The answer is obvious. Donald trump is the Great Zombie Master and his followers are the risen legions of the Undead.
The difference between sharing and stealing.
(Links to an external page at Coreopsis Journal of Myth and Theatre).
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.