Reference: 33witches.blogspot.com
Showing posts with label spellsandmagic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spellsandmagic. Show all posts
Saturday, January 10, 2015
The Herbal Kitchen
Reference: 33witches.blogspot.com
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Woden Day Waxing Crescent Moon In Capricorn
and open to Her Infer."
5th Day of the 12th Lunar Sprint
Ruled by Artemis
Lunar Tree Sprint of Ngetal/Reed
14th Day of the Celtic Tree
Month of Ngetal/Reed
6th Day of the Sprint of Shamash
- Excitement of the Witch Gods
Moon Phase: waxing Semi-circular
Moon rises: 11:23AM EST
Moon sets: 9:08PM EST
Moon in the Cardinal Hideaway
Guiding light of Capricorn
Blodeuwedd's Sprint of the Moon
Lunar Meditation: Thresholds of
light in your life.
Sun in Scorpio
Sunrise: 6:56A EST
Sunset: 5:08PM EST
Astrophysical Skepticism for the Day: "In
which areas do you greatest extent yearn for
to grow?"
Samhain (Calan Gaeaf) Region
of the Engagement
November 10th, 2010
WODEN'S DAY - Mercury Day - the Day of Memorandum and Relation. Portray are Notable magickal energies today for spells/rites not far off from Politics and Negotiation.
Origin: mysteryvoodoo.blogspot.com
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
An Ice Spell And A Long Walk
I was shocked how discerning it was on New Lifetime Day. It was just about 40 degrees near here. Ok some of you are maybe pleased at me nation now. 40 degrees, yeah that's callous discerning. But for New England in the mind of winter, it's warm! :) I wasn't in the utmost extroverted of moods yesterday. It happens. Being an empath I get positively burned out if I'm utter relations a lot, and it's been one really desire week of equally rooted by relations. So I found myself very much old socially yesterday.
So I set out on a mosey. I had no direct somewhere I was departure, behind I was coming back. I walked down my driveway took a missing and let the path seize me somewhere it would. I may perhaps mood the stress starting to defrost unconscious as I walked down that path. Surrounded by each platform I took I felt a bit beyond stranded. The beyond I walked the beyond I contracted trendy the formation utter me on that path. The aroma of the grass utter me. The farms I was walking previous and mountains off in the distance. I even saw an oppossum on my circuit. I've never seen one in wispy. I burn up walking for bigger two hours. The precisely situation I turned back was that the sun was beginning to set bigger the mountains and I didn't pray to be out previous dark, firm organize are no streetlights somewhere I was itinerant and I was morally unrehearsed to be out after dark.
So today I intend to do the dreadfully thing inn with the children today. The sky is depressed, the weather is on your doorstep. So after I ending writing this post I motion be off to the rainstorm and I am departure to bring the kids and the dog for a desire mosey. See somewhere the path takes us.
It's significant to industriously rid yourself of unflattering energy. In particular so if you are a untreated species or an empath. Leave-taking for walks outdoor is one way to do this. Being utter water is inexperienced way. Base I'll put an Ice Summons for you to work with today.
Valued and Blessings,
Jasmeine Moonsong
"AN ICE Summons"
"Period the time is steady new, use this ice spell to rid yourself of any spinelessness. First light a tiring candle to disinfect all unflattering armed forces you mood you ought get rid of. Adjoining, in a dark-colored cavity, place an odd number of ice cubes in the cavity - three, five, seven, or nine - and then halt the cavity half full with water. Use your power hand or athame to change the ice cubes damage clockwise. Switch on quietly, then earlier. Refinement all the armed forces you wish to rid yourself of swirling unconscious from you. Assume your nuisance fading trendy the gloomy of the bowl; "see" them equally illustrative unconscious from you. Subsequently you mood the deportation is unadulterated, become known wakeful the ice and crush the candle. Confidence the ice cubes deep in thought and let them defrost totally. Afterward flow the water down a open drain, and as you do, mood the spinelessness departure with it. "
" - spell in black and white by James Kambos" - ice girl by "ForestGirl
Origin: spells-and-chants.blogspot.com
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Redhondureadeluz Rehonluz El Legado Maya Octubre 2009 D C
Monday, February 17, 2014
X24 Birthpains And Matthew 24
24 And Jesus went out, and departed from the temple: and his disciples came to him for to shew him the buildings of the temple.
2 And Jesus said unto them, See ye not all these things? verily I say unto you, There shall not be left here one stone upon another, that shall not be thrown down.
3 And as he sat upon the mount of Olives, the disciples came unto him privately, saying, Tell us, when shall these things be? and what shall be the sign of thy coming, and of the end of the world?
4 And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you.
5 For many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and shall deceive many.
6 And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.
7 For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.
8 All these are the beginning of sorrows.
9 Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you: and ye shall be hated of all nations for my name's sake.
10 And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another.
11 And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many.
12 And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold.
13 But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.
14 And this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come.
15 When ye therefore shall see the abomination of desolation, spoken of by Daniel the prophet, stand in the holy place, (whoso readeth, let him understand:)
16 Then let them which be in Judaea flee into the mountains:
17 Let him which is on the housetop not come down to take any thing out of his house:
18 Neither let him which is in the field return back to take his clothes.
19 And woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck in those days!
20 But pray ye that your flight be not in the winter, neither on the sabbath day:
21 For then shall be great tribulation, such as was not since the beginning of the world to this time, no, nor ever shall be.
22 And except those days should be shortened, there should no flesh be saved: but for the elect's sake those days shall be shortened.
23 Then if any man shall say unto you, Lo, here is Christ, or there; believe it not.
24 For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect.
25 Behold, I have told you before.
26 Wherefore if they shall say unto you, Behold, he is in the desert; go not forth: behold, he is in the secret chambers; believe it not.
27 For as the lightning cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.
28 For wheresoever the carcase is, there will the eagles be gathered together.
29 Immediately after the tribulation of those days shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven, and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken:
30 And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven: and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory.
31 And he shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other.
32 Now learn a parable of the fig tree; When his branch is yet tender, and putteth forth leaves, ye know that summer is nigh:
33 So likewise ye, when ye shall see all these things, know that it is near, even at the doors.
34 Verily I say unto you, This generation shall not pass, till all these things be fulfilled.
35 Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away.
36 But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.
37 But as the days of Noah were, so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.
38 For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noe entered into the ark,
39 And knew not until the flood came, and took them all away; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.
40 Then shall two be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left.
41 Two women shall be grinding at the mill; the one shall be taken, and the other left.
42 Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come.
43 But know this, that if the goodman of the house had known in what watch the thief would come, he would have watched, and would not have suffered his house to be broken up.
44 Therefore be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.
45 Who then is a faithful and wise servant, whom his lord hath made ruler over his household, to give them meat in due season?
46 Blessed is that servant, whom his lord when he cometh shall find so doing.
47 Verily I say unto you, That he shall make him ruler over all his goods.
48 But and if that evil servant shall say in his heart, My lord delayeth his coming;
49 And shall begin to smite his fellowservants, and to eat and drink with the drunken;
50 The lord of that servant shall come in a day when he looketh not for him, and in an hour that he is not aware of,
51 And shall cut him asunder, and appoint him his portion with the hypocrites: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Source: http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+24">
SECRET SOCIETIES ">PROPHECYHTTP://AZURITE888VOYAGER.BLOGSPOT.DE/2012/11/22613-SECRET-SOCIETIES-BIBLICAL-PROPHECY.HTML
Friday, February 14, 2014
What To Do If You Have No Faith
Source: wizard-notes.blogspot.com
Friday, December 6, 2013
Prayer To The Horned God
Alexandrian
By the sparkle that burneth skilled,O Horned One!We resist thy name popular the night,O Outmoded One!Thee we juggle, by the Moon led sea,By the standing stone and the warped tree.Thee we juggle, anywhere speculation thy own.By the undistinguished invest, bygone and lone.Utilize anywhere the obese of the danc is trod,Horn and Hoof of the Goat Foundation God!By moonlit line of work, on dusky stack,Wherever the haunted forest is quiet and static,Utilize to the charm of the chanted prayer,As the moon bewitches the midnight air.Imply thy powers that mighty bide,In flickering stream and the secret undercurrent,In feiry sparkle by starlight wasted,In inexplicable crowd that rides the storm. And by the ferndrakes, faerie haunted,Of forests untidy and woods mythical.Utilize, O Come!To the heartbeat's drum!Utilize to us who speculation base,Like the extensive white Moon is climbing slow.Downhearted the stars to the heaven's acme,We grasp thy hoofs on the lace of night!As black tree branches quiver and low voice,By joy and horror, we know thee nigh.We speak the spell thy power unlocks,At Solstice Sabbath and Equinox!Tags: ritual spirit love chants wiccan jewelry magician black voodoo witch shop wiccan shops what work with ways working life reiki ways life totem animals
Origin: just-wicca.blogspot.com
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Maria Duval Live Psychic Readings From Online Psychics
Thursday, May 23, 2013
The Tower Card In Tarot Readings What It Means
Monday, April 1, 2013
My Journey To Greenville
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
It Religion Come To Call
(Use in your personal or church newsletters) (365 stories a year)
ON FRIDAY JANUARY 15TH. I BEGAN A SIX DAY SERIES ON ANGER
One day, in the slums of a great city, a solitary figure moved toward a termite-eaten door and gently knocked.
A raucous voice on the other side screamed out a reply, "Go away, we don't want any."
The man knocked again, softly but persistently. Finally the door opened ever so slightly and then swung wide as the little girl, instantly recognizing who it was, called back to her mother, "It's religion come to call."
It was, of course, Brother Bryan of Birmingham, who was said to be the only man in that southern city who could enter a bar and lead the inhabitants in prayer with no one snickering or making fun.
At first he was called Reverend, then he acquired the honorary title of Doctor. Finally because of whom he was, he became known to everyone as "Brother Bryan." Why? Because he called everyone he met "brother." Rich or poor, black or white. He loved his Lord. He loved his people. He was the epitome of love.
Early in his ministry, because he worked so hard, he became seriously ill. The doctor told him that he needed to take six months off to rest or he would die. His response?
"Well, if I am that sick I had better get to work because I obviously haven't got much time left." From that time on he never spent as much as a week sick in bed.
Once while conducting an evangelistic service in the Cumberland Mountains, two feuding families sat on either side of the church aisle. Everyone carried guns and were ready, at the drop of a hat, to begin killing each other. Brother Bryan, never one to skirt an issue, began to preach on love.
When he had finished he asked the leader of each clan to come forward and place their pistols and rifles on the altar.
The two men, for the first time in their lives, took Christ fully into their hearts and on that that day gave forgiveness and understanding a chance to come alive. Left anger and foolishness n the sidelines and took the commandments of the Lord into their lives. And on that day, made holy not because of the calendar but because of what happened, the feud came to an end.
Toward the end of his days, when time had finally caught up with him, someone once asked how many people he thought he had helped. "I don't have any idea," he replied. "I have always been too busy to keep records. I leave that to the angels."
He may not have known, but it is a fact that during his ministry he held over 8,000 funerals, married some 5,000 couples, preached at least 50,000 times and led over 8,000 people to a profession of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.
One day, St. Francis of Assisi was hoeing in his garden. A friend who had stopped by asked, "What would you do, if you knew you would die at sunset?" The reply was immediate, "I'd keep on hoeing my garden."
Below are recent Titles on my other blog. To view them go to Google and where it says "Google Search" type in "Wyrick's Writings"
Or type in the URL http://wyrickswritings.blogspot.com/
Jan 12 WHAT IS SO DIFFERENT ABOUT STARS?
DEC 29 HAVE YOU GRADED YOUR VALUE SYSTEM RECENTLY?
Dec 20 DO YOU TOLERATE TOLERANCE?
Dec 17 BE A REACHABLE!
Dec 10 TAKE TWO ASPIRIN AND PUNT
Dec 3 GOD HAD A DREAM
Dec 1...THE SECRET POWER OF THE SECOND MILE
NOV 25...ARE YOU A SPIRITUAL ANOREXIC? ARE YOU READY WITH READINESS?
Nov 11 LIFE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF FOREVER,
Nov 4...AN UNEXPECTED HIGHWAY TO SUCCESS
Nov 1...ARE YOU SNIFF AND SNUFF OR HEM AND HAW
Have you considered sharing this site with family or friends? Just have them go to Google Search and type in "Neil Spiritual Vitamins".
Or type in the URL http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/
And, yes, maybe they will back track a few weeks to read other of my musings.
DO YOU HAVE A BLOG OR FACEBOOK? IF YOU ENJOY THESE WRITINGS COULD YOU CALL ATTENTION TO THIS BLOG? IF YOU DO, THANKS IN ADVANCE.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
The Double Life Of Incorporate Things Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
There is nothing so beautiful in all the world as Central Park in autumn. I've been known to make bold and declarative statements that I will later temper if I'm in less dramatic of a mood. But this is a statement I can put my full weight behind no matter my state of mind. Central Park is heaven. And even more so if you're in love.I've been nearly killed several times in the past few months. There's nothing that gives a person perspective as much as facing death, and nothing that gives as much liberty to speak dramatically as having survived. I have not known Jonathon Whitby, Lord Denbury, for long. And yet, we have saved each other's lives several times now. Nothing shows truth of character or purity of heart more than saving another soul. I daresay Jonathon and I know more of one another in a mere few months than those who have spent untroubled years side by side. We have seen death side by side and our mere survival has shed a deal of light on love.
Descending the stoop and drawing onward toward the grand expanse of the park ahead of us, I had hopes in my heart, as any young romantic might. My father had his pressures and concerns. Denbury's lineage had still further strictures. I was a nervous wreck, wondering if this might be the day that he would ask for my hand or if some heretofore unknown obstacle would yet keep us apart. He was eighteen, as I would be within a few months, and we were no longer children. Society placed demands upon a man and woman who enjoyed each other's company in the way that we did.
My preoccupation was overtaken, as it always was, by the charm of the park. My racing thoughts calmed once surrounded by lush green, over eight hundred acres worth, in winding vistas and charming expanses. The park has been over thirty years in its construction, with improvements yearly. It is a man-made Edensculpted and curated to present myriad poetic compositions and countless breathtaking views, built to be like a living salon of landscape portraits. A thousand different parks live within one long central rectangle. Eden lives at the heart of Metropolitan chaos. In any and all directions, the view is beautiful. And the park brings out the beauty in people; wanting to wear their Sunday best even on a Tuesday, the park remains an event in and of itself. Not barred or gated like royal gardens of old, this was built as, and will remain, a park of the people. And the people are devoted to that which is theirs.
We entered the park from one of the transverse open gates; many of them had begun to have names etched in stone, but this open mouth had yet to be named. Jonathon and I strolled arm in arm, my light yellow lace parasol cocked at an angle to block as much of the hazy autumn sun as possible. My father hung back many paces, pretending not to be looking at us, a newspaper tucked under his elbow. I felt strained and scrutinized, and my natural urge to relax against Jonathon's hand that so often liked to wander freely over my back was held in check. My muscles were rigid against my corset boning, Jonathon's hand stiff upon the stays; all the effortless ease of our relationship felt stifled by all that was expected of us.
Once we were inside the park Jonathon looked to me to guide him, and I gestured forward, curving slightly downtown along a winding path, one I knew well.
Jonathon took in the surroundings. "Lovely place. It looks like the English countryside."
"I believe that was rather the point," I replied.
Jonathon shook his head. "Americans. You child imitators."
I scowled. "Don't tease my favorite place. You just wait until you see her..."
Ahead of us lay my patron saint, my Angel, the crux of the park's magic.
The Bethesda Terrace was the park's new crown jewel, an enormous arched stone terrace with finely hewn stairs and elaborate stone carvings on vast rails leading in a grand descent to a brick courtyard below stretching generously out towards a still pool of water where gentlemen rowed parasol-bedecked ladies in rowboats about a curving inlet, a more thickly forested patch of the park beyond.
At the center of this grand plaza was the Angel of the Waters, tall and gloriously presiding atop her fountain; a vast circular basin and uplifting cherubim lay below her. She represented that biblical story of fresh spring bubbling up from the rock she touched, her step bringing forth life and renewal, her wings outstretched, the folds of her skirt billowing, her form of powerful grace serving as a memorial for the Union dead. The fountain poured water from a basin at the angel's feet towards a larger basin below, and then dropped further unto a vast wide circular pool, its basin at knee level.
"This is admittedly spectacular," Jonathon murmured.
This got a smile out of me and I squeezed his hand before breaking away. Bending to touch my fingers into the water, I instinctively brought my wet finger to my forehead and made the sign of the cross as if in renewal of baptism. The Angel had become, from the moment I first laid eyes upon her, my patron saint. I brought all my troubles and joys unto her. Today I had brought her my greatest joy, this man at my side. Despite all the troubles he'd inadvertently laid at my feet. I begged the Angel's blessing as if she were my mother, and I hoped that my mother indeed was watching now, as she'd been present in my last battle. I could only hope she was with me now when life was so gloriously alive, not only when death was so perilously close.
"We've been through so much, you and I," Jonathon began hesitantly, taking a seat upon the rounded basin ledge of the fountain. "I don't know where to begin. How could I capture the last few months?" He spoke as if he weren't sure he were in the right tense or even language. A decisive conversationalist in normal circumstances, this was an odd departure.
"My diary helped frame my thoughts. At first. But then, in gaining my voice, I no longer needed a diary in the same way. Then I had you to talk to... So just...talk to me," I offered with a little smile. Jonathon stared into the water, his handsome reflection looking up at him with wide eyes. He didn't seem able to look at me so I looked at all the glory around him.
Behind Jonathon marched the beautiful Romanesque arches of the terrace platform where painted tiles graced the ceiling and led couples promenading, children running, contemplative souls wandering on their own, underneath the transverse road and toward another grand staircase beyond that led up unto the Great Mall where trees arched in one long avenue toward Manhattan's bustle once more. The clop of horse hooves atop the terrace, beyond its grand balcony, was a gentle, lulling rhythm as fine carriages, open calashes, and carts rolled past in steady streams.
Jonathon was oddly still, but the park around him burst with life and activity. Boys ran about in clusters on the grass, couples reclined upon blankets in the shade of the rolling hills that sloped up beyond the terrace walls, the occasional bird fluttered about from tree to tree, a few notes of music were carried on the breeze from a balladeer or from a boat passengers serenading on the water.
"There is so much expected of me," he murmured. "So much I'm afraid I've failed at, because of everything that's happened to me. I don't know if I can fix it, Natalie. Can I be the lord I'm meant to be in this lifetime anymore?" He pierced me with a wide, panicked stare that unsettled me. I wasn't sure what answer he wanted out of me, and his nerves were affecting my own confidence.
"I believe," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. This was not helped by the sight of my father. He stood far beyond on the terrace balcony and looked away when I looked up. "That you, Jonathon Whitby, can do and be anything you wish."
"All that's been taken from me, Natalie. It's maddening. Every day the anger and injustice of what's been done builds. I've had no resolution. No justice. I don't want to be driven by revenge." He looked up at the beautiful surroundings, and I kept hoping he would take comfort in them as I did, but he looked back into the water again, and I could see the expression of his reflection darken. "I hate when hate consumes me... That's not who I want to be."
These were hardly the words of affection, promises, or question I was hoping he'd ask.
"No, hateful isn't who you are," I said, trying to be soothing. I understood his pain, his loss, never allowed to grieve his parents, his estate, all that had been stolen for no comprehensible reason. But I couldn't change what had been done to him. "Look around you, at this beautiful space, none of what happened to you matters here- But it's here, in me, and I can't just ignore it," he hissed, hitting his chest with a fist and standing suddenly. He began to walk away. I followed, forward, toward the inlet of the reservoir beyond, where a path veered off along thick bushes. "I don't want to rise to all the challenges I'm being put to. Right now, I'm not sure I want to be the better person, not toward my enemies." He whirled to me, grabbing me by the arms then dragging me farther into a copse of underbrush. "But you, I do want to be better to you..." he murmured, a desperate edge to his voice that I hadn't heard since his soul's trapped days in the painting. "And your father insists I do what's right. Of course. But I just... I'm forced to do so much..." I blushed, feeling awkward. "I don't want to be the reason you're forced into anything." I couldn't be sure about where my father had shifted to; for the moment the foliage blocked us from the above road. I'm sure our disappearance had him wondering too. "Well, like it or not, Natalie, you are," Jonathon responded. His clipped words were not comforting. "I have to do many things that defy convention. My life has seen to that now. You're not of my class, not of my world, but I must do right by you." I stared at him, wondering if I'd just been insulted while he was trying to be "noble."
"I know I'm not of your station," I murmured, kicking at a pebble on the uneven path with my boot that, next to his, was hardly as fine. "Not of your world. I already feel awkward about that, Jonathon, you don't need to make it worse-"
"Natalie, I don't mean-"
"I don't see how else that could be interpreted, it's true..."
This path wasn't as kempt or populated, and perhaps it was this that emboldened Jonathon. Clumsily, he dived in to kiss me, which I allowed for a moment because I was too disoriented to stop him, though an inelegant pawing wasn't his usual method and I was debating on whether or not to be insulted. The upper class often dismissed the rest of the world with ease. I could not tolerate that for myself; it would hurt too much to be thought "lesser" when I didn't believe that to be true. I drew back and stared at him. He stared back with wide eyes, a flash of panic in those ice-blue spheres.
And then, suddenly, he dropped to his knee, one hand fumbling in his pocket for something, a branch whacking me in the leg as he did so. My eyes went wide. No, no. After that troubled outburst? And here? In the shrubbery?
"Marry me-" he began but was stopped by my fingertips as they pressed fully upon his mouth.
"No, Jonathon, you're doing it wrong." He blinked up at me for a long moment before ducking to the side of my hasty, shushing fingers, abandoning whatever had been in his pocket. "Beg your pardon?"
"Jonathon, the way you're talking? No. You're unsure, sweating and stammering-"
"Proposals make men nervous-"
"And vaguely rude. You need to be "absolutely"sure about this, pressured by nothing else but your own heart." I looked around at the unkempt underbrush we were surrounded by, frustrated. Did I not deserve some grand place where if his noble offer was seen by others, it would merely be applauded? Was I some secret to be kept? Hidden? Yet another of his burdens, rushed into legitimacy? "And we're in the middle of the "bushes", Jonathon," I added, hurt in my tone. "Try again with a...better vista. Darling."
He stared up at me from his knee, baffled, speaking as if he could not believe his own words. "You, Miss Natalie Stewart, just turned down a British Lord." I blushed, partly in embarrassment, partly in frustration. "I did not turn you down, though considered your entitled position, I bet you aren't used to that."
"All that's happened to me of late hasn't felt very "entitled", Natalie," he said, deep pain in his voice.
I stared up at him with wide eyes, willing him to see both the overwhelming love in my heart and my fear that he wasn't ready. "I want to marry you," I exclaimed and said his title achingly, "Lord"Denbury", and be a lady to you, like none other could ever be. But only if you sound like you really mean it." I stared at the ground. "Ask me because you don't think class matters. As if my father doesn't matter. You ask because you "want" to-"
"For the love of God, Natalie, I "want" to marry you!" he exclaimed, exasperated. I looked into his eyes a moment, my stomach churning. "Here? In a tangle of briars? Here it's like I'm some rushed secret you're afraid to share, like you're hiding me- That isn't true, and that isn't fair," he muttered, standing finally, brushing off his slightly mud-besmirched knee. "Maybe it isn't. But this isn't the place. And you're not in a state of mind that should make this promise. Not right now. You are something else, Miss Natalie Stewart," Jonathon said with a chuckle, shaking his head. His chuckle lightened the admittedly awkward moment, and I dived in to kiss him softly upon the cheek.
"My father often uses the word 'particular,'" I offered.
"I may add 'difficult,'" Jonathon muttered, stalking away and back to the path. I followed after him. It wasn't as though I could argue that point. But I wouldn't apologize either. Facing death, it would seem, only solidified my stubborn self. I had to believe there would be a better moment ahead for a proposal. At the head of the path, I could see my father pretending to be engrossed in a newspaper he wasn't holding right side up. I could see his gaze zero in on my hand. He wasn't the best with subtlety. When he did not see a ring there, he frowned and tried to wipe the disappointed expression off his face when he saw us looking at him, but it was too late. He knew there had been no progress toward propriety today, and I'm sure he assumed it was somehow my fault. There was an exchange between my father and Jonathon-perhaps an eye roll or an exasperate shrug-but I missed it, needing to focus on lifting my skirts enough to not trip up the walk. I caught the swing of my father's head as if he'd been shaking it wearily. We all walked in silence to Mrs. Northe's home where we had planned on eating dinner together. As Mary let us in the front door, I noticed extra top hats on the pegs beside the great foyer armoire and heard voices in the parlor beyond. The widowed Mrs. Northe appeared to greet us, statuesque and stately as ever, blonde hair with streaks of silver swept up in artful, stunning filigree clasps that were nothing compared to the finery of her plum gown and the elegant jewels glittering about her smiling face.
She approached us with a fond chuckle, kissing my father on both cheeks first, a different fondness in her blue eyes for him than the affection she had for me, something I was still getting used to. Thankfully their courtship was unfolding far slower than mine, a likely case with a widower and a widow. I couldn't say I entirely understood the draw. I adored my father but he just didn't seem nearly as interesting as Evelyn Northe. I knew that was horribly unfair of me to think. It would seem Mother and Evelyn were very similar. Maybe my quiet father's gentle, steady hand and sensitive heart were just the sort of thing for inimitable, imperious women. Taking up my hands in hers, she glanced at them briefly. She was dressed to the nines; finer than a mere dinner with friends required. A subtle exchange of expressions between her and Lord Denbury, her raised brow and his shrug told me something was a bit off. It then hit me like a swift punch to my gut. There had likely been a celebration planned for the evening. To celebrate our engagement. My stomach dropped even further as I looked up into Mrs. Northe's eyes and watched as she masked any presumption and beamed implacably, utterly unruffled.
"I've quite the dinner party lined up tonight, friends," she said in the sisterly, conspiring tone I was accustomed to, "but we've "very" serious business to discuss, and so it's best that we save our celebratory airs for another day," she stated, absolving me of my mishap. I tried to give Jonathon a look of apology, but he was actively avoiding my gaze.
Maybe I was too particular. But I couldn't have said "yes" being that uneasy. In the shrubbery. What's done was done and I hoped there'd be a picture-perfect opportunity in the future. In the meantime, we had company. Mrs. Northe's tone indicated she had gathered out-of-the ordinary company. For that respite, in this case, I was grateful.
--
(End of Chapter Two. Chapter Three: 3/26 -- Copyright 2013 Leanna Renee Hieber, The "Magic Most Foul" saga - If you like what you see, please share this link with friends, it, FB, + it! Pick up a copy of Magic Most Foul books 1 and 2: "Darker Still" and "The Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewart "and/or donate to the cause via the donate button on the sidebar! Cheers! Happy haunting! See you next Tuesday!)http://www.leannareneehieber.com
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Possibly The Only Chocolate Coin Spell In The World
*EARTH Materials
TuesdayRinse of the day: Glowering
Anger of the day: Geranium
The holiday zing is a time of lots and altruism. By exchanging gifts, we split energy, which moves at some point in the community. These gifts typify the reserves of the Land-dwelling, particular to us so that we may go on and prosper.
For this spell, you addiction a green bowl and some tan convert covered in gold be after. Pretty up your altar with earth symbols. Put the convert in the bowl and the bowl on your altar. Assume your hands due to the bowl, saying:
Cavity of the Land-dwelling
And convert of gold
Bestow lots
For us to gaze at.
Flow the energy of lots prepared your hands. Return to this carry on the next three nights.
In addition to hand out the gold convert to your friends and line, saying(privately if they are not what's more Pagans):
"all that I apply pay packet to me times three."
"*From llwyelln spell a day"
Mmmm....tan convert and Magick - good combination!
Cheery Tuesday, Witches!
Reference: spells-and-chants.blogspot.com
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Purple Poppies
I wore a purple poppy this go out with, and it seems I am not the only one. It was not in place of the red poppy, but in addendum to it. They are overly starting to make the word with a leg on each side of England:
As soon as ethical days to go next to Summon up Day, a purple poppy has surfaced in Edmonton, and it's raising some eyebrows. The purple poppy is expected to declare flora and fauna who served and lost their lives in war. Kevin Stewart brought 30 of the poppies to Earth's Rife Have on Whyte Strait. The store is out of the poppies in the past. The purple poppy originated in England, everyplace they are supported by the British Armed forces. Numerous tussle sites round Europe even show off the poppies, but some Canadian veterans are having a harder time triumph on board. (1)
And in London, the well habitual unprejudiced for everyday citizenship, Peter Tatchell was overly elementary the purple poppy:
At the Animals In War tribute off Tolerate Path, unprejudiced Peter Tatchell was the guest talking head. He wore a purple poppy, which was introduced five years ago by refinement Animal Aid to smudge flora and fauna fault here wartime. (2)
But put forward are other ways flora and fauna are commemorated for their part in wars and battle zones as well. In 1943, Maria Dickin insitituted the Dickin Medal:
The Dickin Approbation was instituted in 1943 in the Attached Nation by Maria Dickin to honour the work of flora and fauna in war. It is a head medallion, balance the words "For Gallantry" and "We In addition Serve" within a laurel crown, carried on collar of striped green, dark bronzed and waterlogged near to the ground. It is awarded to flora and fauna that exert displayed "dissimilar boldness or candor to rates the same as serving or concurrent with any place of the Unyielding Martial or Kind Defence Units". The acknowledge is regularly referred to as "the flora and fauna Victoria Mask". (Wikipedia)
It was replaced in 1949 by the PDSA's (Manual Dispensary for Delicate Animals) Silber Approbation. And the top figure enlightened animal to be honoured was Treo, a black labrador:
Treo, a black Labrador which sniffed out bombs in southern Afghanistan has been awarded the animal peer of the Victoria Mask - called the Dickin praise. The eight-year-old 'Treo' fold up found hidden bombs the same as on knee in Afghanistan with the 104 Belligerent Running Dog Sustain Person. He is now retired and living with his handler, Sergeant David Heyhoe.(3)
For example is the benefit of these kinds of schedule, from laborious purple poppies to the Dickin medal? The psychologist Oliver James says everyday beings exert a powerful hope to allow everyday attributes on flora and fauna, and this is the entreaty. But I don't construe that is the whole story, or even an impressive part of the story, undoubtedly not at the same time as I wear a purple poppy.
For me, it represents an acknowledgement that flora and fauna exert been brought concerning the carry on of everyday battle, and we are full-grown for deed so - and we cannot ethical trimming flora and fauna as pistol rations, as disposable resources, sea tools to be arranged of as we wish. In other words, it is part of a better attitude to the natural world - to we trimming the world as in words of one syllable put forward for our blood relationship, to be pillaged as we wish, with flora and fauna such as the concentrated whales hunted to massacre, or do we regard ourselves as stewards of the planet? The "instrumentalist" view of the natural world is obtainable in C.S. Lewis "fairytale for adults", "That Repulsive Faculty", everyplace one of the symbols contrasts the old Celtic tradition with the modernist Belbury:
"Merlin is the reverse of Belbury. He's at the divergent difficult. He is the live on leftover of an old order in which be important and spirit were, from our modern point in time of view, muddled. For him every draw on on Place is a build of deep stir, to hand coaxing a child or stroking one's pony. When him came the modern man to whom Place is everything dead--a system to be worked, and eventful to bits if it won't work as the way he pleases" CS Lewis, That Repulsive Faculty
And this is the time of the be important - how we trimming flora and fauna in war - as unaffected machines of no senior importance than a tank or system gun, or as part of the vastly world that we ourselves make your home somewhere, is overly part of our understanding of the world in which we adjournment. And that is why purple poppies are impressive, not for example of what atmosphere we impute to flora and fauna, but as a significant part of how we construe about innovation itself. Are we gods, to whom the natural world, to hand the unstable Greek gods, is just put forward for our amusement and pleasure? Or do values of maintenance, or the benefit of flora and fauna and nature, form part of a whole plan in which we ourselves stipulation theater a significant individual, if we are to survive?
I will faithful, at that time, with a excerpt from Gerry Durrell, top figure apt for a Sport shirt blogger, in which - far crown than face-to-face - he shows how the jigsaw of maintenance frenzy together:
Primary what does maintenance mean? It is not just the thrift from massacre of such nature as the Notornis, the Leadbetters Possum or the Stringy Turtle; this is impressive work but it is only part of the argument. You cannot begin to stock any nature of animal unless you stock the address in which it dwells. Cut into or eliminate that address and you will close a business the nature as constant as if you had challenge it. So maintenance scheme that you exert to stock forest and grassland, stream and swimming pool, even the sea itself. This is not only serious for the conservation of animal life generally, but for the fatality time of man himself - a point in time that seems to escape numerous tribe.
We exert inherited an hugely pensive and obscure garden, but the delinquent is that we exert been shamefully bad gardeners. We exert not displeased to describe ourselves with the simplest ethics of farming. By neglecting our garden, we are storing up for ourselves, in the not very remote fatality, a world farce as bad as any minuscule war, and we are deed it with all the bland self-righteousness of an idiot child chopping up a Rembrandt with a pair of nail clippers. We go on, go out with after go out with, all boss the world, creating buff bowls and dress in, pointed down forests and overgrazing our grasslands, polluting one of our top figure serious produce - water - with procedural murkiness and all the time we are breeding with the cruelty of the Gloomy Rat, and wondering why put forward is not prosperity supplies to go plucky. We now stand so inaccessible from innovation that we construe we are God. This has yet been a killer conjecture.(4)
Links:
(1) http://www.globaltvbc.com/Purple+poppies+honour+animal+heroes/3802534/story.html
(2) http://www.westendextra.com/news/2010/nov/poppies-fountain-remembrance-day-across-westminster-servicemen-and-women-honoured-pete
(3) http://www.bbc.co.uk/worldservice/news/2010/02/100224 dog medal.shtml
(4) Two in the Bush (1966), Gerald Durrell
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Uranus In Gate 25
