Mysteries. Another prepares the black-iron cauldron, that in an instant will blaze forth in a moment of the dead reborn. The Chair is brought out, with silk bedecked, to welcome the Grand Master of our Craft, him and all his retinue. At that moment, a chill breeze blows through the room and all look up of a moment to share in the knowledge that the Chair will not sit empty this night.

In moments such as these, ritual seems superfluous – opening the dread Gate to the Realm of the Dead is hardly needed when they already fly about our heads, hoping to be heard for the lessons they bring and the truths they share. But ever it has been our way that when the magic is accomplished, then we are all the more obliged to perform the rite that brought it about, that all may remain in balance, and the dimension of Time be appeased.

All is as it has been every year before, a walking stick by the door, a stone at the hearth, a hearty stew of goat’s meat and starchy tubers simmering on the stove. The Goat is our God for this night of feasting, the horned beast that drags us down past grave and sadness. The Goat, His life given that the tribe may continue, is our ancestral reminiscence of the harsh realities of survival. In His unearthly bleating is heard the wail of a newborn, the scream of fear, the derisive laughter that is a sign that we are Other, no longer numbered among mortal kind. All this our Goat God shows us, as he stews among the dark liquid and roots. Stir the stew against the sun, stars against their courses run, flesh with earthen roots a-seething bring the blackened sun.

The solemnity of the occasion is palpable, even as we hear the wild laughter from the other side. A sudden gust brings a random apple dropping down the flue to land in the middle of the gridiron, a spontaneous gift from the Western Isles. Who can know when a gift will come, dropping from the sky to broadside us on the head? Who can know the hour, the manner of their passing?

Our dead are our teachers. Some of us take pen in hand and draw spirals on a page until letters emerge, and gradually whole sentences, to teach us - to give us the gift of the power of our bones, of the redness of our blood, and of the knowledge of the Other Side of Things.

The clouds between the stars are the birthplace of our Guardians, and from those depths of distant worlds they draw close to touch our minds with primordial potencies. They hover about us without interruption, but at this time, our minds are especially focused upon them, and open to their promptings, and they help us to establish the sense of welcome that we extend to the spirits we call, the spirits of the dead, Our Dead.

This is the Night not seen upon earth, when we no longer know the limitations of the flesh we wear to greet the beings of daylight. This is the Night upon which the Holy Fires at last go out, when the Darkness of Black Space comes down to Earth to touch us, and we join the ancestors in striking that first spark to comfort us in a world filled with threats, filled with fangs and horns, with claws and venom. Light struck anew to keep us through the endless night, when the fiercest, the least human of our Goddesses comes to embrace us, and arises from the dank and cold to beat slowly and quietly in our chests.

And drinking the heady draught, we are transformed. Taken through the Portal, we fear the tremendous Silence that greets us, until the realization dawns on us, that the mortal has indeed become immortal.

And when at last you turn back whence you came, remember what you’ve seen and heard this night, and on that distant shore you’ll yet proclaim, and tell of changes wrought by magic rite.

What I saw in the dark cauldron...

2008-09-21T07:02:54Z

a midsummer premonition...

A darker shade of whirling blackness meets my seeking gaze

As all around the circle blessèd shadow round me plays

A stang of yew to pierce the cauldron’s rim to what might be

And gaseous blues and reds combine, their fires a shining sea.

When, lightning lit, the stellar giants birth the infant stars

The primal Watchers witness all in comprehensive sight

Of stars and hues and bright new presences in pregnant space,

And I stand down below, awaiting some lost chance of hope

That all the worldly trappings chaining me, fall into naught;

And one true gladness waits, a blissful record of my dreams.

But long and arduous, stony roads await the wierding witch –

a sadness comes upon me as the Truth that life’s a bitch.

Niklas Gander, 9/20/2008

Another Quake along Tibet's southeast border with China

2008-09-01T03:46:58Z

BEIJING - Chinese rescue teams carrying tents, quilts and sacks of rice rushed to reach survivors of an earthquake that killed at least 32 people, turned tens of thousands of homes into rubble and cracked reservoirs.
       The 6.1-magnitude quake Saturday struck Sichuan province along the same fault line as a May 12 earthquake that killed nearly 70,000.
       Saturday's quake killed 27 people in Sichuan and five in the neighboring province of Yunnan, the official Xinhua News Agency said early Monday, citing the Ministry of Civil Affairs. The quake destroyed 258,000 homes, damaged major bridges and cracked three reservoirs, the agency said.
       Another 467 people were injured after the earthquake hit 31 miles southeast of Panzhihua city in the southwestern corner of Sichuan, the report said.

Mumming and Transvestism

2008-08-31T21:40:46Z

In the European mumming tradition, there is often a character that is hermaphroditic. In some English mummer's plays, we get "Besom Betty" or another variation on the theme, and this is usually played by a "manly masculine man" in the rural community who opts to cross dress for the duration of the mumming. "She" can also double as the 'Oss's teaser, coaxing it out to dance with the village-folk.

Now, I happen to believe that many a mumming play is actually an archaic hearkening to a kind of mixture of ritual and theater, and so the character of an hermaphrodite playing an important ritual role is interesting to me. In the same way, we have the Dorset Ooser mask, which was probably also used for a mumming play, and a horned humanoid head is likewise interesting to me.

Unlike some, I don't necessarily see the figure of an hermaphrodite and the modern gay man as equivalent - in fact, many of my gay friends are quite masculine, and take great pride in developing their masculine physical characteristics (to my delight!). But perhaps it was the only way our ancestors had to describe alternative sexual identities in a rural agricultural context? I welcome discussion about this possibility.

There is the hermaphroditic Besom Betty in both the Fall Equinox Abbott's Bromley Horn-Dance, as well as in the Beltane
Padstow 'Obby 'Oss pageant, which is also known from other villages in Cornwall such as Penzance, Barnstable and Combe Martin. There is also a festival in Wales in which horse imagery also figures prominently - the Mari Lwyd, or Grey Mare/Mary, in which the horse is presented as a horseskull on a pole (with spring-loaded snapping jaw!) rather than the oddly bedecked 'Obby 'Oss from Padstow. I don't believe I remember anything like an hermaphrodite in the mumming plays around Yule in Sweden (Green Men and fur-clad goats are aplenty, though), but I would have to do some research before I could answer authoritatively.

I am thinking this attempt to include an alternative representation of sexuality in pageants and mumming plays, both of which may be remnants of older agricultural religious practice and an older, magical world view, might have something to say about Gay people and their role in Traditional Craft. I'm not sure what, but if any of you have interesting views to share, have at it!

An Infinity of Goddesses and Gods

2008-08-31T19:38:03Z

And the last in this round - to see the Star Goddess in the center of an ever expanding infinity of light, as all the Dozen Gods who walk the Starry Way emanate from Her womb. Distant, yet as close as the beating of my heart.
"She said fear not this mighty gloom,
seek heaven, but stay true to earth;
these are but ova in my womb
from which all gods and men have birth.
In love you called to me by name,
because of love I shall not hide.
I am the darkness from whence came
the Pure, Bright Spirit, hot with Pride! " -VHA

Enjoy!

Black Mother

2008-08-31T19:32:12Z

And in the coldest reaches of the Outer Spaces was a mountain, vast and cold. In some distant time out of mind the winds that blew in the dark spaces between the stars carved out a cave, deeper than anything imaginable in our own place and time. A deep darkness, within which sits Black Mother, resting as she nourishes her countless children, and gaining nourishment from the pentacle-carved green cube upon which she rests her great hoof. And I entered her cave, and then lost consciousness as the vastness overpowered me, and I fell back down to my small spot on the Earth, my mother Prima Tellus. I live only because I might comprehend.

Enjoy!

Water Maker

2008-08-31T19:26:11Z

Another Hubble image, this one of Water Maker. This image came closest to what I saw as a kind of celestial womb, an abyss of vast aqueousness in the great Pelvis of Space - by the living waters of Your teeming womb.

Enjoy!

Star Finder

2008-08-31T19:23:24Z

This is an image of the Horsehead Nebula from the Hubble Telescope, and while there is nothing overt in its imagery to suggest that it is my favorite visualization for Star Finder, I find it to be "spot-on." Why? There is a certain amorphousness to the form, and yet distinct are the dark places between the stars. The fact that the Horsehead Nebula is what they call a "star nursery" is also something that resonates with the experience I have with this Guardian.

Enjoy!

Introductions to the Guardians

2008-08-31T19:20:33Z

I've been browsing the Hubble images online, and have found some truly spectacular images that come closest to the feel for some of the guardians, so I thought I'd share some of them.

This image is Heaven Shiner - why? Because I see (on a diagonal) the "Firmament of Heaven" upon which (or up from which) rises a slightly humanoid figure, replete with halo, and outstretched arms, with glowing orbs for hands. I imagine this being to be "somewhere out there" looking in to "someplace in here." Vast, as I imagine all of the Guardians to be, and yet oddly familiar and intimate.

Enjoy this series of images!

Spells for The Land of Snows

2008-08-25T16:44:13Z

[See August 8, 2008 for context]

A litany to avert bad circumstances,

And to encourage the land spirits to be strong
to protect the autonomy of Tibet

Until Enlightenment is reached we take refuge in the Lama who is the embodiment of all the sources of refuge: Buddha, Dharma and Sangha, Lama, Yidam, Dakini and Dharmapala.

May we rouse compassion for those we know and those we don’t know, for those near and far, without partiality.

May our offerings bring auspiciousness and blessing to all beings.

May all illness, demons, obscurations and impurities be purified.

May the times of plagues, famines and weapons be pacified.

(Aversion [dok-pa], or hand-clapping) clap hands at underlined words.

May the times of foreigners invading the central land be averted.

May the obstacle of the Guru being invited to manifest Dharma elsewhere be averted.

May inauspicious bad omens for the country of Tibet be averted.

May the planetary forces, nagas, and king-like spirits (gyalpos) who take away our life force be repelled.

May the Eight Great Fears and sixteen lesser ones be averted.

Wherever we live, may all inauspiciousness be averted.

May the power, strength and energy of demonic forces be repelled!

By the Force of the Vows of the Protector Deities! [SAMAYA]

HUNG DZA

RAM YAM KHAM [The offerings, and all conceptualizations about them, are burned in flame, scattered in wind and washed away in flood.]

OM AH HUNG [The offerings, visualized in all their luster and allure, are multiplied exponentially, filling all of space.]

HUNG DZA [Begin offerings.]

I make this offering of purifying smoke to all the families of the Wild Tsen (Rock) spirits.

(ring bell) OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to all the families of the Nyen (Plant) spirits.

(ring bell) OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to all the families of the Sadak spirits, the Lords of the Earth.

(ring bell...) OM MANI PEME HUNG! (continue to ring bell at mantra each time)

I make this offering of purifying smoke to all the families of the Lü spirits, the Serpent-like Spirits of the Water.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to all the gods and goddesses residing in the twenty-four sacred places, the portals between dimensions through which alternate realities are reached.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to the oathbound rulers of local gods who dwell in the center and borders of Tibet, the Land of Snows: Specifically the primeval being Mha-chen Pomra, Oldest Protector and sworn by Chenrezig, Lord of Compassion, himself.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to the protectors of the Land of Tibet: Lhachen Tsangpa Karpo, protector of Tibet specifically against China.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Yar-lha Sham-po, guardian of the Central Yarlung region, and to the Nine Ancient Oathsworn Protector Gods of Tibet.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to the Mother Consorts, the Twelve Ten-ma Sisters, oathbound Guardians of the Buddhadharma in Tibet and of its borders, and who freely gave their life’s-heart to Guru Rinpoche, tamer of spirits.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Tar-Go Rinpoche, the Shapeshifting weather-maker, ancient protector of animals, luck and travelers.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Dang-Ra Gyal-Mo, Queen of elemental spirits, ancestral benefactress, protector of the fertility of land and animals, cosmogonic lake mother, Turquoise Bird of the Swastika of Life.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to the great Nyen spirit, Thang-Lha Yar-Zhu, worldly protector of the vital essence of prosperity, giver of health and good fortune, ever-present Sentinel and sustainer of animals and Guardian of central Tibet.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Nam-Tso Chug-Mo, glorious Mother Goddess of Riches, Mistress of all land and underwater creatures, Celestial Lake Goddess, giver of rain, Guardian of the Vital Sap of Earth.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to the Gyalchen De-Zhi, the Four Protectors of the Directions: Gyalpo Yul-khor-sung in the East, Phagkye po in the South, Chen Misang in the West and Namthö Se-i in the North!

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Mount Shasta, The Snow Castle of Crystal, Luminous Protector of Life and Luck.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Lake Shasta, Enriching Goddess of the Waters of Life.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Mount Tamalpais, Gentle Giving Goddess of Earth., and Protectress of health.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to the Bay of the Golden Hills, Generous God of Sensuality and Luck.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Mount Diablo, Long-lived, Infallible Sturdy protector of the Land.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Lake Washington, Lady of the East, Beautiful protector of the land.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Mount Rainier, Great Lady Tahoma, whose skirts are the clouds of heaven.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Lake Union, our ever-present protector in the shadow of the Great City.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Green Lake, Ocean of Nectar (düdtsi) and home to the Nagas of Place in this Emerald Land.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Mount Baker, Gracious Lord to our Northeast, keeping the heavens up.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Lake Samamish, Precious Lady, Giver of freedom and peace.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Mount Saint Helens, Fount of the burning heat of the Earth, wreaker of destruction.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Puget Sound, the entry into the vast Peaceful Ocean, the Lady Made Manifest.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to Mount Olympus, Great Peak amidst the green rainforest of the peninsula.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

I make this offering of purifying smoke to all the elementals and spirits of the lands of Tibet, America and the Entire World without exception.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!

Through the force and power of our making an offering of purifying smoke in this way, act as allies to practitioners in all lands, especially those in the Land of Snows.

Pacify counterproductive circumstances for teachers and students of yogic and magical practices.

Accomplish the goals of both spiritual and mundane pursuits.

Increase longevity, personal power, wealth, and all the splendor and affluence of all that is wished for.

Ensure that longevity and life force not wane, but become evermore ongoing, stable and powerful.

Carry out the tasks assigned to you by Shen-Rab, and Pema,[1] and all the holders of intrinsic awareness, without faultering, to liberate those who harm the teachings or who harm those who practice or teach the Buddhadharma in the Land of Snows.

And finally, Great Glorious Goddess Pal-den Lha-mo, Mag-zor Gyal-mo, Queen of hurling protective sacrificial cakes, who is the special protector of the emanation of Chenrezig himself, the Fourteenth Dala’i Lama, Tendzin Gyatso, we make offerings to you to hear our prayer, and proliferate your great protection over all who would remove the force of totalitarianism and corporate greed brought by the Communist Chinese, and work to liberate those who are chained hopelessly to them.

To end the practice, do a short prayer to Chenrezig, Avalokiteshvara, who is the protector of all Tibetan people, together with Green Tara, who is the Swift Savioress of all.

JO WO KYÖN KYI MA GÖ KU DOG KAR

Lord, whose white body is not clothed by a fault,

DZOG SANG GYE KYI Ü LA GYEN

Whose head is adorned by a perfect Buddha,

TUG JE CHEN GYI DRO LA ZIG

Who looks upon all beings with the eyes of compassion,

CHEN RE ZIG LA CHAG TSAL LO

to you, Chenrezig, I prostrate.

OM MANI PEME HUNG (repeat as much as one can)

And dedicate the merit:

May the Buddhas be pleased with these offerings.

May the minds of the oath-bound protectors be satisfied.

May the desires of the six kinds of beings be satisfied.

May our karmic debts and debts of flesh be purified.

May the two accumulations of merit and wisdom be completed.

May the karmic traces of the two obscurations be purified.

May the two sacred dimensions be attained.

Through the power of this vast and great generosity,

May we become self-arisen Buddhas for the benefit of beings.

May all beings who were not liberated by previous beings,

May all beings who were not liberated by previous buddhas

Be liberated through this generosity.

May the elemental spirits who are living here or visiting –

Living on the Earth, under it, in the sky or wherever –

Always be loving towards beings

And practice Dharma day and night.

Through this virtue, may all beings

Perfectly accumulate merit and wisdom;

And from this merit and wisdom,

May they attain the two sacred dimensions.

Not clothed with exertion and effort,

May it happen auspiciously that the wish-fulfilling tree

Fulfills the hopes of beings

And accomplishes their intentions.

[1] Shen-Rab is the semi-mythical primeval founder of Yung-drung Bon, the nine vehicles of the indigenous Tibetan shamanic religion; Pema is Padmasambhava, the 7^th century Mahasiddha who brought Tantric Buddhism to Tibet, Nepal, Sikkhim, Bhutan and northwestern India (Swat Valley).

Tomten

2008-08-18T22:09:05Z

Here's my own translation of Victor Rydberg's poem:

TOMTEN.

Ursprungligen publicerad i Ny Illustrerad Tidning 1881.

Midvinternattens köld är hård,
stjärnorna gnistra och glimma.
Alla sova i enslig gård
djupt under midnattstimma.
Månen vandrar sin tysta ban,
snön lyser vit på fur och gran,
snön lyser vit på taken.
Endast tomten är vaken.

Står där så grå vid ladgårdsdörr,
grå mot den vita driva,
tittar, som många vintrar förr,
upp emot månens skiva,
tittar mot skogen, där gran och fur
drar kring gården sin dunkla mur,
grubblar, fast ej det lär båta,
över en underlig gåta.

För sin hand genom skägg och hår,
skakar huvud och hätta ---
»nej, den gåtan är alltför svår,
nej, jag gissar ej detta» ---
slår, som han plägar, inom kort
slika spörjande tankar bort,
går att ordna och pyssla,
går att sköta sin syssla.

Går till visthus och redskapshus,
känner på alla låsen ---
korna drömma vid månens ljus
sommardrömmar i båsen;
glömsk av sele och pisk och töm
Pålle i stallet har ock en dröm:
krubban han lutar över
fylls av doftande klöver; ---

Går till stängslet för lamm och får,
ser, hur de sova där inne;
går till hönsen, där tuppen står
stolt på sin högsta pinne;
Karo i hundbots halm mår gott,
vaknar och viftar svansen smått,
Karo sin tomte känner,
de äro gode vänner.

Tomten smyger sig sist att se
husbondfolket det kära,
länge och väl han märkt, att de
hålla hans flit i ära;
barnens kammar han sen på tå
nalkas att se de söta små,
ingen må det förtycka:
det är hans största lycka.

Så har han sett dem, far och son,
ren genom många leder
slumra som barn; men varifrån
kommo de väl hit neder?
Släkte följde på släkte snart,
blomstrade, åldrades, gick --- men vart?
Gåtan, som icke låter
gissa sig, kom så åter!

Tomten vandrar till ladans loft:
där har han bo och fäste
högt på skullen i höets doft,
nära vid svalans näste;
nu är väl svalans boning tom,
men till våren med blad och blom
kommer hon nog tillbaka,
följd av sin näpna maka.

Då har hon alltid att kvittra om
månget ett färdeminne,
intet likväl om gåtan, som
rör sig i tomtens sinne.
Genom en springa i ladans vägg
lyser månen på gubbens skägg,
strimman på skägget blänker,
tomten grubblar och tänker.

Tyst är skogen och nejden all,
livet där ute är fruset,
blott från fjärran av forsens fall
höres helt sakta bruset.
Tomten lyssnar och, halvt i dröm,
tycker sig höra tidens ström,
undrar, varthän den skall fara,
undrar, var källan må vara.

Midvinternattens köld är hård,
stjärnorna gnistra och glimma.
Alla sova i enslig gård
gott intill morgontimma.
Månen sänker sin tysta ban,
snön lyser vit på fur och gran,
snön lyser vit på taken.
Endast tomten är vaken.

The Tomte

(trans. T. K. Johnson)
Originally published in New Illustrated Magazine, 1881.

The cold of the midwinter night is hard
The stars twinkle and shine
All are asleep in the lonely farm
Deeply at midnight’s hour
The moon wanders its silent path
Snow shines white on each fir tree and branch
Snow shines white on the rooftop
Only the Tomte is awake.

Stands there, so grey, at the barn door
Grey against the white snowdrifts,
Looks, as he has many winters before
Looks upp towards the lunar disk,
Looks at the forest, where pine and fir
Draw round the farm a shadowy wall
Wondering, though it seems unlikely solved,
about the meaning of a strange riddle.

Moves his hands through hair and beard
Shakes both his head and his hat
“No, this riddle is much too hard,
I can’t even try to guess it!”
Brushes as usual away before too long,

Such inquiring, puzzling thoughts.
He goes indoors to tidy and clean
Goes to do what needs to be done

Goes to pantry and tool room then
Checking each lock in turn
The cows dream by the light of the moon
Summer dreams in their stalls
Forgotten are reins, whip, and bridle
The horse, Paulie, also has a dream:
The manger he is leaning over
Is filled with fragrant clover:--

He goes to the pen for the sheep and lambs
And sees how they’re sleeping inside.
Looks in the henhouse, where the rooster
Stands proudly on his highest perch
Karo the dog feels cozy in his straw lined kennel
Rouses and wags his tail a little,
Karo knows his Tomte,
They are such good friends.

Last on his rounds, the tomte sneaks in
To see his dear household folk
He has noticed well and long, that

They honor his comings and goings;
In to the nursery, light on his toes
As he draws near to see the sweet little ones,
None may take it amiss, that
They are his greatest joy.

Thus has he seen them, father and son
All the way through endless generations
Sleeping like children: but whence
Did they ever get down here?
Generation followed quickly on generation,
Blossoming, aging, gone: but to where?
The riddle that just won’t allow itself
to be solved, in this way returns!

The tomte goes to the loft of the barn:
That’s where he lives and has refuge
High in the eaves, with the smell of the hay
Near to the swallow’s nest
The swallow’s nest is empty now
But with the Spring’s leaves and flowers
Then she will return once again
Followed by her faithful mate.

Then she can always chirp about
memories of many travels,
Unworried by such riddles
As the tomte is turning in his mind:
Through a crack in the barn wall
A moonbeam falls on his beard
The moonbeam gleams on the beard:
The tomte sits, lost in his thoughts

Silent the forest and all around
Life out there is frozen,
Only from a distant waterfall, can be heard
A gentle breeze begin to stir
The tomte listens: half in a dream
thinks that he’s hearing the river of time,
Wonders whither it’s going
Wonders where the source may be.

The cold of the midwinter night is hard,
The stars twinkle and shine
All are asleep in the lonely farm
Good until the hour of morning.
The moon sets on its silent path,
Snow shines white on fir tree and branch
Snow shines white on the rooftop
Only the tomte is awake.

In honor of Seyewailo

2008-08-18T19:44:52Z

1. What time did you get up this morning? 9:08am.

2. Diamonds or pearls? Both, alternating.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? That gawdawful Nicholas Cage faux remake of Wicker Man - no wonder I haven't been back to the cinema since! But now we have netflix, so Sweeney Todd with Depp and Bonham-Carter - how can you lose with that combo?

4. What is your favorite TV show? Right now? Eureka. Hmmm. Medium. Oh, wait, it's got to be Supernatural.

5. What do you usually have for breakfast? shredded wheat - filling *and* fiber!

6. What is your middle name? The insanely celtic "Kevin," given as a gift from my eldest brother who was 10 at the time, and now hates the name sufficiently that none of his kids have the name as first *or* middle. Thinking of changing it to Klas. Less problems with "middle initial" questions. This, after all my other siblings have Swedish middle names, and yet I'm the one who is constantly going back to Sweden!

7. What food do you dislike? Black Pepper. Second? Artichokes.

8. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Jocelyn Pōōk's "Untold Things".

9. What kind of vehicle(s) do you drive? A sinful, wicked and gas-guzzling SUV, that stays in the carport most of the time... and a tiny, difficult-to-get-seated-in Honda Civic that is obviously more environmentally friendly, but which I can't really maneuver in, thus making it less safe for me on the road.

10. Favorite sandwich? Tunafish salad, hold the pickles and the celery!

11. What characteristic do you despise? Dishonesty.

12. Favorite item of clothing? Currently, none. Oh, wait, maybe the black Onyx ring W gave me at the gem show last year. I wear it more regularly than any other piece of clothing...

13. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? To Tashi Chöling, a buddhist retreat center, and I'd stay *at least* a month.

14. Where would you retire to? Wherever my friends were retiring to. Retirement's got to be lonely business, and I'd like to be surrounded by love in my declining years.

15. What was your most recent memorable birthday? Birthday? What's that?

16. Furthest place you are sending this questionnaire? Not sending it, but I got it from Oakland, CA.

17. Person you expect to send it back first? Won't it be an adventure to find out?

18. When is your birthday? October 13th. It's my favorite when it falls on a Friday. ...Boo!

19. Morning person or a night person? Depends on what is needed, but right now, definitely a night person.

20. What is your shoe size? Swedish size 41.

21. Pets? None at present, though I'm picking up on a little psychic Lhasa Apso that's trying really hard to manifest in our household. W may not be able to resist its astral scratching at the door.

23. What did you want to be when you were little? A witch.

25. What is your favorite flower? Roses, of all kinds, but particularly the archaic five-petaled ones. But a robust yellow-red bud can send me for days with the memory of its beauty.

26. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? Dreading: the First of the Month.

27. What are you listening to right now? Nothing.

28. What was the last thing you ate? shredded-wheat, and one of the truly robustest cups of French Roast coffee I've had in a while.

29. Do you wish on stars? Not any more.

30. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Well, S. already took burnt sienna, which is *always* my favorite crayon, so in order to be original, how's about orange? No, that's not right. How's about sky blue?

31. How is the weather right now? Blessedly raining - oh, how we've craved the precipitation up here...

32. Last person you spoke to on the phone? My pharmacist (don't it figure?)

33. Favorite soft drink? lemon flavored "Talking Rain" - a no-sodium carbonated water drink.

34. Favorite restaurant? When we were down in the Bay Area, there was a GREAT Italian restaurant just north of Ashby on College Avenue - their asparagus was like nothing I'd ever tasted. And Tiramisu there was truly the first step into paradise.

35. Hair color? grey with brown pepper.

36. What was your favorite toy as a child? a stuffed alligator that I pretended was a friendly dragon. Or was it dinosaur? Anyway, it was friendly. I remember when it died - atop a mound of piled snow in the back yard - a neighbor had taken (stolen) it and buried it in the snow so I wouldn't find it. I found it.

37. Summer or winter? What, no autumn? Well, I never! Autumn, thank you. Winter a close second.

38. Chocolate or Vanilla? Vanilla when it's beans. Chocolate when it surrounds coffee-beans.

39. Coffee or tea? Oh, come on, you have to ask?? Cawwfeee, with nice rich rice milk to make it into a latté!

40. Do you want your friends to email you back? I always want my friends to write to me, not just write me *back.*

41. When was the last time you cried? I almost did last night, as we watched Bertolucci's "The Little Buddha" for the umpteenth time, but not this time. So, the last time I cried was when I was telling a new friend about my first experience with Lama Tharchin Rinpoche, and how he changed my interaction and response to all lamas thereafter - really got me to understand generosity in this life. I really love Lama Tharchin.

42. What is under your bed? Three Ring Binders of Witchcraft, binders and binders of spells, black sketch books of handwritten notes, and perhaps an orphaned sock or three.

43. What did you do last night? Watched Bertolucci's "The Little Buddha." Again.

44. What are you afraid of? Being fiscally irresponsible and unable to pay my debts.

45. Salty or sweet? whoa, toss-up. Depends on the source. Skin? Salty. Candy? Sweet.

46. How many keys on your ring? Which one?

47. How many years at your current job? Don't mock me!

48. Favorite day of the week? Weekends in general, because I don't feel guilty when I don't do anything.

49. Do you make friends easily? I used to think so, but I'm going to agree with Seyewailo and say I have an okay time making acquaintances, and at least in Seattle, a *very* hard time making friends.

50. How many people will you send this to? Seyewailo said "none, but I'll post it." What she said.

51. How many will respond? Hey, this is the first time I've ever filled one of these things out, so who knows? It may become all the rage!

52. Do you like finding out all this stuff about your friends? Yeah. Sure, it's not big stuff in the grand scheme of things, but it may help the next time they come to visit and we're preparing a special event for them, or just to know their birthday...

Wrathful Compassion

2008-08-18T18:40:06Z

This is by Stephen K. Hayes, from his Heart of Light, Blade of Thunder:

There is an important symbolism as to why some of the enlightened buddhas are portrayed as terrifying in highest Buddhist work. It is so easy to speak with cheap bold confidence about all we are ready and eager to know, and proclaim in naïve arrogance how ready we are for it, if only a decent and inspiring and worthy teacher would appear and grace us with the knowledge. But the truth is more likely that when it comes to experiencing directly the horrifying impact of the reality of what we have done to ourselves throughout a life of fighting all those “others” out there, most will flee to the childish safety of hoping to pretend to ignore or just blaming others when confronted with the heart-chilling insights and realizations that result from fuller vision.

Is it possible that there may be secrets that you really do not want to know? Is it possible that the process of attaining depth wisdom may involve seeing things that have been camouflaged or prettied-up by the mind as a defense against the sure heartbreak of personal accountability? Is it possible that spiritual breakthrough may involve giving up beliefs and identities and excuses that have been so ingrained that to lose them would feel like a part of the soul is being gored out? Such is the threat (and promise) of loss in the vajra realm. We might want to think that attainment of enlightenment is a robed sage serenely sitting among butterflies in an immaculate flowering garden, but the shocking jolt reality is the question of just how are you going to get from where you are now to where you fantasize being in the future. Enormous amounts of hard work are required.

As humans, we may do our best to weed through and make sense of the powerful pulls and shoves of all the intellectual conceptions, emotional reactions, karmic imprints, and memories of interpretations of life experiences that swirl together to produce our beliefs and convictions as to how life works, and thereby the very basis of our personal identity. On the other hand, Dharmadhatu – the “essential state of what is” behind all our experiences - is the ultimate reality of unborn, uncreated, or “not formed by or affected by conditions” profound natural unchanging essence that is the core truth of the timeless infinite universe and all that is included in the universe.

Of course, the shocking truth of the full reality of that uncompounded nature is naturally perceived as horrifying and threatening to the foundations of conventional reality we construct through personalized discursive thoughts conditioned by compounded characteristics that are seen and believed to be the causes of experiences in our understanding of the nature of reality. To the confused, the liberator looks like a monster. What would actually save us looks like the destroyer of all we fight to cling to as dear.

Silence is golden like yesterday's sunset

2008-08-16T09:38:44Z

I listened to some of the cuts from A Jewel For Cora this afternoon. Lovely, lovely voices, subtle and rich and pregnant with meaning they were. I found myself drawn into the images. Almost all of my favorites were represented on it, and there are some snippets that positively bounce me out of time.

The last two cuts, Flora singing Quakoralina, and Sharon singing...I'm blanking on the title, but still feel the texture of her voice as she sang it. I'm glad that my dear Feri brother was able to manage its purchase for us - so kind, he is. We loves our precious shimmers, we does...

I was also impressed with the quality of the reading voices (though the strong adherence to meter to a degree of bounciness wasn't too cool to hear, but that was rare...) It made me a bit sentimental... *again*.

But, I'm thinking about a teaching I just re-read from back in the late 1980s, from Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche (aka Khyentse Norbu, the director of The Cup and other contemporary Tibetan cinema), and he explains the power of Mantra, as the power of Naming. If we call someone's name enough, they will become sensitized to it. If we recite mantra enough, not only will we become sensitized to its energy, but the energies invoked with it will become sensitized, so that it will be a vessel of cosmic sound meant to invoke enlightenment. So, when I whine and drivel about all my uncertainties and fears, perhaps I'm invoking them. And now I need to come again to the period of retraining, of learning the instrument of speech all over, so that the reality I invoke is not my worst nightmare.

OM MANI PEME HUNG!
OM, the lotus jewel, HUM. The mantra of Avalokiteshvara or Chenrezig in Tibetan. Invoking compassion, feeling, no hollowness.

Touch the earth. Call Her to witness.

2008-08-08T22:40:26Z

Okay, here's a vision:

When the Buddha achieved enlightenment under the Bodhi tree under a full moon, he touched the Earth with his right hand, to call Her to witness the achievement. The Earth was witness to the Tathagata's enlightenment. This is important for what follows...

So, in the Seventh Century, the Indian Mahasiddha Padma-sambhava was summoned before the Tibetan King Trisong Deutsen, to pacify the Land Spirits who were making it impossible to build large monasteries on the harsh, rocky soil in Tibet. The Land acquiesced to Padma. Once again, the Earth was pacified, and was called to witness to the coming of compassion and spiritual realization. It's spirits came to offer the energies of Their lives to Protect it.

There are Protector Spirits of the Land, in Tibetan Srung-ma, but they don't exist just in Tibet. They are all over the world, and we've had lots of experiences with them here on this continent. In Padmasambhava's time, those spirits in Tibet offered their life force in the service of Great Compassion and those who chose to cultivate it - now they're called Dharma Protectors, though even so there is a certain level at which they still remain Natural Forces of the Land.

In pre-1959 Tibet, offerings such as burning Juniper or Sang, burning dried meat or Sur, casting sacrificial barley cakes or Torma, and hanging garlands of prayers on multicolored cloth or Lung Ta to carry those prayers on the winds were all a part of honoring the entirety of the environment. W and I still do these offerings, as do many of the Tibetan community in its diaspora in India and the West. We, W and I, have added offerings to Local Land Spirits, which is why we have references to Californian Protectors and Washingtonian Protectors in our Riwo Sang Chod, our Offering of Smoke to the Mountain. They, all these Protectors, are All Interconnected.

And where the mind goes, energy flows -- a maxim created by W, and meant to encourage the training of the mind to concentrate on the tools for the energetic empowerment of magical spells of various types. It can also be understood as that ability to concentrate that meditation requires. So, we focus our attention on the Protectors, both locally and in Tibet, so that they might once again recognize that there are external forces that officially prohibit the freedom to practice spirituality, and that overtly harm its practitioners (imprisoning, torturing and murdering monks, nuns, lay practitioners). Oh, and these Protectors are not sectarian - they protect the ancient shamanic Bon just as mightily as they do Buddhadharma. They protect the entirety of the Land of Snows.

There are some who have said that the earthquake in Chengdu a few months back was the work of the Land Spirits - a serious quake in what mere decades ago was a small village in the remote Eastern Tibetan frontier but which is now a Chinese administrative center and which has grown much too fast to be healthy for the land that supports it. I'm not sure that it is necessarily true that it was the Protectors who were responsible, but I'd not be surprised.

When we go to the Traditional Tibetan Buddhist Temple in the mountains on the border of California and Oregon for retreat, I am always impressed by the massiveness of the introductory "music" played at the start of the practices (the "opening of the mandala"). Huge four yard long trumpets, large sonorous and deep drums, loud and strident shawms called gya-ling, bells, double-headed hand drums, trumpets made of human thighbones, and when you hear that steady, ground-shaking earthy sound (or cacophony) beating like the vast footsteps of the mountain gods and goddesses bending down to enter the high double doors of the temple, the only thing that I can really compare it to is the vastness of the cosmic Feri Guardians, if they had legs and feet and walked upon the Earth, when I call them into circle.

So, in making offerings to Mount Tamalpais, to Mount Shasta, and to Shang-ri, or Tar-go, or Tang-la Yar-zhu - or even to Palden Lhamo, the Dala'i Lama's protector, I call the Earth to witness. I call the Earth to witness the ugly harm perpetrated by the Communist Chinese Regime upon the ethnic peoples within China's alleged borders. I call the Earth to Witness the facts of injustice, and of violation of basic human rights. And the Earth Rises Up indignant and in disgust. The Earth Rises Up to Act. The Earth Rises Up, and the Protectors shake off the snow to fulfill their oathes to Padma and to Shen-rab. The Earth Rises Up to slowly but deliberately destroy this injustice, to bring peace once again across the land, to bring rain and bountiful harvests, and to make it possible to spread the Compassionate Heart, in multi-colored waves of rainbow light around the world, transforming all beings into deities, all sounds into the powerful speech of mantra, and all thoughts into the stainless awareness of enlightened mind.

Well, If you feel like burning some incense, or making up some dough-sculptures and painting them with red food coloring to leave on the roof for the crows and ravens, it all helps. Crows and Ravens are particularly sacred to Chagdrukpa, the Black, Six-Armed Protector. And remember. Where the mind goes, the energy flows....

Every good blessing,

Dedication Prayer

2008-08-08T00:31:58Z

Precept Dedication Prayer
by Shantideva, revised by HH the Dalai Lama XIV
rec'd from Younge Khachab Rinpoche

May all beings everywhere,
Plagued by sufferings of body and mind,
Obtain an ocean of happiness and joy
By virtue of my merits.
May no living creature suffer,
Commit evil or ever fall ill.
May no one be afraid or belittled,
With a mind weighed down by depression.
May the blind see forms,
And the deaf hear sounds.
May those whose bodies are worn with toil
Be restored on finding repose.
May the naked find clothing,
The hungry find food.
May the thirsty find water
And delicious drinks.
May the poor find wealth,
Those weak with sorrow find joy.
May the forlorn find hope,
Constant happiness and prosperity.
May there be timely rains
And bountiful harvests.
May all medicines be effective
And wholesome prayers bear fruit.
May all who are sick and ill
Quickly be freed from their ailments.
Whatever diseases there are in the world,
May they never occur again.
May the frightened cease to be afraid
And those bound be freed.
May the powerless find power
And may people think of benefitting each other.

XANADU

2008-07-30T08:49:07Z

W and I sat and watched Xanadu tonight. Part of the impact that garbage television is having is that we joined netflix. Somtimes one or the other of us will go in without the knowledge of the other and insert a film just for fun, something that we remembered from our misspent youth or that affected us at the time. This was W's chance to share with me his memories from the early 1980s. Me? I was just moving from Chicago back to Massachusetts, leaving music behind, working a low paying but low stress job at the local bank, and going out with the other folks to the DISCO as often as we could. I remember Hall & Oates, Heart, other bands that never knew the name of, but a few whiskey sours and I was ready to dance.

So, Xanadu is with Gene Kelly, which I hadn't remembered. Him and Olivia Newton-John, and a guy I *thought* was one of the BGs, but turns out I was wrong. This movie is a TRIP. Actually, we both decided that seeing it on a big screen, while being *on* something would be such a trip - it's almost like a trip without being on anything! The cinamatic effects were very trippy. The colors, the scene changes, and the ROLLERSKATES!!

But the thrust of the movie was dreams. Never giving up on dreams. How insanely optimistic we must have been in the early 1980s. Gene Kelly gets his rollerdrome, Sonny Malone gets some life-long hallucination of the nine muse sisters, with his personal favorite keara (but she begins to tell him that her name is Terpsichore, muse of dance, but stops in the middle). Dreams are so frustrating. I think dreams are dysfunctional for me. They only serve to make me bitter. But then I see this movie, Xanadu, and I'm close to crying during every musical number because it's all optimistic and hopeful and all. But then electric orange tight pants come on the screen and they look so trippy that tears turn to hilarity.

Olivia Newton-John has since recovered from breast cancer, a survivor. I don't know if Gene Kelly is still alive. And the male lead hasn't made a film since 1996.

See Xanadu. It'll make you think you're dreaming!