Online Pagans Magazine
Issue #3 – December 2010
Editor: Ben Gruagach
http://www.onlinepagans.com
Copyright remains with
the authors and artists acknowledged within.
All else is
copyright WitchGrotto Press 2010.
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Editor’s Note
By Ben Gruagach
Welcome to the third issue of Online Pagans Magazine! Since this issue coincides with the Winter season in the northern hemisphere, and the time of Yule and similar solstice celebrations, we decided to explore the theme of Gifts. Inside this issue you'll find an abundance of intriguing and moving accounts of how gifts manifest in our lives, how we can give to others, and how our ancestors have given us precious traditions and history to build our future.
Our magazine is available in a variety of formats. Electronic formats are available for free, and a full-colour print version is available for the cost of printing and shipping. Please check out the menu options at the top of our website http://www.onlinepagans.com to obtain your copy. All our magazine content is also available on this website for free.
If you would like to submit content for a future issue of Online Pagans Magazine please email us at submissions@onlinepagans.com
May you find comfort, inspiration, and insight this season!
Something Old, Something Borrowed, Something New... Tales of Christmas
By Mystic Fool
As you are reading this article, the festive season is in full swing or might have passed us by a few days. Nowadays, Christmas is celebrated practically everywhere around the globe, even in the most remote village in the middle of nowhere. Globalization has transformed this feast into a multicultural celebration where the majority of believers and non believers make it a point to be surrounded by their loved ones and families. Others find it a good excuse to indulge in alcohol and gluttony. Be it in Malta, England, United States, China or in the middle of the desert, rest assured that you will be bombarded with advertisements, in every kind and shape, promoting gifts, meals and every thing your heart can desire.
What are the people really celebrating? Some might say the birth of Christ, others a feast of unity or the feast of hope and light. Almost nobody stops to think for himself and dig deep to find the roots of this festival. Why December the 25th? Why does light play such an important role? What is the meaning behind the Christmas Tree? ...the Yule Log? ...the Virgin Birth? ...the exchange of gifts? Nobody stops to think, because most of us feel more secure if our little worlds are not shattered by inconvenient questions. Let the powers that be do the thinking, and we, like good sheep, follow.
For most, the idea that “Christmas” was celebrated decades before the birth of Christ might seem absurd, but history is what it is and though it might be an inconvenient truth to some, the light is still there for those who want to see and the message is still there for those who want to listen.
December 25th
It is a known and accepted fact that the birth of Jesus Christ did not occur on December 25th. The Gospel of Luke (2:8) states that “there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.” This could have never occurred in December as in Judea the shepherds corralled their flocks by not later than October 15, to protect them from the cold season. It is a normal procedure to celebrate the nativity of a person on his birth date, so how did the 25th of December come around?
Pagan Customs Christianized
The story of Christmas, as we know it today, dates back to the fourth century C.E., when the Roman Emperor Constantine embraced Christianity and the change in fortune turned the oppressed into oppressors. It was quite easy for the authorities to issue decrees to the effect that now Christianity was the official religion of the Empire, but soon they found out that old habits are hard to break. The people, either through faith or for traditional purposes, had participated in their Pagan festivals since time immemorial. No matter how many edicts were issued, still the folk refused to abide and stuck to their old ways. Others mixed the new religion with their old customs. Not even persecution made them change their ways.
One of the major festivals celebrated by the Romans was the Brumalia (December 25th), following Saturnalia (December 17 till 24) – the Birth of the Unconquered Sun. It was a time for merrymaking and popular festivities, which contrasted greatly with the modest way the birth of Christ was celebrated, at that time, on January 6th. If you can’t beat them join them. The birthday of Christ was transferred from January 6th to December 25th and the celebrations in honor of the birth of the SUN GOD became a celebration in honor of the birth of the SON OF GOD.
The concept of the Light of the World is another borrowed idea from the Sol Invictus festival.
Other Traditions
The mistletoe, associated with the Sun God by the Pagans, was believed to have healing powers. It is associated with the festival of the Winter Solstice. It was a tradition of the Ancient Pagans to kiss under the mistletoe to celebrate the passing away of the old Sun and the birth of the new Sun. Another plant associated with the Sun God is the Holly.
Another tradition associated with this festival is the burning of the Yule Log. Yule means wheel, a Pagan symbol for the Sun. The burning of the log, which was kept from the previous years’ celebration, symbolized a year that passed away and auspicated a prosperous new year.
Another tradition of Christmas is the lighting of candles. This too has its roots entrenched in the Pagan festivities. Keeping in mind that in the Winter Solstice marks the shortest day of the year, the burning candle symbolizes the waning of Sun God.
The custom of exchanging gifts is a continuation of a Pagan tradition practiced during the festival of Saturnalia.
Mother with Child and the Virgin Birth
The story of Christ's birth is not unique and with some research you can come across numerous tales, associated with ancient Gods, recounting the same story.
The depiction of a Sacred Mother holding her infant Child is not a Christian novelty. Old statues found in Egypt depict Isis (the Queen of Heaven) holding her Son Horus, whose nativity was commemorated on December 25th.
The Christmas Tree
During Saturnalia, it was traditional to decorate the house with clippings of evergreen shrubs and lights. Trees were also decorated with replicas of the God Bacchus, considered a fertility God. Twelve candles were placed on the tree in honor of the Sun God. The Greeks also decorated an evergreen tree to celebrate the God Adonis, who was brought back to life after being slain. The ancient Germanic people who occupied the North of Europe attached fruit and candles to evergreen trees (symbol of eternal life) to honor the God Woden.
Santa Claus
Father Christmas is believed by many to be the fourth century Bishop Saint Nicholas, but lo and behold, he too has his origins in Paganism. The imagery of Father Christmas is derived from the Oak King or The Holly King, an old Celtic depiction representing the year coming to an end or the God in his final days before rebirth.
Conclusion
These are only a few examples of how Yule was transformed into Christmas. It shows how ideas were adopted to suit the new religion. I am sure that with a little research you can come across other even better examples that the ones I have written about above. Today Christians are complaining that the feast of Christmas is being Paganised… the truth is that what goes around comes around. You can hide the truth but you cannot eradicate it, as like the oak tree, its roots reach deep down in the ground of history.
The Gift That Keeps On Giving
By Patricia O’Rorke
The greatest gift of my life came without warning in July of 2008. In the past I neither believed nor disbelieved in spirits. I'd had a few experiences with the paranormal in my 20's, but had “turned off” any psychic ability out of fear of the unknown.
While lying in bed one evening, wide awake, a heavy mist formed next to my side of the bed. To my complete astonishment the mist turned into a young blonde woman holding a toddler with blonde ringlets.
Shock waves ran through me. I sat up in bed and elbowed my husband, Mike, hitting him in the ribs. I croaked out a strangled “Mike look!” I was flooded with feelings of terror, amazement and most of all, a burning desire to know more. (Whenever I turn away or turn on the lights, the spirits disappear.)
My brain reeled. What did it mean? Why was I chosen so late in life? The following days and weeks I saw multiple spirits, whole body, partial body, opaque, and very realistic flesh colored spirits. One night I had at least 4 visitations. I see them to this day. Sometimes weeks or even months will pass and then I have more visitors.
My interest was piqued to the extreme. Did it prove there was existence after death? I thought so! I began a log of events in a notebook so I would not forget any detail. Ever since that strange and wonderful night my outlook on everything has changed forever.
I found like-minded friends via the Internet. Though I have always been of a somewhat solitary nature I felt immediate kinship with this collection of far-flung strangers. Comfortable with myself at last, I delved into all the information I could find on the paranormal, mysticism, and various paths including Wicca. I would describe myself as an eclectic mostly Wiccan, but I no longer need a label.
I wondered why I see spirits of people whom I do not recognize. I have never been able to find my biological family. Adopted at 2-months-old, I long to see the family I sprung from. At the same time the more I experience the paranormal world, the less important my earthly beginnings become.
My main passions throughout my life has been nature in all its aspects. I grew up in the jungle of Panama, so it is not much of a stretch. I am happy that I can explore my natural inclinations and not apologize for it or have to follow a set of rules..
I celebrate both the Yule celebration and Christmas. I have never connected Christmas with Christianity, or my very dysfunctional family. I celebrate Yule with my Wiccan family, all the while shamelessly displaying 6 to 7-1/2 foot decorated trees all over my house. This is my favorite time of year.
The music of the holidays is a wonder, whether it is Johnny Mathis, Mozart, or Miles Davis singing “Blue Christmas” tongue in cheek.What a feast for the ears!
It 's a grand time of the year and all year long to tell those you love, how much you love them. I thank the God and Goddess for whispering in my ear all these years and bringing me home.
I'm trying to figure out what my role is with my new-found ghostly visitors and how I can help them. This is the gift that keeps on giving. I love that the end of my life is a beginning and not an end.
Milk and Water - What’s in a Name?
By James Byrne
My name is James. It’s a family name passed down through generations but like a lot of names it’s not a personal name in origin even if it has become that today. James, in its original Hebrew Jacob, is a title meaning ‘One who supplants’. The name's origin is biblical and Jacob is a name that gives away the character's function in the story to anyone who speaks Hebrew. The defining event in Jacob’s life is when he takes the place of his older brother as third ruler of the Jewish people.
Like Jacob deity names in Irish culture are frequently just an explanation of the deity's function, either in mythological narrative or in the world view of the people imparted through the native language. For example the goddess Boann: what does Boann mean? It doesn’t stand out as a title in mythology like ‘The Dagda’ or ‘The Morrigan’ does. Boann means White/Brilliant Cow but what does that really say to us as a title? The tendency in modern neopaganism is to compare early Irish religion with that of organised religion in India but in my opinion a much simpler explanation of the name Boann might be possible if we look at the relationship between cows and humans in Ireland, the nature of rivers and their associated iconography and how that may lead to a deified river spirit being symbolised as a cow. It might also lead a neopagan to consider early Irish religion less as an organised pre-Christian religion and more simply animistic.
The cow was and is an extremely significant animal in Irish culture. In the past it was the unit of trade and the measure of a man's wealth. The main export, source of food and clothing, and because of that the main focus of farming. Its life cycle and the needs of the animal shaped how people in farming communities lived. For example at Bealtaine the cattle would give birth and a head count would be taken for the year; the cattle would then be taken up to the higher fields for the new grazing. In a practice known as booleying, an Irish expression of transhumance, the young males would travel with the cattle up the mountain to live in temporary shelters and keep their own society.
The significance of that relationship might have gone further then the mundane. In neopaganism it’s common to say that Irish culture doesn’t have a creation myth, but while its true there isn’t one for the whole Island we do have lots of creation myths for geographical features. Place names in Irish tradition might reflect that when they tell us that features in our landscape may have been shaped by great animals. For example ‘the black pig's dyke’ is a series of huge ditches that border the old kingdom of Ulaid and could conceivably have been made by a boar scraping up the land looking for food. Lugnaquillia, one of the largest mountains in Ireland which borders on my families traditional territory in Co Wicklow, may translate as Lug na gCoilleach – the mountain of the grouse. The mountain itself was eroded by a glacier giving a deep dip in the centre like the nest a grouse digs for itself. Animals shaping the landscape isn’t just limited to place names, it's also present in folklore. For example when the Glas Ghoibhneann, a magical cow, is milked into a sieve the vast amount of milk she gives creates a lake and it’s in that particular piece of iconography, the cow and the waters, that I think might suggest a meaning for An Bhoinn’s name.
Inland waters in our world (as opposed to the otherworld where things are often inverted) might be considered to embody a feminine energy and rivers and lakes that provide fertile flood plains and food might accordingly attract the divine feminine symbols of fertility and plenty in the culture. The most important point to my argument being milk as a symbol of plenty. As a source of fertility and plenty the river Boyne/ An Bhoinn/ The White/ Brilliant Cow might have attracted the comparison with milk and in turn when a spirit or deity of the river was imagined as manifesting in our world it may have been imagined as that most significant of animals in the Irish culture, the cow.
I don’t want to be dogmatic in my religious beliefs and I’m not arguing any belief is wrong. Religion is too subject to personal interpretation for that. I personally value the view that Boann may be a similar expression of divinity as Bovina and that Boann as the name of a single individual deity adds a personal element to relationship with deity that I like. My view is only that if we consider the native world view as expressed in the language and symbolism in early vernacular literature we may gain an extra understanding of the meaning behind deity names like Boann. We could look at any deity in that way, after all the Dagda is a horse, the Morrigan is a raven and Aengus is a Swan. I'd suggest an exploration of all those things in a similar way would be a good way to spend time. It may be a good way to show your devotion to a deity.
The Gift of a Birth!
By Granny Theresa
Many people choose to make the month of December about one holiday, Christmas; and one theme, the birth of Jesus. While that is not my path I do think there is a lot of value in looking at births and how each one really is a sacred time that allows many gifts.
Not all births go as planned, and not all of them have a good outcome. While today it may be rare to have a tale about a birth in a manger, it is less rare to have stories of babies born in the car, at the house or on the way to where ever the plan of the day was.
You can find on television, and in books and in many a tale shared from person to person, stories of how babies come when they are ready, or that they have a mind of their own from the start with no compliance of the “best laid plans”. You will hear of staying calm, and breathing deeply, a clean surface, a clean towel or shirt etc. to wrap the wee one in.
But what we do not hear much of is the talking to the new baby and the gifts that child brings with it. If you have ever held a brand new baby, or even just had the time to look at one and watch it; it is not hard at all to see and feel things like hope, joy, love and happiness. You want for things to go well for the infant, and easy and successful; yet you know that will not always be the path.
Over the years I have had the honor to be at a few births (plus delivering my own children) and I am often amazed at the reactions of others. You have the folks that truly believe the baby is not really able to understand anything, it is acclimating so quickly to the outside world that it will not remember any of the process or motions. You have those that want the baby born into water, or darkness or quiet etc. because the baby needs to transition calmly and will remember that it was loved and supported and cared for from the start.
Mostly I think you find folks though in the middle ground.
For me I am a firm believer that you talk to the baby and to its higher-self or soul, before and as it is born and after. But what do you say? I am not a fan of the “goo goo, ga ga, oh, oh” noises and faces but instead for heart felt talking.
Some of the sentences I use are:
You are wanted.
You
are loved.
Welcome.
Remember, remember - don’t let all of
this get in the way, remember why you agreed to come.
You have
skills, use them.
You are safe.
Like I said before not all births end as we hoped, and sometimes the baby is born dead, or with problems that send it to Natal Intensive Care Unit. Going to NICU of course is not a guarantee that there will be success or full success. I have found that often the energy that is needed there is very different, BUT many of the sentences are in truth the same.
Often though there is the addition of sentences like:
It is ok to go.
I
still love you and always will, even when you are gone.
Thank you
for coming.
Thank you for the time you gave me.
Even when things do not go as we expect, there is an amazing gift with welcoming in a new life - even if it is only briefly, and even if it comes in at the same time the mother’s is going out. There is an energy that you can almost not even describe that happens.
My attempt is the time that souls are open, and coming in and going out is something everyone can actually feel. It is something more than a sense, it is palpable. And even if you are not there at the moment you can make a great difference in the transitions. It really is a time in your life where you will realize fully and quickly that what you are giving is one of the greatest gifts you will ever receive; it is your time on this planet.
And sharing this is something you can do at any age - so teach the children in your life the skills. Not only will you teach them a valuable tool they can use during their journey, but you will also help to raise the changes on the planet that help us all.
May you be safe, may you be happy, may you be healthy and may you live with ease!
Fallen Into Nothingness
By Sunil Narayan
I
Vijayā came to me in a dream asking for forgiveness
I ran as quick as I could, the arctic wind filling my lungs
Tiny pricks of needles only to make me cough and stop every several minutes
He followed me to the end of the road, grabbing my shoulders too hard!
I fell into his arms and sobbed softly
Sounds of trees and birds are mute
Vijayā asked me the question again
In the language of the devás, I told him “No, only Bráhman can answer it!”
His pain makes him turn the world into a garden
Flowers are poking out of fields of tall grass
Roses, lotuses, lilacs and plums
I am given this gift to change my heart’s anger
No, no! I can’t do this!
I ran again, though this time fell into a hole
He followed me there and held my body down
The awesome strength of a wrestler or even a god
Vijayā asked me again if I could forgive him
Gasping for air I reached for those dry lips of his and sucked his breath
The sweet strawberry sitting at the back of his throat slid down mine
I breathed his joy for the first time in years
My arms resisting his as he took off my garments
Thighs wide and white like the Himālayas clasped my chest tightly
I shouted so loud for they rub against my thin ribs
I am in a defeated state for which he accepts
An hour later, watching him sleep with his head on my breast
I cannot say no for this man is impossible to escape
Vijayā stalks me like a tiger hungry for human flesh
I look back, seeing complete concentration in his eyes
Almost as if the brutal savage will hunt me again for sport
With each conquest he responds in the words sweet as rose pollen:
“You’ll always be mine. No one else knows where we are, so accept this new life of ours.
I offer my protection and heart to you, please don’t refuse it”
At times I see angels at night hovering beneath lit clouds
They’re watching a pulsating ocean of our heart’s love
Hṛṣīkeśa-Devá’s guardian touches my back to let me know Vijayā’s love is more precious than my destiny
II
Śyena-Devá opens his wings to form a dome for us
He takes caution to not look
He buries his yellow beak in his chest not noticing white feathers fall onto our backs
They melt like snowflakes
Hṛṣīkeśa sent heaven’s angels to bless us with a promise
I waited so long for you to come to me my mighty sire
Each day passed with voices coming in all directions
None faced me courageously like you did upon catching my lustful stare
I became blind to avoid seeing my exacerbated pain
You are the vessel of anything rough so a woman’s pain is a pinch to you
It was too many days of tears locked in my heart by the bitter voices
No one knew who I was or cared for that matter
A long time ago I saw the demon’s world so my atman fled to safety
The color of the sky was the taint of the executioner’s blade
Your face formed out of the clouds to witness the deliverance of justice
My bare neck stitched with plastic thread several times but now hangs unattached
The cuts cannot heal for encrustation is my pox
I feel as if the cobra’s venom snuck into my arms to destroy my life
The torturer weighs my pain against morals but to him one is heavier than the other
You place your hand on my shoulder and rub till the sore is gone
If you saw me now there are no regretful scars
My distorted image slid off when I looked in your direction
Life flooded my limp body once again
My eyes opened to see only you standing obliviously to your surroundings
A rākṣasaḥ took my body in a previous life to feed his selfish lust
No strength in my body could shove him to the floor
His teeth sharper than my brother’s sword poked many holes in my arm
The blue blood trickled to my wrists
His hands gripped my neck tightly till my lungs gave out
My life saved his own but at what cost?
Keśava, my brother, young and ignorant of the world’s dangers
Constantly played with his toys to cope with the rākṣasaḥ raids of our lands
He sensed my demise yet kept his tears locked in the heart
The rust of the lock grew dark brown after seven years
His hair turned completely grey like the fire smoke
Every night my hopeless brother prayed for me to return with his mangoes
Yes, he wanted me to pick mangoes from our special mango tree in the forest!
It was there I stumbled upon a long, black-haired rākṣasaḥ with two small eyes
His jaw hung so low you could not tell whether speech or the ability to scream was taken away
I found my way to you amongst a world oozing with malice
Vicious cuts worn by Bhūmī-Devī as a nasty gift
She grabbed my ankle pleading for me to borrow her tormenting state
I could not resist easing my mother’s pain
III
The deep blue color your skin wears provides shelter for morals given by Vāsudevāya
You shared your gift with me without asking for anything in return
I prostrate to you as a grateful wife!
A saint sent by Nārāyaṇa to deflect the harsh spirit of this world
My ātman etched in the heart’s canvas a symbol of your generosity
It wasn’t tangible till you left an imprint on my chest
The sign of Vāsudevāya’s boon is the power to absorb the world’s love
Why do you make me feel as if Bhūmī-Devī needs to donate her children’s love to me?
A soldier flung into the battlefield to fight Bráhman’s enemies
Slaying rākṣasaḥ after rākṣasaḥ with Sarvāsuravināśā-Devī at the other end
I saw this relentless, snarling monster pull limbs apart
It threw them to Sarvāsuravināśā-Devī’s lion as a snack
He scratched every mind with his tiger-claws
While smiling at me when the blood of the last demon is lapped up by her lion
The foreseen apocalypse begun after Sóma-Devá indulged in his unstoppable lust with an
Apsarāḥ
They partook in rich wine after the devá’s sandalwood paste washed off with milk
Stayed outside for the whole day letting the ocean’s waves reach the farm lands
The Nakṣatras waited in subservience to their husband Sóma-Devá
Sóma-Devá forgot his important task so shrouded his abode at dawn
In this careless act the rākṣasaḥs saw a chance to cause chaos amongst unguarded
villages
The world saw fire and dark rejoice in union while demons stormed the cities
Wrecking the homes with axes, blades, arrows, spiked-clubs and torching the children whose hallowed parents are already buried in the ground
Laughter filled the smoky air after cries for mercy submerged into the sea of blackened bones
Cheekbones smeared with black charcoal, full lips dry after sapping the sweet marrow
IV
A treason these black creatures have committed against Bhavānī-Devī yet Sóma-Devá is no where to be seen!?
His legs will become lame when Varuṇa-Devá crushes them with his mighty fist
A shameless devá who rewards tempestuous nymphs with an abundance of gold-threaded red silk
His plump hands eagerly give such a possession only worn by Mahālakṣmī
A bastardly devá he is!
Where there is no concern in his silent heart undeniable regret exists
It pulsates in his conscience till he screams for his wife
No woman can soothe his outbursts for his insides pinch his soul
Such a sensitive entity…vulnerable to Sóma-Devá’s abusive body
Such a shame the spirit has to witness illuminated divine reduced to a mortal’s misery
Let this serve as an urgent message for all those who have lost themselves to the seduction of all-consuming pleasure
One drop of rose water from the golden bowl will snap you into another reality
The devás venture into such a world for their enjoyment but mortals are bound by
a weakness: death
Mortals act like the devás and feel justified but our minds have already shed layers till nothing but the ego remains
The ego is a sneaky cobra….death is a mouse
Oh Sóma-Devá!
Why do you succumb to your heart’s greed!?
To waste your virtuosity away on heartless tempests!
Eons of austere meditation pass on to the next generation of divine beings
Yours is just an ignored toy so the body red from constant arousal
Like a monkey in intense heat
No devá will hold your hand with sympathy in their hearts for you have soiled your place in heaven
Varuṇa judged you as corruptible!
Gone are your selfish prostitutes and white marble palace!
To cope you waddle in a lake alone while the gopis laugh at your impotency
You easily forgot your service to humanity
To wane and wax so the rākṣasaḥs remain imprisoned in Bhavānī-Devī’s steel chamber
Gone is your people’s immovable devotion!
V
I knew your thoughts by staring at your limitless entity after the rain retreated
The air laid down on my feet like a cat, sighing as the heated caressed it
You waited for everyone else to go back to sleep
Then showed me the large pearl in your necklace
I threw a red lotus by which your hand quickly caught it
It released the smell of ripe mangoes under the summer’s sunset
The Aśvins are envious of my affection towards you
Plotting till the end of time for my ladoo!
From the window of my mansion in Himālayas’ forest I offered salutations to
you, the fair white lotus
A divine creature sought after by every astrologer
Now, you are missing from the sea of twinkling sea urchins
A mortal hiding in secrecy while kings switch to deviance
And soldiers bring injustice to those who seek help
The rākṣasaḥs aid in the rājās’ adventures of guiltless sin
They’re waiting for the right time when you sacrifice your last bit of power for their conquest of the world
If any thought crossed my mind that you would be the cause of our problems
It couldn’t manifest, for I was enamored with your breadth of light
Light dressed with the spotless virtue of compassion
It gave Bhūdevī the nourishment she needed when sobbing for being childless
To my surprise, eons later you gave everyone a lit candle in the midst of her turbulent lashes
Your sympathy for the suffering of others has no boundary
It is as limitless as Gangā-Devī in the spring
A heavy burden for a rākṣasaḥ is a devá’s noble trait
Uṣas-Devī turned to Varuṇa-Devá to ask about your whereabouts: “Where did my lord go?”
Varuṇa-Devá could not answer for the world was suffering more than you
While mankind’s hope is steeped towards nothingness, your lips touch the
refilled wooden bowl
Always displeased with the remaining drop hanging from the rim
Always asking for more, more and more!
When a man gives in to the weakness of his mind he is connected to it
His mother’s words of noble character become a child’s folktale
I am disheartened when seeing my friend throw himself into the tavern
Little by little his mind is eaten by alcoholism
A sickness worse than Śrīmatī Rādhārānī stricken with sudden depression when Keśava leaves her home
Your love for humanity withers under the scorching Sūrya
I cover my ears to not hear your sobbing
It pains me to even wonder what your body has become
VI
I left Bhūdevī’s side after witnessing women and children decapitated by the sword of evil
Men and boys sold into slavery by warlords
The world in anguish has sunken into the cosmos
It waits for Nārāyaṇa’s warrior to fight for us again
In my heart I knew he would come on a white horse wielding Mahākālī’s talwar
He galloped onto the battlefield forming a dust wind that enveloped the entire Āsura race
Shouting Nārāyaṇa’s name with pride!
Chopping every foe’s head off a banana bundle from its branch
One, two, three and many more heads bounce as they hit the floor
He crushed their heads like coconuts and licked the watery blood till the skin turned blue
His roar is Bhūdevī’s earthquake, terrifying Indrāṇī’s servants!
They blow conch shells to alert the devás of the eon’s apocalyptic battle
All the devás ride into combat with their chariots, armed and drunk on fury
Even Yamarāja wields a noose to snatch the hideous Āsuras by their necks!
Rāma-chandra’s immortal army joins the fight with their hearts emanating Nārāyaṇa’s love
Lightening attacked the ground with such force the forest’s creatures ran to Bhūdevī’s caves
Fire surrounded the battlefield to keep blood from spilling onto her green sari
The Āryas and Āsuras skinned each other down to the little toe forming a lake of blood
No one retreated for their egos saw death instead of glory
Why is Mahākālī simply observing this battle?
She sits atop a tree, her eyes glowing with anger
Every child has slipped into the ether world without a sorrowful wail from the devás
To my horror Mahādevī lost her sanity, releasing a bloodcurdling scream
The birds flew into Bhūdevī’s arms for the raging devī’s voice terrifies them
She leaped onto the bed of corpses unaware they are devás
A spiteful grin adorns her face
For her moral authority is unparalleled in the universe
My husband stood alone before the remaining hundred Āsuras
They blocked every direction so no escape could be made
A man who could push your body into the soil with his foot is now the prey
Mahākālī’s screamed once more sending the voices of the Āsuras into the netherworld
VII
Speechless they looked in her direction then froze as hard as the Himālaya’s icecaps
One by one the untouchable shadow knocked off their heads with her mace
She scooped each head to quench her thirst for blood before smashing the skulls with her barefoot
I could not bear to look at her savagery for in its naked form a mother’s wrath brings even Nārāyaṇa to his knees!
In my heart I bowed down to Kālarātri-Devī’s terrible power
The awesome flesh-eating devī who jumps from the mountain top to the ocean’s
floor
Anklets made of Āsura wrist bones jingle like the devádāsī’s bells
I prostrate before your measureless power in eternal obedience
The Āsuras’ skulls crack under her pink sole becoming dust
No one dare challenges the bloodthirsty devī!
For her gaze casts a spell of fear on those who challenge her
A herd of lamb unable to rise from the funeral pyre
Kālarātri reduced this sinful army to a dozen for my husband
She leaped back onto her tree to watch him execute the demons
Her role in this fight against evil has been fulfilled
The flow of blood into her starving belly symbolized this moment
A legion of Āsuras would have sprung from each drop of blood yet
Kālarātri’s tongue long as a cobra’s catches it before it hit the ground
When Kālarātri came into existence time had bended inwards
Such pain seared its skin leaving holes that could not contain light
Light is unbridled and time is its servant
One overpowers the other without a just reason
Such is Kālarātri, the rebel who sprang from the bent body of time
Her unbridled nature has been the daunting tale of many slain Āsuras
Who is this Āsura with bones for a skirt and fangs so long as the waning moon?
The Devī of Night may keep time from losing its beautiful figure
Her power cast a spell imbedded in Viṣṇu’s galaxy
Unwavering no matter what cruel game the rākṣasaḥs play with Time
Brāhmaṇas ask for the great bringer of destruction, Kālarātri-Devī, during yajña
In secret they call the ghastly devī an Āsura
Her skin color is as black as the ocean’s pearls
Yet her hands reach for children’s palms to offer motherly love
In my heart she is my tender mother awaiting our reunion
I sit before my altar to adorn my ishvara with marigolds
Bathe the black marble in cow’s milk and anoint the forehead with bright roli
Singing my heart’s praise for her magnificent beauty
VIII
My dear mother, to the world you are death but to me you my very thoughts
Selfless love blanketed by ferociousness
The Āsuras and the devás cannot mask their pangs of jealousy
Your eyes are little pools of faith in my intentions so I offer
my abundance of gratitude
The tale of Śiva sacrificing his life to Mahādevī is true!
The newly born goddess was a nightmare to the world after
defeating a demon king
Her ego swallowed the victory
As a result, becoming the mind’s furor
Such madness led the slayer down a path of human annihilation!
The end of this eon would have been mankind’s apocalypse
Most of the devás fled to Pṛthivī’s ocean caves for shelter
The one who remained laid down on the muddy path leading to the Himālayas
She trampled all plants and animals till seeing a naked blue devá
An ego once the largest in the galaxy reduced to that of a child’s
Śiva with the crescent moon in his long brown hair took the form of a motherless baby
Sleeping serenely with his little thumb in his mouth
A selfless deed to rid of the world of needless bloodshed
A second before her foot touched the infant’s chest her mind shook violently
Its eyes opened to witness the heart’s inferno of guilt
The kuṇḍalinī rushed to the heart threatening its existence
The dark-skin devī succumbed to the realization of what her power could do
The heart struck by pain so sharp her legs shook before the deep blue child
Suddenly night turned into day snapping the kuṇḍalinī out of its fixation
The Brāhmaṇas sing of the next moment with welling eyes
Mahādevī whose skin turned fair picks up the smiling baby in her hands, offering
her breastmilk
The devī who felt terrible anger now sings a lullaby to awake him
Hours pass without Mahādevī becoming agitated by her child’s silence
IX
As daylight leaves Pṛthivī’s the white boy and his mother remain locked in an embrace
In this state the pair remained for years while she recovered from the torrent of abuse
Mahāyogin forgot who he was, the mountain dweller who only talks when Bráhman excuses him
Kālikā, forgot who she was, the harbinger of unspeakable massacre
A mother and her child inseparable so the world could breathe again
Such a bond the Brāhmaṇas sing of without stopping to catch their breath
Agním is transported to the moment when Kālikā met her defeat
In his eyes a mother sits on the floor holding her infant
Where once he saw the comet penetrate the soil now exists a victory for
Pṛthivī
Such a kind mother for she hunched her back to allow Kālikā and her son sit on top!
The way my sweet savior looks at me is like that of Kālikā’s baby
He carries me in his arms adoring my laugh as his steps shake the ground
Gently he lays me down on our bed
To hold my gaze with his own
I forget to take my bathe because his hands push my pelvis against his
Our love is a tiger biting into garnished poultry
Unbeknownst to me, Pushpavān shoots a floral arrow of passion into our hearts
Why does he intervene in our privacy!?
I look to the window and see him peering in
Shyly his eyes dodge our naked bodies
His white body washed with cow’s milk before going on a search for couples
That nose of his finely pointed to lead the way
He pulls the bee-string of his sugarcane bow to send a vibration to our hearts
Amused from pinching them with lust from the floral head of his arrow
X
One night I set a trap of honey on the window sill
Kāmadeva, so naïve of the mortal’s playfulness
One or two tricks I hid in my closet
In the evening the handsome devá sat on the windowsill ready to tease us again
My husband came home from hunting with Śakra-Devá in Gangā’s forests
While I took a bath Kāmadeva struggled to release himself from the bees’ honey
His skin begin to peel off, staining the wood with blood
My lord saw this invasion thus shot five arrows in rapid succession, piercing the
Devá of Love’s stomach
I rushed to my room, screaming in terror at this atrocity!
An innocent game turned into the murder of a playful devá
My heart broke into pieces which my husband hurriedly gathered
Before he could create a rose vase again Varuṇa-Devá caught me by the hair
Vijayā begged him to let me go but the wise devá’s own heart
is filled with disappointment
I tried to grab hold of my loving kṣatriya yet even the lord’s strong morality kept me
from succeeding
Varuṇa-Devá thrust me into the netherworld without speaking a word
I stand in the misty valley a humbled mortal
I gave you my sweet lord many years of selfless devotion
My hands constantly worked in the kitchen for you
I am stuck in this realm of rākṣasaḥ souls
Spirits bent on vengeance for their murder
I live inside the tree for am too scared to face the sadistic spirits
No pure soul exists but me
How am I pure if my reckless behavior caused the death of another?
I have acted without thinking yet do we not all behave in such a way?
The devás behave foolishly when courtesans dance for their pleasure
I slaved in the kitchen with the smile as pleasant as Sūrya-Devá’s
My sweet savior sees me watching from Vāsava’s shimmering moonstone-encrusted palace
He thrusts his sword in the air as a salutation to my hands adorned with the finest rubies
You are my loyal servant in our tiny abode and I am your loyal servant too
Now that you are so far away my bracelets fade away leaving behind cold wrists
My most prized possession is taken away to degrade my love for you
In secret Vāsava’s courtesans praise my bravery in this cruel exile
Without the shameless character of the devás they are vessels of joy and desire
I knew their heart’s intent from the beginning
It certainly lied with no other!
No devá shall touch these luminescent creatures ever again
XI
Yes, they will be under my protection
No hand dirtied with the blood of a rākṣasaḥ will caress a courtesan’s thigh
They are above such a barbaric manner!
Śakra-Devá groomed his subjects to be greedy swine but I scold them openly
While rain falls onto my sari it continues soaking in the muddy water
I cry in agony for the first memory of me hunting you has brought me into a sorrowful state
Millions of miles forward with the eyes of a gazelle I saw you eating an apple in the shade of a tree
Proud of evading the chase you forget my eyes can see everything
You are too proud to admit defeat so maintain silence for weeks
Oh! This childish game you play!
You don’t make a sound even if I kiss your sweaty neck
Such a strong tree trunk unbreakable even if Śakra-Devá lightning bolt were to hit it
I asked Bráhman to give me a child but instead he gave me a man
A man with playfulness to bring out my laughter
Run and hide in the Himālayas, my rājā!
I will find you and caress those mud-caked cheeks
You slip in the slushy field of grass but pull yourself up like an ambitious king
A goal of escaping my speedy eyes
My soldier, I will always find you hiding in some cave
Suckling the drops of salty ocean water
They are pleasing to your warrior nature
A warrior enjoys nature’s womb without abandon for he is not as reserved as one thinks
Bound to a code of living his mind wants salty water to quench his thirst
I see that part of you since your nature is not limp by the fear of disgust
In the morning you are stark naked standing in the soft blue lake
Waiting for the sun to dry your oiled arms
I sigh as your soapy hair becomes soft like a baby otter’s back
If you turn to look at me my eyes shyly look towards the sky
XII
The sky is a long trail of smashed blueberries
To pick one is to peal the roof so the galaxy can be seen
Wilted lotus flowers crown the head of a rākṣasaḥ
But vibrant orange marigolds and yellow orchids decorate yours!
You wear my handpicked flowers as your sentimental jewelry
I give you golden rings laden with lapis lazulis but you
are more fond of my garden’s flowers
A man who is known all over the world as the drunken slaughterer
Indulging in a drink made of crushed soma and water before battle
Are proudest of wearing my rejuvenated garden’s flowers!
Perhaps the smell reminds you of our erotic union in the jungle
Sūrya-Devá turns black like kohl, a single dot in Dyauṣ Pitā’s smooth forehead
He strokes the Sūrya’s chest gently to see if he is suffering from distress
Sūrya-Devá has nothing to say so Dyauṣ Pitā’s remains neglected
You are outraged by the long cruelty Sūrya-Devá enacts on such a fragile friend
His skin so thin if broken the world would be sucked into nothingness
Like water when forced by Sūrya-Devá to take one last breath
He brings joy to Pṛthivī when pulling the far end of her sari to his chest
Showing us the milky craters and swirls of summer colors condensed into
gigantic marbles of blue, red, silver, brown, purple, orange and pink!
My goodness! It is as if the rainbow ran away from the windy monsoon to lie on Viṣṇu’s transparent floor!
We can see the devás enjoying passion fruit while celestial musicians play the tabla and sitar, singing hymns to a past eon of harmonious innocence
We can smell our mother’s lotus syrup as it pours into Pṛthivī’s garnished womb
All the malnourished black ants jump into stream for a drink
People went about their business in the market square to trade mangoes and silver pots with Indrāṇī’s inscriptions
Their eyes glistening after Gaṅgā touched them at the morning bath
Simple-minded mortals trading their heirlooms for a safety net not worth a year
XIII
They knew what was to come but I didn’t…
I should have known, my lord!
I should’ve soared through the streets disguised as a canary
Watching for any sign of guiltless malice
I wait every day under my banyan tree
My hands have shriveled from the prolonged droughts
I beg for water but no one offers me a pot
When Bráhman heard my suffering he refused to end my life
My tree’s leave are gone
Starved for three months, I eat only the air
If one were to see me the stem is snapped in half
The petals dried to a crisp and pollen swallowed by the demons
Like a gardener who disposes of his tarnished beauty
dispose of me my lord!
Gather sticks for a funeral pyre so I can reunite with my husband
My hair has turned completely gray and cheekbones sag to the jaw
I don’t want anyone to see me in this nasty state
For the a single second would make them vomit
A rose once so tall has shrunken to a weed
My dear hero has no way of seeing me but he knows I am lost
You haven’t told him yet but he will learn soon
If you forgive me for my error I will calm him down
Vijayā inherited the temper of his father Kārtikeya, the Devá of War
Once the devá fretted over whether to strip him of his powers or not
I convinced them to allow the contemplative child to blossom into
their fearless protector
XIV
I cannot read the mind of Bhūdevī’s children
Hence, you go in my place to discover a dreaded secret
A home scorched, leaving nothing but children with glassy eyes
The Āsuras put a spell on their minds to rend them defenseless before
snatching their hearts
With each city the homes of families are destroyed as a blood filled the streets
Once the parents are all eaten their bones are fashioned into necklaces
They created a bloodbath to fill bathtubs with the blood of children
A stick with a child’s skin attached is used by a nervous servant to scrub an Āsura’s back
Oh those poor innocent people!
A harsh image etched into my memory
A smirk appears on every devá’s face for a sport is about to begin
Role the dice and bet on a wife!
Offer your kingdom for it is only people!
This world is for students not quite ready for the puppet-game of the devás
Foolish kings wallow in the ego’s prized muck
Unaware of the devás tugging at their strings
The treason Āsuras committed upon Bhūdevī’s ground is an abomination
The rulers of our lands have been maneuvered in the direction of such corruption
Even the purest race of divine beings is seduced by such an easy conquest!
All emotions appear and disappear with a change of the rules
Boys cannot play for they are cats distracted by manipulative mice
A trap with gold coins at the center become their
achilles heal
All noble creatures moved to the rival of the heart without a second thought
Fallen into a state of fixed sadness followed by eyes dissolved by the burning tears of the soul
Morality constantly fought with every ruler’s cowardice
To punish them Varuṇa-Devá cast a spell on their tears to act as knives against the skin
May the wise one turn them into whimpering dogs
XV
My champion watches with rage from beneath Bhūdevī’s soil
Bang! Bang! Bang! He pounds the thick ceiling with his fist!
Shouting Viṣṇu’s prophecy of a gloomy end for
Do they not feel the horror women experience when Bhūdevī is chained to tree posts for the rākṣasaḥs’ pleasure!?
Murderous bastards these rulers most certainly are!
A curse on their feeble, disrobed bodies!
For their next life I shall curse them to be crunched by a cobra’s teeth
The suffering felt by the motherless children when the rākṣasaḥs dismantled their bodies you will endure till I let go of your body
Know this you putrid race of disobedient mahārājas: I curse you to be reborn as diseased rats!
Your bones bit down on by a cobra who does not know your sick mind
His heart is loyal to Śeṣa for he understands the virtue of honor
Your honor is inside a copper pot in your wife’s kitchen for she could not hide her shame
any longer
A devī is elegant in character but a devá is a slave to fickleness
In my gentle heart I cannot destroy the infected leaders of our country
Their knees may be black as the hands of lurking rākṣasaḥs
But their souls are not supposed to be handed to Yamarāja-Devá for consumption
I have the power of virtuosity gifted to me by Mahālakṣmī and the power to hand punishment to those who spit on her affection
I bow down to the blue feet you adorn with blue gemstone rings
Each one is made from the moon’s glossy marble
So perfect that Sūrya-Devá looks upon you with noticeable envy!
Nārāyaṇa, your body is curved to match the sensuousness of Śeṣa, King of the Nāgas
Who is the galaxy’s coiled bed decorated with the blue devá’s prized emeralds
A humble snake without its poison reigns over his seduced children
Give me a chance to spin the three-limbed wheel of life, death and rebirth Viṣṇu!
Place me on my lord’s throne so I can lift Bhūdevī’s black veil tonight
If Varuṇa will become enraged then I plead you to not divulge our secret
In each eon there is foe too enormous Bhūdevī runs to a sea cave at the furthest corner of the earth
She trembles while praying for Varāha’s rescue
He dove into the electrifying milky galaxy to pull her out
It could have ended his life but he possesses limitless valor
A devá who will save anyone even if the she is ill-mannered
She saw his eyes of unbeatable determination masking a cursed mind
The grateful goddess touched his conscience to soothe the numbing anxiety
The lotus flowers lay beneath your feet undiminished
They grow so full with life that Mahālakṣmī turns away to hide her jealously
Pṛthivī received her right to protect her children in the next left when you lifted the curse
XVI
I saved my husband from pain-inducing hallucinations after a sage hexed him for tripping on his dinner plate
Give me the same boon my mother had the rare fortune of receiving before she became one with the milky ocean!
The power to take away a demon’s magick is what I need to save my sister
Pṛthivī is raped continuously screaming my name, can’t you see she needs my help!?
From my parents’ booming lovemaking came me and Pṛthivī
I, the smaller moon of this universe and she, the fertile earth
Nārāyaṇa, you took me into your arms and taught me the Āryan way
Pressured my erring nature to dissipate like the universe when it was a billion years dead
The loudest vibrating shock could be heard within my mind
Your intent was to groom me, my omnipotent eternal sky
I was the guardian of Pṛthivī’s children to keep her oceans will not swallow them
My lord, I cannot help but touch your feet a thousand times!
My serene, nurturing sire, if your eyes stretched any wider we would see many universes
in your mind
It is such great anxiety I feel now that you changed your mind
I am lost in a misty realm without a lit candle to show me the way
Have you abandoned me my doe-eyed lord?
One voice shouts at me with a sneer, that I might enjoy living in a jail cell
On a floor covered with the charred bones of children
If it be true then perhaps I deserve this hell
I regret making the mistake, it was a shameful thing to do
Kāmadeva is gone, my husband is gone, and now the world is barren
Sūrya takes this opportunity to rape a depressed Pṛthivī
Pṛthivī lost her joy to the demons who wished her dead
Her womb is devoid of the seven oceans
In this dying state the lush earth will become a forgotten carcass
Soon the universe will give way for a billion years of pure darkness
Such a dire condition!
Her black sari will appear under the sun’s enormous entity every few centuries
What seems like the wind is just the end of the fabric
In such a moment millions of sacrificed souls shall reach for their mother
Only to realize their purpose is to be recluse
Such temptation a mortal possesses, to be one with her again
If one looks to his left or right there is the same transparent spirit
They’re floating in this black universe which is without boundaries
The material is cool as the arctic wind
But bitter like the bees’ unsweetened honey
None have a form, a life or touch…only the thought remains
Dazzling Dixie
By Patricia O’Rorke
Dixie, a 10-pound terrier mix, roared into our lives like a tiny tornado. She sported soft tri-color black, brown, and white fur, and waved a long, plumed tail.
Dixie had been beaten and left to die on a sidewalk. Miraculously she was rescued by a good Samaritan who took her to our local veterinarian. Thinking that Dixie would be a wonderful addition to our family and a companion for our Pomeranian, Sugar, we brought her home… and so our history with Dixie began.
Dixie immediately settled into our domestic routine, albeit showing obvious signs of abuse. She snapped, snarled, and hid under the couch whenever strangers entered her domain. To our surprise and horror, Dixie and Sugar loathed each other at first sight and they had to be separated whenever we left them unattended – for 16 years!
Dixie loved us ferociously and clung to us with a vengeance. We were now “her people”. She paraded proudly about, chest out, shoulders back when we took her for walks secured by an expandable leash, as she dashed madly at squirrels that she was never allowed to catch.
Dixie guarded us fiercely with every fiber of her tiny body. She wedged between us at night, always touching some part of us.
She was rarely friendly to strangers. When we had new flooring installed we reluctantly boarded her and Sugar overnight. We were awakened the next morning to a frantic phone call from the boarding kennel. It seems that Dixie had escaped through the food trough four times and had bitten three of the kennel helpers.
We were to pick her up immediately and never bring her back. Dixie never spent another night away from us!
Once when opening the front door of our house after returning home from work, we heard voices coming from the living room. We crept stealthily into the house and spied Dixie jumping up and down on our answering machine listening to the sound of our voices.
Among her many talents, she could jump a 6-foot fence by hitting the corners and catapulting over it. We installed locks on all our cabinets to prevent her from opening the doors and reaping havoc.
One Christmas she ate her way through a heavily wrapped 5-lb. box of chocolates, devouring all but one chocolate. The repercussions were horrific... but she lived.
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