Like many, when I was much younger, I found Qabala to be confusing and did not see any practical application. My friend, the late Ellen Reed, made sense of it for me and I studied under her direction for many years. Now I find it very helpful and a valuable part of my life. So, I thought I would offer an example from my own life, of how Qabala ( Read more... )

After several years of cleaning up after a constipated, puking kitty, the carpets are looking pretty embarrassing and our little Bissel "Green Machine" just couldn't cut it. We had looked at household upright vac-style steam cleaners before, so when Wally World had a heavy-duty pet model on sale for $160, the Best Beloved decided it was time to ( Read more... )

My nice gory little icon will make total sense in a few minutes ^__ ( Read more... )

I've been threatening this post for a while now. I haven't written much Feri-wise over 2007 or 2008, but not for lack of anything to write about. Rather, I've been involved in an informal experiment. By chance, I fell in with a couple of people who were neo-Pagan (and not much familiar with Feri) who were taking traditional Western counselling ( Read more... )

My buddy and Feri step-brother happydog wrote an interesting introspection about stomping down boundaries with flaming blue fire ass (which would more likely be 'farting down boundaries', but I digress ( Read more... )

There's a rant in my soul and it says something about the status of things that I feel I don't dare to let it out. And that's wrong. It's just as wrong as the people who would rail against me would say I was. Its just as prejudiced as the people who would hold my feet to the fire would say I was. Sometimes seeing the direction the wind is ( Read more... )

Sent to me by my Best Beloved.

Beira lived for hundreds and hundreds of years. The reason she did not die of old age was because, at the beginning of every spring, she drank the magic waters of the Well of Youth which bubbles up in the Green Island of the West. This was a floating island where summer was the only season, and the trees were always bright with blossom and laden ( Read more... )

My Best Beloved surprised me with a cookbook on the cookery of an American Zen monestary. In reading the book's reviews, I was amused by one review that scathingly called it "the commercialisation of Zen." It said, quite rightly, that the Zen monks of the past would eat a bowl of rice, some miso soup and perhaps some pickles. They ate simple ( Read more... )

At the bottom of the tree are the roots. Follow the roots down, deep into the earth. Follow them deeper, as deep as they go. Follow them to the core ( Read more... )