Vampyre Mike

Vampyre Mike Kassel

Maybe it's because I read the "Irish sporting green" on Sundays, but it seems to me at least once a month I read of someone I knew or know who passed away. More likely it's because I'm aging and so are my colleagues. In any case, this death is not one I learned of from the obituaries. Prudence told me. My friend Pasha and her daughter Della are grieving a lot for Vampyre Mike. This is what his friend, fellow poet, and coven mate Whitman McGowan wrote about Mike:

Michael Alan “Vampyre Mike” Kassel – writer and musician

Born December 3, 1953 in Boston to Milton ”Quinn” Kassel and Beatrice Kassel, brilliant underground poet and talented musician Vampyre Mike passed away after a long battle with hepatitis March 22, 2008 in his room at San Francisco’s Marina district Bridge Motel (one of the few San Francisco SRO Hotels not located south of Market). He resided at The Bridge for over twenty years. In high school in Boston his first band was Self Winding Onion and in 1973-1974 he was in Automatic Slim with Fred Pineau (who later gained success with The Atlantics). He moved to San Francisco in 1974 and earned his sobriquet when punk fans at the Mabuhay Gardens started calling for “Vampire Mike!” when he appeared there with his band The Hellhounds. In 1980 Mike sharpened his teeth on musical theater in San Francisco, putting on Bat Soup which ran for 86 performances at Hotel Utah and combined Dracula and the Marx Brothers. In 1982 he released the 45 single “Fortune Teller/Guru Massage” under the name Mike Kassel.

Holding down a day job as a market researcher, he was loveable curmudgeon and merciless tease who on occasion could be extremely kind and generous and he always told it like it was, with outlandish humor and an uncompromising stylishness. An adherent of the Norse pagan traditions and widely read and knowledgeable on many topics, he was made thyle, or bard, of the heathen group Freya’s Folk, and he partnered with one of their priestesses Pasha De Saix for many years. Together they were the folk rock duo The Familiars, a fixture at pagan gatherings in the greater Bay Area, recording original and traditional songs as “Pasha and the Pagans,” a collection engineered by Lemon De George of Genghis Blues fame. Other musical groups led by Vampyre Mike included The Fabulous Dumonts, The Bones of Kryptos, blues band The Welfare Cheats and an homage to 60’s garage bands, The Mysterious Ice Wyrms, which at one time featured drummer Donovan Bauer of 20 Mile.

A regular at many poetry open mics over the years, he was also known as Thor Bernstein and Elston Gunn, but it was as Vampyre Mike at Café Babar and Above Paradise in the late 80s and early 90’s that he really established himself as a poetic voice and a force to be reckoned with. His take on current events was eagerly awaited by the poets and his other fans. It seemed he always had something incisive to say about a big news item and it was usually a lot of fun to hear, as his poetry owed more to W.C. Fields than to W.H. Auden. Though he performed mostly in Northern California his career also included one wild European tour with David Lerner, Dominique Lowell and other San Francisco poets. “Vamps,” as he was affectionately known to some, was also a frequent collaborator, playing piano, percussion and guitar on other people’s projects and joining Joie Cook, Kathleen Wood and myself to perform the one-off show Naked Language Revue one unforgettable night in 1990 at the old Kafe Komotion in San Francisco. He also helped me cast the dancers for a video, putting me in touch with a bunch of pagans he said would like to get naked if I ever made a video of my piece “White Folks Was Wild Once, Too.”

Local publishers put out his books Going for the Low Blow (poems, Zeitgeist Press, 1989), I Want to Kill Everything (poems, Zeitgeist Press,1990), Just Say No to Despair (poems, Cyborg Productions, 1991), Graveyard Golf (stories, Manic D Press, 1991), Wild Kingdom (poetry and prose, Zeitgeist Press, 1992), the latter two featuring covers by renowned comic artist S. Clay Wilson, and The Worlds According to Loki (mythological novel, Valknot Publishing, 2001). His work was translated into German, Czech and Russian. He wrote numerous prose pieces for the Western Edition newspaper, the quarterly Yggdrasil and the Sunday magazine of the San Francisco Chronicle/Examiner, and was published in many poetry magazines and anthologies.

Vampyre’s satire was a finely tuned attack delivered in broad strokes. Witness well loved poem “Your Love Is Like a Red, Red Nose,” his Woody Guthrie parody; “This land is my land, that land is my land / That land over there, that’s my land too / This land belongs to me, not you...” or his poem “SHIT”: I was walking home from the bars the other night/And realized/I had to piss Now!/Before my bladder blew up/Across the street/At a construction site/I spotted a Port-O-San/I hobbled over/And yanked on the door/It was locked/I was dumbfounded/What did they think I was going to steal?/Welcome to America/Where they lock up the shit (from Just Say No To Despair! (A Cyborg Minibook, San Francisco 1991)

Here’s one of his typical “rants.”

I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING SERIOUS

I wanted to write something serious,
a page that would ignite when exposed to air.
I wanted to dive deep into my soul
and swim back to the surface
with some big bloody truth clenched between my teeth.
I wanted something that would burn in the mind
like a malarial fever
you could never quite put out.
Something that would inspire
lust and revulsion simultaneously.
Something so dangerous
that Bush would have to send an invasion force
deep into my head.
Something that would replace the Gideon Bible
in the hotel drawers of the world.
Something so big, so beautiful and so true
that the sun would immediately eclipse himself
because he knew we were onto him.
I wanted to write something more addictive than crack,
more debilitating that love,
and more destructive than religion.
I wanted to make the moon weep.
I wanted to build a mirror so cruelly true
that it would send all the yuppie lawyers
and investment bankers
howling into the bush to make honest livings
as highwaymen, headhunters and horse thieves.
I wanted to write something that Ringo would understand,
something God would not forgive,
something the Weekly World News would refuse to print
because it was in bad taste.
I wanted to write something that would make
Rimbaud and Baudelaire
grind their teeth in envy
and throw their pens at the moon.
I wanted to give Poe the willies.
I wanted to make nuns wet their pants.
I wanted to make dogs howl, highways tremble,
and hair grow on grandma’s bald head.
I wanted to write something
that would make everyone illiterate.
I wanted to write something so beautiful
that it would make every woman in the world
fall in love with me
so I could break their hearts simultaneously.
I wanted to write something that would make money chuckle.
I wanted to write something that would cure cancer
and then kill you anyways.
I wanted a poem
A real poem.
A Robert Graves spit in the eye
this is the way the Iliad goes
so early in the morning dance round the campfire
roses are red barnburner of a walloping good God
did he really say that
motherfucking mouthful of meat
bad ass bitch of a poem
poem.
Know what I mean?
But
just as I got the paper in the machine
Della switched on “The Flintstones”
And all that came out of the typewriter
Was
Yabba dabba doo.
from Wild Kingdom

Vampyre Mike is survived by his sister Dr. Jane Kassel and his twin nephews (born on Halloween, his favorite holiday!) Bryce and Alexander Haver of Media, Pennsylvania. Interment was in Pennsylvania and memorial services were held there and April 13th in Sutro Park, San Francisco.

His new book just published by Ajax Press is being celebrated with a posthumous book party on Saturday, May 3 at Café International, 508 Haight Street (near Haight & Fillmore) in SF, from 7-10 p.m. (415) 552-7390. Many poets will be there to commemorate his life and work and Copies of Toxic Vaudeville will be available at the event. For more info about the book see Ajax Press website www.ajaxpresssf.com .

---Whitman McGowan

What I most enjoyed about Mike was his irreverent songs. In love may he return again.

puff, puff

Yes, I'm still here. It seems that the turning of the Wheel this Spring was an especially earth-shaking one. Things are calmer now.

It helps me understand life when I view it through a lens of encounters with deity. This season I experienced two goddesses. One was Sekhmet, a healer. My friend Marilee, Her priestess, claims that Sekhmet is not the gentle, soothing kind of healer, but rather one of extreme measures. She is goddess of surgery, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, amputation. The healing I see Her having a hand in this season was one of amputation -- unfortunately, not without some collateral damage.

The other goddess who's been swirling around is Oya. She swept in like a whirlwind, blew things all around, and left them in disarray.

At this point, I'm trying to restore some semblance of order and repair the collateral damage as much as I can.

I knew when I was standing with Sekhmet that this amputation might not be a clean one, done with one mighty swing of a strong, sharpened blade. That was what I feared most about it. But I had to take the position I did, even while I remained acutely aware of, and dreading, that risk. I had not expected Oya to come swooping in Sekhmet's wake. I suppose if I'd been more prescient, I'd have anticipated it, but I didn't.

Now I appeal to bright Brigid, Whose flame tempers and Whose waters sooth.

I'm off to Dandelion, the third biennial all-Reclaiming gathering, in my home territory. Tonight we'll circle in Valley of the Moon, California, where I'll declare our intent and seal it. I love the theme: "All the Infinite Possibilities."

I'll leave early so I can participate in a day-long event organized by Don Frew. Called People of the Earth in America: Preserving Our Cultures, Building Our Community, it will take place at the Interfaith Center at the Presidio

Puffin' on down the road.....

New Poetry

My friend Ellen Cooney writes poems I like. Today I received in the mail a copy of her latest book, Mother of the Silkless: Invocations to Goddesses and Gods.

From the post office where I picked up the book, I went to my local Peet's for a cappuccino and a gander at the "Irish sporting green" in the SF Chronicle. Lo, I learned of the deaths of two whom I'd known in life. One was the very first architect I ever worked for -- in a previous life, I worked for architects -- Corwin Booth, 93. The other was an acquaintance from the local Irish and literary scene, Bob Callahan, former publisher of Callahan's Irish Quarterly and one of the founders of the Before Columbus Foundation. If I weren't going out of town this weekend on a long-planned trip, I'd go to his memorial this coming Sunday.

Later, at home, I opened Ellen's new book first to this poem:

HEL

You walk through the hospitals
gathering gathering
or You find us helter skelter
at the crossroads under cars
in icy parks
off bridges after a cruel word
You are the last clean white sheets
tireless at our bedsides
You hold us and heal us
carrying us through
from age to youth again
half Your face human
the other half blank
You are the Death Eater
ceaselessly devouring
human pain

There is no evidence of this book on the Internet. Ellen, although she's wheelchair-bound, does not use a computer. I'm so enamored of electronic communication that I'm puzzled when someone whose social opportunities are more limited than mine chooses not to enter cyberspace. Social or not, Ellen has her Muse. Mother of the Silkless, like Ellen's other books, is beautifully designed by her brother Robert Cooney, and printed on fine paper. Mother of the Silkless, ISBN 978-0-9602912-4-3, $15 from Duir Press, 795 Eighth Avenue, #201, San Francisco, CA 94118.

Follow the Leader

Three days ago Chas started this:

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

Lucky me was tagged by Anne. My response is:

“…We turned off the highway on to the slip road, and then off it, past a jhopadpatti, into darkness. Our beams conjured up a dusty road, trees sliding into existence and out again, it was like falling into a tunnel. I went eagerly into it. Then we took a sharp left, and the road changed, we crunched over dirt. There was a car parked at the end of the lane, and the hard black of a building through the overhanging branches, and we got out and walked towards it, around a corner, and now there was a single bulb above the door….”
~ from Sacred Games, by Vikram Chandra (of a total of a whopping 900 pp.)

To spread things around, I tag Kevin in Honolulu, Cosette in Miami, Julie in State of Jefferson, California, Brendan in Elora, Ontario, Canada, and Christopher in Ann Arbor.

The trouble with coming in late on this is that some friends you’d be likely to tag have already been tagged.

Interfaith Action for Worker Justice

Yesterday morning I joined others at the Marin County Civic Center to confront the Board of Supervisors about their neglect to fix Marin's Living Wage Ordinance, guaranteeing minimum wage and health care benefits for homecare workers. The ordinance was passed a year ago, yet through administrative sleight-of-hand excludes from its protection 1,000 homecare workers. Homecare workers allow elders to stay in their homes. Shamefully, Marin, one of the wealthiest counties in the entire country, has one of the lowest pay rates for unskilled laborers* in the nine Bay Area counties.

My colleague in Marin Interfaith Council, the Rev. Pamela Griffith Pond, a Lutheran minister who heads Marin Interfaith Worker Justice, solicited help with this effort from members of MIC, and on Monday asked me if I would do a reading as part of the program. I was rushing out the door when she phoned, and I really wanted to help and was honored that she had asked, so I said yes. Then when I got home after my birthday dinner with Patrick & Barbara, Corby, my daughter Deirdre and her boyfriend Matt, I started looking for a suitable reading. Well, ya know, we Pagans don't have readings. We have no holy scripture. We have the seasons and the tides, the Wheel of the Year, the counsel of the cowry.

It was late and I was tired and I wanted to be prepared. So I surfed around the Net for inspirational material of any kind on the subject of worker justice. I found lots of practical resources for people engaged in that effort. I found lectionaries. I'd never heard the word lectionary; it's "a list or book of portions of the Bible appointed to be read at a church service." No, lectionaries wouldn't do. I combed through books on my shelves, felt too weary for inspiration. Then I decided that the best of reading from a Pagan perspective is poetry. Yet finding something both relevant and beautiful left meager pickings.

Once again, I found myself turning to my friend Patricia Monaghan's poetry, from the same collection as the poem I selected for Brigit, Seasons of the Witch.

Standing in a group near the South entrance of the Civic Center, holding signs, with people coming in and out, riding up the escalator, with blasts and other truck and traffic noise just outside the open doors, I read:

Housemagic

You descend the stairs at midnight.
You walk through the sleeping hours.
Light surrounds you in the silent dark.

Was it a nightmare woke you?

You pour a glass of water.
You sit by the window, beside that
cobalt vase filled with blue flowers.
Into the dark blue center of sleep
you slip again, into the blue
blackness of true forms, into
the fragmented pool of meaning.

There, on the boundary of
boundlessness, you dream
and, dreaming, remember what
you have not utterly forgotten:
how your kitchen always has at least one
witch's broomstick, how clove and garlic
are domesticated on your spicerack,
how everything has power.

But you remember only how, not
why. And so your power finds
its limits: You can raise
the bread but you cannot
tame the nightmares that
pasture in the silent house.
You have forgotten the way
to the wildness within you,
to the instinct for order.

Now as you sleep you dream
of a half-remembered house: bedraggled
as old lace, its stairs rot into wooden
filigrees, its attic suffocates in private
dust. And in its flooded basement
the rivers, the sewers of the world
breed terrifying marvels. Because
the house grows wild, disorderly, all
the gardens in the world turn treacherous
and forests strangle on themselves.

But in this house all change is possible.
Some corners--left or right, dining room
or pantry--grow shiny with significance.
A ladder leans against a wall.
Sheer white curtains billow.
A floor creaks. A door closes.

When you wake in the blue hour
before dawn, you remember
am old house with stairways that
lead to attics that connect to trees.
You remember all the paths.

And remembering, you know how
to make the necessary changes
to pull the day towards night, to
let all things revel in meaning,
dreaming the world's secrets like
the favored habitat of blueberries,
like the seasoning of rosehips,
like the uses of lichen and moss.

On a bureau you collect
a chipped mirror with a
woman's face, a stem of bed-
straw that died aslant, your
sister's candlesticks,
an old pot with a mother's
belly, a box covered with
dusty embroideries.

Then, in another room:
rocks in a spiral pattern,
a branch that sang in a
mysterious and certain way,
a whitened bone.
A gray owl feather,
a small pile of seeds.
All in a certain order.

Now, when you sleep
you build a round tower,
you cut new windows,
you carve a pool in shade.
A candle burns beside you
as you dream. It flickers
sometimes in the cool breeze.
Outside your window, a single
leaf breaks against stone
as it falls from the gnarled oak.

And you dream of being in the power
of grasses, frail patched lace,
filigree seedheads, mist of renewal,
reckless with shedding. You dream
your hair full of seeds, your hair
a cushion for seeds to rest on,
you dream you were born to move
seed to new lands, you dream
purposes and reasons, you are
full of thoughtless utility.

And sleeping there, you feel
your dream and the world's
dream join. A path stretches
out before you, the path from
childhood: at its end, a new
trees is taking root, its taproot
drinking your heart's blood.

And, when you wake and move
through the dim silent room,
you know that the wind of your
daily dance brings a storm to
an old forest on another continent,
and that the fall of its giants
leaves room for new growth.

Midnight: You open the door.
A horse comes galloping.
There are no horses where
you live. But she is there,
wearing no saddle, no reins.

With blueblack eye she invites
you. She kneels as you mount.

This is where the dream would
end, if this were a dream.
But it is not, and so
the next thing
you feel is
the rush of wind
in your hair.

* * *

Following the program, we carried our signs up the escalator and around the escalator wells while singing "Oh, when we win a living wage...When every worker has a job...When healthcare's free for you and me..." to the tune of "When the Saints Go Marching In." Pamela carried a stack of letters written to the Board in support of their putting the health care for homecare workers back on their agenda and passing the resolution they'd promised. The letters were from individuals and groups. I had mailed one a earlier. It turned out that, in spite of the fact that a Board meeting had been scheduled for Tuesday morning and that was why were were there when we were, there were no Supervisors on the premises. Pamela gave the letters and her card to the receptionist with instructions to give the letters to Supervisor Hal Brown on the labor committee.

We left the Supes' offices and filed down though the building singing another filk, then dispersed. Some of us went to the cafeteria for coffee and feedback. The discussion yielded some interesting and useful information. I found I had a lot to offer from my Pagan and activist background, tame though it may be. I found that my sense of ritual informed my observations.

At one point, I said that 'we' (meaning Pagans in general) had a few more interesting chants than the usual filk, and that one that had come to me in this situation was a chant known as "Summer Solstice Power Chant," by Starhawk. Surely many readers know it. Grace, one of the other demonstrators did. It begins, "We are the power in everyone..." and ends, "...We are the turning of the tide." I said that I was reluctant to suggest it because to me is sounded maybe a bit more je ne c'est quois than they'd want. To my surprise, they liked it. Carol, one of the home care workers, said that she was a born-again Christian and she would be happy to sing that song.

A Supervisors' meeting is now set for the same time next Tuesday, and we will repeat our protest. Pamela has more letters of support to deliver and wishes to make a public statement to all the Supervisors. In the meantime, however, our message has resulted in a meeting next Monday between Pamela and Supervisor Brown.


* Coincidentally, Marin has the lowest salaries for legal secretaries in the Bay Area as well. Legal secretaries have special skills and knowledge, far more than just typing letters. I'm sensitive to this because I was a single mother trying to make ends meet as a legal secretary in the '80s and '90s. In order to reduce the constant stress of paying bills by triage method, to earn a decent salary, I ended up commuting back to San Francisco and leaving my latchkey child on her own more than I would have liked.

Birthday Brag

Today's my birthday, a significant on this year -- I got my Medicare card. Of all the people I share this birthday with, my favorite is the late George Harrison; we were born the same day and year.

What I'm going to brag about is the panel I put together for PantheaCon. Titled "When We Call, Who Comes?" we were scheduled for 1:30 p.m. on Friday, the first sessions, when most Con-goers hadn't arrived yet. Nevertheless, our room was full to overcrowding.

Nothing by way of set-up that I'd asked for on my application way back in October was in place. No two tables and five chairs for panelists, no two mikes, no pitchers of water and glasses. Just a room with rows of chairs facing one wall. Early arrivals helped set us up as best we could. It's just amazing to me that you are asked to list all requirements for your presentation (no one under 18; chairs or not; closed after session begins; projectors; screens; mikes; etc.) in October, when you get on site four whole months later in February, nothing has been done by of making those accommodations.

I had wanted the panel to be comprised of Pagans I knew to be bright and accomplished, to have depth and vision, and to have thought on matters thea/ological. Not necessarily to have resolved them to their own or anyone else's satisfaction; just to have a broad knowledge of theology, and Pagan approaches to theology.

My dear friend Michael York, having authored Pagan Theology, was an obvious choice for me. Plus it was his first time at PantheaCon, and he happens to teach at Cherry Hill Seminary. When Michael spoke at CoG's annual Leadership Institute (which was also CHS' Summer Intensive) last August, there were those who took issue with some of what Michael says in that book, so I chose someone I thought might offer a stimulating contrast, Gus diZerega, a prolific writer whose Pagans and Christians has proven a useful book for those engaged in interfaith dialogue. Dr. York is a sociologist retired from university teaching. Dr. diZerega's field of study is political science.

Since many Pagans, including myself, are goddess-oriented, I had planned on having two women. Anne Hill, D.Min. from University of Creation Spirituality (now Wisdom University), author, musician, poet and writer, agreed. I was unable to contact Brandy Williams, my other choice, and a pioneer in feminist Thelema,. (I knew she planned to be at the Con, but as it turned out she was only there for her own presentation on Sunday evening and not for any of the rest of the time.) So at the last minute my friend Tony Mierzwicki*, author of Graeco-Egyptian Magick: Everyday Empowerment, a Graeco-Egyptian reconstructionist whose academic background is in mathematics, gamely stepped in. I knew his perspective would be a welcome one among us mostly witchen-centric speakers.

Three of the four panelists teach or have taught -- and will again -- at Cherry Hill Seminary. In fact, I later heard people speaking of the panel as "the Cherry Hill Seminary panel." Nice, but it was mine. I did it for my own pleasure and enlightenment, and to get us thinking together about thea/ology. Not with the goal of reaching a mutually agreeable definition, not to make any kind of pronouncement, not to declare dogma. Instead, to explore, to process our thoughts, feelings and experiences as NeoPagans, of whatever stripe.

All my likely videographers fell through. I was lucky at the last minute to find Steve from the WitchSchool to record it. I'm eager to see what he got.

We were a bit slow catching fire, but catch fire we did. Not as in conflagration, rather more as warm enthusiasm. Once we got rolling, hands arose throughout the audience. I wasn't able to call on everyone whose hand was raised, but we did manage to hear from several people. Another friend, Sam Webster,** in particular challenged and encouraged us. I thank him here for some insights I gained from what he had to say.

I can't say much more and do justice to all the gems that were proffered. We'll have to wait for the video and/or a transcript. Time flew by and the room buzzed with excitement. We all had so much more to say, so much more to explore. I'm hoping to convene more panels when opportunities to do so present themselves. Perhaps at Starwood? Perhaps at Dandelion 3. Perhaps at PantheaCon '09.

All this success reinforces my desire to build the best Public Ministry programs for Pagans that I can at CHS. I do plan to include courses dealing with thea/ology. We already have a course called "World Religions from a Pagan Perspective" taught by Michael York.

My brag? I can put together a kick-ass panel, and I proved it again this time. I love hanging out with smart Pagans!

* Tony and his sweetie Jo were married on Valentine's Day. They exchanged rings made by Priest of Brigit, goldsmith Patrick McCollum, who also officiated. Their marriage was witnessed by Holli Emore and myself. It was a great way to start the long weekend.

** Sam and his wife Tara used to put on formal symposia called Pagani Soteria, where prepared speakers had a limited time to respond to the same question. They, too, were great fun. I was honored to speak at two of them.

More Photos

Here's another to which I was alerted by a Witch in South Carolina. We're doing our opening routine, "We represent the Besom Brigade...." to the tune of the Munchkin song from The Wizard of Oz. I expect more photos and will continue to post them as I learn of or receive them.*


Photo by Gary Mattingly. More here.

* I'm available to teach these routines in person.

Another One

Here's another short YouTube of our pentacle being formed and lifted. I don't know why they're two separate clips.

Here It Is!

WOW Besom Brigade performing at PantheaCon on Sunday, February 17, 2008, DoubleTree Hotel, San Jose, CA. This is only fewer than 30 seconds of a longer performance, but I feel lucky we got anything at all. I think the woman heard the commotion in the lobby and dashed towards it with her camera.

Here are two photos sent to me by Minnha, taken by her friend, Cynthia Larsen.


Here we are displaying our broom pentacle, except that
you can't see the star in this photo. Minnha flying towards
the viewer, followed by me in gray vest, then Toad.

Toad and Minnha marching in formation.

I'm hoping other photographers will post or send photos. I know there were lots. (Gary M?)

An odd thing about the besom brigade: I would think doing this would appeal to any able-bodied Witch with a sense of humor, one who doesn't take herself too seriously. Even so, we attract few, if any, younger folks, and seem to be comprised of grey-haired women and gay men. Minnha is an exception. Malendia, who practiced with us but couldn't be there for our performance, is also an exception. Michele Mueller and a few other younger women have marched with us occasionally. But overall, we tend to be hags and fags. And, boy, do we have fun!

Two Days Post-Con

I emailed the woman who said she was going to post her video of the Besom Brigade on YouTube, still no response. I'm so eager to see it! In a weekend full of highlights, performing in the WOW Besom Brigade with Victoria, Prudence Priest, Julie Epona, Minnha, Gary Suto, and Toad was one of the biggest. Malendia rehearsed with us, but couldn't stay until our Monday performance. Prudence, Victoria and I had all done it before and knew just how much fun it can be. Minha was new and loved it. I've know Gary and Toad for a long time, but this was the first time we were all in the same place at the same time and could do this together. Both have plenty of theatrical experience. Toad contributed some great new steps and gestures that really added to the polish or our routines.

When we marched through the hotel hallways and arrived at the big lobby area, this huge cheer erupted from the crowd. No one could have made her way through the lobby while we were performing because the social area in front of the fireplace, the various clusters of chairs for conversation, the open hotel bar area, and all the space around the central lobby was lined with people, sitting, standing, filling every square inch, and cheering riotously.

Cameras flashing everywhere, we made nary a mistake. Now if I could only get some photos to show you -- and to see myself.

Immediately Post-Con

Just back from PantheaCon today.  One of the best in my experience.  So much to tell.

We began with our (CHS') first pre-Con Winter Intensive, a day-long series of workshops on Growing a Pagan Nonprofit.  Daily posts about the WI and the first days of the Con are here.  

I'm impatient to get the video of our WOW Besom Brigade performance at midday Sunday.  Will post link the minute I get it.  I'll also have a few photos when I can find the cord to download them from my camera.

Yes, We Can!

I guess I'm not a typical Obama supporter: (a) I'm not young and starry-eyed; (2) I'm not a new voter; I have voted in every election since 1964 when I became eligible to vote (you had to be 21 back then); and (3) I've consider myself a dedicated feminist since Second Wave Feminism came on the scene in the late '60s and early '70s.

I would love to have a woman president. I cried when Geraldine Ferraro was nominated for VP in 1984. I campaigned for the late Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm in her 1972 bid for the presidency.

I've read both of Barack Obama's books. I find him intelligent, articulate, and reflective, qualities not common to all candidates. I've been working on his campaign here in Marin County since April.

I don't agree with him on every issue. For instance, I do not support the death penalty under any circumstances. I do not support nuclear power or ethanol fuel. I do not think his health care plan is the best. I do not think insurance companies should be involved at all. However, I do think he's approachable and educable when it comes to some of these issues.

I don't think that changing one's mind equates with being wishy-washy. I think open-minded people can change their minds when they're given additional information or persuasive arguments. I respect people who change their minds for good reasons, not just because the direction of prevailing political winds have changed.

While it's true that he may not know, as Hillary supposedly does, "where all the bodies are buried," as one of my Feri friends puts it, I still think he knows how to communicate with people with different points of view.

I consider him very liberal, yet he doesn't threaten more conservative folks. That's why so many centrists are comfortable voting for him.

His campaign has helped to mobilize so many young people and minorities to register and vote that I think that can only be a Good Thing.

On election day I stood at the freeway entrance waving signs for Obama with a 22-year-old woman and two musicians from the Freeway Philharmonic. The young woman, Emily, a Michigan native, had just moved here from North Carolina where she been graduated from college. Emily told me she felt this was the most important election in her lifetime. I've heard many other young people say the same. I feel this this may be the most important election in my lifetime as well.

I choose hope over fear and I support Barack Obama for President

Is Time Accelerating?

Does it feel to you as though the whole world is whizzing by while you're standing trying to keep your balance? It feels that way to me. Especially in the context of contemporary Paganism. What is it? Is it getting completely absorbed into the overculture? Is is selling out? Is it so trendy now that it's lost its edge? I have no answers, just lots of perplexity.

Poem for the Feast of Brigit

Much as poetry makes my heart sing, it's not my gift. So in honor of my friend Oak's call for poetry in honor of the Feast of Shining Brigit, I've chosen a poem by one of my favorite poets, one I'm happy to call a dear friend and mentor, Patricia Monaghan. This is from her collection, Seasons of the Witch.

Praisesong for Her

She is a tree in a circle of stones.
She is a crossroad at noon.
She is a breeze in the red mountain ash.

She is a hill on a night without stars.
She is a tear of the sun.
She is the moon on the ripening grass.

She is a hawk in the circling sky.
She is the eye of a hound.
She is a fish in the river of glass.

She is a berry of red mountain ash.
She is a seed of bright grasses.
She is a stone in the river of glass.

She is the sigh as time passes.

May the blessings of bright Brigit shower you with light!

More about Susan

Susan Grace Falkenrath
July 4, 1954 – January 12, 2008
[photo by Jan Dance]

Susan Grace Falkenrath, who was also known as Susan Green, Susan North, and Susan Oaktree, of Mill Valley, California, lived with humor and intense wonder about life for ten years after her diagnosis with breast cancer. Gratefully, she was able to become more true to herself and witness her children become adults. She died within a sacred circle, surrounded by 25 family members and friends, ranging in age from 7 months on up. Vibra Willow, Susan’s daughter Morgan, Jan Dance, and Juliana Miller performed last rites.

Susan received a B.A. (Music) from San Jose State University in 1982 and a M.A. (Education) from UC Berkeley in 1994. A popular second-grade teacher at Park School in Mill Valley, Susan leaves saddened students, parents and fellow teachers. She wrote “The Park School Song.”

A long-time member of the Reclaiming community, Susan was a devotée of many aspects of the Goddess, including Mary as Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe (Mexican Tonatsin), the Blessed Mother, and Our Lady of Lourdes. The last song she wrote before her death is “Mary Stood Up,” about Mary Magdalene’s message: “Look within to find your way.” As you can tell from her names, Susan embodied the Mother aspect of the Triple Goddess.

In the 1980s Susan was a memorable figure at Reclaiming’s annual Spiral Dance Samhain ritual. In a darkened room lit only by a cauldron fire in the center, in her clear soprano Susan sang “Spirits,” a song of her composition about a woman going to the stake and singing to the Elemental Spirits and to her daughter. This song is featured on the album “The Best of Pagan Song.” Her stirring voice can be heard in many songs on Reclaiming albums, and she was the composer/lyricist of the “Circle Casting Song” and composer of “Who Is She?” She leaves a legacy of songs widely known throughout American Pagan communities.

Susan was also a well-loved member of other communities, including a breast cancer support group at the Center for Attitudinal Healing in Marin; the LGBT community of the Bay Area; and Unity of Marin, a progressive church community where she sang in the choir in the past year.

Susan was predeceased by her three brothers: John Andrew, Robert, and William Falkenrath. She leaves to mourn her children, Morgan Green, of Berkeley and son Nicholas Wolf, of Mill Valley; her parents, Clara and John Falkenrath of Milwaukie, Oregon; her dear friend and death priestess, Vibra Willow; a close-knit family of aunts, uncles and cousins in Oregon, Colorado and California; and a huge circle of friends. She leaves a legacy of unique songs that she wrote about the environment, sexuality, change, and peace.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations in Susan’s memory to the cancer research organization of your choice.

Family and friends are organizing a memorial to take place on Sunday, February 3, 2008, from 2:00–4:30 p.m. at the San Francisco Women’s Building, 18th & Valencia Sts., site of some of Susan’s most moving singing. Anyone who would like to bring flowers, photos, mementos or other altar objects is welcome to do so. Bring potluck refreshments to share and unbreakable and reusable or recyclable plates, cups and utensils (no kitchen facilities). There will be an open mike for anyone who would like to speak, sing, or play music. (Donations to cover costs will be requested.)

A Great Day for Voting & Skating

Well, my man Barack Obama -- yep, I'm an Obama Mama -- took South Carolina handily, while my colleagues in Marin County staffed the phone banks. This is the most exciting election, presidential or otherwise, in my voting life.

I'm proud to say I've never missed voting in an election at any level in all since first registering, in 1964 when you had to be 21 to vote. Once when I was working at Harvey's Casino in South Lake Tahoe for a few months, I drove all the way down to the Fillmore District of San Francisco where I was still registered. I worked on Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm's campaign in 1972, then supported George McGovern after the primaries, but didn't canvass for him like I did for Chisholm. I think that year was the end of grass-roots presidential campaigns. Until now, that is.

Barack's autobiography, Dreams from My Father, reveals him to be a reflective man, one who can write with as much eloquence as anyone. Now I'm reading The Audacity of Hope -- I love that phrase! -- and I continue to be deeply impressed by the man. I'm also reassured that he won't get too far off center because he has his wife Michelle, a strong and uppity woman, to keep him in line.

* * * * *

I'd forgotten about the fact that the U.S. Figure Skating Championship was taking place tonight in St. Paul and was being broadcast on prime time Saturday night. My friends know that I'm wild about figure skating, have been since childhood, when I painted a series of cocktail glasses from photos of skaters I saw at the Shipstads & Johnson Ice Follies.

Tonight was pairs and women's; I should say girls because I think the oldest contestant was 20, the youngest 14, with several being too young to be ineligible for international competition due to their age. It was one of those special nights when every skater gave her and his best. In pairs, both Meryl Davis & Charlie White, whom I'd never seen before, and Tanith Belbin & Ben Agosto were splendid.

In the women's, I'd been favoring young Caroline Zhang, popularizer of the "pearl spin." She skated perfectly, enough to come from seventh in the short program to first in the free skate. Then Rachael Flatt and Ashley Wagner took our spectators' breath away (even mine on my couch instead of in the arena), only to have the final skater, Mirai Nagasu, take the gold. I'd be happy to see any of those four on the podium. This was skating at its breathtaking best.

Tomorrow night is the men's, where I get to see one of my all-time favorite skaters, Johnny Weir.

Mom at 97

Elizabeth V. O'Brien, January 19, 2008
Photo by Catherine O'Brien

Life is flying by too fast for me to take a breath and blog. Last Saturday afternoon Corby and I visited my mother to celebrate her 97th birthday. My sister Catherine took this photo earlier in the day. She's not happy. We are caught in the middle of the nightmare of US health care and insurance limitations. We don't know what more we can do to make her life more pleasant. Below is her photo at her 90th birthday party.

Susan

More about Susan soon, but for now I'm testing to see if this photo works. Well, it does, but it's only teensy. If I try to enlarge it, it only gets fuzzy. I copped it from SnapFish because Jan Dance, the photographer, is not at her computer in Portland, where the photo lives, but instead is here in the Bay Area dealing with Susan's death. It was taken just a few days before Susan passed. She's reclining on the couch in Vibra's living room. You can see that her hair is gone and her skin has that translucent appearance I've often observed in those who are close to the other side. More importantly, you can see her shining spirit.

Death & Taxes

It's only two weeks into 2008 and already I've lost two friends to death. One died in late December, but funeral was in January. That was Ted Looyen, creator of LooyenWork. There's a story or two about his funeral.

The other, just this past Saturday, was Susan North Green Wolf Oak Falkenrath. Susan changed her magical surname from time to time, which is why you see so many names. For many of the early years of Reclaiming's Spiral Dance Samhain ritual, Susan opened the ritual with her song "Spirits." In a darkened room lit only with a cauldron fire, Susan stood in front of the flames, as a woman consigned to the stake, singing of the spirits to her daughter. You can imagine how powerful that was. Holly Tannen recorded this song on one of her albums (possibly only on LP and not on CD), and it appears on "The Best of Pagan Song" album produced by Anne Hill of Serpentine Music. Some years later, after treatment for inflammatory breast cancer and with a bald head, Susan again opened the Spiral Dance with this song. Among those of us who know and love Susan, there wasn't a dry eye. Now that she's gone, from a recurrence of cancer, we cry again, for loss this time instead of for recovery.

Meanwhile, my mother turns 97 on Saturday, although she doesn't really know that. Corby and I will attempt some sort of celebration with her.

And it's January, time to catch up on accounting for my income and expenses for 2007.

Still in the Middle

We had a modest Christmas this year, and I have to say a lovely one. We bought very few gifts, since 2006 was a financially challenging year that saw some unanticipated, very large expenses. Corby baked cookies, as is his custom, not as many different kinds as usual -- yet. Deirdre baked cookies too. We received cookies from Corby's brother Blake and his partner Mary, too. Our house has been a Cookie Monster paradise of late.

What little shopping I did I didn't do until Christmas Eve. I took a short list and a credit card. I didn't encounter a fruitless search for a parking space at the mall nor boring waits at the cash register. I had to drive to another shopping center a bit farther down the freeway in order to purchase fresh pasta noodles at the only place in Marin that sells fresh pasta, and then to a corporate pet store for small treats for our family felines, Fernando and Oona.

We didn't even manage to get a tree. I decorated a small desk with a red-and-green plaid tablecloth with some gold thread shot through it, upon which I put a deer antler, several red-and-green tapers, some votive candles, and the few presents. Deirdre has a Christmas stocking with her name knit into it that was made for her very first Christmas by our friend Dee.

We considered having a more traditional Christmas meal, but in the end I decided to make lasagna because Deirdre loves my lasagna. Corby is the cook in the family, so he got a little break, although he did make his delicious, labor-intensive salads for us. Us being my daughter Deirdre, Corby and me -- and aforementioned kitties.

After dinner we watched a DVD of Practical Magic, which, surprisingly, I'd never seen before and neither had Deirdre. Corby enjoyed it enough to watch it again. We like several of the actors a lot, especially Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman. We just snuggled on the couch under an afghan my mother made years ago.

I can't recall ever having a mellower Christmas day.