Recipe for Lughnasadh

No, it's not for sun-dried tomato herb bread, or little saffron rolls shaped like the Sun, but it does use the first of the tomatoes from my garden and some home-grown fresh sage.

Really I just threw this together this afternoon, but holy MOLY it was so delish that after I ate it I spent the next few hours desperately craving more and so found myself outside with a flashlight picking more sage. I'm eating it right now.

It's pretty simple, and goes together real fast.

Pasta with Browned Sage Butter, Tomatoes and Parmesan Cheese

And that's all the ingredients right in the title. Instructions are for one serving, since that's what I made but you can multiply as necessary.

Put pasta of your choice on to boil.

In a skillet, heat oh about 1/3 stick butter (three tablespoons or so, or more if you want; enough to act as sauce for your pasta) over lowish medium heat.

Wash, dry, then chop up about a dozen sage leaves, then throw them in the butter, where they will fry and become crispy. Keep an eye on it as it cooks, since you are trying to brown the butter, which can be tricky. It can take a while, which is a pain, but it's better to do it slowly than to burn it. The butter will get to a point where it's foamy; start watching then. The milk solids will start to precipitate out and turn brown, and the whole thing will smell nutty. You don't want it too brown, but it ought to be a little more than golden. You'll smell it. Take it off the heat when you think it's good.

In the meantime roughly chop a bunch of fresh, room temperature, never been in the fridge tomatoes. Throw them into the butter when you take it off the heat to warm up a little.

Grate a decent sized pile of parmesan (I used the smallest holes on the grater, so my pile was pretty fluffy), then, drain the pasta, throw it in a bowl, pour the butter/sage/tomato sauce on top, then the cheese. Mix it all up and eat!

A Story

A favorite story of mine I 'wrote' a while back. Though I didn't write it with Beltaine in mind, it seems appropriate. Enjoy!

*****

He begins:

"Once there was a girl so beautiful the lilies hung their heads in shame; though the roses, who were the jealous type, turned theirs aside and pretended not to see. But this girl, as beautiful as she was, had absolutely no idea of it; for she had grown up alone and poor and mirrorless, and no one had ever been there to tell her so. But that was part of the nature of her beauty, for it was a defiant kind that thrives in spite of hardship and neglect, like the flower that forces its way through a crack in the paving to bloom lush and fragrant.

"And so she lived alone, as she always had since she was a child, when she had lost her mother; and she looked after her garden and tended her hens and did all right, really. But she did not mingle much with other people.

"Though every week or so she would go to the market, a couple hours' walk from her home; and there she would sell some eggs, or some vegetables if she could spare them, and pick up the few things she needed but could not grow herself. And though she might have gotten a pretty penny for them, still she never could bear to pick the lilies or the roses.

"And so this day she gathered up a basketful of eggs, and put on her old indigo dress, the one that had once been deep blue but had faded; and she set off for the market.

"Now, this time she had gotten a bit of a late start, and so she hurried more than usual, worried that she might miss the ribbon-peddler, for she needed a new needle; and she was paying less attention than she might have.

"And so she missed the turn by the hawthorn thicket, by the bend in the road; but, still, she wasn't all that addled, and after a few yards' walking she realized her mistake and turned back to go the right way.

"And then she heard the singing.

"It was coming from within the thicket, that old hawthorn thicket she'd seen countless times on her tos and fros from the marketplace; and looking closely between the tangled branches she realized there was a house in there, one she had never before noticed.

"And it came to her that because she had been running late she had left without eating; and she was suddenly quite hungry, and quite thirsty too, for she had brought no water with her.

"And so she stepped into the circle of hawthorn trees, and was lost to this world.

"Now, in that house lived a man, a man of the Shee; and he had been the one she had heard singing. And when he heard the knock on his door he was greatly puzzled; for who of mortals had ever even been able to see his home?

"He was so surprised by this he did not stop to think, and so simply opened the door, curious.

"And there before him was a beautiful, beautiful woman, in a gown the color of the sky of early springtime; and he could see immediately that her physical beauty, though considerable, was not the reason the lilies had hung their heads. For she had a strength to her that ran beyond beauty, though it had created it; and looking on her his heart was lost.

"For her part she saw the door opened by an old man with skin as smooth and brown as a hazelnut, one whose look of mischievous amusement soon turned to naked wonder; but looking in his eyes she could see there was a glamour on him.

"'I am Koeroc,' he said then, giving her his true name without thinking; and as he said it she saw him as he was, a man tall and beautiful as only the Shee are; and she knew, also, what his name meant: Hidden Heart.

"Yet she could also see that the name was suddenly no longer true. 'You are my Beloved,' she said simply, as she drew him into her arms; for her heart, too, was lost.

"And so she clear forgot about the marketplace that day, and the next, and the next; and the two of them passed their time as lovers do, though perhaps with a larger proportion of ecstasy than most; the Shee, you know, are very skilled in these matters, so they say.

"But after a few days she remembered her garden, and her hens, shut in their house with a dwindling supply of feed; 'I must tend to them,' she told him, 'They are in my care.'

"But then, 'How long has it been?' she asked, worried, for she knew that time flows differently with the Shee.

"'They are well,' he said, 'It has not been long.'

"'I must go,' she said sadly, though she knew she would be back.

"'Yes,' he said, though he was worried that she would not; and a fear grew inside him then, one borne of his experience with glamour. 'You will forget me.'

"Well, her look put the lie to that.

"And so she made ready to leave; but as she came to the hawthorn circle he said, 'Wait.'

"And she stopped, and turned to him.

"And with the middle finger of his right hand he thrice traced a circle on her forehead, then leaning in kissed the spot; and she felt something cast about her, light but warm, like a silken scarf.

"'There,' he said, 'you are marked as protected.'

"She nodded, and stepped out from the hawthorn trees.

"It was colder than she remembered, and darker; but the way was not far, after all, and she was soon home. Once there she found the hens had eaten nearly all their feed, and were quite grateful to be let out; and the garden had a few weeds, though they were easily seen to. And as she picked the vegetables she thought she would like to bring some back with her to share with him; and also that she should gather up some clothes. Though really, she thought with a smile, she had not had much need of them with him; and distracted by that fond memory she entirely failed to see the new hole that had appeared in the path, dug by some critter after her carrots no doubt. But said hole made itself suddenly quite known to her, as she caught her foot in it and fell over into the dirt with a lurch; and as she fell she heard a rather nasty crunch, coming from her ankle.

"'Christ!' she said, quite out loud, 'what's with the damned human crap?'

"And then she reeled a bit as her eyes filled with tears, for it hurt quite a lot; but after a good cry she was able to examine it, gingerly. And it was not broken, that she could see; but it was quite badly sprained.

"'Fuck, fuck, FUCK!' she cried then, for she knew she would just be able to manage the bare minimum of care for herself and her chickens; but there would be no way she could make it back to the hawthorn thicket. And no way to send a message, either, for she did not have any neighbors.

"And so for the next few days she stayed off her ankle as best she could, and tried to take care of herself and get plenty of rest, in the hopes that it would heal quickly; but it was an agonizingly slow business. And she despaired, for she knew time flowed differently for the Shee.

"But after a few days there came a knock on her door, which was quite unusual; in fact she did not recall ever having heard one. And her heart leapt; for someone was here, someone who could perhaps take a message to him; and so she hobbled slowly but with determination to the door.

"And when she opened it she saw an old peddler-woman; but she knew his true name, and could not be fooled. 'Oh, Love,' she said, 'I am hurt and cannot walk.'

"'Ah,' he said, his fear and confusion vanishing with his disguise; then seeing her ankle, 'Oh.'

"And he helped her back to her chair by the window. And he knelt beside her, and gently put his hands upon her poor, swollen ankle, and he began to sing. And she felt the torn tendons knit themselves together and become strong again; and though it would still need a few more days, it was much, much better, for such is the magic of the Shee.

"'Oh,' she said, 'I'm sorry.'

"'Shhh,' he said, 'I am here now.'

"And he looked around at her little, poor cottage, which did not even have a mirror.

"'I will stay,' he said, though he was a little afraid; and she nodded.

"And he did, and they thrived; and a circle of hawthorn grew around the yard, though no one had planted it. And though they certainly made a lot of love they remained childless, which suited them; and in time she grew old, though she was no less beautiful. But he remained young, or young-looking; for time flows differently for the Shee.

"And her life ran down towards death, as it is with mortals; and he sat with her by their bed, and held her hand between his. And he looked on her, as the light in her eyes faded and became further away.

"'I am sorry," she said, her voice only a whisper.

"'Shhh,' he said as she died, 'I am here.'"

He stops then, falling silent.

"Oh," I say, "that's very sad."

"Shhh," he says quietly, "it is not finished." And he continues:

"And then she found herself standing up in a place of light, in a body suddenly strong; and the many dull aches she had grown used to with age had now vanished. And looking down at herself she saw that she was young again, as young as the day they had met. And there he was before her, smiling at her, and holding her hand between his still.

"'Oh,' she said, in great joy.

"'Yes,' he said, 'I am here.' And he took her into his arms, and kissed her hair.

"For that is the nature of the Shee, that they live in both this world and the Other."

He pauses again, before quietly saying, "The end."

Merry Blessed Rutty Beltaine

Riffing off of Ruby Sara's most recent post over at Pagan Godspell, here's a bit of art I did a while back whilst listening over and over to the song she quotes, Greenman by XTC, as perfect a Maypole-dancing song as I have ever heard (and I have, in fact, danced a Maypole to it). No matter how many times I hear that song, the opening swell still pins my heart chakra open wide. So glorious. So beautiful. So daimonic.

So there's my Green Man, in springtime antlers, covered with that fuzzy velvet which covers the antlers as they grow, and provides nutrients and blood. I imagine they are very sensitive in that state, and that they throb.

Merry merry blessings of May to all of us!

A Tale of Fire and Ice

This is Mother's Night, the darkest of the year; and it all turns tomorrow. Here is another story for the dark. Turn, and turn:

*****

Surrounded by the dark of the year, I am suddenly filled with longing; so I say to him, "Oh, I want a story."

He laughs. "Okay," he says, and with no more preamble than that begins:

"Once there was a woman called Aisa, whose hair was black as the Dark; but her skin was very pale, the color of ice, nearly. Like ice, too, were her eyes, which were a milky pale blue; and she was blind.

"But her blindness was of a peculiar variety, for, despite being without a doubt physically unable to see, she had an uncanny knack for maneuvering through the world, never tripping over or bumping into things. For she had the ability to see the Shadow World, that world which runs within and underneath our own. And she was greatly gifted in this Sight.

"But it made her a rather uncomfortable neighbor, and though she was quite pretty in a Gothic sort of way, people avoided her, if only because she tended to stare at the space next to them during conversations.

"Not that she was much of a conversationalist, really, all told; and so she lived, quite alone, in a little house on the top of a hill, and did not have much congress with others.

"And one day Aisa found herself pregnant."

I raise my eyebrows; though having finally learned not to interrupt him when he's telling a story, I don't say a word. He shakes his head. "When Ereshkigal gave birth, was there any talk of a father? No. This is like that. The child was hers, and hers alone.

"As her belly grew she drew into herself more and more, in fear, or in preparation; and the time came, as it will, when she felt the pains of labor.

"But it was like trying to give birth to a stone, and the pain and the blood were very great, enough that she feared for her own survival. But, finally, after a very difficult time, the baby was born. And it was dead.

"With great effort then she brought the baby, still covered in blood, to her breast. And she held it to her, though she could feel the warmth slowly going out of it, the warmth given it from her own body.

And as she held it there, worn out and weak, she passed entirely into the Shadow World."

He pauses, as the story stands still a moment; and I, knowing this, wait.

"After a time she woke, as it were, and opened her eyes; but though she was in the Shadow World, she could See little, for it was very dark.

"And Aisa was surprised, and frightened; for in all this time her Sight had never failed her. And she held still for quite some time, not knowing what to do.

"But then she remembered why she had come, or, at least, what she meant to do there; and she stood up, though she was truly blind for the first time in her life. And she resolved to find what she sought, the Soul of her daughter, who she knew had lost her way.

"But she could not See. And so she sang.

"She stood there in the dark and sang a song of warmth, a mother's song of comfort to her child, a calling-home song, a song of welcome and safety.

"But she was alone.

"She stood there in the dark and sang a song of light, a song of the starry way, a song of illumination and recognition, and the path found.

"But still she was alone.

"She stood there in the dark and sang a song of restoration, the Soul's song, a song of unity and wholeness, of longing and love.

"And she was not alone.

"For there beside her stood a woman, with hair red-gold as the sunrise. And but for the hair she was a mirror image of Aisa; 'Ah,' said Aisa, understanding.

"And she took her daughter's hand.

"Not long after Aisa found herself lying in bed, back in the living world; and at her breast she held her tiny newborn daughter, who, though weak and still covered with blood, was alive. And Aisa could See by the light about her that her daughter would live. And she named her Sivil, for the color of her hair.

"But Aisa could also See that she would not herself long survive the birth; and gathering up what strength she had, she bundled the baby up and took her outside, out into the night and the cold. And she set Sivil down on the ground.

"Then Aisa gathered up as much dry kindling as she could manage, which wasn't much. And she slowly leant it against the outside wall of her house, and took out tinder and flint; and with great care she made a fire.

"And when she was sure it had caught, she laid herself down, her body already growing cold; and she died.

"The townspeople, of course, when they saw the house burning, came to put it out; and so they found both the dead mother and the living daughter; and as Aisa had Seen, they called the baby Sivil, for she was found on a night of fire.

"The end."

"That's a pretty dark story," I say.

"It's what you needed to hear," he says softly.

"It always is," I say, and he nods.

Story for the Dark

(I wrote this a couple of years back; it seems appropriate to share it here, now.)

"Tell me a story," I say, as we lie there in the dark.

He laughs, for even to my own ears I sound like a child, but also, because he recognizes that winter is the proper time for stories, stories that both explore and keep away the dark.

"Okay," he says.

"Once there was a girl named Aridela, with hair black as ink. Now Aridela loved the dark and the night; and her favorite thing in the whole world was to lie asleep and dream, of faraway places and wonderful lands, of magical beings and forests that spoke. But one night, something terrible happened, and it happened in the dark she loved so much: her mother was lost."

"Oh," I say, all fear and foreboding, "You don't think my mom is going to die soon, do you?"

"Shhh," he says, "Don't interrupt. Your mother's fine, she'll outlive us all, trust me, and God help us. And anyway I didn't say Aridela's mother died; I just said she was lost. Try to pay attention.

"So Aridela lost her mother, and it made her very sad, and a little angry, too. And she looked long and far in the dark for her mother, and could not find her. And she began to hate the dark, the dark she had used to love.

"Now, underneath all hate is a little seed of fear; and though Aridela didn't see it at first, that fear grew until she feared the dark and became terrified of it. And she became too afraid to even put one foot in front of the other, and she stopped altogether, and sat down in the dark in a little ball, too frightened to move. And, eventually, she became so afraid that she dared not even breathe, hardly, and she felt the walls press in on her, as if she were deep underground.

"She stayed this way for a long time, silent, still, and unable to see, for there was no light, no light at all where she was.

"But in time she became so still that everything around her also became still; and at last she saw before her feet a tiny little light. And she saw that it was coming from a little pool, which had become so still it was now like a mirror; and the little light was the reflection of a star, a star that shone through a hole in the roof. And Aridela stood up, and pulled herself out of that hole onto a hilltop into the good night air, surrounded by the beautiful dark. And to the east she could see the horizon, and the faint light of the coming dawn. The end."

"The end?" I say. I don't think I find his story very comforting. "What happened to her mother? Did Aridela ever find her?"

"No," he says, "she didn't. Aridela's mother found her."

Well, that's a little better. "Now hang on," I say, and I know he knows that Aridela is a title of the Goddess Ariadne, "With a name like Aridela I'd expect Dionysos to be in there somewhere."

"He was," he says. "He was the Star."

Blessings of Ostara!

Happy Spring!

This is one of my favorite pieces. I will always hear XTC's Easter Theatre when I look at this, as I had it on repeat the whole time I was drawing Her. So here She is, Ostara, Eostre, Easter, with Her dress of yellow yolk and the ribbons She ties everywhere.