A Good Trick I Pulled

A friend once remarked that I wasn't terribly coyote-ish, because I don't seem to play tricks on people.

Heh.

At a pagan festival, one of the people in charge was often very overbearing and disrespectful of people. He managed to curl my lip many times. I'll call him Chuckles (not his real name).

Anyway, a couple years ago, some friends were running a major ritual event there, and the staff loaned them a walkie-talkie to help them coordinate with other people in the ritual - who were scattered across the rather large property the festival takes place on.

Anyway, apparently, someone tried to get in touch with them, but the thing was off, or on the wrong channel or something, so Chuckles huffs over and instead of just explaining the problem, snatches it away and tells them that they can't use it any more if they "don't know how to work it."

Well, it rapidly became a big pain coordinating. I ended up running back and forth several times across this 40-acre spot trying to relay messages and find people. Finally, I explained the problem to one of the other organizers, who gave me the go-ahead to get the walkie-talking back from Chuckles.

So, I find Chuckles and ask for the walkie talkie, and he holds it out to me with the ends of his fingers, like he's handing change to a vagrant, and sneers something about "try and see if you guys can remember to turn it on this time, huh? If you can't work a simple device, you should let someone else use it."

Right. Obviously the man needed a demonstration that we were capable of operating it properly, so he'd feel good about the distribution of resources. No problem! That's fair, right?

So... after I finished helping coordinate the event, I decided that maybe I should demonstrate that I knew how to operate the walkie-talkie properly.

I turned it to the channel used for the site coordinators and security staff - Chuckles' co-workers. I then wandered around, making conversation with whoever I ran into. The conversation starter was always "Hey, you know that guy Chuckles? I'd heard he was a decent guy, but he was a little funny to me just now. What do you think of him? Am I just being sensitive?"

And then I'd surreptitiously hold down the "talk" button on the walkie-talkie as they responded.

And of course, every single person I talked to immediately shared some anecdote about what a big, pompous jerk he was, how he'd been rude or high-handed, how they wished he wouldn't be put in charge of stuff, how he'd repeatedly complicated simple matters, or tried to operate dangerous equipment that he didn't know how to use and had gotten injured.

I did this for about forty-five minutes or an hour. Then I went back to Chuckles to bring him the walkie-talkie and tell him thanks, and that we were done with it, and that it worked well now that we knew how to use it.

As I handed it over, he was kind of ashen and pale, and didn't say a word - he just sort of nodded woodenly.

He was incredibly courteous to me after that.

I'm hoping that he simply didn't know how he was coming across to others, and that my little trick was a wake-up call that helped him learn to be more courteous.

But failing that, I'm hoping that all the rest of the staff who heard what came over the security channel got an earful. I notice that he didn't seem to get put in charge of a lot of stuff after that.

It's an old story, but I'm reasonably proud of it, and think it was a good trick.

And in this case, the trick didn't result in me losing my eyebrows, so, cool.

A Little About Coyote

The Easy Stuff
My interests include optimistic cynicism (things suck, but we can make them better), making fun of society, questioning authority, and spending far too much time at my computer. I also like to read, draw, play RPG's, study philosopy, folklore, the occult and history, and collect useless information of all sorts.

My Name
Yes, that's my name... I paid for it. I say so, and the court says so too. ; ) When someone asks me "No... really, what's your real name?", what I hear is "I would like to walk away with three shoes (guess where the third shoe goes?).

My Household
My mate, Coryn and I currently live with my dear friend Lo, also known as Feybitch on LiveJournal who took us in when we needed a home. She has described having us here as "Yay! It's like a slumber party that never ends!" We share our living space with four cats, three of Lo's and one of Coryns.

The Pets
Lo's precious felines are:

Dusk, a lovely and distinguished tortoiseshell lady. Her hobbies are lounging on the cushion pile in the living room, and reaching up your leg with her claws to indicate that she would like to be picked up and held. She is soft, cuddly, precious and adorable. Unless you are a rat... or... half a rat.

Maleficent (aka Molly), a kink-tailed and predatory black alley kitten (who, if we were small, and she were large, would consume us in a heartbeat). Her hobbies are dashing madly through the house attacking shopping bags, eating roaches, and leaping onto Genghis' face from hiding.

Genghis (aka Muffin, or Genghi-saur), a gorgeous, if corpulent Tonkinese bundle of love, who has the best disposition of any cat alive. His hobbies include sprawling on the arm of the couch, occupying all of your lap, wrestling with Maleficent, and foraging for food to support his eating disorder.

Coryn's cat is Carabas, a somewhat neurotic kitty with black and white "Tuxedo" markings. Carabas' hobbies include adoring Coryn, scratching me when I'm sleeping, meowing at the top of his lungs, scratching me when I try to pet him, chasing glow-bracelets, and scratching me from hiding at random moments. He also likes scratching me.

My Mate
My lifemate, boyfriend, love-of-my-life is Coryn, a lion therian who is a lot younger than I am, better looking, and a much snappier dresser. Sometimes, I'm not sure what he sees in me, but I'm glad he does. He looks like the character "Basch" from Final Fantasy XII. Really. Or possibly an anime villain.

The Community I'm Part Of
I have been a member of the therianthropic community for some years now... since about 1994-95. Like many others, I got my start in the community when I found the newsgroup alt.horror.werewolves. Sadly, that forum was eventually overrun by trolls and twits.

Luckily, there are new forums where therianthropes (or weres... "therianthropy" is such a mouthful) can discuss what it's like to be an animal person in a human world. And better yet, many of us have had the opportunity to meet other weres in person. It's not just an online community any more. Out of the ashes of our origins, we have emerged, more mature (usually) wiser (hopefully) and with our senses of humor intact (largely). Over the years, I've happily seen many new faces, and noted with sadness the passing into the next life of several of our number. I've seen sorrows and laughter and fights and marriages, and through it all I feel that I've grown to love the werecommunity all the more. Warts and all. Though I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel despair over some of what I've watched go on.

My own contribution to the community at large is the Werelist. Take a look. You'll find links, and if you register, can find contact info for weres around the world, as well as register your own.

I am also a member of the Long Beach Therians "clan". No, we're not really a "secret society" - mostly, we're a bunch of gamer-geeks. I'm not sure that "Long Beach Therians Clan" is an apropos name any more, since more than half of us no longer live in long beach, but... eh.

My Art
I like to draw, but I don't seem to get a lot of time for it somehow. Something always comes up. I've managed to crank out a couple sketches recently though. With a little luck, I'll do some more and get better at it. I've gotten to one of those "Omigawd, my old work sucks" stages and so I want to get some of my new stuff out there.

The Mundane
Over the course of my life, I have worked in the fields of laboratory work, marketing, product design, digital prepress, construction and newspaper delivery. I have been a printer, a prepress operator, a consultant, a publisher and a programmer. Until recently, I've lived mostly hand-to-mouth, skirting the ragged edge of monetary poverty. My day jobs have sometimes been fun, but never been fulfilling. They are merely something I do to keep food on the table. I much prefer being self-employed. Longer hours, but at least I'm my own slavedriver. My "career" has always been merely something that I do, rather than something that I am.

Recently, brain injuries from earlier in my life have come back to haunt me. I've lost a great deal of my color vision, and my short term memory and attention span are damaged enough that I am effectively joining the ranks of the disabled. I don't let little things get me down though. Some things I can't do anymore, but that just means a journey to find out what I Can do.

I tried, in the midst of my brain damage, to begin a small-press publishing company, Coyote Moon Publications, which unfortunately, I had to fold last year. I'm now in the process of attempting once more to get my feet under me and get a career. I'm attempting to build up a stable of web-programming clients, so if you know anyone who needs website work done, whether design and appearance, or server-side programming, please let me know.

The Mystical
As you may be able to gather, I feel a strong connection to coyotes. Call them my "power animal" if you like. So my pages contain references to both "regular coyotes" and to the legendary Coyote of Native American origin.

Coyote is, of course, a trickster. But he's also a hero, a warrior, a coward. He's lazy and resourceful. He's vicious and bitter and willing to walk to the land of the dead and back for those he loves. Coyote occasionally falls off a cliff, or sleeps with the wrong person, or makes "howlers" of mistakes... but he also slays monsters, gives fire, and brings people back from the dead. Coyote's done a lot of things, and has worn a lot of hats. Sometimes he's told lies, and sometimes he's been the only one who would tell the real truth. He is the mirror of our souls, the one who shows us our folly, the one who shows us the way. And best of all... Coyote lives in the world of mortals. That's his special trick.

I found my connection to my wereness as part of a lengthy journey. One that still continues. I've found myself in Dreams, in waking. I've seen my reflection in the eyes of others, and looked deep into the mirror too. I've run through the snow on four feet, and been shot, and awakened, sweating in my bed, wondering why I was still alive.

Dreams and Visions have had a huge impact on my life. While I live in the "real" world... I have come to recognize a certain realness that is very different than what we commonly experience. I've posted some of my dreams on this site.

I'm spiritual... and possibly have a mystical or mythic worldview at times. But I'm absolutely not religious. To me, spirit is something you experience, something you do, something you are part of... not something to be followed. I don't do a lot of rituals, and I don't worship in a church. Indeed, I don't worship. If other people want to do it, and that's their way, and it makes them happy... fine and good.

That Coyote Graphic in the upper corner
That little graphic is my rendition of Coyote juggling the stars. I'll probably end up getting it tattooed on my body some day.

My Vocation
I've dedicated myself to my calling as clergy. I'm a nondenomenational pagan, following a shamanic path, but I have also chosen a path of helping others. That means I'll offer advice and counsel if asked, and can perform weddings and other ceremonies. I believe that each person should be dedicated to their own spirituality, but nonetheless, I will offer advice where I can, and recommend things that you might do to help yourself. While I do not denigrate people that ask for money in exchange for counsel or spiritual "intervention", I do not do this myself. It's not something I would do for money.

Part of Coyote's job, given to him by Great Spirit is to "make things right". And we each must do this in our own way, to the best of our ability. I'll help where I can, and where I think it's right. You don't have to follow my path to ask for help, advice, or friendship, either. I'm the only one on my path anyway. ; ) And no, I don't have all the answers (obviously), but I'll do what I can.

Of course, I shouldn't have to tell you, the best person to go to for answers is yourself. Even when you go to another for advice, it's ultimately you that has to decide what's best in your own life.

My Life's Mission
When I think about the very core of my heart's desire for this lifetime, it can be summed up by:

"I want to do something good, and I want people to do it with."

I want to leave the world a better place than I found it, whether in a small or large way. I don't believe the world just happens to us. I believe we are all part of the world. And what we decide to do determines what kind of world we will have. I believe it is up to all of us to choose a better future, to strive for a world worth dreaming of.

Coyote on: Seeing the Future

As I've mentioned to a few people, sometimes I have dreams that end up coming true. It seems fairly unpredictable, and often, these prophetic dreams are about faitly mundane, seemingly unimportant stuff.

Mostly, I just get the end of movies ruined for me, before the movies are even made.

Occasionally, these dreams are about something fairly important, so I pay attention to them.

Anyway, once, while talking to Big Coyote, I decided to ask him about it.

Well, okay, actually I was asking him if he could reveal something useful about the future, like lottery numbers or whether I could expect a global societal collapse in a couple years or something.

He responded with: "How the hell should I know? Nobody can see the future!"

I responded that I knew it was possible to see the future, because sometimes I catch glimpses of it.

"Nobody can look into the future," he said with a wicked, conspiratorial grin, and leaning closer whispered, "but sometimes, you can send a message back."

How to know you are loved by Coyote

Coyote once spent a few hours explaining something convoluted to me.

The conversation was about trust, and about how to decide whether you could trust yourself, or someone else. It was a little complicated, I suppose, and I seem to recall we went around in circles a lot.

In any case, at the end of it, we had a little dialogue that went something like this:

Coyote: Well, I guess you can tell that I must love you.

Me: Really? How so?

Coyote: Because we've had this whole conversation and you aren't missing an eye.

It's good to be loved.

Some of the worst things I've ever said

Have you ever said something that came out wrong, or was so inappropriate that you were embarrassed years later?

I'd like to claim that it's the Coyote medicine that occasionally causes me to say the worst thing imaginable without even trying. But most likely it's because my brain sometimes engages the language function without the thinking or tact function.

Here are some of the things I've said that I regret the most:

Things where I meant to say one thing, but somehow said another.

To a female friend

What I think I _meant_ to say:*
If I were straight, I would have slept with you anytime.
(We'd been discussing the young lady's high libido and joyful unrepentant approach to sexuality)

What came out of my mouth:
I could have slept with you anytime.

Which is probably one of the most disrespectful things I could possibly have said, on so many levels, that sometimes, I actually wake up in the middle of the night, horrified that those words actually came out of my mouth and went into anyone's ears, much less someone who I consider practically a goddess.

*I'm not entirely sure what was going through my mind (which was in a disorganized state at the time)... what I said was so utterly unlike anything that I would even think of, much less say, that I can't even begin to explain it or entirely fathom it.

---

To a friend who was grieving after the loss of a beloved grandparent, and who remarked that the thing that made it all so hard to deal with was that "it all happened so quickly."

What I _meant_ to say (two separate things):
A: It was better for him, perhaps, that his death was not lingering and slow.
B: You would have wanted what was best for him, wouldn't you?

What came out of my mouth:
A+B Combined: "What would you want him to die slow?"

Things where I just blurted out something without really considering the impact or appropriateness

The situation:
I met a friend I had not seen in years, at a public party-style event, which included an art gallery. The friend had apparently just taken a powerful hallucinogen that they were unfamiliar with, and was kind of having a rough trip. I was hoping to cheer them up by being charming and witty.

What I said:
I pointed to a picture of a kali-like, skull-covered undead-looking female figure that was done in the style of H.R. Giger, and said (thinking myself witty), "Actually, that sort of reminds me of my mom a little."

My friend took a look at the picture, turned back to me and horror, and said something like "I don't know what's worse! That you would think that, or that you'd say that to someone!"

What I was thinking:
I did not actually mean what I said, I was just being flip. The picture was so dark and horrific, that the obvious thing to say seemed to be "Aww... it looks like mom!" I am such a geek, sometimes.

---

The situation:
A friend had just gotten back the first copies of their first small-press publication that they had spent a year producing, and had painstakingly typeset and laid out from scratch using pre-computer cut and paste methods. It had been a huge undertaking, and finally, they had a finished product in their hands.

What I said:
It looks about how I expected it would.

What I was thinking:
I was thinking that with all the work they put into it, overcoming all sorts of difficulties, lack of funds, and lack of equipment, that they'd done an amazing job. Since the friend is a perfectionist, I could expect little more than that it would look really good. Needless to say, what they heard was "I expected it would look this crappy."

---

While there may be some humor value in this stuff, for the most part, I feel so awful about the above incidents, that they will bother me in the middle of the night, even years later. If I dwell on them a little, it's to remind me to be very careful what I say, lest I really hurt someone's feelings when I don't want to.

Ten Things about Me

This was originally one of those memes that goes around LiveJournal.

TEN random things about me:

10. I doubt my sanity often
9. I once ate a flour beetle to prove they are harmless
8. I like music but can't stand listening to it
7. I'm moody, but not as bad as I was
6. Stuffed, roast breast of veal is one of my favorite foods
5. I've read more books than I can remember
4. I'm old enough to remember stuff that's in history books
3. I want to save the world. No. Really.
2. I'm decent at almost everything I do, but I don't think I'm _very_ good at anything
1. I believe in the supernatural, but I also believe that 99.99999% of what people babble about it is bullshit

NINE ways to win my heart:

9. Do a good deed for no reward other than doing it
8. Face something you are afraid of
7. Trust me without doing it blindly
6. Try to make the world a better place
5. Appreciate Beauty, whatever you think beauty is
4. Laugh without using laughter to injure someone
3. Love my friends
2. Do the right thing
1. Care

EIGHT things I want to do before I die:

8. Pass on a useful and practical philosophy
7. Make the world a better place
6. Have a real home
5. Have a family/pack who I trust wholeheartedly
4. Make sense of the mysteries in my life
3. Write books
2. Be able to touch and hold the things I believe in, and not just have to take them on faith
1. Satisfy my unsatisfied hungers completely, so that for at least a while I can feel sated, instead of always feeling like I've gotten just a taste

SEVEN ways to annoy me

7. Derive pleasure from hurting or belittling others
6. Make definitive statements regarding things about which you clearly know nothing
5. Trample or abuse something or someone I appreciate
4. Fail to give a shit about the consequences of your actions
3. Do stupid things that you know are stupid and then complain when they bite you
2. Tear down things when others (like me) are trying to build them up
1. Get in my way when I'm trying to do something difficult

SIX things I believe in:

6. Life's longing for itself
5. That the Creator isn't blind, cruel or nonexistent
4. That there is a best self in everyone, and they can choose to feed and be that best self
3. That what we do matters.
2. That the things we love in our core, and which our souls find Beauty in strike us that way for a good reason.
1. That there's always a way, if we stick together

FIVE things I'm afraid of:

5. That people will never live up to their best potential
4. That the people who don't give a shit, or who act out of greed, callousness or cruelty will win
3. That I'll try to do something good and only pass on some fatal flaw
2. That I won't be up to the tasks I've set for myself or that have been set for me
1. That I'll never really get anyone to stand by my side when something is too big for me alone

FOUR of my favorite items in my room

4. My bed
3. My little stuffed Coyote, Vincent, that my good friend Timberwolf gave me
2. My starry coyote blanket my friend Wontolla gave me
1. My mate, Coryn

THREE things I do everyday

3. Bitch
2. Think long and hard about the world, ethics, practicality, spirit, and all that other philosophically-stuff
1. Consume things that are bad for me in a vain effort to be more alert

TWO things I want to do right now:

2. Fall asleep
1. Finish the 8-zillion projects I have pending, both responsibilities and chosen for delight

ONE person I want to see right now:

1. There are too many people I want to see right now.

What Coyote Looks Like

I am occasionally asked for pictures of what I look like. I don't take a lot of pictures, and when I do, it's not usually pics of myself.

Here, however, are some I'm particularly proud of.

This is a picture of what I look like now, with the shaved head.

This is a picture of me with long hair, dressed up nicely.

This is a picture of me, taken a few years ago, about to take my godson, Xander, trick or treating with his mom, Alexandra. Xander is the three-foot-tall pirate, I'm the six-foot parrot, and Alexandra is the busty wench.

The things I'll do for family. Polly want an aspirin.

Why is my name Coyote?

Why is my name Coyote?
So Glad You Asked

(I wrote this quite a while ago, but reading it over, there's not much I'd change. Except that I now try not to use so many ellipses when I write).

Well.... partly... it's that I was using the name for many years. My friends began calling me Coyote years and years ago. Partly, I am sure, this is because I was the only Coyote they knew. There were a couple friends who just always knew.

I need to call myself something... and while names are just labels (and I coulda chosen from a zillion of them)... this was the one I felt easiest and most comfortable with. It was accurate, and people called me that anyway.

In one sense... a name (can be) the spoken version of who you are... or what you are choosing or have been chosen to be. To Europeans, it seems that a name is just something you are called, in a sense. Most folks don't even know what their name means... it was chosen because someone else was named that in their family... or it was chosen because it was pretty. Sometimes it's chosen because of a one-line definition in a baby book.

But to me... my name is a symbol for who I am, what I do, what gives my life meaning. I was given my name a long time ago. I was given my name for a reason, and I accepted it for a reason. Now... the name could be translated, pronounced different, or rendered into other languages or signs. The essential spirit of who and what I am remains.

Sometimes, people change their names as they themselves change. For me... keeping the name I have has been part of a sign of my connection to that original ineffable "beingness" of me. And also a sign that I remember what I agreed to, and have not given up or turned away.

The reason that I have chosen Coyote, and not a more specific seeming name is partly because the label part of a name is used to try and communicate a meaning to others. If I were " Coyote" I know people would kind of write it off as if that were somehow "just a name".

I draw a very close connection between my real physical self and my "mythic" self. I think of the greater part of Coyote "out there" as well as the 'regular old me" that is "in here".

Sometimes... Coyote... (and by this I can mean me... or I can mean THE Coyote) is Bitter Coyote, or Black Coyote, or Old Coyote. And I do believe that I, in this human form, as this person, relate more specifically to those certain aspects of Coyote. But I try not to confuse the issue of whether I'm really this or that Coyote. I'm just me.

I think, when I meet up with enough other bits o' Coyote and we all have to deal with each other a lot... I might choose a new label for myself... a new spoken name to make it clearer which part of Coyote I am. Heh... or maybe we'll all decide it's fun to call each other "Coyote", just to confuse everyone.

Hmmm... all of this sounds really schizo. Oh well. Life's tough.

Suffice to say... I believe I am a part of Coyote. An easy way to put it would be that I am a "fragment" thereof... perhaps a more accurate analogy would be that I believe that I am an expression of Coyote, in the material world, in a human body. Obviously, I'm not ALL of Coyote. Coyote's a big ol spirit, and not all of him/it/me would fit in this thing. Hell... feels like I've stuffed my head in a thimble. This thing sucks. And you call this fur? Blah! But I digress.

I call myself Coyote, partly, because it's demeaning to say "Hi! I'm Coyote's Left Hand!" or "I'm Coyote's right pinky toe!"

Yeah... I think of myself as a coyote... the animal... I identify with that more strongly, in many ways, than I do with being human. I've lived as a coyote (Yes Virginia, I believe in reincarnation). I lived as a coyote a lot longer than I ever lived as a human, and never put it behind me. I've lived as other critters too, of course... I've been a wolf many times for instance... but if I have to identify myself, inwardly... I remember myself as coyote. Being a wolf never changed that. Being a human hasn't either.

But... I also identify myself mythically in a sense.

In my first big vision in this life... Coyote came to me to embrace me, to remind me of who I was... and to show me that I was Coyote.

I guess this is why I defend the mythics, like dragons and manticores, et al... because I too am one. I too have my roots in mythic consciousness, as well as having lived like reg'lar folks.

I see myself as Coyote... and so that's my name. I was given that name, and it's mine. (No unspoken neener neener neener).

I've also met Coyote(s) (note when I use capitals) on the road* several times. I've seen (and sought) Coyote as an external being in Dreams and visions, even though I AM, in a sense, Coyote.

The first Coyote who came to me was Red Coyote. Red Coyote was the old, spiritually pure, loving spirit from the vision (described in my werecard) where I came to know who I was. He was the one that showed me myself. Black Coyote has been in my Dreams several times too... Black Coyote more often gives me warnings, and has hinted at hidden powers or hidden things (often bad things). Black Coyote often appears as a puppy or young creature, who I protect even as he protects me.

I've also seen Coyote-Walking-as-a-Man. Generally, I think he's the one I follow... the one I never quite seem to catch up with. When I briefly get close... he often looks surprised (though not unhappy) to see me.... before he vanishes or I lose him again.

I've also met other Coyote folks in my time... and some of them I think are... well... others like me. Other expressions of Coyote in the world. I don't need to name names, do I? If ya cannot tell, ya probably don't need to know. Besides... I'd hate to spoil the surprise.

So... why do I go by the name "Coyote"? Well... because it's my name. (Look... it's even on my driver's license).

*By the way... Coyote is not Buddha... yer supposed to meet Coyote on the road... so don't kill him. That happens all the time and it's really annoying. Try it, and yer gonna learn that the sound of one hand clapping sounds suspiciously like a smack upside the head.

Cooking and Recipes

This section is for any special articles or guides on cooking, food preparation, and food enjoyment.

As many people may know, Coyote is always hungry. And since I have thumbs and a forebrain in this body, I like to take advantage of it in order to enjoy delicious food. I love cooking, and I love eating. Hence, this section.

You should also check out the recipes index, for individual cooking recipes, and please feel free to contribute your own as well!

Liquid Latex and Body Paint

This section is for articles related to a hobby of mine - body painting, especially with liquid latex.

Not many people are into this, and this means that there's very few decent guides out there, and not a lot of useful information for enthusiasts, hence this section on my website.

Firekeep

Firekeep

Coming soon!

Firekeep is a more or less mainstream fantasy novel I am slowly writing. It's a character-driven adventure story set in a fantasy world, where humans aren't the only sentient race, and magic is real and powerful.

A string of vicious murders, a kingdom usurped by a tyrannical ruler, a member of a long-banished race seeking to avenge murder, a young man torn between loyalty and honor, a maimed but beautiful witch who may be the last guardian of the land's health, and a mysterious magical beacon shining forth at every grisly murder... there are secrets in Firekeep, and only the brave may bring them into the light...

Dramatis Personae:

Kayer: A young male shunki - a race descended from coyotes. He was found as a child, badly wounded, unconscious, and without memory of where he had come from, by an old human couple, who raised and cared for him. When his foster parents are killed, Kayer begins a quest to avenge their deaths, discover the secret of his own origins, and perhaps even find his own people, who he has never seen.

Galt: A young human man, forced into slavery, who works as a animal tender for the Duc of Fireholt. When Duc Aelkyd's latest hunting expedition turns up a strange creature told of only in legends, Galt's life takes an unexpected turn.

Ygain: The son of the black-hearted and tyrannical Duc of Fireholt, the noble-hearted Ygain lives under the shadow of his father. Even as the young man seeks to unravel the source of a string of mysterious and brutal murders, he must also decide where his loyalties lie, and whether he has the courage to do what is right.

Kaerali: Once a victim of a terrible and merciless magical killer, the Witch Kaerali makes a haven of the Vollwood, just outside the reach of Fireholt's cruel ruler, Duc Aelkyd. When a mysterious stranger stumbles through the web of magical deception protecting Kaerali's home, she must decide whether the time is right to uncover the secret of Fireholt, and face the dark peril feeding on the land and it's people.

Trouble and Tilo - Cyberpunk

Just a bit of cyberpunk I wrote a couple of years ago, intending to write more in a series. I'm about halfway through the second short story, but am so backlogged that you probably don't want to hold your breath. I hope to get back to these characters again someday - I enjoyed writing them.

Baseball and Dentistry Don't Mix

When I was a kid, twelve, I think, I went to the dentist once, and a checkup revealed that I had a cavity in one of my back teeth. My mother made an appointment for me to come back in to have it drilled, and a filling put in.

I already hated going to the dentist. There's nothing worse that having a guy who mistakenly thinks they are "good with kids," go to work on your teeth with a drill.

First off, most people don't really listen to children. Hell, if they're in the medical profession, they don't often listen to adults. I suppose that's understandable, but that's not the same as it being okay. I hated this guy anyway. He always acted like he was on television - it was like having William Shatner for a dentist. He'd wander out of the room for fifteen minutes while your mouth was loaded with cotton, right in the middle of drilling. He'd talk on the phone while doing stuff in your mouth. He'd ask you questions and then make fun of how you sounded because he had his hands in there.

But my favorite... my favorite part, was that he'd say "If it hurts to much to continue, just raise your left hand, and we'll stop for a second." And then he'd ignore you or come up with reasons not to stop.

Also... he kept calling me "Sport," and "Chief," and "Little Buddy." This is not a way to win points with me.

So... I go in, and the first warning sign that this will not be a good visit is that the televisions on in the office - this is a children's dentist, and they had TV's up that would show cartoons while they worked on you, to distract you from that silly root canal - are not showing cartoons today. No. They're showing a baseball game.

He asks me "Hey, how about a little baseball today while we work?"

"No thank you," I say, "I don't really like sports." This is an understatement. Frankly, at this point in my life... and up until today really, sports of all kinds make me think of something my Sicilian grandmother would say: "Se tutti esplodono en una mattina," which means "They should all explode in one morning."

"Don't be silly," he says, "All little boys like sports!"

"Actually, I have no interest in sports," I tell him, "I really don't like watching them or playing them at all."

"Well, chief," he says, "This isn't just any sport. This is baseball!"

Now... this whole time, he has not looked me in the face a single time - worrisome, since I think he needs to look at my face if he's going to stick a drill in my mouth. He's staring, unblinking at the TV, while trying to get me ready for the dental work. There are several dental assistants around, but all but one of them are also staring at the television, carrying on about the game. Loudly.

So... the guy shoots me up with some Novocaine. Before we even begin, I explain that I hope he's using one of the newer Novocaine-like anesthetics, because Novocaine stopped working on me years before. And this is true. I hate when I have to use stuff like that, because it works on me maybe once or twice, and then never works again. You could shoot me up with so much Novocaine that it squirts out my ears, and it doesn't do a goddamn thing to me.

He responds "Don't be silly. You can't be resistant to Novocaine."

I can see this is going to be a fun visit.

So, of course, he sticks this needle the size of a harpoon in my gums and starts wriggling it around. but he's still glancing over his shoulder at the game while he's doing it. Twice, the needle scrapes on something hard - under my gums - probably bone. With a needle in your gums, it's hard to say anything without risking further injury, so I'm raising my left hand, and when he finally notices (because I'm shaking it in front of his face, obstructing his view of the television), he stops and says "It can't be hurting yet, this shot is to make it not hurt!"

Idiot.

So, I'm telling him "Novocaine takes like fifteen minutes to start working, and that's when you're not immune to it! And you're digging all around in there. Can you stop watching the TV when you have a needle in my mouth at least?"

His response? "Now, now, sport. I'm the dentist. I think I know what I'm doing."

There is, and was, by the way, no quicker way to earn my utter hatred and loathing than to call me "Chief," "Sport," or "Little Buddy." I've long ago given up on trying to politely ask this guy to quit that. I think he even called my mom "Sport" once. It was like he had Tourette's - except that most people with Tourette's aren't retarded.

So... anyway... after a bit, my mouth is feeling very not-numb. Maybe a little tingly. So, I insist that the stuff's not working. I finally manage to flag over a dental assistant, who goes and gets my mom. My mother comes in and verifies that yes, indeed, I'm immune to Novocaine. She then announces that if it's going to be a while, she's just going to go do some shopping, and can she leave me here?

Great. As soon as he gets rid of the rest of the witnesses, then he can finish me off and dispose of my corpse in time for halftime, or whatever the fuck baseball has.

So... he has the assistant bring over some Xylocaine or something, which I've only used once at this point, and which he had the whole damn time, and he repeats the process of preventing me from having pain by scraping a giant needle around inside my gums and squirting burning fluid into them. At least this time, it makes my gums a little numb. Almost so numb that it's hard to feel where the needles went in.

So... anyway, he gets started on my tooth. And he's drilling, and drilling, and drilling. I'm beginning to wonder if he's hoping to find Uranium in there, or if he's forgotten I'm just in for a filling, and he's giving me a root canal instead. Needless to say, this shit hurts like crazy already, and he keeps glancing over his shoulder, while he's working, to see the goddamn baseball game.

Finally, at one point, when he glances at the game, I guess the guy has either hit the ball, or missed the ball, or something else of vital importance to this asshat's betting pool, because... and I am not making this up... he makes that "punching" motion that guys make when they are pumped up about something. Except that he does this with the hand that is in my mouth, drilling on my tooth, and this causes him to drill a hole into my cheek.

So, I grab his arm, and yank his hand out of my mouth, and begin spitting blood everywhere. The guy has the nerve to tell me to hold still, because "You don't want to be wiggling around while a dentist's got a drill in your mouth, sport! Ha ha!"

Motherfucker.

So... I explain to him that he has drilled a hole where no filling need go... my cheek, and he looks and discovers that, surprise! I seem to be correct! "Sorry about that, chief," he says... "We'll just be more careful, huh?"

At this point, I'm wishing that I had a baseball bat. So I tell him that if he watches the game while drilling on me, I'm going to tell my mother that he drilled a hole in my cheek while watching television. I also explain that I once watched my mother hit a man so hard that he flew into the air and landed on the top of his head, with his jaw broken in seven places. This is absolutely true, by the way. Also, this guy has met my mother, and is aware that she is... shall we say... somewhat unreasonable when aroused to anger - which can happen at any moment.

So... he starts in again, this time promising to be more careful, and with the television off. He still keeps calling to an assistant in the next area to tell him what the score is.

By this time, he's been drilling for quite a while, and gods know whether he's even doing it right, or what he's drilled besides my cheek. For all I know, he's not even working on the right tooth. The anesthetic was barely working to begin with, and now I have a hole in my cheek that hurts like fuck. Now... I just want this over with as soon as possible, so I'm trying to just let him finish. But finally, it just hurts too much, so I raise my left hand to let him know I want a break.

Needless to say, he doesn't stop. So I raise it higher, and wave it a little. Now... I'm trying to do this without moving anything but my arm, because there's a jackass with a drill stuck in my tooth. He does not stop. So I wave more frantically, and carefully make a "MMRRRGNNGH!" noise.

He says "Oh, it doesn't hurt that much."

So I wave my hand a lot more, and say, "ffRgh! MMMFLRggh! GGRRRNF!" which if translated would mean something like "The heck it doesn't, get that drill out of my mouth!" Unfortunately, it's hard to talk through a drill and a pound of cotton.

He says, "How about I just work on you a little longer? It can't possibly hurt, with all the anesthetic I gave you."

I repeat the waving, and frantic eye widening, and mrgle mrgle mrph noises. I am now approaching panic, because this hurts like civil war era medicine. And he says, and I am not making this up, "Aww... if it really hurt that much, you could do a better job of convincing me than that."

I lost it. I bunched up my right fist into a wad with the approximate density of a neutron star, carefully angled my body, and caught him under the chin with an uppercut so perfect that his jaws clicked together, he bashed his head on the worklight over the dental chair, and the drill went flying out of my mouth. Did you know that dentist's drills actually turn themselves off immediately if the dentist loses control of their fingers? It's good to know.

It actually dazed him enough that he fell over backwards. I started ripping that stupid dentist bib off, and hauled back my fist again, and shouted into his face, "Did that hurt? How about I stop when I'm good and ready! How about I work on you a little longer! Huh?!?" I'm spitting bloody cotton in all directions by this point.

Now... keep in mind... I'm a short, nerdy, quiet fat kid who cries easily. And I've just taught this six-foot tall grown man what "glass jaw" means. I'm wondering if he figured that if the twelve-year-old hits that hard, that he wouldn't want to get socked by his mom. Maybe he's worried about getting on the news at this point. he actually called his partner in, and had him finish doing the filling.

The other guy did a good job. He confided in me that he didn't even like baseball.

So... my mom finally returns. I'm still pissed off, and my face hurts. The first guy complains that I wasn't "a very good patient," and that I "won't be getting a lollipop," that time.

Really. I am not making this up. I muttered something about "Lollipops... good policy. You give those out so I'll get cavities and have to come back so you can finish me off, right?"

I explained the incident to my mother, and she did threaten to snatch the guy bald-headed. But then she smacked me for "Not behaving."

Man... I swear... to this day, if I see that so-called dentist, he's gonna need a dentist.

How to cure arachnophobia in one easy primal scream

When I was younger, I was afraid of, among other things, spiders. Actually, I was afraid of everything, but spiders were on the list.

Normally, when you have a deep-seated fear of something, traumatic exposure to the object of fear makes it worse. Perversely, I believe there are times when you are confronted with the object of your fear in such an over-the-top fashion that you actually explode the brain cells in charge of making you phobic, and they die screaming, so that you are no longer afraid of that particular thing.

Here is how I got over my fear of spiders.

Now... in my defense, I've been bitten by so many spiders that you can probably make antivenin out of my blood. Hell... I've been bitten by so many damn spiders that I can probably spit flesh-dissolving poison. I don't know why. I'm just lucky, I suppose. They fall down my shirt, crawl into my pants leg. I stick my feet under counters and into hidden webs. If I fall out of a tree, I'll land in a spider web. If I am walking down a forest path, behind ten other, taller people, I will walk face-first into some venomous little web-swinger. They say that spiders rarely bite, even when offended. All one has to do is touch me, and it instantly sinks it's teeny fangs in to the hilt, and if they can't break the skin (most spiders cannot), I swear they actually gnaw on me, while cursing angrily.

I grew up in South Florida, which I swear has more interesting spiders than anywhere else in North America. The only place you can go for more interesting and terrifying spiders is Australia, where all critters are apparently measured in how many hundreds of times more deadly they are than a King Cobra. Is that a unit of measurement? King Cobra toxicity? Is that like those animals, like Piranha, fire-ants, army ants and carrion beetles - who are measured according to how quickly they can skeletonize a cow?

So... one night, when I was maybe sixteen or so (I'd just hit puberty - my life sucks sometimes, but my late puberty is another tale of woe), I woke up at about three or four in the morning. I don't even know why I woke up. I just suddenly opened my eyes in the darkened room, facing the ceiling, for no particular reason. It was like I sensed something. I didn't have my glasses on, so everything was blurry, but there was a dot in the middle of my field of vision that seemed to be getting larger.

I thought, despite the fact that I usually came to full wakefulness instantly, that perhaps I was having some weird sleep-related visual artifact or something. So I just laid there for a moment, watching this dot swell to encompass most of my field of vision. Suddenly, the dot was shaped just like an enormous spider! Wasn't that intere....

PLOP!

The "dot" was a huge hairy wolf spider, almost the size of a tarantula, that had been precariously navigating upside-down across my ceiling. I didn't even know wolf spiders could do that!

The thing hit me right between the eyes, with an audible and stinging smack.

Needless to say, I did what any sixteen-year-old red-blooded American male would do. I screamed like a girl, and shot out of bed clawing at my face, dancing on my tippy-toes in terror.

You see, the best part was that the spider was a lady spider - covered with about fifty zillion baby spiders, which were now running all over my face, in my hair, and in my bed.

So, I hopped around like my ass was on fire for a moment, and then found myself looking for the enormous momma spider. That's the last thing I wanted to lose track of at that moment, I assure you - if I hadn't been able to find the damn thing I'd probably have slept on the kitchen table for a week - except that would have put me at the mercy of the palmetto bugs. In case you don't know what a palmetto bug is, it's a cockroach about the size of a Toyota station wagon.

Well, the mother spider was not hard to find. She was running around my bed, like she was crazy. I leaned in closer, amazed, as I realized that she was running around picking up baby spiders. When she'd get close, they actually seemed to run back up onto her, very quickly. It was hard to see what was going on, without my glasses, but it was almost as if, wherever she passed, the baby spiders just disappeared and reappeared on her back.

After a moment, both the mother spider and I were sitting still, staring at one another. The poor thing was just sitting there, covered with whatever little babies weren't lost or smooshed, and I swear she looked like she was panting like an athlete who'd just run the five hundred meter.

It was then that I noticed that a couple of her legs were broken off in the struggle.

Well... now I felt like a heel. Poor critter falls off a ceiling, lands on a screaming nutjob, loses a hefty percentage of offspring and legs, that's just gotta suck.

So... I carefully got a big piece of paper and coaxed her onto it. I was being ultra-careful, partly because I didn't want to hurt it any more than it already was, and partly because those kinds of big hairy spiders jump, and the last thing I wanted was a repeat performance of the face-full-of-spiders trick. I managed to get her outside into the yard, where she promptly disappeared into the grass.

I went upstairs and took a shower, to clean spider legs and goo and smooshed baby spider bits out of my hair (ahhh... the joys of long cascading hair that goes down to the middle of your back - ask me why I shave my head nowadays).

After that, I went back to sleep. I contemplated how that had to be possibly the worst experience an arachnophobe could have, and yet, by the end of it, I was so busy worrying about the mother spider that I forgot to hyperventilate and shiver in terror.

After that, spiders really just didn't freak me out any more. It's not that I'll pick them up, or give them hugs or anything. They still bite me on contact. But I kinda got over the phobia at that point.

In a way, humorous as this story is, I sort of feel like I grew as a person because of the incident. Again, at the expense of the creature involved, but, life's touch when you're a hairy, ceiling-crawling, urban mother of four thousand.

How to fit half a city block's worth of smoke into a bedroom

When I was a teenager, someone gave my mother a book by George Hayduke, called "Getting Even." For anyone who hasn't seen these books, they are incredibly funny... provided you have a penis, are fairly immature, and are the sort of person who laughs at the Three Stooges. They contain all sorts of juvenile pranks - most of which, if you have even a high-school understanding of physics, are exaggerated, embellished, or made up out of whole cloth.

Needless to say, my mother handled the thing like it was a dead cockroach. There's something about having two X chromosomes that automatically lets you know when something is puerile, dangerous, and stupid.

Naturally, at the time, I thought it was the greatest book in the entire universe. I was fifteen or so, nerdy, immature, and in possession of only one precious X chromosome. I theorize that the reason Y chromosomes are shorter is because they are missing the parts of human DNA that tell us how to find a gallon of milk in the refrigerator, and that tell us we should never try to set fire to anything without a damn good reason.

That missing part of genetic matter is clearly the one that contains the code that would otherwise prevent a normal, rational adult from ever doing anything that prompts them to say "Hey! Bubba! Watch this!" immediately before inspiring their own obituary.

Anyway, one of the entries in this glorious book, clearly written with the adolescent male in mind (which is basically about how to do mean things to people who have offended you, but whom you are afraid to just punch in the nose) was "How to make a smoke bomb."

The article claimed that a pound of the substance described could cover a city block in thick smoke.

My gods. I had to make this. Just think of the possibilities... why.. why... could... well... cover a city block in smoke! Mwa ha ha!

Basically, it said to mix two parts ammonium chloride (which you used to be able to get in children's chemistry sets, before they figured out that chemistry sets in the hands of anyone under the age of thirty, or who have a Y chromosome are dangerous when fully stocked), with three parts of sugar. Perhaps it was the other way around - I don't remember.

It said that you should carefully melt the sugar and ammonium chloride together over low heat, until it was a single gooey mass, and then leave it to cool. It then went further, and said that the resulting substance would be easier to light if you pushed match-heads into it while it was still warm and gooey.

So... I went to the local science hobby store, and convinced the proprietor to sell me a whole lot of ammonium chloride. He was a little suspicious, but not as suspicious as he was the time I bought a half pound of saltpeter to make black powder and fireworks with.

Anyone who would sell chemicals to a fifteen-year old boy is completely irresponsible. You'd be better off selling it to terrorists, who, presumably, at least know what they are doing, and who are, I presume, okay with setting themselves on fire or blowing themselves up, as long as their smoking bodies land somewhere near God, Allah, or whichever other deity will then say "Dammit, I thought I told you primates to be nice to each other!"

So... I get home, and smuggle my prize into my bedroom. At the time, I had a nice glass-topped desk to play with my various chemistry-set (for which read "make your own fireworks") projects.

Educational my ass. Those things are supposed to teach kids chemistry. My idea of chemistry came from Wile E. Coyote, not Mr. Wizard. I used to make little robots out of the molecular modeling kits - they were like tinkertoys!

Anyway, I carefully melted the sugar and ammonium chloride down. I'd decided that I didn't want to do anything too dangerous, especially since I hadn't performed this particular procedure before - and some of my smaller experiments had already resulted in some terrifying smells and strange burnt spots on my flesh from time to time.

Nope... I was going to be very responsible and proceed with caution. I decided to make only a half pound of this stuff.

All went well. The sugar melted down and partly caramelized, and the whole thing looked great. Didn't even catch fire or anything.

I let it cool for a couple of minutes, but remembered that before it cooled completely, I was supposed to embed match-heads in it, to help with lighting it later. So... I snipped the heads off some matches, and using forceps, began gingerly forcing them into the mass of smoke-bomb material.

Did you know that when sugar is hot enough to still be semi-liquid, that it is also hot enough to ignite a match head?

About a second after the first one went in, as I was preparing to insert the second, the first match head bust into flame, and the entire block of stuff instantly went "FFFOOOMF!" and in about a split-second, the entire block had converted it's mass into - you guessed it - enough smoke to cover half a city block.

Except this was in my bedroom, which was approximately ten feet by seventeen feet (it was a converted garage).

The entire room was immediately filled with thick, choking whitish smoke that reduced visibility to absolute zero. It didn't smell good, either. I inhaled a whole bunch, because it startled me. So I found myself staggering around, disoriented, trying to find the door.

So... I get to the far end of the room (tripping over more furniture than I even knew I had, and getting myself even more turned around), and fumble around until I feel a doorknob.

Now... my bedroom had two doors - one leading outside, into the back yard (the ultimate teenager's bedroom - concrete floors that didn't squeak, on the opposite side of the house from my mother's room, and with a door leading outside!).

The other door, of course, led into the rest of the house.

Now... I could not breathe, and didn't know for sure if I'd set fire to the house or not, although I didn't feel any heat. So I had to open a door before I passed out. Did I have the right door, in my blinded and disoriented state?

Just as I was about to turn the knob, from the other side of the door, I heard the voice of Nauni, my sainted grandmother, asking, "What are you doing in there?"

What was I doing?!?

"Nothing!!!" I croaked out, in perfect swallowed-a-burning frog tones of voice.

"Oh. Okay, sweetie!" she said. I love my grandmother. To this day, I'm sure she knew damn well when us kids were up to something, but that she liked to warn us that we were under supervision while also giving us a chance at plausible deniability, and to hide the evidence of whatever we were stopping doing that instant now that we were caught.

So... I lurched to the other door, flung it open, and staggered out into blessed fresh air. Well... not fresh really. I lived in Miami, and anyway, when I opened the door, the smoke billowed out along with me.

I caught my breath, and eyes watering, went back into the room to make sure there was no fire. My grandmother was in the house, after all, so I couldn't just leave, run away, change my name, and catch a bus to Alaska before my mother came home, which would otherwise have been the plan. My mother was never a reasonable woman at the best of times, and coming home to a house filled with smoke - or burnt to the ground - would have ended in my eulogy. My eulogy or an unmarked grave.

Fortunately, the stuff had peacefully converted to smoke and not fire. Or perhaps there just wasn't enough oxygen left. I'd done this little procedure on a glass surface, and for good measure, the block of good in it's metal dish was on a slab of concrete. So, no real damage.

Except for the smoke. Fortunately, since I know better than anyone what happens when coyotes play with matches or chemicals or tools, I'd had a towel stuffed under the door to the rest of the house before I even began.

So... I got my fan, positioned it in the door, and blew the rest of the smoke out of the house.

I staggered back inside, went to the kitchen, and got something to drink. My grandmother asked me if I was okay - she said I looked a little funny. I told her I was fine, and she gave me a suspicious look, but went back to whatever she'd been doing. I thank my lucky stars that my grandmother had no sense of smell whatsoever. She'd been smoking Pall Malls so long that you could have stuffed a dead skunk under the living room couch and she wouldn't have smelled anything. It's not that I was afraid she'd kill me. My mother would have killed me. No... my grandmother would have just given me that armor-piercing "I'm very disappointed," look for a second or two, and I'd need therapy to recover. I swear, she could inflict more guilt with a single twitch of an eyelash than a whole army of normal Jewish or Italian grandmothers could normally do with a whole day of nagging.

It was then that I glanced out the window and saw that the whole backyard - no... the whole neighborhood was covered in - as promised - thick smoke.

I ran back to my room, yanked in the fan, and went into the living room and pretended to read a book. A little while later, my grandmother came back down, wondering why the hell there were fire trucks circling the block. When the knock on the door came, she assured the confused and irritated-looking fireman that no, our house was on fire. She called out to me, "Are you doing anything with fire, sweetie?"

I croaked out, from behind my book, "No (gasp, choke) I'm not (gasp wheeze) burning anything, Nauni. Who's at the door?"

The fireman went away, still looking suspicious. By the time they'd gotten there, the smoke had dispersed all over the block. They pestered some of the people in the other houses, and then eventually left, presumably to rest and relax, or perhaps fight a real fire set by some other teenager who tried mixing George Hayduke with Mr. Wizard.

At least, on this occasion, I kept my eyebrows.

How to step on a nail

Once, when I was a kid, maybe ten or so, I went to visit my Dad, in Connecticut. He and I used to love hiking, and he had about five acres of heavily-wooded land. Somewhere on this piece of land, there was supposedly an old shed or outbuilding, or at least the foundation of it. We decided to go looking for it. He hadn't lived there terribly long at that point, I don't think (maybe I was even a little younger), and he was an airline pilot, so he was away from home a lot, and hadn't gotten to look at every inch of the property.

So... we went out traipsing around in the trees, looking for this thing.

Well... there was no sign of it until I stubbed my foot on something. A big old board popped up a little bit out of the pine needles and leaves and whatnot underfoot.

"Hey, look," I said, "there's boards and stuff under here. Maybe this is that shed?"

Dad took a closer look, and sure enough, there were lots of boards all around. Well, I took a step back, and felt something catch my shoe and poke my foot a little bit.

Darn it, I thought, I must have stepped on a nail. Sure enough, my shoe was caught, but it didn't really hurt, so I figured that it must not have gone too far... just poked through the sole of my shoe a little. There was no pain, for which I was happy. The last thing you want to do is ram a nail into your foot. You'd be amazed at how much feet hurt when you do things to them. Professional torturers love feet, because they hurt a lot.

So... I go to pull my shoe off the board, and it won't come off. Darn it, I'm thinking. My shoe is really stuck on this nail! So I tugged harder, but I just couldn't get the damn shoe to come loose. By this point, my dad's walked off a little bit, so I tell him to wait a minute, my shoe is stuck on something, and I have to take it off.

That's when I discover that I can't get my foot out of my shoe, either. Which is odd. Why would I not be able to get my foot out of the shoe?

Answer... because my foot was nailed to the shoe. And the board under it.

That's about when it started to hurt. Oops.

Now... I don't know that this is exactly true, because my mother, let us say... embellishes the truth, but she's told me that my father faints if he sees blood. I don't know about that, but when I told him my foot was nailed to the shoe and the board, and started crying, he did start looking a little pale. I now know that this is because he was worried about my well-being, but at the time, I had this terrified image in my head that he would faint, and I'd be nailed to a board, and I'd die of sepsis.

So, I yanked my foot off the board (don't do that by the way, it's bad for you). I felt like I had a moment of truth - in that split second, it was yank the foot off the nail or die while my father lay helpless and passed out, where he would be devoured by a passing bear, and it would be all my fault.

Fortunately, mom's tales of my father's wooziness were exaggerated (always take what divorced parents say about each other with a grain of salt), and he showed no signs of fainting. Thanks mom, you got me all worked up. He helped me get back to the house, and made appropriate comforting noises, peppered with a judicious amount of "now let's not act like this is the end of the world."

Now... the best part is that the puncture, which had gone deep enough through my foot to actually tent up the skin on top, closed up tight, so it looked like a little red dot with just a bit of blood. Of course, the damn thing had gone almost through my foot, and I felt it grate between the bones when I yanked it off (trust me, you do not want to experience that sensation - it squicks me just thinking about it, to this day). So, I now had this horrendously painful deep puncture, which looked like a spot on my foot. On top of everything else, I had callouses like a quarter of an inch thick at the time - I used to go barefoot everywhere. So this injury looked minor.

So... basically, my dad thought I was carrying on for nothing. In his defense, I was one of those kids who cried if a TV show got canceled, or someone looked at me funny, or if I noticed I was fat, or if I had to hang something up in a dark closet (dark meaning a closet with less than five 100-watt light bulbs). I was always crying and making a fuss over some damn thing when I was little, so I wouldn't have believed me either.

Let's just say that the incident was character-building. I hobbled around on a foot that felt like it had a railroad spike in it. And then, of course, being a kid, I discovered that being crippled by my terrible injury ate into time I could be playing "Lawn dart panic," with friends, so I basically just bit the bullet.

By the way... "Lawn Dart Panic," is where you throw a lawn dart (or three, or five, depending on how many kids you have, and how many hands they have left after playing cute childhood games) straight up into the air as hard as you can, and then try to run away before the lawn darts can skewer you in the brain, or some other vestigial organ. Keep in mind, I was a kid in the seventies, and lawn dart back then did not have safety in mind. They basically were a metal spike with a big weight on it, with vanes behind to help them fly better. If you through a 1970's lawn dart at someone, it would probably go through their whole body, possibly nailing them to a tree.

The moral of this story is that, speaking as a kid who cried and freaked out a lot, even though I didn't realize it at the time, most of it was just performance art. When there was no audience (or when having an audience was inconvenient) it's amazing how high one's pain threshold can go. Also... when I was in situations where I expected someone else to save me, I felt a lot more helpless and afraid than when I knew (or thought) I should be saving myself.

At the time, I honestly thought my dad would be unable to help me, so I pulled my own impaled foot off a nail. I didn't even make all that much fuss (by my standards at the time), and only made a fuss afterwards. If I hadn't known that he wasn't actually going to faint (Thanks Mom! Grrr!) I'd probably have carried on, and made him have to deal with it.

Marijuana, Roto-rooter, and you...

After my mom divorced my stepfather, I guess I was maybe fourteen, my mom's friend Michelle, and her son Curtis, who I'd been friends with for a while came to live with us. I was pretty ecstatic... Curtis was about one of the coolest people I'd ever know, and one of my best friends as a kid.

Well... we were both like the same age - I think I might have been a year older than Curtis, but he was way more mature. This is not saying much, as we were both teenage boys, and didn't hit puberty until I was sixteen. Curtis hit puberty at like eleven... in spades. He was over six feet tall by the time he was twelve, and was like 6'6" when he was thirteen. He looked like he was eighteen.

I think in a zillion ways, we were like night and day. He was tall and athletic, and easy-going, and funny, and had a million friends. I was short, fat, nerdy, and neurotic. I was anti-drug, anti-smoking, anti-alcohol, and didn't really do anything fun. Curtis liked the Beatles, and smoked marijuana. I don't know how the hell we got along so well, but it worked.

Anyway... despite my anti-drug position (as a kid, I thought Marijuana was a drug), and despite the fact that Florida weed all smelled like burning garbage when you lit it up, Curtis talked me into engaging in an illicit project - growing a pot plant. He appealed to my love of science and my dislike for authority. That was a surefire thing. I was in.

This would have to be completely covert, of course. I don't think his mom was particularly psycho about pot, but she didn't approve of him smoking it. My mother, and I assure you this is an understatement, would have gone through the stratosphere. No... she would have gone into space, grabbed a nickel-iron meteorite, and come back down to earth and beat us to death with it.

In other words, we had to grow this pot plant.

Of course, we didn't have any seeds. You'd think that the skunk-ass weed available in South Florida at the time would have been all seeds, but no... of course not. Probably the people he got it from (friends who grew and traded their own, never dealers), took all the seeds out.

So... we bought birdseed. And lots of it. At the time, you could sometimes find birdseed that had hemp seeds in it. It wasn't supposed to, and even when it did, the birdseed was supposed to be cooked before packaging in order to kill any hemp seeds present, but I figured that if we picked out enough of them, we might get a live one.

So... we spent hours one day, sifting through all this birdseed, until we had maybe forty or fifty hemp seeds. I'm surprised the back yard didn't look like it was paved with chia pet after we were done tossing all the excess normal seeds.

We planted all the seeds in various flowerpots, watching and watering carefully. Out of all those seeds, sure enough, two actually sprouted. They weren't terribly healthy, and one of the seedlings wilted and died almost immediately. We transferred the survivor carefully out of the pots into a miniature hydroponic culture set that I had... it had come with some "learn about science" kit that someone had given me for Christmas or my birthday. With careful care, proper space-age nutrients, and with a grow light I had lying around for some of the other non-illicit plants I used to grow (I was a nerd - I cultivated Peruvian violets for a couple of years), our little plant began to actually live.

Curtis named the plant "Herbie," and when he was big enough to recognize as a pot plant, we transferred him into some enriched sandy soil in a little pot ( a pot-pot?) We built a pile of fake boxes taped together, so that it looked like a pile of storage boxes, but the whole pile was hollow, and hid Herbie and the grow-light behind this contraption into Curtis's closet.

When Herbie was about a foot tall, he was covered with pretty purplish-red hairs. He was a gorgeous, if slightly spindly little plant. When Curtis saw the red hairs, he declared that Herbie was obviously a high-quality Sinsemilla plant, and was overjoyed. Truth-be-told, Herbie was probably industrial hemp, and we'd have had to make a joint the size of a pine tree in order to get high off of it.

It was at this point in Herbie's existence that Curtis's mom discovered our little project. I think she walked in to his partly-open bedroom to ask her son a question, and caught him fussing over the plant. The jig was up. Michelle was annoyed enough that we were growing a pot plant... but was extra, super upset because if my mother had been the one to discover this little endeavor, she'd have gone psycho-death-machine on all three of us. I remember Michelle saying "Marijuana is illegal!" maybe once, and "Do you know what would happen if Joanne found out?" about seventy times.

So, to make her point, Michelle ripped Herbie out of his dirt, stuffed him into the commode, and flushed him until he was gone.

I'm guessing she wasn't thinking too clearly. Herbie wasn't gone, of course. He was in the pipe, and he may have looked fragile, but let's face it folks, the main reason people cultivated hemp wasn't necessarily to get high - it's because hemp contains really tough and durable fibers. So... Herbie plugged up the plumbing, but good. He laughed at the plunger. He resisted all the advances made by our toilet snake. He laughed in the face of Drano.

So... now, we had a stopped-up toilet. A really, really stopped-up toilet. It was about 3PM, and my mother would be home around 5PM. She'd respond to the plumbing being stopped up (again - another story) with nearly as much delight as a pot plant. The thought of her discovering both problems at the same time was something we didn't think carried a high chance of survival for the three of us.

So... Michelle called Roto-rooter, and somehow convinced them it was a dire emergency. They had a guy out to our house in maybe a half hour. Of course, they probably had our address memorized, and possibly kept a truck on standby for us. During the course of a single year, our septic tank had exploded when yard chemicals leaked into it, the pipes had been clogged variously by a can of hair spray accidentally flushed down it, a motor-oil-soaked rag, a pair of children's underwear flushed by one of Michelle's friends, and some gravel from a fishtank.

So... we're anxiously watching the clock, while the Roto-rooter guy works, hoping and praying that we can have it all fixed and have him out of there before my mother gets home.

Tick... tick.... (gurgle sploosh) tock, tock.

So... just as my mother pulls into the driveway, the Roto-rooter guy announces "I think I've got it! It'll just be a minute!"

We're now really biting fingernails. My mom comes in the front door, and wants to know why Roto-rooter is there. I stop to distract her, while Michelle deals with the plumber. While I'm talking to her, I can see, behind my mother, that the Roto-rooter man is holding up the bedraggled, but still clearly-recognizable remains of Herbie, and is saying "Geez, lady, looks like some kind of weird plant. Did someone flush this, or do you think you have stuff growing through your pipes or something?"

My mother turns around, just then, and looks straight at Herbie. There is no sense of recognition in her eyes at all.

Michelle assured my mother that none of us knew what had happened, and that it looked like maybe we had damaged pipes, and that stuff was growing into them. She explained that she'd taken care of the Roto-rooter call, and would pay to have the pipes checked, so that my mother wouldn't have to deal with all that hassle, in light of the previous plumbing problems. The whole time, Mr. Roto Rooter is holding up this filthy pot plant and looking perplexed.

Amazingly, my mother went along with all this, and did not appear to be suspicious at all. We escaped alive.

That was the end of my foray into illegal drug cultivation as a kid. To my knowledge, Curtis left it up to the professionals after that as well.

Next time I need a scrotum tumor removed, I'm doing it myself

Warning: This story is about having a tumor removed by nitwits from a sensitive part of the anatomy. It contains words like scrotum, testicles, and "OUCH! GODDAMIT! FUCK! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?" If this bothers you, don't read any further.

Each time I get medical attention for something I don't think I can handle myself, after receiving the medical assistance, I decide that in future, if the same thing comes up again, I'll just do it myself. At this point, the only thing I think I'll go to the hospital for is to have a severed limb reattached. This story is an example of why.

Some of the people in my family, including myself, have a tendency toward getting small, (usually) benign fatty skin tumors. They're generally harmless, but ugly, and you don't want to keep anything with the word "tumor" in it, because sometimes they decide that peaceful co-existence is not as much fun as migrating to your lymph nodes and killing you.

When I get these somewhere that is easy for me to see or get to, I usually get out a scalpel or sharp exacto knife, and carefully remove it myself. Don't act all horrified - it's not brain surgery. Usually, when I get them, it's on my face, around my eyes, but I'm very careful, I assure you, and it's easy to see what I'm doing in the mirror. I've never had a problem with this. I'm always careful to get the whole thing.

Their favorite place to form seems to be in a damaged hair follicle. Well... with my incredible Coyote luck, one day, I was zipping up my fly, and ripped out a pubic hair out of my scrotum. This is not the end of the world, but it was an ouch. I was late for work. I then got stuck in traffic on a really hot day, in my latest vehicle-with-no-air-conditioning. I have never, once, in my life, owned a car that the air conditioning worked in for more than two weeks. When I buy a car, two things immediately happen - the air conditioning stops working, and the parking brake breaks or falls off. I am not making this up. I don't even bother to try and fix them, because they just die immediately. Anyway, in the hot car, in Georgia heat, this hair follicle got infected.

It got better, or so I thought, but a few months later, a big white lump suddenly formed in there. At the time, I didn't have all the stuff I needed to deal with it, and frankly, I was a little squeamish about cutting down there. Sure... I'll put an exacto knife next to my eye, but was cautious about my junk. I plead "Y Chromosomal Judgment Disorder." Besides, sometimes these things will go away on their own. I'll do this self-healing meditation thing my grandmother taught me (I think she saw it on Donahue), and they'll shrink and go away. Possibly they would do this without the intervention of Donahue.

I guess this one was holding out for Liberace though, and he was dead by then. It rapidly got bigger. After a while, it was the size of a large English pea. Now, as I've mentioned, these things are pretty harmless. But it was big, and ugly, and on my nuts. My partner at the time finally started nagging me about it, and not wanting to fool around with me any more. They told me that if I wasn't going to do something about it, or go to the doctor, that there would be no more heavy petting until this changed.

By this point, the thing had gotten out of hand. There was a great big artery leading to it - apparently, sometimes, tumors can shanghai nearby blood-vessels or something. So I'm figuring that maybe this requires the assistance of a professional. I have this image that I'll go to cut on it (and it's already much bigger than any of these I've ever had before), and I'll sever this little artery, and it'll be gore-city and I won't be able to see what I'm doing amid all the blood, and my nuts will fall off and everyone will make fun of me, and I'll end up on a "news of the stupid" website, with a headline like "Idiot tries to operate on own scrotum, now will never love again."

Now... keep in mind. At this point, I am working for the University of Georgia Printing Department. Not to put to fine a point on it, they paid crap. I didn't have a lot of money for this sort of thing. And taking time off work would mean getting further into the hole. So I attempt to make a Saturday appointment at my doctor's office. There were, I think, two doctor's offices I could go to, and the other one was unaffordable.

I explain that I have a small, benign, fatty skin tumor that needs to be removed. I explain that they run in my family, and are not particularly dangerous. I explain that it just needs to be taken out, it is very small, and that it is on a private portion of my anatomy. I am not shy about this sort of thing, but I am in the South, so I ask the receptionist if she needs to know specifics, or if she would prefer to have me explain to a male attendant. She assures me that nothing will bother her. So I tell her it is on my scrotum. She then acts disgusted and offended, and says "I didn't need to know that."

I can already tell, this will be fun.

Now... just so you will know, when you have something like that removed, you don't test it and then remove it. There would be no point. You take the whole thing off, and then you send it to be tested to see if it was malignant (which, if it is, you then seek further medical care, and if it wasn't, it's finished with.)

So... simple right? I explain what I have, and that I want it removed, and can I be scheduled for a biopsy/removal. They assure me this is no problem - I'll come in, they'll give me a local, and zip, I'm outta there, total fees will come to fifty for the visit, and they'll have to let me know how much the procedure will cost, but probably not much more.

So... I show up on Saturday with my roommate, partner, and then companion in life, G.. When I check in, the lady at the desk says "Yes, you do have an appointment. Now, what are you in here for?" I ask if this is not already there in my file, because I explained when I made the appointment, that I was in to have a small tumor removed. This is important, because this is the sort of thing you schedule in advance. She says "Oh, it's probably in there, but I can't see that. Where is this tumor?"

Now... not to be prejudicial about people in the Bible Belt... I'm actually trying to be sensitive and courteous to people of different upbringings here... but this woman has a big cross, giant beehive hair, and looks like she stepped out of the fifties. She appears to be a conservative member of the Ladies Church Muffin Club. So, I ask, "It's in a sensitive area. Are you okay with me telling you, or would you prefer I speak to a male attendant?" She snaps her gum and says "Don't be silly, this is a doctor's office, and I've seen and heard it all. You got no business being in this business if you can't handle this sort of thing!"

So, I explain that the growth is on my scrotum. She goes "I'm sorry? Could you speak up?" So, louder, I say, "It's on my scrotum." Again, she says, "I'm sorry, hon, I'm a little deaf... could you say again? It's where?" So finally, I say loudly, "IT'S ON MY SCROTUM!"

A lady standing next to me moved away, giving me a dirty look, and the receptionist looks shocked and says "Well, I didn't need to know that!" and leaves in a huff. G, bless her heart, growled "Grow the hell up, lady, what are, you, ninety?" at the patient who backed away.

So... We wait for like two hours past the time of my appointment.

Finally, a nice, polite, genial doctor comes out to get me, and ushers me into a waiting room. He asks, "So... what seems to be the trouble?"

This is not a good sign. I'm thinking that he should already know what seems to be the trouble. I made the appointment for a procedure, not a checkup, and I've also explained it to Miss "I didn't need to know that," in the reception area.

So, I explain the situation, and ask, "So, can we remove this, then?"

And the doctor says, "Well, let's have a look at it, and see if it really needs to come off."

No. It doesn't need to come off. I've really been hoping I can keep it. I'll be so relieved if I discover that it's benign! I already know the damn thing is 99.999% likely to be harmless.

I explain patiently and politely that I don't want it removed because I am afraid it is dangerous. I explain that I want it removed because it is unsightly, and in case my simple wish to have it removed isn't enough, here is my lady friend who will attest that she thinks it is unsightly as well. We do not want to know, to paraphrase Paula Poundstone, if it is the sort of tumor that has rights. I just want it removed. I tell him, "Since a biopsy will involve removing it anyway, this should be a no-brainer, and that's what I made the appointment for."

So... the doctor says, "I'll really need to see it first, before we can make a determination."

Now, before allowing myself to get annoyed, I remind myself that he is a doctor, and part of the ethical dictates of his profession is that he, not the patient, needs to determine whether a medical procedure is necessary. For all he knows, I've got a malignant carcinoma with an eyeball growing out of it, and it's not an outpatient thing. I realize that he is probably doing his job, and I'm just being "Type A."

So, I drop my pants, so he can see the thing. He kind of tries to look at it without really looking at my genitals. Which is hard, because it is on my scrotum. He then attempts to touch it, without touching my genitals, which is also hard. I have never had this problem before... although I did once have a doctor who touched me more than I wanted him to, when I was eight, and I brained him with an instrument tray.

But this guy is acting like he has a cultural taboo against looking at or touching genitalia (he was Muslim, but that's never made a difference with any other Muslim doctor I've ever had). That's fine for him, but I need a doctor who isn't, because I want this thing gone.

So... he tells me "Yes, we should remove that. It's probably harmless, but I can see why you'd want it gone. We'll have to do a biopsy, but the entire growth will be removed when we do. We'll take it off and send it to the laboratory to make sure everything's okay."

Wow. Ya think? It's amazing... I could have sworn I'd heard similar words, a few moments before. From me.

So, I say, "Great! Thanks. So... will we be getting started soon, because I've already been here a couple hours later than planned."

He says, "Oh no... not today. We'll schedule you an appointment. I don't do outpatient surgeries."

Now I'm annoyed, because that's what I came in for. But I figure, "Okay. He wanted to make an observation and diagnosis first."

So... I make an appointment to come back in. The receptionist has clearly not spoken to the doctor I've just seen, so I explain what I need. I ask her to speak to the doctor, to avoid any confusion. We play the "Where is this tumor?" game again. I then drag the doctor over, to make sure that he explains that I need to have an appointment to have it removed, not examined.

I'm then told that the doctor who does these procedures does not come in on Saturdays. So I'll have to take work off. So, I make an appointment for the following week, and arrange with my boss to take a day off. I couldn't just clear this with my supervisor, who was an angel. I had to deal with the manager of the department, who frankly, I thought was rather a rotten creature. I don't like people who have trouble controlling a smile when they make someone unhappy, or see someone in discomfort, and he was exactly this type of person. So, I had to explain that I needed time off for a doctor's appointment, and he gives me a huge hassle, and wants to know why I need to go to the doctor. I tell him I need to have a tumor removed. He wants to know if it is medically necessary. I tell him that yes, I feel it is necessary to remove cancerous growths when I discover that I have them in my body. He wants to know what makes me think I have a tumor, so I acted as if I were going to unzip my pants, and offered to show him where it was. That definitely flustered him, and I got the day off. He said he'd need documentation from the doctor's office to prove I'd had a procedure. I offered to bring him pictures. We did not have a good rapport.

So... the next week, I get to the doctor's office, and I wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, after about three hours, I'm getting annoyed. Three different people at the receptionists desk play the "What are you here for?" game with me, which, of course, includes the "And where is the growth you want removed?" game as well.

So... finally, I'm called in to the examining room, and the nice, professional-looking guy comes in, in a doctor's coat, looking like Doctor Kildare. "So... what seems to be the trouble?" So, I explain for the umpteenth time, including that the reason for the appointment is to have the thing removed. He says, "Well, let's take a look at it first, before we go cutting on anything, and make sure it's something that needs to be removed. I'm now getting pretty annoyed, but I choke it down. I explain that the other doctor already looked at it before, determined that we should remove it, and that I made this appointment and took time off of work.

He tells me, "Well, he may have seen it, but I haven't."

So... I drop trousers and let him see this thing.

Okay... all my gay friends and people out there on the internet. This is not remotely amusing. This may sound like a porn script, but good porns don't have fatty tumors in them.

He looks at it, nods, and says, "Yep. That will have to come off!"

No shit. It's a frigging skin tumor.

So, I say, "Yup. It sure does. That's why I'm here. So, let's get to it."

And he says, "Oh no. I don't perform those procedures. I'm not a doctor. I'm just Doctor So-and-so's Physician's Assistant. He'll have to schedule you to come in when he gets back."

"Oh...when will he be back? I've already been here for hours," I say.

"He won't be back until next Monday. He's on vacation - went to some gold tournament," he tells me.

Yes. A golf tournament. Really. This is, by the way, something that the office knew about before scheduling my appointment.

I explain that I've already taken work off, that I'm very upset, and that I can't afford to miss work. I also can't afford to keep paying for office visits so that they can make appointments for more office visits. I say that I didn't need to pay $110 dollars to have someone tell me that I should have this thing cut off... I wanted it actually cut off. I insist that I need to be given an appointment when the doctor is actually there, when he is not on a golf tournament, and that when I come in, I want this thing to be removed. I can't afford to take any more time off work.

Keep in mind... my choices for where to go for this procedure are limited. I'm about ready to drive to Atlanta, but I figure that will probably mean starting this whole chuckle-fest over again.

So... we make the appointment. They apologize for the inconvenience. They assure me that next time I come it, it will be snicker-snack, and the tumor-wocky will be slain.

Now... by this time, I can't really afford to take more time off work, so I arrange to come in before work in the morning. I have to do this in the morning, because the doctor only does surgeries in the morning. It's supposed to take only fifteen minutes or so, and I work five minutes away. I arrange to come in a little bit late to work, just in case.

So... I get into the office at 8AM. I'm the only patient there. I wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, it's 9AM, when I'm supposed to be at work, but I've already arranged to come in as late as 10AM if necessary. I pester the receptionist, and explain that I can't afford to take time off work, and ask when the doctor will see me. After a few minutes, I'm ushered into an examination room. By this point, patients have begun to trickle in.

The doctor walks in - he's maybe fifty-five or sixty. Perfect silvery-white hair and mustache. Looks like someone out of a Normal Rockwell painting of a doctor. I figure this is good - he's obviously been in practice a while. So... he asks me.

"So... what seems to be the trouble today? Got that cold that's going around?"

I blink twice, and explain, no, that I'm in to have a tumor removed. That I'm here for a biopsy. That this is what I was scheduled to come in for. That I'm already late, have already been in twice, and that I need to get back to work.

And he says, I am shitting you not, "Well, let's take a look at what you've got there, and if it needs to come off, we can schedule you to come in and..."

And that's about as far as he got before I went ballistic. I explained, very loudly, that I'd already had the runaround, that the thing needed to come off. That I couldn't take time off work. That I was in here to have it removed, not examined, not talked about, and not discussed. He spluttered that he really hadn't been planning on doing a biopsy today, and I retorted that he should take it up with his secretaries, and that I'd already been inconvenienced, and that I was not paying for any more office visits, because I could not afford it. I told him that if I got cancer and died, I'd be sure to tell the reporters that I'd tried to have a simple outpatient procedure that I'd come to this office, and that they'd bungled it.

So... there was a big hustle and bustle, and they arranged to do the thing. So... they usher me into their little mini-surgery room, which is right next to the receptionist's desk. Part of the room is actually used for the office's file storage. Another physician's assistant (really nice guy, though he had a deer-in-the-headlights look), comes in and asks me to get undressed and sit on this little bed/operating table thingy.

So... I get undressed, and the receptionist walks in without knocking to get into the file cabinet, while I'm standing there with my pants off, and leaves the door open. There's like twenty people out in the receptionist's area, including a couple of little old ladies... one who looked deeply offended, and another who winked and blew me a kiss.

I'm not body-shy, but this struck me as a discourtesy. So, I said something like "Umm... excuse me?" to the receptionist. And she says, and I am not making this up... "Oh honey, don't worry, I've seen it all before." This is the same stupid bitch who got offended when I said where the tumor was.

So I said, "Maybe that's so, but maybe all the people in the reception area haven't, and you didn't ask if I'd prefer a male attendant. Maybe I dion't want you in here, or maybe you should knock first."

It's the principle of the thing. So... she says "Gee... soooorry," and leaves in a huff.

So, I get on the table, and the PA paints my crotch up with betadine, and leaves. And he leaves the door open. The table is in plain view of all the people standing in the reception area, crotch-forward. So, I get up, hobble over, and shut the door. Two minutes later, the secretary comes in, without knocking, goes "Eeek! Oh, I'm sorry!" and runs out... not shutting the door properly, so it swings open. I get up again, and shut the door. The PA comes back in after about ten minutes, and says the doctor will be down soon. He leaves, and does not shut the door. Now, I'm getting pissed. I shut it again. A woman standing in the reception area looks at me as I do, and says "Boy! You shoudl shut that damn door, I don't wanna see that!"

That really helped my mood.

So... I wait, and wait, and wait. It's freezing cold and I'm sitting naked in an empty room. The clock is ticking. I'm late for work. I finally get pissed off and put my clothes back on. I go out to call my boss and say I'll need a half day off work after all. The manager is thankfully out of the office that day.... doctor's appointment (ironically, the thing he was going to the doctor for apparently killed him later). My supervisor says not to worry.

So... I get back into the little operating room, and the PA is in there. He wants to know why I've gotten dressed. I bitched him out, and told him I was missing work, that I'd been left naked in a cold room for long enough, that I wanted the goddamn thing off of me, that I'd get undressed when the goddamn doctor was ready to goddamn operate, and to SHUT THE GODDAMN DOOR!

Honestly, sometimes, it pays to stop being reasonable.

So, the doctor comes in, finally, and wants to know why I'm not ready, because he doesn't have all day.

Needless to say, I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and "explained" things to him. When I was done with my, his silvery white hair had whiter streaks in it. I hate to say it... but sometimes, when I want to be scary, I can be. Perhaps it is best not to invoke sensations of primal terror in a man that you are asking to cut on your nuts with a scalpel, but on the other hand, trust me... when someone is in primal fear of you, and they are holding a scalpel to your junk, they are rather afraid to make a mistake.

So... I get prepped, and he brings over some Novocaine. I explain that I'm impervious to Novocaine, and does he have anything stronger. So he brings out some Lidocaine, and uses a lot of it. I'm pretty resistant to all of those things, so I insisted that he be sure to use plenty.

He injects me with the needle, and immediately begins cutting. Now... keep in mind. That shit takes like fifteen minutes to start working. But at this point, I no longer give a crap. I just want this over with, and besides, I've already terrorized this guy and his staff, and told them I want out of here as quickly as possible.

The very first thing he does is cut that little artery I was worried about at the beginning of this article. Blood spurts out of it in a little spray, before coursing down and pooling under my ass-crack. Yes. Pooling. As in... lots of blood. I remarked on this, but didn't really want to interrupt. he cuts out the little tumor that is the cause of this whole mess, and carefully scrapes away some surrounding tissue. The whole incision is maybe a centimeter long. But there's blood everywhere.

So.. he and the assistant are trying to figure out how to stop the bleeding. Or rather, the doctor is. The PA has turned chalk-white, and is looking at the ceiling and swallowing a lot, and has been since the first stroke of the knife. Big help. Now... the doctor keeps calling for more stitches, more stitches. He's sewing and sewing, and sewing, and finally, after a while, I'm like "What the hell are you doing down there?"

He looks up, ashen, with sweat running down his face into his little surgical mask and say, in a desperate, ER drama voice "I'm trying to stop this bleeding, but I can't seem to get it under control."

Okay... now I'm really mad. I'm looking at like a zillion stitches down there, already, and there's blood everywhere. So I ask, "It's not that big an incision. Just get a styptic pencil or some styptic powder, if pressure won't work."

I'm telling him this. He's a doctor.

He looks up at me and asks, "What's a styptic pencil?"

I am now furious. I can forgive some of my gentle readers if they don't know what this is. It's a little pencil-shaped thing with chemicals on it that you use to stop bleeding from small injuries. There's also styptic powder, which is used for the same thing. It's something your doctor should know what it is, and certainly a guy who got his degree in the fifties should have heard of it.

He has no clue. In fact, he has no idea of any substance or practice that can be used to stop bleeding. I am now wondering if they got the garbageman to play doctor for the day, while the real doctor plays golf.

So... I ask him, "What exactly were you planning to do then?"

His plan? Lots of stitches. He put like fifteen or twenty stitches into a spot less than a centimeter long. This did sort of stop the bleeding, in that the blood could not ooze out any more.

So... after this, he looks up at me, smiling and says, "There! Now that wasn't so bad, was it? How do you feel?"

So... I responded "Much better, now that the anesthetic is beginning to take effect."

I did not pay for this visit, at least not in money. I paid in experience. I also paid them in the form of some character building. I think by the time I was done ranting at them, they'd have called the police, except that they were afraid I might bite off some fingers if they went for the phone.

I actually lost enough blood that I felt sick. It hurt a lot too. I ended up missing the whole day of work. The frankenstein stitches kept the wound from oozing, but I had a giant blood-bubble from where it filled up the cavity. It took weeks to heal, and I assure you, I did not go back to the office to have the stitches removed. I just did it at home. I figured with my luck, that they'd schedule me for an appointment, on a workday, to have the janitor look at the stitches and see if they needed to be removed.

Portuguese Man of War Jellyfish make terrible undergarments

When I was a kid, I was very insecure about a lot of things. I was fat, dorky-looking, socially inept, and dressed funny. I had a very hard time laughing at myself, because usually, laughter directed at me seemed to be at my expense.

They say that we can learn many valuable life lessons from observing and interacting with nature. Here is the story of how a Portuguese Man-of-war taught me to laugh at myself.

First off, allow me to describe the Portuguese Man-of-war, for those of you who have not seen, or do not know of these fascinating sea creatures. A man-of-war is a kind of jellyfish (or a relative of the jellyfish), which has a large blue-tinted bubble as the top part of its body. The bubble is filled with air (or some kind of gas), and has a ridge across the top. The bubble keeps the jellyfish on top of the water, and in a certain light, is rather pretty.

Underneath the bubble part are about fifty-kajillion tentacles, some as thin as hair or spiderwebs, and these tentacles are covered with organs called nematocysts. A nematocyst is basically a little thingy that discharges a teensy poisonous barb into things it touches, stinging the shit out of them. This is how the man-of-war catches its food. When they sting a human being, it is very painful - imagine having someone wrap a string around you that is covered with bee-stings. Some people have even gone into shock from numerous stings, and if you have an allergic reaction, it can even be dangerous. Mostly though, they just hurt like ten kinds of motherfucker.

Anyway, when I was fourteen, I went to the beach with family. At the time, I was so insecure about my appearance that I didn't take off my shirt to swim. I'd always liked the water, especially the ocean, because in the water, it doesn't matter if you are fat or funny-looking - it matters that you can swim without drowning.

I've always found it incredible relaxing and therapeutic just to sit at the edge of the ocean and let the waves smack into me. So, I was sitting in the water, letting the waves smash up against my back, when a particularly large wave washed up under my shirt.

But it wasn't just water. I felt something big shoot up under with the water... something like a balloon attached to a fright wig. I knew instantly with the dread that only comes in nightmares, what had just gone up my shirt. It was a man-of-war. I immediately leaped to my feet with a yelp, and when I did, the back of my shorts opened up as the water went down, and my new blue-bubbled and sting-y friend went right down the back of my trunks.

If the dread of knowing that a stinging jellyfish has gone into your shirt is unpleasant, I can assure you that the sudden realization that it has fallen down inside your pants is indescribable.

And then, of course, the stinging began.

I ran out of the water, and began to shout. I was not, to paraphrase comedian Buddy Hackett, shouting "Spring is here!"

Up until this point, I'd rarely cursed, and only twice had slipped and used curse words in front of parents or adults from the family. I had never, even a single time, used the dreaded "F-word."

I made up for that oversight in seconds. I ran around at high speed, in tight circles, screaming "FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!!!"

I remember seeing the faces of the other kids who had been swimming nearby, almost as if in slow motion. There was this black kid who, at first, looked like he was about to laugh, but his jaw dropped when he saw me trailing bits of jellyfish - the thing was huge - and he said something like "Awww... man... is that a jellyfish?"

By this point, the angry, surprised, terrified sounds of rampaging F-bomb had attracted puzzled glances from my family. I ran through the whole group of them, at high speed, screaming "GODDAMN MOTHERFUCK JELLIFISH FUCK AAAAHHG FUCK AAAAIIII!!!!"

Or something to that effect. Frankly, I was so preoccupied that I had only maybe two brain cells capable of stopping to consider whether I should be embarrassed or should be censoring my monologue.

I ran the quarter or half-mile to the beach bathrooms, with their showers, and flung open the door. There was a big hairy guy in their pulling on his pants after changing out of his bathing suit (or maybe taking them off to put his trunks on - I don't know). I screamed at him "Out! Get out! Get the fuck out now!" The poor sod went scrambling out in panic from the crazed, four-foot-tall, three-foot wide pasty white boy who was clawing at his body and clothing.

I immediately ripped off my trunks and shirt, and commenced trying to scrape the stinging tentacles and bits of goo off. This, of course, caused them to sting my hands, arms, armpits, and re-sting everywhere else they'd already stung. Coming slightly to my senses, I then grabbed like every paper towel out of the dispenser, and proceeded to scrape as much of the stuff off as I could.

In case you are wondering what it feels like to have man-of-war stings all over your body, including your armpits, your ass-crack, and your nuts, allow me to tell you that you DON'T EVER WANT TO KNOW!

I managed to stumble into the shower part, which helped a little, took a deep breath, and let out the longest, loudest, primal scream that anyone has ever made that could still be recognized as one long, loving rendition of the word "FFUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKK!!!"

When I finally managed to stop cursing, I sat in the shower, trying to gingerly pick bits of tentacle off my crotch. Keep in mind, many of them are so fine as to be invisible. It's like trying to remove stinging micro-boogers that you can't see.

About then, I hear a knock at the door. It was my Aunt Sherry. I screamed "WHHHATT!?!?" at the top of my lungs!

I heard her, trying very hard not to laugh - she could tell I was upset, and I know that the effort to withhold laughing had to be causing her (or anyone with a sense of humor) to risk a cerebral aneurysm. But she loved me, so she tried.

She asked me, "Umm... sweetie? You all right in there kid?"

All of a sudden, I could see what that whole incident looked like: A funny-looking, shy, fat kid running around with stinging jellyfish in his pants in high speed circles, screaming obscenities at a volume and broadcasting over an area large enough to come under FCC jurisdiction. It was, simply, hilarious. How could I possibly ask someone not to laugh at that? Hell... I realized that even I thought it was funny as hell.

And then I started laughing. I shouted "Sure! I'm great! Now that I've got most of the jellyfish out of my pants!"

And then we were both laughing. She asked me if I thought I'd be all right, or if I needed any help. I told her not at the moment, but if I passed out, I'd be sure to ask for assistance.

That's the first time in this lifetime that I can recall just unreservedly laughing at myself, at my situation, and it felt damn good. It really made me feel better, and I tried to take it as a lesson not to take myself too seriously. Sometime, shit just happens, and if you take the stick out of your ass, you might realize that it's funny... and that laughter helps.

Thanks jellyfish. Sorry I killed you with my ass-crack.

Just so people will know... this is the sort of stuff that happens to me. It was either learn to laugh, or be miserable a lot.

Stopping on skis is as easy as pie.. as in pizza pie... as in street pizza.

When I was a kid, maybe ten or elven, if that, my dad took me to Mohawk Mountain, where you can go skiing. Now, don't get me wrong, I had a really good time. But I don't think I was really cut out, as a kid, for anything even remotely athletic, except possibly for swimming - fat kids float better.

There were ski instructors there, and if anyone has ever seen that South Park episode where the kid has to learn to ski from the overly cheerful guy who uses cute catchphrases in lieu of intelligent adult conversation, that's the instructor I got.

At least he was nice... in a retarded sort of way.

So... anyway, I've already tried out the bunny hill, where you learn basic ski skills like "Don't fall off the skis while you are standing still," and "make sure you are paying attention and don't begin sliding down the hill backwards." I also learned "Do not attempt to use a tree to stop."

That's correct. When you are on skis, and you are traveling at thirty or forty miles an hour, and you are four feet tall and three feet wide, and the tree is moving at zero miles an hour, trees are dangerous. I'm lucky that I had all that kid-fat underneath so many warm clothes that I looked like the kid in "A Christmas Story" who couldn't lower his arms. I was only stunned for a minute, and didn't actually lose consciousness.

Here is another safety tip - don't bundle your kid up in so many "warm" clothes that he cannot move his arms and legs, and then put him on skis, or any other fast-moving mode of conveyance that requires physical dexterity to avoid painful death.

So... anyway... off the bunny slope, and on to something more challenging. The instructor and I go up onto a larger hill, that you use a ski lift to climb. At the top, he explains that the most important thing to learn right now is how to speed up, slow down, and stop.

Hell... I already knew that. The tree told me.

He explains that in order to slow down, you angle your skis together, with the edges of the skis tilted out - and yes, he made the "pizza" analogy here.

So... armed with this important information, we head off down the slope. We're going faster and faster, and he's alongside me, shouting "Slow down! Make Pizza!" And I'm shouting back "I am! It's not working!"

We're going faster and faster. At this point, we're going fast enough that I'm pretty sure that if I hit an acorn, I'd end up in orbit. He's still shouting at me to angle my skis inward. And I'm shouting at him, "I am! Look!"

So... he looks down, and sees what I see. Which is that both our skis are angled inwards, and that the snow around us is perfectly still... but we are both moving at high speed. How is this possible?

Easy. We were standing on a huge chunk of snow and ice that had broken off the side of the mountain in one piece, with us standing on it. Like a giant snow raft of death. Angling our skis is having no effect, because we're standing on a giant piece of frozen danger that's shooting down the hillside with us on it.

By this time, we are going way to fast to attempt to ditch. The instructor has now begun yelling "Hang on! Oh shit! Hang on! Don't Fall down!"

You'd think I'd find that more alarming, but at least, at this point, I felt he was being realistic, which was a nice change.

So... we shoot all the way down the hill, and are moving at quite a clip across now-horizontal ground. There is no way to steer, and I'm afraid to try to get off this piece of ice. The bit with the instructor on it finally broke off into a separate piece, but we were both still fairly close together. We finally slowed down and stopped... amid crumbling bits of our impromptu snow-sled... wait for it...

On a frozen pond. Next to a sign warning "Danger! Thin Ice! Danger!" (it said "Danger" twice.)

So... now the instructor is coaching me on how to be very, very careful, so that we won't fall through the ice. He tells me to make "X's" out of my skis to distribute the weight. All this did was make me unable to move, because my skis were now on top of one another, and we're surrounded by jumbled up bits of ice and snow from our now-defunct, snowy murder-toboggan. So, I hobble carefully towards the edge of the pond, and the whole time, the instructor is telling me to be careful, and telling me what we'll do if I fall through the ice.

And then, of course, the ice broke, huge jagged cracks proceeding almost all the way across the frozen pond. And I see that the ice is indeed thin. Very thin. Because the whole pond is maybe six inches deep, total. I didn't even get my feet wet. I've seen deeper birdbaths.

The instructor asked me if I was okay, little buddy. I treated him to a short, bitter monologue to the effect that I was not called "Little Buddy," "Sport," or "Chief," and that in future, he could make his own pizza and French fries.

Coyote

The Flaming Wok Incident (or: Let's Order Pizza until my eyebrows grow back)

A lot of people who know me have heard this story. But for those who haven't, here it is.

This is the story of the dreaded Wok incident. It is one of the stories that ends in me not having eyebrows, so I like it.

Years ago, in my foolish youth, I got married (to a woman - yes folks, I used to be bi). The marriage had its ups and downs, but I suppose it had more downs, because the marriage only lasted a little under five years. I hasten to assure people that this incident isn't specifically one that I'd cite as a reason for my eventual divorce, but it's possible that it was a contributing factor.

My ex and I had just gotten a house, which we really couldn't afford. We were pretty poor then. But it had two nice features - a decent kitchen, and a converted garage that I could use as an office for my freelance graphics and consulting business.

Well... one day, I'm in my office, when I hear blood-curdling screams coming from the kitchen. I had long ago learned that blood-curdling screams from my ex were not something to waste any time investigating, because often, things like fire, explosions, animal-related incidents, blood, or severe structural damage were involved. Keep in mind, that while my ex-wife did spend a lot of time apparently afraid of stuff, she was not a wilting flower. She didn't even scream the time that the guy tried to mug her in the alley behind our first apartment. She just beat him into a bloody mess, stomped his teeth out after dropping him to the ground, and then quietly came inside and told me that we were moving (that's a whole other story). So... screams were bad.

I run into the kitchen, to see that the little Revere-ware saucepan my grandmother gave me is on the stove, and is filled with flaming oil. There's an eight-inch wide column of flame coming out of it, and bits of burning grease are shooting everywhere.

We had a fire-extinguisher (my mother always had like eight or ten at any given time, and would give them as gifts - she worked in a burn ward for a while) but being such good housekeepers, we had no idea what we'd done with the thing. For all I know, my ex had hot-glued it into one of her arts and crafts projects. Her arts and crafts projects actually did contribute to our eventual divorce, but I digress.

So... we both ran around the kitchen, panicking and shouting obscenities, while we tried to find something big enough to smother the flames before they spread and burned down the house. None of our pots and pans had lids that matched, of course, but we finally found one just big enough for me to clamp over the lid of the saucepan and asphyxiate the fire. It burned all the hair off my hand when I did it, but mostly, no harm done.

She immediately began crying and saying that she was stupid, and that she'd almost burned down the house, and being really down on herself. So, I hugged her, and told her not to feel bad, and that it was all okay. I looked to see how this could have happened, and basically what had gone wrong was that we'd bought safflower oil - at the time, it was the cheapest cooking oil you could get. Unbeknownst to most people, safflower oil will get smoky and ignite at a relatively low temperature. If she'd been using pretty much any other oil at the same heat, there would have been no problem. So... I calmly explained it, and told here there was no way she could have known, and that it wasn't her fault.

Then, to lighten the mood, I laughed and said "Ha ha! It's a good thing you weren't cooking in the wok, huh?"

So... the next day, at around the same time, I'm working in my office, when I hear bloodcurdling screams coming from the kitchen. I go running into the kitchen to see, not just a little saucepan with a piddly amount of fire coming out of it, but... you guessed it.

The wok - with a column of flame two feet wide and six feet tall coming out of it. By the time I got in there, the cabinets and hood over the stove were already turning black, and there were little puddles of spattered, burning grease all over the counters and floor.

We still hadn't found the damn fire extinguisher (yes... I was really stupid in my youth. With the number of fire-related incidents involving my ex-wife, I should have kept one strapped to my belt in a quick-release holster.)

So, we again ran around the kitchen screaming even more obscenities, in more of a panic, trying to find the wok-lid - which was the only thing big enough to cover the huge wok we had with. I found it (buried in the back of one of the cabinets, under the spreading grease-fire). I quickly slammed it over the top of the wok.

And the cheap aluminum lid immediately buckled, so that now, instead of a column of vertical flame heading toward the ceiling, there were twin spouts of flaming oil shooting out to either side.

I was not about to let the goddamn house burn down - it had already been wrecked by a hurricane, and we were still in the process of suing the people we bought it from for the insurance money - which they'd kept, in breach of contract - but that's another story. I'd sooner have burned alive than walk out of that goddamn place, with all the trouble we'd had getting into it.

So... I ran out into the back yard, adrenaline practically shooting from my pores (fortunately, high-capacity adrenal glands run in my family), and grabbed a huge concrete planter we had on the porch. I flung the dirt out of it, and ran back into the house with the planter in both arms. I ran into the kitchen, and smacked the burning wok into the planter, and ran back towards the yard cradling a huge oil fire in my arms.

On my way out the back door, I couldn't really see well because of the heat and flames, and I tripped on the weatherstripping in the doorway. I stumbled and twirled and flung the concrete planter with it's flaming cargo away from my body, with the intent to avoid the whole third-degree-burns thing. The planter and wok went sailing into the swimming pool. The planter sank instantly to the bottom, and the hot wok exploded into thousands of tiny burning drops of oil when it hit the cold water.

I ran back into the house, and we put out the countertops and floor.

Then, in the moment of silence afterwards, I reached up, and discovered that my mustache, eyelashes, eyebrows, and all the hair on the front half of my head was gone.

I turned on my ex, glared at her through the swimming blurriness of eyes that had been a little too close to the roiling flames, and snarled "Well... shall we order dinner tonight?"

I threw out the rest of the oil even before going to take care of my burned hands, arms, and face. I figured it was that, or try to find out how to put out a fire in a metal trash can, with burn-mitts on my hands.

What happened to my hair

As some folks know, I used to have long hair, and lots of it. When I was about seventeen or eighteen, I decided not to cut my hair any more, except maybe for an occasional trim. I'd lived through the eighties, when people were constantly doing stupid things with their hair, and every six months, you were a dork for having short hair, then a dork for having long hair, then a dork for not having hair with enough chemicals in it to mummify a bactrian camel.

Enough was enough. I decided that I liked how my hair looked when it was long. Long hair also symbolized a certain self-expression and individuality to me. I decided that, if I had to dress in various foolish costumes to fit in with society (including different outfits for work, play, school, home use, etc. that I'd be damned if I let anyone tell me what to do with an aspect of my appearance that was actually growing out of my body.

I mean, you can change out of dorky corporate clothes when you come home from work, but if you cut your hair, it's not like you can just make it long again in the evening, unless you want to wear a wig, which I had no intention of doing.

So... I grew my hair long, and left it long for years. I think in ten years, I had maybe a couple of trims. The maximum length my hair would grow would be roughly down to the middle of my back, and it looked pretty good. I also had lots of hair - wavy, thick hair. For the most part, I did nothing to it but wash it, occasionally comb it, or tie it into a ponytail. People would constantly ask me what I did to my hair to get it to look that good, and I'd tell them "I leave it the fuck alone."

You see... for a while, in my youth, I worked for places that marketed cosmetic products, including all manner of hair goops. I know what's in them. I know what distortions and lies we would put on packaging and product lines to get people to buy goop. And at the time, the healthiest hair products were the ones you could get for ninety-nine cents.

But I digress. The point is, I used to swear I'd never cut my hair again. Unless it started to fall out or something, at which point I'd go bald gracefully. I've always thought that nothing screamed "insecure" quite like a bad toupee or a comb-over, or the other things guys do to conceal thinning or absent hair.

Well... a few years ago, I met the love of my life, Coryn. A few months after we met, he got a job working in a hair salon. This had two major effects. One is that he was constantly trying out products and demos from the store on my hair. One or two were actually nice, but most of them were various kinds of foul-smell goo or weird chemicals, or did nothing much that I could tell. My hair, for one thing, had the consistency of spring steel, so there is absolutely no styling product that will hold it in any position it doesn't want to be in. My hair will shrug off even butch wax. Hell... my hair won't stay in place if you put surfboard wax in it.

The other major effect was that, with him working at the store, all our friends were buying hair stuff there, and Coryn was buying stuff for himself with his employee discount. So, all around me, all my friends are doing all this cool shit with their hair. They've all got blue hair, pink hair, green hair, spikes, mohawks, sparkly stuff. It was a blast. I'm sure everyone used so many different hair colors and products that if they ever have children, they'll be born with three heads from all the chemicals.

Keep in mind, most of my friends are either women, gay guys, goths, metrosexuals, or various people in the lunatic fringe. Some of us look normal at a glance, but under the hood, we're a mass of tattoos, piercings, brandings, and counterculture tribal neo-tradition. So everyone's having a blast with all this cool hair stuff.

Well... I decided that I wanted to do something crazy - maybe color my hair some wacky color or something. Now, my natural hair color is a dark brown - almost black. When I put in those temporary hair colors - even the ones that were opaque pastes, my hair would suck that shit down, burp, and ask for more, without changing in appearance hardly at all. I put bright neon-blue paste in my hair, and three minutes later, it just looked like I'd gotten it a little damp.

That meant that the first step would be bleaching it. Well, that was cool anyway! I'd always wondered what I'd look like with blonde hair. I figured that, worst-case scenario, I'd dye it back to normal if I didn't like it, and anyway, my hair grew at a prodigiously fast rate. When I first grew it out, it went from two inches to eighteen inches long in about nine or ten months.

So... we buy this giant tub of hair bleaching stuff. Now... yes. I have heard that you should never, ever, ever, ever, ever under any circumstances, ever, ever, ever let your friends bleach your hair or give you a permanent. Anyone who doesn't know this has never even lived on the same planet with Oprah.

But Coryn worked in a salon, and he's very intelligent, and knowledgeable. He was, after all, made into the acting manager in only a couple of months.

One of the things that should have been a further warning sign was that his store did not carry bleach or permanent hair color. They were a salon-style store, and their policy was that they would not sell those products because they're bad for your hair, and amateurs should not apply them. The store's official line was that if you want a bleach job or permanent color, go to a real salon hairstyling professional and pay to have it done right.

So, we went to Sally's Beauty supply, and bought the hair bleach there. The ladies at Sally's asked over and over if we were sure we knew what we were doing. They told us amusing anecdotes about people who tried to do this at home and burnt their scalps off down to their shoes, or came out looking like Bride of Frankenstein on acid. We bought it anyway. Coryn assured them (and myself) very glibly that all was well-in-hand.

Supplies in hand, we head over to Coryn's apartment, and he begins to apply this foul, toxic-smelling horrible stuff to my hair, rubbing it carefully into my hair and scalp to make sure that we don't have any roots. As it's going on my head, and my scalp is beginnign to tingle, I note that the smell of the bleach is very similar in some ways to the smell of products that are used to remove hair. Or clean a drain. It is about at this point that I glance over, through the haze of toxic fumes, and begin reading the instructions. Specifically, I am reading the part under the giant red letters that say:

"Honey," I say to Coryn, "The packaging says never to allow this substance to come into contact with your scalp, under any circumstances."

"Don't be silly. You don't want black roots, do you?" Coryn replied, turning the tub of hair bleach around so that the warning part of the label was no longer visible to me.

"It says it can cause severe burns, and to never let it come into contact with skin or scalp," I said.

"I know what I'm doing," he replied, "I work in a salon."

"But the label says..."

My pleas fell on deaf ears. He was in the zone. Well... he was actually very convincing and confident in his actions. His every movement exuded confidence and knowledge and professionalism. Well... except perhaps for the part where he turned the warning label around so I couldn't read further along to the part about what to do in case of severe burns. But I was blinded by love. Also... fumes.

After applying the mixture, I was supposed to wait for a while - I forget how long, fifteen minutes? Forty-five?

But the stuff was just burning more, and more, and more. I've had chemical burns before (one of the suntan lotions a company I'd worked for in my youth could cause severe chemical burns if the coloring and fragrance used in it came into contact with sunlight, and I found that out the hard way.)

I said that the stuff was burning my head. Coryn told me to stop being a wuss. But it kept burning, more and more.

Now, just to let you know, that despite the fact that I have been known to scream like a girl when a spider falls on me, that I am not a wuss. I have a very high pain threshold. I've had to develop one, because I've had lots of pain (like the time my foot got nailed to a board, and my shoe. But that's another story). I eat hot peppers that make lesser men not only cry, but lose control of their bowels. Once, some guys hit me with a car, knocking me into a gravel pit, before attempting to mug me, and I got up and beat the hell out of them, even with a concussion, a sprained knee, and some broken fingers - after they kicked me in the head (also another story).

So... around the point that I realized that I was starting to cry from the pain, I decided enough was enough, and announced that I was washing the crap off my head before it burned through my skull and into my brain.

The warning label also said something about not letting water touch this shit, but what the fuck else was I going to wash it out with? Motor oil? How the hell do you even use this crap?

So... I washed the bleach out of my hair, and gingerly toweled my head dry - my whole scalp was livid red and burned under the hair.

Needless to say, some of my hair had bleached a lot, some had bleached a little, and some had not bleached at all. There were patches of toxic chemical yellow, patches of almost-black brown, and patches of gorgeous honey-red color. I looked like an African Hunting dog. It was horrible. And of course, my scalp was burned, so the last thing I ought to do is put more chemicals on it.

Now... I never go to the mall, and hate going out in public unless I have a good reason, but I'll tell you, I made sure to take that fright-wig out everywhere for the next several days. Now, normally, I am somehow invisible to normal people. I don't know why. Sometimes, I have to grab customer service people or cashiers in stores and shake them to get them to even tell I am there - even though I'm nearly six feet tall, and loud and boisterous and talkative. So... I'd be walking in the mall, and nobody noticed a thing... until somehow I guess some poor mundane would pierce the veil and notice that I had African-hunting-dog hair. It was great fun. Or I'd be talking to someone for a few minutes, and all of a sudden, they'd look up and just get this look on their face.

The novelty did fade quickly though. So... as soon as my scalp was mostly healed, we tried again. This time, I insisted on following the directions under the giant words that said "WARNING!!!" in big red letters. No burning goo on my scalp... just very, very close to it. It still burned.

This time, my hair came out a color which can only be described as "chemical yellow," except for big, pencil-thin rings near my scalp where it stayed brown. The rings looked like giant ringworm. There is a substance called "toner," which is supposed to turn the weird chemical yellow into a normal color. Apparently, my hair laughs at toner. The strongest stuff had no effect. Also... my hair was fried to utter brittleness.

I now looked like the second-in-command evil henchman from an action movie. You know, there's always one of the villain's henchmen who has weird hair and then gets killed ignominiously with a ball=point pen after failing to shoot the hero to death at close range with a fully-automatic machine pistol loaded with 10,000 rounds.

So... after a couple of days of enjoying the effect of that particular hair-disaster (about ten strangers asked me if I was in a band, and one asked if we were making a movie), we bought some dark brown hair dye and returned my hair to its normal color, if not its normal consistency and texture.

But this is not, of course, the end of the story. Fark.com has a Florida tag for a reason, and while I left Florida years ago, I did grow up there, and the curse lingers.

Shortly thereafter, I went on a trip that took me through Texas, where we stopped to visit some friends. While we were there, they were apparently having "Purple" pollution days in Dallas. Many people are familiar with the color codes in pollution alerts for big cities. They go from green, to yellow, to orange, to red, in increasing levels of pollution.

Did you know that there are levels higher than red? Purple comes after red. It means "Try not to go outside if you can avoid it, and wear a mask if you do." The only thing higher is black, which means "Do not go outside, and while you are at it, make sure your will is up to date."

On top of the smog-type pollution, there are these plants in that part of the country that apparently pollinate in a fascinating way. They have these little buds that swell up and pop open, releasing little bursts of sticky sap - with about the consistency of creosote - that allows the pollen to stick to things.

The pollution and gummy pollen stuff were so bad that when we left my friend's apartment to go eat, we had to wash the windshield in order to see through it. By the time we finished eating, half an hour or so later, the windshield was again so covered that you could not see through it.

This incredible freak of science airborne death-on-toast crap went into my already crunchy, burnt, chemicaled, and dyed hair. It was sticky and horrid. I had the beginnings of dreadlocks almost immediately. My hair was actually sticky to the touch.

No problem, I thought, I'd just wash that shit out.

Six shampooings later, there was no change, except that now my hair was so covered with goo that you could actually mold it into shapes with your fingers and it would stay that way - only slowly bending back to its original shape. It also smelled very much like burnt tires. I moved on to more and more drastic substances trying to get the sticky crap out. I tried castile soap (not that Dr. Bronner's stuff either - I used the kind that's made of lye and coconut fat, that doubles as laundry detergent). Dishwasher detergent (that will remove almost anything from hair) had no effect. I tried escalating to more powerful cleansers, until finally, I'd tried alcohol, nail polish remover, and even kerosene. Nothing worked.

Finally, I decided that enough was enough. My hair had been tortured and burnt, and finally rendered sticky. I didn't have dreadlocks, which would have been at least briefly amusing. I had one solid dreadlock, singular, sticking out of my head like a tumor inspired by eighties hair bands gone wrong.

Well... if there's a time to try and put a positive spin on something, here it was. I found myself saying "I wonder what I'll look like bald."

Keep in mind - the last time I'd had my head shaved, I was five. Under the hair, it turned out that my head was lumpy, and the other kids made fun of me until I chased one up a tree, and then pushed him out with a stick, causing him to to a belly-whumper on hard-packed sugar sand.

Now, I am not given to revenge, really I'm not. Coryn loved my long hair (and loved doing things to it with hair products), but I just felt like it was his job to help me shave the mess off. So... after careful consideration, I decided to go ahead and shave it off. I'd never shaved my own hair before, and wanted assistance, so I browbeat Coryn into doing it. I'd like to make some poetic statements about how my shorn locks drifted down to the floor of his basement like fallen cherry blossoms onto snow, but basically, they were so coated with chemicals that they just sort of went "thump," or "spluck," when they hit the floor.

Much to my surprise, I began to have a sense of deja vu here. I realized that, years before, I'd dreamed of shaving my head, and it really bothered me - especially because, in the dream, I wasn't upset by this complete departure from normal behavior. When I woke up, from that dream, I actually panicked and grabbed my head to make sure my hair was still there.

But, there in the basement, everyone who'd gathered around to watch the sad procedure (my friends are ghouls, but lovable ones, I assure you), kind of nodded, and looked surprised, and allowed that maybe it wasn't too bad. I think my friend Timber was the first to say that he didn't know what I was bitching about, and that it might be a good look for me.

I looked into a mirror, and was pleased to discover that my head was no longer, in fact, lumpy. Also, I did not look like Curly Joe - a concern that had entered my mind. Maybe it wasn't so bad, I thought. But then... perhaps it was merely shock. What I dreaded was not that moment, of first seeing myself with a shaved head. What I dreaded was waking up in the morning, and realizing that this time, it wasn't just a dream.

Sure enough, I woke up the next morning, bleery as hell, and staggered in to the shower. When I was younger, I used to wake up instantly, and come to full alertness. As I've aged, it takes me longer to become fully conscious. I got into the shower, and realized I had no hair. Oh yeah. I'd shaved it off. There was a surreal moment when I thought I had found a leftover stray hair, and it turned out not to be a loose hair, but an eighteen-inch long hair that had been growing out of the top of my ear. It was a head-hair, but growing out of my ear. It had obviously been there forever, but I hadn't noticed it, with all the other hair around it.

There was that sense of deja vu again. When I stepped out of the shower, I realized that everything was exactly like it was in the dream, down to the Usago Yojimbo comics scattered around the bathroom by a roomate.

And just like in the dream, when I looked in the mirror at my shaved head, after all those years of being a die-hard longhair, I decided I liked it.

No more shampoo. No more fucking around with taking care of long hair (even the minimal care mine required). No more hair in my eyes when driving, or hair ripping free of ponytail ties, or blowing into a giant puffball in wind. Yeah... that also meant no luxurious long latin hair, which would turn into shiny ringlets if I ran plain water over them and let them air-dry.

But also... no more pain in the ass long hair to deal with.

And nothing to put hair products in. Mwa ha ha! I'm free! Coryn's still disgruntled, years later, at losing his favorite hair-product guinea-pig, but still.

In closing, it's working out for me. Another nice thing about having no hair is that people love to rub my scalp, even people I don't know.

But then... on the downside... people I don't know keep trying to rub my scalp.

What is a Soul? (aka, the Secular Theory of Soul)

the Secular Theory of Soul

Sense of Self

There is a hole that
is shaped like me and I am
that which fills that hole.

When I act it is
According to my nature
to act is to learn.

Okay... I'm trying to stuff an idea into a couple haikus. Not sure I've got the hang of being concise enough to use haiku for everything. : )

I've been thinking a bit, lately, on what a "soul" is, and if they exist, and all that. And if they do, what is their nature?

When people speak of a soul, they are generally referring to something that is immortal and indestructible, and also which is defining of their inherent self or nature or existence as who or what they are.

Now... often, people _think_ of a soul as this funny thing, shaped like you, possibly made out of some kind of invisible energy. They think of a soul as a thing.

I think of a soul as more like a "form" or a possibility. Maybe those are bad words. I'm fumbling at which terms to use. I'll try analogy:

Okay... two plus two equals four, right?

Well... "two" is something that "exists", even if there's nothing to count two of. Two has an inherent identity all its own. Two might be expressed as "these letters that mean two when speaking of there being two of something."

It might be expressed as a symbol. But the symbol represents two, when we speak of it - the symbol itself isn't "two."

There can be two of something. Two objects, two ideas, two people. And two manifests in that way.

You can't destroy two. There will always be a "two." Even if there never were people to think of it or count it, or talk about it, there would always be a possible thing that has the nature, when added to itself, of being another thing we call "four."

Two has definite, predictable qualities that make it what it is, and there are predictable results of working with it. Whenever two plus two manifests, the answer will always be something that manifests as "four."

There's a "place" in the universe, shaped like "two." And there are all sorts of different things that fill that space.

In similar sense, I think that a "soul," is that set of possibilities in the universe that add up to the thing shaped like us. It's sort of like the "room" that exists for something like ourselves to exist. That "space" would exist even if we never walked the earth in an us-shaped body.

But when we do live and exist in the world, we are a manifestation of our "soul." We are the thing that is in that space shaped like us. We are the "proof" of our existence in a sense, if you wish to think of it that way (implying that there's other ways to think of it.)

I also think that it is possible for that same soul that is us to manifest more than once. Or something so similar that it is still at least partly defined by our soul. Past lives. Soul-brothers. Avatars. Whatever.

Now... can souls "learn?"

In a way. A soul isn't exactly a number, like "two." to use another math analogy (these are analogies, by the way - I'm not claiming that souls are math. Math is math, souls are souls), a soul (in this model) is more like algebra - an algorithm or equation. It's what we would be, if manifested in a particular way.

When a soul manifests in a particular way (makes choices, has things happen to it) then the manifestation of that soul takes on the qualities that emerge under those circumstances. Now, the "shape" of our soul probably determines how we are likely to respond, or what will likely be our thoughts or choices based on different experiences. How our soul has manifested thus far may also influence the choices of a particular manifestation.

And then, our soul sort of becomes "what our soul would be had it manifested in this way." Viewed through time, and through its manifestations, a soul may "learn" or seem to change, from our perspective.

How we manifest, looking from the perspective of the physical plane, determines where our soul manages to "go" in the material plane. Each time it manifests, it is _possible_ that it sort of "carries" with it the qualities it has taken on from previous manifestations, partly through the actions and their effects, and the information left behind in the world when the last manifestation died or went away.

How our soul manifests or appears is affected by things like time, contact with other souls, memory, consequences, etc.

But the soul itself is what it always was, and what it always could have been.

Our choices determine to a great degree how we manifest ourselves in the world. They can lead to how others manifest self. They can influence how we will manifest in the future. I'm not espousing fatalism here, I assure you. : )

It could be said that our soul more fully manifests (in this model) when we choose that which is more inherently "us" than that which is sort of a "smoosh" of everyone. And if we make choices that completely deviate (somehow) from the normal path of our soul, then we won't _resemble_ that previous manifestation of self. Obviously, if we make such a choice, it exists as a possibility within our soul as "something which can manifest as one thing, and then seem to become another."

People tend to think of the soul as something "supernatural." I.e., something outside of the normal laws or rules of things. Something "above nature." or "more than nature," or even "outside of nature."

If by "nature" you merely mean the physical world, then yeah, I guess.

But if by "nature" you mean "everything." Then... of course not. If the soul exists, then it exists.

It's just that, if there's a such thing as a soul... what comes to mind is that bit from "Princess Bride."

Sicilian: InconTHIEVable!!!
Inigo: You keep eh-sayin eh that word. I do na theen it means what you theen it means.

I don't think a soul is necessarily a blob of energy. I think it's something that is a potential that can be made manifest.

Now... perhaps there's a such thing as a "spirit." The thing that "breathes life." into something. Not just the living energy of a body, but perhaps the energy (or even matter), which allows information to pass through time and distance, but also might be part of how a soul manifests _in a particular way_.

Am I being too metaphysical for people here?

We don't really know what (or if) a soul is. I'm not sure we've all got the same definition.

But if you define a soul as above, I think it's possible to make a good case for its existence (though I might have my predictions about its behavior wrong or incomplete.)

Centering, Grounding and Shielding

Centering, Grounding, and Shielding

September 2, 2005

I am continually surprised to hear that many practitioners of magick or of metaphysically-oriented paths and religions do not know what centering, grounding, and shielding are, or ways that these things can be accomplished.

These practices are not only helpful as an adjunct to mystical workings, but also have secular uses.

I'll begin by explaining what each of these things are. Normally, they are done in conjunction, as these practices complement one another.

Centering is, simply, finding your center, the axis of your mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual balance. Our center has both a physical aspect, a place in the body that is our crux, and a mental aspect, a sense of center. It is the point which we can focus on to retain stability as the world moves and acts around us. It is the point from which we orient ourselves and our attention.

Grounding is attaching ourselves to an external frame of reference. If centering allows us to orient our inner self, grounding lets us orient ourselves to the world around us. Usually, this reference to which we attach ourselves is the Earth. Grounding also serves to combine us with something greater than ourselves alone, so that when we act, we do not act in an undirected manner, or rely only on our personal energy.

Shielding is just that. It is a way of armoring ourselves against unwanted influences.

Now, on to the how-to part. Keep in mind, this is the way that I do these things. There are other methods out there. If you are interested in this subject, I do recommend Robin Wood's treatise on the matter:

http://www.robinwood.com/LivingtreeGrove/Magic/MagicPages/GroundCenter.h...

But for now, here's what I do.

Centering

Centering has two parts, finding your center, and possibly balancing your center. Once you are practiced at centering, you may find that you can achieve the state at will, without any extra steps, visualizations or additional effort. The purpose of exercises such as these is to teach you how to achieve the state of being entered, not to make you jump through any particular hoop. If you find that one method does not work for you, try another.

First, relax your body. You will probably want to close your eyes. Sit or stand with your back straight, and your face forwards. Quiet your mind, and attempt to feel the point in your physical body which feels like the place where everything else is "hanging off" of - the point that feels like the center from which everything else proceeds. For many people, this point will seem to be somewhere above your physical center of gravity. For some, it will feel like it is at the center of the abdomen, at the solar plexus, or around their heart. Don't be concerned if this is not the case for you. The object is to find your center, not worry about whether it is in the same place as that of other people.

Your center may feel like it is a very small point, or it may feel larger and more diffuse. Some people say that they feel a pressure, warmth, or some other sensation when perceiving their center. Others don't - they may feel only a sense of where it is.

Now, if your center feels to you, as if it is not somewhere along the vertical axis of your body, if it is to the left or the right, so that you feel "out of balance", or off-kilter, what you want to do is try to see if you can cause the feeling of your center to move back into alignment with your physical center. We're not talking about up and down here, only left or right. At this point, you may wish to adjust your physical posture, until your physical body feels balanced. When you are comfortable, try to move your impression of your inner center to the middle of your body, along the vertical axis. Maintain your attention on this feeling until it stays by itself.

Now, for the tricky part, the back and forth. Some people's center may feel like it is located centered somewhere in their spinal column, while others may feel it deeper inside their bodies (in front of their spine). At this point, what you want to do is decide whether or not it feels "off" where it is. If you feel comfortable and balanced, then everything's fine. But if you have a funny feeling that you are hanging forward or backward off your center, then you need to readjust it back or forth, the same manner as you would have for left or right.

Now, having found your center, just try to feel it for a while. Pay attention to what it feels like, so that you can recall the feeling again later. For some people, the knack may come easily, perhaps on the first try. For others, it may take practice.

It may help to visualize the world moving around you, but your center as being a fixed reference point around which all other things move.

Now, at this point, take the sense of stability that you feel from your center, and attempt to extend that feeling of stability to the rest of your body. Try to make your whole body feel as stable as your center, as if it is fixed to it.

The object is not to feel unmoving or immobile. It is to feel stable and secure, to find a fixed point of reference originating within you.

If you practice, you will probably find that achieving this state becomes easier and easier, and that it does not require any particular bodily position, or closing of your eyes, or a great deal of conscious attention. Even if you do get to that point, it is still nice, sometimes, to go through the whole process. It can be relaxing, and can prevent your mental "muscles" from getting lax at the procedure. As with anything else, what you don't use, you may lose.

Grounding

Note: While it is technically possible to ground without centering first, I never do one without the other. Some people attempt to ground first, but I've always found centering to be the best first step. It makes everything else easier.

While centered, imagine your attention on your body. Now feel the presence of the ground below you. It does not matter if you are directly on the Earth, or on the top floor of a building. Focus your attention on either whatever you are sitting or standing on, or on the ground beneath you.

Imagine now, that your sense of yourself has become connected to the Earth. Feel yourself as being a part of it, attached to it, so that as it moves you are moving with it. Imagine yourself connected to the spot on the Earth that is beneath you.

Once you have done this, imagine your body as being composed of not only your physical flesh, but as being composed of energy, of spirit. Many people believe there is a "second body" or "spirit body," sometimes called the etheric body, which overlaps our physical one. It does not matter whether this is true or not. What we are going for here is for you to obtain the feeling of being connected to the Earth.

Now, imagine part yourself flowing down out of your body, becoming one with the Earth, diffusing into it. When you have done this, feel the energy of the Earth flowing up into you. Feel it flowing up from where your body contacts the ground, and rising until it reaches the base of your spine.

Feel it flowing up through the center of your body, and moving outward as it goes, until it fills your whole being. Let it continue up, until it flows up through the top of your head. At that point, imagine the energy falling back down around you, like a fountain, to be reabsorbed back into the Earth, as more energy flows up through you, in a continuous cycle.

Imagine feeling not just connected to the earth, but a part of it. And imagine the earth not as simply a large, static body, but something solid and external to which you can anchor, but also as being filled with an energy that moves through you and makes you a part of it.

Grounding, even as a psychological, rather than a magickal exercise, can be very therapeutic. It can be a useful way to destress, and reorient yourself, especially if you are having a difficult time, or are feeling thrown hither and yon by circumstances.

Shielding

This method is simply the method of shielding that I use in conjunction with centering and grounding. There are, as with everything else, other methods or visualizations that different people use.

Take that energy that is flowing up through your body and out of the top of your head, and feel it coming down more thickly, until it is like a moving bubble surrounding you. Imagine this bubble as an impenetrable shield, which deflects and carries away energies coming from outside it. And remember, that this indestructible, protective energy is also flowing through you and filling you, and carrying away any unwanted influences, while empowering the influnce within yourself that you desire.

Some people prefer to think of the energy as flowing closely around their body like a second skin. Others like to visualize it as forming something like a suit of armor, or a symbol that is meaningful to them. Some people like to imagine the bubble as having a mirror-like surface that reflects things away. Others might see or feel it as transparent, or hard like steel or stone. Others might feel it as being like a raging torrent that washes unwanted incursions away like a waterful, or burns away what it touches.

The point, again, is not to make what you do match what everyone else does, unless that's the way that works best for you. The important thing is to become used to calling up and directing the feeling of being shielded and protected. Any of these visualizations are simply your way of symbolizing to yourself the nature of your shield, and the act of forming one, to give yourself the necessary kind of connection to make it real for you.

Once the shield is in place, some people like to imagine the energy that is flowing out the top of their heads returning to flow back up through their feet, and "pinching off" from the earth, so that it is like a closed system.

Again, with all of this, once you have practiced, you are likely to find that you can draw up the feeling of being shielded at will.

As with any working, it is important, when you are finished with it, to let it go. Leaving yourself with the idea of a constant energy flow moving through you can set your mind and will of to feel like they are being abraded or washed out, or burnt up. Leaving up a shield, constantly, can leave you mentally closed off from the world around you. I don't believe there's any major harm in remaining centered, but sometimes it is the things which throw us off balance which propel us forward in life.

In closing...

And that's Centering, Grounding, and Shielding, in a nutshell, as I do them. In these techniques, I have borrowed from others, and have modified them slightly as I saw fit. But I believe they are well within the realm of what could be considered "standard" for this sort of thing.

I believe it is worth mentioning that these techniques can be of merit even if you do not believe in magick, and even if there is no such thing. They are mental exercises that can trigger you to feel calmer in a crisis, or more balanced when dealing with difficulties, or to put you into a better frame of mind.

But if you do believe in magick, these exercises can be an invaluable part of your workings. They are a staple and preliminary to many sorts of workings, even if you leave the shielding part out to do that sort of thing another way.

Part of why I have shared my own method here is simply this: I get asked about it a lot, and I am often surprised at the number of my fellow neopagans or magickal practitioners who do not know how to do these things. In addition, while there are many wonderful exercises for doing these things in various books about paganism and magick, most of them are visualization-oriented. They are based on how most people learn or perceive, which is through vision. Vision is the primary sense for most people. But not everyone is visually-oriented. For instance, I am more feeling or kinesthetic in nature. But it is rather difficult to describe or relate a feeling or sensation than it is to describe an appearance or an image.

In addition, I believe that there is an emphasis on the imagination, that does not often make clear that the imaginative or visualizational faculties are only used as a tool, a means to achieve the grounded, centered, or shielded state. We imagine things all the time, without making them real, but the purpose of a working is to make something real, to bring it into our lives, to make things happen.

If anyone has a link to a resource, or wishes to recommend a book on the subject, or to add their owm words on the subject, I invite them to comment on this article.

Earthing a Spell

Earthing a Spell

One of the things that I think many practitioners don't pay a lot of attention to is the idea of "Earthing" a spell.

Earthing is the act of bringing the magickal creation or working, which is created in the mental and spiritual realms, down into the material, to make it real.

In a sense, every act of ritual, every spell that is voiced, is part of the process of Earthing. Until you speak, or act, or move, or create in a way that is connected to your working, it exists only as potential. But I say it is important to understand Earthing, so that it can be done as a conscious act of will, rather than as an aside.

When you know that the act of earthing is happening during your working, and when you deliberately perform your working with this in mind, you are adding an extra layer of affirmation, and extra layer of direction to your work. You are consciously directing the energies of your working to where they can manifest in the material, rather than merely hoping or assuming that it will be so.

One of the things that is a repeating theme in magical workings, are the ideas of the "law of sympathy" and "the law of contagion". Alongside that, there is the idea that a magical working (a working in the spiritual realms) must be "earthed", or brought down into the material world, or connected to the material in some way.

Among some Native American nations, when someone had an important dream or vision, having the vision was only part of it. In order to actually make the dream's medicine real, it had to be brought down into the world, by having members of the nation or tribe act out the events in the dream (often wearing costumes, or doing symbolic dances).

When you do a magical working, you start with your intent, but you also may light a candle, or say a spell or prayer, or make and use an amulet, or perform a ritual. This is part of the "earthing" process. You choose the candle's color (or even ingredients), or the spell's words, or the amulet's composition, or the talisman's design by how those things are _associated_ with what you are trying to accomplish.

For instance, people might use a green or gold candle for money or success, white for cleansing, black for banishing, red for passions or energy... etc. They might call on gods or spirits or helpers in their spell, based on either that spirit's connection to the person, or their association with the kind of work (Odin for wisdom, St. Theresa of the Roses for miracles, Aphrodite for love, etc.).

When you do these things, you are attempting to invoke the laws of sympathy and contagion. You are attempting to cause like to attract like, and for to cause things which are connected in some way to act upon one another, even at a distance.

When part of your act of creative will involves bringing your spell consciously into the material, you are adding a special ingredient - you are creating a connection between what you desire, your actions, and the world around you. It is important that you not leave this part of your working in the realm of ideas. You must bring it from the realm of ideas into the physical world.

Should Goddess Rule the God?

Should Goddess Rule the God?

April 7, 2001

This isn't going to be a very long article. But there's something that distresses me a little tiny bit.

In my universe... there is a strong female force... a great mother. But there is also a male force, a great father.

I have been told... kinda had my nose rubbed in it at times, that we've "lived in a partiarchal society long enough". That too much power and attention was given to the God force, and the goddess was ignored. That we are out of balance as a result.

Okay... I can see that.

But the solution many folks offer is "Well. Now we'll just swing in the other direction to restore the balance."

I don't see how that restores the balance. I think it just creates a different type of imbalance.

I think the divine can manifest as male or female (as well as many other ways of course). Both are important to us. We need a mother and a father. I'm not much of a deity-worshipping type anyway. But when I do honor all my relations... I don't play favorites to the girls or the boys.

As for "the father god has already had his time".. whose father?

My father doesn't tell his children "love me or burn in hell," And he doesn't say "worship only me and ignore your mother", or "women aren't as important as men". I dunno whose father that is, but he ain't mine!

I'm not going to presume to tell someone "You have to worship both" or "You cannot focus on the Goddess". I'm not about to tell someone else how to go about their own earth-healing or other religious practices.

But when I pray... I pray to all my relations equally. The animals and people I share my world with... the spirits, the trees and stones... the earth below, the sky above and even to myself. I will not set my mother over my father, or my father over my mother. I will not stand on or under anyone else.

I have watched these strange reactive behaviors among some folks... some will get all goddess-focused... (understandable: how can you NOT love the goddess?) and then guys (or ladies who happen to have a male patron) will feel all put out. So they'll do these "reclaim the god power" things that are either weird Politically Correct, "Men can like flowers too" kinds of things (Well, duh!) or obnoxious "Grunt! Me WARRIOR! BLAHG! PROTECT PUNY WOMANS!"

What I guess I'm getting at, in my roundabout way here, is that I think we could use some good, healthy models for male divinity as well as female. I think that the god has suffered almost as much as the goddess from our society's ideas in recent millennia. Men have had it easier than women, but haven't been made _stronger_. All gods but you-know-who have been made out to be demons and evil and sick. Men have been told it is good to act badly to or look down on women. That won't get better because someone suddenly says "Look.. the Goddess is better than any icky old God."

We don't need to revile half of the creative force, simply because the human race has perverted and misused and misunderstood a part of that force.

If there's one thing that I've learned from my experiences of the Divine Female, it's that she would have us put our focus on correcting a wrong, before punishing a scapegoat. I believe she would rather we heal our perceptions of both aspects of the divine, not succumb to using the same foolish tactics we've seen others use and which we believe are wrong.

What we ought to be doing is finding the best expressions of divinity within ourselves, and finding and reinforcing the best ideals of our relationship with the divine.

I don't care to debate, in this essay, whether the gods would exist without us, or whether the gods have their own separate existence. What I believe is at fault here is our perceptions of, and our assumptions about the divine. And that is what we must heal.

If it is wrong to disrespect the female half of the divine, and not give her equal importance and respect as we attribute to the male principle, then it is also wrong to disrespect the male half.

We do not have to accept the idea that to be male is to be brutal, and ignorant, and domineering and jealous. We do not have to accept the image of the divine that foolish or evil or misguided people have presented to us and taught us. We do not have to be limited by what has gone before.

Why do we say "So Mote it Be?"

Why do we say "So Mote it Be?"

I hear lots of witches (and other practitioners of magic) use the words "So Mote it Be". This familiar term (familiar to practitioners of the craft at any rate) is used by many... but why? What does it mean? Certainly, it sounds imposing... but why?

So mote it be is an active, directive statement of will. It is not saying "please let this happen". It does not mean "I sure hope the gods will give me this". It is not a pleading, nor an order.

The term is meant to be used, when a witch or magician has decided on a condition they wish to draw forth. When in conjunction with their own inner will, they choose a rightful path, they do not need to say "please let this happen" or "please allow this to come to pass". They say "This will happen now."

In the mundane sense... so let it be is more of a prayer. A pleading. A "by your leave". So shall it be, while a statement of will, is a passive statement of will. So _mote_ it be is a directed understanding, in words, that something will happen.

It means "make this have to be"

In one witches' words... Mote is the opposite of the word might (as in "it might happen").

It can also imply "this is the way in which it will happen," as in saying "because I have done this spell, because it is my will, because I have said and done these things, this result will now come to pass."

This is the way "So Mote it Be" should be used in magickal working.

Coyote and the Bad Dream - (Sorta dirty)

Coyote and the Bad Dream

A funny Coyote story in dirty joke form

An old Coyote tale told in joke Form. WARNING! This one is rather a naughty joke (I used to say it was ribald, but got tired of people asking what "ribald" meant). This is for the grown-ups in the audience. For some reason, it's one of my favorites.

Okay... stop me if you've heard this one! Hee hee! It'll be too late by the time you do.. I'll have already typed it in! (Grin)

Fox sees that Coyote is pretty frazzled looking one morning. Fox asks:

"Cousin! You look like shit! What's the matter? Did you sleep badly?"

Coyote replies "I had the most awful nightmare! I didn't sleep a wink afterwards! It's still bothering me, that terrible dream!"

Fox suggests, "Tell me about it.. sometimes you'll feel better after you tell someone a bad dream."

Coyote says, "Well... it's pretty awful... but here goes. I dreamt that I came to a road... and on the other side was a beautiful pond with ducks swimming in it... frogs, very nice."

Fox interrupted,"That doesn't sound so bad. What's wrong with that?"

Coyote continues, "Shhh, Cuz! I'm getting to it. Anyway, I'm standing across the road from this little pond, and three beautiful young women show up! Long black hair, very pretty, all giggling. They were there to take a bath!"

Fox interrupts again, "This dream sounds pretty good to me so far!"

Coyote shushes him and says, "I'm getting to the bad part. I hid in the bushes on the other side of the road from the pond, and the girls didn't see me! They began taking off their clothes to bathe. They took aff all their clothes and they were really knockouts!"

Fox says, "I wish I had such a bad dream. This sounds like a good dream to me!"

Coyote responds, "Trust me Fox, you should be glad you didn't have this dream. Anyway... the girls were so pretty and all, splashing there, that I felt myself becoming aroused just watching them. My penis began to grow bigger."

Fox cut in again and says "Well, that sure would have happened to me, too!"

Coyote says, "If you keep interrupting like that, I'll tell Fox Woman you said that. Now anyway... my penis grew right across that road, through the bushes, and into the water. And it snuck up right by the girls. One of them saw it, and they started playing with it. Soon, I was having sex from all the way across the road, with all three of them!"

Fox says "Wow! That's one hot dream! How is it that you think this dream is so bad?"

Coyote replies... "Well... it was then, right at that point that I heard a noise... there was a big wagon rumbling down the road... and the girls would not let go of my penis! A wagon with four horses in front of it... like the wasichus drive... a wagon with iron wheels, cousin..."

Fox interrupted again... "You are right Coyote... that was a VERY bad dream!"

I've heard many many permutations of this particular story, but for some reason, I kinda like it told in joke form. I've heard it as the tale of how Coyote seduces the Duck Women, or a story about how well hung Coyote is. I like this version. Maybe because it has Fox in it too. I assure you, I like it ONLY because it was just a dream!

Coyote Brings a Woman Back

Coyote Brings a Woman Back

Another tale of why death is forever

Another story in this vein, wherein Coyote brings a woman back from the dead, but loses her again, and is so angry that he prevents others from ever raising the dead again.

Coyote once fell in love with a woman. And not the kind of love where the woman was pretty and he just wanted to have intercourse with her (he fell in that kind of love a lot of times). He really loved her.

Her parents didn't like Coyote. "He is a good-for-nothing, everyone knows that," they told her. "You are a chief's daughter, you need a better husband than him." She always respected her parents and did what they told her.

Coyote would still come by to woo her. Her parents told him to go away.

"You are no good. Get away from here! We don't want someone like you for a son-in-law!"

One day, while the girl was out picking berries, or maybe fishing, I don't remember, she was bitten by a snake. She stepped on it, and it bit her.

Coyote saw this and said "That snake is poisonous. You should let me doctor you."

"No. My parents said I am not to be around you. I am going home."

After a while she didn't feel well. She went home and laid down to sleep. When her parents tried to wake her up to eat something, she was dead.

Coyote came by. He said "Your daughter is probably very sick. If you let me doctor her, I can make her well again."

Her father told him "You get away! My daughter is dead, and I'll bet you know something about it. It's probably your fault!"

Coyote left.

They had a funeral. After they had put the girl on the scaffold, they cried for a while, then went away. Coyote was nearby the whole time. He went and got the girl's body. It had already begun to smell, even through the wrappings. He took her body away, and got into a canoe. They gave her up for dead he thought, obviously they don't want her as much as I do.

At four places on the river, he sang a special song, and each time some of the bad smell went away, and she looked more alive. After this, he fixed her eyes, and made her wake up and breathe. She was confused. He told her that she had died, and he had doctored her so that she was all right again. He told her that for this, he was now going to be allowed to marry her. He took her to a little house he had built down the river, and they lived there for a while.

One day, one her father's friends happened by. He stopped to see what Coyote was up to. Coyote reluctantly invited him in. When he asked how it was that she was alive again, Coyote told him. The man stayed and had dinner with them, and then went straight back to tell her parents that their daughter was alive again.

The girl's father came. Coyote invited him in and didn't say anything. The father told the girl that she should come back to her mother. He told her that Coyote hadn't really fixed her. He said "You were sick, but that is all over now. You can come back with us." Coyote didn't say anything. He just watched as the girl agreed to leave with her father.

After they got home, the girl was fine for a bit. She helped her mother, and they had a big homecoming. One night, after being by the river, the girl said she didn't feel good again. She went to bed. When they went to wake her up, she was dead.

The chief was anguished. He realized what he had to do. He went downriver to where Coyote was living. He said "My daughter has died again. I will give you anything. Everything I own, horses, blankets, just doctor my daughter. Bring her back to life. You can even marry her. We won't prevent this anymore."

Coyote told him. "No. I am not a good son-in-law. Your daughter needs someone better than me. I'm not good for anything, you said so. And she didn't want to be alive if she had to be with me. Her life ended when that snake bit her, and I shouldn't have made her come back from the dead in the first place just to make her like me."

"I will not bring her back again. You have wronged me, and she went with you. If you had acted better, people would be able to come back from the dead, but because of this, there will be no coming back. From now on, medicine men will only be able to help people who are still alive. It is because of you. If you had acted better, it would not be this way."

And it is still like this. Medicine men can heal the sick, but the dead stay dead. It is because of what happened with Coyote and that girl. Some people say he was just being spiteful. I think he really loved her. You ask Coyote and he'll tell you so.

Coyote Creates Death

Coyote Creates Death

One of Several Stories where Coyote is credited with the invention of death.

In the beginning, when human people were still new in the world, nobody ever died. After a time, this got to be a problem, because new people were being born and it was getting crowded in some places.

Seeing a problem, the elders and wise men and women and chiefs got together to think of a solution before things got out of hand.

Coyote came to this big meeting. He said "Oh that's easy" (Coyote is always saying things are easy) "from now on, people will die, to make room for the new people, and someday they will die to make room for the ones after that.

Some of the people thought this was a good idea, but many more started talking about how they didn't want to have their loved ones die and be gone.

Someone came up with the idea that people should just die for a little time and then come back. Everyone thought that was really good. They decided to do that. They had Coyote invent death, and then they made a new ceremony for bringing people back.

The person's spirit would leave their body when they died, and roam around as a little breeze, or even a dust devil. In this way people knew their relatives were still close, waiting to be brought back. The dead person's body would be put in a special lodge until it was time to make them alive again.

Coyote did not like this. For one thing, there were spirits everywhere, and even though they didn't eat, it was still crowded. And the bodies were still there too... so it wasn't like they were saving a whole lot of space.

And they still were going to do the ceremony to bring people back from the dead, so they wouldn't even stay dead. They would come back and it would be just as before. Only now, people would be fussing around taking care of dead bodies.

Coyote argued this point before the council, but no-one listened. They didn't want their relatives to stay dead, and that was that.

It came time to do the bringing back ceremony. A special lodge was made. The first dead person's body was brought on, and they prayed over it. The door of the lodge was opened so that the spirit of the person could come back and enter the body and be alive again. When no-one was looking, Coyote closed the door. The spirit, which was in the form of a dust devil, whirled right past, and away. They finished the ceremony, and the person was still dead. They found out why.

"Coyote you wicked creature," the people cried. "You have ruined this ceremony, and now the spirit has gone away. Now death will be forever. We all voted to do it our way and you went against the decision."

They chased Coyote away. They would never let him have anything to eat. Coyote was always hungry after that.

And when someone sees a dust devil go by, sometimes they think "there goes someone's spirit".

Coyote On: Why Coyotes Live Alone

Why Coyotes Live Alone

Coyote tells this story. Maybe it is true

Hey. I have a story for you:

It's about why Coyotes are lonely. I thought it might be something you'd care to hear.

Everyone knows you don't ever see a bunch of coyotes in one spot. Almost never. They get together, mate, and when the cubs get a little older, they all split up. They come back and visit each other sure, but mostly they live apart. You hear naturalist types always saying "Coyotes are solitary... they aren't like wolves. They just aren't gregarious."

They howl to each other though. To say where they are, and talk about some things coyotes talk about. For such "solitary, non-gregarious" critters... they sure do like to keep in touch. If you hear poets and storytellers talk about coyotes though, you'll hear them say that the coyote's howl sounds lonely, or lonesome.

A lot of human people don't know this, but coyotes used to live together in big families, just like wolves, their cousins. They liked it too. But it's really easy for people to find big groups when they want to shoot them. It's harder to find you and keep track of you when you split up. It's a lot harder to find one coyote than ten. When people started shooting coyotes, they realized they'd have to not live the way they always had. They had to change it. Now they can't be with each other, because humans will kill them if they can catch them.

Not all humans of course. Just a certain kind without connectedness. The kind there are a lot of.

And so coyotes wait. They howl to each other from far off. But they aren't completely unhappy, because they know that loneliness won't last forever. If they can wait long enough, things will change, and they can go back to their families. Coyotes know this inside down deep. But while they wait, still they are sad and lonely. You can hear that when they howl, if you know how to listen.

If you ask people in the east of Turtle Island now, they'll tell you that coyotes don't live too solitary. Sure enough, you'll find that they've started being able to live together again.

Coyote tells this story.

Foolish Coyote, Wise Wolf

Foolish Coyote, Wise Wolf

A retelling of a Paiute myth, by dogteam
(Told by dogteam, on Therianthropy.org)

A long time ago, when the World was very young, Wolf and Coyote were brothers. Wolf was wise and strong; his younger brother Coyote was fast and determined, but foolish at times as well. Together, none could stand against them; they were feared as warriors, and respected as hunters. The world had been made for them, they knew...and few would have disagreed.

Wolf, the frugal one, had collected all the game in the country into a cave, and brought out only one at a time - only what could be eaten each day. Ever the impatient one, Coyote pestered his brother until Wolf told him the secret of the cave, and he found it. Then he tried to lift the skin on the door only a crack, enough for one animal. But at the sight of all those elk, buffalo and deer, Coyote got excited and let the opening gape as wide as his open mouth. As all the animals pounded out in a crush of hooves and dust, Coyote shot but hit nothing. Too late, he rushed about shouting at the remaining deer, trying to herd them back into the cave.

This commotion had not gone unnoticed by the Pumas; game had been scarce for them in the foothills. Now...they conferred, and decided that if they were to kill Coyote and Wolf, the game would all be theirs. Normally they would not try such a thing, but the scent of prey was in the air, and it drove them to distraction. Occupied as he was, they were on Coyote before he even realized their presence. There were too many, and he knew he had no hope of defeating them.

Suddenly, Wolf burst from the underbrush, and quicker than thought, two of the cats lay dead. But as he struggled with a third, and Coyote a fourth, the largest of them all manuvered behind Wolf and sank her teeth deep into his neck; with this as purchase, she raked frantically at his haunches with her massive hind paws. Enraged, Coyote fought his attacker so fiercely that he ran for his life, the other two followed suit shortly afterward. They all ran in different directions, and never cooperated on anything again after that day.

As Wolf lay dying, Coyote wept like a pup and held his brother close. Wolf said, "My Brother; the game has all scattered, and I will hunt with you no more. You must put the sagebrush into piles, and it will fill with rabbits. The hunting will be easier then." And with the last of his magic, Wolf caused that to be.

There are no wolves in the desert now. And Coyote screams to the moon each night, asking the Great Spirit to return his brother to him. He lives to learn the discipline and resources to take revenge; and in the night he can be seen carrying bones...bringing home his brother's remains so that he might be reborn.

How Crow Dog (Crow Coyote) Got his Name

How Crow Dog (Crow Coyote) Got his Name

Told by Henry Crow Dog

This is the story... the version told by Henry Crow Dog, how the first Crow Dog (aka Crow Coyote) got his name. It differs a little from the version told by Leonard Crow Dog.

This is Henry Crow Dog speaking. Here's is how my grandfather, the first Crow Dog, got his name. He was chief about to lead a raiding party into hante paha wakan - now called cedar valley in South Dakota.

Before riding out, he had a vision; he saw a white horse in the clouds that have him the sacred horse power. As a result, his pony became shunkaka-luzahan, the swiftest horse in the band.

But that wasn't all of the vision. The chief heard the voice of Shunkmanitu, the Coyote saying: "I am the one!" Then his horse suddenly pricked up his ears, and the wind whistled through the two eagle feathers the chief was wearing. The feathers spoke, telling him: "There's a man standing on that hill over there, between the trees." The chief and his companions clearly saw the man, who raised his hands and then was gone. The chief dispatched two scouts, one to the north and one to the south, but they returned saying that they had seen no one.

"This man on the hill must have been a wanagi, a ghost," the chief said. "He tried to warn us, but what did he warn us of? I don't know, I'm a warrior about to lead a raid, and I can't bother overmuch about ghosts." So they rode out and came to a river. The chief decided to camp there so that if enemies came, the riverbank would prevent them from surrounding his party.

During the night the chief heard the coyote howl four times. Shunkmanitou was telling him: "Something bad is going to happen to you!" The chief understood and gathered the men of his party together. There were some Tokala, some Kit Fox warriors there. They sang a strongheart song:

I am the fox.
I am supposed to die.
I already threw my life away.
Something daring,
something dangerous,
I wish to do.

They painted their faces black. They made themselves sacred. They prepared to fight and to die. They said that it would be a good day for a man to give his life.

At dawn the enemy attacked. There were some wasichu, some white settlers, led by a blue-coated soldier, and many crow scouts and absaroka warriors helping them. Indians helping whites to fight indians! This was indeed a bad thing.

In the chief's party, however, were many famous warriors. There was Two Strikes - Numpa Kachpa - who got his name when he shot with one bullet two white soldiers riding on the same horse. Kill-in-water was there, and Hollow Horn Bear's son, and Kills-in-Sight. Two crow scouts wounded Kills-in-Sight and shot his horse from under him. The chief went to him at a dead run, killed the traitors, counted first coup on them and put Kills-in-Sight on his own fast horse. Kills-in-Sight whipped the horse, which took off with him hanging onto it. The horse was so fast that no enemy could come near, and it carried Kills-in-Sight safely home.

On foot now, the chief was looking around, hoping to catch himself one of the riderless crow horses, when he took two enemy arrows, one high on his chest right under the collar bone, the other in his side. The second arrow went deep, right into his bladder. He broke off the arrows with his hand, and Hollow Horn Bear's son and two others of the band came to help, though they too had been wounded. Their horses all had at least one arrow in them.

The chief told them: "No use bothering with me. I'm hurt bad. I can't live. So save yourselves!" Still, they caught a fallen man's horse and put the chief on it saying: "Be strong; hold on!" Then the absaroka and some wasichu swooped down upon them and they had a hard time forcing their way through. Fighting for their lives against many, they lost sight of the chief. They thought he must have been killed and rode home talking of the bad things that had happened.

The chief had been riding, but he soon became so weak from the loss of blood that he fell off the pony. Lying in the snow in great pain, he hardly had the strength to sing his death song. He was alone, with neither friend nor enemy in sight.

Suddenly two coyotes came, growling but gently. They said: "We know you!" And kept him warm during the night by lying on either side of him. They licked the blood off his face. They brought him deer meat to make him strong and a sacred wound medicine which they told him to apply where the arrows had hit him. The medicine made his flesh tender and caused it to open up so that he could pull out the arrowheads and what was left of the shafts. The medicine brought by the coyotes cured the chief, and the meat they gave him made him strong. When he was able to walk, a crow came flying and guided him home. All the people marvel on seeing him and hearing his story.

Sometimes after the chief recovered, he went out alone to hunt and was ambushed by a war party of pahanis. These enemies had guns, and the chief took two bullets, one in the arm and one in the ribs. The second touched his lungs so that in later life he was always somewhat weak in the chest.

He managed to get far away on his fast horse to be safe from the pahanis, but then he could ride no further. He got down from his horse and stretched himself on the ground. "This time I die for sure," he said to himself.

But again the two coyotes came, bringing meat and bullet medicine, nursing and warming him for four days until his strength returned and his wounds were a little better. And again the crow came flying, watching over the man, warning him when enemies were close, guiding him to the place where his horse had strayed. So once more the chief came back alive from the dead.

Then he made himself a shield from the neck skin of a buffalo and using sacred procedures, painted two arrowheads and two circles representing bullets on it. This was his wotawe, his crest and protection, because after he had survived these four wounds, and after he had made the shield, nothing further could ever hurt him.

And then also he took his last name - Kangi Shunkmanitu, Crow Coyote - which the white census takers misuderstood and made into Crow Dog. You can stand on a name like this.

Told by Henry Crow Dog on Rosebud Indian Reservation, South Dakota, in 1969, and recorded by Richard Erdoes

Ute Creation Myth

Ute Creation Myth
(Told by Soul Guardian on Therianthropy.org)
------------------------

Once, there were no people in the world. So, Sinawaf (the Creator) began a project. He began to collect and cut sticks into little pieces and put them in a large bag. He did this for a long time until the bag was full.

His brother, Coyote, was watching him the whole time. Sinawaf, knowing his brother, told him that this was a special project and not to look in the bag.

One day, when Sinawaf was away, Coyote could no longer hold back his curiosity. He crept over to where Sinawaf had left the bag and peeked in. Many people burst out of the bag. They were wild and would not listen to Coyote, who was pleading for the people to return to the bag. The people only kept pouring out and running wild. They spoke different languages and scattered all over the world.

When Sinawaf returned, he found his brother and the empty bag. He was so angry with him for not listening to him. He said, "The people were not ready to come into the world. They were to be placed evenly across the land. The trouble you have caused will create wars and the people will try to gain land from each other."

As punishment for Coyote's mischievous ways, the Creator sent him to live in the world. He made him what he is today, a coyote. That is why Coyote cries to the sky. He wants to go home.

Sinawaf picked up his empty bag and discovered that deep within the bag a few people remained. To these people, Sinawaf said, "This small tribe shall be known as the Noochew (Ute). They will be very brave because the people in the world are not complete and you will be able to overcome them. I will place you high in the mountains so that you will be close to me." That is how the Utes came to live high in the mountains of Utah and Colorado.

Evolution - Where are we going, and why are we in this handbasket?

Evolution

Where are we going, and why are we in this handbasket?

How many creatures truly have the capacity to anticipate the future and plan for it? Supposedly humans do... if so, they are not using the ability on a wide scale.

Often, I hear people say "there is no answer" when what they really mean is "I don't like the answer". Sometimes, the right answer is very hard... sometimes it seems impossible... but when you want to achieve a certain goal, then you either do what you must to reach it... or choose not to reach it. I think also that many times, people say they _can't_ do something, when they actually could... but it would be hard. It is far easier on the conscience when you are unable to do something you ought to, as opposed to merely being unwilling to do it.

I'm a coyote person. What do they do? They survive. They work with what they have... they take what they can get... they stay coyotes, but change to meet the needs of their environment. Since coyotes die a lot, they make sure to make more coyotes. Since critters with large close families all in the same place tend to get killed off in huge batches, coyotes live separate (in the west, anyway). Coyotes are practical and adaptable. There are enough of them that they can try out new ways of getting by all the time. There need to be lots, because some of the things they try end disastrously. What do coyotes do to survive? They learn. They adapt. They evolve. Coyotes do not wish to die out... ergo, that means adapting to changing circumstances. Coyotes are one of the oldest... some think THE oldest actual canid still existing today. They've managed to adapt their behavior to survive in every kind of climate and situation for over a million years. And through all that... they've managed to remain relatively unchanged in form.

I think that the red wolf in me... very closely related to coyote... might just be the part that watches out for things other than the individual. I feel that the red wolf I feel a closeness to is a symbol of a sacred trust... a relatively recent obligation on my part. If the individual lives at the expense of it's race or it's environment, it's not very evolutionarily viable in the long run, is it? Individuals will always make the greatest leaps... but co-operative groups will always have the greatest effect. To be truly viable, one cannot only worry about one's own immediate needs. One must worry about one's kin, one's kind, one's world. One must care enough to do this. Things that do not care about what comes after them die out, if they have the power to affect their world but don't care how they affect it. Sex drive is okay for small dumb critters with no thumbs. It'll usualy suffice to get em by... but the world is changing... love for one's children, love beyond beyond one's self... THAT was a helluva invention. Love for one's family, one's mate... one's siblings children... even better. If you learn to love the grass you walk on, the food you eat... now that is something... because it ensures you will HAVE grass to walk on, air to breathe, food to eat, beauty to enjoy. And that your children will, too.

Not that coyotes don't look out for things beyond themselves... they do... ask any coyote that is living all alone so that it's mate and children are less likely to get killed. Some of y'all may be shocked to hear this... but many coyotes mate for life. Even ones that see each other only rarely!

I don't think humans retain, in great enough quantity, the instinct to care for things outside themselves. First they learned it was easy not to respect the stones and earth... then the plants... then the animals... then humans not like themselves... then humans like themselves... then anyone but themselves... now many do not care for their children even, or their parents. I think many of them have learned not to even care for themselves.

They certainly don't care about whales or wolves or rain forests or oceans, or blue skies or the future. Not enough to do anything. Eventually, that lack of care means that they won't have been supporting things that keep humankind alive. And so they will die. Maybe everything else will too. Unless something occurs to change that course... that's what's gonna happen. I firmly believe this. If some humans... or someone else... does not change that course... that's what will happen. I've met a lot of people that say "Nature and Mother Earth are too powerful for mere humans to affect, so nothing we do will matter". I've also heard "Well... even if everything dies here, life will begin anew, even if it's only bacteria". I'm sorry... but I think those are copouts. Reasons not to do anything. And frankly... I don't like bacteria enough to think they are a good trade for everything else. Great... a ball of polluted rock covered with bacteria and dead things. That's a great thing to waste eternity on. Pardon me if I mislike that idea, okay?

We must move to change our inertia. Inertia ignores wishful thinking completely. Inertia is that little rule that unless something happens to change the state of something, that state will remain the same. If something is moving in a certain path, it will continue to do so unless something changes it's path.

Now... all I/we have to do is figure out how to fight inertia. Ideas welcome. My werecard has had this stuff in it for years, and I've heard no suggestions.

I'm going to go a little into the Mythic here. I'll do all sorts of anthropomorphizing of abstract forces. Bear with me.

An important question... which is more powerful and natural a force? Adaptive life or entropy? What will make the difference? Life can choose to be alive... that is not to say it WILL choose to fight entropy.. but it CAN. Entropy cannot choose, but it can wait for life to quit trying. Life, in order to continue, must create a self-sustaining cycle... a system that functions like a perpetual motion machine. It must be able to change as the circumstances around it change. But whatever change it makes, it must choose something that is self-sustaining. Life that only takes will eventually run out of things to take.

What tools did life truly need to evolve in order to fight entropy? Will. It needed will. And desire. The will to do so and the desire to do so. And sentience... the ability to figure out how to do something. I think that Life (itself) must want to exist... because Will, Desire and Sentience certainly exist. And I think also that life needs Love... love being that force which makes one life care what happens to something other than itself. Because otherwise... all that kind of life would do is make itself happy and not put it's will, desire and sentience to use in making life as a whole continue.

Can humans choose to evolve? Maybe. If not... can something else take their place? Maybe humans were only a by-product or an intermediary step, along with certain other critters. Some life must have evolved to do certain other duties than be sentient, willful or loving or desirous. Look at plants. So which life forms (and I suspect it would have to be more than one kind of life, more than one kind of species) must evolve for the specific purpose of allowing life as a whole to continue?

Something that not only possess the capacity for, but actively utilizes Sentience, Desire, Will and Love. Something that decides what to do in order for all life to continue, and ACTS on that decision.

Co-operation, while a neat trick, a necessary one for efficiency's sake, is not the whole thing. Co-operative effort without all the above gives you anthills, termite mounds, wasp nests... and big dirty cities full of rapidly reproducing people that cannot be controlled by disease, predation, or anything else except the eventual lack of resources. Bad juju. Humans, or whatever succeeds them must (I believe) use those four things I outline above... and probably co-operation too. I doubt it'll work so well without the tool of co-operation. It'd be like trying it without thumbs.

Flawed Wreck or Child of the Gods?

Flawed Wreck or Child of the Gods?

I choose B, please

I disagree with the assumption that we're all flawed and inherently unworthy. I am a pantheist, which means I believe that the divine exists in everything... including us.

I think that any way of life, religious or otherwise that is based on weakness, frailty and giving one's self up to never being able to improve is unhealthy.

I don't know about omniscient... or omnipotent... but I believe divinity is omnipresent.

I think that if there is an infinite creative force, that means that we are all reflections of it. We are each not the whole... but we're part of it... we're fashioned from that force. If the Creative Force is infinite... or started as the most infinite thing... then there was nothing to fashion us from except the substance of the divine. What could we possibly be, if not pieces of that creative force?

Therefore, I think it's silly to believe that we are inherently flawed, sick, evil or unclean. I think that if it was possible to insult that creative force, that such a supposition would be insulting.

Humanity isn't perfect... each of us is imperfect... but we can strive for betterment. We are not inherently unclean and bad. We have the potential to make wonders of ourselves... or terrors.. or nothing at all.

I heard a person the other night talking on and on about how his faith taught him that we were all sinners and doomed to hell unless god saved us. He went on to say that we could never approach god or have any sort of relationship with him because of our imperfections. That because we are inherently unclean and evil, and god is perfect, we could not even approach god. God had to "sully" himself by sending his son to pay for our inherent evil.

He went on to discuss how we could never be anything on our own... never be clean, never be good enough. That nothing we ourselves could do would make us worthy creatures. That we had to give ourselves up to an outside force to be "saved". He kept saying that Christianity, his view of it anyway, teaches that we are all sinners, unless we are saved... that no matter what we do, we will never be saved unless his god saves us. That we are no good, and cannot be on our own. That we are born in evil, and sin and that we cannot be save ourselves. He said that we must realize our own unworthiness, and beg for forgiveness.

Well... I think that's garbage.

I am a good person. I am beautiful inside. I'm am terrible, and joyful and loving and full of fury. I am not broken. I am not sick. I am not unholy and impure and evil. I create myself every day. I heal myself every day.

I don't need to be found. I'm not lost.
I don't need to be saved, I'm not defiled.

I have this wonderful creative soul... we all do... I have the capacity to choose my own way... the tools I need to create of my own self a better person. So what do I have these tools for? Not so I can demean myself... not so I can call myself foul. Not so I can tell myself that I am weak and always will be weak. Not so I can tell myself I am inherently soiled. Not so I can give up that freedom of will and life to another.

I cherish my soul, my will, my life as I cherish the whole wonder of creation, as I cherish all the other acts of creation.

Some people believe suicide is a sin, because we were given a gift of life and killing ourselves is an act of insult to the giver of life.

Well... I believe that belittling myself.. believing I am unholy, unworthy, weak and forever flawed is an insult to my soul... which is more important than my body. I believe it is insulting to the force that abides in all things. Or it would be an insult if that force could be insulted. If I was created by the divine... if my life is indeed a gift of the divine... then what is my justification for telling the Divine "I am worthless?".

Some people, on their journeys, become weak, or injured. Or they become sick or even evil. We all make ourselves differently... and other forces DO act on us. Sometimes we are afraid, or foolish, or hurtful. Sometimes we are tired. Sometimes we are weak.

But that does not mean that we are made of something flawed.

I hear people being told, all the time... "Accept that you are flawed... accept that you are helpless", when they aren't really.

"You are depressed... you can't ever get better from that so take this pill for the rest of your life."
"You are an alcoholic... you need to admit that you cannot ever fix that, so someone else will have to do it for you."
"You just need to realize you cannot change things in this world... don't waste your energy trying."

I hear people being taught, over and over, every day all the reasons why they cannot, why they should not try, why they are helpless, why they do not matter. And I think people in general LIKE to hear this... because once they have accepted defeat and powerlessness... there is no longer any reason to try. Once they have accepted that they should let someone else think for them (whether it's their god, or the media, or the government or their friends or the doctor)... then they are relieved of the burden of thought. Once they accept that something is futile, it becomes acceptable to surrender.

I have seen people that are missing legs but run marathons on artificial legs.
I once saw a painting created by a lady with no hands.
Good thing they didn't accept defeat. Good thing they didn't accept that they were "inherently flawed."
When they DID call on the divine, it wasn't to say "I'm not worthy"... it was to say "Help be be stronger, and better."

"Stand with me," I pray. Not "Step on me."

Yes... you have to choose your battles... you have to decide which obstacles you are going to face... but you should look at each one... every one... and say to yourself... "That is something I can overcome."

I don't believe in "You cannot, you aren't good enough... accept that you are weak and that you can never be anything but a sinner and only something from outside you can fix you".

I won't follow any philosophy that tells you to accept flaws and weaknesses and not act to change them.

It's easier when you can say "I can't", instead of "I won't," or "I don't want to try". And I feel that tendency is widely exploited in our society. People tell us we can't. They do it so we'll behave as they'd like us to... and we believe it because it's easy.

I can be anything I want to be. I can make anything of myself.

I don't need to be fixed because I am not broken. And if I do break, I can fix myself. I know... I've done it before.

And if I want help with that, I am in a universe filled with that creative force, in the form of beauty, trees, rivers, people, animals.

I don't think I have to beg creation for what it gives freely.

I don't have to beg the divine for forgiveness or mercy or healing.. because the divine has given me the beautiful river to look upon. The blue sky to walk under, my beautiful family to love and talk to.

I don't need to beg for what I already have. I don't need to buy it, or trade for it or give up my soul, my will or my responsibility.

I believe that we all of us have that spark of creative force in us.. that same Spirit. I believe that it is always within our power to feed it, fan it, make it greater.

I believe that is how we are made.

Proving your Faith

Aug 4, 2004 (later edited on September 3, 2005)

One of the things that gets to me, that I think is something of a double standard is this:

And this is not just Christians who do this... I see pagans do it too... all the time!

A person will present to me a belief that they use as a foundation for their system of beliefs.

I will say that I don't personally share that belief.

They will then attempt to prove the belief is true, by appealing to a book or authority. For Christians, this is generally the bible, and with pagans or metaphysical types, it'll be either a pagan authority figure (Gardner, Buckland, or often someone not so legitimate) or perhaps some pseudo-sciencey thing that babbles about quantum physics (which they'll use to "prove" something like the existence of ghosts or magick).

Now... my response to the bible argument is usually something on the order of "I can't use a book as proof just because the book says to believe the book." Anyone who can't understand why that is a circular argument is probably not able to be reasoned with.

With the pagan types who try to prove that, for instance, Wicca is a thousands-of-years-old religion that survived in an unbroken line underground and has re-established itself, I'll explain that it appears this isn't true and that it seems clear that a few recent historical figures just made that up to make it seem to have more authority.

When it's a tin-foil-hat theory from a metaphysical person, I'll attempt to point out the flaws or inconsistencies in the pseudoscience, or point out places where the stuff they use as "evidence" is really stuff that could be interpreted very differently and doesn't justify a particular belief. I've seen a lot of people who don't really understand science or technology, who, through their misunderstanding of the subject, will draw a lot of faulty conclusions.

And then - and here's the good part - in response to any logical arguments, the person generally falls back on an argument like "Some things aren't a matter of proof, but of faith", or "Sometimes you have to go with your heart, and not your head."

Which is a fine argument, and one I can respect.

But when I say "Well, my heart tells me the thing you are talking about isn't true for me", they return to the "authority" or "proof".

If it's a matter of faith, that's fine. I'm cool with that. But I believe that the other person should respect my decision on where I put my faith.

If it's something that's a matter of proof... don't mix it with faith. Use the proof. If the proof isn't good enough, then it's not good enough.

Often, what I actually see is people attempting to prove their beliefs are true to other people... and they become fearful and insecure if they cannot do so. While a great deal of lip-service is made to faith, it seems apparent that what they really want is proof, and the only "faith" I see comes from ignoring holes in their proof. To me, that's not faith, that's merely self-delusion.

To me, the core message of Christianity is not "The bible is true, now worship Jehovah or else". It's "Here's how Christ acted, and how he said others ought to act." It wasn't about it being the law so much as about right action and how to treat others and govern yourself.

In other words, within that message, regardless of the amount of literal truth or representation of the events, regardless of what can be proved, the message is "You should be good to others and carry a message of love in your heart, and trust that the Creator is good and loving." This, taken on faith, regardless of proof, is a perfectly valid message. You don't need to prove to another person that God came down and wrote such and so passage, or that Jesus actually said this or that, or that nobody lied or re-wrote, or mistranslated anything.

And you don't need to blind yourself to the fact that there are other parts of the Bible that say certain things are right, that most people nowadays feel to be wrong. It's not generally considered "okay" to own slaves, much less beat them. It's not usually considered okay to kill your children if they do wrong. Nice gods don't feed kids to bears just because they made fun of a bald guy. Most people nowadays don't believe that men are inherently smarter and more important than women.

For Wicca to be a valid religion likewise does not require proof that it existed in unbroken form for thousands of years. To begin with... it didn't. The beliefs and fundamentals and faith of it do not require that Gerald Gardner not have made up a religion. The tenets that good becomes more good, and bad becomes more bad, of personal responsibility for one's actions, and of recognizing the connection to the earth and to other spirits does not require that "Gospel of the Witches" not have been made up in the last century. Even if Gardner and others did make it all up or fib about what they borrowed or recreated, that doesn't mean the faith itself is invalid.

The metaphysical person who wants to believe in life after death or "energy work" does not need to prove that quantum particles and energy generators use blah blah scientific theory. Generally, that's hokum. What they're attempting to do, pretty much, is use pseudoscience to justify the faith in something that they already have.

And when you need to justify something, that usually tells me that some part of you doesn't really believe in it. When you are afraid to think about something, or apply reason to it, that tells me that some part of you really doesn't have faith in it.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you need proof for your faith, let it be good proof. If you don't need proof for your faith, don't try to predicate your faith on proof.

I think what happens when people proselytize or try to infect others with their personal memes is that they know the other person doesn't share their faith, so they try to convert them with proof. The problem is, when the proof is bad, then people are following something based on a bad decision, a decision involving neither faith nor logic, neither intuition nor intellect. It becomes an empty belief system for the other people.

And when that happens, even if the message were good, people aren't truly absorbing it. They're only absorbing the justifications or the fabrications. And that puts them at a remove from true understanding or true faith.

You can use anything you want as an excuse to believe something. You can use faith, or science. You can use bad science if you want. You can just pull it outta your butt if you want.

But when attempting to get others to believe something, I think it becomes of dire importance to not only make sure that what you are trying to feed them is good - in other words, has value beyond the value to yourself, but also that if you are founding your beliefs on faith, especially, that you must respect their desire to find their faith in another way or not at all.

When you trust in faith, and when you believe that faith is the most important reason to believe something, how can you put less trust in the faith of others? If it is that meaningful to you, how can you deny another their own faith?

- If you have to trick someone into believing
- if you have to use excuses, or misdirection, or rhetorical arguments or other tricks
- if you have to fool someone into believing something
- if you have to try and rewrite science or history
- if you truly feel you need to hide from truth in any way, or hide the truth from another in any way, in order for them to adopt your belief system
- If your own beliefs can only survive if you put blinders on

..then I would suggest that your own beliefs may be suspect. And that what you are trying to pass on may not be good.

If you have to blind yourself in order to keep your "faith", then it's not really faith. Faith comes after you know all you can. Faith comes from an educated decision, it is a deliberate decision.

I read a quote from someone in the Letters column of the September 5, 2005* issue of TIME magazine, by a lady named Beverly Friedenberg, that I think sums it up best:

"No person of faith should be threatened by science, nor should science be subverted to serve one particular religious belief"

When I was shown the difference between faith and certainty, I feared that this would make me feel faith even less. After all, if I knew what was true, beyond a shadow of a doubt, where was there room for faith?

I can ask people to take this on faith: faith is not about certainty. It's about trust. It's not about knowing or proving the answer, it's about choosing what you believe that answer must be.

To me, faith is not the same as belief. Faith is when you say "I choose to trust that this must be true."

You have a belief. You choose to have faith.

Faith is when you decide "This is how the universe is. This is the I know things must be. This is what I choose to hold true to and believe in."

You can use science, or you can use intuition, or you can pull the reason for your faith outta your butt. Even a scientist must have faith that their tools or methods are valid, or that what their universe seems to be is what it truly is.

When I have faith in my fellow man, it is not because I have evidence. It is because I have taken all that I have seen in people, and all that I feel about people, and have chosen to believe that there is something worthwhile in the human race. I don't know if there is. I don't know if we will make it. I choose to have faith that we'll make it. I choose to have faith that the best parts of us will win out over the worst.

I don't know if there is a Creator. I choose to have faith that there is. I choose to believe that my experiences and memories and feelings in that regard are true. And I choose to believe - in other words, I have faith that - Creator made the universe as an act of love. As an act of wishing to be. Not to toy with us, and not so that there would be something to offer worship, but for the sake of there being a Universe. I have faith that we are all part of that great creation, and that however things turn out, that it all matters.

That is what I choose to believe. That is what I hold to. That is what I put my faith in.

In light of that, it does not matter that I have doubts. It does not matter that I lack evidence I could show to another, or even to myself.

I choose that it is so. I have faith that it is so.

Rant: Reservations - Whaddya mean my table isn't ready?

Reservations

Whaddya mean my table isn't ready?

Cannot guarantee availability? Then what's the reservation for?!!!

I've noticed an interesting trend... it seems many places that allow you to make reservations do not see fit to actually guarantee that they will reserve the item or service for you.

I don't know how many times I've heard of a person that makes a reservation to rent a car (or a hotel room or a table at a restaurant), gives their credit card information or other form of deposit, and then arrives to discover that there is nothing waiting for them. Often, this is because the record of the reservation transaction was lost or ignored. But many times, it is the result of an insidious policy... where the company "cannot guarantee availability".

Well then... why make a reservation? Y'see... that's what a reservation is. It means that the business will _reserve_ the item, product or service for you, because you have promised in advance (sometimes with your money or credit backing up your promise) to come in at a certain time and give them your business. You are doing a company a favor by making a reservation, just as much as they are doing you a courtesy by arranging it.

Here's how you help a company by making a reservation:

A: You are guaranteeing them business in advance... they don't have to worry so much about how many tables they'll have filled, or cars rented, or items sold... because you've already promised them in advance. They know they have a customer already. You have told them, beforehand that you'll be coming to them and not a competitor.

B: When you give them money in advance... you are guaranteeing that they'll have your business... and may even have your money earning interest in the meantime.

C: When you only give them a credit card number or the like, they can know in advance if they have a customer willing and able to pay.

D: You are enabling them to adjust their schedule, so they they will know what products or services will be required at a certain time. They'll know what supplies to order, how many people have to be available for a service, etc.

E: You enable them to get paperwork (if any) done in their own time-managed schedule, rather than the last minute. Places can often batch together many similar transactions, rather then doing them one at a time (for instance credit reports, faxes, photocopying).

In return for all this, the business is supplying you with the convenience of knowing that when you arrive to collect your good or service, that it will be ready and waiting, hassle-free. Seems like a small price for a business to pay, in my opinion.

Rant: The Flag-Burning Amendment

The Flag-Burning Amendment

Great... an amendment to limit the freedoms the American flag is supposed to stand for. What won't they think of next?

The flag is not important as a physical object so much as a symbol, of the spirit of freedom, and the price paid for it. It is a symbol of the sacrifices made for freedom, and the highest spiritual ideals associated with it. That's what flags are for. They are symbols of what we stand for.

You cannot destroy, defame, or harm what the flag represents by destroying the physical embodiment of the flag. You cannot hurt the flag by burning it. You can only hurt the flag, and the things it represents, by restricting the rights that it stands for, including the right to freedom of expression.

To invest the physical representation of the flag with laws protecting it from harm is like saying that a few pieces of colored cloth are more important than the freedoms that people died to pass on to their children and countrymen. It is saying that indeed, those freedoms count for little.

Such a law would be a travesty. You can burn only cloth with that fire. With those laws, you can destroy what the cloth is a symbol of.

When I see a flag being burned, to me, it is a cry for help, a cry for justice, a sign that we must examine whether the sacred freedoms were already trampled. To punish the people who burn a flag because they feel America has not lived up to it's job of protecting their rights and freedoms is merely proof that they are correct. When a flag is burned, it is a sign that we must pay attention, not punish.

Okay... It's sometimes a sign that someone's just being a jerk or making a bid for attention. If being a jerk or making bids for attention were illegal though, all our politicians would be locked up.

My maternal grandfather fought in World War 2. He was injured more than once and risked his life to protect our country. He has since passed on... and while I know that he would NEVER burn a flag, he told me many times that he was against the laws that would make it illegal to do so. He said he thought that people were idiots to burn the flag, but that they had the right to do it.

My father's father served in both WW1 and WW2. He and my father taught me how to fold a flag and properly care for it. I'm not against the flag. I'm strongly in favor of the freedoms it is supposed to represent. I am strongly against the heinous error of protecting the symbol, while violating what it stands for. That flag has been waved far too many times over unjust causes. That's not what it's for.

I am willing to choose who I vote for based on this issue alone. Free speech _seems_ like a small thing... until you realize that when it is impinged upon, it becomes harder and harder to defend every other freedom. I've heard the argument that this should be a special case where free speech should not be allowed. Uh-huh... what's the next special case gonna be?

If the constitution can be altered and amended so easily, over such non-issues as flag-burning (how many flags are burned every year? How many people are harmed by the burning of a flag? How many flags are burned that are not the property of the people burning them?), then I feel that future civil liberties are in ever-increasing jeopardy.

The flag-burning amendment is , IMHO, more of a "flag-waving" motion (Ow... pun)... designed to create noise, without improving life in our country. It is a waste of time, as well as an abrogation of the free speech rights that so many people died to protect.

If the constitution is amended, it should be in such a way that freedoms are protected, quality of life is improved, and justice for PEOPLE - not articles of cloth - is preserved. I would support an amendment that makes women equally-protected and empowered citizens. I would support an amendment guaranteeing freedoms to all of us. I will never support an amendment that inhibits the very right to free speech that was such a primary motivation for founding this country that it is part of our FIRST amendment rights... along with freedom of religion.

If I ever burn a flag... it'll be to put it out of it's misery, because people have forgotten what it stands for.

The Value of Forgiveness

Note: I've evolved my beliefs on the necessity of forgiveness since I wrote this. I now have an understanding of why forgiveness, properly given, is important for people, families and societies. It does server a purpose when used properly with both rational thought and compassion. I still think people forgive, or expect forgiveness too readily, and often lose sight of what it means.

The Value of Forgiveness

an essay about the value of forgiveness... and about not giving it too lightly!

Something I've noticed... and it seems like a good thing on it's face... is that the culture most of us grew up in tells us we must feel obliged to offer forgiveness in order to be "good people". Is this actually a pagan tenet?

I think that we are encouraged to forgive too freely. It's not that I think we should never forgive... but that we should be a lot more circumspect and responsible about it.

If we allow someone to abuse us, and then say "It's okay... I forgive you"... I believe that's like saying "It's okay to abuse me." And by extension "It's okay to abuse others".

When we forgive someone for doing wrong... when they are not required to change or do anything meaningful... we are, I believe... advocating their behavior. We're saying it's okay. We're saying "It's all right to do that to me and to others". Forgiveness without adequate restitution is like a "Get out of Responsibility Free" card.

There really seems to be this feeling of _obligation_ to offer forgiveness. I don't think forgiveness should be an obligation on the part of the wronged party. I think it should be considered a noteworthy gift, when offered.

I think that any obligation should be felt by the wrongdoer... an obligation to EARN forgiveness.

Something else I've seen... is a tendency to forgive people for things that they have done to others. How can you do that? How can Jesus... just as an example... forgive someone for putting _my_ eye out (if that happened)? I once had someone ask me "I slept around on my spouse, who is your good friend... can you forgive me?" Of course I could not... I was not the wronged party... I had no right to forgive that person even if I wanted to.

Part of that feeling of obligation to forgive seems to compel some people to forgive people for personal flaws. "Oh... I'll forgive them because they just don't know any better" or "I'll forgive them because that's just the kind of people they are and they cannot help it". I'll cut someone a little slack for being ignorant... but not stupid or hurtful. I don't think there's any such thing as "I didn't know I should not hurt people".

I don't believe that people are inherently flawed. I extrapolate that to mean that I don't believe anyone has an inherent excuse for being a jerk. We're responsible for ourselves and our actions. I don't even believe too much of that "it's how they were raised" stuff. I know lots of people who were raised to hate Jewish people, or blacks, or gays... or "heathens"... who don't do it. Just because someone tells you "it's okay" doesn't mean it is.

I believe in forgiving someone when they have earned forgiveness. Then, maybe that forgiveness means something.

Also... Forgiveness, by itself is fairly useless as I see it.

It might make you feel better, it might make the other person feel better... but it doesn't undo whatever wrong was done. The wrong still happened. Forgiveness is, to me... FAR less important than making things right.

I think that forgiveness has much more value when it is a call to action. When it inspires someone to attempt restitution, or growth. When it is used as an inspiration to right a mistake... or in the case of unrightable wrongs, to become a better person.

Let's say that someone dumps toxic waste into a river. What do you say?

"Oh... you dumped toxic waste in the river.. well... I forgive you."

That won't clean the river.

I prefer the approach of "Clean that up, and show me you've learned your lesson and THEN I might forgive you."

I don't feel obliged to forgive. When I forgive someone... I want everyone to know that they must have earned it.

On the other side of it... if I do something is wrong... I will apologize, make restitution where possible... but I won't even expect forgiveness then. If the person wants to offer it... then I'm happy... but I don't generally ask for it. I think that I shouldn't have done whatever I did wrong in the first place... that was my obligation in the "social contract".

Yes, we all make mistakes... we all do stupid things at one time or another... but I think we go overboard in expecting that it's okay. My assumption is that it's NOT okay to do wrong... and that if I do wrong... I'm lucky to be given forgiveness.

All this forgiveness floating around freely seems, in my mind... to encourage people to do the same things over and over... even when they know they are wrong. How many beaten wives forgive their husbands over and over, and get beaten over and over?

Sometimes... whatever the person did wrong isn't a big deal... they should not have to do a whole bunch in order to make up for it.

"Oh... I got pizza on your pentacle, I'm sorry"

And if something's just an accident, and didn't hurt anyone... well... don't be all militant about your forgiveness either!

Forgiveness should be like a blessing, a favor, a special thing that is given in love or earned through effort. It should not be, in my opinion, something we feel obliged to give freely.

Forgiveness is there for a reason. It has a purpose. I just don't think that purpose is fulfilled by handing it out frivolously. Forgiveness should be something special.

When we forgive someone... it allows them to move on. It can allow us to move on. It can tell them... I feel that it is worthwhile to forgive you. It can allow two people or two groups to put past differences aside so that they may build a better future. We can forgive someone because the price of NOT forgiving is too high. We can forgive in order to prevent bloodshed or hate or to make new understanding possible. We can offer our forgiveness as an incentive to others to be better people.

I don't think we should ever forgive when doing so will allow, advocate or encourage harm, to ourselves or to others. Especially to others. You can choose for yourself to let something happen to you if you want... that's your business... but please don't tell anyone that it's okay for them to hurt me... or anyone else who didn't make that decision.

I don't think we should forgive anyone who we feel will use that forgiveness as an excuse or motivation to do harm.

To me, all this is part of "an it harm none".

Note... this is all my opinion... my way of thinking... that works for me. Your mileage may vary. And it may not be the right way of thinking for all situations. I sound inflexible, but I'm not. And if I was... that doesn't mean you have to be.

The War on Drugs

War on Drugs?

War on our wallets you mean...

Our courts and jails are already taxed and inefficient. The "War on Drugs" has spent ridiculous amounts of money and resources attacking a problem that is dwarfed by other problems. Worse, the "War on Drugs" has been used as an excuse to insidiously chip away at basic civil rights and due process. I feel that while some good may have been done... far more ill has come of it. Worse... anyone that is against the "War on Drugs" is taken to be someone who is "for Drugs". If you feel the war on drugs is too extreme, you are made out to be some kind of evil person who believes children should be allowed to smoke crack.

No-one rational, I'm sure, wants their child (or adult relatives) to destroy their lives with drug abuse. However the tactic of painting anyone who opposes extreme legislation that is injurious to civil rights as "Pro Drug", seems to be widely used.

Needle-Exchange programs

Some people are against needle-exchange programs. As far as needle exchange, the sentiment, hidden under the guise of not "encouraging" drug use, seems to be "Let them kill themselves off with disease". Well... those "druggies" who catch diseases make it more likely that innocent people will end up with a disease. Each person infected is a possible vector for illness that otherwise would not have one. Many of these people have children that would be at risk of not only having a drug-abuser for a parent, but an infectious one.

Many drug abusers DO respond to help and treatment. Illness makes them less likely to get clean. Not only does it reduce quality of life so that drugs are more attractive, but it means, ultimately, that public funds will be spent on caring for drug abusers that ALSO have hepatitis, or other blood-borne diseases. That will be FAR more costly, and less humanitarian than a few needles. Drug users are GOING to use drugs. Period. Clean needles reduce the likelihood of disease transmission. They also provide a means of possible outreach. If they will accept a clean needle, they will sometimes be more receptive to the idea of recieving other forms of help.

Dangerous compared to what?

I do not do drugs. Nothing worse than coffee anyway. I do not like to feel impaired. I am leery of introducing foreign substances into my body. I even use _aspirin_ in moderation. I make an exception for coffee, because I enjoy coffee. I know its health dangers. Same can be said of everyone I've met that smokes pot.

But it seems to me that there are lots of things that are illegal, with DIRE punishments are prescribed for their use... that are relatively harmless. Sorry... I suspect that pot is no more dangerous than cigarettes OR alcohol. It may be less dangerous. And both of those killers are legal.

Marijuana, for instance, has medicinal uses, and does not itself promote violence that _I_ can see. (Trust me... I've seen plenty of people stoned... they are generally about as violent as mildew or other things that don't move). How many people have died from pot, and how many have died because it was illegal? Hmmm?

It's probably got uses for people with stress-related diseases... it can be used to great effect to control negative effects of chemotherapy, and can be used to treat glaucoma.

It's okay to give people chemicals with all sorts of side effects for stress-related disorders, but not pot? Why? Pot can be addicitve? So can the drugs that are prescribed. Pot has side effects? Hah! Those multisyllabic chemical monstrosities do not? I wish someone had given me pot to smoke instead of the antidepressants they gave me as a kid. I might be able to remember 8th grade.

Recreational Use

Does it hurt me if someone smokes a joint to get high? No more than it hurts me if they drink alcohol. Mushrooms? Who cares if someone wants to do mushrooms? I think there's a big difference between use and abuse. I don't do drugs, but MOST of my friends, especially the ones in college, have either experimented with them or do them on a regular basis. Some of them went through a phase where they overdid it... but they stopped when they realized it... and partly they slowed down when their friends, who could give them realistic and understanding advice, told them it was affecting them badly.

I think if someone does something illegal or stupid under the influence of any drug, legal or not... they should be punished. And should not get to use the excuse of "I was high on and didn't know what I was doing."

But... if they use them responsibly, and don't bother me... it's none of my business, now is it?

You want me to pee where?

I have refused work at several companies, because they wanted me to urinate in a cup or submit to some other drug test. I don't even _do_ drugs, but I'm not peeing in a cup to prove it. I think it's totally disrespectful to ask me to do so. I think it's demeaning and dehumanizing.

I've heard the argument "businesses lose lots of money to drug users every year". Well, if you cannot tell whether I abuse drugs by my actions, then I don't think they influence my actions enough for it to be any of your business.

And to sum up....

None of the people I know who have been harmed by drug use (directly or indirectly) were protected by the "Drug War". The illegality didn't stop them from taking drugs or being harmed by others. It's not working anyway folks. Wouldja mind spending my tax money on something useful? I don't mind paying taxes, I really don't. I just mind how they're spent.

I know an author... he writes beautiful stories... he is in jail for life because he had a joint in Ohio. More than once. Big deal. Not only is that a travesty and an injustice... but we all have to foot the bill for it. I feel like every year, I'm paying a little bit of my tax money to keep that guy in some horrible prison, and it makes me feel soiled. I don't want to be an accomplice to that.

My First Ghost Experience

I've had a bunch of weird experiences I'd consider paranormal, but this is the earliest I remember.

When I was very small, around the age of three, my mother, father and I moved into a house in Homestead, Florida. This would have been about 1973 or so that the incident I describe occurred. At the time, it was a pretty rural area, south of Miami- it's more developed now.

Behind the house we lived in was an old, dilapidated abandoned house, just a few yards around the new (habitable) home we lived in.

When we first moved there, I didn't know from ghosts. I may or may not have ever seen "Casper the Friendly Ghost" at that point. If anything, my idea of a ghost was a big, puffy, happy thing that looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy, and appeared in comic books - but I don't think I even knew that much.

In any case, I was curious about the old building behind our house. mostly, it was used to store all kinds of various junk, my dad's tools and workshop stuff, etc.

We had a white german shepherd, named Heidi, who was a constant companion to me - more like an aunt or babysitter. I used to wander off with her all the time, apparently without my parent's knowledge. I didn't know any better, and always felt safe with her.

One day, I decided to wander into the old house to look around and play. I'd been told to stay away from it, because it was in ill repair, but I figured Heidi was a grownup, and that as long as she went with me, it was okay.

The two of us went into the house, and walked through the old living room into a back room that I think might have been a kitchen or something at one point. Mostly, it was cluttered with a bunch of stuff of my dad's, including a tall pole-rack with wire baskets hanging from it, containing a bunch of odds and ends like light bulbs and bits of electrical or plumbing connectors.

Heidi and I were standing in there, looking around, when she began to growl. As I looked to see what she was growling at, there was a loud "pop!" by my feet. One of the light bulbs had fallen out of the basket hanging near me. As I watched, another one rolled up over the edge of the basket, and also popped on the floor by my feet.

As I stepped away from that, kind of scared, because I didn't know why that would happen, a hammer hanging up on the far wall lifted up off the hook holding it and also fell onto the floor.

That scared me, so I ran for the door.

When I did, there was this strange old african lady standing right outside it. She was wearing all white, including a white head scarf. For a second, I thought she looked a little like "Aunt Jemima" (the lady from the waffle syrup bottles... at least the way the labels looked before they became politically correct).

Except that Aunt Jemima wasn't scary.

I froze.

I remember the woman looked perfectly solid, but at the same time there was something not right. Like she looked like she was there, but wasn't there. When I was very small, I used to call images seen in a mirror, or on a television, or through glass as being "not in real." This woman was somehow "not in real."

She said something to me - I don't really remember what precisely, except that it scared me - and about that point, Heidi attacked her.

As soon as Heidi leaped at the old woman, she seemed to disappear - but a whole bunch of noise and rattling began right behind me. I didn't turn to look, I just ran through where the woman had been, and it felt like there was something there, very cold.

I ran back to the house crying, with Heidi loping along with me. I ran to my mother and babbled at her what I'd seen.

My mother told me I was making up stories and had scared myself and to "stop fibbing" or I'd be given something to cry about. My dad later told me not to play in the old house with his things, and that there was no such thing as ghosts, and that I had messed with his stuff and then made up the story.

Honestly, the thought of doing such a thing would never have occurred to me at the time - what I was describing surely sounded like a ghost story to an adult, but I didn't know from that sort of thing. I was very little.

After that, I used to have really freaky nightmares, where this weird lady I'd seen showed up to "get me."

Sometimes, there'd be all these other black people, most of who seemed really nice, and most of whom seemed to be frightened of the lady in white. I remember she smoked a pipe, which I thought was weird, because I thought only men smoked pipes at the time.

During one of these dreams, I remember having fun talking to and meeting the "normal" people, but then the scary lady appeared. When I tried to run away, she kept being in front of me, and told me "You no go home." and grinned evilly.

I'd wake up crying from those dreams, and for years had anxieties that I'd be taken away from my family by this woman. It was a really hard time, because I wasn't allowed to say it was the ghosts (I got accused of fibbing, or was told there was no such thing), but I was still afraid of being kidnapped by them.

While Heidi was still alive, I wasn't bothered too much, because it was apparent that she could make the scary lady disappear. But after she died, I got really neurotic about it. I had these fears of being abducted, but I wasn't allowed to say that I'd seen the lady (i.e. making up stories), so when asked what was bothering me, I couldn't say. I ended up being taken to a child psychologist over it.

Okay... that's the description, as best I can recall.

Now... I don't know really if this is connected - but at some point around then, my parents either got, or took out of storage, these creepy ornamental sculptures of heads, that came from Haiti. I remember that I was always simultaneously fascinated by them and repulsed. They seemed somehow scary, but I couldn't leave them alone, either. Those things always kind of creeped me out, but I also couldn't stop playing with them.

Note: At age three (barely three) I didn't know what the heck Haiti was.

But as an adult, I recognize that the way the "Scary lady" ghost was dressed was reminiscent of the way someone might dress for a Voudon ceremony.

Coyote's Old Moldy Poetry

Sense of Self

There is a hole that
is shaped like me and I am
that which fills that hole.

When I act it is
According to my nature
to act is to learn.

Breaking Point

I shall not break
Until I am overcome
Then I shall break

In Dreaming

Of all dark fate
and twisted dream
that ever I were lost to thee
Speak not of tempting honest fate
When oldest road brings you to me.

To give my sorrow's
gnawing end
I shall give all my dreams to thee
That in them you may to me wend.
When sleeping winds break dreamless seas.

Go as you must
with love and pain,
Still though in shadows you do walk
my shadow also walks with thee
When sleeping winds move we shall talk.

And there my time
with thee shall be,
Consoled in sleepless dreaming space,
I shall in days hot waking breathe,
The memory of your embrace.

Keeping Moving

I've got a paddle
without a boat
so I must swim.

I've got wings
but no feathers
so I must walk.

I've got shoes
but there's no road
so I must fly.

Parts of Flame

We all are parts of flame.
Some burn
some bright, some hot.
Some dim and glowing coals.
Some tinder
some ash.

Some of us are air
Some wood
or grass
or things I do not know.

Some are fires, great or small.
Some water, cooling,
Sand, limiting.
Earth, restraining, cradling.

If I pray, it is this:
I have seen that often,
one man or woman's light will burn
and others feed it, or bask in their glow.
And that is only one fire
for many people.
And mostly it is cold.

I pray and wish,
as I look at the fire in myself
incomplete,
not a blaze in it's own right,

For others to add to my flame.
And others to whom I may add mine.
For fuel and air and knowledge.

Whether great or small, we all have
that which we can lend another.

I pray for other fires.
For mine is not a fire to light the world.
I pray for the keeper of the stones,
the guy with the matches.
the gal with sparks,
The watcher, the raker.
The tinder, the kindling, the ash.
Yes, even the ash.

I pray for the boy scout, and the furnace builder.
The rake and handle.
The axe, the tree, the seed,
The stones that hold the blaze and keep it from the brush.
The bodies that are warmed,
and those who build, and keep, and bank the fire.

I pray for them all
That I may be part of a greater blaze,
Adding my own heat.
My own heart.
To other's hearts, their minds.

Till it is not my blaze, which would be small,
and the fire of one incomplete and tarnished soul,
but a star that shines beyond me,
and where I lack heat or fuel, or knowledge of building fires,
others are there, burning, keeping, putting out.

That together, we may kindle
a flame beyond ourselves,
and mayhap,
mayhap,
send candles out into the night.

I Wait

I Wait

Cold doesn't matter
nor loneliness.

Ears turned up, I wait.

Don't mistake my demeanor
for unfriendliness, or hate

I'm listening over my heartbeat.

I don't know how long it's been...
I'm gray with dust on my face.
where once I was painted like wheat

or sun
when my soul was young

A stretch of the limbs, as I think I'm 'bout done.
I long for a taste
of what I've forgotten
and the turning seems long.

I'm not afraid of much,
but I'm afraid of forever.

I've borne every type of restlessness,
and itch.

I wait, for I know that my

waiting
soon
will be
done

I'm not as afraid of the unknown
as I fear a grey forever.

Sacrifice of Iron

Everyone has
wants and needs.
Everybody
has desire.
To know the difference,
that is wisdom,
to face it is
the sacrifice
of iron.

Everybody
lives a lie, but
sometimes they
look up and see.
To know the lie for
what it is,
to face the music
pay the piper is
the sacrifice of iron.

All you know,
All you feel,
What's inside,
is only real.
Are you empty?
Are you home?
Can you hear me in your bones?
What's the difference,
if you're sleeping?
Hollow people,
empty weeping.

When you wake up,
face the morning,
never give up,
greet the dawn,
and the midnight
with your spirit,
that's the greatest
sacrifice of iron.

Poems Coyote Likes

These are poems by other people that I enjoy or find meaningful. Please note, I'm not much of a poetry buff. I don't go out of my way to read it.

Invictus

by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

This poem, by William Ernest Henley is one of my favorites. This singular piece has moved me every time I've read it. Of all poetry I have read, I think this one poem has affected me the most.

You Darkness

By Rainer Maria Rilke

You darkness, that I come from,
I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world,
For the fire makes a circle of light for everyone,
And then no one outside learns of you.

But the darkness pulls in everything:
Shapes and fires, animals and myself,
How easily it gathers them!
Powers and people.

And it is possible a great energy
Is moving near me.

I have faith in nights.

My sister and friend, Wontolla shared this poem with me.

The Invitation

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

© Oriah Mountain Dreamer, from the book The Invitation published by Harper San Francisco, 1999

Permission was not granted to reproduce this poem. I was unable to contact the author. I do notice that it is reproduced all over the internet, and the author makes mention that this is so. I will remove it upon request from author or publisher, of course. My reproduction of it here is intended as praise and flattery, and as a statement that this particular work is important, meaningful, and worthy of being placed into the hearts and minds of as many people as possible. I urge others to visit the author's website, and to consider purchasing her poetry and literature.
If anyone knows a way that I can contact the author and request formal permission to reproduce this poem, I would greatly appreciate it.

iisaw's Were-Spotting Guide

This Important Resource Contributed By: iisaw

This informative and necessary guide was lovingly crafted by iisaw, for the betterment of us all. And no, I won't tell you where he lives, just because yer pissed that you might resemble some of these remarks. Suck it up.

Loup-Guru

He claims to have all the answers. He will claim to be able to teach you to shift in exchange for your adoration (and sometimes other things... see: Wolfsbane)

Poserwolf

A kind of Troll, actually. A typical Poserwolf post is something like, "I woke up this morning with mud on my hands and feet and blood on my mouth. Three of my neighbors had been killed and partially eaten during the night. Should I be worried?"

MultiPolyWere

He can't make up his mind, so he adopts any animal he takes a fancy to, until his internal menagerie is larger than most petting zoos.

MyLittleWolfie

(MLW) He thinks wolves are sweet, dewy-eyed love puppies, and would faint if he ever saw blood. He likes to collect huge online "packs" of people he doesn't know, and his mental image of his wolf side has a heart-shaped tattoo on his butt.

Anklebiter

He snaps at everything and everyone. He mistakenly thinks his bitter tirades are witty. He will spew sophomoric insults at anyone who dares to do anything but totally agree with him. He doesn't understand why he doesn't have any RL friends.

Crusader

He has an axe the size of New Jersey to grind. Typified by "Kill the Hyoomans!" or "Kill the Vamps!" posts.

Joker

He never takes anything seriously. He can be a lot of fun until he mocks some heart-felt idea of yours... then you realize how irritating he is.

We'reWoof : Tea an' Pork Lips

"Pork Lips" for short, and "short" pretty well describes the life-cycle of this sub-species. He thinks that the WW:tA game is non-fiction. He can't figure out why nobody will take him seriously. He will bluster and threaten for a while until he gives up and retreats to his parent's basement to organize his Rage card collection.

WereDexter

He has one or more closely reasoned explanations why p-shifting is possible and will explain them at length... whether or not anyone wants to hear it. If you ignore scientific fact and logic, some of his theories will even sound plausible.

WannaWere

He is desperate to p-shift and will listen to anyone... no matter how ludicrous. He is typical prey for a Loup-Guru or Wolfsbane.

Wolfsbane

He is looking to cheat gullible shifters out of money or sex. Can be mistaken for a Loup-Guru. Typical Wolfsbane scams are; "Shifting Secrets" and "Werewolf Commune".

UltraÜberAlpha

He is usually condescending and rude. He will show up suddenly and start issuing orders to everyone with a ridiculous arrogance that is absent in true alphas. He will usually have "alpha" in his name along with other hairy-chested words such as "blood", "thunder", or "death". In RL he is short and has a tiny penis.

TantrumWolf

He never hears what he wants from others and never gets what he considers to enough attention. Frequently departs forums "forever" unless people beg him to stay. Will sometimes evolve into a Wearywolf.

Wearywolf

You can recognize this breed by the smell of burnt fur. Rarely seen, he will only post once or twice a year... usually something like, "I see everything here is just as screwed up as ever."

RPer

Actually a behavior pattern that is present in many other breeds. The typical Rper is making it up as he goes along... often found in Pork Lips, Wolfsbane, Poserwolf, Loup-Guru, and UltraÜberAlpha.

SuperWere

He claims that because of his wereside he has all sorts of "special powers"; higher metabolism and pain tolerance, hyper acute senses, incredible strength... that sort of thing. Regularly gets his super-butt kicked by school bullies.

Neuroticwolf

The hypochondriac of the shifter community, he will endlessly analyze and post his every experience in minute, tedious detail. He is terribly concerned about what percentage of his last mental-shift was actually astral... or etheric.

UnclearWere

He will explain how much power and wisdom his wolf spirit had given him and then complain about his parents grounding him for cutting school.

Shakeswere

He posts endless poems and stories, usually dripping with angst or gushing about how wonderful it is to be a shifter. Every once in a while one comes along who does really good work... not often enough, though.

Werewolf Hunter

Another type of Troll, he typically threatens to "kill all the werewolves". In reality, he would be hard put to wound a Chihuahua.

Beeches

As Kipling said, "The female of the species is more deadly than the male!" Boy was he right... A typical Beech will tear your butt off when you do something stupid, and then hand it back to you with a sewing kit. Yep, they're strong, dangerous, and don't take guff from anybody... but what're you gonna do? Wolves don't mate with sheep.

NobleWolf

Ever the Peacemaker, a Noble will try to keep discussions calm and positive, and goes to great lengths to see every side of every argument... no matter how many times the Flamers and Trolls turn a thread into a smoking ruin. Of course, nobody ever listens to him.

Dr. Were (AKA GrannyWere)

The good doctor has the cure for all your ailments. He feels it is his duty to fix everyone's problem... whether they want him to or not. Unfortunately not all his advice is sound.

TMIwere

(Too Much Information) He will post endless rambles about non-shifter related, personal trivia such as who he likes in Biology class, what he had for dinner, why he named his dog Bobo, and even less interesting junk. He is a very valuable resource for those in the were community who suffer from insomnia.

CluelessWolf

This shifter operates by some strange logic that is unknown on this planet. He will usually viciously disagree with anyone who makes an obvious joke and take harmless comments as a personal attack. Most other shifters won't argue with a CluelessWolf... not because they agree with him, but because they can't figure out what the heck he's talking about.

Ultimate Fanboy Shifter

Makes up for insecurity about possibly being a were (or not, they're insecure) by aquiring every conceivable were/shifter trivia tidbit, historical fact, movie, book, RPG, comic and collectable item imaginable. Can provide useful information, but they have a tendancy to get irritating after a while.

The Gap™ Wolf

Known for their focus on exterior issues. "I'm a werewolf because I kinda look like one and have a lot of hair." Frequently are known to wear t-shirts with their phenotype on them to "increase their awereness."

Quotes from "Normal" Humans

People with courage and character always seem sinister to the rest.
-- Herman Hesse

If you don't stand for something, you will fall for something.
-- Nguni Proverb

Paranoid people are harder to kill than regular people.
-- Kaff Tagon, in "Schlock Mercenary" by Howard Tayler

If I wanted to destroy a culture, I'd build a free-market system and give it television, and you'd be guaranteed everything would sink to the lowest common denominator. Fundamentally, TV exists to sell razor blades.
-- Peter Coyote

Everything I've heard from the American media is either information, misinformation or error,and I don't have the criteria to distinguish. I live my life like an espionage agent, putting together webs of probability.
-- Peter Coyote

It is better to suffer wrong than to do it, and happier to be sometimes cheated than not to trust.
-- Samuel Johnson

Just trust yourself, then you will know how to live.
-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

New opinions are always suspected, and usually opposed, without any other reason but because they are not already common.
-- John Locke

Truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.
-- Flannery O'Connor

True religion is the life we lead, not the creed we profess.
-- Louis Nizer

The first man to see an illusion by which men have flourished for centuries surely stands in a lonely place.
-- Gary Zukav

Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, then that of blindfolded fear.
-- Thomas Jefferson

You can out-distance that which is running after you, but not what is running inside you.
-- Rwandan Proverb

If we don't believe in freedom of expression for people we despise, we don't believe in it at all.
-- Noam Chomsky

I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.
-- Friedrich Nietzsche

Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.
-- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Wrongs are often forgiven, but contempt never is. Our pride remembers it forever.
-- Lord Chesterfield

Whenever 'A' attempts by law to impose his moral standards upon 'B', 'A' is most likely a scoundrel.
-- H.L. Mencken

Too often we enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.
-- John F. Kennedy

If you don't find God in the next person you meet, it is a waste of time looking for him further.
-- Mahatma Gandhi

Ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge.
-- Charles Darwin

A person usually has two reasons for doing something: a good reason and the real reason.
-- Thomas Carlyle

The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts.
-- Bertrand Russell

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.
-- Will Rogers

It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.
-- Charles Darwin

Many highly intelligent people are poor thinkers. Many people of average intelligence are skilled thinkers. The power of the car is separate from the way the car is driven.
-- Edward De Bono

I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do because I notice it always coincides with their own desires.
-- Susan B Anthony

The more I study religions the more I am convinced that man never worshipped anything but himself.
-- Richard Francis Burton

All know that the drop merges into the ocean but few know that the ocean merges into the drop.
-- Kabir

One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter.
-- James Earl Jones

In the faces of men and women I see God.
-- Walt Whitman

To give pleasure to a single heart by a single kind act is better than a thousand head-bowings in prayer.
-- Saadi

Unthinking respect for authority is the greatest enemy of truth.
-- Albert Einstein

In questions of science, the authority of a thousand is not worth the humble reasoning of a single individual.
-- Galileo Galilei

The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience.
-- Harper Lee

There is no need for temples, no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
-- Dalai Lama

The world in general doesn't know what to make of originality; it is startled out of its comfortable habits of thought, and its first reaction is one of anger.
-- W. Somerset Maugham

Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.
-- George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans)

A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.
-- Mark Twain

He who establishes his argument by noise and command, shows that his reason is weak.
-- Michel De Montaigne

If we make peaceful revolution impossible, we make violent revolution inevitable.
-- John F. Kennedy

No, no, you're not thinking, you're just being logical.
-- Niels Bohr

He who would make his own liberty secure must guard even his enemy from oppression; for if he violates this duty he establishes a precedent that will reach to himself.
-- Thomas Paine

Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?
-- Abraham Lincoln

Moral certainty is always a sign of cultural inferiority. The more uncivilized the man, the surer he is that he knows precisely what is right and what is wrong. All human progress, even in morals, has been the work of men who have doubted the current moral values, not of men who have whooped them up and tried to enforce them. The truly civilized man is always skeptical and tolerant, in this field as in all others. His culture is based on "I am not too sure."
-- H.L.Mencken

We despise all reverences and all objects of reverence which are outside the pale of our list of sacred things. And yet, with strange inconsistency, we are shocked when other people despise and defile the things which are holy to us.
-- Mark Twain

The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good.
-- Samuel Johnson

Kindness is in our power, even when fondness is not.
-- Samuel Johnson

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
-- Kahlil Gibran

Confidence comes not from always being right but from not fearing to be wrong.
-- Peter T. McIntyre

His mother had often said, When you choose an action, you choose the consequences of that action. She had emphasized the corollary of this axiom even more vehemently: when you desired a consequence you had damned well better take the action that would create it.
-- Lois McMaster Bujold

You can never solve a problem on the level on which it was created.
-- Albert Einstein

There are two kinds of fool. One says, “This is old, and therefore good.” And one says, “This is new, and therefore better.”
-- John Brunner

Sometimes I think we’re alone in the universe, and sometimes I think we’re not. In either case, the idea is quite staggering.
-- Arthur C Clarke

A man does not show his greatness by being at one extremity, but rather by touching both at once.
-- Blaise Pascal

Real knowledge is to know the extent of one’s ignorance.
-- Confucius

People travel to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea , at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars; and they pass by themselves without wondering.
-- Saint Augustine

Nobody can make you feel inferior without your permission.
-- Eleanor Roosevelt

God has no religion.
-- Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom. It is the argument of tyrants; it is the creed of slaves.
-- William Pitt

Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do.
-- Johann von Goethe

The believer is happy; the doubter is wise.
-- Hungarian proverb

Life consists not in holding good cards but in playing those you hold well.
-- Josh Billings

I have learnt silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers.
-- Kahlil Gibran

Never be haughty to the humble; never be humble to the haughty.
-- Jefferson Davis

There is no character, howsoever good and fine, but it can be destroyed by ridicule, howsoever poor and witless.
-- Mark Twain

So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, While just the art of being kind is all the sad world needs.
-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Kindness is the golden chain by which society is bound together.
-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh and the greatness which does not bow before children.
-- Kahlil Gibran

If we have not quiet in our minds, outward comfort will do no more for us than a golden slipper on a gouty foot.
-- John Bunyan

Education: That which discloses to the wise and disguises from the foolish their lack of understanding.
-- Ambrose Bierce

I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.
-- Frank Lloyd Wright

It is dangerous to be right when the government is wrong.
-- Voltaire

Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.
-- William Butler Yeats

Never confuse motion with action.
-- Benjamin Franklin

War is God’s way of teaching Americans geography.
-- Ambrose Bierce

Language exerts hidden power, like a moon on the tides.
-- Rita Mae Brown

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
-- Carl Sandburg

It is a bit embarrassing to have been concerned with the human problem all one’s life and find at the end that one has no more to offer by way of advice than “try to be a little kinder.”
-- Aldous Huxley

Language is not neutral. It is not merely a vehicle which carries ideas. It is itself a shaper of ideas.
-- Dale Spender

Iron rusts from disuse, stagnant water loses its purity, and in cold weather becomes frozen, even so does inaction sap the vigor of the mind.
-- Leonardo Da Vinci

Ultimately, the only power to which man should aspire is that which he exercises over himself.
-- Elie Wiesel

We are all born originals - why is it so many of us die copies?
-- Edward Young

Be master of your petty annoyances and conserve your energies for the big, worthwhile things. It isn’t the mountain ahead that wears you out - it’s the grain of sand in your shoe.
-- Robert Service

Experience teaches us to be most on our guard to protect liberty when the government’s purpose is beneficent. Men born to freedom are naturally alert to repel invasion of their liberty by evil-minded rulers. The greatest dangers to liberty lurk in insidious encroachment by men of zeal, well-meaning but without understanding.
-- Louis Dembitz Brandeis

The man who is denied the opportunity of taking decisions of importance begins to regard as important the decisions he is allowed to take.
-- C. Northcote Parkinson

If you would stand well with a great mind, leave him with a favorable impression of yourself; if with a little mind, leave him with a favorable impression of himself.
-- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Every saint has a past and every sinner a future.
-- Oscar Wilde

There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
-- Edith Wharton

To have doubted one’s own first principles is the mark of a civilized man.
-- Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.
-- Blaise Pascal

We can be knowledgeable with other men’s knowledge but we cannot be wise with other men’s wisdom.
-- Michel Montaigne

If your morals make you dreary, depend upon it, they are wrong.
-- Robert Louis Stevenson

Be not too hasty to trust or admire the teachers of morality: They discourse like angels but they live like men.
-- Samuel Johnson

Morality is the best of all devices for leading mankind by the nose.
-- Friedrich W. Nietzsche

Reverence for life affords me my fundamental principle of morality.
-- Albert Schweitzer

Many a man thinks he is buying pleasure, when he is really selling himself to it.
-- Benjamin Franklin

A moral being is one who is capable of reflecting on his past actions and their motives—of approving of some and disapproving of others.
-- Charles Darwin

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.
-- Anais Nin

The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.
-- Alice Walker

Every new opinion, at its starting, is precisely in a minority of one.
-- Thomas Carlyle

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Just remember-when you think all is lost, the future remains.
-- Bob Goddard

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

He who allows oppression, shares the crime.
-- Erasmus Darwin

If I had eight hours to chop down a tree, I’d spend six sharpening my axe.
-- Abraham Lincoln

The refusal to choose is a form of choice; disbelief is a form of belief.
-- Frank Barron

You will soon break the bow if you keep it always stretched.
-- Phaedrus

The squirrel that you kill in jest, dies in earnest.
-- Henry David Thoreau

The most dangerous of all falsehoods is a slightly distorted truth.
-- G.C. Lichtenberg

Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.
-- Mark Twain

The more original a discovery, the more obvious it seems afterward.
-- Arthur Koestler

A merely fallen enemy may rise again, but the reconciled one is truly vanquished.
-- Johann Christoph Schiller

If words are to enter men’s minds and bear fruit, they must be the right words shaped cunningly to pass men’s defenses and explode silently and effectually within their minds.
-- J.B. Phillips

If you break your neck, if you have nothing to eat, if your house is on fire - then you got a problem. Everything else is inconvenience.
-- Robert Fulghum

It is preoccupation with possessions, more than anything else, that prevents us from living freely and nobly.
-- Bertrand Russell

Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much of life. So aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something.
-- Henry David Thoreau

To see things in the seed, that is genius.
-- Lao-tzu

Noise proves nothing—often a hen who has merely laid an egg cackles as if she had laid an asteroid.
-- Mark Twain

Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools, because they have to say something.
-- Plato

The opinion of 10,000 men is of no value if none of them know anything about the subject.
-- Marcus Aurelius

Corporation: An ingenious device for obtaining individual profit without individual responsibility.
-- Ambrose Bierce

Men are equal; it is not birth but virtue that makes the difference.
-- Voltaire

The machine does not isolate man from the great problems of nature but plunges him more deeply into them.
-- Antoine De Saint-Exupery

The more I study physics, the more I am drawn to metaphysics.
-- Albert Einstein

One is always a long way from solving a problem until one actually has the answer.
-- Stephen Hawking

Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit.
-- William Somerset Maugham

When we are unable to find tranquility within ourselves, it is useless to seek it elsewhere.
-- Francois de La Rochefoucauld

No person of faith should be threatened by science, nor should science be subverted to serve one particular religious belief.
-- Beverly Friedenberg
(letters to the editor, TIME magazine, 9/5/2005)

Events may be horrible or inescapable. Men have always a choice-if not whether, then how, they may endure.
-- Cazaril, in Lois McMaster Bujold's "The Curse of Chalion"

I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.
-- Galileo Galilei

If a man does his best, what else is there?
-- General George S. Patton (1885-1945)

The covers of this book are too far apart.
-- Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914)

I find that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have.
-- Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826)

After I am dead, I would rather have people ask why I have no monument than why I have one.
-- Cato the Elder (234-149 BC; AKA Marcus Porcius Cato)

Tolerance implies a respect for another person, not because he is wrong or even because he is right, but because he is human.
-- John Cogley Commonweal

Being brilliant is no great feat if you respect nothing.
-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

He removes the greatest ornament of friendship, who takes away from it respect.
-- Cicero (106-43 B.C.)

Don't flatter yourself that friendship authorizes you to say disagreeable things to your intimates. The nearer you come into relation with a person, the more necessary do tact and courtesy become.
-- Oliver Wendell Holmes

I did not go to his funeral, but I wrote a nice letter saying I approved of it.
--Mark Twain

The problem with defending the purity of the English language is that English is about as pure as a cribhouse whore. We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.
-- James D. Nicoll

Nemo me impune lacessit.
(No-one provokes me without punishment)
-- Motto of the Montresors from "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allen Poe

The conventional view serves to protect us from the painful job of thinking.
-- John Kenneth Galbraith

From a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached.
-- F. Kafka

...but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience...To be 'cured' against one's will and cured of states which we may not regard as disease is to be put on a level with those who have not yet reached the age of reason or those who never will.
-- C. S. Lewis

If you can't be a good example, then you'll just have to be a horrible warning.
--Catherine Aird

Difficulties show men what they are. In case of any difficulty God has pitted you against a rough antagonist that you may be a conqueror, and this cannot be without toil.
--Epictetus

What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places-and there are so many-where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.
--Howard Zinn

Every normal man must be tempted at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.
-- H.L. Mencken

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.
-- Robert A. Heinlein

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
-- Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775.

Shame is an improper emotion invented by pietists to oppress the human race.
-- Robert Preston, Toddy, "Victor/Victoria"

You don't expect governments to obey the law because of some higher moral development. You expect them to obey the law because they know that if they don't, those who aren't shot will be hanged.
--Michael Shirley

Gun Control: The theory that a woman found dead in an alley, raped and strangled with her panty hose, is somehow morally superior to a woman explaining to police how her attacker got that fatal bullet wound
--unknown

I would prefer to live in a free society than a drug free society - even if the latter could actually be achieved.
-- unknown

In the magical universe there are no coincidences and there are no accidents. Nothing happens unless someone wills it to happen. The dogma of science is that the will cannot possibly affect external forces, and I think that's just ridiculous. It's as bad as the church. My viewpoint is the exact contrary of the scientific viewpoint. I believe that if you run into somebody in the street it's for a reason. Among primitive people they say if someone was bitten by a snake he was murdered. I believe that.
-- William S. Burroughs

Burke's Postulates:
Anything is possible if you don't know what you are talking about.
Don't create a problem for which you do not have the answer

He who despairs over an event is a coward, but he who holds hopes for the human condition is a fool.
-- Albert Camus

To sin by silence, when we should protest, makes cowards out of men.
-- Abraham Lincoln

He who asks is a fool for five minutes, but he who does not ask remains a fool forever.
-- Unknown

If the facts don't fit the theory, change the facts.
-- Albert Einstein

Every person, all the events in your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you.
-- Messiah's Handbook : Reminders for the Advanced Soul

I am approached with the most opposite opinions and advice, and by men who are equally certain that they represent the divine will. I am sure that either the one or the other is mistaken in the belief, and perhaps in some respects, both. I hope it will not be irreverent of me to say that if it is probable that God would reveal his will to others on a point so connected with my duty, it might be supposed he would reveal it directly to me.
--Abraham Lincoln

Never let someone who says it cannot be done interrupt the person who is doing it.
-- Unknown

If you can, help others. If you can't, at least don't hurt others.
-- the Dalai Lama

Mater artium necessitas.
[Necessity is the mother of invention].
-- Unknown

My right to swing my fist ends where the other man's nose begins.
-- Oliver Wendell Holmes

I have recently been examining all the known superstitions of the world, and do not find in our particular superstition (Christianity) one redeeming feature. They are all alike founded on fables and mythology.
-- Thomas Jefferson

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
-- Eleanor Roosevelt

Politics: A strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. The conduct of public affairs for private advantage.
-- Ambrose Bierce

Real programmers don't draw flowcharts. Flowcharts are, after all, the illiterate's form of documentation. Cavemen drew flowcharts; look how much good it did them.
-- Unknown

Modern man is the missing link between apes and human beings.
-- Unknown

Dear Lord: Please make my words sweet and tender, for tomorrow I may have to eat them.
-- Unknown

A ship, berthed at harbor, will never hit the rocks, will never wash up on reefs, will never be sunk or lost in bad weather. But that's not what a ship is for.
-- J. Michael Straczynski

The human race never solves any of its problems. It merely outlives them.
-- David Gerrold

"Everywhere on earth there are people of our kind. That for a small part of them, I can be a focal point, the nodal point in the net, is the burden and the joy of my life." (private letter, 1955)
-- Hermann Hesse

Tact is the art of making a point without making an enemy.
--Unknown

You don't stop laughing because you grow old; You grow old because you stop laughing.
--Michael Pritchard

Diplomacy is the art of saying "Nice Doggie" while you look for a big rock.
-- Unknown

Nosce te Ipsum (Know thyself)
-- Unknown

Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the Masters; seek what they sought.
-- Zen proverb

Violence stinks, no matter which end of it you're on. But now and then there's nothing left to do but hit the other person over the head with a frying pan. Sometimes people are just begging for that frypan, and if we weaken for a moment and honor their request, we should regard it as impulsive philanthropy, which we aren't in any position to afford, but shouldn't regret it too loudly lest we spoil the purity of the deed.
-- Tom Robbins

Reality must take precedence over public relations, for Mother Nature cannot be fooled.
-- R.P. Feynman

What you do is of little significance. But it is very important that you do it.
-- Mahatma Gandhi

Never doubt that a small group of thoughful, committed people can change the world. Indeed it is the only thing that ever has.
-- Margaret Mead

Quotes from Therianthropes

Were Quotes

Clever things therianthropes have said.

Courtesy is owed. Love is given. Respect is earned.
-- Vladwolf (My favorite quote by anyone ever)

Just because we do not know the truth does not mean there is no truth.
-- Coyote

If a thing is true, it is true regardless of who said it.
-- Coyote

The small victories lead to bigger things, the big victories usually result in massive casualties.
-- Maskedwulf

In the days of old there were stupid people. Because they were stupid the dinosaurs would catch and eat them. And all was good. Then one day the smart people took pity on the stupid people and protected them from the dinosaurs. Now there are stupid people everywhere. In the store, at school, maybe even at home. Wish I could find some dinosaurs.
-- Wolf
(Unsure if this person made this up or relayed it from elsewhere.)

Elders should be there as a resource, not as a ruling body. I don't know how to get people to see 'em as such, except perhaps simply by being seen to be right more often that not...
-- Tirran

The alpha wolves in a pack are the wolves that are responsible for the well being of the pack. While they are certainly the most assertive and often the most powerful members of the pack, their position is earned by actions not by "talk".
-- Wolf eyes

Bad Jesus, No Second Coming!
--Wind King

Quotes by Yours Truly
(It's my website, and I can toot my horn if I want to! All of these are things that people besides me seemed to think were clever though.. I ALWAYS think I'm clever, after all)

Think before you leap, but leap before you fall.
-- Me

Instead of signs that say "Do not attempt to exit while train is in motion" there should be signs that say "Go ahead, jump off if you're that much of a stupid asshole".
-- Me

Okay... I admit... I'm not the swiftest crayon in the cutlery drawer (though I sure can mix a metaphor).
-- Me

Regarding the debate over teaching "Intelligent Design"

TIME Magazine ran a piece about the debate over teaching "intelligent design" alongside the theory of evolution in science class. I saw something in the Letter's column the following issue that really struck me.

This is the best quote I've heard yet on the subject:

"No person of faith should be threatened by science, nor should science be subverted to serve one particular religious belief."
-- Beverly Friedenberg
(letters to the editor, TIME magazine, 9/5/2005)

A Strange Landscape

I cannot really call this a dream... but close enough. More like a vision in an altered state... but I feel like it's a kind of followup to the Wolf Dream and Looking for Coyote Dreams.

Dream(?) Feb 1, 2001

Actually... I'm not sure that I could rightfully describe this as a dream... because I was awake, though not in normal consciousness, the whole time. If it's easier for you to think of this as a dream... be my guest . It felt like a sort of followup to my Coyote-dream of January 29, 2001, and the Wolf-Dream of April, 2000.

I was lying in bed... thinking about trying to continue the dream of a couple night past... and while I was sitting there, relaxed, with my eyes open even, I started to _see_ little bits and fragments of a landscape. I wasn't asleep, I was just kinda tranced out... so I focused on making it more "real". I knew, at first that if I moved, or even blinked, it would all go away. So I focused on it, until the vision solidified.

First there was a great pillar of rock above me. It grew higher and higher, and the area around became clearer and clearer, until I knew I could just get up out of bed and walk into it. Finally, I did just that. I left my mortal shell behind and went walking in this weird place. There was something about it that was _similar_ to the realness that I once saw around Wolf. But not quite the same. It was as though there were yet a veil between me and that reality.

And this reality was somewhat volatile... the landscape developed before my eyes. It seemed that the longer I stood still, the larger the area became, so that the things I wished to investigate, which started out right by me, were now far away. And it seemed as though I was moving from the past, to the present. Things looked like they were aging and changing. At first, all I would have had to do was go right up the rock spire. But now, I had to walk around a ridge of rock that had risen from the sea.

When I first noticed I was near the sea, I said "Of course! How perfect! Here is the ocean, who I have missed so much!". Now I had to go around this ridge that had risen along the coast, to get around it so I could walk towards my destination. There was a spot where I had to go through the water a little... but here, instead of being clear and clean, the water was kinda mucky and dirty. I kept looking around to keep my bearings, making my way towards the first spire of rock I'd seen. Past the dirty water beach, I could see more groves of palm and palmetto trees (there were tropical plants everywhere!)... and just around an outcropping of rock... there was some kind of junky van or trailer! I was rather annoyed and disheartened to see that. It became apparent that there were people living nearby now. Around this time, the landscape became harder to hold onto, and I found myself back in my body.

Looking for Coyote

This one was kinda odd. But overall left me with a good feeling. An unfinished feeling... cannot wait to see what develops.

Dream Jan 29-31 2001

In this dream, I was off seeking my the part of Coyote that is external to me. I was wandering far and wide, and I came to a kinda seedy neighborhood, but one which looked familiar.

I was thirsty, so I stopped to get a drink at a place that was sort of like a small indoor flea market, with a snack bar. I kept having the feeling that I'd been there before. In one far corner, I noticed a set of double doors, and I realized that I'd been in this place many years before, as a child, while on a trip with my mother. I knew that at that time, there was a huge comic book shop beyond the doors.

I decided to take a little bit of time off my quest and see if the comic shop was still there... but when I went to where the doors were a moment before, they'd vanished... there was just blank wall. I knew this was odd... and I knew that I was on a weird spirit quest where normal rules did nto necessarily apply, so I closed my eyes, and deliberately knew that when I opened them, the door would be there. I opened my eyes, and there was a small door there leading into the next area. I went through, and recognized the comic shop from the past.

My first reaction was to say, aloud "Cool!", but then I quickly realized that there were no comics on the shelves... there were just empty shelves, the spaces between which were occupied by a bunch of people doing street drugs. I was kind of horrified, and decided to leave, I felt kind of distressed that the place I remembered fondly form my childhood was now just an empty crack den.

Then I noticed the child. He looked like he was about 10 or 12, just a skinny little black kid, and I realized someone had just given him a bunch of pills, as a "free sample" or something. So I grabbed the kid away from the dealers, and dragged him into the public bathroom. I told him "No, you cannot do this to yourself", and he responded something to the effect that he'd already swallowed the pills and it was too late. I told him that it was not too late, and to throw them up into the toilet, which he did. He just heaved and heaved, and all this nasty bile came up. He was really sick, and got vomit on himself. I told him not to worry, I'd help him get cleaned up and get him someplace safe.

I hadn't looked around the bathroom though... it was a huge public restroom, like the kind in truck stops, that even have showers... but _everything_ was covered with vomit and filth from all the people that were using the place as a drug hangout. Everything was splattered with that sickly yellowish, bilious vomit that people get when they use a lot of bad crap and don't eat. There was no way to get the kid clean there, it was all filthy and contaminated, so I told him not to worry, we'd find someplace else.

So, I went out, carrying him under my arm. As I walked down the street, the area somehow transformed.. I was no longer in the inner city... I was in a semirural area. Everything still looked kind of poor... but wholesome somehow. At some point, the kid stopped being a little human boy, and became a big housecat. There were some hippy types around (the friendly "peace" types, as opposed to the unwashed "dropout" types). Some of the buildings were reworked trailers, campers or even tents. I went up to one trailer that seemed to kind of be at the end of the line, intending to ask if I could borrow their bathroom to get the kid cleaned up.

Under a tree, I noticed a figure sitting, with his back to me. I realized at a glance, that it was the part of me, the part of Coyote that I started out looking for. The cat/kid, when I looked down, had somehow miraculously gotten clean. Not wanting to miss out on catching up with myself (erk!) I put the cat down, assuming that he could fend for himself and would be okay there.

I rushed over to Coyote, and grabbed him/me around the waist from behind. I was just elated at finding him/myself, and started scritching him.

And then I woke up.

My Mountain Dream

I had this Dream on the 21st of December, 1997. The images from this Dream have haunted and inspired me ever since.

In the dream, I'd climbed to the top of a mountain. I was dragging a huge net behind me... The net went all the way to the ocean far below. At the top of the mountain, the net still dragged far into the ocean.

I knew that the object of my endeavor was to get as much of the net up high, and down the other side of the mountain... I could see that the ocean water was being drawn with the strands of the net... The water was running in rivulets down the mountainside in places... Into lands it never would have reached. The air was getting damp from all the evaporation... I knew that so much water was being moved that the whole climate would change in those areas. I knew there would be storms and rain... and that things would grow in those lands as a result... some of them wonderful and desperately needed... and some of them horrible, and just as necessary. And It was so difficult... I realized that there was not so much water running off that net... not to speak of. Just what was dripping off the wet strands. And I worked harder so I could complete my work before the net dried out.

And there was another ocean on the other side of the mountain. Some of the water dripping from the net was running down that side of the mountain to the other ocean. And on the side from which I drew the net, the waters were following the water I'd dragged up. Water was running uphill after the water I'd already brought. It had almost reached me.. it was crashing and gurgling just a few paces below where I sat gathering the net. I was trying to edge that net around the mountainside, to get at places I'd missed and try to get more of it to the other side of the mountain. I knew if I could, that the water from the ocean on one side would be able to reach the ocean on the other side. It would work like a siphon, the water would run down the far side, and draw up far more water than I could drag with a wet bundle of net, no matter how large. And all the lands in between would be affected.

It was then that I noticed that the lands to either side of the mountain were vast... it was like I could see the whole continent from one place. Indeed, the top of the mountain, even though I could put one leg on one side and the other on the other side, held a vast land as well. But I was not any larger than normal. It was as though I sat at the edge of a huge expanse, but could still reach both sides. And the mountain of course was tall... but at the same time it was like there wasn't much distance between top and bottom.

Some of the ocean water that was running uphill was, as I mentioned crashing against some rocks nearby... I noticed some movement. There was a coyote in the spray thrown up on the "dry" side of the rocks. He would sit for a moment, then roll around for a bit... I realized after a moment that he was enjoying the spray from the ocean. This coyote, strangely enough, was black. Not completely black... not lightless or without markings, but mostly black, with some darker and lighter hairs... he appeared black to the eye, but not an unnatural black. Except that coyotes aren't that color. )

I kept on with my work, enjoying the company, kind of hoping he'd come over and visit with me. I'd mostly got the net and things arranged as I liked... I was nearly done. I have to note, that this work was very time consuming, and it wasn't easy... and I really had to pay attention to what I was doing to guide this huge unwieldy thing over all that terrain... but somehow, it was not tedious. It felt good to be doing it. It felt rewarding, and I enjoyed it.

Then I noticed, a little further down the mountain... on the side I'd drawn the net up from, that there was a dog. Not just any dog... this was one of those weird mastiffs that looks sort of like a hound... the dogs are white, but over the sides of their faces, over each eye there is a black or brown mask. I don't know if they have any of these dogs in the waking world anymore or not, but they were used to hunt foxes and wolves... I became worried that it would attack the coyote by me... sure enough, it was advancing up the mountainside towards us. The coyote just looked at me when I tried to run him off. I realized I'd have better luck running the dog off. So I went charging down the mountainside, yelling at the dog and it became frightened and ran away. It didn't run quite the direction I wanted it to, so I looked back to make sure the coyote was not in danger.

He wasn't... he was running in my direction. I called out to him, and tried to see if I could get him to come over to me... he changed direction more towards where I stood, but rushed past. I was able to reach out and touch him though - he ran right by my legs.

He was running towards another animal, which I thought at first was an injured wolf. The coyote ran around this animal a couple times, then took off. At first I thought he was going to attack the injured animal, but he just went around a couple times and ran into the distance.

I could then see that it was some kind of dog, but it was in such bad shape that it was hard to tell what kind of animal it was... it was missing a hind leg... the leg had been torn away by something, so that a stump of bone was sticking out. As it came closer to me, I saw that what I thought were markings at first were patches where it had been mauled so that pieces of skin and flesh were torn away. And all the skin on it's face was gone... it had no lips, no eyelids... but it could still sort of see. It was obviously in agony. And I remember trying to call on whatever power one has in dreams to put the poor thing out of it's misery... to just let it die. But it held on very tenaciously to life. It would not have an easy death. It staggered and swayed as it moved. I could not will it to die.

Another dog ran up... some kind of mutt... and it was clearly diseased. I could feel the sickness surrounding it. It moved jerkily, as if it was in the throes of some horrible illness. And it's eyes were glazed over and white... covered with cataracts, or perhaps the cells in the eyes were dead and rotten. I knew it could see, but barely.

Then the first mauled animal became some kind of deer. Or perhaps it had been all along.. it's outline was so distorted by mutilation that it had been hard to tell... it was still injured in the same way... and it came running at me, faster and faster.

This was all so horrible, and there was nothing I could do, so I went back up the mountain.

And the dream ended.

Update 5/3/98: The SE Alabama howl (which I attended) was held at Buck's Pocket State Park, between April 10 and 19, 1998. In the Ranger's office was a taxidermied coyote... a black coyote exactly like the one in this dream. so much for the idea that "coyotes aren't that color". The ranger there said that he'd never seen a coyote that color before, either. It was apparently shot by someone in Nearby Gadsden, AL, who missed a deer, and so instead shot this coyote, who he claimed was "chasing" the deer. I haven't figured out yet if this is just co-incidence, or what, if anything it could mean. Weird though.

There were weres from all over coming together... And the last day there was torrential rain that apparently caused flooding that necessitated the park's closing. This has made me wonder a little, as there was so much water in the dream. Then the bit with the deer.

My Wolf Dream

Another dream which had a profound, life-changing effect on me. Wolf came to me, and things have been different ever since.

I had this dream back in April of 2000. I've added a couple of notes, and removed some specific comments directed at the friends I initially e-mailed this to, but otherwise, it's the same document, warts and all. throughout the dream, I knew it was a dream... intellectually, but didn't really exert any real control over it.

This Dream felt important... I had to share it... at least some of it. One always should hold a little of a Dream back, to keep them sacred.

I was at a house that is often in my recent dreams... but I was preparing to leave. There was something coming that I wanted to avoid, somewhere in importance between federal agents breaking down the door, and moving out because a lease was up. (Note: later, after I had the dream, we ended up being forced to move in Early July, at the same time, I had to change jobs, and had a couple other disasters).

I was contemplating, very hard in this Dream (as I had been in waking life) where to go next. What to do. I had this feeling that something important lay ahead, but I could not "find the path".

There were LOTs of other people there... all friends... dear friends from my past, present, and I think the future. Among those present, Rors, t'shai, Howls, Chris Hales (a good friend), Timberwolf, Shadowfox, Trot, Guardian, Wontolla... and just too many more to count...

Anyway... I was walking around the edge of the yard of this house... and on one side of the property is a rather steep cliff face. Not the kind where you merely fall a while and go splat, either... but the kind that looks like it might be climbable... but where you are gonna bounce down many times, rapidly accelerating and getting mashed against rocks before you hit bottom.

I was standing on the edge of this cliff... earth crumbling under my feet, and suddenly had this feeling that it was time to go.... as if the crumbling cliff were my awaiting destiny, and I had to decide to go where it was showing me, however scary, or step away.

As I began to slide over the edge, everyone suddenly showed up... and someone... (I think Guardian), grabbed my hand to keep me from going over. I was very grateful that this loving friend was risking their life to try and save me... but saw that at any moment, I would fall, and take them with me. I knew that my destiny was before me and was unafraid (mostly), but didn't want anyone hurt with me. I called out for him to let me go... that it was my time.

He didn't want to at first, but suddenly seemed to be able to understand... he was still hesitant, and I was worried he'd fall, so I snarled to startle him into letting go, which he did.

I began to slide down the cliff face, trying to carefully retain my footing, going faster and faster. The lower I got, the steeper and more hazardous it got. Finally, I skidded to a halt, still unhurt, before a large drop. I could look back up and still see everyone looking over the edge to see if I was okay.

I looked over the drop, which looked like it MIGHT be survivable... maybe. I was wondering... "What does this mean? Why am I supposed to do this? I didn't die, at least not yet... what is the point of this dangerous journey?"

I heard a voice behind me... a deep and beautiful voice... resonant and unlike any human voice. The kind of voice you'd expect Aslan the lion to have had... the voice said "I can tell you why". It was the most beautiful, yet fierce and even terrible voice I've heard.

I turned around, and right there was an enormous and beautiful wolf. There was a faint sort of light or aura... but he was not ethereal... if anything he was MORE real than anything else. His face was even with mine, he was so huge. (NOTE: there was a sort of area surrounding Wolf, where everything seemed more real.. like there was a window from the Dream into someplace more real than even waking life).

I knew this was one of my Relations. And I knew this was a Power Being. I knew that everything around me was a dream, but that He was real. One of my first thoughts was "But I'm not a wolf person... I'm Coyote".

He seemed to tell me that didn't matter... I needed _him_ right now. He wanted to know if I knew what had to happen next, and I said "Yes, I do". He wanted to know if I was ready. I searched myself... there was still this tiny seed of doubt... but then I realized... if he is real... if Wolf is real, then the other things I know are real... and I realized I was afraid a tiny bit... but it was a vestigial fear... it didn't matter. My fear was small and powerless against me. Against Wolf. I knew it would be better if I had no reservation, no fear... but that my will would carry me through anyway... it would be good enough.

I knew he was there to help me. I had complete trust. In my life... I never trust anyone completely. Not even those I love best... there is always at least some tiny kernel of doubt. "What if they fail? what if they make a mistake, what if they don't know, what if they are weak in some way?" Or something. It's not that I don't love, trust or respect my loved ones.. it's just I never have unswerving, total, worry-free trust without reservation.

But with Wolf... I had that. I have never felt more free than at that moment where I knew that I could always trust Wolf. That he knew better than me at that moment, and would do right, and that I could have total, unselfish trust. I will carry that moment with me forever.

"I'm ready," I said. "Go ahead".

And he bunched up his muscles, and leaped... faster than thought. I felt his weight collide with me... almost in slow motion. I felt this huge warm, furry body against mine. I felt him close his fangs on my throat and shoulder. I felt the teeth go in, grind and crunch against bone... but there was nothing like pain... I knew that what was happening hurt... but it did not feel like pain.

His weight carried me over the edge. I knew that this was death. I knew this was not ending. I held on. I could see everyone up above, on the cliff's edge, watching.

There was no pain, or fear. Only trust, and love. Only rightness.

The darkness covered me. My consciousness fled. Even in the Dream.

And then I awoke... but it was a waking in the Dream.... I was at the top of the cliff again, in the house. I was being cared for by t'shai. I was a little confused... but I knew that things were right. That everything was right. Some fading echo of Wolf's voice told me that I might not understand what had just gone on yet... but soon all would be clear. That it might not be exactly as I expected, but I'd see before too long. And we began walking away from the house... down the road... several friends appeared from where they'd been waiting or doing things (I suspected that some stuff had happened to some of them in the meantime, but didn't know what), and we began walking together.

And when I woke... truly awoke... if there is such a thing as truly awakening... I felt peace.

I feel that this is somehow more important (at least in some ways) than any of the Dreams (capital 'D') I've had yet. Not a culmination.... but a marker of some important journey or beginning.

And I'm ready, in a way I've never been before, for whatever spirit holds for me.

I'm very independent. It's hard for me to let go... but I'm ready now for whatever leap is to come.

I trust again.

Stone Vision

I had a moment of insight or feeling, when thinking about what I think a soul is. This is how I ended up expressing it.

In the beginning, I was a raw stone.

Life and people chipped and shaped me,

Until I gleamed with facets and with scars.

In the stone was the shape of what I could be chipped into.

In the stone I was, was the shape of what my shapes could be.

As I was chipped and shaped, parts were cut away, or pounded into different configurations.

And yet, I am the same stone.

And as I rolled, and moved, and learned to choose my path from where I was tossed, I mecame different by my journey.

And yet, I am the same stone.

Many hands have shaped me. My own among them.

In different lives, I found I had different hands.

All the people I have met, and all the people I have been, they have worked the stone of my heart.

Sometimes, all that can be seen of what I was is by the shape of what is left behind.

Sometimes, my flaws can be seen, or are hidden, by the shaping.

A flaw is sometimes not corrected, but is smoothed over or cut away.

Sometimes, a hand, my own or that of another, works around a flaw that goes deep.

And where one hand does not do the job well, another hand makes the best of what is left.

As I become smaller, I also move towards the potential of what I could be.

My heart is still the same heart.

As I strike the stones of others, my shape determines how I shape them.

And as the light from other stones is reflected onto my facets, I reflect it from me also.

And the light I pass on is shaped by my shape, by my experiences, and by the heart still deep within me.

It is shaped not only by those places where it reflects from my surface, but also from places where it penetrates me.

Some of my facets are dark, some bright, some clear, some foggy.

But they pass on the pattern of light that is uniquely mine.

And someday, perhaps everything will be chipped away.

And there will be a place in the universe for the soul of a stone.

And I will not only be myself, I will also be the spirit of all stones.

My heart will be all hearts.

But I will still be me.

My soul is the place in the universe in which the stone that is myself will fit.

The Painting from the Dream

Some folks may have heard me mention this. I'm one of those flakes that thinks dreams can sometimes be important. Here's one that is unusual in that it seemed to impinge on waking life in some way. Read the story, and see a scan of the picture that someone painted of me... I posed for this picture. Funny thing is I was asleep and posed in a dream and never met the artist. Co-incidence? Maybe. Delusion? Perhaps.

I had a strange dream a while back. I didn't write it down at the time, but it was vivid enough that I have recalled details even after all this time.

In the dream, I was wearing, of all things a buckskin cloak (over jeans and a t-shirt). I was carrying a kind of weird stick... it was shaped like a rifle, sort of. Long, and with one end shaped like a rifle stock. I thought this was odd when I woke up... but later I saw the movie "Last of the Mohicans" and one of the characters therein used a club shaped that way.

I was walking along the perimiter of a place that I knew, in the dream, was a piece of rural property that I lived on with a bunch of other folks. Nearby were the bones of a bull that I knew had been slaughtered by some feral, furred thing, which I did not consider a threat, but rather something that belonged. I felt that this critter was sentient, but feral. I remember feeling briefly sorry for him, because I knew he was unable to live around anyone else because he was so angry.

To one side of me, were poles... with rope and old power cables and junk strung between them... like really tall fence posts with cord at the tops... no fence... they were simply a kind of boundary marker. It was fairly cold, and there was snow over everything.

Anyway... in the dream, I was very angry... I'd had a fight with someone at home. I was preoccupied, and was surprised to realize that I had come upon another person. I remember thinking.... "well... no-one should be out here and we've had trouble lately" and kind of hoped that if the person were hostile, that they would think that I was (and this is the really corny part) a hostile Injun with a gun (the stick/club) and leave. In the dream, the property I was on was located near a reservation.

Well.. as it turned out... the person was an artist... and behind them, I noticed, was an easel. We talked a bit... and the person talked me into letting him paint a picture of me. Which I thought was really silly... I explained that if they were into that southwestern "native american thing" that I wasn't a native american at all (I don't look the least bit like I am of that ethnicity... but amazingly some people - who have never MET a native american in their lives occasionally think I am, because I go by the name Coyote... I've always thought it was stupid). The artist said no... he wanted to paint _me_. I was a little surprised, but for some reason, I let him. Then the dream ended. I never asked the artist what his name was.

Now... as it happens... more than a year and a half passed. I'd told my ex-wife about the dream, but I don't think I mentioned it to anyone else. There wasn't much earth-shattering in it, so I didn't think about it afterwards. My ex-wife and I threw a yule party at the end of 1993.

A friend who I hadn't seen in a while came by. A friend who I had not known at the time of the dream. This friend told me "I have a really weird present for you... it's supposed to be a painting of an indian guy, but I think it's really a painting of you, don't ask me why".

I unwrapped it. And it was rather obviously, the painting that the artist from the dream was painting. It's somewhat crude, but many folks who have seen it ask if the person in the painting is supposed to be me. I was rather astounded, as the whole scene was so obviously the one from the dream.

The painting is of a person standing, holding a funny rifle-shaped club, next to the boundary markers, wearing a buckskin robe. Under the robe at the neck... if you look closely, you can see what appears to be a regular t-shirt collar... the tight round kind. Weird thing is this... At the time of the dream, and at the time I recieved the painting I had a beard. I still do. I always wear a beard. In the dream, I didn't have a beard, I was clean-faced (which I thought was odd upon waking). The figure in the painting is clean-shaven. There'd be no real reason for my friend to see that beardless painting and think it was me. Also, the figure in the painting appears to have a streak of thinning hair on his scalp... and my hair has begun to thin in the same place in a similar pattern. At the time of the dream, and the time the painting was given to me, there was no sign of this thinning hair.

I'd really like to meet the painter, Rob Brown, who did the painting in March, 1993.