over 10 years of posts from Morag Spinner
Why not? Honestly, though, I was fairly raised pagan. My mom is Buddhist, and she taught me about Tara’s many manifestations, as well as the bodhisattvas, and taking refuge, and meditating. I spent a lot of time reading all the Greek myths, and Zeus and Hera and Athena and Artemis were all as real to …
Continue reading “30 Days of Paganism: 1. Beliefs – Why Paganism?”
I made a commitment to myself at some point this year. Not a new year’s resolution, because I don’t believe in those and it’s a stupid time to make resolutions, anyway, but a commitment. I committed to being brutally honest. You weren’t already? you all exclaim, shocked and horrified. No, I wasn’t. I didn’t talk …
Note: this post was originally posted at my old pagan-tumblr. I moved it here in the interest of keeping all my things together, and also because the links to a lot of the pictures on the original post broke. At the bottom of the post I added a bunch of extra pictures I didn’t share …
Continue reading “Heilig Avondmaal 2011: bringing the dead home”
My Oma, Egbertine, was the eldest of seven children. She was born during The Great War, in 1917. By 1924, her mother Jantje (I’m named after her) relied heavily on Tine to take care of her siblings. She was seven years old when she had to assume the role of secondary mother. They lived in …
Note: this post was originally posted at my old pagan-tumblr. I decided to put it here as well, in the interest of having all my things at my main blog. I’ve decided to accept this challenge. One of my quests is to find family and create new traditions; I have very little to cling to …
Continue reading “Challenge Accepted (Ms. Dirty’s Holy Supper Challenge)”
I just got home from Point-Aux-Chenes again. I’ve been there four days now, tagging along for various things. This video below is one of them. Which is huge f-in news for the Little People, the hoi polloi, the regular folk who don’t know their voice is so much stronger than the corporation which is currently …
This morning my dog, Major, died. He was 11. We’d had him for 4 years; an SPCA rescue. Some part of me knew that this was his last summer, but for some reason I thought he’d be around longer — that I’d have a few months with him, instead of two weeks. (I came back …