A long, long time ago, when "The Gods Are Bored" was very, very young, I wrote a post about the existence of fairies. I suggested that some fairies could be accounted for by legends of "little people" who lived on the edges of civilization. Skeletons of diminutive humans have been found on islands and such. In my unproven-yet-credible opinion, Great Britain probably had a race of "little people" somewhere in its forests.
"Little people" are not the same thing as fairies.
Fairies exist in another realm, a dimension that we can see only with the sixth sense. If your psychic powers are heightened, or if you are very open to the notion that there are fields and plains that humans aren't programmed to see (at this time in evolution), you will experience faerie.
Some children have a heightened psychic sense, to such an extent that it makes me believe in reincarnation. I myself had out-of-body experiences when I was young. And I saw fairies.
The fairies I saw didn't even look human. They looked like a combination of dog and deer, with frontal eyes, pointy ears, and bristly fur. Their teeth were like deer teeth and their heads were shaped like deer heads. They were the size of full-grown humans, but they could make themselves smaller if they wanted to.
Now, you can call me an imaginative youngster if you like, but when I opened The Notebooks of Brian Froud (you can get it from Amazon), I found the very creature I had played with when I was a kid, right there drawn by Brian in the book! I knew immediately that I was looking at a portrait of my fairy friend. Again, let me say that not all fairies have human forms. Some look like creatures. It's a whole world out there, my friends. We just can't see it.
My father met my husband's grandmother one time. I assure you that they did not talk about fairies. And yet both of them, on their deathbeds, described red-headed "children" standing in the doorway and beckoning to them. In my father's case, he identified the being as "Peter Pan." In Grandma-in-law's case, she saw a red-headed little girl who asked her to "come along." She said she wasn't ready. Within a week she died.
As we step off this plain and onto another, the fairies become more clear to us. You don't necessarily have to be dying, but if you're not dying you have to be open to all possibilities. Fairies can be scary. Proceed with caution.
To those of you reading the May 5, 2005 post and asking me to help you find fairies, all I can say is, try to remember your deepest childhood to see if you have some memory of them already. If so, concentrate on that memory. If not, spend some time in the most cluttered room in your house, telling jokes and riddles. This is what They like. Oh yes, the woods are fine and dandy, but you don't have to sit by a stream. The fairies are amongst us. They are in us, in our memories and in the sections of our brains that we don't use yet.
To those of you reading the May 5, 2005 post and asking me what I'm smoking and where you can get some ... nothing, and I have no idea. Bite me.
To those of you who believe in God and not fairies, how the heck do you explain those seraphim? Just asking.
Showing posts with label faeries. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faeries. Show all posts
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," solemn today as we await the moment when our family matriarch crosses through the veil.
My husband is 55 years old, and his grandmother is still alive. She was an enormously active woman who only sat still while she was eating, and then only if everyone else had everything they needed. Born in 1914, she worked in a shirt-making factory to support her family while her younger sisters got to go to high school. She always resented the fact that she wasn't able to get a high school diploma.
Even without the diploma she made good. Married, bought a row house in South Baltimore near Fort McHenry, and worked at the Department of Motor Vehicles. In 1952 she pooled her resources, and she and her husband bought an undeveloped waterfront property on the Chesapeake Bay near Annapolis. They towed a house boat over from Baltimore, built a pier, and spent all their spare time there, gradually improving the place until they constructed a split-level house up on the bluff, a beach house by the water, and a 100-foot pier out into the bay.
Mr. Johnson spent many a happy hour on that houseboat with his youngish, vigorous grandparents. They taught him to fish, to drive a powerboat, to crab, and to swim. When he took me to meet them, I was bowled over -- not only by the magnificent view from their property, but also by their perpetual motion. Mom Mom in particular was a dynamo.
Whenever the topic of mortality came up around Mom Mom, her response was the same: "I want everything and anything done to keep me alive." She wouldn't sign a Do Not Resuscitate order. Maybe you wouldn't either if you'd never, ever been sick in your whole life.
Finally, at age 98, she fell and broke her hip. So you know how that goes. We went to see her in the rehab center, and we knew right then and there that her time among us was short. My throat is choking up just telling you about it.
Except for one thing. The faeries are there with her.
She is in hospice at the home of Mr. Johnson's aunt. One evening last week she told Mr. J's aunt: "There was a little girl with red hair in the doorway. She said, 'Come on, it's time to go.' But I told her I didn't want to go."
Long-time "Gods Are Bored" readers will recall that my dad, after breaking his hip, saw Peter Pan in the doorway of his hospital room.
It cannot be a coincidence that two people in my life, my dad and my grandmother-in-law, both have seen red-haired children just before dying. (I never told Mom Mom about my dad. She never liked to talk about death.) Clearly these are faeries doing what faeries do.
Portal beings take non-threatening shapes to greet those who have lived good lives and are about to cross over. In my husband's grandmother, the faeries have found a very unwilling candidate for the Summerlands. They will guide her. I just hope they don't expect her to rest once she gets there.
My husband is 55 years old, and his grandmother is still alive. She was an enormously active woman who only sat still while she was eating, and then only if everyone else had everything they needed. Born in 1914, she worked in a shirt-making factory to support her family while her younger sisters got to go to high school. She always resented the fact that she wasn't able to get a high school diploma.
Even without the diploma she made good. Married, bought a row house in South Baltimore near Fort McHenry, and worked at the Department of Motor Vehicles. In 1952 she pooled her resources, and she and her husband bought an undeveloped waterfront property on the Chesapeake Bay near Annapolis. They towed a house boat over from Baltimore, built a pier, and spent all their spare time there, gradually improving the place until they constructed a split-level house up on the bluff, a beach house by the water, and a 100-foot pier out into the bay.
Mr. Johnson spent many a happy hour on that houseboat with his youngish, vigorous grandparents. They taught him to fish, to drive a powerboat, to crab, and to swim. When he took me to meet them, I was bowled over -- not only by the magnificent view from their property, but also by their perpetual motion. Mom Mom in particular was a dynamo.
Whenever the topic of mortality came up around Mom Mom, her response was the same: "I want everything and anything done to keep me alive." She wouldn't sign a Do Not Resuscitate order. Maybe you wouldn't either if you'd never, ever been sick in your whole life.
Finally, at age 98, she fell and broke her hip. So you know how that goes. We went to see her in the rehab center, and we knew right then and there that her time among us was short. My throat is choking up just telling you about it.
Except for one thing. The faeries are there with her.
She is in hospice at the home of Mr. Johnson's aunt. One evening last week she told Mr. J's aunt: "There was a little girl with red hair in the doorway. She said, 'Come on, it's time to go.' But I told her I didn't want to go."
Long-time "Gods Are Bored" readers will recall that my dad, after breaking his hip, saw Peter Pan in the doorway of his hospital room.
It cannot be a coincidence that two people in my life, my dad and my grandmother-in-law, both have seen red-haired children just before dying. (I never told Mom Mom about my dad. She never liked to talk about death.) Clearly these are faeries doing what faeries do.
Portal beings take non-threatening shapes to greet those who have lived good lives and are about to cross over. In my husband's grandmother, the faeries have found a very unwilling candidate for the Summerlands. They will guide her. I just hope they don't expect her to rest once she gets there.
In the play "Romeo and Juliet," by William Shakespeare, one of the PRINCIPAL, i.e. MAIN characters is a fiery fellow named MERCUTIO. The name (smart playwright) is based on Mercury (bored god), hence "mercurial."
In Act I Scene 4, Mercutio notices that Romeo is moping about a woman. Mercutio slowly wigs out about it in the famous "Queen Mab" soliloquoy. I here reprint the Bard's version and then give a short translation. For my money, this soliloquoy, INCLUDED IN BOTH FAMOUS FILM VERSIONS, is a brilliant treatise on the dark abilities of faeries.
O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the faeries' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men's noses as they lie asleep.
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o' mind the faeries' coachmakers;
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
Her traces of the smallest spider web,
Her collars of the moonshine's watery beams,
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,
Her waggoner a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid;
And in this shape she gallops night after night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plaits the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is she ---
(And at this point Romeo interrupts him and Mercutio pauses for breath.)
Anne's translation (not meant for the stage):
This faerie, Queen Mab, is a miniature trouble-maker, all done up in finery made by bugs. When you go to sleep, she gives you dreams of your desires. Beware, though. She won't make you happy. In fact, if you follow her, she will smite you with dashed hopes, cold sores, and pregnancy. Mab isn't nice. Don't listen to her.
And now (drum roll, please), Mr. G's version of this seminal soliloquoy from "Romeo and Juliet," also featured in the 1971 Franco Zefferelli film and the 1996 re-make with Leonardo di Caprio:
In Act I Scene 4, Mercutio notices that Romeo is moping about a woman. Mercutio slowly wigs out about it in the famous "Queen Mab" soliloquoy. I here reprint the Bard's version and then give a short translation. For my money, this soliloquoy, INCLUDED IN BOTH FAMOUS FILM VERSIONS, is a brilliant treatise on the dark abilities of faeries.
O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the faeries' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men's noses as they lie asleep.
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o' mind the faeries' coachmakers;
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
Her traces of the smallest spider web,
Her collars of the moonshine's watery beams,
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,
Her waggoner a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid;
And in this shape she gallops night after night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plaits the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is she ---
(And at this point Romeo interrupts him and Mercutio pauses for breath.)
Anne's translation (not meant for the stage):
This faerie, Queen Mab, is a miniature trouble-maker, all done up in finery made by bugs. When you go to sleep, she gives you dreams of your desires. Beware, though. She won't make you happy. In fact, if you follow her, she will smite you with dashed hopes, cold sores, and pregnancy. Mab isn't nice. Don't listen to her.
And now (drum roll, please), Mr. G's version of this seminal soliloquoy from "Romeo and Juliet," also featured in the 1971 Franco Zefferelli film and the 1996 re-make with Leonardo di Caprio:
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Your patronage is important to us. If you have a complaint, please take a number and be seated. Someone will be with you shortly.
My three regular readers know that I have a shrine in my back yard that is dedicated to all the bored gods whose names and identities have been lost in the mists of time. Sort of a Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, except not a tomb, because deities are immortal.
Showing the utmost respect, I have made this shrine fairy/faerie-worthy by placing all sorts of wonderful pretty stuff in it: sea glass, iridescent marbles, crystals, Marcellus shale, sea shells ... rocks from places I've been. In the middle of last week, I found a bag of beautiful minerals at the thrift store. They're now on the Shrine of the Mists.
My shrine sits under an ancient pear tree that bears inedible fruit. Well, I should say that it's inedible to humans. Hornets flock to it. The squirrels seem to like it too, and I have a suspicion the possums and raccoons aren't picky either.
Saturday evening I looked out at my shrine, and I saw wings moving on it. Black wings, beating back and forth contentedly. When I went out with my ritual candle, I found a swallowtail butterfly feeding on a pear that had fallen into the shrine. Careful not to disturb the butterfly, I set down my candle (mindful also of the happy hornets that wouldn't be happy if I stepped on them).
When I put the candle on the altar stone, I noticed a single wing lying on the stone. It was beautiful. Looked like this.
I said to the butterfly, "You'd better be careful. A faerie has lost its wing and will probably be back for it."
Then, as a prank, I went back into the house and called The Spare. "Spare!" I shouted. "There's a faerie on the shrine!"
She came downstairs. I pointed to the black object at the edge of the shrine. It wasn't moving.
Spare (oozing teenage disbelief) started down the back porch steps. Slowly. Just as she hit the bottom step, the butterfly moved its wings one beat. And Spare jumped a mile! Then she went to investigate, came back inside with teenage disbelief firmly established, and coolly informed me that it was a swallowtail butterfly.
Yes. There was a butterfly sipping a pear on my shrine Saturday afternoon. It was a butterfly. But what happened to the wing on the altar stone? When I went back outside Sunday, the wing was gone! It couldn't have blown away -- the shrine is bowl-shaped with walls.
It's gone. The faerie wing is gone.
Personally I do not need evidence from my five senses to have the faerie faith. If you do, there you have it. This was a wing right out of Arthur Rackham, and it disappeared overnight.
The moral of this sermon is simple indeed. Faeries exist, and you had better show them respect.
My three regular readers know that I have a shrine in my back yard that is dedicated to all the bored gods whose names and identities have been lost in the mists of time. Sort of a Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, except not a tomb, because deities are immortal.
Showing the utmost respect, I have made this shrine fairy/faerie-worthy by placing all sorts of wonderful pretty stuff in it: sea glass, iridescent marbles, crystals, Marcellus shale, sea shells ... rocks from places I've been. In the middle of last week, I found a bag of beautiful minerals at the thrift store. They're now on the Shrine of the Mists.
My shrine sits under an ancient pear tree that bears inedible fruit. Well, I should say that it's inedible to humans. Hornets flock to it. The squirrels seem to like it too, and I have a suspicion the possums and raccoons aren't picky either.
Saturday evening I looked out at my shrine, and I saw wings moving on it. Black wings, beating back and forth contentedly. When I went out with my ritual candle, I found a swallowtail butterfly feeding on a pear that had fallen into the shrine. Careful not to disturb the butterfly, I set down my candle (mindful also of the happy hornets that wouldn't be happy if I stepped on them).
When I put the candle on the altar stone, I noticed a single wing lying on the stone. It was beautiful. Looked like this.
I said to the butterfly, "You'd better be careful. A faerie has lost its wing and will probably be back for it."
Then, as a prank, I went back into the house and called The Spare. "Spare!" I shouted. "There's a faerie on the shrine!"
She came downstairs. I pointed to the black object at the edge of the shrine. It wasn't moving.
Spare (oozing teenage disbelief) started down the back porch steps. Slowly. Just as she hit the bottom step, the butterfly moved its wings one beat. And Spare jumped a mile! Then she went to investigate, came back inside with teenage disbelief firmly established, and coolly informed me that it was a swallowtail butterfly.
Yes. There was a butterfly sipping a pear on my shrine Saturday afternoon. It was a butterfly. But what happened to the wing on the altar stone? When I went back outside Sunday, the wing was gone! It couldn't have blown away -- the shrine is bowl-shaped with walls.
It's gone. The faerie wing is gone.
Personally I do not need evidence from my five senses to have the faerie faith. If you do, there you have it. This was a wing right out of Arthur Rackham, and it disappeared overnight.
The moral of this sermon is simple indeed. Faeries exist, and you had better show them respect.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Ah, there's nothing like the first warm days of spring to remind me what a lazy lump I am and how pathetic my garden grows. I can look out my window and see my neighbor pruning her perfect flower beds ... oh hey! I can see them, and not my own yard! WIN!
Some of you have asked me how to lure faeries to your garden. You will be happy to know that there's a new book out called The Faeries' Guide to Green Magick from the Garden. It is by Jamie Wood with gorgeous illustrations by Lisa Steinke.
For those of you who can grow rosebushes through cracks in the sidewalk, this pretty little guidebook may be far too simplistic. No doubt you have herbal books that you use to press sunflowers. But for newbs like me, this little guide gives the names and purposes of several dozen herbs, flowers, and even trees, as well as recipes to make teas, breads, and remedies. There's advice on green gardening, magickal gardening, and co-existing with the fae. On this basis, I would heartily recommend it to those who've contacted me on the finer points of making the backyard faerie-friendly.
Given the fact that my one and only claim to fame is a half decent compost pile, I'm likely to derive some benefit from this book beyond just the quick essays on summoning faeries. That is, if I get past staring at the paintings. They really are beautiful.
As gardening season gets under way (for all the rest of you -- I see it as outdoor nap time), you might want to pick up a copy of The Faeries' Guide to Green Magick in the Garden.
Now. Where's my hammock?
Some of you have asked me how to lure faeries to your garden. You will be happy to know that there's a new book out called The Faeries' Guide to Green Magick from the Garden. It is by Jamie Wood with gorgeous illustrations by Lisa Steinke.
For those of you who can grow rosebushes through cracks in the sidewalk, this pretty little guidebook may be far too simplistic. No doubt you have herbal books that you use to press sunflowers. But for newbs like me, this little guide gives the names and purposes of several dozen herbs, flowers, and even trees, as well as recipes to make teas, breads, and remedies. There's advice on green gardening, magickal gardening, and co-existing with the fae. On this basis, I would heartily recommend it to those who've contacted me on the finer points of making the backyard faerie-friendly.
Given the fact that my one and only claim to fame is a half decent compost pile, I'm likely to derive some benefit from this book beyond just the quick essays on summoning faeries. That is, if I get past staring at the paintings. They really are beautiful.
As gardening season gets under way (for all the rest of you -- I see it as outdoor nap time), you might want to pick up a copy of The Faeries' Guide to Green Magick in the Garden.
Now. Where's my hammock?
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," quick-blogging while the spaghetti sauce simmers! I'm Anne Johnson, your hostess, and sadly I have no pie tonight. Try me on Sunday.
All too often, when we think of Faerie, we think only of human-like creatures. In fact, Faerie is chock a block with non-human beings. Think of your local wildlife refuge, then transfer it across the veil. Yep, magical creatures. Scads of them.
When I was young, I had the companionship of a furry creature I called "Ewt." He had a long face like a deer, and pointed ears, but they were high on his head like a cat's ears. He was furry and could change sizes at whim.
Not only did I have Ewt, but he was one of a big flock of ewts. There were many ewts. Mine just liked me. The rest were his friends.
I had an uncle who was a doctor. When he first began practicing medicine, my dad and I visited his office. He had a little figurine on his desk. I identified it immediately as my ewt. Uncle, always obliging ( to his dying day, alas! Oh, I loved him!) gave me the ewt statue.
But this was just a statue, a representation of the Ewt I knew from the Other Side. I played with Ewt all the time, and I talked to him too.
Many, many years later I purchased a book called The Notebooks of Brian Froud. Brian draws Faerie. Not just Gothic steampunk fairies like Amy Brown. Brian draws Faerie. And in that book I found a perfect rendition of Ewt.
I can't say I was surprised. If anyone else was going to see ewts, it was Brian Froud. I was just amazed that he got so many of the details spot-on. It was a pleasant confirmation that I wasn't alone in enjoying such a fabulous magical creature.
A few years ago, I met Brian Froud. I had him sign my copy of Notebooks right next to the ewt drawing. I asked him where he had seen this creature, and he said the woods. I told him that this was not a unique creature, but a whole species of creature that had many, many individuals. He had never seen a herd of ewts and was intrigued by the possibility.
Beyond the veil are creatures. Not just humanoids with pointy ears. There are creatures with fur, feathers, and wings. Reptilian beasts and little furry gerbil-like cuties.
Why should life beyond the veil be any leaner than the apparent world?
But don't wait to cross the veil before you embrace the creatures of Faerie. Look and listen for them just before you dream. Encourage your children to play with them -- kids see them. I should know.
Embrace the ewt in your back yard. Ewts do not eat your garden.
All too often, when we think of Faerie, we think only of human-like creatures. In fact, Faerie is chock a block with non-human beings. Think of your local wildlife refuge, then transfer it across the veil. Yep, magical creatures. Scads of them.
When I was young, I had the companionship of a furry creature I called "Ewt." He had a long face like a deer, and pointed ears, but they were high on his head like a cat's ears. He was furry and could change sizes at whim.
Not only did I have Ewt, but he was one of a big flock of ewts. There were many ewts. Mine just liked me. The rest were his friends.
I had an uncle who was a doctor. When he first began practicing medicine, my dad and I visited his office. He had a little figurine on his desk. I identified it immediately as my ewt. Uncle, always obliging ( to his dying day, alas! Oh, I loved him!) gave me the ewt statue.
But this was just a statue, a representation of the Ewt I knew from the Other Side. I played with Ewt all the time, and I talked to him too.
Many, many years later I purchased a book called The Notebooks of Brian Froud. Brian draws Faerie. Not just Gothic steampunk fairies like Amy Brown. Brian draws Faerie. And in that book I found a perfect rendition of Ewt.
I can't say I was surprised. If anyone else was going to see ewts, it was Brian Froud. I was just amazed that he got so many of the details spot-on. It was a pleasant confirmation that I wasn't alone in enjoying such a fabulous magical creature.
A few years ago, I met Brian Froud. I had him sign my copy of Notebooks right next to the ewt drawing. I asked him where he had seen this creature, and he said the woods. I told him that this was not a unique creature, but a whole species of creature that had many, many individuals. He had never seen a herd of ewts and was intrigued by the possibility.
Beyond the veil are creatures. Not just humanoids with pointy ears. There are creatures with fur, feathers, and wings. Reptilian beasts and little furry gerbil-like cuties.
Why should life beyond the veil be any leaner than the apparent world?
But don't wait to cross the veil before you embrace the creatures of Faerie. Look and listen for them just before you dream. Encourage your children to play with them -- kids see them. I should know.
Embrace the ewt in your back yard. Ewts do not eat your garden.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we have just returned from a weekend of festivities and are contemplating how it will feel when that alarm clock rings in the morning. That would be Monday morning, 3/14.
Thanks be to Facebook, it's International Pi Day!
Hasn't the Greek version of Pi always reminded you of Stonehenge? No? Well, nuts to you. Go play in the traffic.
Here's a nice Pi poem, courtesy of the day:
Irrational number, Pi, oh me!
Before the decimal comes 3.
After the decimal it becomes fun,
First the tenths, and that is 1.
Must I tell you even more?
The tenth is followed then by a 4.
After that, within the mix,
1-5-9 becomes 1-6.
In case you're looking for some sense,
Use Pi to find circumference.
If you ever had any doubts that this site is infected by faeries, the above should put them to rest. We are viral with faeries. They dictate. We perform.
Thanks be to Facebook, it's International Pi Day!
Hasn't the Greek version of Pi always reminded you of Stonehenge? No? Well, nuts to you. Go play in the traffic.
Here's a nice Pi poem, courtesy of the day:
Irrational number, Pi, oh me!
Before the decimal comes 3.
After the decimal it becomes fun,
First the tenths, and that is 1.
Must I tell you even more?
The tenth is followed then by a 4.
After that, within the mix,
1-5-9 becomes 1-6.
In case you're looking for some sense,
Use Pi to find circumference.
If you ever had any doubts that this site is infected by faeries, the above should put them to rest. We are viral with faeries. They dictate. We perform.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Well, let's see. What's new in the world? One percent of Americans control about half of the wealth, the Westboro Baptist Church is standing before the Supreme Court defending its right to shout at grieving military families (in person and online), Mr. Bigwand is still a six-foot spout of gushing ego, and I'm dead beat from another day of teaching!
Time for a little re-adjustment.
Some time in 2011 a film producer will be releasing a documentary about the Spoutwood Fairie Festival. Here is the trailer. If you live anywhere on the Eastern Seaboard, and you watch this and think, "Oh, I don't want to go to that," then where do you want to go?
Faeries. Lots and lots of faeries. Enough said.
http://www.glenrockfae.com/Video/Pages/The_First_Trailer.html
Time for a little re-adjustment.
Some time in 2011 a film producer will be releasing a documentary about the Spoutwood Fairie Festival. Here is the trailer. If you live anywhere on the Eastern Seaboard, and you watch this and think, "Oh, I don't want to go to that," then where do you want to go?
Faeries. Lots and lots of faeries. Enough said.
http://www.glenrockfae.com/Video/Pages/The_First_Trailer.html
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Our new spring collection of bored gods, goddesses, and totemic animals is now online and ready for your order! Please input your coupon information before you begin to shop. And thanks for giving your custom to "The Gods Are Bored." We offer only the best quality downsized deities!
Friends, I've been sorely in need of some good news. Today I got it. I called out sick to go see the surgeon who fixed my hip. Reason: the other hip was hurting. The surgeon looked at my new x-rays and pronounced my unfixed hip good to go for years and years! Woo Hooooooo! What a relief!
EXHIBIT A: PRINCESS, BY SEITOU
One of my readers has asked about how to build a faerie house. Princess and I think that's a good post topic, so here goes:
My sister constructed a faerie house in her backyard. Her yard is rather abnormal, since the end of it is a big, steep bunker made when her McMansion was carved into a cornfield. Steep bunkers are great for faerie houses, because usually the local wildlife moves in quickly and carves out a portal. This had happened in Sis's yard. A groundhog laid the ... ground work.
Oy. That one makes even me groan.
Sis used her imagination and filled the vacant cavity with colored stones, little trinkets from the flea market, and pieces of broken glass. The part that I like the most is that she placed many pinwheels along the sides of her faerie house. Any wind makes that location lively indeed. I contributed a ceramic troll I found at a yard sale.
I don't have a faerie house in my back yard. I feel that faeries only visit our dimension. They live elsewhere. When they are with us, they revel in the natural environment.
This is not to say that you can't attract faeries to your back yard with some enticements. I would build a simple cairn of stone and decorate it with shiny items or pretty stones and feathers. I would lean heavily toward feathers found in the wild. Don't worry if they aren't colorful. It's the texture that the faeries like, not the hue. Also I don't think it matters what bird they come from, so long as you haven't gunned the fowl down and gutted it.
The world as we know it today is very different from times past. I think that faeries understand and appreciate this. Therefore I am always on the lookout at flea markets and thrift stores for unusual items of jewelry and/or trinkets. Do faeries mind if you leave one earring on their cairn when you've lost the other? I don't believe they see this as a sign of disrespect. Some of them love shiny things. By all means shower your backyard with diamonds if you like. And then give me your address!
One decorative embellishment I have used in Shrine of the Mists is marbles. Have you seen today's marbles? They aren't like the ones we actually played with back in the day. You see, this is another place where stuff becomes collectible. Companies are putting out theme packages of marbles for collectors! So I bought a theme package of marbles (the solar system) and dropped them into my shrine. They are beautiful by moonlight. Heck, they're just plain beautiful, and they didn't cost very much at all.
If you want to build a faerie house or cairn or shrine, be sure not to neglect the foundation. For this I recommend landscaping pebbles in the color of your choice. I put about five inches of them into Shrine of the Mists. Those puppies are pretty too, and nothing will grow up through them if you layer them thick enough.
Mindful that faeries travel between dimensions, you can keep the ones in your yard (and your life) happy if you give them offerings of chocolate and wine or other spirits. In this case I do go with fresh offerings, because who wants a stale Girl Scout cookie? Bard Andrew says that even if the faeries don't carry away your offering, they still take energy from it.
One of the things we seek from faeries is an energy exchange: our life force for their spirit force. Any way you choose to honor them and invite them to your home will be acceptable to them. I've seen everything from high-end OOAK faerie houses to a few stones piled together with a pinwheel anchored on top. Suit your own personality. If you build it, they will come.
Last thought on faeries: If you address them, be sure to say, "Ladies and Gentlemen," not "faeries." In the days of yore, faeries were called The Gentle Folk or The Gentry. They appreciate respect.
This valuable advice is offered, as always, free of charge.
Friends, I've been sorely in need of some good news. Today I got it. I called out sick to go see the surgeon who fixed my hip. Reason: the other hip was hurting. The surgeon looked at my new x-rays and pronounced my unfixed hip good to go for years and years! Woo Hooooooo! What a relief!
EXHIBIT A: PRINCESS, BY SEITOU
One of my readers has asked about how to build a faerie house. Princess and I think that's a good post topic, so here goes:My sister constructed a faerie house in her backyard. Her yard is rather abnormal, since the end of it is a big, steep bunker made when her McMansion was carved into a cornfield. Steep bunkers are great for faerie houses, because usually the local wildlife moves in quickly and carves out a portal. This had happened in Sis's yard. A groundhog laid the ... ground work.
Oy. That one makes even me groan.
Sis used her imagination and filled the vacant cavity with colored stones, little trinkets from the flea market, and pieces of broken glass. The part that I like the most is that she placed many pinwheels along the sides of her faerie house. Any wind makes that location lively indeed. I contributed a ceramic troll I found at a yard sale.
I don't have a faerie house in my back yard. I feel that faeries only visit our dimension. They live elsewhere. When they are with us, they revel in the natural environment.
This is not to say that you can't attract faeries to your back yard with some enticements. I would build a simple cairn of stone and decorate it with shiny items or pretty stones and feathers. I would lean heavily toward feathers found in the wild. Don't worry if they aren't colorful. It's the texture that the faeries like, not the hue. Also I don't think it matters what bird they come from, so long as you haven't gunned the fowl down and gutted it.
The world as we know it today is very different from times past. I think that faeries understand and appreciate this. Therefore I am always on the lookout at flea markets and thrift stores for unusual items of jewelry and/or trinkets. Do faeries mind if you leave one earring on their cairn when you've lost the other? I don't believe they see this as a sign of disrespect. Some of them love shiny things. By all means shower your backyard with diamonds if you like. And then give me your address!
One decorative embellishment I have used in Shrine of the Mists is marbles. Have you seen today's marbles? They aren't like the ones we actually played with back in the day. You see, this is another place where stuff becomes collectible. Companies are putting out theme packages of marbles for collectors! So I bought a theme package of marbles (the solar system) and dropped them into my shrine. They are beautiful by moonlight. Heck, they're just plain beautiful, and they didn't cost very much at all.
If you want to build a faerie house or cairn or shrine, be sure not to neglect the foundation. For this I recommend landscaping pebbles in the color of your choice. I put about five inches of them into Shrine of the Mists. Those puppies are pretty too, and nothing will grow up through them if you layer them thick enough.
Mindful that faeries travel between dimensions, you can keep the ones in your yard (and your life) happy if you give them offerings of chocolate and wine or other spirits. In this case I do go with fresh offerings, because who wants a stale Girl Scout cookie? Bard Andrew says that even if the faeries don't carry away your offering, they still take energy from it.
One of the things we seek from faeries is an energy exchange: our life force for their spirit force. Any way you choose to honor them and invite them to your home will be acceptable to them. I've seen everything from high-end OOAK faerie houses to a few stones piled together with a pinwheel anchored on top. Suit your own personality. If you build it, they will come.
Last thought on faeries: If you address them, be sure to say, "Ladies and Gentlemen," not "faeries." In the days of yore, faeries were called The Gentle Folk or The Gentry. They appreciate respect.
This valuable advice is offered, as always, free of charge.
