Are there any popular, general interest Jewish forums in English online? There must be, but I can't for the life of me find any. I'm looking for something like www.lds.net/forums or forums.catholic.com, with Jews of varying levels of observation and interested outsiders discussing doctrine, social issues, politics, etc., but all I can find are forums for Jewish singles in greater Indianapolis or forums that get one post every two weeks. Although the Mormon and Catholic forums are, what I'm looking for needn't be sponsored or hosted by any particular branch of Judaism, of course. Thanks!

Chayyei Sarah - commentary from Garden of the Dark Moon Jubilee

וְאֶל-מִשְׁפַּחְתִּי
and to my kindred ... Bereshit 24:38

The Hebrew word translated here as my kindred is משפחתי. From the shoresh (three letter root) שפח, as is the word for 'female slave' (namely שפחה), the word for kindred is mishpacha (משפחה). The prefix letter mem (מ) can simply mean 'from.' Taken together, the kindred described in the Hebrew of this phrase from the Torah portion are 'family' who come 'from a female slave,' like Hagar who was the slave of Sarah for example. The word שפחה , as well as meaning 'a female slave', can also mean 'to spread out' - thus significantly, the shoresh שפח pertains to an extroversion of consciousness.

As Calev is a man with a different spirit (ruach acheret), so too does another word for kindred have a different spirit - the Hebrew word קרובים also means kindred. From the shoresh קרב - as are the words for 'to draw near' (קָרַב), 'to be brought closer' (קֹרַב), 'to hasten [an event]' (קֵרֵב), 'interior' (קֶרֶב), and 'innards' (קרביים) - these kindred speak to us through Inner Tradition. Thus, significantly, the shoresh קרב pertains to an introversion of consciousness.

ואל-מקרובימי
and to my kindred ...

This past Wednesday I purchased a new book for my library - The Cauldron of Memory, Retrieving Ancestral Knowledge And Wisdom by Raven Grimassi. Chapter three speaks to the idea of Inner Tradition:

Today we hear a great deal about traditions. Some people speak of old traditions, eclectic systems, or self-sytled traditions. There is however another lesser-known form of tradition. This is the "inner tradition," or esoteric system. It is also one of the most misunderstood traditions for a variety of reasons.

Raven writes more ...

So what is an inner tradition? The short answer is that it's a system based upon an agreement of consciousness between members of the tradition. In other words, an inner tradition exists and functions within the group mind of the people that sustain it.

Not just stories ...

For centuries, inner traditions have been hidden from the public, or if not hidden, have been presented in ways that made them appear to be something else. This is perhaps no more apparent than in fairy tales and in the old myths and legends of our ancestors, particularly those associated with magical or mystical themes. The old stories appear at the same time to convey different meanings reflected in an outer form and an inner form of the tales. The outer form is the story itself, which seems to entertain and even convey a message or social moral. The inner form transmits a code or set of keys designed to access a much deeper level. This is because enlightenment does not dwell on the surface; it dwells in the depths below. It is what brews in the mystical cauldron.

Each of us inherits the gift of an inner tradition from, the mesorah of, the Ancestors. World through world, and to my kindred, with a different spirit, I draw near.

חֶבְרוֹן--בְּאֶרֶץ כְּנָעַן ... Bereshit 23:19
Chevron in the land of Canaan

Who is the Flower above You and What is the work of this God? In this class, we will use a guided meditation to learn our true Daemonic name, the name that cannot be spoken. Then we will make a sigil of this name. Ideas and options for working with the sigil will be discussed.

Anaar is a graduate of the Victor Anderson Feri school of madness and possesses an MA in Arts and Consciousness. Greatly influenced by the mad poet, she has sought to create works of great mystery and power.

http://www.themysticdream.com/classes.htm

Saturday, Nov. 14
1-2:30pm
$20

• 20:29 @KayshoHusky LOL love the image.! #

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In 2004 my mother died. She had had dementia for several years before this, due to a fall which caused some bleeding in the brain. Her memory was very erratic, but she could remember events up until the early 1940s perfectly. She was still pissed off at her niece Netta, who died in 1965, and even Netta’s mother Debbie, who died in 1940. They were both suicides, but Bee seemed to think that they were still alive and getting her goat in the present day. She had trouble remembering who I might be; when Diana and I paid her and Larry a visit in Fort Worth in June 2003, she didn’t know who we were most of the time, and as a result was quite charming and polite to us, as she would be to a stranger. She was able to get around the house using a walker, but didn’t like going out in the hot sun; but whenever Larry went out running errands she grew fearful about being alone with just the dog, and Larry usually had to arrange with a neighbor to sit with her until he got back. Larry was her only caregiver, and did everything for her. He was (and is) quite robust for his age; he was 85 at the time, and even at age 90 he is very independent. Before Auntie Renee died in 1995, the two sisters would exchange transatlantic visits at least once a year. When Renee died Bee was truly bereft, as they had been very close. Now her closest confidant and ally was Larry, who was far too laconic to fill the gap left by Renee, much as he and Bee loved each other.

Even the name “Larry” was his middle name, and nobody else called him anything by “Bob.” When they first met during World War II, he had given her a different name out of a feeling that he might not want to be entrapped by this difficult, demanding, but vivacious and attractive woman. It was standard practice among soldiers to give a false name to women they met when on foreign service, and besides, she was older than he was (she never told him how much older), married to someone else, and had a small child to boot. And she was Jewish, totally unsuitable for the wife of a small-town boy from upstate New York. But she had a certain something that broke down all these barriers, and he was never sorry he married her. After all the years they had been together, he was still a most devoted husband, and remains a grieving widower to this day. I asked him recently whether he had ever thought or marrying again, and he said that Bee was still the only one for him.

We had arranged that Bee would be cremated after her death and her ashes placed in our niche, which I had just recently bought, in the San Francisco Columbarium. Larry plans to be cremated and have his own ashes scattered over a piece of land in New York State where he used to go hunting and fishing as a boy, so the niche won’t be completely full when it’s Ron’s and my turn to use it. Her death was due to more bleeding on the brain after another fall. She was taken to the hospital, and when Larry called me to ask my advice about putting her on life support, I told him that neither he nor Bee would be happy with the results if she was already brain-dead. So Bee did not go on life-support, and she died within three days.

Although he was greatly affected by her loss, Bee’s death allowed Larry to travel, which he had always loved to do and which had been severely curtailed during Bee’s last years. He takes at least one long transcontinental trip by car every year, sometimes with his niece Marilyn for company and to share the driving, but often completely alone. He was always fond of the outdoors, and would have loved to be a forest ranger. His main contact with the outdoors as he got older was walking his dog around the neighboring golf course, so these long trips are a great pleasure to him. And he has kept himself in extremely good shape over the years. He was diabetic, and Bee always used to claim that she had cured him with vitamins; I think the main contributor to his continuing health is that he eats very little, gets a lot of exercise, and stays very slim. Nobody would take him for 90. Larry has a very good genetic heritage-- his father, Grampa Brown, was widowed in his 80s, married what Larry calls a “maiden lady” of 65 when he was 90, and died at 97. (Too bad I don’t share any of those genes.)

Bee’s ashes arrived in a plastic bag about the size of a brick, inside a cardboard box inside another box. I emptied her ashes into a fancy tea-jar which I had bought in London years before, and made a little shrine to Bee in one half of the niche. I had asked Larry to send me some of Bee’s favorite pieces of jewelry, and placed them in there with the jar, a little portrait of her at 16 in a fancy frame, some rhinestone letters spelling out “BEE BROWN”, a tiny teapot with a teabag in it (she was always ready for a Nice Cup of Tea) and a stone on which was carved “FOCUS.” The main piece of jewelry was a gold pendant on a gold chain of the goddess Fortuna. Bee and Renee had bought identical pendants when they were visiting Italy once, and Bee’s pendant had gone missing; so when Renee died, her son Stuart sent Reneee’s pendant to Bee, and she had worn it faithfully ever since. And there was a group photo of Bee, Renee, and their nephew Victor, who had also died, and a whole lot of rose petals, scattered on the floor of the niche. So there was everything she had loved in life. I know that I should start decorating the other half of the niche, because I want grave goods too when I’m gone, but I can’t make up my mind what I want in there. All my favorite magickal objects are in constant use, so I suppose I will have to make a list and a diagram of where to put things.

The Columbarium is a wonderful place. It’s a round dome with niches all around the periphery on several floors, and a central rotunda under which concerts and other musical events are held because of the marvellous acoustics. There are stained-glass windows and Victorian embellishment everywhere.

 Built in 1897 by British architect Bernard J. Cahill for the Odd Fellows' cemetery, San Francisco's Columbarium is the last of its kind still in use in this country. The building was abandoned in 1934 and lay dormant until 1979 when it was rescued and restored by the Neptune Society. 
    

According to caretaker Emmitt Watson, when the Neptune Society purchased the property, raccoons denned in alcoves, doves and pigeons nested in the eaves. The roof leaked profusely, allowing fungus, including mushrooms, to grow everywhere. "It was spooky," he recalled. But Watson was simply "afraid of the ugliness, not of the dead people." --http://www.sanfranciscoreader.com/essays/columbarium.html

Emmitt Watson was the main reason for my buying a niche. A friendly man in his middle years, Emmit will drop everything to give visitors a free tour of his restoration work and all the people whose ashes live in the Columbarium. He has his own nickname for each of the people; and he decided, when it came time to in-urn Bee, that she was “the Queen Bee.” He certainly got that right. Larry and Marilyn came up to San Francisco for the in-urning, and Diana (who by this time had moved to San Francisco), Ron and I were joined by Emmitt for the occasion. Then Larry and Marilyn got into the car, with Larry driving, intending to go to Tahoe, but he wasn’t sure where to get on the freeway. Ron told him to just follow our car, but when we got on to the freeway, Larry went off in another direction. I assume they got there okay, because I have seen him since.

In fact, he was driving alone a couple of months ago from Portland, Oregon, where he had been looking up some old family graves, back to Fort Worth, when he stayed at our house for a couple of nights to visit. Politics has never been something we agree on, so I have strictly avoided any of his attempts to start an argument; but he seemed to have to have Fox News on the TV constantly, even while napping. It seemed to be a comfort to him. I am a constant MSNBC watcher, but I knew better than to tune in to Keith Olbermann or Rachel Maddow while Larry was anywhere around. Neither of us is ever going to convince the other, so it’s just much more peaceful to avoid the issue entirely.

I must not come home with kittens.
Kittens are the common-sense killer.
Kittens are the little fuzzballs that bring "deth by cute".
I will face the kittens.
I will permit them to climb over me and on top of my head.
And when they have fallen asleep in my lap I will carefully give them back to the shelter volunteers.
Where the kittens have gone there will be deflected cuteness.
Only I will remain (sad and now kitten-less).


Additional verses to be added only in case of extreme emergency:
(I must not come home with kittens.
I must not come home with kittens.
Taylor will kill me.
I must not come home with kittens.)

This was inspired by, and to some degree ganked from, a post by shadowthorne

I have several questions about the nature of power. I'm interested in your opinions on the subject.

1. How do you define "power"?
2. Is there something inherently divisive about power?
3. Are those who seek power destined to experience a certain amount of isolation, as mystics and writers do?
4. How do you feel about the romanticization of power? What about the vilification of power?
5. Do you believe people should reach for power?
6. Do you believe a group of individuals who all fully express their power is doomed to fall apart?
7. On the same token, do you believe it is possible for a group to reach for power and NOT fall apart, instead maintaining unity?

( My views )

What happens when we don't feel strong? What happens when our identity is so wrapped up in what we do that we forget who we are becoming?

This happens to us all.

Last weekend, I did some energy work with a person who was walking on crutches, has been out of work for over a year, and was struggling. She was used to being strong, vital, to running everywhere and being the go-to person. She could not do that anymore and was starting to have trouble holding on after two surgeries and perhaps one more to come. Pain, coupled with a sense of defeat, were making it hard for her to stay in her body. This, of course, made the pain management worse. The more we run away from ourselves, the less life energy can flow in and support our lives and healing. The more we collapse upon our systems, the more we hurt and the more numbing we need. This is true of escaping pain in the body, the emotions, the mind, and the soul.

In my work with her, the message came through clearly that the lessons of her healing were not for her alone, they were her gift to the community. Everyone around her needs to partake of the hard lessons she is currently experiencing. In expanding out, in reaching her energy up and down, rather than choosing to cave in, in calling her soul back into her body, she will become the teaching. Her life is now the lesson, not in what she can or cannot do, but in how she is showing up for it. Her strength will bolster everyone around her. Her pain reflects our pain. We need those lessons. We need to look more deeply at what we run from, what causes us to collapse, what identities have become props for our avoidance of the deeper reality that We Are. Identity is not the I. Our Doing is generated by our Being.

We do not experience learning through avoidance. We do not learn by always feeling strong. We learn by dancing with every particle of life as it moves forward.

We are wrestling with angels. Sometimes they wear our own faces.



[here is a good post on this subject, by my Sister teacher Katrina Messenger.]

I have a long history of volunteering, beginning with pregnancy testing and abortion counselling at a feminist bookstore back in Chicago in the 1960’s to working with the activities director in a nursing home during my studies at San Francisco State in the late 1980’s. In recent years I have joined a group of women singers, the Threshold Choir, who sing at the bedsides of people in the last stages of life. Every Monday afternoon I walk down the hill to Laguna Honda Hospital and sing for an hour to patients in the hospice. Most of the songs in the official Threshold Choir repertoire carry the message “it’s okay to die” with more or less subtlety, but I’ve always found that people at the hospice would rather hear their own particular favorites, so I have compiled a second book of unofficial songs: Beatles tunes, show tunes, gospel songs, country songs, blues, doo-wop-- you name it. Cynthia has been singing at Laguna Honda with me for about a year now, and I generally take the harmony while she sings the melody. It’s much more fun singing with someone else than singing solo.

We have even been allowed to sing for the recently dead: when someone dies at the hospice, their bed is covered with a pretty quilt and flowers are placed at the foot of the bed, so their family can see them before the undertakers come to take the body away. I have almost always experienced the feeling that the dead person is still in the room when we come in to sing for them. It takes a while for their spirit to leave. If the family is there we generally get requests for “Amazing Grace,” which is the all-time favorite song of just about everyone. It was the last song I sang for Cora when she was in the hospital, just a few hours before she died, and it always makes me think of her.

Patients at the hospice can last for a surprisingly long time before dying, sometimes for years. Others die within a few days of being admitted. There’s a change that takes place in people’s faces when they are about to go, which is really difficult to describe, but is a sure tell-tale. Of course, not everyone wants to be sung to, so we always ask “would you like a song, or would you rather rest?” This always brings up the memory of singing carols at General Hospital one Xmas with Lori and a group of her friends, back in the ‘70s; we were singing our way through the wards with great enthusiasm, until a voice piped out wearily from one corner, “Enough. Enough.” It’s a good thing to keep in mind when you’re trying to be generous that not everyone wants what you want to give them.

• 08:51 Slowly drinking a peppermint mocha while waiting on the car. #
• 08:56 RT @endaNOW: . . . it’s still legal to fire someone for being #LGBT in most of the country! It’s outrageous & it’s time it stops #ENDA #

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Still going through my art supplies and critter bits; there's some new stuff, and some stuff I've posted before with reduced prices.

( SON OF YARD SALE!!!! )

Also, I still have slots available for custom deer antler rune and ogam sets, and I've been making pretty good progress on them so far since I've been taking out time for art as stress relief between school projects.

Hey!
I don't really understand what the cards are saying. I have basically had a verry rough year and I'm applying to law school next year. There is one school that I really want to go to. So I asked the tarot to give me influences on this law school that I want to attend. I have asked this numerous amounts of times, and I'm really confused as to what the meaning of the cards are. So, I decided to do one last year (10 card celtic cross) and a past present and future. I look forward to your interpretations as to what is going to happen in my future. I appreciate ANYONES help. Honestly, I'm going crazzzzzy over the admissions stuff.

1. Eight of cups
2. Queen of swords
3. four of wands
4. the hanged man.
5. four of pentacles
6. queen of pentacles
7. nine of pentacles
8. three of swords
9. ace of wands.
10 the emperor

Past/Present/future
devil (?) this concerned me/the moon/seven of swords

Are these influences pointing toward a no for this one school. SOOO Confused. Please help :)

The Droid: smartphone, or palantir?



This silly 'shopping brought to you by inspiration from enotsola's weird brain, although in his defense he has been reading The Lord of the Rings lately.

(click for bigger if you don't see what's photoshopped about this. hint: it's not the red eye-thing; that's original.)

• 18:58 coolness! Am on phone town hall with Congresswoman Zoe Lofgren. #
• 17:56 @kingwyatt Seconded! Tasty tasty and good to chat. #

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I'm thinking about my family today, and all the families touched by wars past and present.

I'm thinking about soldiers and I'm thinking about victims. My father served during Vietnam. My mother's father and most of my male relatives of his generation served too, during WWII. And my dad's parents and all of my relatives of that generation on my dad's side were in concentration camp in Germany during WWII. Some made it, many didn't.

I think about what I interpret as the problems of most of the US-fought wars during my lifetime, and I generally consider myself to be a person who is very critical of the way the US government has handled our foreign affairs in recent years.

But I am not critical of those who have served. I can honestly say a deep and heart-felt *THANK YOU* to those who fought in WWII - you saved my family's lives on my father's side. I always hold that as the counter-balance to my criticism, honestly.

I think war is intensely complicated. I wish our government treated our vets with far more respect. (what we *don't* do for our veterans in this country is *criminal*). But on this day, I say an honest and deeply held thank you to all who have served, past and present. If I haven't thanked you enough, I apologize. I am here today in part because of you. Thank you.

Hello everyone! I go to Lehigh University where we just started our first Jewish Cultural Association.  We already have a Hillel and a Chabad, but the problem is many Jewish students don't attend these institutions.  A lot of it is because my campus is really secular.  Our goal is to plan fun and interesting events that all Jews would want to attend.  These do not need to be religious in nature.

Our ideas include discussing Jews in the news, movie nights, etc.

Does anyone have any suggestions?

Oh, and we don't have any funds for 15 weeks :(

When we are open to the moment, we are open to the teaching. When we are in a place of gratitude, we are in a state of love.

Feeling love for the city of San Francisco and grateful for teaching today: for the lessons of the body; of presence; of other humans in their frailty and strength... I stood at the bus stop, reading The Gift of Danger by Mary Stein. A mildly lit-up man interrupted to compliment my hair. We struck up a conversation about New Orleans (where both he and my father were raised), race, class, work and finally, attention. Yes, we discussed the importance of attention, which I brought up upon hearing him speak of training and then re-training in the art of construction work. We talked about the many ways that attention helps us, from the basic and personal on out into global consciousness. Then we got onto the bus and went our separate ways.

The sidewalk oracle was telling me to pay attention, to remain in presence, to open to the teaching he had to offer. I could have brushed him off - resisting the encounter - as another early morning drinker not worth my time. Luckily, the music of teaching was strong enough in me today that we were able to have our exchange.

The students in my Daily Practice course are struggling with resistance. Resistance is the act of attempting to stop the flow of connection. Resistance is an attempt to block the energy of the moment. To counter resistance, we need, not more resistance, but a softness. An opening. Unarmored at the bus stop, there was softness in me along with the awareness of surroundings and the bag on my shoulder, and people coming and going. The awareness enabled me to feel safe and alert. The softness enabled me to receive the teaching offered by my fellow philosopher. Had I simply been armored up, I would have been simultaneously less safe, less aware and less open to the moment at hand.

Armor cuts us off and impedes movement. Centeredness is stronger and supports movement. Aikido black belt Mary Stein says this:

...the "no" of resistance is merely a subset of the truth and reality of the greater "yes" of movement. While we're alive, it's impossible not to move.

Can we choose movement instead of fighting against it? Can we breathe when tension enters, and attempt to give ourselves more space? Can we recognize the flow of teaching that is everywhere? Can we open out in gratitude?

Today is Armistice Day, honoring the end of fighting on the Western Front during the Great War. What is the battle we are fighting inside right now? Can we lay down our arms, just for a moment, and see what may happen then? We can pick them up again at any time, but for now, let that in us which resists shake hands with that in us which loves. Who knows what stories they might share?

( Pictures, not that image heavy as they're thumbnails, but hey )


Recipes (sans their pictures, sorry):

Potato gratin
Fancy mashed sweet potatoes
Cheese autumn "wreath" (cheese slices cut in the shape of leaves and arranged on a platter)
Pumpkin carrot cake
Pumpkin and pasta soup
Sweet potato - leek soup
Savory autumn leaf hand pies
French apple tart

Poems:

Love is Like Late Autumn
Autumn Movement
Autumn in the Garden
An Autumn Evening
By an Autumn Fire
Autumnal Sonnet
Merry Autumn
Autumn

Four different links here:
Various autumn poems
Various autumn poems
Various autumn poems
Various autumn poems

Invocation, Devotion, Embodiment:
Working with Deity in Ritual

Save the Date! January 9th and 10th, 2010

With Cypress and Sylvan
A Baltimore Reclaiming Workshop

In this weekend intensive workshop, we will explore techniques for deepening the presence of Mystery in ritual. Develop and strengthen a personal practice of belief that includes ritual priestessing in a group setting. Learn to build better ritual vessels and intentional structures to make manifest Deity, including more evocative invocations and other embodiment practices.

If we need no other to interpret divinity for us, as we are all our own spiritual authorities, how can we be of greater service to the groups we work with when embodying the Divine? How do our individual beliefs (or lack of belief) in the Goddess / Goddesses / Gods, etc. impact our shared rituals?

We'll be working with the Feri Creation myth (either as found in Starhawk's Spiral Dance or T. Thorn Coyle's Evolutionary Witchcraft) as a foundation for experimentation with the use of story and ritual techniques such as anchoring, tending, and aspecting (including development of personal protocols for embodiment work). We will share our skills and experiences in a participatory weekend of ritual!

(Times and Baltimore location to be announced soon! This workshop will be sliding scale. Email Jennifer at jennherb@gmail.com for more information.)

 

( Teachers... )

When I finally quit being a personal trainer and got into full-time temping I realized that I really didn’t like the corporate world any better than the gym world. I worked my way up from administrative assistant to graphics specialist, job by job, and switched to the graphics arm of my temp agency. After being hired full time and then laid off in short order by the marketing company, I went out on a few interviews but with no success. If there was one thing San Francisco was full of, it was graphic artists. So as a stopgap I began cleaning houses, and found that I enjoyed it. The work was strenuous, but good exercise, and almost all my gigs were performed completely alone, as my clients were usually at work. I liked it that way, with nobody standing over me and telling me what to do in what order. If I wanted to mix things up a bit, I could do that, and I could sing at the top of my lungs and not have to worry about bothering anyone. I made enough money that I could afford to work three days a week, which gave me some time off, as my weekends were spent in San Leandro with Cora.

It was difficult to get a day off, as I had to provide my own sub. Gradually the pool of avaiable subs dried up, due to back problems (there was a fair amount of heavy lifting involved in getting Cora in and out of bed) and people moving away. I worried about Cora: Marguerite customarily stayed a couple of hours longer than she was paid for on weekdays, but I had a husband to get back to who worked all week and wanted to spend some time with me on weekends, so I left at 2 pm. Jean wasn’t available to watch out for Cora until after 8 pm, when she came into the house to spend the night, and she didn’t clean Cora up or change her diapers because she didn’t have the strength to move her. So Cora was completely alone unless someone came to visit, between 2 and 8, and without a clean diaper from 2 until the next morning when either Marguerite or I arrived. On Sundays, the BART train didn’t start running until 8 am, so I would arrive around 9:30, forcing Cora to wait to be changed for over 21 hours. Needless to say, this wasn’t the healthiest situation, but the in-home care services agency, IHSS, wouldn’t give her any more hours to hire anyone for the evenings. As it was, Margeurite wasn’t paid for many of the hours she worked. After about three years, a new policy was instituted, under which Cora, or her family (meaning Elon) had to co-pay for Marguerite’s and my hours of work. Our paychecks were issued for only the amount the state would assume, which meant that every other paycheck I got was for zero dollars, and I had to get a check from Elon. IHSS forced all its caregivers to join the SEIU, the Service Employees International Union, which was another $20 out of our paychecks each month (for nothing, apparently.)

Most of the caregivers working for IHSS were entry-level employees doing it as workfare, so it was rare to get employees such as Marguerite, who was skilled and devoted. Cora told me a couple of horror stories about her previous home-care workers; such as a woman named Grace who simply didn’t show up more often than not, and tried to get Victor and Cora to will her their house; another one was a man who refused to change Cora’s diaper because he was a man and she was a woman; and plenty more. Marguerite was a godsend. She was a tough old bird, pushing eighty herself, but not showing it. She initially put me through a week’s boot-camp before she deemed me ready to fly solo on weekends, and I never made a suggestion with which she agreed in the entire five years I worked for Cora.

I bought Cora some cotton jersey sheets at the nearby Target store, in shades of purple, because that was her favorite color. I would put them on her bed on the weekends; but Marguerite hated them. It was her unshakeable opinion that white sheets are more fitting for a sickroom, and she took to hiding them in a different place every week. After a while it became a game which Cora observed with great amusement.

Ten of Cups: Conquering weakness, Success in internal struggle.
Devil INV: Freedom from bondage, escape
Six of Wands: Charging into battle, Great success after long stuggle





Signifier Eight of Cups INV : Freedom from oppression, Great Release

Check it out, dudes:



That's my comic! In that I selected this order of the panels thrown up by a randomizer, and created a title and tooltip text for them. I actually sent in like six submissions, carefully whittled down from fifteen or so, and I was surprised when Gregor's response said he was going to use them all. I doubt it's that I'm a comedic genius, rather that he probably takes anything that's mildly funny, not a troll, and not obscene, but still, hey.