Category Archives: herbal

29.oct.0z9 True Witch


true witch

true witch

She made her way through the balmy autumn evening. She was checking the store front windows for a sign. It was around her somewhere. Ah here we are. The new age Wicca and pagan emporium. Sounds like it would be the place she thought.

Meanwhile inside the ladies were gathering for their weekly meet. Tonight of course was the big one as it was Halloween night or samhain. They were all done up in their finest. Gowns and skirts of various autumnal hues, tingling with bells or sparkling with glitter. Daggers polished bright and wands of crystals amethyst quartz gathering at the circle out behind the shop in the small high walled courtyard.

All at once they grew silent as the jangle of the store shop door bells let them know someone else had entered. Someone else had come.

But we are all here

Who could it be?

I thought I locked the door

Maybe some last minute shoppers?

Let’s go see…

Oh my god, I mean goddess cried one.

What are you playing at said the shop owner?

You’ve got some nerve to come here to night.

Aren’t you a little old for trick or treat.

Well said the old woman sorry to be a bit late but I had a time finding the place. I just couldn’t track it down.

That’s not what we mean.

What then I was told witches were welcome here.

Yes but you’ve got to be

Kidding. Yeah look at you.

Even a wart on the end of your nose.

What said the old one?

Look I don’t know what you’re playing at but you can’t stay here looking like that.

You don’t like the way I look?

No that’s not it of course we think all wiccans should have green faces and warty noses, oh and the pointy hat and black over coat just priceless I suppose you have striped socks and ruby slippers.

Well what’s how I dress got to do with anything. You all don’t look to practical to me if I might be so bold.

We are true wiccans not some stereotypical throw back to Hollywood and trick or treat.

By the way where’s your broom?

Well I left it out side across the door way as is tradition.

Tradition what would you know.

Look we don’t have time for this you had your fun now go away.

You all seem to be rather rude to me not liking my face not liking my clothes

Well what did you expect, go on get out.

I expected some mutual respect. I expected perhaps some wiser tack that to insult those who aren’t like yourselves. I’m not used to such small minded witches…

What would you know of witches you don’t know a thing about the true religion…

Oh whatever it is I know or not, I can tell this is not the place for me.

Good they said now there’s the door. Imagine the nerve, go on good night.

So the old one left the jangling door announced her departure. And all the ladies rushed up, to see that she was gone once and for all. The one locked and double locked the door other peering out the windows between the official merchandise.

They saw sure enough she had a broom. Can you believe it a freaking broom? They saw her pick up the broom which sure enough had lain across the door stoop. And several ladies wet themselves with laughter while other grew quite indignant when they saw the old on walk down the stops and on the sidewalk straddle the broom but no one said a word none moved but all collectively drew and held a deep breath of pure amazement when the old one flew away.

DSC_4242

trick or treat!

Hope the day brings some light your way…


29.oct.0z9 True Witch


true witch

true witch

She made her way through the balmy autumn evening. She was checking the store front windows for a sign. It was around her somewhere. Ah here we are. The new age Wicca and pagan emporium. Sounds like it would be the place she thought.

Meanwhile inside the ladies were gathering for their weekly meet. Tonight of course was the big one as it was Halloween night or samhain. They were all done up in their finest. Gowns and skirts of various autumnal hues, tingling with bells or sparkling with glitter. Daggers polished bright and wands of crystals amethyst quartz gathering at the circle out behind the shop in the small high walled courtyard.

All at once they grew silent as the jangle of the store shop door bells let them know someone else had entered. Someone else had come.

But we are all here

Who could it be?

I thought I locked the door

Maybe some last minute shoppers?

Let’s go see…

Oh my god, I mean goddess cried one.

What are you playing at said the shop owner?

You’ve got some nerve to come here to night.

Aren’t you a little old for trick or treat.

Well said the old woman sorry to be a bit late but I had a time finding the place. I just couldn’t track it down.

That’s not what we mean.

What then I was told witches were welcome here.

Yes but you’ve got to be

Kidding. Yeah look at you.

Even a wart on the end of your nose.

What said the old one?

Look I don’t know what you’re playing at but you can’t stay here looking like that.

You don’t like the way I look?

No that’s not it of course we think all wiccans should have green faces and warty noses, oh and the pointy hat and black over coat just priceless I suppose you have striped socks and ruby slippers.

Well what’s how I dress got to do with anything. You all don’t look to practical to me if I might be so bold.

We are true wiccans not some stereotypical throw back to Hollywood and trick or treat.

By the way where’s your broom?

Well I left it out side across the door way as is tradition.

Tradition what would you know.

Look we don’t have time for this you had your fun now go away.

You all seem to be rather rude to me not liking my face not liking my clothes

Well what did you expect, go on get out.

I expected some mutual respect. I expected perhaps some wiser tack that to insult those who aren’t like yourselves. I’m not used to such small minded witches…

What would you know of witches you don’t know a thing about the true religion…

Oh whatever it is I know or not, I can tell this is not the place for me.

Good they said now there’s the door. Imagine the nerve, go on good night.

So the old one left the jangling door announced her departure. And all the ladies rushed up, to see that she was gone once and for all. The one locked and double locked the door other peering out the windows between the official merchandise.

They saw sure enough she had a broom. Can you believe it a freaking broom? They saw her pick up the broom which sure enough had lain across the door stoop. And several ladies wet themselves with laughter while other grew quite indignant when they saw the old on walk down the stops and on the sidewalk straddle the broom but no one said a word none moved but all collectively drew and held a deep breath of pure amazement when the old one flew away.

DSC_4242

trick or treat!

words and photographs by pd lyons


 

Roses swollen with rain

 

full breasts dreaming for the hungry mouths of bees

soft in a gold of sunshine sung by small birds invisible

day dream ripples dull grey puddle answers spilling over the edge

storm gutters blocked by neglect

and wishes would ride the open mouth kisses of our own

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She Would, by pd lyons – floppy version


 

She Would

turn the armadillo
tickle his stomach with her tongue

black beetle tears swoll
June bugs snap high heels

crickets rip trying on new clothes
caterpillars hum dull dreams of a sex life

through irises and junipers
these she breaths

 

CSC_2217

recently re-discoverd a file untouched since it’s floppy disc days, called “A Work On”. About 50 pages of various state of stuff. As the above indicates the 1980 6’s was a place of intriguing possibility.

after a day of rain, poem by pd lyons


indian pipe @ sleeping giant

Indian Pipe @ sleeping giant

after a day of rain

white flowers

before a young girl

small songs upon the mist

DSC_3387

Ghosts of My Summers, by pd lyons The Bridget Shields version


Ghosts of my summers

Ghosts of my summers walk by
Long pink skirts trail
Roads of my youth
Still there yet some what changed
As if each and every memory plays out again
This time
A different girl
Meets a different girl
Once you
Once me
Still June

Bridget Shields Rose

Bridget Shields Rose

Fore,County Westmeath

Fore,County Westmeath

merry christmas and other holi-daze!


There is also a rival theory of the origins of Santa’s paraphernalia – hid red and white colour scheme, those flying reindeer, and so on – which is more fun, less commercial, more scientific and somehow more appealing ( possibly because it is politically incorrect). Patrick Harding of Sheffield University argues that the traditional image of Santa and his flying reindeer owes a great deal to what is probably the most important mushroom in history: fly agaric (Amanita muscania). Before vodka was imported from the east, this was the preferred recreational and ritualistic mind-altering drug in parts of northern Europe.

Each December, this mycologist, or fungi expert, dresses up as Santa and drags a sledge behind him to deliver seasonal lectures on the fly agaric. The costume helps Harding drive home his point, for he believes Santa’s robes honour the mushroom’s red cap and white dots. Commonly found in northern Europe, North America and New Zealand, fly agaric is fairly poisonous, being a relative of other more lethal mushrooms, the death cap (Amanita phalloides) and destroying angel (Amanita virosa). The hallucinogenic properties of fly agaric are derived from the chemicals iobotenic acid and muscimol, according to the International Mycological Institute at Egham Surrey. Ibotenic acid is present only in fresh mushrooms. When the mushroom is dried it turns into muscimol, which is ten times more potent. In traditional Lapp societies, the village holy man, or shaman, took his mushrooms dried – with good reason.

The shaman knew how to prepare the mushroom, removing the more potent toxins so that it was safe to eat. During a mushroom-induced trance, he would start to twitch and sweat. He believed that his soul left his body, taking the form of an animal, and flew to the other world to communicate with the spirits, who would, he hoped, help him to deal with pressing problems, such as an outbreak of sickness in the village. With luck, after his hallucinatory flight across the skies, the shaman would return bearing gifts of knowledge from the gods. ‘Hence the connotation of the gift of healing, rather than something from the shops, as it is today’, Patrick Harding says.

Santa’s jolly ‘Ho-ho-ho’ may be the euphoric laugh of someone who has indulged in the mushroom. Harding adds that the idea of dropping down chimneys is an echo of the manner in which the shaman would drop into a yurt, an ancient tent- like dwelling mad of birch and reindeer hide: ‘The “door” and the chimney of the yurt were the same, and the most significant person coming down the chimney would have been a shaman coming to heal the sick.’ So how does Harding explain the importance of reindeer in the myth? For one thing, the animals were uncommonly fond of drinking the human urine that contained muscimol: ‘Reindeer enjoyed getting high on it,’ he says. ‘Whether they roll on their backs and kick their legs in the air, I am not sure.’

The villagers were also partial to the mind-expanding yellow snow because the muscimol was not greatly diluted – and was probably safe- once it passed through the shaman. In fact, ‘There is evidence,’ says Harding, ‘of the drug passing through five or six people and still being effective. This is almost certainly the derivation of the British phrase “to get pissed”, which has nothing to do with alcohol. It predates inebriation by alcohol be several thousand years.’ Such was the intensity of the drug-induced experience that it is hardly surprising that the Christmas legend includes flying reindeer….

from: Can Reindeer Fly? The Science Of Christmas, by Roger Highfield

 

from Still Wishing To Be Ravens : Love Poem for Richard Brautigan 6.6.85


Love Poem for R.B.

Today I heard on the radio that Richard Brautigan

Killed himself last fall.

Then some girl who was 17 in 1970 read his Love Poem.

She said that her then lover was a DJ on a college

Station and had dedicated a recording of the poem

To her, over the air, before he disappeared in a

Californian direction.

Anyway, I don’t know where I was.

Maybe I was washing clothes or asleep even.

Maybe I was with Jenny or Eva or somebody.

I could a been drunk, or depressed

As if by some sort of intuition.

All I really know is that I’ll never know where I was

When he did it.

I wonder how he did it.

Maybe I should go down to the library look him

Up on the newspaper micro-film file?

Most likely I won’t though, the library is closed now

And I’m not sure I care that much anyway.

Besides it’s one of those details I’m sure will

Accidentally find its way to me.

It kinda pisses me off that he did it, I mean he

Wrote that Watermelon Sugar book, I read it years ago

When Mary gave it to me and I, 15 in 1970.

Watermelon Sugar and Mary my first lover go good together.

I don’t know about this suicide stuff though.

But maybe it’s nice not having to wake up alone with yourself

When you just don’t want to any more.

6/6/85

from: Still Wishing To be Ravens, new poems

by pd lyons

2009, Myo, Myo & Razooka

Winetown Castlepollard; Ireland

blue hydrangea

blue hydrangea

DSC_6058

Spicy Steamed Mussels


Spicy Steamed Mussels.

really like this brand new blog. big A for honest effort!

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