On May 10th, I had the honor of attended a blessing ceremony for the Tokitae Totem Pole, a large traditional wood carving of a killer whale created in an effort to free a living whale from captivity. Created by artisans…
The difference between sharing and stealing.
(Links to an external page at Coreopsis Journal of Myth and Theatre).
Interview with celebrated goth artist Rose Adare, who lives on the big island of Hawaii and paints luminous oil portraits of various subcultures.
Children’s gifts and toys that meet the needs of racial minority and mixed families.
It is August 15, in the year 2000. In a few hours it will be midnight, and then the police will come. But for now, it’s party time. On a balmy evening in San Francisco, nearly a thousand artists and friends cram into one narrow block in the historic Mission District in a show of support for a local dance company that had lost its lease.
One Native American family’s history, 1825 to 1998.
Some folks find themselves sailing, lost at sea, forever in search of dry land, never at a loss for water and storm. The same goes for entire families. Here’s a story about both.
From the 1996 San Francisco Lesbian/Gay Pride Parade
It’s my first time here so I don’t know quite what to expect for the opening salvo, but all the other photographers are really jazzed up. Suddenly the crowd lining an empty Market Street breaks into a cheer at the tiger growl of motorcycles approaching in low gear. The parade has begun…
The Earth-Based, Goddess-Centered Pagan traditions, including Wicca, have a very different attitude toward death in general. Most of the Pagans I have spoken to over the years believe in reincarnation in some form, so that death is seen as a change, a “shedding of the skin”, rather than the end. For this reason the snake that sheds its skin is viewed as a symbol of rebirth rather than as a symbol of evil.
The “Disappearing Indians” Myth Lingers On
It didn’t take a “melting pot” of settlers from other parts of the world to create diversity in North America. The native peoples who lived here already represented an enormous variety of cultures, and they had something in common that would help them survive centuries of misfortune without losing that culture.
Learn about the secret code system that connects early African-American quilt designs to activities of the Underground Railroad. When aired out on plantations, such quilts communicated how and when slaves could escape.
A book review and interview with the author of the book Aunt Sarah: Woman of the Dawnland by Trudy Ann Parker
The greatest testimony to the skills of a medicine woman is that she lived to see 108 winters herself.
Interview with “Omoya”, who discusses her life experiences as a proud woman of African, European and Native American ancestry.
Native American Indian spiritual practices are not the glamourous and easily-digested catchphrases of wisdom portrayed by Hollywood or the New Age movement. As the following short story by this Canadian Metis author illustrates, walking the “Red Road” can be a challenging, even embarrasing, ordeal. – The Editor
(The surreal world of a teenager stuck working at a fast-food joint)
Jenna hated him, the garish tricolored hat, the white powdered curls fat as sausages, the tiny American flag clutched in his wooden hand. Her mother had bought the minuteman jack-in-the-box as a memento of the Bicentennial, placed it next to the miniature spinning wheel on top of the piano.
My daughter, Vanessa, is a genuine pigeon. She began her life in China two years ago, is living in the second city she has called home here, and has warned her Chinese friends not to plan surprises in front of her anymore because she understands everything they say.
Feather River Singers is a Native American Indian Women’s Northern style contemporary pow wow drum that performs in both the Cherokee and English languages. They recently released Daughters of the Earth, a CD of original music, which includes healing songs for the Earth, pow wow dances and songs that honor warriors.
(a fantasy poem)
The One Who Stayed
I warned her
blood of mine
I warn them
There was a group of people at my high school who were known as The People Under the Stairs. They were very nice, mostly suburban white kids who dressed in black and hung out underneath the main set of stairs. The People Under the Stairs were the misfits and the Goths of our school.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know that I was Jewish, and that it made me a teensy minority in my hometown of Nashville, Tennessee. Aside from being the capital of country music, Nashville also functions as the unofficial Baptist Vatican.
Is it okay to add more spices? Of course, my grandmother did and I do all the time! Traditionally this bread is very mild, but grandma loved to spice things up. As long as the red beans are fresh, not canned, your bread will have enough drama to enhance any seasoning you include.
Surely, anyone who remembers childhood knows comfort food. It was what you ate on rainy days when you couldn’t play outside. It was what you found at the table when your pet goldfish died or your dog ran away.
About 1937, a Spanish ship laden with casks of sherry and carboys of Canary wine ran ashore during a gale and broke up on a rocky beach near my home. The news spread rapidly, as it still does in Cornwall. My Uncle Bob, with his little Austin 7 car, was one of the first to the rescue – not of the ship’s crew, but of its cargo.
Tears of sorrows never vanish from their long faces
Thousands like zebra jumping out in search of long denied grass
Crossing rivers contaminated with crocodiles
South Africa seems to sweeten their sorrow
To them, Zimbabwe is just a zombie to flee
For as long as I can remember, I always knew that I was Indian, but I also knew that we could never talk about it in front of my Grandmother. For whatever reason, she would have a fit of rage if anyone asked her about it. She would say that she was NOT Indian and that she didn’t want to hear any of us say otherwise. We never knew why she denied it.
Up in the azure sky
Shoots the sun’s rays
Rises to meet another day
To me its not yet any hope
As each day brings more problems
Which trouble a thirteen year old girl
When womanhood came, my hair awoke
Heeding some inner genetic calling,
To a life of its own.
It framed my face like a cloud of blackness
Wild curls reaching in every direction
Armed with combs, with clips and barrettes.
My horrified mother
(Born a white Southerner and Never Forgetting It)
Attempted to tame it and failed.
(A short story inspired by the tragic 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire)
She is worthless, cloth legs and arms, sooty grey and smudged, grey as newsprint, or a spider, Little Miss Muffit sat on her tuffit, eating her curds and whey. Too poor for a printed face, no high buttoned shoes or jet beads small as gnats. Instead someone stitched her a round open mouth, two spiked lashed eyes and a flattened French knot for a nose…
Photo Gallery: Labor Day march and rally in Tucson, Arizona in support of the region’s migrant workers.
The year was 2010 and tensions between the Arizona state government and its Hispanic residents had simmered for months…
Advice for teens who are new to Wicca, Witchcraft and Paganism.
As a young person you probably have a lot of issues in your life that you need to work out; the teen years especially can be pretty confusing. As a young Wiccan you have the added challenge of setting out on the strange, new road…