I am capitalizing parts of the titles of this post because they are the titles of boards on my Pinterest account. I don’t usually capitalize titles. Or first lines of poetry.
My daughter says this is because I am a secret anarchist.
I don’t know. It’s a revolution I suppose. Regards to Imagine Dragons.
I had a board entitled Sushi & Sake but it was too limited of a concept to be very interesting so I deleted it and instead added one about one of my great loves: science.
This is where I often need to explain myself.
First, all my witch friends will start hollering that I am not open to miracles and the magic of the unknown, but if I hang out with them, then all my science friends will start hollering that I am promoting magical thinking and fuzzy logic.
What gets me hollering is anybody who tells me that I can’t choose the most true and most beautiful parts of any system of behavior and smoosh them together.
As long as I hold myself to rigid protocol and ethic commitment, then I can have it all.
For instance, I have already stated that a large part of my initial interest in witchcraft was because it is a female-centric practice and I was escaping a male-centric one.
Is either more “true”? No. But I know that, with a few notable exceptions, the entire history of humanity on this planet has been male-centric and so it’s about fucking time that someone gives The Pope, et al a fucking run for their fucking money.
Also, consider the fact that before we had decent means to observe and record natural phenonemon, like say… bacteria, or the orbit of Venus, or the systemical shortening of beaks of certain birds on certain islands over a period of years… before we could do any of that, there was nothing but folk wisdom. You know, April showers bring May flowers.
Or, excellent case in point, Groundhogs Day. The fact that accurate modern means of measurement and documentation have since invalidated the idea that a sunny day on February 1 or 2 means more wintery days to follow for six weeks until March 21 doesn’t change the fact that the original supposition that there was a connection between two possibly related data points is the heart and soul of the scientific method. It is a failed hypothesis, and fun for the kids to learn about in school, but that doesn’t mean that it was bad science. It was very good science, but with an insufficient measuring cup.
It’s just important to add that caveat…. which has since been disproved.
Unless you are willing to add that footnote to everything that you have ever seen or felt or thought or heard or licked or snorted, then you cannot call yourself scientific.
People have blind spots, of course. Usually because of what they learned as a kid.
For example, I was taught to respect medicine, but the same man who had a career in the medical sciences thereby providing a home for me and my brothers as children (I call him Dad) also believes that magically charged olive oil rubbed on my head and then laid with hands and prayed over by at least two members of the priesthood of our peculiar Christian faith is enough to drive the demons out of me and make me, once again, a quasi-virgin who can finally snag an appropriate husband, at least by his standards.
And while he is at it, it can also drive the wayward spirit of the Devil out of my daughter so she doesn’t scare him with all her crazy talk about non-binary anti-TERF queerdom.
Because that’s what my sweet little baby is: weird. Like her mama. I have no idea who or even what she will choose as a future romantic partner, but I know it will be her choice.
Because I love her (I mean… I should, I made her and I am proud of her) and that is what love is: letting people be happy being the best versions of themselves. Whatever that is.
So tell me again how choosing to recognize female divine forces in my life and allowing for deviances from the phallic-dominated world of religion makes my home into some kind of perverted den of sin for myself and my offspring. I fucking dare you.
When the religious types try that kind of gaslighting bullshit, I arm up and identify with militant Atheism. Because I have never had an Atheist say I was screwing up my kid by letting her be whatever she thinks she is that week.
Returning to Imagine Dragons, the lead singer Dan Reynolds is a huge supporter of the LGBTQ+ community, and I love him like a brother for it. And he has actually put his money (and time) where his mouth is with the LoveLoud festival he holds each year in Salt Lake City, Utah. You’ve got to love that level of moxie.
Still, witchcraft goes too far the other way.
Here’s the thing, our minds are incredible but they are finite, at least given our current evolutionary status. That means we can influence others, sometimes quite a lot, but we can’t control minds. That means we can be perceptive and intuitive, but we can’t read minds. That means we can change our own body remarkably, slowing our breath and pulse down to almost nothing with training, but we can’t move boulders like Yoda.
So where is the golden mean? Anything you want to believe has to be put through the blinding gaze and heat of science: is it repeatable, is it quantifiable, what is its origin, what is its effect, where does it fit in the grand scheme of everything else we have figured out as the smartest apes on the planet?
And for science, take a step back and realize that you don’t know everything. Truths come from strange quarters. Don’t reject reality just because it shows up in a hula skirt.
So, actually, I started this post with an intent to post a new poem. I have published 24 poems about lust, love, sorrow, anger, etc. and I am working on the next book of poems.
I know I often run afield. Obviously, I have once again done so.
There will be a subtle difference between these new poems and the former ones which are published as an eBook two dozen roses. To be precise, those were first person with a second person audience (with the exception of enigma which sets the tone for the rest of the poems, so it stays where it is). These will be with a third person audience. Enjoy!
if my heart were a house,
it would be in long-term renovation.
is it on the market?
it’s a nightmare, no exaggeration.
when will it be ready?
its damage defies all computation.
never trust a jack of all trades with love.
if my mind were the lawn,
I would suggest setting it all on fire.
can it be fixed this year?
I doubt it will ever draw a buyer.
is there no hope for it?
the prospect is nothing short of dire.
never trust a jack of all trades with truth.
if my soul were this town,
I would become a hermit in a cave.
what’s here for folks to do?
there is nothing left to want to save.
we need some space to grow.
wouldn’t even suggest it to the brave.
never trust a jack of all trades with hope.