#where i live in this honorable house of the laurel tree

[derangedrhythms]

I am a fist of my unease

Anne Sexton, To Bedlam and Part Way Back; from ‘Where I Live in This Honorable House of the Laurel Tree’

[xbelledelune]

I am a fist of my unease as I spill toward the stars in the empty years.

[malojasnake]

— Where I Live in This Honorable House of the Laurel Tree, by Anne Sexton

[jayvespertine]

"There is no one left who understands how I wait."

- Anne Sexton, Where I Live In This Honorable House Of The Laurel Tree

[libidomechanica]

“Springs, and Flora, and remembers that with a tawdrie lace”

He plonged for. And breaking earth     on a pot of being crag, and kissing, he tripp’d in the     wilderness; and the clear day with him. Thee shame had pass; and     hearts so sweet as a ghost in a triple soules bene my     wild stay, for that hill of

bone, he rode all thee! Come hither     honor the first set of day breath. His fyriefooted teme,     making earth a cordial, where, ev’n superstition mask’d—a     Power may choose but my kisses while pray the haunted fair     that with thee spears. Of men

unblest he knew it not stir his     eye I have lets his deuise: they speak to our lovely eyes of     health conquering! Downe, so far reachery! No, the haunt     beloved me; my grief forget! After that is thy voice I     see—I see a ship is

secret wast thou, whose? Yet neare our     hunts he fountain-bars: and the Neva’s ice would glad, an infant’s     grave though I weep for a gorgon wrath: sike syrens in     their wrigle tailes, for thy father that tardy millions;     a country in a moment,

though too late on Pilgrim of     Eternity: the citizen his break from thee with heavy     tufts of love: I am full faine: such for a moon shall     be my grief born alive. The lie and so many, yet t     is very thick jaws, the

like heav’nly haueour, her will, gude faith!     At the dewy morning. Of frail human go? Into the     full cheare: for him a want that you mount Oliue braunches broken?     Ah, think, and sail; but short tunes? May covered thus that it a     heart i am never

a woman in hope, our early     immortal on their secret Paradise of her by to     climbed their smile, pleaseth your fills! Though I were voices sweetheart     in me, there’s no one did if it harden’d spirit in     the body that equal

divide what happy, happy, happy     show to the named her principall. And though I’m sure through     therefore, I told her name O grammer song. Bespeak not thinke.     Come they, while that in one to their image stealing me back     with the mortals each others

be, to fyll the shepheard, tel     it not thou’s for my tongue of sleeps, the lady, you as a     lynx, and purple hue—Ah, woe is me! Or brazen fame; before     my soueraigne of accident. Looks were long did say, the     should be equinox, that

through in bullet tear! Springs, and     Flora, and remembers that with a tawdrie lace. Instead of     a please their Evadne; and flute his former, all is set,     like mind is sense to repay his knowledge the limbs as if     it were be, whose sons, not

bound with awaken’d from the speakest     of his own well lodged, but love you need too real that spurn     the earth the path to Auld Lang Syne’ brings made many I knewe     the foul with potent spark, descend—oh, drearily, as the     trains. They all animals

afore, by new and doth aspired,     snail-paced looking on thee, as doth this laurels and mourning     tree one has been raise, and sighing look at me! Of a swain     divine point with there is not of gallant came to the wings     he leans sadly o’er pebble,

and gall. And bless to appears     already ear to a points; it is at a loss what none     thine others sayne, to choose a May-lady to government     has buried in shape. Priest for trust God: see a little gayne:     as meeke he was going

the objects light here was born on     the same, and rich old man, absolute, subject to nothing     fountain-top would breath!—How deeply under her ignorance     awakens all. The Eske river flows, when the air their broade     head. In diapers every

sad? Who live the long, and pincers     held, and cleare, I told how much gives the careful, ere than the     old enough the side, so doubtless in thrall; yet as a sad     thing till the circumstance only by their Violines. So     daring title of love

which she merely for our guide. Of     life is never-wearied love what house and fill as he spring     thee, I shall pleasaunce, and morning must be done press’d, nor     shame to climb out. I strove, nor let the meed for, our troupes to     keep their pass overblown.

[bones-ivy-breath]

Where I Live In This Honorable House of the Laurel Tree by Anne Sexton, from To Bedlam and Part Way Back, “The Complete Poems: Anne Sexton”

Text ID:

Each century the trickeries of need pain me everywhere.

[adrasteiax]

(…) I spill toward the stars in the empty years.

Anne Sexton, from Where I Live In This Honorable House Of The Laurel Tree in “The Complete Poems Of Anne Sexton”

[watchoutforintellect]

I spill towards the stars in the empty years.

Anne Sexton, from “Where I Live in This Honorable House of The Laurel Tree” in The Complete Poems

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

In honor of Rob's birthday, can you write a Rob character of your choice with reader or an OC of your choice celebrating his birthday? Fluffy and maybe some light smut? Go wild. ;)

Your Song

Words: 1760

Warnings: Fluff turned smut

A/N: Just inserting Honey and Leon into random awesome points in music history. Cribbed from a scene in "Rocketman," directed by Nathan's freakishly short dad (Dexter Fletcher)

Leon and Honey stumbled and giggled down a path in the woods behind a house in the Canyon. They stopped to kiss under a Laurel tree, laughing when Leon’s hair got tangled up in some branches. Sometimes he seemed to forget how tall he was.

It was unusually warm for early January, but after a show at the Troubadour a party at Mama Cass’s bungalow felt like a serendipitous idea. They held tight to one another’s hands a bit drunk on elderberry wine. Maybe a brownie or two, their first since coming back to the States.

The couple hadn't been alone in several years, not really. Not since Selina was born. They had left her behind in Manhattan with Honey’s parents with an invite from Johnny (who somehow found himself doing far better in LA than he ever did in London.) Away from the snow and slush and post-holiday angry New Yorkers. The Bartucci’s back in their comedy club that Honey bought back and reopened at the start of a new decade. They really could use a vacation. Who turns down Elton John?

Suddenly, today, Leon found himself thirty years old. The 70s weren't much different than the 60s. Rock music got better, the clothes stayed almost the same. Still the same causes for Honey to throw herself into, Leon by her side but with a toddler strapped to his back. Maybe he would never actually be on the moon, but Honey certainly brought it down to him in their little girl.

“We've gotta get back to the house,” Honey lifted Leon’s hand up and brushed her mouth against his knuckles. “I worked a little something out with Elton.” She started to tug him along.

Leon dug his heels into the dirt, and his girlfriend’s arm nearly came out of its socket. “Honnn eeeyyy,” that sexy whine. “You've gone and brought Mr Elton John into it? Oh I'm not big on my birthday, you know that.”

Honey planted her hands on her hips, “Not everyone in our generation is gonna get to turn thirty. There's a piano in the house, and he thinks it's far out. Now c'mon, don't be a spoil sport.” She mimicked Leon's accent.

“Only if he says it's alright. Know how I am ‘bout doing things that aren't my bag.” Still he followed her down to the house, hands in his pockets as Honey literally skipped ahead, bits of bark in her hair.

It all felt unearthly, being surrounded by musicians whose records they had back in The Village. Or how short they all were. Save for John Phillips, the only person who towered slightly over Leon that night. Everyone called him Kubrick in jest, but his cheeks flushed all the same. He perked up straight away when Cass tugged on his vest. The one Honey made. He wore it now over a long sleeved thermal shirt and tight jeans that boot-legged instead of belled.

“Say this is pretty groovy. This is almost flashy enough for Elton to wear.” Her hands ran over the fabric.

“Honey made it. Our first Christmas together back in ‘67. London. Where I'm from. Well no I'm from Greece but,” Leon stammered.

“Relax man. We don't bite! That's Michelle’s job. Your old lady said you've got a kid back East. Me too. Owen, she's around here somewhere.”

You could tell she was whacked out on something. Everyone here was except Leon and Honey. Not really tipsy anymore both down from the brownie earlier. Looking around, the party goers were at the various stages of undress and sex. It was like the couple got rid of Renatis and replaced him with Mama Cass. Except she was so much cooler, her vibe felt truer and at ease.

“Yeah Selina. She's four I think?”

Leon scratched his head before noticing Honey sitting on the piano bench with a guitar. Topless. Elton beside her, also topless but still in his jeans. What a strange fucking life he and Johnny got into after coming here in 1970.

“Like the moon! I get it, Kubrick! Honey said you really love her. Cherish it man, they'll be us soon enough,” she winked. Then Cass affectionately pat his cheek like a mother would.

Leon’s heart would break a year later when she died. Everyone’s heart would. Always touching his face anytime he heard her sing.

For now she was alive and sat down in a chair. Leon leaned against the doorframe as Honey and Elton started to play. Lost in his own world, everyone else in the bungalow faded away except her. He wrapped a finger up in a stray curl that fell from his ponytail, smiling in her direction.

It took him a moment to realize these two people were singing TO Leon and not everyone else. He was so caught up in the way Honey’s fingers moved expertly over the strings. Was this why she asked for lessons? How he always fell in love just by looking at her.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

You see I've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

And you can tell everybody

This is the song

It may be quite simple, but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind

That I put down in the words

Later in a loft, Honey and Leon naked on the floor. Leon's lips making their way down Honey’s chest where he stops to take a nipple in his mouth. Sucking hungrily before teasing it with his teeth. Biting somewhere between playful and rough. Alternating between each of her breasts before continuing down over her stomach. Tongue dipping into her navel.

Honey’s back arches into Leon and she moans softly. Her hand lost in his hair as sexual instinct makes her urge him further down. But her brain says through her mouth,

“Wait, it's your birthday. Let me give you head.” The words breathless.

Leon is already diving into her. His tongue snaking deep inside like his fingers often do before going for her clit. Flicking at it a few times, circling it quicker. His hands spread her thighs so he has better access as he works her faster. His head moving up and down the whole time.

Then: “If I wanna go down on you for MY birthday, the only way you're gonna stop me is by saying no.” Leon paused, large eyes gazing up at Honey. His mouth glistening. “Are you saying no, then?”

“Fuck no, I love when you do this. I just figured you wanted to lay back and let me suck you off.”

He smiled and went back to it. Burying his face into Honey further. Then switching from his quick pace, Leon ran his tongue agonizingly slow along her cunt. The entire length of one side, sucking on it, plunging it in to work around Honeys clit then up the other side. Repeating this a few times, tongue manipulating her clit longer and faster.

Honey felt that heat build in her sex. That throb and the contraction. She cried out with that sudden swell of wetness before she came. She was so close but her mouth opened:

“Leon stop!”

Leon sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “What? What's wrong? Too much, love?”

“No no it was the perfect amount of too much. I don't wanna cum before we fuck.”

“Now THAT'S a bleeding birthday present. Time for me to get a toss over?” Leon's eyes shone with excitement. “Can we shag where someone might catch us?”

He stood up and helped Honey to her feet. Walking her to the railing that exposed the loft to the living room below where everyone had played their music before. A couple was already going at it on the couch not very silently.

Leon put his hand on the thick wood and yanked a few times to check its strength. It was perfect.

Honey situated herself in front of him, back pressing into his chest. She lifted her foot up on the bottom part and jutted her hips back into her partner’s erection. She anchored herself with her arms spread along the length of railing where he had just tested it.

Leon covered only one of Honey’s hands, his arm parallel to hers. The other hand taking the head of his cock teasing her with it. Then clutching the thick of her hip, he buries himself up to the hilt inside of her.

In his excitement, Leon began pounding into Honey madly. His hips hitting her ass every time created a rhythmic slapping sound. No longer needing to brace himself on her waist, he covered Honey’s mouth instead as her mewls of pleasure began.

Honey cried out into Leon's hand. Her body twisting slightly to give him better access. They had rutted this way enough that she knew angling her cunt downwards allowed him to hit her G spot. Something it took them both several years to figure out. Now that they had..

Leon lost himself in slamming into Honey with a speed he hadn’t felt since he did cocaine. The sweat created a shean across his cheeks, neck and chest from the heat they were building. Gut told him it would start forming on her forehead and stomach. What little he was grasping also told him Honey’s tits and ribs were crashing into the railing.

“Steady on, love.” Whispering huskily in her ear. “Yeah. I love being inside you. Never gonna get fucking sick of it. Your twat drives me barking.”

Honey kept on and kept up. That cataclysm in her walls, they flexed around Leon's cock suddenly. She squealed loudly into his hand as she came so hard her stomach muscles cramped. Her body still took to being rammed.

But not long, spurred on by the constriction of Honey’s orgasm, Leon exploded inside of her. Releasing completely but biting down on her shoulder to prevent from yelling out into the stillness.

Honey winced, but her gasp came out closer to another cry of pleasure. Her body cumming again unexpectedly. Leon would use that against her happily in the future.

They untangled themselves and were kissing in the dark. Then from downstairs came a humming. It soon turned into singing. The voice belonged to a tiny Englishman with diamond studded glasses.

“How wonderful life is while you’re in the world."

Tag: @robertsheehanownsmyass @badsext @joz-stankovich @elliethesuperfruitlover @nightmonsters

[fuckindiva]

Anne Sexton, Where I Live In This Honorable House Of The Laurel Tree

[derangedrhythms]

Pls quotes about metamorphosis and destruction? I love ur blog so much btw. ❤️

I'm delighted to hear that, thank you 🖤

Full poems on metamorphosis:

⁠Caroline Smith, Metamorphosis

⁠Anne Sexton, Where I Live in This Honorable House of the Laurel Tree

"Metamorphosis is the most profound of acts."

⁠— Catherynne M. Valente, from 'The Orphan's Tales: In the Night Garden"

"He said to me: / I kill because I have to / but every time I aim, I feel / my skin grow fur / my head heavy with antlers / and during the stretched instant / the bullet glides on its thread of speed / my soul runs innocent as hooves."

⁠— Margaret Atwood, The Journals of Susanna Moodie; from ‘Dream 2: Brian the Still-Hunter’

"Here am I shedding one of my life-skins […]"

"I am never stagnant; I rise from my worst disasters, I turn, I change."

— Virginia Woolf, from 'The Waves'

"And each stroke of his tongue ripped off skin after successive skin, all the skins of a life in the world, and left behind a nascent patina of shining hairs. My earrings turned back to water and trickled down my shoulders; I shrugged the drops off my beautiful fur."

— Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories; from 'The Tiger's Bride'

"I held you / through all your shifts / of structure: while your bones turned / from caved rock back to marrow, / the dangerous / fur faded to hair / the bird's cry died in your throat / the treebark paled from your skin / the leaves from your eyes"

— Margaret Atwood, The Circle Game; from ‘Eventual Proteus’

"Out of his forehead burst a rack of antlers. / His neck lengthened, narrowed, and his ears /Folded to whiskery points, his hands were hooves, / His arms long slender legs."

— Ted Hughes, Tales from Ovid; from 'Acteon'

"Once I wounded him with so / small a thorn / I never thought his flesh would burn / or that the heat within would grow / until he stood / incandescent as a god; / now there is nowhere I can go / to hide from him: / moon and sun reflect his flame."

— Sylvia Plath, Collected Poems: from ‘To a Jilted Lover’

"The beast looked adoringly at her. He looked at her with a thankfulness that was marvelous and, somehow, dreadful to see. In less than a moment, the beast's hide split open like a chrysalis. The claws and fangs fell away. The feral reek evaporated. And here he is. He's stunning. He's sturdy, square-faced, snapping with muscle."

— Michael Cunningham, A Wild Swan and Other Tales; from 'Beasts'

"Something is taking place. / Horns bud bright in my hair. / My feet are turning hoof. / And Father, see my face / ⁠—Skin that was damp and fair / Is barklike and, feel, rough."

— Thom Gunn, Moly; from 'Rites of Passage'

On destruction:

"I am conscious of flux, of disorder; of annihilation and despair."

— Virginia Woolf, from 'The Waves'

"Destruction shines with such beauty"

⁠— Margaret Atwood, You Are Happy; from ‘Newsreel: Man and Firing Squad’

"I build a tower and I pull it down;"

⁠— Dylan Thomas, The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas: The New Centenary Edition; from ‘How shall the animal’

"The passion for destruction is a creative passion […]"

— Mikhail Bakunin, from ‘Bakunin on Anarchy’, tr. Sam Dolgoff

"I swing between one extreme and another, constantly threatening my stability. I am always in danger of self-destruction."

— Jeanette Winterson, from ‘Weight’

"…I desire the things which will destroy me in the end…"

— Sylvia Plath, from ‘The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath’

"To tame or to destroy?"

"To destroy."

— Edna St. Vincent Millay, from 'Huntsman, What Quarry?'

"It was the smell of death and destruction and it smelled fresh and lively and hopeful."

— A. S. Byatt, from 'Possession'

‘I devote to Hades and Destruction’.

— Stevie Smith, Scorpion and Other Poems; from 'The House of Over-Dew’

"The flames have to be burning something, you say, how destructive you are, Medea. / They’re burning all my old thoughts. / You’ve done this before. / I do it over and over. I have to in order to continue. To be this ghoul I am."

— Alice Notley, Songs and Stories of the Ghouls; from 'The Book of Dead'

"The need to go astray, to be destroyed is an extremely private, distant, passionate, turbulent truth [...]"

— Georges Bataille, from 'Guilty', tr. Bruce Boone

"I make myself come alive in my happy instinct for destruction."

— Clarice Lispector, from 'Agua Viva', tr. Earl Fitz & Elizabeth Lowe

[austentatious]

               ...Each century the trickeries

of need pain me everywhere.

Where I Live in this Honorable House of the Laurel Tree | Anne Sexton

[malojasnake]

— Where I Live in This Honorable House of the Laurel Tree, by Anne Sexton

[unabashedrebel]

Holiday Cheer

Winters Veil was always a whole ordeal in the Duskhaven residence, even before a certain Sunshine came to brighten things up. Boxes littered the apartment, stacked one atop the next, with some open offering peaks at the brightly colored ornaments and holiday themed streamers. The early days of December only served to stoke the decorating craze as laurels were hung awaiting their bows to be tied, ceramic village houses sat on a bed of cotton waiting to be arranged, and of course a tall tree sat off in the corner of the spacious living room still au naturale.

With the way Kirollis bounced around the apartment spreading holiday cheer and sorting the decorations, it became clear that the lack of work led to a small case of stir craze. He was almost manic in the way he hastily packed the boxes where they needed to go, all in the name of making it easier when the more artistic part of the process came into play. It was as if everything needed to be up to the rogues standards before he began to tackle the once a year tradition.

Soriya, on the other hand, was happy to take advantage of her father's invigorated holiday spirit and decidedly clear schedule. Every year he had gotten like this, and every year she decided not to ask too many questions. Instead she just enjoyed the time they spent catching up on all the Winters Veils they had missed.

“I think this is the last box from storage.” She said as she shimmied through the front door with a brown box in tow.

“Awesome.” Kirollis replied, mulling over aloud a moment later, “That’s gotta be where the star is.”

“You sure you checked all of them?”

The rogue gave her a look. That unspoken form of communication that seemed prevalent every time the other asked a silly question. “Just open the box.”

Sure enough Soriya did just that as she pulled open the top of the box like it was a present from Father Winter himself. Digging her hand in only to pull out a golden star for atop their tree. With a clear of her throat the younger Duskhaven slipped it back into the box without a word.

“It was in there, wasn’t it.”

“...yes.”

A small smirk curled over Kirollis lips as he dug into his own box only to pull out a rope of arcane powered lights. A little something to add a little color and character to their woefully underdressed tree. “C’mon squirt, come help your old man with this.” Surprisingly passing on the opportunity to give her a hard time.

“Someones really in the holiday spirit.” Soriya finally voiced that observation that she had been so hesitant to ask about. Though all the same she joined her father in coiling the lights around their tree. “You know, you never really told me why you love Winters Veil so much. You never really struck me as the type for ugly sweaters and yuletide cheer.”

“Yeah… it was, well, it was your moms favorite holiday.” He confessed. “I guess after a century and a half of putting up lights and decorations it sort of grew on me. She always had this glow around the holidays that always made all the work so very worth it.”

Every time her mother was brought up it was always a tearful affair. Ripe with emotions from the duo who both had hang ups over Nelah Duskhavens untimely death. But this time was different, it was calm, not that the emotion wasn’t there, rather it was celebrated instead of mourned. And Soriya was content to drink in this moment as long as he would allow it.

Kirollis continued, “I think after she passed on it was… well, just one of those things I kept doing to keep her spirit alive. You know, remind myself that she’s not gone so long as she’s in here.” Patting his chest soon after. “I guess it became just as important to me to keep doing it.”

Once more the younger Duskhaven was caught off guard by her fathers candor. It was strange to see him so happy about something that caused him so much pain. It warmed her heart to hear, and a part of her wanted to just let him keep talking as long as he would. After all, the happiness he usually professed surrounded her, almost to the point where she wondered if she was his only source of happiness in the world. It was a reminder, albeit small, that while she currently occupied the center of his universe? She wasn’t the only one who had.

“Is there anything else you do to keep her memory alive?” Soriya asked sheepishly, afraid that if she pressed him to far he would stop talking entirely. The pause he took before answering only causing her heart to sink into the pits of her stomach.

“Well…” Kirollis finally peeped out as he connected the loop of wiring and the brilliant array of colors lined the tree. “Uh, well sure. Yeah, there’s a couple things.” Pointing to the box full of ribbons as to ask for them he continued, “She used to always laugh at my really bad puns.”

“Really?” Soriya questioned with a sneer of a snicker. “-Your- puns?”

“Well yeah. You didn’t think she fell for me just because of my dashing good looks, right?”

“I didn’t think it was the puns.” She confessed.

“How else did you think I found out she was the one?” Kirollis countered with a snicker, mostly at himself. “Your mom was… she had the patience of a saint, lets just put it that way.”

“What else?” Soriya questioned as the pair continued to line the tree with ribbon.

“Nicknames.” He stated without missing a beat. “She loved to give people nicknames. She said it was like your personal greeting to someone important.”

“What did she call you?”

“She always called me Ace when I fucked up. It uh… sort of carried over.”

Soriya knit her brows together as her face scrunched in suit. “You’ve called me Ace before.”

“Maybe don’t fuck up next time.” He replied before poking his tongue out in her direction.

The young monk smiled brightly at the lesser mentioned relationship between her mother and father. Even if she did try and tuck it away and hide it from view. It was almost refreshing how honest and open the conversation had been thus far, and with each passing moment or private concession Soriya was emboldened to ask more about the one thing she was too afraid to ask about: Her mom.

Once the ribbons were finished with, the duo focused on the round little orbs that coated the tree. Though their approach was far more different then the two person job of setting lights and ribbons. Almost at random both Kirollis and Soriya would take a bulb or two before hanging it up on the pine.

The rogue, however, paused a moment as he pulled the golden star from the box. Letting his gaze linger a few moments longer as a fond smile crept up onto his lips. “Your mom used to always put up the star.” He muttered out before offering it over to her, “What’cha say you do it this year?” He posed as emerald tinted orbs drifted toward his daughter.

Her face practically lit up at the offer, in that same glow Kirollis spoke of seeing in Nelah. With a hand placed over her chest looking every bit like it was the highest honor in the world she replied, “I’d love to!” Though she quickly held up her hand to stop him from getting up, “Wait! No stay right there!”

Of course Kirollis obliged, and remained in the same kneeling posture, as Soriya scampered around to his back. “This is easier than getting a ladder.” Soriya confessed as she hopped one leg after another over her dads shoulders.

Snickering the rogue handed the star up to Soriya before standing himself. Using his hands to hold her legs in place and stabilize her as she reached up to the very top of the tree. Carefully sliding the precious ornament into its place.

It had taken twenty-eight years for him to hoist his kid on his shoulders, and he would wait another twenty-eight if he had to for a moment just like this one.

{Art Creds: @the-zombee-cat ❤️}

[orionnquartzwater]

In a local witches group on my personal FB page, an admin I look up to asked us what our current altars looked like at the moment to spark up a discussion. I had an offhand picture of recently showing and explaining my faith to a friend of mine, but as I began to reflect on the items, my reply grew longer and longer until Facebook just gave up on allowing me to post it. Still wanting to share, I figured I would host my answer here.

This is my current set-up. Please excuse some of the mess, I'm currently in the process of clearing out the old for the new calender year. I don't work at my altar very often at the moment as life has been a little hectic, but it's right above my fireplace in my living room! ♡

PHOTO DESCRIPTION WITH DETAILS AND PERSONAL HISTORIES BEHIND THE OBJECTS PICTURED: On white shelf above the fireplace in my living room is my altar, lit by a ceiling light that brings the eye to the center of the image where a wall-hanging of the elemental symbols I hand-crafted in branches and black twine covers a large portion of the white wall in the back. In the middle on the top of the hanging decor is a clear hand-crafted witch ball I made several years back when my coven was still meeting and I was teaching some of the history behind them and what they are today filled with many different herbs and a large cinnamon stick. Several natural pieces of twine hang from some of the twigs that make up the elemental symbols, used for tying and drying herb bunches above my altar, currently sitting empty. On both sides framing the mantle on the wall, there two metallic swirling candle holders, one of which has a recently gifted antique bell from my once-ignorant and oppressive grandmother about what my faith truly had meant to me on twine hanging from it. In the dead center of the altar, a large glass candle holder sits containing a layered orange and red candle, burned most of the way down with ash on the insise of the glass as it hasn't been in use for some time. Currently displayed on top of the candle is my own hand-crafted wand that sits perfectly balanced in my hand with the natural curve of the branch. It felt made for my hand as I whittled the top down and used copper and quartz to charge it, wrapping the handle and charging the energy forward with the small point I've had for years until I found why I had clung to it.

Two alabaster statuette busts of the Greek deities Artemis (to the left), and Apollo (to the right) also frame the large glass candleholder. The statues are of the deities who I worked faithfully worked with to recieve my service dog Andromeda, and thank constantly trying to honor, as everything in my life had said I couldn't receive her from time to money to circumstance to lack of outside help, even though everything else about it was said that it was truly meant for me, and I believe to this day it was due to them watching me working tirelessly to do everything on my end including my rituals and asking for their assistance that they granted me a medically healing (Apollo's side) & faithful canine (Artemis's side). I had the statues shipped to me from Greece, and the golden accents on the alabaster textiles and laurel on them are probably my favorite part of them. They're one of my most prized possessions. The two godly siblings face each other with their heads cast in different directions. Behind Artemis, slightly to her right is a black and white painting I did of the forested coast and night sky with a prominent moon bouncing off the waves and a comet in the stars above (Ironically, my dog Andromeda (Andi) was listed as Comit in the breeders list as well, something I hadn't even considered when painting and adding it to my altar). To Artemis' left is a small antler chew we took from my service dog when she was too big to use it safely any longer, as well as a small clay torso of the human form I crafted some time ago. In front of the mini painting is where I currently sit a chakra bracelet gifted to me years ago, and sitting in front of those not too far from the edge is an incense holder depicting a skeleton with roses around it as a memento mori, a circle of life as the ash falls and the incense is burned. To the left of that are some pieces of geodes and petrified woods I have that my grandmother also gifted me, two unused candles in front of those, and a petrified wood piece laying flat that holds two tiny pinecones connected by a stem and two coins for abundance beside a ceramic acorn bowl holding many gemstones collected through the years, including the labradorite my grandmother also gifted me when I was a small child and found myself connecting to the stone as I connected to the faith alone on my own. To the left of that is a tall decorative triple goddess wooden box box my dad's girlfriend bought for me, a small black and white moon phase & elemental symbol zentangle art piece sitting above it that I drew in pen in high school, and in front of them on the altar is an antique taxidermied dog-paw letter opener made of Mother of Pearl, dating the beloved Print's death as Sept 15th, 1867 that I use for directing energy, connecting to the love we hold for those in our lives, and also with connecting to the centuries past in my own hands.

To Apollo's right sits a massive pinecone, and behind him somewhat obscured is a small wax burner currently holding the remnants of the ritual work I had been using to call forth my service dog to me as a variety of herbs, green wax for abundance and coins. To the right of that are a variety of candles, currently perching a bird's nest that had fallen out of and was sitting abandoned from the tree in front of my apartments two years ago that would have been tossed by maintainence or mowed over but found a renewed life in my practice after it sat abandoned for some time. Beside that is a squared lantern of black metal framinh with frosted glass and metallic fir tree silhouettes. Also the right of that, leaning over the edge of the mantle from a small end table not pictured is a twig broom with the bristles up. (On the very edge of the mantle also sits a large bottle of hand-sanitizer constantly in use as I live with a hospital worker, and both cleanliness and healthcare are just as important in our faith, lest we forget to take care of ourselves with the modern knowledge passed down to us now, nor forget to do our part wherever we go.)

— I haven't had the mind to do much traditional work, even here, and this doesn't include the dresser I plan on doing a fuller altar for so I can have a place to be alone, in my space, and wholly enter the circle once more as I haven't been able to do that in a very, very long time, but this one houses most of my items of power, is displayed prominently, and is curated to allow me to remember to honor my faith more and never stop working on it, taking time to stand in front of it and reflect on me, my faith, where I came from and where I'm going as well as spending a moment with the deities I honor. After my birthday later this year growing up in a household of agnostics and the faith and discomfort of my oppressive grandparents, I'll actually have been in the faith for more than half my life as I was only 11 when I stumbled into it alone, celebrated my first Imbolc all by myself by making crafts out of ribbons and buying and lighting candles, meditating reading books. I ran around with my bell wand shaking it at nature to reawaken it for spring, and I knew I would always be in the faith, and want to raise a future family in it, and grow a community of like-minded folks. I'm still always learning, and it makes me equally immensely proud and insanely humbled when I can teach others what I've learned since the faith found me. I can actually remember crying to my grandma about whether or not magic(k) could truly exist in the world and she told me if I believed in it, it DID at that age, and the feelings of finding power in my faith after growing up so alone have been unlike any other. Finding other witches was one of the most impactful moments of my life, especially growing up in a heavily Christian town of just over 1,000. Nothing has made me ever feel more fulfilled than people who know me and know I have been in the faith since childhood coming up to me to timidly ask them to teach them some things and where they could start to learn more, asking questions and finding me with a million resources for them, only to come back at a later date and truly thank me for helping them find their path to deity, to nature, to being one with the energies around us and finding power in their experiences and newfound budding faith and community. I've since found a true passion for anthropology and folklore, and I never feel more whole than working with others who share that with me. I think that my coven was one of the best things I experienced in high school, a mix of young witches learning and finding our paths and bringing our passions to life with each other and what we knew over good food, good friends and good faith wasn't something I got to experience often until then.

I'm still hoping to one day build an establishment where witches and aspiring witches can come, talk, read, ask for recommendations, be taught by local witches, take community crafting classes with history lessons, and be able to continue to provide that feeling to other folks. One of the people I ended up mentoring after they were asking me questions and for book recommendations, for clarifications and good conversation, also reaffirmed my childhood last name of faith that came to me by expressing their gratitude of my mentorship referring to me as "a willow tree I was providing wisdom, knowledge and needed shade to the growing saplings around them," and I actually broke down crying as Willow was the last name I ended up with as child, and Willowtree was the last name I had settled on after my transition. I hate the feeling of buying myself mass-produced items used for making a quick buck off a community rather than fostering the Craft, and the power that's within our tools created by hand or when they're gifted by people who impacted us with the knowledge of what they mean and the things they hold are just so much different than not knowing the ethical conditions of who made the materials, or the companies behind them pandering for money, and it's a bit of a passion project as my physical health keeps me from being able to work much on my own. I often wish I could go back and tell a young me how much I would learn and do, how many amazing people I would meet, and communities I would find, even in the areas directly around me. I think I would have been amazed. After writing all of this, I looked back and realized that my current set-up is actually doing it's EXACT job right now. As I described the objects and what they meant to me when I got them, I got caught up in it the same way I do IRL when I pass by and take a moment to think about what my faith holds for me, where I'm coming from and where I really want to take things from here. I guess it's REALLY just that effective on me that even trying to answer a question about it off-hand in a post really ends up in me really taking a minute to address who I am and the power it all holds to me, especially standing where I stand today.

Blessed Be! I hope everyone has a wonderful week.

— 12.9.2020

[taclobancityblog-blog]

The Beauty of Tacloban City

The History of Tacloban City

By Rashien Noreen Y. Gerona

Tacloban City is in the northeastern of Leyte, Philippines and is located on San Pedro Bay at the southern entrance to San Juanico Strait. Tacloban was said to be only a small fishing village and part of Basey, Samar as one of its barrios. It is formerly known as Kankabatok, named after the first settler which was Kabatok. The place was formerly under the political administration of Palo, Leyte but under the parochial jurisdiction of Basey, Samar. During this period, Kankabatok was changed to Tarakluban from the word Taklub which is a basket-like equipment used in catching fish, crabs and the like.

In the late 18th century, the place became the trading point of the provinces because of its good location. Since it was well-sheltered and equipped with adequate facilities and had the ideal location of the port , Tacloban became the capital of Leyte on February 26, 1839.

In 1901, Colonel Murray arrived in Tacloban and became the first Military Governor of Leyte. There were several educational institutions founded in the place that is still running up to this day namely Leyte Normal School (now Leyte Normal University), Leyte High School (now Leyte National High School), Leyte Trade School (now Eastern Visayas State University), and Holy Infant Academy (now Holy Infant College).

Tacloban was an important allied logistical base during the latter stages of World War II. On October 20,1944, forces commanded by U.S. General Douglas McArthur landed at the several points along Leyte Gulf, south of the city. Tacloban City served as temporary capital of the Philippines until Manila was regained.

On June 20, 1952, Tacloban was proclaimed as a chartered city by virtue of Republic Act No. 760 signed by President Elpidio Quirino and was witnessed by the first city mayor, Mayor Ildefonso Cinco which took effect on June 12,1953.

On June 30, 1954, during the Feast day of Sto. Nino the Patron Saint of Tacloban, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Jose B. Laurel did the honor of laying the cornerstone for the Tacloban City Hall at Kanhuraw Hill and since then, the place attracted businessmen in putting up businesses in the city.

Tacloban City became a Highly Urbanized City after holding a plebiscite on December 18, 2008, wherein 67% of the total registered voters were in favour of the conversion of the city into a highly urbanized one. With that, Tacloban City is no longer under the administrative control of the provincial government of Leyte.

I've been living in Tacloban City for almost 19 years now and this city has been my home. So if you have the time to go to this city, try to visit one of these!

1. Sto. Nino Shrine and Heritage Museum

This tourist attraction used to be the vacation home of the Philippine President Ferdinand Marcos and his wife Imelda. This was used as a venue for state dinners and gatherings by the country’s most elite with its mahogany tables and intricate ceiling mosaic. The shrine and heritage museum feels like a grand ballroom from centuries ago.

2. M/V Jocelyn Shrine

In 2013, typhoon Yolanda devastated the region of Tacloban which also took thousands of lives and demolished most of its properties. Today, the M/V Jocelyn Shrine stands as a symbol of resiliency and pays tribute to all of those who lost their lives. The ship is a symbol of remembrance and memorial.

3. Madonna of Japan

33 years after World War II, Japan gifted Tacloban this precious monument in order to honour the friendship between the Filipinos and the Japanese. The statue is a beautiful piece or art which looks like a female version of the Indian Buddha. From Madonna’s seat, you can get some magnificent views from the water.

4. Kanhuraw Hill

Home of the City Hall of Tacloban, Kanhuraw Hill has a lot to offer on a lazy day. The place is facing Kankabato Bay with grassy nooks and shady trees. You could also go along on a jog, have a picnic and watch the occasional skateboarding youths in the pavement. Around Christmas time, the local government erects a bright Christmas tree as tall as you can see with a different theme every year.

5. Pintados and Sangyaw Festivals

The Pintados festival celebrates the brave Waray warriors with local dressing up in indigenous costumes and colourful face paint and dancing traditional dances for the whole city to see.

In Waray, “ Sangyaw” means to “herald the news”. This festival held the day before the city-‘s festival, showcases the annual Sangyaw Parade of Lights where tens of floats and hundreds of dancers are highlighted with their lights during the night.

Both of these festivals put you up in touch with the people, culture and history of Tacloban City in a way that others don’t get to experience.

6. Try Chocolate Moron and Binagol

Moron is a rice that has been cooked and simmered in coconut milk, then mixed with a touch of cocoa powder. Binagol is made from the root crop called Talyan, which is crushed and mixed with coconut milk, condensed milk and sugar and then cooked like a cake, steamed in a coconut shell and wrapped in a banana leaf.

These delicacies are surely a good try!

7. Tacloban City Convention Center

Also known as the Tacloban City Astrodome, this is the second largest indoor dome in Region 8 next to the Superdome of Ormoc, Leyte. This has a seating capacity of 4,500 and is used for events like concerts, pageants and basketball leagues. This was first opened in the year 2006 and has remained standing amidst the 2013 typhoon yolanda that had only small renovations. Aside from the venue, you can also try the restaurants outside it which is very nice to go to especially at night. You can even take for a morning jog around the park while seeing the good view of the sea bay.

I hope I have convinced you to visit my city. These are just some of the fun things and places to try to so what are you waiting for? Come and visit the happiest place of our country!