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Will Painter Face
- Male
- Kansas City MO
- United States
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Native American Spirituality
Replied Oct. 7, 2008
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Profile Information
- Relationship Status
- Single, It's Complicated
- About Me
- I have been involved in the Pagan community since 1986. I am a retired RN and a Vietnam vet. I have traveled to many Pagan Gatherings all over the country, and put on a few wit others of course. I consider myself an Elder, and do my best to walk that talk. I am an artist, which is my passion, and was always what I wanted to be when I grew up...finally made it, since I got to the place where it ain't about the money.
- Beliefs and Practices- Please be Detailed
- a:3:{i:0;s:28:"Native American Spirituality";i:1;s:5:"Pagan";i:2;s:5:"Other";}
- Favorite Books
- I have so many I won't bother to list them. I read every day, and have all my life. I enjoy dark fiction, pagan friendly stuff, and the occasional non-fiction books that ring true to me. ie. The Four Agreements by Don M. Ruiz.
- How Did You Hear About the PaganMystics Community?
- I was invited by Lady Anastasia
- Likes
- Sincere people without personal agendas. Pagans who get involved and help evolve the movement; Elders, Teachers, Promoters, Bards, especially of the modern Pagan type, Art and drums
- Dislikes
- Close minded people. The folks running the show that have given us war, and a suffering economy. People who call themselves Pagan and act like idiots.
- What's one thing you'd like to be remembered for when you pass?
- A person who walked in Right Action. My Artwork.
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May the day be filled with wonder, and the year ahead be blessed by our ancestors!
Peace & Health,
Misseire
MY INNER PEACE
Accept my friendship with a strophe of a poem
Some friends are like a circle,
for they are always true,
I know I have a friend like that
and yes, that friend is you.
Click above
Greetings from Greece
ENJOY our WHISPERS, SECRET LOVE
PHILOXENIA Admin [Georgios]
Epode V – The Witch’s Incantation
Horace
‘By all the heavenly gods that rule the world, And command the human race,
What does this hubbub mean, and all these savage Faces, turned towards me alone?
By your children, if Lucina came when called To assist at their proper birth,
By these worthless rags of purple clothing, I pray, By Jupiter who will condemn this,
Tell me why you gaze at me like my stepmother, Or a beast pursued by the spears?’
When the lad, who lamented with trembling lips Stood silent, stripped of a boy’s insignia,
His youthful body such a one as might soften The impious hearts of Thracians:
Canidia, those blunt vipers entangled In her head of dishevelled hair,
Ordered wild fig-trees, ripped from the sepulchres, With funereal cypresses,
With the feathers and eggs of nocturnal screech-owls All smeared with the blood of vile toads,
With herbs that Iolchos and Iberia, fertile In poisons nurture for us,
And bones snatched from the jaws of a hungry bitch, All to be burnt in Colchian flames.
Meanwhile eager Sagana, sprinkled water From Avernus all through the house,
Hair fierce and bristling, like a spiny sea-urchin, Or like a wild-boar in the chase.
And Veia, unrestrained by sign of conscience, Was digging the earth, with a sturdy
Mattock, while groaning hard over her labours, So the lad, buried to his neck,
His face showing like a swimmer’s, chin touching The surface of the water,
Might die staring at food, brought and taken away Two or three times each endless day:
This so his marrow and liver, extracted, then Dried, might form a love potion,
When his eyeballs, fixed on the meal he was denied, Had shrivelled all to nothingness.
Idle Naples, and every neighbouring town, Believed that the mannish wanton,
Folia of Ariminium was also Present as one of that number,
Who spirits away the stars with Thessalian Charms, and steals the moon from the sky.
Then savage Canidia, gnawing a long nail With livid tooth, what did she say
What did she not say? ‘Oh, faithful witnesses Of my actions, you, Night,
And you, Diana, who are the queen of silence, Where our secret rites are performed,
Now, aid me now, now, turn your anger and power Against the houses of my foes!
While wild beasts lie in the fearsome woods, Wrapped in the sweetest slumber,
Let Subura’s dogs bark at the old adulterer, He whom everyone laughs at,
Who’s smeared with the ointment that my hands prepared, And never more perfectly.
What happened? Why have barbarous Medea’s dire Potions failed to work, those with which
She took vengeance on that proud paramour, great Creon’s daughter, then fleeing,
When the gift of a robe steeped in poisoned blood, Engulfed the new-made bride in flames?
And yet no root or herb that may grow secretly In wild places eluded me.
He is sleeping there between perfumed sheets Forgetful of mistresses. Alas! He walks at liberty, freed by the charms
Of some clever enchantress! O Varus, doomed to a life heavy with weeping,
By use of no common potion Will you return to me, nor will your devotion
Be revived by Marsian spells. I’ll prepare something stronger, a stronger dose I’ll pour,
That will counter your disdain, And sooner shall the sky sink under the sea,
With all the earth spread over both, Than you not burn with passion for me, just like
Bitumen with its smoky flame.’ Hearing this the boy no longer tried, as before,
To mollify the impious, But uncertain how best to break the silence,
Uttered Thyestean curses: ‘Your magic spells can’t alter right and wrong, or
Avert human retribution. I’ll pursue you with terrors: no sacrifice
Will expiate my dark threats. Even when, doomed to death, I expire, I’ll come
To you as a Fury by night, A shadow whose crooked claws will tear your faces
With the Manes’ divine power, And settling myself in your unquiet hearts, I’ll drive sleep out with terror.
The crowd will crush you, obscene old hags, pelting you With stones from every side:
And then the wolves and birds of the Esquiline, Will scatter your unburied limbs,
And my parents, who will alas survive me, shall Not miss a moment of that sight
Thank you and Merry Meet to you.THE CAT AND THE MOON
THE cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet.
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.
I've no art online. I paint the stuff, then I can't afford to frame it properly. Tough to scan pastels, and I work too big anyway. The only thing small enough to scan is a Newgrange inspired sharpy masterpiece, LOL. The actual art usually ends up living in the portfolios in my closet. None of them get lonely though, they have lots of company. : )
Peace & Health,
Misseire
I like your faces, lots of character. What medium are you working with? I typically use acrylic or pastels.
Peace & Health,
Misseire
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