8 days a week

So, here it is, 8 days after I got married to Eireen, the love of ma life, and I am finaly blogging about it.

We had a nice simple ceremony by the JOP, surprised the hell out of my sister. Afterwards, my Chief and his wife threw a reception for us. It was great, his wife even baked a real wedding cake for us (pix will be posted either here or the other one).

So married life is just like dating life, only with rings.

Not much else to say. Except it's great. In fact, life is beautiful

the fighting witches

With spells in their pockets, and natural Wiccan power
The Mighty Fighting Witches are seeing their hour
The star inside a circle sewn onto their left sleeves
Left children and wives, yet none of them grieves

The enemy advances, the spell chant sings loud
Bugles are drowned out by which-song sung proud
Victory and honor are won by these soldiers
With little help from weak field-brewed Folgers

Sent by their country, which they love most dear
To fight on foreign soil, in conditions most drear
The enemy is evil, national leaders all maintain
So the witches go to war, wielding powers arcane

Followers of the Natural Religion say harm no thing
But tell that to the Wiccans of the battalion’s left wing
Shooting and slashing, they cut a bloody swatch
They rounded up the enemy, and sentries posted watch

They radio back to headquarters, awaiting new commands
Comes back, “Return to base, there’s been a change in plans.
We do not recognize your religion, nor salute your creed.
We won’t acknowledge your victory, we are ignoring your deed”

Disbanded, the Mighty Fighting Witches are dispersed
The mother of one fallen, speaks to Congress, unrehearsed
“Show my Casey Finlay the same respect every soldier earns,
Put a Pentacle on his gravestone and end my concerns!

“The Muslims have a crescent moon, the Christians have their cross,
For the Jews a Star of David, and even atheists aren’t for a loss!
But for Wiccan soldiers there is no sigil, no symbol of respect
Love my child as you love the others, this error you must correct!”

Congress just harrumphed and said they’d do their best
Then they promptly dismissed it, and put the issue to rest
No action was taken, no litigation, and no reparation
Still no respect for a witch with a soldier’s vocation

Check out the inspiration for this at:

Witch Soldier

moving through the gloaming

During the gloaming, or from now on: The Gloaming, time seems at a standstill. The sky is lighting or darking, and for a moment, it seems like this is the new reality. It will never be properly Day or Night again. The early morning commuters all recognize this event, even with out properly acknowledging it. The over the road distance transporters feel that this time is the proper time to swap duties with their reliefs. Runners find that they can no longer quite see the trail in front of their feet, potholes take on an ominous caste, turns tend to surprise.

The Gloaming is when the fairies and goblins might be glimsed. In that brief and endless moment, anything is possible, however implausible. Cherubs flee from the coming day, and might be espied descending back to Terra for night-time revels. Sol and Luna, watchful sky parents dance around staying or leaving, seemingly unwilling to abandon his or her vigil.

The specific quality of light one receives during The Gloaming makes movement precarious. Steps need to be plotted in advance of this mistakenly called "twilight" time. Motorists need to pay better attention, and at a time when the mind often thinks only of sleep, either that which was so recently surrendered, or that to which the weary traveler hurries. Color is drained and washed, making everything seem of the same hue. Tones of grey suffuse the world.

Ghosts and spirits raise their tired heads, and for a moment rejoice that the world has joined them in somber rememberance. The catharsis of night into day, and day flushing into night gives them a feeling of comraderie with the living world. The Gloaming is when the dead can finally move on to Heaven, Nirvana, or even just a simple reincarnation. The transitory nature of the infinite minute opens the gates and the floodwater of souls pours both into and out of death.

The Gloaming is.