hecate

Gently Falling Snow

“Aflonshaha, onsoo, vleah, akoh” (I am the one in the sky, who falls from the sky, I am the beautiful one, I am the snow). A gentle, sparkling angel, I float gently to the ground, without a sound. I sleep on the branches, I sleep on the leaves, I am the “blookanah hatee” (the one who loves to sleep), my thoughts become deep, you cannot tread; so you sing songs, bake cookies and rest instead. I sparkle in the sun, and shimmer in the moonlight, I am cool, but my soul fills you with warmth, I am the colder months, a time of dying, but joy is still abound, and happiness can be found, in my time of dying. I am the Goddess, the “Gashontaplee” (God who is the “Gaia” (mother Earth), and right now I am in my sleep, not to be found, until I awake, am willing to leave my soul mate who is underground in the darkness, so I can become “Spring” (“Empeeshaha” – a person who is alive and awake and filled with love and ready to propagate).

When the blizzard comes, you think it is me, but it is the “Cashah Kaplee” (hateful evil demons at the highest level of hate and jealousy, wanting to upset thee) torturing me. You blame me for downed wires, for spinning tires, for lost hours; I am not the one to blame. I am the one who came with gentle tidings, I am falling, but not descending, I try to fall gently, but the weight of their hate creates a depth of “kimmer” (cold, so deeply cold you cannot remember anything but winter).

If you want the gentle winters to return; shimmering, magical flakes, falling gently on objects below, then change your energy and change your fate, to that of a person who is “fonshoe” (calm and “askagoe” (a person who is unable to become negative at every little thing; be joyful, dance and sing). The darkness will not be penetrating, it will not be sad, it will be a long-winters nap, a long rest, a time of “Shom” (a person who is calm, in a way that is unknown to mankind, a gentle frequency, that will happen in time, once we let go of the evil mind).

Please relax, be gentle and slow, I am a person below, I cannot see the light, please be gentle and calm, I am in plight and sadness, because today my children’s minds were taken into madness, when they were told they were not loved by me, the “Valee” (beautiful one, the Great Mother, the “Sah” (the loved one of the Gods, who love the mother of their children, and their children will feel the love today, not through a person who is a human mother, for they are not trustworthy enough; but through the beautiful one that is me, the God who is gently falling, crying from the sky, frozen in time, and ready to die, today.

Into slumber I go, fast asleep, my soul the Lord will keep, Amen.

Gently I ponder, softly I sleep.
hecate

Caravan

In a tiny castle on wheels, that is built for a Queen, a little but special space that is filled with luxury. Gentle, purified water is drawn into the bath in the clawfoot tub, herbs and oils to use for a rub, flowers on the sill and “flonceah” (thrown about gently), reflections tell a tale, the warmth on the feet, immersed, the Gods surround me.

The light through the large window creates rainbows, I wrap the elegant crystal chandelier with bubble wrap when it is time to hit the road. Brocades and velvets galore are strewn, and hand-carved doors, an upper deck to view the moon. The light pours through the stained-glass windows. I travel in the evening by moonlight, during the light hours I paint the sky, I draw the mountains and the plains, I photograph the ocean and all the beautiful things I find. Around a fire pit I dance, a fireplace by the bedside, luxury linen sheets and embroidered drapery complete the bed, where I rest, not sleep. Nature art is created in the forests, mandalas made of pinecones and leaves, artwork strung between the trees, made from vines and flowers and leaves, woven, molded into clay. I play all day. The world is mine, there is not time, I have nowhere to go, I just go, I flow, I float. Meditate on the mountainside, feel the cool breeze, say hello to the air as she flows by, she can deliver a message to the “flonshay opheir” (beautiful gentle Gods), the waves roll over my feet, the sun warms my skin. Take photos, collect specimens from nature, paint, draw, in a handmade journal a collection of experiences, of sounds, of tastes. I never speak, I communicate through the breeze, there are no words that can describe the feeling of being alive, in another place and time.

Ride a bike through a trail, talk to the ancient trees, take a morning stroll, manifest energy from the core, heal the forest, build a fairy fort, sing with the littles, collect sparkly little things, fairy booty to leave by the trees, that my tiny friends can find when they play hide and seek. Blast music, the breeze knots my hair, singing at the top of my lungs, songs that have no meaning, they are gentle energy now, because nobody remembers what they are about. Just for fun not-profit, make art on a machine, to be printed and placed on a wall at the “playsheen tateen” (art museum).

hecate

‘Twas the Devil who Owned Christmas

‘Twas Christmas in the past, when all through the world
Not a devil was stirring, they were all neat and tidy, hair neatly curled;
They wake up in the morn, to bed early at night
In hopes to be the people of the light

The children of the devils are fucked up in the head
But in reality they are the ones who seem calm and “Offley” (a genius)
Their hair is always neat, the latest in trend
Their clothing top end

When out in society they are the head “Honchos”
They use their minds to berate and taunt you
But they smile and look sweet and pretty, and visions of their blue eyes will haunt you
Because they killed the “Feeanshaontee” (Goddess Venus), and took her beauty

The fake moon goddesses at the crystal store
Buying houseplants and magical items galore,
To fool you into believing they are the gentle ones,
Who are the real Goddesses, when really they are whores,

With a college degree, and as the “hatapleeh” (at the top of their game),
They gather in covens to succumb Anya’s flames.
More rapid than eagles they play the scoonchy game,
Then they whistled, and shouted, and yelled at the dame;

“Now, Erika! now, Anya! now, Vala and Ashontaplee!
On, David! on John! on, Mark and Val we do the “scoonchy atee”!
To the top of the sky! to the top of the sky!
We cash away! cash away! cash away at the mall”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
With their minds ready to pounce, they scoop up the guys,
They might be the funny one, talented one, the “Valee” (Goddess on High)
They pretend to be innocent, the Virgin Mary

And then, in a twinkling, they entrance with their eyes
And tell you they are the ancient “Hompleonshah” (ancient Goddess).
As I the Goddess spend my days saving, and inspiring, and healing
Down the evil ones took me with a bound

They are dressed all in designer, from head to foot,
With mansions, and diamonds and Manolo Blahnik
Spoiled princesses so merry and bright
Settle down with my family every night

Their eyes how they twinkle! their dimples how merrry!
Their cheeks are like roses, small, thin and very,
Capable of doing what the real Goddess cannot do,
Mind control on the “Ponshoo” (Gods who are the human men tonight)

They get together at least one day a week,
To drink tea, eat cake and plan the “hompshee” (attack)
Nobody every notices a thing,
Because they pretend they can paint, draw and sing

The dark ones appear with black hair as witches from hell,
They might be geeks who have elf ears and haunted bookshelves,
Pretending to be the ancient “Beench” (hero who kills the demons),
As long as they are brooding, and can wear a tight skirt,
Spout others poetry, and write and seem smart

As long as they can look you in the eyes,
And have gaps between their thighs;
Or they can have a broad face and a little round belly,
So they can be the God who laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

They wear a power suit, they seem astute,
they get high-end jobs, they are the head “honch”;
They are seductive and good at getting you in bed,
Its all a trick in the head, then they can win “the men”;

She speaks not a word, not in reality or your mind,
She simply does not have the energy or time,
The real Goddess is not neat or tidy, she is “aveknor” (a person who is so upset and angry she shakes the earth with such force she creates tidal waves).

The real God is in your world, you do not see me, I do not act up,
I am quiet and humble and slowly speak, people fall asleep around me,
I am not hyper, but calm in realty, but my energy is “fooonchonsah” (upset at the highest level) as can be,
My hair needs a cutting, my nails I bite off, dark circles encompass the space around my eyes, my uterus is gone.

The gap in my thighs is filled in with solidified oil,
My skin is demonized.
I cannot power walk on a treadmill, I died and I cannot walk at all,
As Jesus Christ, I cannot spend Christmas at a mall!

“Scoonchy Ho, Ho, Ho”
Her name is Offleeonchonchonsoh, she is an ancient demon, a devil now, a “scoonchy ho” (evil one who gets “the men”), she is the “one in the sky”, who is always shopping and shopping and shopping, you think she is nice, you think she is pretty, she is blonde and little and seems kinda sweet, but with this evil one you cannot compete, she is the evil one).
hecate

The Magic Forest

“I am demonic but you made me too beautiful now”, said the tree to the artist who recolored the image into a magical rainbow of colors. “Enfah” (a person who is fat but still beautiful) is not a word you will ever hear from a human being. Fat is not something ugly, per se, but in the God world it is something called a “ploneshonteen veenshentoe pleoo” (way of controlling a group of people who are descended). The group in this case are women. Women are insane, they descend themselves by fretting, obsessing, worrying, and doing “chompleenkako” (submitting to a male) with their weight.

Continue reading “The Magic Forest”
hecate

Gone but Not Forgotten

I am the stuff of legends, a luminous star in the sky, a drop of rain, a woman in pain, I am the Goddess. I live in folklore, with tales of thunderous Athena, Persephone the whore, the wild-haired Venus, always making an uproar. In modern times I am an atheist, I belong to no religion. Wiccans and Pagans do not understand who I am, though they connect to my essence. I am the “Kooshamah” (the forgotten one). God, you all believe, is a man.

Continue reading “Gone but Not Forgotten”