Blog o' Gnosis

My, it is tossing and turning out there. Storms have been buffeting the Northern California coast for a few days now, but this one is the best yet. It came in yesterday afternoon, starting pretty mild. Last night before driving home from work I was able to fill up my gas tank and finally get the shoes I need: waterproof sneakers. Montrail has been my brand of choice, but down at REI they had a type of Merrells that were half the price and actually fit my foot, unusual for Merrells. They ride higher than I’m used to, have an ultra padded insole, great arch support, and look nice to boot. I call them little SUVs for my feet.

I have been able to spend some time this holiday season with my sister Sarah, her husband Jon, and their adorable little dumpling Elena. Elena is 9 months old now, and even though I don’t have any recent photos of her on the web, suffice it to say that she’s about as cute as you can get without a prescription around here. And I don’t think it was just because I got to be there when she was born (on International Women’s Day, I might add). Trust me, I’ve seen my fill of babies, and Elena outweighs most of them both in looks and in stature.

A week ago, Jojo was telling me the story of 2 eighth grade girls in her school who had gotten into a fight, according to her over which of two gangs was the best. We talked a little about what kids their age living in Sebastopol might or might not know about gang life, whether gangs were perceived as fashionable just like different brands of jeans. I took the opportunity to tell her a little about Stanley “Tookie” Williams, the co-founder of the Crips gang then awaiting execution on California’s Death Row.

I know this is the season of gathering darkness, I can tell from the fact that the sun sets way before dinnertime and rises just in time for me to walk the dog before work. It is winter here: the new grass is taller than my shoes, the ground is always damp, and the night air burns my nose with its mixture of cold, wet, and woodsmoke.

Here we are, on the cusp of the biggest collective tryptophan high of the year. All over the country, people are rummaging through their closets looking for their baggiest clothes that can pass for dressy, in preparation for tomorrow’s feast.

Though I never knew him personally, Gwydion Pendderwen loomed large in the Bay Area Pagan community when I first became a part of it in the early 1980s. My first affinity group participated in the protests at Lawrence Livermore Labs in 1982 in conjunction with activists from Reclaiming. I remember a buzz that day when a certain man came onto the scene: Gwydion had come down from the mountains to protest nuclear weapons research with the rest of us.

I participated in a wonderful initiation ceremony this past weekend. The initiate was pretty much an ideal candidate: grounded, intuitive, smart, grounded, talented, serious, expressive, funny, and grounded.

I am now not only by choice but by necessity nested in my lovely house by the bay. October has passed by in a blur of strong emotions punctuated by late-night drives, my car full of belongings, on the winding road to the coast.

Several months ago, my friend Rabbit emailed me while I was in Wales, attending my sister’s birth. He asked me to write something about my hands. Tonight, cleaning out my email caches, I found my reply. I think it is worthy of posting, so here it is: My hands aim more directly now. I could [...]

Fall is a beautiful season here in Sonoma County. Being a California native, I have taken umbrage at those who claim that California doesn’t have proper seasons. These people can only see two: rainy and dry — and they usually complain about the rain. Yet to me, the four seasons fit perfectly with what I see, feel, smell, and experience through the year here.