Look at the beautiful color of that persimmon pulp
It’s persimmon season here in southern Indiana! The persimmons we have here (diospyros virginiana) are distinctive and sweet. You can eat them straight off the ground if you don’t mind brushing away a few insects. Rachel is processing a grocery bag full we gathered from my in-laws’ property today.
Ray Bradbury’s story of meeting Mr. Electrico is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.
Disincentivize information warfare.
The thing about Rachel is, she doesn’t take long to decide on something—and then once the decision is done, it’s done. In the course of the last two hours, she’s decided we’re now tearing up all the remaining carpet downstairs and refinishing the wood floor underneath, plus painting the walls. 😂
It may seem, from the infant’s point of view, that he’s achieving something. But in fact, the mother is doing almost all the work. However, the reactions of that infant are part of the birth process. He doesn’t have to know what to do, though. But if you were a stillbirth, the birth would be a lot harder. So the aliveness of the baby being born is actually helpful to the birth process. And the same is true of our aliveness. And all of our anguished desperate and hopeful attempts are futile attempts to invent rituals and invent myths. They do not create the real rituals and the real myths that we will live in. But they are part of the creation of the rituals and the myths that we will live in.
The wheel of time has brought us back around to the earliest cathedrals, built into the landscape. We’ve returned to Lascaux Cave. The next stage of our spiritual development could just as easily take place—has probably already begun—in dark tunnels etched with strange graffiti, among the standing stones of unfinished overpasses. Initiates will follow hidden voices into cement chambers lit by candles; spray-painted sigils will hold mysteries for contemplation; the ceiling will disappear into the shadows above, stretching higher than the dome of any basilica, and it will be more than enough.
I saw a hawk pin down then carry off a pigeon in the garden today. A few days ago I saw a hawk (probably the same one?) on a power line overlooking our yard but all the birds were wisely hidden or gone. Today he must have gotten the drop on them.
Really interesting presentation this evening at the Lawrence County Museum about the history of newspaper printing—including physical copies of papers from the past few hundred years.
Content warning: paganism
I’ll be linking to this post (partly jokingly, partly seriously) when I write something about paganism.
It’s always tricky writing about religion online. Thankfully I’ve had no particularly bad encounters here–and I’m posting this only because I want to ensure that continues.
Why do I write about paganism?
- To develop my own thoughts. This is my blog, after all, and it’s a tool I use to clarify my thinking.
- To be helpful to those few of my readers who are pagan or pagan-adjacent.
- To build a constructive picture of what a normal pagan looks like for that majority of my readers who are Christian.
A promise: I will never attempt to convert you.
An intention: I will remain curious about your beliefs and experiences. I’m a religion nerd and this interest is sincere and in no way patronizing.
Some background: I grew up in a sect of extremely fundamentalist Pentecostal Christianity. (Don’t worry: you’ve never heard of them.) From there I moved into the Lutheran church and then to the Episcopal church. After that I spent some time in what was basically a house church. Around 2014 I stopped calling myself a Christian. I was a Sam Harris-style atheist for a couple of years until I found it insufficient as a worldview. Since then, I’ve been a pagan.
Nevertheless, I’m not mad about Christianity. I’m also not hurt or attached to some secret sin or uninformed. Actually, I was pretty theologically sophisticated for a Christian layman. I probably know something about your particular Christian tradition. I say that because I want you to understand: it’s unlikely I’ll be converting back to Christianity.
At Thanksgiving one year, my wife’s uncle asked me which was my favorite football team. I said I wasn’t a sports fan. He then offered to explain the rules of football to help me out. I replied, “Oh, I know the rules pretty well. It’s just not for me.” Same for Christianity.
To sum up: I want to talk to you about religion in an attitude of friendly curiosity. If you post something about your religion that interests me, I may reply with a comment or a question meant to engage in that shared interest. I will not, however, make comments that are dismissive or sarcastic, even if I strongly disagree with something you’ve said. All I ask is the same in return.
If I ever make comments critical of monotheism or Christianity, it will be because I find it necessary to some point I’m making. I will always attempt, however, to make such criticisms in a fair way. Such criticisms will never be made from a place of mockery or superiority. I may not worship your god but–as much as it may annoy you to hear it put this way–I recognize your god as one god among the many and, therefore, worthy of respect. I know you can’t reciprocate that for theological reasons. We can, however, be friendly while remaining in disagreement.
The Old Farmers Almanac says that late summer drought conditions can lead to an early shutdown of the trees and a less colorful fall. It’s been dry here for weeks.