branches up, roots down

Last night I danced my patootie off under the big harvest moon, celebrating the hand fasting of two dear queer Pagan friends. In my hurry to dress and beautify for the event, I'd left my cell phone at home. Some mistakes are gifts. The gift of being without my phone left me able to be fully present. If I'd brought it, I'd have been checking it persistently, as this weekend was the deadline for Governor Brown to sign or veto the bill I've been working on for about two years. The hand fasting was juicy love magic. My rag tag Pagan community was dressed to the nines and tens, as only Pagans can dress. Sequins, feathers, and glitter abounded, and Pagans and other family and friends all glowed with happiness.  Love is something to celebrate. Commitment is something to honor. These two woman have been together for almost a decade, and it was perfect timing for this particular spell.  The setting was exquisite, high on a bluff at Fort Mason, overlooking our beautiful bay. W...

“The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms.” Muriel Rukeyser The Universe is made of stories and each story is made of words. And each word itself has a story.   To name a thing is powerful, in itself a story invocation.   And, as in most invocations, we rarely are in control of what comes in and what magic it will work and what story will unfold. Taking a new name as part of following a spiritual path is nothing new. I would guess it is a cross-cultural experience, an innately human part of trying to give voice and name the experience of expanding consciousness, being reborn, and/or committing to a particular path. The name I was given at birth, Deborah, I seized back after years of being Debbie. It was in itself a story changer, moving me into adulthood and away from childhood. Only one person remains in my life who calls me “Debbie”, the very person who named me Deborah; my mother. Can you sense the story behind that? There have been three ...