THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS

THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS

How Christmas and Paganism are alike!https://www.theodysseyonline.com/the-story-of-yule by Karli Slomka Dec 20, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas is an extremely diverse holiday. While we fail to notice it most of the time, cultural aspects from all around the world come together and merge into the holiday that we know of as Christmas. Of course, Christmas is a celebration of the birth of Christ, the son of God. However, Christmas isn’t as simple as that, especially when gift-giving, reindeer, elves, trees, and snow are thrown into the mix; after all, baby Jesus certainly never saw snow! This raises the question: where do these aspects come from? While there are many different cultures and religions that have inspired the modern-day celebration of Christmas, one religious celebration stands out the most: the pagan celebration of the winter solstice known as Yule.

Out of all winter celebrations that take place during this time of year, one of the least-recognized seems to be Yule, celebrated by both pagans and Wiccans. Historically celebrated by Germanic pagans, Yule is the celebration of the coming light, which will bear itself when spring arrives. Similar to Christmas, Yule marks the time in which the new year begins at the Winter Solstice.

Since these pagan traditions came from primarily Germanic regions, symbols such as snow, reindeer, and evergreen trees came to represent the season. Of course, since Yule is the celebration of the coming of the light, candles were a very prominent symbol to the pagans of the past. To modern pagans, not only candles, but also artificial lights uphold the symbolism of the Horned god.

 

 

 

 

 

Yule, like most other Sabbats, is a massive celebration, celebrated with caroling, wassailing, mistletoe, and gifts, as well as prayers and elaborate rituals performed to honor the coming of the Horned God, one of the primary Wiccan deities. Gift-giving was very prominent in the Roman Holiday Saturnalia, which was adopted by the Germanic pagans, and, finally, adopted by the Christians.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, many Christians are horrified at the realization that their holy day is so similar to a pagan holiday. However, it is important to remember that history isn’t always exclusive; cultures have always merged and split over time, and customs have always been adopted and abandoned. This does not mean that Yule is Christian, nor that Christmas is Pagan; it is simply a similarity developed due to cultural exchanges. Some other similarities between Pagan and Christian traditions are Ostara and Easter, as well as Lughnasadh and Thanksgiving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s so easy to alienate those who have different customs than us, but it’s of utmost importance that we remember that, within all of our differences, we can cherish the things that bring us together. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanzaa, and Blessed Yule.

A Review: THE GENIE HUNT by author, M. C. Tuggle

A new novel, by M. C. Tuggle, The Genie Hunt, is so engaging that I could not put it down. I continued reading it until the end, without stopping.  It is not often that I want to reread a novel that I just finished reading. It is that good.  It is a rather unique story about a lawyer, a reformed law-breaker, a kidnapped Genie, and a crime. It is a story about a friendship under duress, life-threatening danger, and a who-done-it mystery. The writing is superb, smooth transitions through scenes, characters that are so real that I was sure I knew them. It was the great dialogue, however, that moved the story along, including, strong pacing and time elements, that rang true.

As the investigation drew closer and closer to the perpetrators of the crime, the action grew and so did the breath-taking danger. And, oh yes, there is a real Genie with a complex set of circumstances.  The main characters, Coot Pickard, and his lawyer friend, Buddy Vuncannon, have been friends since childhood. However, they are total opposites in personality and lifestyle. It is often said, that in relationships, opposites do attract and in this case, it adds to the interesting complexity of the characters. I found this story to also be about a well thought out ode to the wonder of friendship under great duress, because the evidence clearly points to Coot Pickard.  But, as is often said, “the devil is in the details” and in this story, it is certainly true.  The ending is very satisfying and since this novel is book 1, in a new series entitled, Spook Hunters, by author, M. C. Tuggle, I look forward with great anticipation to book 2 of the Spook Hunters. I highly recommend this intriguing story!  5 stars!

A HALLOWEEN WISH SPELL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A GOOD WISH SPELL  FOR HALLOWEEN

Preparation:

Carefully light a candle,

Hold the candle in your hand

Feel the positive energy flowing into you.

Recite the Following:

I open my eyes to all the power

Of Earth, Sky, and Sun

I Wish for Health and Happiness

May these Energies stay within me

With all my Good Intentions,

Blow out the Candle repeating your Wish!

And Believe!!

Sally’s Cafe and Bookstore – New on the Shelves – An Uncertain Faith: A Novel for those who live between a rock and a hard place. (A Rocky Road Novel) by Allie Potts

Sally’s Cafe and Bookstore is a great place to get a free book promotion and I love Sally’s idea for this wonderful opportunity. What is also wonderful, is that all your different sites on social media are given here too, with all your new reviews as they come in. What could be better! I am thrilled. My new novel to be released in January, “The Stone Arch Secret”, will be there at Sally’s Cafe and Bookstore soon for promotion and Sally does it all for you.

Smorgasbord - Variety is the spice of life

A welcome to a new author to the Cafe and Bookstore – Allie Potts with her two books. The featured book today is her first novel, An Uncertain Faith: A Novel for those who live between a rock and a hard place. (A Rocky Road Novel).

About the book

Feeling trapped in a job that bores her, Charlotte used to yearn for the life she had before the responsibilities of marriage and motherhood. That was until the day she came home to find her husband and son missing. Did they leave her, or is there a more dire explanation? An extreme example of the reason to be careful what you wish for, Charlotte must now come to terms with her new reality and decide if she wants to continue to merely daydream about a better future, or to take charge of her own life. Along the way she must also…

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The Witch Minnie Brogan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Indian summer began like any other when I turned fifteen years old growing up in the small colonial era farming community of Granby, Connecticut. The last fields of the summer harvest had already been shorn of their corn, alfalfa, hay, and tobacco. The wet smell of fresh cut hay filled the air as well as the mingling aroma of tobacco fields that now lay bare of their crops. The large tobacco leafs would hang neatly from wooden poles to dry underneath white-sheeted tents.

The smell of tobacco, sweet and pungent, hung in the air. It was a grown-up smell, a smell of intimacy and secret goings-on. My cousin Garrett and I would sometimes sneak up behind the white-sheeted tents and listen. Giggles, laugher, and strange noises were not unfamiliar sounds to our ears as we listened. More than tobacco leafs nestled under the white-sheeted tents.

Not far from the tobacco field was an ancient apple orchard that looked like something out of a wicked fairy tale. Walking through its darkly gnarled wood was a rite-of-passage experience for anyone under the age of twelve.

To this day memories of Canton road, where I grew up, float across my senses.  I envision its tar paved darkness as it crosses over Salmon Brook, cuts through McLean’s game preserve, wanders by weird old Stewart Duncan’s farm, and the said-to-be-haunted Sperry colonial homestead. Canton Road weaves it way over-laying the swell of land occupied for ten thousand years by the indigenous people like the Massaco Indians who were a part of the Algonquian tribes. Evidence of their inhabitation is still visible by those who know what to look for.

Spirit Pond is one of those places. There are sightings by the locals of ghost warriors that still drink the dark cold waters of Spirit Pond and are not as rare as one would like to believe. Spirit Pond is a large spring fed body of water surrounded by tall reeds and weeping willows. Its dark cold water and deep recesses still hold untold secrets as well as the body of Minnie Brogan.

My rather strange cousin Garrett was drawn to the story of Minnie Brogan and I followed suit. Beautiful Young Minnie Brogan who lived in early colonial times near the old settlement of Salmon Brook, adjacent to Spirit Pond, was said to have met with a ghastly end. It is a haunting legend of sorts and the story appears in the town’s tourist pamphlets as a way of advertising its colonial history to visitors.

It was said that young Minnie Brogan lived a solitary existence in her meager dwelling on the edge of Spirit Pond and tended a few chickens and a vegetable garden. She also grew medicinal herbs. In colonial times, a female living alone who also concocted remedies was sure to raise suspicions of witchcraft.

Yet, Garrett and I doubted this explanation and we would often sit by the edge of Spirit Pond trying to envision that long ago crime when Minnie Brogan was dragged from her thatched hut, bound by her hands and feet, and thrown into the spring fed pond. We wondered how scared she must have been as she slowly sank into Spirit Pond’s cold dark waters.

I personally believe there was more to it than just medicinal herbs. Minnie was young, alone, and was said to be hauntingly beautiful. She was accused of conjugating with evil forces. As a six grader, I had no idea someone could actually be murdered for not knowing how to conjugate a verb (although there were times I was sure by teacher at thought of it).

So, it was in winter when Spirit Pond was frozen-over that Garrett and I would go ice skating and just as often we would look to see if Minnie Brogan’s ghostly apparition would rise up from the ice. Although we never actually saw her ghostly-self rise from the pond, we imagined what she would look like if she did.

I wonder about Minnie Brogan’s secret hopes and dreams that vanished into the dark cold waters of Spirit Pond one nefarious moonless night long ago. Sometimes I even imagine I can feel her presence as I dip by fingers into the waters of Spirit Pond. It is though the earth remembers her and still holds her secret longings. I, too, will always remember Minnie Brogan.

by K D Dowdall

Copyright 2014

IS THE UNIVERSE CONSCIOUS?

“For centuries,” writes Corey S. Powell, who is a contributing editor at Discover Magazine and Aeon Magazine,  “modern science has been shrinking the gap between humans and the rest of the universe, from Isaac Newton showing that one set of laws applies equally to falling apples and orbiting moons, while Carl Sagan intoned that we are made of star stuff, meaning that the atoms of our bodies were literally forged in the nuclear furnaces of other stars.”

Furthermore, “Gregory Matloff,” writes Powell, “is a veteran physicist at NYC College of Technology, who has ideas that are shocking.  Matloff recently published a paper arguing that humans may be like the rest of the universe in substance and in spirit, with a proto-consciousness field that could extend throughout all of space adding that stars may be thinking entities that deliberately control their own paths.”

“Put more bluntly,” writes Powell, “Stars and the entire universe may be self-aware. A thinking universe. Furthermore, other philosophers and scientists, such as David Chalmers, a cognitive scientist believes this is possible and adding to that academic list is neuroscientist, Christof Koch of the Allen Institute for Brain Science and British physicist, Sir Roger Penrose.”

The bottom line; is the Universe Conscious? The scientific theorem, Panpsychism, means just that, the cosmos as we know it, is self-aware. The entire cosmos is a conscious, self-aware entity, suggest the above scientists, and is too important to ignore.

SPECULATIVE THEORY?

Powell writes that, “Three decades ago, Penrose introduced a key element of Panpsychism with his theory that consciousness is rooted in the statistical rules of quantum physics as they apply in the microscopic spaces between neurons in the brain, states Penrose.”

“He justifies his theorem,” continues Powell, “by adding that, one of the hallmarks of life is its ability to adjust its behavior in response to stimulus and astronomically, that is just what Stars and other Cosmic matters do according to Paranego’s Discontinuity theorem, the ability by objects, like stars to adjust their fuel source, emit jets, in only one direction that tends to alter its motion. This has been found to be consistent throughout the cosmos, states Penrose.”

“It appears,” writes Powell, “that humans and quantum physics have a lot in common regarding consciousness, self-awareness, and the ability to change behavior and form as does the Cosmos.”

My question is, if this is true, does this prove that God does exist? If God is the cosmos, are we part of some larger cosmic design? Does it also prove that psychic abilities are real and very common in humans to alter a direction of some event as time is captured differently in the cosmos? Does this mean time travel is possible, as far as being able to see the past and the future? One day, will we say, “Beam me up Scotty?”

Do these scientific theorems prove that angels and miracles exist? Is our self-awareness absorbed back into the cosmos at the death of our physical bodies, since energy is never lost but only changes form? Are these theorems answers to questions long sought by scientists, philosophers and even religious leaders worldwide?

A PARTICIPATORY COSMOS?

“According to Roger Penrose and his theories” writes Powell, “linking consciousness and quantum mechanics to self-awareness and free will begin with quantum events in the brain that inevitably link our minds with the cosmos.”

Inasmuch, as our chemical composition is made of the same stuff stars are made, does this make us cosmic beings? These are interesting theories with strong scientific data that may answer questions long sought by scientists and philosophers.

Finally, “is this the powerfully evoking sense of connectedness that humans feel with our fascination to the cosmos that Albert Einstein called the cosmic religious feeling?” writes Powell.

Was this cosmic feeling the beginning of often misguided religious fervor throughout our human beginnings that man alone was the pinnacle of creation by our cosmic God?  According to science, we are what stars are made of and we are a part of some larger cosmic design.  As Shakespeare wrote… “We are such stuff as dreams are made on….” The Tempest, Act 4, Scene 1, line 175.

Could that be the Cosmos?

By K. D. Dowdall

To read the entirety of this excellent article by Corey S. Powell, please go to:

https://www.nbcnews.com/mach/science/universe-conscious-ncna772956?cid=sm_npd_nn_fb_mc_170920 via NBC News

Delphi Altair Strange Beginnings Book 1

CHAPTER 1
THE MYSTERIOUS JOURNAL

On the day of her mother’s funeral, Megan Donnelly found a mysterious package, wrapped in faded brown paper and twine, on her dresser. She had no idea where it came from or how it got there. Somehow, despite her grief, the bundle of faded brown paper and twine seemed to have a strange power over her, as if she were spellbound. Megan was about to reach for it when her cell phone rang, startling her. She reached over to her bedside table and saw it was the geeky boy who lived in the house next door.

“Hello, Jake,” answered Megan. Megan was willing to talk to anybody, even Jake Peterson.

“I’m sorry about your mom, Megan. I really am. Is there anything I can do – like help you with your homework or something? Anyway, I was just wondering if you wanted to catch-up on what’s goin’on at school. Or, you know, I just got a brand-new Future Time game and it’s really cool. I thought maybe I could come over. It might help you, you know, take your mind off things.”

“Thanks, Jake,” replied Megan, gulping hard and trying to swallow her pain. “Maybe, but I’m kinda not into it right now. I’ll call you later.” She put her cell phone back on the table. “It isn’t fair”, she murmured. It was the saddest day of Megan Donnelly life.
Megan got up from the edge of her bed and walked over to her dresser. Her ginger-colored bangs fell over her hazel eyes in feathery wisps. She pushed the bangs aside, and as she did she looked down at her black dress shoes. She noticed bits of red dirt still clung to the bottom of her shoes. She inhaled sharply as a wave of grief enveloped her. Exhaling slowly, she picked up the package with her name scrawled on it and sat down on the edge of her bed.

She tore at the brown paper wrapping and stared at the leather-bound journal that included a lock and a silver key on a chain. She looked down at the journal on her lap and ran her fingers over the aged leather binding. It looks really old and it even smells old—like it had been wrapped in mothballs. She considered for a moment something she had not thought of— maybe my mom sent this package! It would be just like her to try and comfort me, but there was no note or card from her or anyone else. Megan slipped the silver chain with the key over her head. It felt warm against her skin. She put the key in the lock and turned it.

Thankful for any distraction from her grief, she shrugged her slender shoulders and flipped it open to the first age-yellowed page. It was written in an old style with ornate flourishes by a skilled hand—like historical letters she had seen in museums. Megan read the title aloud: “The Strange Beginnings of Delphi Altair.”
A strong breeze billowed into her room from the open window. She had not noticed until now that it was a bright sunny afternoon. It was Friday and there would be a football game at school tonight. Everyone would be there. She felt a sudden chill and got up to close the window.

As she turned around to pick up the journal she noticed the book now open to a different page and thought, that’s strange. Oh, well, it must have been the wind, of course, and scooped up the journal into her lap. What she found inserted into the journal was a letter addressed strangely: To Whom the Journal Has Found. Megan, perplexed as to who could have sent her the journal, began to read it in the hopes that it might reveal the sender.

TO WHOM THE JOURNAL HAS FOUND
AUGUST 1950

I found this journal by accident (or perhaps it found me). My mother and I had come to live with my grandmother after the untimely death of my father. The house we came to live in was a very old Sea Captain’s Manor situated on a bluff, overlooking the sea, in a time forgotten town.

One day, a very wet and windy day, I found myself with nothing to do. I was feeling sad and lonely, missing my home in New England, and my friends. In my room there was only a small bed and a very old sea chest. The house was very old and the mist of sea sprays had crept through the windows and doors over the years and I remember still the scent of sea spray on the weathered wooden walls.

Underneath the window sat the old sea chest. “The key to the chest”, my grandmother told me, “was lost long ago”. My very superstitious grandmother saw this as a sign to let it remain unopened and that was that.

Never one to let well enough of alone, I decided to see if by chance a key might have been placed on top of the wooden window frame. People did that sometimes I had been told. To reach the top of the window frame I had to stand on top of the old chest. I carefully climbed up and searched for it. To my disappointment there was no key to be found. As I gingerly stepped down off the sea chest the lid popped open, as if by magic.

I can’t say I wasn’t frightened, but then my curiosity was stronger than my fear. After all, it was just an old trunk with a rusty old lock that broke free, being so old, no magic needed. I slowly walked up to the old sea chest to see what treasure it might hold.
As I began looking through the numerous folded blankets and clothes, I saw a package wrapped in plain cloth. I opened the package to find inside a leather-bound journal. I opened the journal to the first page and on it was written, the Strange Beginnings of Delphi Altair. It was hand written in an old style with ornate flourishes. I felt oddly compelled to read this mysterious journal. Soon, I found myself being taken to a magical and dangerous place and time. I cannot say more. I daresay, to whom the journal has found, keep it safe, whatever you do. So much depends on it.

Megan sat dumbfounded. There was no signature on the written letter and not a single clue as to the author of the journal. Curious, she turned the page and began to read.

THE OLD SEA CAPTAIN’S MANOR

Beside a narrow strip of oyster shell road is an old Victorian Manor sitting high on an ancient bluff over-looking the sea. The manor was built long ago by a wealthy Sea Captain. As time went by, the Sea Captain grew older and bequeathed the manor to his sons who, in turn, bequeathed the manor to their sons.
The Old Sea Captain’s Manor had survived countless storms, gales, and violent hurricanes for more than hundred and twenty years. But oddly enough, when Eastern gale winds blow, the Old Sea Captain’s Manor begins to shake violently on its foundations.

The Tuttle family that came to live in the Old Sea Captain’s Manor was not put off by the manor’s mysterious quirks. A poor family, the Tuttles felt fortunate to live in such a grand place bequeathed to them by a far removed, extremely distant relative.
The gossiping town folk reckoned the Tuttles were strange enough, but the young girl who lived with them was more than strange. Delphi Altair had unusually bright violet eyes and a firestorm of shimmering dark red hair that almost looked purple in bright sunlight. But it wasn’t her looks, specifically, that cast Delphi in a suspicious light in the community. It was her very unusual way of being. The town folks would often say, “There is something peculiar about that girl.” Yet, no one could say exactly why.

Fortunately, the Tuttles did not care what the town’s people thought about Delphi. The Tuttles loved the strange girl that was not their own. Delphi was a foundling. They found her in an old shipman’s basket one cold morning, wrapped in a blanket. Clutched in the infant’s tiny fist was a small star-shaped pendant with a blue stone inset in the middle. A weathered parchment was pinned to the infant’s clothes. The only words written on the parchment were these: Delphinus Decima East of Altair. The Tuttles had never heard of such a place called Delphinus Decima that was East of Altair. So, they shorten the words to make her a name: Delphi Altair. The Tuttles believed it would be best to keep the infant as their own until someone came to claim the child. But no one ever came.

As time went by, the Tuttles had two children born to them, Scout and Scooter, known about town as the “scalawag” twins. By the age of eight, the mischievous and rambunctious boys, tall for their age, were without mercy to little Delphi, teasing and taunting her daily.

Most people in the old seaside town made their living in some way connected to the sea. It was a booming industry and the people in the town did fairly well by it. It was booming, that is, until the blight came to the sea and in turn to the people of this seaside town. In a small town suffering great hardship everything is suspect and nothing is ever forgotten. Someone had to be blamed for the town’s misfortune.

Delphi became the focus of all the town’s troubles. From the very beginning of the town’s decline, there was the question of Delphi’s mysterious discovery by the Tuttles on that cold winter morning. This was the mindset that kept the townspeople eyeing Delphi suspiciously (besides the fact they found her mysteriously strange anyway). Like an unchecked simmering pot, things were bound to reach a boiling point.