7 Samhain: Shadow and Descent

Vocation. Or Calling.

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Under the fog, to my knees.

When did the cadence of my voice start to mimic my mother’s? How did this vast place undefined, of not knowing, grow from the ground and become my world? I am but one. I speak to no one. I am only concerned with living.

Death is a specter that creeps out from the horizon as the falling sun darkens the land. It hangs over us as we plead for mercy, or at least for more time. Some of us wish to meet Death, until we see him pass through the room and then it is terror.

What a simple thing to bring such terror.

The body knows. Perhaps the body knows it is not immortal and hence the terror is inevitable. The body is one, separate from other, forgetting its motion with the world in rising, in resting, in becoming something else sacred.

There are things I will never experience in this lifetime; the writing is set. The infinite cannot be experienced in one round.

So, I am on my knees in the fog, knowing that all meaning is constructed and variable, yet one cannot live without meaning. Some find it holy to be detached. Some find it holy to be in the lush moment, unaware of anything else. Some have found the dance.

But I do not feel like dancing. I like being where I am on the floor, in the fog, because my senses are dulled to the cacophony of time. I feel the subtle air moved by the wings of an owl. I hear a soft hooting and feel a presence of somewhere I have never been, resting beyond, and this is where I want to be, in this unknown place with no compass or reason, feeling the nourishment of the presence of the elders.

I am not alone. I am also not initiated, hence this stopping part. There will be no big moment, but perhaps my voice will describe and shapes will form, and there will be somewhere to go.

Sorrow wells up from deep inside the body. The body knows. It knows death is near, that all will shift and I once more will have to trim my sails.

But not now. Now is for stillness as the felt wisdom, I pray, will find its way to words, to something I can define, build out, stand on, project into my sphere – I hope – for that is why I am here, I think, – for everything is changing, including the meaning of things and perhaps my own station as I move to an unknown place with no station, no focal point, no trajectory.

In is infuriating to us that we cannot know if – or what – a difference we impart. This bad trick on humanity has some purpose I do not know. Or perhaps it is just one of many effects caused by the creation of a reality based in physical structure: life, death and few inroads through the mystery that surrounds our every experience, like fog bringing us to our knees, humbled once again and closer to the earth, the only thing our bodies know really well.

With reluctance, I go towards the ‘where’ I remember sensing beyond. It is a courtyard, partially revealed, and there is an apple tree still holding bounty in the coolness. I pass through an archway; my fingers linger on the stone. The sun behind the fog makes a dim circle in the low sky. Why should I be drawn to such a place, which rests in silence, no message or shining answer? It’s just another place – but I am drawn.

There is a low throbbing in the air, almost unsensed. The ground carries a vibration; my feet taste the simple hum. Power of place. Is that why I am here? Not to find the next place but to build one out, to cast a hammer against the gong? Perhaps that is my role now, working unseen. I can make no assumptions.

Patience is not patience without listening, so I listen and the giant underground drums of the ancestors blend in with the humming below the earth. I am not alone. I will never be alone. These things have been done, again and again by many others and now I take my turn.

This empty, quiet place in the cool fog pulls me into a progressive tapestry of the ages, tattered at the ends, continually woven anew. I must begin.

Then, I hear songs from below and as they come into my awareness, I notice in the richness of the few apples, their tree has a song too – and it is the same. It speaks of the humans, whose songs are echoed in the same well, both ancient and new. To have forgotten this place is to be robbed of a felt sense of our collectivity, something to hold us steady when we venture forth, reminding us that on all roads, the old ones support us.

I think I know my path now, though what is missing is the fiery torch of my youth. I see the elders moving slowly, ponderous, steadfast, making ground – and much closer to the ground. This is my way now. I join them, feeling nourished, not seeing direction but invested in contribution.

What if the nature of this the place is that it will never be fully revealed? What if it being so close to Mystery causes it to be eternally unformed? That its shapelessness is what allows the ancestors to sift through the fog and the earth floor of the dimly lit orchard? I move towards the tree and encounter a stone well, rope, pulley, bucket, surface of the water unseen. From the archway, well unseen.

Here there are depths within depths, only to be found through encountering them. I pull on the rope, bring elixir to my lips, only for me – I know – in this place about others. It will sustain me so I may keep trying.

Tasara Ravenheart Stone

7 Samhain: Shadow and Descent

Moon

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I am a wild creature under the moon. 
The moon is inside me, unseen, covered in the dark. 

I am stalking power, filled with the glow of the moon. 
I am stalking power unseen. 

I am stalking power, unseen. 

All I need is here.
I do not reach up.
I draw it down
and the moon opens my way.

She disappears behind the clouds
and yet, I have not lost my direction. 

I am stalking power.

Tasara Ravenheart

6 Mabon: Taking Stock

Moon

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I survived the summer,
and now in the dark morning
under the full moon,
in the crisp air
my soul becomes alive once again.

The sound of the crisp leaves and the smell and the dank air
Last night I heard two different owls spaced apart
two songs of hooting, their velvet over our sleep.

The moon may hold an angry beast with fangs
but see it soften
in the milky white glow of peace.

Draw down the Moon.
Draw her blessed kisses into your pores.
Draw down her secrets, her grace and her love and in turn,
allow yourself to glow with her presence.

The angry beast dissolves
and the quiet crane speaks loudly in its silence.

Praise be for this blessed time,
for the cooling down,
for the mystery to return in early morning hours
as the sun slowly creeps, spreading fingers to reach the darkness,
the darkness which I hold so dear
for it is there I am most open and whole.

Mediumship, Raven Speaks

Raven in Chaos

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It’s Raven’s compassion which allows him to wear such a cloak.

Chaos! Chaos!, he cries into the night
passing through grime of polluted rivers,
lands of the distraught dead,
through it unscathed.

It’s Raven’s heart of crystal clear that shines through her darkness.

I see you! I see you!, she cries,
the jingles and jangles of baubles and dangles,
each of a pain
past, present or future
make bells
for the dance.

The Raven celebrates us the way we are now,
by holding the spinning, keeps us sane.

It doesn’t matter if you quake in fear.
The Raven, the Raven, the Raven is here,
and she knows this, far better than me,
each path we’ve stepped or swept into the sea.

Our precious guide
sheds light on the trinkets
stashes the treasures,
screams at the boundaries,
speaks truth when we are falling,
leads us to water,
lies down with us at our ends.

It’s Raven’s compassion which allows her to sing in the Chaos.

..Tasara Jen Stone

Spiritual Sociology

Elders Becoming

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This editorial is for those who find themselves holding the torch as their spiritual teachers age.

In my generation, many of us teachers are losing our teachers. They have either stopped teaching, can’t teach anymore or they have gone and died on us. This is disorienting, sad and scary – and there is really no choice left but to step into our power if we haven’t done so already.

But I am here to voice my opinion that we cannot teach the same way our teacher’s taught. It is a different world and people need different things. I am talking about countries in the Christian-dominant Western world, which have obliviated their own cultural wisdom into dust through years of persecution of the indigenous worldview, not teachers borne from ancient lineages who teach people from their own culture.

For our teachers coming up in the 50’s and 60’s and 70’s, seeking, speaking and practicing alternative spirituality was a good way to become estranged from one’s family. It took an enormous amount of courage and clarity to follow one’s own path in a society when paths were more prescribed. It was almost revolutionary. For the first time in living memory, people were being encouraged to speak directly to the divine, instead of going through Mary or Jesus, the bible or a priest.

As early teachers found clues enough to rise ancient techniques out of the dust, or were given permission to bring it here from other countries, it was a novelty, such a pure relief to have anyone speak of non-ordinary realities and otherworldly spirits with certainty. More importantly, people’s early, unstructured, unexplained spiritual experiences were validated. People latched onto these teachers and their structures of knowledge as an authority of all knowledge and spiritual guidance. This was a natural response coming from a hierarchical upbringing, and still it was transforming.

Then teachers came along that were devoted to self-empowerment, rejecting the hierarchy of traditional religion. Michael Harner was teaching people how to have conversations with power animals and teacher guides. Starhawk was talking about ‘power over’ vs. ‘power within’, guiding witches to their inner sources of spiritual resource. It caused a massive culture shift.

A huge outpouring of support showed up for these new ideas, which we all knew were not new but newly unearthed. More and more teachers arose, some out of the true call to share what they have found and some out of the desire to “be” a teacher and enjoy the power that poorly balance teachers allow their students to give them. The breadth and diversity of alternative spirituality exploded.

It was also quite profitable.

So now, we have exposure to a mass of metaphysical knowledge. Working with crystals and smudging has become mainstream. The metaphysical floods the internet, festivals and subcultural memes, movies, mixed with capitalism, small egos, big egos, pain, woundedness and greed for power. Our society is more ’sophisticated’, or perhaps, as the gates of intellectual freedom and choice stand wide open, we are surrounded by myriads of structures of knowledge piled so high, it is hard to see what is ‘real’. I guess this is a tradeoff for the compacted, intense oppression of the past.

We know that there are infinite ways to reach the divine and infinite cosmologies and structures to hang our hat on. Some structures have been tested over thousands of years. Some are simply made up by the next upcoming teacher and who knows what values or psychological disposition they are based in? In this day, the game is about discernment. When I was a kid in the Catholic church, I heard that when the end times come, there will be a sea of prophets, and it would be up to us to discern the true voices from the false. It certainly resonates.

We have students and healing clients coming to us who have explored many other paths. Many of them are trying to contend with mixed messages they get from different readings or psychics or interpretations of other healers. This situation makes sense, with our societal conditioning to give our power to the church (and school and government). Many do not know how to take that power back even after they have left the church. The first thing I do when a person coming to me for healing reports what a psychic told them about who they are, is ask, ‘Does that feel true to you?’ ‘How does that feel in your body?”

We still need to listen to our bodies.

We must try very hard to not let our students to give us their power. The role of a spiritual teacher is to be a hollow bone for spirit to come through and to open doors students can walk through. But when it comes to techniques, it might be good to have a discussion about cosmology, the purpose of the one we are working within, and the benefit of sticking to one cosmology for purposes of common language and deeper understanding. A system of belief has its own rules. We must subscribe to it for it to have any power. We can help people assimilate and analyze different modalities and help them find what resonates with their being, encouraging them to just drop the rest. Contradicting systems of belief can (but don’t have to) express contradicting value systems.

In my circles, we discourage interpreting other people’s shamanic journeys, or dreams, or any other kind of information coming from the spirits. This is because the spirits talk to individuals in a language they will understand. Symbolism may be very personal. When questions come up, we help each other find their own answers by asking how they feel or if they have associations with the messages coming in, or suggesting they journey on the questions they have.

At the same time we are encouraging self-empowerment, we are also encouraging respect for the power and wisdom inherent in each discipline and of course, the Spirits of Kindness themselves. Spirituality is all about balance – and in the equation, the human is not the one with the most knowledge or wisdom.

More exposure to spiritual modalities is not better. Remember, ancient practices were taught and learned in a time when the world had a fraction of the human population it has now. We lived in small communities compared to now; we had interaction with few people and had to figure a lot of things out on our own. If people get too excited about stitching together a spiritual life with their minds, power can be lost. It is the heart and body that know. The ancient paths are such deep mysteries, skimming the surface of many will not bring people closer to themselves as quickly as staying course with a few or one.

To summarize, the main focus in this era is teaching discernment. It is bringing people back to a place of listening: to their bodies, to the earth, to the Spirits of Kindness. This is empowerment.

What to teach? The strength of our own relationships with the Spirits of Kindness as teachers is the vital ingredient to understanding what and when and how to teach. Between these helpers and clear signs of the times, we find our material.

For instance, with green spaces being cut down right and left, giving students ways to connect to the earth might be more important than ever. Spaces and time with no electronics devices might feel like a downright vision quest. And of course, the Owl or the Raven might just show up in our meditations, letting us know that their medicine is needed and we don’t need to know why. Sometimes that is so welcome, because the longer we are on this path, it seems, the less and less there is to say.

Tasara

Feel free to comment. The exchange of information is how we all learn.

Remembering

Will-O-Wisp

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My brain made a practical decision that I would go camping this summer. It just made sense to do that before my coming two week intense of shamanic training. So I found myself unearthing my camping supplies today. Time for a gear check. I used to have a really big tent that I could set up a table in and have another person there, but I got rid of all that. What I do have is my very first tent. It must be at least 20 years old.

I set it up in the yard and I got inside – and whoosh! Memories!

You see, for many years I was pretty hooked on festivals. I went to as many as I could. The first one was to the Oregon Country Faire in the mid-90’s. After growing up in the country, and then living in the city for eight years without a car, it was a massive infusion of long-needed beauty and nourishment. During the time that I had not been in nature, I had gotten into witchcraft. I also had had a political awakening and become disdainful of mainstream culture. So, my first re-infusion of nature was combined with a counter-culture festival where people dressed in all kinds of other-worldly costumes. Wow! A space where people could be whoever they wanted to be! And then of course, there were the drugs. It was my first extended mushroom experiences. I mean, I think I had done them just once before.

So the witch in me relished the magic. I found other festivals, one that was focused on paganism, one that was focused on spiritual music and devotion. Then there were gatherings about fairies and herbalism. I spent every vacation I had in the summers on the road. My car was covered with years of festival parking stickers, like badges of honor. And you would’ve thought this was the best time of my life. But I fell in with the wrong people. I wanted so badly to find a way to share the magic that I experienced in my heart with a greater public and I could not find a way to do it. What I discovered was the worst of societal values (white male dominance, sex, drugs, greed, exclusivity) wrapped in symbolism that I held dear. I did not want to accept it so I kept trying and trying, year after a year. I even tried to contribute as a projectionist artist, but the people that got the good jobs were the people that were up partying all night long and though I did partake once in a while, I have never been a big partier.

[I had been down a similar road in my twenties, when I discovered the Fremont Solstice Parade in Seattle. As a young and solitary witch, I sat on under a tree by the road as the big puppets went by and wept with joy to see my core beliefs and values being so joyously and publicly celebrated. It was the beginning of a long search to find these people and take part in the sacred pagan celebration. What I found was a lot of nice people who drank an awful lot and didn’t know much about being a pagan at all. Will-O-Wisp.]

Oregon Country Faire – 1999

In 2008, I decided to take time off of work and travel with a troupe that was doing sacred mediumship through the elaborate costumes that they wore on the festivals. At least that’s how it was presented to me. I had just been trained in mediumship and was over the moon to be of service in this way. I remembered the Tree Person that never talked from my very first festival. But quickly it became something else. There was pettiness. There was narcissism. There was obsession for attention. I was the oldest – in my 40s I think – and I did not have a skinny body, so I felt shunned. No one took pictures of me. I brought my deepest psychic wounds to that summer and I believe other people did too. We were all looking for a way to create magic in the world, but inside, starving for it. We were all wounded.

Eventually, I could no longer go to festivals. A pattern had emerged, where the first night of any gathering I went to, I find myself wide awake in my tent, gasping, leaving a nightmare so strong my whole body was charged and I had to stay awake for a time so I would not go back into it. Even the times I forgot about the nightmares, they would come. When I was home, I would have long nightmares about being in a festival, hating it and not being able to get to my car or find my keys. Or being left behind by the festival bus. The overall theme was rejection. It was like a curse. So I packed it in and I left that whole subculture. That marked the beginning of a long, long journey, one that culminated in my finally learning to love and protect myself.

My camping gear has been in the closet for almost 10 years, I realize. Wow.

Today, in my back yard, I crept into my little tent that still had tags on the zippers from the Oregon country fair 2009. I lay down and looked at the ceiling and I was washed over with a palpable rush of magic. The magic that I had created every single time I had blessed my campground. The magic from all the attention and love I had put into the accoutrements I brought with me and the expressions that I tried to share. One year, I walked in slow motion for hours, dressed as a tree on the festival grounds. Another year, I received a spiritual initiation from hearing Kirtan for the first time under a summer moon. There are lots and lots and lots of precious memories between the thorns of the roses.

Raven dance at Faerieworlds 2008.

This was an enormous and welcome surprise to me. I thought maybe the tent would be full of yucky energy and I’d have to get a new one but instead I reveled in the wildness of my younger self. I went in the house and searched in my boxes for the long gold colored chain that I used to hang on the ceiling in my tent. That is definitely coming with me in this year.

Oregon Country Faire – 1999

I have been thinking for a few weeks about doing a trip to recover parts of my soul that I may have left on the road during these years and now I know how important that trip is. It might happen in the one I’ve already planned on either side of the shamanic training, or I might make a special trip to that first festival in Eugene, Oregon. To walk those dusty trails between the wooden booths, listening to all the different music around me, smelling the food, stopping by vendors that I used to know, some I may not have good memories of, visiting the big leaf maple dharma tree I lay under one year on mushrooms, and on other years trying to recreate that experience. Taking in the culture that is now. Receiving it as I am today. And not camping there. Staying at a friend’s house or camping off grounds. With the option to leave and go to the coast if I want to. Other memories there.

I think this is really important. The people that I knew are still alive in my memories at the same age when I knew them. But they are no longer. Their lives have moved on just as mine has. What has happened to them? Have they evolved? I will probably never know.

What will I wear? Oh my goddess, what will I wear? I don’t fucking care. What will I carry with me, is the question. I will carry my strength and my knowledge without a yearning to share it or show it. I will walk out to the end of the trail, near the camp where I used to stay inside the gates. And I will remember the raging drunk/acid tripping of my neighbors, their incessant screaming into the night, and be grateful I am not there anymore. I will appreciate the earthy, elaborate art, the temporary village they erect year after year, that I can still track in my mind. Though it may look the same, I am sure it will feel very different, not only because of how I have changed but because the festival scene really did get out of control as capitalism set in. Luscious, sacred tents of one type of festival became marketed, filled with the same pillows, almost an icon and no longer an experience. I mean, I still believe that transitive spaces can shift consciousness but it’s the same as when a good band gets picked up by a big time distributor. The magic bleeds away. We’ll see. Maybe the new generation has infused it with something new.

I relish in the thought of sleeping a few nights in this tent that has so much history. I will give my younger self so much love. And I don’t have to wait. I am doing it now. There’s no reason to wait.

There is no reason to wait.

Fremont Solstice Parade maybe 2007.

During these hours today, my back hurt, like it used to. By the time I finished pruning down the cookware, ordering a smaller stove, packing up my tent, I was emotionally exhausted.

I sit here now, by my open window listening to the sublime song of the birds, the sun streaming in. It is heaven. I am rich, in knowledge and appreciation for what I have built for myself. (I was rich before, but underappreciated – from myself.) I am grateful for the year ahead, the new tiling of the soil, the fresh beauty sprouting its head above the earth. So funny, I realized year ago, that I associated all this sweetness and magic with those people, when the sweetness and magic was not coming from them. It was emanating from Mother Earth.

So maybe when the summer is out, I will have recalled parts of my soul and my memories, too. I hope to look back with equal appreciation for that time of my life as I have for my life now. I hope to open wide the sparkly flow of magic that lives in my tent, from the long past, into life here as it unfolds.

Oregon Country Faire – 1999

I guess this experience of altruism to disillusionment is similar to my friend’s, who lived through the 60’s and actually lived on a commune – and then had to leave it. Does this remind you of a similar path you have walked?

Tree Lady 2009 Faerieworlds

Spiritual Activism

Emergency Psychic Sanity List in Times of Political Upheaval

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The news is bad. Just when you think it couldn’t get any worse it does.

It makes us want to check out. It forces us to check out. Taking time out is an important act to grasp any psychological health, but it is not the same as shutting down. Shutting down is what they want.

We’ve been told this would happen from the beginning. We would be hit with an onslaught, a chaos of events designed to distract and overwhelm. Designed to make us throw up our heads, bury our heads, give up hope and be paralyzed by despair.

So, knowing that, we can strategize.

I have a list of suggestions.

Mantras: These help keep a clear separation of you and that. It is protective.

  • I am a sovereign being. You cannot take my joy.
  • I am a sovereign being. You cannot take my joy.
  • Your despicable energies are not my life. My life is my own.
  • That is you. This is me.
  • I will still hold up light and not be affected by your sickness.
  • I will not shut down. I will not shut down. I will shut down.
  • I choose to live. Every day, I choose to live.

Positively, make your own mantra.

Put your body somewhere nourishing with no electronics: The forest, a hot tub, a sanctuary, a quiet room.

Shamanic antidotes:

  • Guard yourself from energetic intrusions from the media. If you are already in trouble, help from another practitioner.
  • Contribute healthy energies to the global/national town square.
    It is possible to hold to the ethics of not doing any works that affect people’s personhood without their permission, but there are so many creative ways to contribute energy people need into the psychic town square: inspiration, creativity, fortitude, healing, comfort, clear-thinking, community connection and sheer good luck. If someone needs it, it will be there for them because you put it there. When I am less tired I will write more about this but you can journey to the web of light where eveyrone is doing whatever they are inspired to do.
  • Continue your normal spiritual practice. Whatever it is, do not abandon it.
  • Acknowledge to yourself the immense beauty of all the people making change in different ways. This is nourishing and energetically supports them.
  • Mourn if you need to. This energetically supports others who are mourning. Be sure and let it go through you. Do not hold onto it.

    Note: Remember to do this work in conjunction with the Spirits of Kindness. As in all healing arts, you do not want to contribute your personal energy into this effort or it will deplete you. Rather, ask your helpers to source the energy and help you direct it.

Media Consumption:
Yes, of course, we need breaks from the media but we cannot abandoned our contributions to a better society. Vote. Petition. Vote. Vote. Network. Keep moving. Stagnation brings sickness.

Mundane Activities:

  • Call or write your representatives and thank them for holding the line.

  • Donate to groups that are doing hard work that we cannot.
–
  • Attend high-media events to help keep the conversation in the news.
https://seattle-protests.org/ for local folks
.
  • Reach out to marginalized people and let them know you are there.

  • Join the groups that monitor ICE if you have the means.
  • Encourage and support others who are doing things that we cannot.
  • Divest from credit cards from Bank Of America and other such institutions. I just did.

  • Research your bank. I switched over to Beneficial Bank from Portland.
–
  • Keep being a good person and supporting others to be their best selves.
  • Vote.

Every human, every person is an agent for change. But keep yourself healthy. Remember that you are beautiful and that is no joke. Thank you for being you.

Tasara

P.S. We are a community. Please post your mantras, ideas, inspirations and tools in the comments. Who knows who you might help?

Subdural Hematoma

I Almost Died (Renee Nicole Good)

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It’s been just over a year since the car accident. In the past few weeks, I’ve encountered a surge of energy and increased brain activity. Suddenly I am not afraid of falling down the stairs and the lightness I’ve felt all year, instead of passing, is settling in deeper. At one point last week I was distressed, feeling like I didn’t know who I was anymore. So I did some research and discovered that this is common for a year after burr hole surgery to release the blood that’s putting pressure on one’s brain. My autonomic nervous system is finding its balance.

A year. And it could take a few more years. I’ve been reliving last winter, when I spent my time lying on a cot by the fireplace with all the lights out because my eyes were so hyper-sensitive to light. I remember the deep nourishment from the coals and the visits from my friends.

A voice in my head is saying, “I almost died!”, over and over. I suppose it is the first taste of living to make me realize how bad it had been. This memory of being completely out of control of my own body, so close to the end has changed me forever. When I drive by crumpled cars and ambulances on the freeway, my heart goes out to whomever’s life has been disrupted. I feel the beginning of their long path to somewhere unwanted. The impact. The injury. The insurance. The lawyers. The bills and confusion.

The memory of losing my mind – and a few days of time, of the ICU and the fear cracks me open as I look at the photo Renee Nicole Good’s car against the Minnesota snow, blood coloring her airbag, her children’s stuffed animals pouring out from the glove compartment. The ICE agent said to the physician that wanted to take her pulse, “I don’t care.”

How can you not care?

How can you not care?!

What has happened to this world, where human beings have become so outside themselves, they are not phased by the broken body of another, lying right behind them?

She was murdered. I figure, if I can make just one person feel a little better… I open the GoFundMe page for Renee Nicole Good’s family. In less than 24 hours, it has already collected over a million dollars. I don’t care. A million is nothing compared to a lost mother or lover or daughter. I am giving. I see the numbers and read the comments and tears well up in my eyes.

A new alert pops up on my feed. In less than 24 hours since Minnesota, a couple in Portland have been shot in their car by federal agents. The leaders of these two cities, in solidarity, urge us to protest but to do so peacefully. The phrase of the week is “Don’t take the bait.” I am in disbelief but it sounds like wisdom. I hope it is truly powerful. How can we make change? How can we really push? We are in a closing moment when the power of Democracy has one last sliver of a chance to swing us back. If it doesn’t, more and more people realize, it will be too late. The press conference is over and realize I am weeping.

“I almost died!”, again and again. Then, why am I here if not to do more than bask in gratitude for my new lease on life? What power do we have in an already liberal state?

I know there are things to do, truly, so I can’t end this blog until I list a few to inspire others. I pray that you post your own ideas in the comments:

– Call or write your representatives and thank them for holding the line.
– Donate to groups that are doing hard work that we cannot.
– Attend high-media events to help keep the conversation in the news.
https://seattle-protests.org/ for local folks
– Reach out to marginalized people and let them know you are there.
– Join the groups that monitor ICE if you have the means.
– Divest from credit cards from Bank Of America and other such institutions.
– Research your own bank. I am switching over to Beneficial Bank from Portland.
– Keep being a good person and supporting others to be their best selves.

Every human, loved and nourished, angry and bitter, every person is an agent for change.

Love,

Tasara

7 Samhain: Shadow and Descent, Sabbats - seasons

Samhain 2025

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An old woman pulls the veil aside and hurries you in to the blackness.
Some call her Hag, but they do not notice the soft lines of love and concern on her face.
She hurries you in because she does not want you to think long enough to fear.
She knows that to be in the dark means to shut it all out
so you can be alone,
so you can think,
and dream.

She knows some of us need to howl into the void.
She knows some of us yearn for deep, gentle rest.
She has been preparing the sanctum for very long,
waiting for us,
waiting
and waiting,
with love in her heart. 

Lay the marigolds and fruit on the altar.
Blow kisses to those gone before you.
You are not forgotten. 
Set gifts outside the door for the ghouls you never met.
We know of your loneliness.
Light the lantern to remind them of the way, that there is a way.
There will be an end to your wandering.

Embrace your living friends.
Cherish the moments for they are fleeting, just as we’ve been told.
They are fleeting.

Tasara Jen Stone

Spiritual Activism

Solace in Difficult Times

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Is this what it feels like? To be home with the insanity of the world pressing upon the windows?

There’s no better time to nest, to recompose, fortify, pray. It is okay to want to feel good, because to be out there without knowing where our center is will only cause us to spin out, making no good use to anyone.

But when we hold the candle inside and venture out in a strong way, that light warms everyone who sees it.

So be kind to yourself. If there is no other purpose in the world, it is to be kind. Kindness is strength. It is the ability to see the mess before us, to see the mess inside each other and yet to choose to be kind. It is no small feat and we can do it better with help. That is what the Spirits of Kindness are for, to guide us, to clear our vision, and to allow extraordinary light filter through our beings into this world of suffering.

Share your joys and it will remind others of joy. See the light in others so they may see it too. And then go home and rejuvenate.

I say these things as much as for you as I do for myself, so I think I will think of more things to say.

Tasara

May you break free from the patterns that bind you.