holding intention

A few days ago, I received an e-mail from a friend asking if I thought it would be a good idea for her to send out a broadcast message asking everyone to "hold intention" for the upcoming election. Specifically, this means holding the intention that we elect a president whose direction for the country and whose impact on the planet most closely aligns with the highest and greatest good of all.

In simpler terms, we want to focus our thoughts on getting the best person into the White House -- the best person being the one who is going to do the best job, by the yardstick of what's in the best interests of everyone and everything on the planet (animal, vegetable, and mineral included).

This has nothing to do with campaigning, political affiliation, or religious codes. It has everything to do with actively working toward the best possible world for everyone to live in. And it's quite simple.

You can imagine. On your daily commute, while you're cooking dinner, when you're walking the dogs, when you're vacuuming or on the toilet.... whenever you can, imagine the grandest version and highest ideal of the best possible world: where life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are freely accorded to every living being, everywhere, all the time; where people treat each other, themselves, and the world around them with sacred respect; and where the world's leaders actively support the continuation of such peaceful and holistic prosperity.

You can "behave as if." Treat everyone you encounter during the day as if you're all on the same team, holding the intention to create a better world. Because, essentially, you are. Behave as if you are already living in that best possible world you have imagined. Be the best person you can possibly be, just for today.

You can pray. "Thy will be done" is a great phrase to use, as the whole idea is to get personal expectations and attachment to outcomes out of the way. Assume that the Universe knows how to fill this bill better than you do. Still send your energy and prayers out there, but let the "greater good" figure out what it's supposed to look like.

You can light a candle. Express in words or in thoughts your "intention to hold intention," and then spend a few moments in quiet meditation. (This one is my favorite, by the way.)

Most importantly, of course, you can vote. Vote your conscience. Vote with both your heart and mind, working in concert. Vote with your children's and grandchildren's best interests at heart. Consider the world seven generations from now and what contribution we today can make toward that world, and cast your ballot accordingly.

Make your intention count.

I hope my friend chooses to send out that e-mail after all.

trebuchets and pumpkin guts

This past weekend, I visited a local farm that was sponsoring pumpkin picking, hay rides, and a pumpkin trebuchet. That's right, one of those medieval hurling things; if you're a Monty Python fan, think of the flying cow in "The Holy Grail," and you've got the idea.

While I hadn't yet acquired my pumpkin for jack-o-latern carving, I admit that it was the trebuchet that attracted me. As I hiked up the muddy hill to the launch pad, I had an image in my head of a large, wooden machine dramatically catapulting huge pumpkins across distant fields.... What they had instead, however, was a smaller and more modern machine -- the thing had an electric winch, for Pete's sake -- that didn't have quite the hurling capacity as I had hoped. Instead, smaller gourds were tossed about 200 feet, and then exploded into pieces upon hitting the ground.

More impressive was the "cannon." This was a pneumatic (rather than explosive) device, composed of a long metal pipe connected to an air compressor. Of course, the pipe was narrow enough that even baby pumpkins had to be pared down by knife before they would fit. As a target, there was a beat-up old car -- one of those American-made land yachts -- parked a good distance away on a hill. Unfortunately, the cannon only offered power and not much in the way of guidance, so there wasn't much accuracy in trying to aim the thing. But they did smash that little pumpkin into one of the hubcaps.

Some spectators were unprepared for the sudden BOOM of the cannon. One little boy, perhaps eight years old, who had enthusiastically been awaiting the launch, told his parents, "I do not want to see that again." His father asked, teasingly, "You wanna build one of those at home?" The answer was a resounding, "NO."

I picked up two smallish pumpkins from the patch on my way back down the hill to the "General Store" that had been set up in one of the barns. I also bought a pair of acorn squash -- yum! -- and an apple.

I left the pumpkins outside in my courtyard, where the Oregon rain did a fairly good job of washing off all of the mud. Yesterday, I went out with a kitchen knife and a wooden spoon to gut the poor darlings. I didn't have to worry about mess when working outside, but I hadn't considered how cold the pumpkins would have gotten after sitting out for several days.... That pumpkin goo was chilly! I stepped back inside at least once to warm up my fingers by running hot water over my hands in the sink.

Unfortunately, there was still a bit of mud on the pumpkins, which mixed in with the pulp I was scraping out. So I ended up not saving the seeds for roasting.

Once I'd hollowed them out, I let the pumpkins sit another night, out in the courtyard, while I thought of what to carve into them. Given their small size, I was limited in what I could do, and I'm not much of one for big fancy carving jobs anyway. This morning, I stepped out again with the knife and gave each pumpkin a face:



Doesn't really compare to last year's cat pirate pumpkin, but who's keeping score? They will look better with tea lights in them, anyway.

I'm still not sure how many -- if any -- trick-or-treaters to expect in my new neighborhood, but I'm hopeful there will be at least a few. I may even make rice krispy treats to hand out, though running over to Target around 4pm on Halloween to buy candy is a long-standing and generally successful tradition.

all hallows e'en

This article on Halloween was recently published in my community newspaper -- a paper for which I will step in as editor at the beginning of 2005. The material is pretty basic and has obviously been simplified for the sake of brevity, but it's still a fun little piece on my favorite holiday. :)

Happy Halloween, everyone!


ALL HALLOWS E’EN
Rev. Jen Willis


Autumn is my favorite season, October my favorite month…. And Halloween is hands-down my favorite holiday. Every year, I look forward to the trick-or-treaters, to see the excitement in their eyes as they show off their costumes and thrill to the magic of the night. And there is something mysterious and enchanting about Halloween, the one night of the year when Ouija boards and Tarot cards come out of the closet, pumpkins are carved, amateur séances held, ghost stories told, and the midnight “witching hour” spookier than ever.

“Halloween” is derived from “All Hallows Eve,” and this pagan holiday is the reason the Christian church centuries ago moved All Saints Day from the spring to November 1st, because they couldn’t stop the locals from celebrating their festival of the dead. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

But Halloween – more traditionally known as Samhain (pronounced “SOW-en”) – is also the Celtic New Year. Samhain marks the last harvest, when unharvested crops and fruits became the property of the fairies, and the beginning of the dark half of the year, when the days grow shorter and nights grow longer. Since the Celts began each day at sunset, Samhain falls between seasons, and between years. In this “in-between time,” the dead are free to roam amongst the living, and the veils between worlds are at their thinnest.

Divination and prophecy are traditional on Samhain, and prophecies sought on this night might offer glimmers of hope and warmth during the coming winter. Druids held divination rites on Samhain, seeking the counsel and guidance of the ancestors, and it is said that journeys to the “other side” might be made safely on Samhain.

Adults and children alike dressed in scary costumes when going out on this night, to protect themselves from malevolent beings by disguising themselves as fellow goblins, to make kindred spirits feel more at home, and to frighten away nasty spirits that might be up to no good. Children were quick to snatch up the soul cakes left on doorsteps to appease the roaming spirits and to keep them from entering the houses; others begged for food, ale, or money with promises to pray for the departed loved ones of those in the home: the origins of trick-or-treating.

For centuries, jack-o-lanterns have been placed in windowsills and doorways on All Hallows Eve, to frighten away the wandering and restless spirit of Stingy Jack, who had been too clever for hell, but not righteous enough to enter heaven.

Neo-pagans today continue to observe Samhain as one of the major holy days of the Wiccan and Druidic calendars, and the holiday is celebrated through religious ritual as well as more traditional activities – carving pumpkins, divination and scrying, and costume parties.

I’ll have my jack-o-lantern out this year, though not out of fear of Stingy Jack. And while I don’t have a Ouija board, I can offer you a Twix bar and maybe some spiced cider if you come wandering by this All Hallows E’en.

in memory of a nutria

Though my neighbors tell me that nutrias cause trouble and aren't worth having around our lakes, I've still enjoyed seeing them from time to time while taking my dogs for walks along the water. I'm told that there used to be quite a large population of the critters here, but I've only seen three since I moved in.

Nutrias (singular: nutria) are native to South America and were imported into North America as an alternative to mink fur. (See Nutria -- Exotic Aquatics on the Move for more information.)

While doing some work on the computer this morning, I heard a minor scuffle next door followed by a mid-pitched, frustrated howling sound. My dogs went berserk, running up and down the stairs trying to get the best view from different windows, and eventually trying to get outside to see what was happening. I took a glance out the window, saw the critter control truck, and raced down the stairs. In a flash, I was out the door and by the employee's side.

In his trap was the largest of the three nutrias I have recently seen by the water.

The poor animal was in obvious distress, though was no longer complaining vocally; the worst part was seeing the milky discharge from his nose. The control guy said the animal appeared diseased, and when my next-door neighbor came out to explain how the nutria had stubbornly and seemingly desperately taken refuge on her porch -- rather than his natural aquatic habitat -- we knew that he was likely looking for a safe place to die.

There is currently no funding to support the rehabilitation or even testing of animals like this one, so he will be put down without an examination. My neighbor and I both felt torn over this, but there really weren't any other options. Releasing a likely sick animal back into the community where he could infect other nutrias or even neighborhood cats and dogs wasn't responsible, plus he would have just ended up back on my neighbors porch.

I said a quiet blessing over the nutria, and went back inside.

speaking of writing/NaNoWriMo

November 1st will mark the beginning of the 5th annual National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), founded in 1999 by Chris Baty and friends as a simple framework for writing a novel in a month. That's 50,000 words in 30 days. No small undertaking.

NaNoWriMo has grown by leaps and bounds each year and now features tens of thousands of participants from a host of countries. The only person you're competing against is yourself, and each person who completes the task of 50,000 words by November 30th is declared a winner. Baty has also released a book this fall -- No Plot? No Problem! -- as a guide to negotiating and succeeding during the month-long process.

I first heard about NaNoWriMo from a fellow writer last year in late October, just a few days before it was set to begin. I loved the idea, as one of a writer's worst enemies is free time. I "went on sabbatical" in the fall of 1999 to write my first book and freely admit to falling into a very productive pattern of doing everything but writing -- I say "productive," because I got tons of stuff done, but not so much having to do with my book. My saving grace was that I was also enrolled in seminary and did have deadlines for those assignments, which helped me get more into a writing frame of mind from time to time. The first draft was finished in the summer of 2000, and rhythm was published a year later.

Peter Gabriel has also lamented about the aimlessness of artists without deadlines. He said something along the lines of needing to lock artists in a room, telling them that they have ten minutes and two dollars to get their work done. Then you get real and brilliant results. Otherwise....

Write a book in a month? Quite ambitious to be sure, but no one said the book had to be good. If you turn out something you'd like to see in print, then consider the November exercise to be a first draft. More than one NaNoWriMo winner has gone on to see his/her book published.

I'd wanted to participate last year, but life intervened. A major tech writing project was coming to a sudden end, with lots of loose ends needing attention. Plus, I was figuring out where in the world I wanted to live next, since I was planning on leaving Richmond, Virginia, and saw the whole planet as an open invitation. But a seed of an idea was planted, and over time it grew and developed into the outline I've been flushing out for my current book.

But I've not had any deadlines. Not real ones. The deadlines and schedules you make up for yourself don't count, because they are rarely adhered to. I can tell you that from experience. Right now, I have all of 6 pages written.

So, to jump-start Witches' Brew, I will be participating in this year's NaNoWriMo. A number of folks, myself included, will also be blogging their efforts and thoughts on the process (NaNoBlogMo). I've started a new blog dedicated to this project: Witches' Brew Blog. You're welcome to stop by, read some of my most recent material, and generally keep apprised of the process. It's going to be quite a lot of work, but I'm looking forward to it.

adventures in stirrups

I had been debating with myself on whether to even discuss this topic on a pseudo-public forum, but then a friend of mine overheard me and shared her own gynecological hilarity, so I decided to plunge ahead. (Kate is welcome to post her experience as a comment, if she dares....) Plus, I'm a Scorpio; I'll discuss any bodily function with glee; I am, after all, someone who has photos and video of her own exploratory surgery.

For many people, however (including my sister), this entry will likely fall into the TMI (too much information) category.

I had my annual gyn exam this past week. Any woman can tell you that this is not the event she most anticipates during the year, as it is usually edged out narrowly by tax season in terms of popularity. And if you're as "internally sensitive" as I am, the very idea of that cervical scraper is enough to set your teeth on edge.

Being new in town, this was my first visit with a new doctor -- a naturopath specializing in women's health -- and while I was looking forward to meeting her, I wasn't sure what to expect.

I remember the time that one doctor, while doing my breast exam, got a very concerned look on her face and reluctantly commented on the "large number of lumps" in my breasts. Then she stepped back and, with a sheepish look on her face, said, "Oh. Not lumps. Those are your ribs." Apparently she wasn't used to examining skinny women.

Another time, while the gyn and her assistant were hovering between my knees, the assistant got very concerned and kept asking, "Are you sure it's supposed to look like that?" No one wants to hear that while naked and in stirrups. Finally, she popped her head up to say, "Sorry! Actually, you're perfect. I'm just used to looking at flabby old ladies."

So I sat in my new doctor's office the other day, wearing nothing but a flimsy gown and my watch; for some reason I'd remembered to remove my socks but not my watch. The doctor came in, went through the pre-pap routine (e.g., blood pressure, pulse, breast exam), and then realized that she had left one of her instruments in another room. Just before she stepped out to retrieve the missing tool, she handed me a metal wand with an angled mirror at the end of it. "Do you want to watch your exam?" she asked.

I was flabbergasted. I'd never been offered a mirror before. Cool! While she was out of the room, I practiced turning that mirror every which way -- checking out the wall behind me, the table beneath me, and my scalp. When she came back in, she propped up the back of the examination table so I was almost sitting, rather than staring up at the ceiling: another novelty (however, I do give my former physician credit for hanging amusing posters on the ceiling). I'd not before had a doctor look me straight in the eye to speak to me during an annual.

As she began the vaginal exam, I was a bit shy with the mirror at first -- not nervous about seeing myself, but concerned about getting in the doctor's way. Let me tell you, though, and without going into detail, that the view I had was remarkable. It's one thing to study drawings and diagrams in health class and quite another to observe your own body; and I do think that too many women are either intimidated by or ignorant of their own bodies. The next time you're in for your annual exam, ask your doctor for a mirror. Or, buy yourself a speculum.

I'm also approaching "the mammogram birthday".... at least for a baseline scan. Ugh.

the Highest Court in the Land

The Current Electoral Vote Predictor 2004 page (http://www.electoral-vote.com/) this morning features a run-down on the current Supreme Court justices, who appointed them, how long they've been on the bench, and how old they are. While there are a few errors in this information (e.g., Ginsberg was appointed by Clinton, not by Carter), it's still quite telling: there will more than likely be several opportunities for the next presidential administration to appoint justices to the Supreme Court.

And you know what that means: Roe v. Wade, stem cell research, and civil liberties.... to name but a few issues that will likely come before the Court.

So if you happen to be on the fence about which presidential candidate will receive your vote this November, consider this from the standpoint of the Supreme Court. Who would you rather see appointing new justices to the highest court? Keep in mind that these folks:

• have records that frequently reflect the principles and agendas of the president making the appointment;
  
• make rulings that affect pretty much every aspect of our lives;
  
• have the job of interpreting the intention and letter of the United States Constitution and Bill of Rights; and
  
• serve life terms.
  

That's no small consideration when choosing someone to sit in the Oval Office.

The votemaster makes another good point on this page:

Furthermore, a president makes far more appointment to the appellate courts than to the Supreme Court, and they hear far more cases per year. If you approve of the appointments Bush has made to the appellate courts, surely you want to give him the chance to make more. If you don't approve, maybe somebody else should be doing the appointing. The next president's appointments could shape the country for decades to come.

Some food for thought this Friday morning, with the election only eleven days away....

this writer's witchy life

Every author has a unique and personal process of bringing new characters and a new story to the blank page. As I now immerse myself in the created world of my current book project, I find a familiar phenomenon manifesting.

When I was writing 'rhythm,' I got so deeply under the skin of the two main characters that my life began to reflect theirs -- specifically, I worked my way through every crisis of confidence that Robin and Angela struggled with (especially Angela). Sometimes I wonder if I'm still recovering. Angela's fear of being noticed, despite her longing for recognition and validation, really sent me for a loop.

A writer "writes what s/he knows"; however, I would have expected it to be the other way around: that I would draw from my personal experience to inject into my story, rather than having my characters' learning curves impact my daily life. It's all one and the same, though, eh? Because in the end, it's all about me! Perhaps all writers are nothing more than egomaniacs.

Maybe I should practice that, being egomaniacal. This is, after all, my blog. You don't have to read it. But you do have to eat your broccoli. Or I'm telling Mom.

But I digress.

Now, one of my main characters is a witch. An honest-to-goodness Wiccan, a practitioner of The Craft. Not at all the kind of witch that Hollywood is so keen on promoting, of course, but an earnest, earthy gal living in time with the changing of the seasons and the phases of the moon, and trying to get her uptight cousin to relax a bit and enjoy herself for once.

Since I am an interfaith minister -- yes, there really is such a thing; I went to seminary and everything -- my book collection on world faiths is already impressive, but in recent weeks, I've noticed that my "earth-based religions and related" section has grown considerably, threatening to take over an entire bookcase. Well, not quite, but it sometimes feels that way. Sure, I've had Scott Cunningham's "Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner" on the bookshelf since I was in college (I majored in religious studies), but I need to dig deeper now. I am, after all, writing someone for whom this is a way of life, not just a minor hobby.

If the Bush administration is tracking what citizens check out from their local libraries (as I suspect they are), they'll notice that I've borrowed just about every book on witchcraft from the Washington County Cooperative Library System.

Have you browsed the "New Age" (or whatever they call it) section at Barnes & Noble recently? It's huge! Just try perusing the books on witchcraft, magick, and Wicca on Amazon.com, and you'll easily spend an entire weekend sitting at the computer. It seems to be quite trendy to be pagan these days; even NPR has reported that pagan religions are the fastest growing spiritual traditions in the United States.

With so many books hitting the market right and left, and with so many of these targeting young people (especially teens), it's difficult to know where to begin. Plus, there are "paths" -- similar to denominations -- within Wicca, and a wide range of authors with varying viewpoints and codes of ethics. Luckily, when at Powells Books a few days ago, I found myself browsing alongside a well-practiced Wiccan with decades of experience, and she was able to point me toward a few sources I easily would have missed in the great wealth of material.

But back to parallels.... So if my life tends to mirror those of my characters, does this mean Anne Rice is really a vampire? Certainly John Grisham is a lawyer. ;) Am I becoming a witch, like my character? Maybe, at least for the duration of the writing. If it lasts beyond that.... What would it feel like to come out of the broom closet? I don't know that it would really change anything, and at least I would be in good company. Perhaps I'll find that the project was merely an excuse to do some exploring.... or maybe I just feel another book coming on.

getting out the vote.... er, ballot

This evening, I received a call from a local MoveOn.org organizer, while I was thawing out a piece of meat I'd forgotten about in the freezer and attempting to gauge the freezer-burn damage. He was looking for volunteers to go door-to-door in my community, urging people to vote -- more specifically, urging supporters of the Kerry-Edwards ticket to vote.

Now, I'll tell you that at my house I find door-to-door anybody more annoying than that gunky funk that builds up inside the toilet bowl when you get lazy and don't scrub it for a couple of weeks (or longer). I told the man on the phone as much, though I used nicer language. So I declined his offer to go knocking on doors and inquiring about people's party affiliation. I also declined the opportunity to ring up strangers -- albeit, strangers in my community -- and ask them similar questions.

But I did jump at the chance to drive people to the polls. Well, not exactly to the polls, but to the library. With Oregon's ballot system, all ballots must be postmarked by the Friday prior to the election; else, ballots must be turned in at the local library on or before election day. So my job will be to pick people up from their homes and drive them to the library so they can make sure their voices are heard. I don't care for whom you are voting: if you need help getting to the library, you give me a call, and I'll get you there.

I'm actually quite excited; I've been wanting to do this for years, though I suppose I should make sure the MoveOn folks know of the intended nonpartisan nature of my shuttle services.

And the steak wasn't bad, seasoned with black pepper and garlic salt. No freezer-burn, though I did have to settle for broiling, as I still don't have a grill here.... not even of the George Foreman variety.

about ballots

I received my ballot in the mail over the weekend.

While I am used to going to the polls each year on election day, Oregon -- my new state of residence -- operates on ballots instead. You know, the mail-in kind. They tell me that using the ballot system has dramatically increased voter participation, and I'm all for that, but I'll still miss going to the polls.

I remember accompanying my mother when she went to vote, when I was just a toddler. It was all very exciting, stepping into the booth with her, the curtain closing behind us, so many levers and buttons everywhere. It felt very much like the Wizard of Oz. She must have explained something about what she was doing, and what elections were about, because I understood that we were in a powerful place, and that the few seconds my mother spent choosing one button over another was important work.

As an adult with the right and privilege to vote, I've dealt with absentee ballots, punch-cards, and the old-fashioned, lever-operated booths. That last one is definitely my favorite. As luck would have it, I lived just a block away from my polling station in my last house in Virginia, and for seven years I arose early each election day, made the short walk over to the library, and closed those magic curtains behind me.

I even learned how to write in a candidate's name on one of those machines. I couldn't stomach voting for the unopposed incumbent Senator John Warner, and so wrote in my father's name instead. When I called Dad to tell him, he teased me about not having run a more effective campaign, but then he said, "At least I'll always know that one person voted for me."

Warner won anyway.

I have a tendency to become borderline-annoyingly patriotic as election day draws near. I not only remind all my friends -- and anyone I see on the street, generally -- to vote, but I also remind them of the entire populations on this earth who don't get to participate in their own government, and of the long lines at the polls in countries whose citizens finally do get to vote. We're talking about people who stand in line for hours and days, to exercise that very precious and newly won right of casting a single ballot.

If they'd let me, I'd likely be outside my neighborhood polling station with pom-poms and fruit punch.

But I have no polling station now. No more levers or magic curtains. It's just me, a piece of paper, and a mailbox.

Still, you know that ballot won't be gathering dust. Not at my house. It's in a special drawer, where the critters can't get it, and it will be post-marked by the end of the week, at the latest. If there weren't so many local issues to weigh in on -- and which I want to learn about and consider carefully, epsecially since I'm new in town -- it would have been done ten minutes after I received it.

And if you're looking for something to do on November 2nd, you're welcome to come watch the televised news circus here. There might even be left-over Halloween candy....

flushable goddess and discipline

The other night, I lay in bed, listening to the toilet run. I had jiggled the handle, to no avail. It just kept running. Every so often, the noise would become a wee bit fainter, but wouldn't stop. Finally, I got up and flushed the toilet again. There was again the sound of what promised to be another prolonged tank refill, but then it stopped abruptly, just like it's supposed to.

"Ah," I said to myself as I walked back to bed, slipping beneath the covers with a satisfied smile on my face. "I am the Flushable Goddess."

Somehow -- I'm really not sure what the thought process was -- this got me to thinking about the word, "discipline." I studied tae kwon do for a time, and while I liked the moves and combinations we were learning, I didn't care for the environment of "discipline." It felt too much like being in the military to me.

While I never served formally in the armed services, I did spend a period of time in high school as part of the local unit of the Civil Air Patrol (CAP) -- "official auxiliary to the United States Air Force." CAP is made up of volunteer youth and adults and is called upon for search and rescue activities (e.g., downed-aircraft, missing persons). And it is a military-style operation, with uniforms, ranks, etc. While I usually won the tap-outs, I still sometimes wonder why I remained in the organization as long as I did, as my unit was not once mobilized while I was a member.

The word "discipline" came up frequently in our weekly CAP training meetings, though I think what they were really talking about was "obedience," which is quite a bit different. I was both disciplined and obedient (mostly) when a teenager, but that pesky obedience has been falling by the wayside as I grow older. And so the atmosphere of the martial arts studio, with everyone following "orders" without question, didn't sit quite right with me.

So, still lying in bed, awaiting sleep but with too many thoughts racing through my head, I figured that if I could find a class that offered instruction in martial arts with a more groovy, yoga-like teaching style, I might give it a try. I remembered fondly the early morning groups of tai-chi practitioners and dancers, gathering in Queen Elizabeth Park in Vancouver BC to observe their daily exercises even as their breath froze on the chill air....

Moments later, I was awakened from my reverie by the familiar "clink-clink" of the sink-top drinking glass against the faucet. I once again leapt from the bed, this time to shoo away the mischievous kitty. Thus I also gained the enviable title, Guardian of Water Glasses.

at last, into the fray....

So, Jen has a blog.

This is mostly a simple test posting while checking links and while in the midst of the Ravenwald site re-working.

With luck, there should be a slightly more entertaining entry available within a week.