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    The Crowe’s Nest

    My oldest daughter is very happy to know that we are witches. She isn’t really all sure what that entitles her to, but she is happy to tell the world about it. I often find myself telling her that it isn’t the best to tell people we are witches. It isn’t like the Halloween witches she is used to. People aren’t all nice and friendly. To her, witches are like mommy. They are special people in your life that have the ability to kiss away the bad things and know how to bake sweet treats to ease the rest of the pain.  They are healers and magic beings that can…

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    NATURE ALCHEMY ~ Journey through Spirit in the Natural World

    WOLF SONG ~ Gift of Communion ~   “I live to hold communion with all that is Divine, to feel there is a union ‘twixt Nature’s heart and mine.” ~ George Linnaeus Banks, Poet and Playwright (1821-1881)   Through the valley of the mountain, and deep within its hidden hollow caves, the hypnotic echo of a lone Wolf Song can be heard in the distant land. Wolves howl to locate eachother, to assemble the pack, to sound alert, and to communicate across great distances, which can be heard for up to a 50 square-mile radius. As highly intelligent and social animals, wolves are naturally eloquent and easily adapt to a group…

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    Ask Your Mama

    Are you cyclically confused? In a ceremonial quandary? Completely clueless? Wonder no more.                                   *Ask Your Mama™                          Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Spirituality and Didn’t Know Who to Ask™   by ©Mama Donna Henes, Urban Shaman     A Question of Occupation   Dear Mama Donna,   I can’t turn on the TV anymore, because I get so upset listening to the news and the manipulative commercials. Is the world going to explode or implode or just shrivel up and die? It is so depressing out there. What can I do to feel better?   So Upset in Chicago   Dear One,   You are not…

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    In All Things I Dwell

    IN ALL THINGS I DWELL When the Culdees sat by the standing stone, where the sidhe was the chosen home, at the top of a rugged mountain peak, deep in the valley where insects speak, a man travelled into a future time recreating himself in a poets’ rhyme. It was long ago, when the world was new, with fewer choices of what to do, this man sat gazing in his chair, he wasn’t here, he wasn’t there, he’d gone to the place of in between where imaginary thoughts can be seen. he sat for hours. Until he thought to lie down flat, take himself from where he sat, to a…