Hot Cross Buns

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At Easter, I don’t celebrate the Resurrection. I find it hard to buy into. Instead, I turn my thoughts to rebirth, rejuvenation; coming into the light again after a period of darkness. I suppose you could say that I postpone my Spring Equinox festivities to a later date when I can celebrate with family and friends, who I am sure are also not celebrating the Resurrection; at least not in a literal sense.

(I’m experimenting with semi-colon. Please let me know how I am doing.)

I ran some errands in Bloor West Village yesterday. I saw not one but two men wandering down the street dressed as the Easter bunny, with truly frightening giant plush heads. Why, oh why? I was terrorized by these “mascots” as a child. They never, ever fooled me either.

The Easter Bunny has nothing to do with Christ. Or Hallmark.

Did you know that the Great Mother Goddess of the Saxon people in Northern Europe, and similarly, the “Teutonic dawn goddess of fertility [was] known variously as Ostare, Ostara, Ostern, Eostra, Eostre, Eostur, Eastra, Eastur, Austron and Ausos.

The roots of the people in the early days of Europe when the Christians first arrived shaped all these holidays that we celebrate today.

Our roots shape and inform the way we celebrate at present, and the way we tell our stories and celebrate our tradition moving through future generations. A finger is always dipped in the pie of the past.

I’ll bet it took a long, long time for the early Christians to convince the Pagan tribes to adopt their new mythology. I know they had to create some parallels, for sure. How else would these people ever relate to this strange new culture?

As I understand it, during that time, things could be relatively peaceful too. There are stories of peaceful Christian monks living alongside Druid Priests, sharing knowledge and ideas (and no doubt enjoying all the meade and bonfire-lit revelry.)

I bet things didn’t start to get violent until someone in Rome started to loose patience, and felt threatened by the idea that there was a whole pantheon of gods who were vibrant long before J.C. and his big daddy.

Then the people were forced to leave their tradition behind, in ways that shan’t be described here, on such a nice, sunny spring morning.

I am embracing my past. I am honoring the stories that have shaped me. I am closely examining the pain and the pleasure, the sorrow and the triumph so that I can move towards a place where I can incorporate the rituals and customs that brought me the most joy into celebrations that involve new mythology. Without my dark and sometimes chaotic Pagan Dieties, I will never be able to appreciate this new god of Light and Love. In a perfect world, all the archetypes of my lifes’ mythology will enjoy a meal together someday. With a pile of brightly coloured eggs in the centre of the table, just so we always remember what came before.

Saturday Poem:
(not mine.)

Bells For Her (Tori Amos)

And through the life force and there goes her friend
On her Nishiki it’s out of time
And through the portal they can make amends

Hey would you say whatever we’re blanket frinds
Can’t stop what’s coming
Can’t stop what is on its way

And through the walls they made their mudpies
I’ve got you mind I said she siad I’ve you voice
I said you don’t need my voice girl you have your own
But you never thought it was enough
So they went years and years
Like sisters, blanket girls
Always there through that and this
There’s nothing we cannot ever fix I said

Can’t stop what’s coming
Can’t stop what is on it’s way
Bells and footfalls and soliers and dolls
Brothers and lovers she and I were
Now she seems to be sand under his shoes
There’s nothing I can do
Can’t stop what’s coming
Can’t stop what is on it’s way

And now I speak to you, are you in there?
You have her face and her eyes
But you are not her
And we go at each other
Like blankets who can’t find
Their thread and they’re bare

Can’t stop loving
Can’t stop what is on its way
And I see it coming and It’s on its way

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