I have read too many 'news' articles lately of children being killed outright by their so-called parents. Women putting newborns into the microwave, young toddlers being raped and killed by either a boyfriend, or someone close to the mother, and just this morning I read a report of a 13 yr.old boy caged up like an animal in Indiana, and finally died of the beating given to him by his guardians that were supposed to care for him.
The first reaction I have is "What the f**k is going on in this world that children have to be tortured and killed like this by the ones that are put in charge of them in the first place?!!?" But then I think back on the past when I was going to church and the evangelical preacher raising his fist in the air as if to rally strength, blasting out the 'end time' prophecy of the bible. Is this the 'end time' ?
Be it the 'end time' or not, I do think that the depravity of man (by man I mean human, not the gender) has become so thick that we as a race of people (the human race) has become jaded and sick with our own needs and wants. So much so that the simple needs of others, namely children, have become like a fart in the wind. They are small, they are weak, and they are not threatening to us as physical beings, so they can be beaten and neglected and thrown away like yesterdays trash. They have also found children's bodies in the dumps lately.
This makes me so sad it breaks my heart. What can I do? I have no money really to give to any charity organization, and if I did, would it even get to the destination it should? I can't go storming into other people's homes and demand they give over their children to me to take care of when the DSS has complaints and they really do nothing but take notes and ask a few questions and leave the situation alone.
What can I do? What can you do? That is where I stand right now. Is there anything we, as caring and loving people, can really do?
I don't pray anymore. Not that I don't talk to the one I run to. The word 'pray' basically means to beg, and I don't believe in having to go to my deity and 'beg'. I also don't believe that the one that created me, created me to stay on my knees and beg. Why? Because I was made in my creators image, and I am of my creator and my creator is of me, we are ONE....so I already have whatever it is I would be begging for. All I need to do is thank my creator for the gift I am in need of accessing...not receiving (I have already received it).
This is hard for some people to grasp, and I am still working on grasping that, so bear with me.
So.....guess some meditation and concentration on some solutions are in order, but I know I can't do this alone. I know it will take more than just me to do this. We all need to reach out, look out for, and help when and where we can. If we hear of something going wrong in a child's life, if we see something out of line...reach out and help for the right thing to be done. These kids don't ask to be brought into this world, and they most certainly don't ask to be treated the way that seems to becoming a trend. These kids are our future; they are the ones that will carry our light and stories into the beyond after we, their ancestors, have gone to the other side.
Maybe I am just rambling, but I felt such a need to put this down. Hope this post can help even just one child today, tomorrow, forever.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The love of men
I miss my daddy. Here I am, 50 years old, and I still call him daddy. That is because when I was 13, he married my mom, and I had so longed to call the man daddy. My biological father was in the picture at the time, but he was an alcoholic, and "away" living his own life, so if he didn't have time for me, I didn't have time for him. Plus, this man that was marrying my mom I had known all my life. He had been the best man in my mother and father's wedding, had grown up with my father, but he had been more of a daddy to me when I really needed one.
I remember going out on the boat when I was around 15-16 years old, just him and me. He taught me how to navigate the boat out on the lake and drive it through wakes of other boats, and navigate through the shallow coves of Belews Creek (now called Belews Lake). We would fish and he would talk and I would listen and I would talk and he would listen. I don't even recall those conversations in detail, but I bet most of what I use in my life came from those words. Like " If you lay down with dogs, you will end up with the fleas." That was to tell me not who to 'lay down with', but to be careful of those I spend a great deal of time with. "You are known by the company you keep." That one too.
I made him cry when I found out I was pregnant right before I turned 18, with half of my senior year in high school to go. He stood in the living room and said "We will be ok, you will be ok. We will get through this. I love you." Still makes me cry when I think of it.
.......
Ok, now that the crying jag is over, maybe I can continue writing.
When I met a man back in 1993, a man I shouldn't have even given the time of day to according to my parents, I ended up falling in love. Won't go into the sordid details here, but let me just say, it was all a great disappointment to my father. I thought he was being a prudish stick in the mud. Well, he wasn't, and he was right, and boy oh boy was I wrong. For over two years I stayed away from my mom and dad as much as possible, because I couldn't stand looking at them and their concern, love, and yes disappointment. I was too self-righteous in my own life to be able to feel the guilt for long, so I kept away. Then I found out about the cancer. I was scared, and I knew by what the doctors were telling him, he didn't have a whole lot of time left. Between the chemo and the ending results of dialysis, he was left weak, frail, and in no shape for confrontations or stress, so I stayed away then too. Coming around once in awhile to kiss him, tell him I loved him, and hug him and my mom. I was a lost person, adrift in a sea of confusion, chaos, drugs and alcohol.
I got to tell him goodbye that day, as I had been told that he would only live another 12-24 hours. He was comatose at home, in the hospice bed in the living room. He may have heard me, he may not have. I left there and went to pick up a girl I worked with so we could over to my house and "party". My spouse (won't call him a husband, because he really didn't act like one) was there waiting for me with the 'goods' to party with. Before I even got home, my mom called and told him my daddy had passed away. I remember him telling me when I got home. He then handed me a glass of Pepsi and a valium, and waited for me to take them so I could snort the coke on the tray. I don't remember much after that.
I stayed pretty much in the gray for the next few days, and I have a dim memory of standing beside the grave with my daddy's coffin resting above it. After we went into a portion of the church to have a few refreshments, while the funeral home lowered him into the ground and covered him up, I kept feeling like I wanted to just die with him. We went back out and looked at the flowers. That is all of that day I remember.
He and I have had several conversations since then. He has forgiven me, he told me so. He loves me, and he still watches over us. My mom, and my sister, and me, and my grandchildren. I so wish he could still be here on this level sometimes, especially like today, but I know there is no pain where he is, and he will never be sick again. As long as he is where he is, and chooses to stay on that level to watch over us, I know he is ok.
I also lost my biological father back in 2004. That story may come later. I miss him too, although the loss doesn't hurt like it does with my daddy.
I want to go fishing with my daddy again.
I remember going out on the boat when I was around 15-16 years old, just him and me. He taught me how to navigate the boat out on the lake and drive it through wakes of other boats, and navigate through the shallow coves of Belews Creek (now called Belews Lake). We would fish and he would talk and I would listen and I would talk and he would listen. I don't even recall those conversations in detail, but I bet most of what I use in my life came from those words. Like " If you lay down with dogs, you will end up with the fleas." That was to tell me not who to 'lay down with', but to be careful of those I spend a great deal of time with. "You are known by the company you keep." That one too.
I made him cry when I found out I was pregnant right before I turned 18, with half of my senior year in high school to go. He stood in the living room and said "We will be ok, you will be ok. We will get through this. I love you." Still makes me cry when I think of it.
.......
Ok, now that the crying jag is over, maybe I can continue writing.
When I met a man back in 1993, a man I shouldn't have even given the time of day to according to my parents, I ended up falling in love. Won't go into the sordid details here, but let me just say, it was all a great disappointment to my father. I thought he was being a prudish stick in the mud. Well, he wasn't, and he was right, and boy oh boy was I wrong. For over two years I stayed away from my mom and dad as much as possible, because I couldn't stand looking at them and their concern, love, and yes disappointment. I was too self-righteous in my own life to be able to feel the guilt for long, so I kept away. Then I found out about the cancer. I was scared, and I knew by what the doctors were telling him, he didn't have a whole lot of time left. Between the chemo and the ending results of dialysis, he was left weak, frail, and in no shape for confrontations or stress, so I stayed away then too. Coming around once in awhile to kiss him, tell him I loved him, and hug him and my mom. I was a lost person, adrift in a sea of confusion, chaos, drugs and alcohol.
I got to tell him goodbye that day, as I had been told that he would only live another 12-24 hours. He was comatose at home, in the hospice bed in the living room. He may have heard me, he may not have. I left there and went to pick up a girl I worked with so we could over to my house and "party". My spouse (won't call him a husband, because he really didn't act like one) was there waiting for me with the 'goods' to party with. Before I even got home, my mom called and told him my daddy had passed away. I remember him telling me when I got home. He then handed me a glass of Pepsi and a valium, and waited for me to take them so I could snort the coke on the tray. I don't remember much after that.
I stayed pretty much in the gray for the next few days, and I have a dim memory of standing beside the grave with my daddy's coffin resting above it. After we went into a portion of the church to have a few refreshments, while the funeral home lowered him into the ground and covered him up, I kept feeling like I wanted to just die with him. We went back out and looked at the flowers. That is all of that day I remember.
He and I have had several conversations since then. He has forgiven me, he told me so. He loves me, and he still watches over us. My mom, and my sister, and me, and my grandchildren. I so wish he could still be here on this level sometimes, especially like today, but I know there is no pain where he is, and he will never be sick again. As long as he is where he is, and chooses to stay on that level to watch over us, I know he is ok.
I also lost my biological father back in 2004. That story may come later. I miss him too, although the loss doesn't hurt like it does with my daddy.
I want to go fishing with my daddy again.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Tolerance
Looked up the word tolerance today. Here it is per Dictionary.com:
a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward those whoseopinions, practices, race, religion, nationality, etc., differfrom one's own; freedom from bigotry.
a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward opinions andpractices that differ from one's own.
interest in and concern for ideas, opinions, practices, etc.,foreign to one's own; a liberal, undogmatic viewpoint.
Now I have been reading the blogs back and forth in the Circle of Moms site with all of the stuff being said against the "non-christian" blogs, and that has really hit a chord deep within me.
I remember being in my early 20's and living in Virginia with my first husband (Oh NO! Yes, I have let the cat out of the bag, I have been married more than once, and by grannies, I am in my third one, so let it go!) and we were members of a church that was very much pentecostal holiness...rolling on the floor, praying in tongues, falling out in the spirit kinda church. The preacher decided he wanted to do an educational type of class that consisted of several weeks of Wednesday nights that would include the religions of Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons, and I can't remember the other ones. I do remember, however, the indignation I felt as I learned (and I really can't remember the details I was 'taught' so I won't go into them) about those different religions, and how I kept feeling as though I was on the high ground at least. At least I knew I was going to heaven, and if I ever ran into anyone of these other religions I would do my best to try to save them.
Well, here I am, over 25 years later and I no longer feel the attachment I used to feel as a christian. I am not saying I don't believe there is a God, or saying I don't believe there was someone by the name of Jesus (I prefer to call him Yeshua Ben Yosef (Jesus son of Joseph), but I prefer not to 'practice' the way christians do. I don't think there is any benefit at all going to a big huge building that has high maintenance bills just to worship. Fellowship and worship of whatever kind should be done where people feel the most comfortable, in their homes or outside in nature. I would think anyone that believes in a loving God would think he might be a little uncomfortable in a situation where everyone looks at others within the 'church' and comment on what they wore on a Sunday, and how bad so-and-so sang that hymn, and why doesn't that lady take her screaming child outside or in the 'crying room'? I don't know, sometimes I feel as though maybe I have become jaded, or more of a skeptic in my old age, but damn it! I don't care who you are, what color you are, what sexual orientation you are. If you believe in something or someone, you should be free to believe it and worship with all your heart without others telling you that you are wrong! How many of those christians would dare say out loud that they have at least once in their 'saved' lives that they didn't at least wonder if the Bible was entirely true? Or is there really a Heaven like everyone says? Or is there really a Hell? Why can't heaven be what you need for it to be? How many of them have really wondered if there really is a hell? Where is it? If they have asked themselves these questions, you can bet (uh oh, are they supposed to bet?) they never let those questions be heard, and they probably prayed for forgiveness because the question actually came into their mind.
I really feel, I believe, and I have come to the conclusion that the Creator, (sorry, don't want to put a name to the personification just yet, haven't really decided) created us however we were created, but we weren't put here to just live our lives and eat, drink, fart and belch, sleep, make love and have babies and live every day in and day out following blindly the sheep/cow/pig/human in front of us. Just because the one in front of me is on this path, does that mean it is right for me?
I really feel, I believe, and I have come to the conclusion that we were meant to explore, discover, research, learn, ask questions, come to a knowledge/gnosis of who we are, why we are here, how we got here, what we are supposed to do, what happens when we die, leave a legacy for our future as ancestors of old.
Guess that is what I am trying to do now.
Leave intolerance to those that are too stupid to know, or not intelligent enough to know, that a closed mind, is a closed heart. A closed heart cannot fully give or receive love. A closed mind cannot ascend to a higher plain of existence, which would be heaven, wouldn't it?
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The heart of the heathen warrior
I love my husband, and he is so smart and intelligent is scares me sometimes. I saw this on facebook this morning, and I wanted to share with anyone that ever decides to follow me. This is his post.
THE HEART OF THE HEATHEN WARRIOR
At the core of our people’s soul lies the heart of the warrior. The true heart of the warrior is not born in the ability or means to destroy. The true heart of the warrior is a heart born of love. The heart of the warrior is born in the love for oneself, for ones family, friends, folk, culture, gods and goddesses.
The warrior’s heart acts from the love of these things to protect and preserve them. To the heathen we live in a world teeming with life, life is holy, life is good, the world is good, and we do not aimlessly seek to destroy.
Yet as heathens, in living within the world we value certain things. We value freedom, we value the right to live according to our ways, to speak the language we choose, whether the language of the land we live in or an elder language that inspires us.
We value the right to honor and give worth to our gods as we choose, to raise our children as we choose, to bury or burn our dead as we choose. These things are part of the cultural expression we love, they are our ways, and we desire to live them to the fullest we are capable, it is an honor and duty upon us.
Yet, if hindered in our right to exercise our will in regard to these things a warrior will act to preserve the situation and freedoms within which we can live as heathens. Does this then mean taking up arms and going to war to kill? It can mean this, but it does not always mean this. Yet the warrior spirit would have us rise up defiantly in the face of oppression, to speak the words of our heart and state those things we hold true, and claiming our right to act in accord with the ways of our people, and our undying resolution to do so.
It is the warrior spirit that is needed today in the awakening of our people and the remanifestation of our sovereign tribes, the courage, the boldness, the inner strength of will, the integrity of personal character can be lived by all heathens, men, women, children, and our respected elders, all of us can stand proudly, determined to live true to our ways, determined to act as our conscience dictates, act as our values would have us act.
Thinking of heathenry is never enough, thought dies without expression in word and more importantly in deed. To be heathen we can not simply say this or that, we must do that which we think, we must act within the parameters of our heathen world view. Our actions must be true to our values, true to our ancestors, true to our gods and goddesses.
Every heathen must be a warrior at heart because every heathen has the responsibility to safeguard that which we hold dear, our very existence! You may never be called to take up arms in defense of our people, then again you may. You can always however, aid and befriend those of our folk who are experiencing trouble, you can always take pen in hand and write the truth of our folk and our ways, or, sit at the computer and write a heathen view to who we are and what we believe and thereby enter into battle with those who lie about us, who twist history to paint a hateful view of our people, you can stand and oppose those who label us hate filled, or racist.
There are many battlefields today where the heart of the warrior can find expression.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
New to blogging
Ok...I am new to the blogging world, but I am going to give it a shot. Although I have commented on the blogs of others, I have actually never had my own blog account. I am 50 years old, and I am "old dog", but I can and do learn new tricks. I am trying to "Be like water". Know who said that? Bruce Lee did, and that simple statement is more complex than most know. Follow me and I will try to Be like water.
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