The Winter Season is coming, with the new year just around the bend. Yet this year still is good for some surprises... with much joy I have received the news that again a piece of mine has been chosen for Windsong Foundation's annual Pagan Calendar!
Odin the Wanderer will be your warden of January, if you purchase this very special selection of pictures from artists from all around the world! So if anyone still is looking for a special gift for Yule or Christmas, this might be the place to go:
www.amazon.com/2018-Pagan-Cale…
Still looking for the perfect Christmas/Yule present?
Look no further!
The 2017 Pagan Calendar, published by Windsong Foundation, a non-profit organization dedicated to the preservation and continuation of polytheistic practices, gives you works from artists from across the world. Among them is featured a print of my Asa-Thor painting, which was picked exclusively for the calendar.
So, if you follow any Heathen tradition, whether you consider yourself Asatrú, Slavic or Celtic..., or just being in love with myth and culture, this might be the gift for you.
You can buy it via Amazon here: amzn.to/2hdJtZK
Selkie Shores'You're from the mainland, aye?' the fisherman said. 'I'll tell you one of Orkney's legends.'
'Oh aye?'
'Ever heard of selkies?'
'Tell me.'
'Mermaids, lass,' the fisherman said. 'Nae the fish-tailed women of the deep, mind. They're here on our very shores. You see, selkie means -'
'Seal,' she said. 'I know. Go on.'
'Well, lass, beneath the skins of each seal is a beautiful woman. If one sheds her skin, and a lad finds it and hides it, she has to marry him.'
She laughed. 'Och, away with you!'
''Tis true, lass.'
'Why wouldn't the selkie do anything about it?'
'She cannae find her skin,' said the fisherman, 'and she cannae return to the sea without it.'
'Does she even bother to look for it?'
''Tis generally the bairns that find her skin. Then she leaves her human family for the sea.'
'She must be weak-willed indeed to have this fellow's children.'
'They are weak-willed beings.'
'What about the bull seals?' she asked. 'The men?'
T
GuinevereTheir wedding night was passionate. She was able to relax because she had plucked out every offending hair the day before. She had always kept her face smooth, but they also grew in secret places that shamed her.
Now she kept her body smooth for him. Night after night they made love, and tried to make their son. That son never came, and of course he blamed her, even when he stopped making love to her. She cried most days, until one day she found herself crying onto another man's shoulder.
'I can't tell you,' she said. 'I'm too ashamed.'
'You don't have to tell me,' he said. 'And you don't have to be ashamed.'
One morning she was in their bedroom, sitting at her mirror and hating her reflection. She would be plucking out hairs all her life, and always they would grow back. Her husband did not normally see her until the evenings, but on that day he arrived almost in time to see what she was doing. She plucked out the last hair a
SekhmetNo lion, but a lioness
Were you, their deity of war.
More often god; there, then, goddess,
No lion, but a lioness.
Men may make women powerless,
Yet whose the warlike, godlike roar?
No lion's, but a lioness'.
Were you their deity of war?
FrankenchildEven on that first day back at school, I thought Dr Walker sounded a little too interested when he asked me, ‘No coughs? Summer colds? Rashes? Dizziness?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘You’re a handsome boy, aren’t you, Daniel? Not much point in being handsome when there are no girls around!’
‘I don’t think you should say things like that to us, Dr Walker.’
In fact, there was one girl around. She lived in the house opposite the school, which meant that she must have belonged to Dr Walker, because it was his house. He’d moved in when, suddenly and for no apparent reason, the old doctor and his wife had moved out.
The girl was often in the front garden, hobbling about. There seemed to be something wrong with her right leg. The hipbone jutted outwards and upwards, much too big for her body. We all supposed she was ill, because of her leg and her sallow skin, and because she never went anywhere. We saw her during
The Little Time TravelerIt was his masterpiece; a simple cardboard box created by a little boy's imagination. As a canvas for his markers, colorful lines swirled along the sides. Each line told a story of excitement and adventure: thrilling times for a little boy and his ever faithful companion. He held Teddy in his arms, knowing his friend's purpose took much care to achieve; his protector from terrible evils.<da:thumb id="392948121"/>
Lively blue eyes glanced at the fuzzy friend as a big grin was plastered on the little boy's face. The things they had seen on their journeys, defied everything the world had tried to teach them to believe, but they maintained they were too young to believe the world's words. They just wanted to explore the universe for themselves.
Gathering himself up, he sat Teddy down in a chair and made his way to his closet. Sifting through the shirts and trousers, he found his travel clothes and presents them to Teddy; a brown newsboy cap, pants, and shoes with a plaid bow-tie and suspenders. He also found Teddy&
I Can, I Will, I Have Done“You can’t.”
That’s how it started. A boy, a girl and the words, “You can’t”.
With her mother having died from pneumonia, only six months earlier, Suzie arrived at her 21st birthday realising little else had changed in her life. Her sole purpose was now to keep the house in order, an ordeal which started before dawn and ended way after her father and brother had gone to bed. There was bread to bake, grocery shopping to do, cleaning, cooking; the list was endless and she collapsed into bed at night for a fitful few hours sleep grabbed between her loads of work.
“Why was I born different ma?” She spoke to her mother as if she was there listening. “Why was I born like you, with the female body parts? All I want is to be like Phillip – he can run about, he can vote for change, a change that doesn’t affect me so much as him and father.” A small tear trickled down her cheek. “I’m clever too ma, smarter
SleepSleep
21-3-15
Will I always wake?
I sleep and dream.
Fighting sleep I dream worse than before
Until I wake no more.
I will not always wake.