Pet Hates 4 : NIMBYs

Not In My Back Yard,  NIMBYs

We all know that we must work together to avoid what seems to be the immovable fate of this once fair planet. We have stripped her almost bare of fossil fuels, we cover the face of her in concrete and bricks and tarmac. NIMBYs also agree to this, at least publicly. They appear to have a philosophy that anything that improves our environment, regardless of how much a carbuncle that solution may be, is fine and dandy towards helping the environment just so long as it takes its place in the concrete jungle and does not impinge on their own beautiful corner of England (or the world, not sure but I suppose NIMBYs are global)and most certainly not in their own back yard or the local fields and woodland.. Our coutryside diminishes, it feels, on a daily basis, but does that really give people in the countryside the right to refuse things like wind turbines that aren’t all that bad to look at, must everything still be centred on the industrial areas, towns and cities? I live close to Bronte country and there is a wind turbine up on the moorland. It doesn’t detract from the sights, in fact it breaks the monotony of the flat heathland. It was placed out of the usual line of sight for filming too so the residents eventually accepted it and it has not detracted from the area or reduced the tourist income. Even though the NIMBYs were quite vocal about the whole thing.. over one turbine. Hydroelectric generators would go down well in the area too, lots of streams, rivers and such. Would it not be better to embrace this change in energy technology fully rather than perhaps letting more highly populated areas live in the shadow of nuclear reactors, don’t care how safe they are its not renewable and the waste has to be dumped somewhere, I believe in several feet of concrete….

So my pet hate here is those who protest about the environmental issues of this age and yet are unwilling to make even the smallest sacrifice to improve our lot and improve the health of the plant by screaming at the politicians “NOT IN MY BACK YARD!”

The Triumvirate : Karma takes its toll

The sun rises from his bed, dawn breaks and the air is warmed by his touch. It feels like it is going to be a very muggy day. I sigh and stretch, feeling stiff and cramped having been curled next to the Rayburn myself alongside the vixen for the last several hours. I’m not sure what woke me but the vixen is finishing the last of the raw lamb Agnes left out for her last night, this morning, whichever it was, I am losing my sense of normal time. Her crunching and gnawing are quite loud even on the last few scraps of meat. I stand up slowly and head to the larder where I know the wood for the Rayburn is kept, take a small armful and load it into the belly of the oven. The ashes are still glowing so I breathe on them to get a spark on the new wood and before long it is aflame. I close the door and stretch again. Hearing the vixen lapping at the water in the bowl Agnes also placed out I start thinking again, wondering about her life. Agnes appears in the doorway, in her cotton nightgown with a light dressing gown, her hair simply tied back and pink bunny slippers on her feet. I start to tell Agnes that the vixen has just finished her breakfast but looks like she could use more when I suddenly think I should really call her by her name. I turn to the vixen and she speaks to us both my name will come in time, there is much to tell before I can reveal who I am. Mysterious as always it seems, hints at this and that, nothing firm except what she has told us of how she came to be this way and of her lack of offspring. I catch myself wondering if she may have fooled us and had left a cub behind to give herself an easier time and she catches that thought and her face contorts somewhat into disappointment and I am at once chagrined to have thought anything of the sort. “I am sorry, ” I say to her, ” I should not have thought that you might have left a cub behind for selfish reasons. You’re grace and pride and just the overall manner in which you hold yourself and speak belie the hurt you carry. I am ashamed for thinking that, I can’t say it won’t cross my mind again but it will be hastily dismissed if it does.” Her tail flicks and she nods her thanks.

After we all eat breakfast we sit around the kitchen table, including our guest who jumps nimbly onto the chair next to me. I’ll let her continue the story again from where she left off last night.

***

When she hit me across the face I stumbled back, numb with shock and yelping in pain, my voice didn’t register to me at first but as it did I found myself screaming, or barking I suppose, at her, asking her what she had done to me and to undo it right now. She looked as shocked as I did, I doubt she had ever polymorphed someone with such ease before. It must have been quite a shock for her to find myself with three of the men of her own family. She turned and fled from the barn and I stayed cowering for a time, the smell of the hay was a little comfort. It didn’t last long though, I heard movements coming towards the barn and thought it would be wise of me to flee. I ran out of the barn and headed for the nearest woodland. A shout had gone up behind me but I didn’t turn to look, I wasn’t sure what I was but from what I had seen of myself I appeared to be a fox, and as we were in a village close to heavy farmland where farmers kept all manner of livestock I decided it would be better to assume I was a fox and that it was someone coming to kill me for stealing chickens or eggs. The woods were at once familiar and completely alien to me, I had never been this close to the ground whilst running before, this close to the ground I would have been on my back and the only movements would be the usual ones of sex. I ran deeper into the woods, they were much bigger everywhere than they are now, everything is so sparse of nature in the towns and villages now. But that is getting ahead of myself. I ran and ran and ran until I was on the verge of collapsing and I fell to the floor gasping.

I must have lain there, unconscious, for several hours. When I roused the sun was low in the sky. I was being watched. I opened my eyes carefully and gazed slowly around. A fox was stood close by observing me cautiously. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. I felt suddenly quite afraid, I was in the middle of my cycle and he must scent that I was fertile. He took me by force, jumping on my back and holding my neck in his teeth. I was just grateful that it was quick. It did give me something else to worry about though. I could be pregnant with ease at any time as long as I remained in this form and this area. And I really had no choice but to remain. I could already be on my way to being pregnant. You can imagine the horrifying thoughts that ran through my mind. I had always been so very careful to take herbs I knew would prevent pregnancy. This was becoming even more of a nightmare than I had first thought. Bad enough to have to run to stay alive, worse still to be pregnant and running or running trying to keep a litter of cubs out of danger.

I looked myself over and discovered I had scratches and gashes all over me but thankfully I was not bleeding. I forced myself to rise and walk, despite the pain, humiliation and fear, to the nearby spring. I drank heavily and then tried to bathe in the water. The result was muddy paws and still uncleaned wounds across my back, shoulders, haunches and neck. I followed the spring downstream until it was deep enough to bathe in properly and I cleaned myself off thoroughly. I had enough to deal with without septic wounds. I spent the next several days wandering and living off what I could. At first I ate berries and herbs that I recognised as safe to eat but realised at some point I would have to eat as a fox would, mostly because the herbs and berries that were safe to me as a human made me retch violently as a fox. My first kill was horrible. I found a vole near the river bank, I had made a den close by, it had been injured somehow so was not as fast as it would normally I have been. I sank my teeth into its flesh and blood and entrails filled my mouth. More hideous was that it lived, if only briefly, and struggled in my jaws. I had to complete the kill so I laid it on the ground and pressed my paw hard into its throat and head, the skull popped and oozed. I moved away and retched again but I had not had anything stay on my stomach so all that came up was bile. I had to eat and so I took the mangled body and did what I could to strip it of its meat. It was hardly satisfying but it was something. Killing to survive became natural eventually, but the first twenty or so still stick in my mind. I was clumsy and starving, inept and squeamish.

I managed to eventually get the hang of it so the kill was quick and clean and I could strip a carcass to bone and entrails and the less palatable bits within minutes. Then I moved to larger creatures and that took longer but I stayed fuller longer. I had become a survivor. As the days passed the only thought was to fill my belly but as I grew more adept and went hungry less I found my mind turning to more pressing matters. I realised that my menses had not yet come and they should have normally been over by now. I started to grapple with the reality of being pregnant. It seems Karma can be a cruel mistress. I had caused misery to many through sex, now the misery was mine. I am just thankful my human form overrode the natural pregnancy of the fox and limited my misery to just one, albeit larger than normal, cub. Every time since then I have given birth to stillborns, that has never been easy even though the young are always deformed and hideous to behold. I am careful to move the limp and lifeless corpses as soon as I come to terms with yet another stillbirth. Years passed, I don’t know exactly how many, until I began to think I should by rights now be dead. I had to take action and find a human, a witch perhaps, or a druid, someone who could help me leave this nightmare behind by either dying or returning my own form to me.

The Triumvirate :The Tail Continues

We sit with a rather shocked silence for a few moments and then Agnes drops her shape-shift and clears her throat to speak. “You are quite right to wish to continue this elsewhere, the night is drawing to a close. But what of your cub?” The vixen glances at her swollen mammaries and distended belly for a moment. As with all previous cubs, it was a still birth. I may be able to procreate in this form initially but I cannot produce live offspring, the underlying human make up does not allow it. A human cannot breed successfully with anything other than its own kind, the offspring produced are monstrous to say the least. Thankfully they do not survive the birth. I have no one to care for but myself… She looks up with her deep brown eyes, a sadness so deep it makes them appear black… and until now, no one to care for me, but me.  We are all silent again until Agnes straightens herself and agrees to allow the vixen to stay in their cottage for a time with a stern warning of what might happen if she dares to look the wrong way at Joe, Joe then drops his shape-shift and looks at Agnes and asks what it matters as he would never be swayed into infidelity anyway. Agnes stands her ground. “I want a firm promise that there’ll be no shenanigans, and I won’t be swayed on that.” I can’t help but giggle at the word she chooses and that seems to break the tension. The vixen stands then lowers her head and promises that she has no intentions further than breaking the spell upon her and leaving to continue her life. That settles it and we close the circle before heading back to the car to go home. I have started calling Agnes and Joe’s cottage, home. They are such a lovely couple and keep a good table and hearth that it feels like home where my own small flat does not, I spend more time with them than I do in my own place, so, home it is.

My mind races on the drive home, wondering what she will tell us next, wondering how we can help her, wondering if we can help her. She herself is quiet and subdued, the vehicle does not seem to be of concern so I can only surmise she is lost on her own thoughts of two centuries without children and her maternal instinct as strong as it would have been when she was first changed. A tear forms in the corner of my eye and I brush it away discreetly. She is curled up next to me on the rear seat of the car, close enough to touch and more than close enough to catch my thoughts still and she glances up at me briefly before hiding her head between her paws. We all seem quite subdued by the sorrow we can feel clinging to this little old woman in her fox fur like the cloying smell of mothballs on a second hand suit in a thrift shop. I start to admire her, she holds herself with pride even when talking of sordid things and does not invite pity when telling us her sorest issue, she holds herself with grace and is almost demure, I wonder if those are her natural traits or if they belong to the fur she lives in. But then, having been so long in this fur even if they were not her traits back then, they would surely be by now.

We arrive home, the light is on in the kitchen and we enter through the side door. Agnes sets about making something for us all to eat, pulling a ham from the larder and some fresh lamb from the refrigerator. Joe stops off at the garden shed and comes back with a box of worms and snails for Quoth. I make myself useful and fill a bowl with water and then take juice form the fridge for Joe and raid the cupboard for tea for Agnes and myself. The vixen looks around, almost uncertain. She finally decides to sit near the Rayburn apparently feeling the residual heat from the wood that was fed in this morning before breakfast. Although it may feel a little chilly to us, it must be the warmest and most luxuriant heat she has felt since who knows when. She curls up as we organise the early morning supper,or perhaps breakfast would be closer, and closes her eyes, sighing softly, her slow deep breathing soon after tells us she has drifted off to a doze. Agnes leaves the fresh meat on a plate close to her and we take ours in the living room. Joe and Agnes look very tired and I suggest they take a few hours rest while I watch over our new guest and they rather gladly agree. This was not the night we had planned but we felt as if something was achieved and looked forward to hearing the rest of the tale in the light of day.

Writer’s block

By telling me which articles you have enjoyed the most I can go on to create more of the stuff you like 🙂 simples

The Triumvirate : A vixen’s tale

You join me again once my initial surprise at the vixen’s words in my last tale has died down a little….

How do you know us and why do you call us those things, and who are you? “I realise you have many questions but for the moment, be content that all will be revealed in its due time. I am going to answer your last question first and to do so I need to tell you my tale. We may as well be comfortable and safe, might we re-enter the place you appeared from, I understand you have a circle of power here, I sense the veil drawn across it.”  I have a reasonable reluctance to do so but after all, there are 4 of us and only one of her so I agree and we re-enter the sacred space of the circle.

As we enter the circle the Guardians of the Watchtowers come forward to challenge the newcomer, they examine her quite closely and, sensing no threat, they return to their posts. It seems I was lucky and my decision to allow the vixen entry was not a bad one. I locate my usual log which I sit on when meditating by my altar and seat myself, Quoth flies up to land on my altar with Joe following suit albeit in a haphazard manner, part flapping, part scrabbling with his claws and Agnes curls up by the base of the altar stone. The vixen takes a place in front of us and rests back on her haunches, finally looking at ease.

“Where to begin? I have long rehearsed the words I am going to say and I still feel they may lack a little something but I shall tell my tale as best as I can and the best way to start a tale is at the beginning so I shall start by telling you my background and how I came to be in this shape you find me in now.” I feel at this point it is only proper for the tale to be in her words and take a back seat in proceedings.

+++

I was born many years ago  So long since that the monarch was not the one you know now, nor the one familiar in the memory of your companions. I was born to William and Anne and it was George the second on the throne of England. It seems as much as I am stuck in this form, which is indeed the case, I am stuck in this life also. I am not immortal though, once I break free of the spell that binds me to this shape I will return to my own form and my own age and continue as a mortal once more to live out my natural lifespan. You will all find if you continue your shapeshifting that you age less in your human form than you would expect. I am 279 years old, I was born, as I said, under the reign of George the second, It was October the third, 1733. Walpole was Prime Minister. I think the lack of ageing has something to do with not using your human form whilst shapeshifted, your natural form ceases its normal functions including ageing and thus dying. Now, where was I? Ah yes, Walpole was Prime Minister. Nothing much happened in his time in office to change the way my life would go. The flying shuttle was created, there were wars, I vaguely remember King George’s War, I was 11 when it started. My brother, who was only a few years older, joined the navy and was called to that war, but he returned safe and well though battle scarred. He married a local girl and settled down. She was barren so there were no children from that union. My parents had also borne another daughter. We will come back to her in due course. I grew up as a pagan under the guise of being a Christian. It was not safe to be seen to practise witchcraft, you could still be hung for it in those days. In fact one of the women in a neighbouring village was tried for witchcraft after the local farmer lost his entire herd of cattle to foot and mouth. We were enlightened but not enough, not enough to save her from the gallows. But enough of that, I am sure you want to know how I ended up like this.

I was 24, unmarried and in all honesty I was quite the whore. I think I had taken every man of the village to my bed other than those related by blood. It didn’t sit well with my parents, nor my siblings, nor indeed the majority of the womenfolk for obvious reason. Though I was pagan and most of the village were pagan also, my family and I had never been part of a coven. We were happy to study herbs and be the ones to come to when your mother was ill or your child had fallen out of a tree and broken a limb. Traditional healing was more readily available than conventional medicine in the village and was affordable, being paid for in labour or pots and pans or food rather than hard earned coin. I think our standing as the village healers saved me from being ousted form the village. I was very skilled. More so than the women who made up the village’s coven. That autumn a new family arrived in the village and took residence in the house closest to ours. I had tried over the course of that year to curb my appetites in part to save my family’s blushes but also in part because I had wanted to settle down and start my own family. Oh but the sons who came with the family were just too much to resist. I took each one to my bed over the course of a month, left them too exhausted to be of much use to their father in his trade as a blacksmith. And that was just the start. The boys had a voracious appetite that matched mine and possibly surpassed it. They were not content to bed me individually but began coming to my bed in pairs. They were, thankfully, only four brothers. The first time I had been taking the one to my bed for the week but the second joined us halfway through. His appetite and strength rekindled from being abstinent for just over three weeks being the first son I had taken to my bed when they arrived. Then the fourth took his leave and the second one joined and so on and so forth over the course of another month until I had bedded each brother twice around, once alone and a second time with a brother. The matriarch of the household finally could take no more when I invited her husband to join his sons and he had lustily agreed. She had found us, in flagrante delicto, one son in front of me, one behind, her husband underneath, in her family’s barn, it being a small holding of substantial size. 

Her fury was complete and I feared for my life as I felt such power amass in her that I thought she would obliterate me completely. her husband and her sons fled the barn leaving me to grasp my clothing, for once ashamed of my body and its nakedness. She stormed towards me quite literally, sparks flew from her fingers and her hair stuck out at all angles and wind blew in front of her so hard it took my breath. She stood towering over me, her eyes ablaze, her fingers stretched out but crooked like the claws of a great bird of prey ready to take the fleeing rabbit. She drew back her hand ready to hit me across the face, and as she did so she said “What am I to do with you, you little vixen?” her hand making contact with my face at the instant she said vixen. I felt all her power hit me like a bull and I cowered away trying to sob, but all that came from my mouth is the sound I make now, the strange and eerie bark of the fox.

I think it would be a good time to find a more permanent story arena, might I venture to ask for shelter in your homes while I gather my thoughts for the next part of my tale?

Actors on the stage of life

I’ve just been having a bizarre 4-way conversation that could well have been a 3 or 2 way conversation, possibly even 1 way.. though I am fairly certain that the conversation was being held by three real people, one playing a fourth. I have a multiple personality problem.. not a disorder, just a problem. You see for many years I have been playing role playing games. D&D, WoW, GW, VTM bloodlines. I am a creative person and so I create many different characters to play in these games. One of them is now so real and been around for such a long time that she feels a twin sister and indeed has her own social media accounts. I have different faces for different seasons, different faces for different characters. They range from magicians to warriors to Ventrue to trees… yes, trees. I would like to try my hand at being a Malkavian though I fear the insanity of that bloodline of vampires in VTM might infect my mind and cause me to lose my last remaining grip on sanity.  I’ve also often wanted to try out Call of Cthulhu, ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn…see? I already have the cultist language ready for that one and would like to see an Old One rise from his sleep in deepest R’lyeh. Am I mad already? I think not, I think just creative, quirky, maybe even a little foxy, but not mad, no, definitely not mad. Though my friends might disagree albeit in the nicest possible sense of the word mad.

Anyway it got me to thinking about humans in general. We all put on different faces for different parts of our life so am I any different really? Are we not all just displaying a form of insanity by not being ourselves no matter what situation we face, be it work, or home, or playtime. How many ladies put a full face of make-up on before they leave their house to go to work or to go out with friends? How many men leave the house without shaving or trimming a beard or making sure their tie is neat and tidy? We all have a façade that masks what we dream we could be, hides our real selves from the world, we’ll have our armour that we put on when preparing to do battle with our rivals and enemies be it in the office or the supermarket.

So I paint on virtual façades and face virtual enemies, I occasionally put on make-up to go out, I wouldn’t dream of leaving the house in my PJ’s, I put a smile on my face to watch the telly with my dad. They are all fake to a point are they not? No one actually sees what lies behind my eyes in the deepest chasm of my mind. I don’t always know who I am when I face myself in a mirror.. I’m older and have a few wrinkles around my eyes which are not ‘me’ they are ‘me’ as an older person. Inside I am still a child, a teen, a young adult but my face shows the years in real time. Inside, my soul is a time traveller, ageless and eternal. There was a time when I was more normal, I would put on my uniform and join the ranks so to speak, but always there has been me and me. I wonder if there are any actors on this stage  of the Earth. playing a part in this show called Life, that are really being just themselves.

(screenshots of World of Warcraft, my own character from when I played)

The Triumvirate: A twist in the tail

Our goal last time was to hone our skills in shapeshifting

Now we have a new challenge, that of learning to fly

Featuring Quoth, Joe’s raven, as our flight instructor

Or at least that was the plan.

On returning to Agnes and Joe’s cottage after the successful attempts to shapeshift, we spoke to Quoth about learning to fly. On the drive we had talked about the next challenge we should take and we had decided to go on a short trip, as birds, to the Yorkshire coast. Quoth was sceptical about the whole affair and when Joe described his first attempt it took us a full half hour to calm Quoth down from a fit of raucous giggling. He said he would accompany us just so he could have the joy of watching us, like the graceless creatures we are, flounder. I swear that Quoth was my old Physics teacher in a previous life. I had a feeling this was going be a battle into a headwind.

To make sure we were all at the same level of ability we decided to meet up at the new moon to practise solo shifting and leaving the protection of the circle. We invited Quoth to join us in the hope that he would be more enthusiastic about our abilities once he had seen the ease with which we performed the shift.

New Moon meeting

We’re all set again and I take the lead and shift into the form of a panther once more.  Joe follows and shifts into a raven and lastly Agnes shifts into the shape of a wolf. We have decided that if we can, we shall wander around the woods for a while outside of the circle’s protection so Agnes chose the wolf form so she was less open to attack from the local fauna. We shift into our forms and proceed to exit the circle, I go first, Agnes follows and Quoth and Joe take up the rear…. on clawed feet rather than wing.

Agnes and I catch the scent of a fox immediately on leaving the safety of the circle. We were wise to avoid becoming prey. The fox catches our thought surprisingly and is startled by the strangeness of them. We turn to face the fox, a vixen. She appears recently pupped and is looking rather gaunt. Agnes is saddened by the vixen’s poor condition and wants to see if we can help, as a group we agree and catch the surprised thought of the vixen once more. The vixen is anxious at our presence and the strangeness of our thoughts and our grouping, it being nothing that she has seen before. On an impulse I decided to try to shift to the shape of a fox too, I quickly study her form and focus my will, no thought crosses my mind of a need for a talisman.

My gamble pays off and I approach the vixen and sit on my haunches, a mirror of herself in form but non threatening in posture. How is this thing done? she asks of me and I tell her I do not know how to explain the concept as it is the concept of a few of mankind. The others with you, can they do this thing also? I reply that two of the others can as they are also part of mankind in their true form. She licks her muzzle nervously. You are man-things? Those beasts that walk on their hind legs only? Those who trap and ensnare us and hunt us with beasts like the other she in your group? I pause before I answer. How cruel we must seem to her, hunting her kind for sport and entertainment while she herself struggles to find enough food to survive and to feed her cub or cubs. How should I answer this? We are meat eaters so technically we are hunters, I myself bearing the name of Hunter. She senses my struggle but she is not yet ready to trust me. “We are the same animals as the man-things but we are not the same. We do not hunt your kind, our food are the beasts kept by man-things in the hills. We do not take pleasure in killing for killing’s sake. We kill for survival not for pleasure. Your kind, meat eaters, are not suitable for our stomachs.” though perhaps not strictly true most humans rarely eat fellow carnivores preferring instead to take the docile herbivores that we domesticate and slaughter quickly en masse in abbatoirs the world over. “One of the ravens, the feathered creatures, feeds on insects, creatures without bone and the meat of carrion. He is not a man-thing, he is in his true form and is companion to the man-thing that is the other raven.” I hope this explains us, I want her to trust us so we can find a way to aid her in her struggle for survival.

She appears to relax a little, having heard my thoughts directed to her and catching the the odd thought I was thinking to myself. “I understand your thoughts and your difficulty to express them. I understand you think that explaining how you changed your shape will be difficult. I felt power, like the heat of the yellow thing in the sky during the bright time and the white thing in the sky that changes shape at the dark time, when you changed from the giant cat-thing into the thing that is me. Would you change to your man-thing shape, perhaps I can discover the method as you perform it?” She had felt the power, perhaps her senses are more acute than a humans, perhaps she may well be able to understand how we change. I agree to her request and try to slow down the process so she can follow it more readily. I hope she can still perceive my thoughts once I am back as myself. But Joe and Agnes are still in their animal forms so they can translate if the need arises.

I feel my power rising and focus my will, rather than saying my name I focus on my normal shape and visualise myself melting back into that form. I feel ethereal as the transformation slowly proceeds. the shape is there but it is not becoming solid, I relent and speak my name and the transformation completes. At least now we know that the word is as important as the power of will and that a talisman is not. I sit back on my heels, my head bowed, the least threatening position I can assume without prostrating myself completely.

The vixen cautiously approaches me and begins sniffing around me.  “You smell of meat that has been touched by fire. You smell like the man-things that hunt my kind and yet different. You smell of strange things. Flowers, roots and leafs. Your fur smells sweet, but only of flowers, not plants or roots or leafs. You are strange amongst the man-things who stink of sweat and smoke, blood and rotting things.”  I am surprised that I can still understand her let alone pick up her thoughts. This is not an ordinary vixen, she cannot be, if I could hear her I should be able to hear Quoth. “You are most perceptive for a human, perhaps your training and my guidance has proved worthwhile after all. I hope so, for I have a task for you Arin, child of Diana, and for Joseph, son of Pan and for Agnes, child of the heavens….”

The Triumvirate, Our First Polymorph

3 individuals, 3 names each, all born on the 3rd day.

3 is a number of power, names have power,

The power of this triumvirate is 3 to the power of 3 to the power of 3

(this being the next adventure from Metamorphosis)

Joseph Gabriel Ackerman, Agnes Octavia Tirrell and me, Arin Cliantha Hunter.. I’m not entirely sure what my parents were thinking either but my name means Enlightened Glory Flower … Hunter… Just call me Arin… or sneeze (A.C.H. who?) I am a child of the early 70’s so I guess I can blame the hippies and flower power. I suppose it could have been worse.

Joe is:  God will increase, God is my Strength, field-man (or field worker, working the acres).

Agnes is: Pure and Chaste, eighth (she was the eighth child she tells me), to pull or of stubborn will.

Joe and Agnes are aptly named I feel, Agnes is sweet and kindly and wilful, Joe is strong physically and spiritually and as a druid he is at home portraying the part of Herne or Pan or walking amongst the trees or tending his vegetable patch. It makes me feel again that perhaps my parents were stoned when they named me, I don’t feel terribly enlightened, I’m not a great beauty to deserve the name glory flower, and I am not a hunter unless you count scrambling through the urban jungle to buy my groceries but that is the family name. But both Joe and Agnes grew into their names so perhaps I can grow into mine too.

We’ve been busy since the last time, both in our work and our research and most recently in our planning. We each have a list of things we want to try out with our group’s new way of working magick not least of which is a lengthy list of shape-shifting, or poly-morphing.  I also have an agenda to learn and grow and I am hopeful that the strength of god and the wilful one will help me tremendously on that one just by osmosis.

We’re planning to try out a short series of poly-morphing tonight. We’re nervous of shifting all together as we don’t know if the words will come out right in animal languages but we are hoping a thought will be all it needs. So we shall see what tonight brings. I’m just going to help Agnes with dinner, I won’t be long.

***

We’re gathered again at my little natural altar near my home, we’ve cast a circle and the Guardians are watching over us. All our safety nets are in place and we have an order in which we shall try out the poly-morphing. Agnes is going to try first leaving Joe and me to break the spell. We choose it this way because I had already had a chance to shift and Joe had already proved able to break the spell. This first one will be my chance to see if I can break the spell with a word and my will alone. We’re all set, we have a variety of talismans, fur from animals, feathers from birds, seeds from plants. I have crafted containers for the talismans, one for each of us.  A hollow silver ball on a 12 ” silver chain for Agnes, the same again for me, I believe strongly that silver is the metal of choice for we girls. The third is made from gold for Joe, I melted down a set of earrings with matching necklace to make that one, I don’t normally work in gold. I may have to reforge it as it isn’t my best work, but it is functional and Joe seems to like it as it is. We shall see. My inner perfectionist is not entirely happy but we wanted to start on the closest full moon to have the greatest powers available to us. And we were all excited to be trying this out as a group.

Agnes picks a talisman from the altar and places it inside her ball shaped locket. She’s chosen rabbit fur as she was always fond of keeping rabbits in her youth and had always wanted to know what it was like to be one. Not a terribly exciting animal but it was her choice and we would not deny her. Rabbit is never on the menu in her home but for tonight it was. We’re not entirely sure if this will work as we plan but we have contingencies, I have a chant prepared just in case. Joe places the necklace around Agnes’ throat and she closes her eyes and kneels on the ground. Joe and I stand either side of her and focus our will to join to hers.

A spark of energy flickers between us. In unison we utter the word ‘Rabbit’ and the transformation begins.  We gaze in wonder as we watch Agnes transform from her normal form into a black and silver rabbit.. A sense of triumph fills me and I can’t help but giggle as Agnes rests back and uses her front paws to wash her face. She chitters in response to my giggle. And now I must see if I can break the spell. I bend down to reach what is now a silver collar around the rabbit Agnes’ throat. I take the clasp in my fingers and prepare to snap it open. I utter the word ‘Agnes’ as I do so and focus my will upon the task of shifting her back. My stomach knots up as it takes a long second to work but within a breath Agnes is back and blinking in the moonlight. Now we know that I can break the spell Joe steps up to take his turn and this time Agnes will break the spell.

***

Joe steps to the altar and with great reverence picks up the feather he took from Quoth just before dinner. He carefully winds it up to fit into his locket and hands the locket and chain to me. I will place the chain on him as it is Agnes’ turn to break the poly-morph. Again we position ourselves, this time Agnes opposite me and Joe kneeling between us. I reach across and fasten the chain around Joe’s neck. Agnes and I build up our will and focus on Joe and again, in unison, we utter our chosen word, ‘Raven’. In the blink of an eye Joe is before us on the ground in the form of a raven. He ruffles his feathers out and checks himself all over, typical male checking to make sure all the bits and pieces are in the right place. He preens his tail feathers and then chirps at us. I am amazed to find I can understand him, he wants to take a moment  or two to try flying. It is apparent by Agnes’ expression that she also understood him. We move apart and allow Joe a little room to try his take off. He flaps his wings a few times and jumps… falling back to the floor with a small thud. He chirps his embarrassment but tries again, this time managing to stay aloft a foot in the air before falling to the ground. He chirps to us that he might want to ask Quoth for flying lessons and Agnes giggles knowing full well that Quoth will be a sarcastic tutor. He chirps he is ready to shift back and we gather again in position, Agnes takes the chain and utters ‘Joseph’ as she opens the clasp. We have all now succeeded in shifting and breaking the poly-morph. I have to admit it has left me feeling quite tired but we have one more exercise to do before the witching hour is over. It is now my turn to try it solo.

***

I take my place before the altar and choose a talisman from the selection. I know I have already changed into a cat.. but it didn’t work out quite right if you remember from my last writing. (If you don’t remember you need to look in the old book of Shadows right at the end.) I had wanted to turn into a house cat but had ended up as a panther. Quite regal but also impractical. This time I was going to see if I could get it right and pictured in my mind a small black cat with white paws. I knelt at the altar and placed the necklace with the fur in the locket around my neck. I rest back on my heels as I focus my will upon myself. I felt  the power build and then felt myself drawing power from beyond myself too. I was drawing in energy from my surroundings though not my companions. I uttered the word ‘Cat’ and felt myself change. My energy and will added power to the transformation, my visualisation added form. I blinked and looked myself over, everything was as it should be, I had paws, tail, whiskers and most of all I was the right size!

I looked up at Joe and Agnes towering above me and felt elated and purred loudly as both reached down to scratch my ears.  I sent my thought out to them that I wanted to walk around a bit, get used to the form and the abilities I had. this time both Joe and Agnes understood me, it seems that our communing together has allowed Joe’s ability to leech into us all through the course of the ritual. This is not an uncommon thing in one sense, coven members are often able to read each others thoughts as they grew accustomed to each other over the years in much the same way a husband and wife do. But none of us had expected this so quickly, we had only been a group for 27 days give or take a few hours. I walked around a little, tried crouching and pouncing, tried out crouching and moving at the same time, tried jumping. I stretched out and shook myself and let both Joe and Agnes know that I was ready to try to shift back. We all hoped that it would be unnecessary to remove the talisman and that just the thought and the will would achieve the reverse transformation. I sat back on my haunches and closed my eyes, drew in my will and thought ‘Arin’. I felt myself stretch and grow, felt the fur fall from my skin and then I crumpled in exhaustion. I hoped it would become easier with time but at least we now knew that one of us at least was able to transform solo. Agnes rushed to my side to see if I was ok whilst Joe came to the other side of me to assist me in getting up. ” I just need a minute, I’m fine” i say in my own voice again and smile up at them both, weakly but at least it manages to portray my joy and exultation a little.

*** *** ***

Pet Hate 3 Dirty hands

This pet hate stems largely from my time in the National Health Service. I cannot stand my own hands to be dirty, I hate dirty nails and most of all I hate it when you go to a public toilet and you can hear the people going to the loo, flushing then walking out without washing their hands.

Now I have nothing against getting dirty hands in an attempt to boost ones immunity, for example, children playing in the garden making mud pies and eating worms. But not washing your hands after toileting is disgusting. I’ve done the old experiment where you wash your hands then have them sprayed with a luminescent solution that highlights bacteria under a UV light. I also understand that commensal bacteria are important to the health of the skin and the body in general, note the use of probiotic yoghurts and drinks to improve digestion. But to risk passing on the commensal bacteria from the genitals after toileting to the mouth, as often people visit the loo before eating, is just opening yourself and others up to disease. Not washing your hands after toileting and using the handle on the door to let yourself out is risking transferring your commensal bacteria to an elderly person or child or even a normally healthy adult who just happens to touch the handle after you.

Toileting and not washing your hands when you are a professional working in the hospital or other medical environment should be considered as gross misconduct, possibly even criminal conduct. People in hospital are usually already ill, they don’t need cross contamination and a staphylococcal enteritis or yeast infection from a lazy member of staff to add to their troubles. I’ve seen it happen, staff toilets I went in one day and a health care assistant in the department was just finishing in the toilet, I could hear her urinating and texting. There was no one else in the toilets just her and me when I walked in and until I walked out it was just us two. She didn’t see me but I had seen her as I had gone in after her from the main corridor in the department. She flushed and unlocked the cubicle door, completely bypassed four hand wash basins and two hand towel dispensers and two air hand dryers and left the toilets. It’s the reason I open doors with my hand covered in a sleeve or a tissue. Keep your bacteria to yourself and I will look after mine, thank you.

an ode to Insomnia for Hilary

Insomnia is a burden shared by many world wide

It leaves us not bushy tailed nor bright eyed

The ‘wee small hours’ can be our friend

Or a nightmare that never ends

Tossing and turning in our beds

demons run amok through our heads.

We get up to escape them to no avail

they grab and swing from our night-shirt tails

—————————–

Down’t wooden hill we may likely tread

To ‘scape from the horrors in our bed

but the monsters are hiding in a place more dark

than under the mattress having a lark.

Existentialism and the bills we must pay

our minds racing forward to red letter day,

those demons who with us stay

and with our sanity they nightly play

————————

Dawn breaks over yonder hill

In time to remind us to take our pill

We should have taken it before midnight

maybe before the end of daylight

But there it sat on our night-stand

craftily evading the reach of our hand.

We gave up the fight to take it by eight,

the optimal time to reduce the night freight.

——————————

Now morning has come to this weary night owl

awake all night, questions fair and foul

abounded through our heads

while we chased the demons from our beds.

And with the resurrection of the sun

a more pressing question to mind has come

should I have porridge or bacon and sausage

In my new day of struggle avoiding dotage.