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-- Drema, Editor
If… Journal
“You have a knack for letting readers smell, taste, and feel your words.”
-- Schuyler Kaufman, Editor,
High Country Writer’s Journal
Holy Day Meads
13 Moons and a Bottle of Mead
Full of mystic rituals, sensuality, violence and adventure, just like V, these words reflect what all of us want in that private dark place we think no one else knows about.
V is a strong independent woman who loves, has sex, kicks ass, carries out the duties of a High Priestess and has the love and loyalty of beautiful and strong men without giving up anything that is herself.
A pagan shape shifter, she has the life any woman would want… until an unknown nemesis takes it all away and she falls into a dark brutal place seeking bloody vengeance.
She’s been pushed too far; had too much ripped from her and becomes a merciless and efficient killing machine. Each one responsible will be found and destroyed until there are no more.
But in the midst of revenge and chaos, can she find the courage to love again?
Praise for Forever Autumn
“Compelling scene, the intensity between V and Adrian (and the explanation of the Runes' meanings) creates interest to hold the attention of folks not familiar with the Runes; while the tit-for-tat with the Runes make for interesting parallels to the lore for those of us who do know (like Odin and Thor countering each other's blessings and curses for a favorite of Thor's). This is good stuff! Reminds me of the realist Celtic myth/fantasy style that Charles de Lint's work has."
"Your novel is disturbing in that it insists on exposing the layers of bestiality inherent in us all, and more so in that it illuminates that the more we embrace this wild, instinctual side as a conscious part of our whole selves, the more we have a chance for an authentic existence and one of true altruism and our best potential. I love the various animal daemons of the Changers—what rich personifications of our ancient animal selves in all their dark beauty and power, helping us claim the depths and magic life holds as possible for us. As you artfully lay forth, it is our Shadow, fully empowered in all of its honest lusts and appetites, unapologetic and unfettered by meditative thought, that makes us truly human, and completes us as whole selves.
I love your use of the runes as a secret lovers’ language, and this is the first book I’ve read in which the rituals, chants and magic feel familiar and ‘real’, so that I exclaimed aloud, “Yes!” to each subsequent description of rite and verse."
Martin is a disillusioned priest, but also a heterogeneous Changer. His search for the missing parts of himself and desire to make a difference in the lives of Changer children bring him to V, Adrian and The Island where he finds far more depth, mystery and self discovery than he was prepared for. Sam, a Native American heterogeneous Changer, builds the foundation for the Changer Academy on The Island for youth. Mark is an entertainer who is taken advantage of by a Changer and comes to terms with the darker aspects of his own nature on The Island.
Each challenged in their own lives, they must all come together with V to battle Gabriel Evans, bent on destroying all things Changer. This time his target is Changer children, but he may have miscalculated his opponent.
Except from Silent Winter
Chapter One
For your eyes only, can see me through the night.
For your eyes only, I never need to hide.
You can see so much in me, so much in me that's new.
I never felt until I looked at you.
For your eyes only, only for you.
~Sheena Easton
“For your eyes only”
Martin tied off the small motorboat and stepped onto The Island’s dock, brief case in one hand, leaving the duffle bag with his clothes behind. He shivered in the cool late afternoon breeze, but he wasn’t cold. There was a feeling here, a heaviness to the air that had nothing to do with the climate. He pulled nervously on the starched white priests’ collar, pulled down the sleeves of his black jacket and smoothed his shirt.
Wind ruffled his thick blond hair and made him narrow his bright blue eyes. He was tall, shoulders broad with muscle built from hard physical labor as there were always projects around the church and he volunteered. He liked to build things, fix things. Buildings as well as children. Taking a deep breath he looked across the warped boards of the gently moving dock.
It had taken him years to take this step; he would not turn back. He didn’t know why he had to come here to realize his dream of a home for heterogeneous Changer children; he just knew he had to. Taking a week off from his regular duties had been a hard decision but he felt it was time to finally begin his personal transformation as well as his dream of the home.
He walked slowly to the two enormous carvings that came right out of the face of the rocky cliff. Rising above him on the left was a roaring tiger, ears back, crouched and ready to attack. On the right was a wolf twice as tall as he was, snarling muzzle wrinkled, teeth bared. As he passed between them towards the steps that led precariously up the vertical cliff face he felt again the touch of some otherworldliness. Stopping, he leaned a hand against the warm rock and looked back along the dock.
The magic of the sculptor’s hand had turned the side and back of the tiger into a woman’s naked form. His heart pounded and he drug in a started breath, suddenly cold, then hot. He recognized the face and body and looked to see the wolf from this angle was a man he’d seen and touched in his dreams. Dreams that had become more vivid and intense over the last year; that had led him here, to The Island, a place he’d only heard whispered about in shadows and hinted at in carefully coded words.
He must have seen these carving before; it was the only way to explain why he’d dreamed about the woman and man. But deep down he knew it was something more; he couldn’t define what it was, but it made him eager and anxious at the same time.
They were proof his dreams had at least some thread of reality to them. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze caress his face, took a few deep breaths. This was unreal, but when he opened them the carvings were solid. The dreams were never clear; he just woke with unnamed desires and the feeling of incompleteness. He’d prayed and felt God had finally answered; telling him to come here. His eyes wandered over the rock; the woman and man were still there. His hand moved of its own accord; touched the curves and marks there. Real; it was real.
He turned and walked to the other one. The face was familiar, the curve of hip, bend of knee. Memories of hazy dreams washed over him as he reached out following the angles.
Dropping his hand he began to climb the stairs. Each step seemed to take him further along a predestined path. At the top the coolness of the woods enclosed him, thick trees and bushes crowded the path, meeting over head so he could barely see the blue sky. It thinned out abruptly and he found himself walking between high light colored pillars on a broad flagstone path. It had the feel of an ancient temple. A tall white tower rose in the distance and he walked towards it. The pillars ended at a bridge taking him over a wide clear stream and on to the tower. He followed the path around it then stopped, looking at the courtyard in front of him.
A few people walked here and there on the thick grass, a couple sat on a blanket, each reading a book, the man’s head in the woman’s lap. Some wore long white robes, others short sarongs, still others were in shorts or jeans. A group of children in a circle flung several Frisbees around. He could tell from where he stood they were all Changer. But why wouldn’t they be shape shifters? The carvings left no doubt what this place was.
His eyes were drawn to the big white building past the green. Most of it was two stories, the two round towers on the far ends rising to four stories; the dome in the center of the building three. Steps circled the rounded entrance of the building below the dome and led down to the grassy courtyard in front.
Two people stood at the top of the steps, tall in full length white robes with no sleeves, still, looking across at him. The cool day turned warm and he began walking again until he stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at them.
They were the woman and man carved into the rock at the dock made flesh. She stood straight and regal, long brown hair flowing over her shoulders to her waist. Beautiful face, thin lips, smooth skin. He was taller by several inches, long auburn hair caught neatly in a tie behind his head, streaks of copper caught the sun, strong chin, full lips, shoulders broad, hips narrow. They looked like Greek gods standing there above him.
“We felt you arrive,” she said, voice deep and melodious, sending a shiver down his spine.
“That hasn’t happened before. Do we know ya?” The man asked with a heavy Scottish accent.
He shook his head, then shrugged. Clearing his throat he said, “I don’t think so.” How could he tell them he’d been dreaming about them for years? He recognized the curve of her cheek, the shape of his shoulders and blinked hard as touch and taste assaulted him.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“What brought you here?” the man asked.
Their voices were friendly, curious. Standing there together they looked like two forces combined into more than a whole; a solid representation of yin/yang.
“My name is Martin Van Dros. I want to talk to you about Changer children.”
“Father Van Dros?” she asked, lips curving slightly, obviously taking in the white collar.
He nodded, uncomfortable with the title; knowing it no longer fit as well as it had at first.
“Come up to the office.” The man said.
He put one foot on the steps and hesitated. Looking around at the brightly lit courtyard, he couldn’t shake the feeling that with this one step his life would change forever. He looked back at them where they were waiting and walked quickly up to them.
“Come walk a year
Holy Day Meads has suggestions for making a simple cyser mead for each Holy Day, reflecting their significance and sacredness. Each is celebrated with:
if it's good enough for druids
Explore the eight Sacred Pagan Holidays by considering:
Energy of the season. Winter Holy Days are often given the significance of quiet inward journey time while spring is full of chaotic creative energy, summer with active growing and producing and fall a time that falls back into the more restful phase of tranquility. The cycle repeats itself each sacred turn of the wheel.
Agriculture activity. Agriculturally, plant life follows a cycle – from spring field preparation and planting, summer growth, harvesting of crops in the fall, then the fields going fallow in the winter. Animal life cycles move from breeding, to birthing, to rearing young then the death of some and breeding of others.
Cycle of the God’s life. Since these Sabbots revolve around the sun, they are usually related to the masculine energies. Spiritually, the god is seen as living an entire life each year, from birth to death. Each of the solar holidays is a significant time of that life.
Traditional ritual observations for each day. Many pagans consciously follow the Earth cycle in their lives. In the winter there is time for quiet contemplation of ourselves, where we are, lifting our heads to see where we want to be, and deciding how to get there. We nurture the seed of Divinity with us through the cold dark months then feel it take deep root in our souls and grow outward with the warmth and energy of the sun. We create projects in the spring, work on them during the hot months, prepare to sacrifice what is no longer needed in the fall to move back into the cold darkness.
Come visit with Mead
for a full Turning of the Wheel…
“Your mead is always full-bodied and rich tasting, neither too bitter nor too sweet. And it is always more potent than anticipated. If you drink it sitting down, stand up VERY carefully! You were my first mead making teacher. You made it so much fun and easy that I have continued on making it on my own and have felt comfortable experimenting with it. And who can refuse one of your mead making parties!”
“I had so much fun at Gale’s mead making party, and have since brought more people into the brewing family with her recipe for quick mead. I am so glad that you taught me an exciting hobby! In my college English class I had to write a paper about one of my hobbies. I chose making mead. “
“I always looked forward to mead making at your home. It was a gathering of fun people doing a fun project. Food before, the making of the mead, and a good movie after. Of course, sipping your already made mead all the while.”
“I will always remember deflating those little "soldiers" after a long day of fermenting and really enjoyed sampling varieties of different meads; such as lavender, rose, ginger and raspberry.”
Mead says…
With me,
From the cold quiet of Yule
Through the heat of summer
To stroll in the colorful leaves of Samhain.
Explore the Holy Days
With my warmth and sweetness...”
~~ poems
~~ photographs
~~ personal visualizations.
running nekkid thru the woods
drinking strange fermented fluids
then it's good enough for me.
--Unknown
~Al D.
~Megan
~ Marcia Rowe
~Alyse F.