With apologies...

With apologies...I genuinely do not enjoy reliving that dark beginning of my life.

My dearest friend in this world is a devout Christian...a strong warrior for Christ.

Understanding our life paths together...where they crossed...where they merged...and where they separated would be such a laborious task that I will not now begin to tell that tale.

Suffice it to say that of all the spirits that I have known...hers is the most...goddess like. Three aspects she combines and I respect her wisdom in many, many things.

She too, graces me with that same absence of malice where my faith is concerned, having been a lifelong friend she has heard many of my stories in repeated telling...so too did she know my last posting.

In no way do I disparage, hold animosity toward or view in contempt anyone based on any theological or spiritual difference...I believe that the path to serenity...the entry to the gates...the road to glory...the way through the door is not held by any one faith, nor by any one set of rituals or rites.

I believe that there is a deeper magic...a most wonderful stream...that there is another truth which holds eternal...

I believe that deity, that power and energy which is eternal can be called by many names.

I believe that deity loves us and wants us to succeed, be happy and bear faith childlike.

I believe that deity wants us to grow both spiritually and intellectually, and through that growth become positive, loving, helpful and kind.

Therefore...

I do not, and never shall believe in hell.

I do not, and never shall fear my god.

These last two statements led me to write my previous post.

There are those, well, some well meaning folk and some that I believe are always simply looking to fight and confront that which they do not understand.

I took very personally some of the statements that were made to my e-mail account.

It surprised me to read statements like "God has a special place in hell for you, fag."; "You are going to burn."; "Repent and be saved or burn forever."

Sixteen messages in one day...all similar...spewing hate and avarice...and why?

Were they invited to view this dialog? Were they forced to look and required to comment?

Or were they simply looking to attack someone?

The latter, I think.

So...to my dearest friend and all others who thought that the last posting was a bit heavy handed...

I am so sorry...the posting is not attacking you or Christianity in general.

I simply needed to tell the story...and in the telling, my emotions of that age, my emotions of reading the hate messages and my faith all stood up together and took over.

I never stopped to think how someone reading here for the first thyme my be affected.

This is not at all to say that what I wrote was in any way inaccurate, nor do I retract any portion of the entry...it was all real...it happened...it may simply have been too heavy for this blog.

I will attempt to minimize my reaction to any more negative emails...

I have a delete button...you know.


Blessed be...

Lord Glade


smilinginthedark

"Oh do not tell the priest of our dance, for he would call it sin..."

Sigh...so it's happened here already.

First, I want to thank you for being so tolerant as to not post directly on my blog. I don't mind the words, the direct emails or the warnings of my eternal damnation. Thank you for not cluttering up my space with comment thus.

I have now had 17 emails to my account praying for my salvation, blessing me but hoping I will return to "God", extolling the virtues of Christianity while at the same time threatening me with your merciful god plunging me into a lake of fire for my damnable faith.

Oh, and one that want's to know if I have a better picture of myself.

Sigh...

It is difficult to make humans understand that faith...pure and absolute...can come from within. I have never needed a preacher to stand in a pulpit and tell me what to believe.

As the christian god once said...."I am."

Let me tell you a story.

Once, there was a woman with two children. Boy child and girl ages 5 and 3 1/2. This woman had no husband as he had seen fit to end his life by a single bullet rather than to provide hearth and home for those he brought into the world.

The woman, she tried hard to provide for the children. She worked two jobs and took in laundry to make ends meet. During the day the children were reared by a female friend of hers, but the friend wanted to marry and start her own life.

And so it was that the woman, mother, found a new love...a man who was a lay minister, a man of "God", he would provide for her and the children...he seemed so loving and playful with the children. This man would tend the children while the mother worked...a...bit...different for the early 60's...but then...it was a time of changes in the world.

Life went on for the woman...but for the children...darkness fell.

The man...he had a fondness for little boys.

He was also powerful...to a 5 year old...he was a monster.

He would take off the child's clothing and whisper how he loved the child...the boy child...and then he would...do...things...

Well...he would do things to the boy's body...

But...the boy...this innocent...he would close his eyes...and he would leave...

There was a place he could go...far away from the sick, sexual torture that was being levied upon the frail body...

There was a place....

I remember the sound of pipes and laughter...the sound of wind and blowing leaves...the smell of grass and heat of the Summerlands upon my skin.

But most of all...I remember the watcher in the woodlands...the forest friend...the protector of the innocent...

...and at 5 years old I had no name for him...needed no name for him...

He was the shaggy man.

Together we would play...he piping from the shadows...me dancing...flying butterfly kites...skipping across the clouds on the surface of the water...drawing finger sigils in the sand...stacking stones in mystic circles...

...being told the truth... of how He...was so sorry...and how He...would never leave me.

And he blanketed my mind from the pain...I was ok...

When the boy would wake filthy, hurt, spoiled...raped and laying in the dark closet...

...he would speak to me. A purring, growling, wordless statement that told me this:

"The evil that the man does is not power. The strength to endure it is power."

He would hold me in the dark, close to his chest, sobbing for my pain...and I know in my heart of hearts I felt his tears fall atop my head.

He sang soft songs to me and told me that He and Mama loved me...and that I would have to choose my path...that he so feared that the man had destroyed the child...that I had every rite to hate and destroy or forgive and grow...by the rite of the blood spilled and by the pain that I had endured I could freely choose...

...and He would lend me his strength to succeed.

At 5 years old, I was given the strength, and the power and the authority of a god.

I chose the path of Pan...the shaggy man...the forest friend...watcher in the woodlands...protector of the innocent.

I will love, and protect and defend those weaker than myself to the end of my days.

The pure faith of that 5 year old boy is still there...10 times the years later...it never has diminished.

It was not "God" that held me at 5...nor was it "Jesus"...the spirit of the Holy Ghost never descended upon me...no angles came to protect me...no flaming sword to defend the innocent...no burning bush...no thunderous voice...no pillar of fire...no...I was left to be tortured...at the hands of a "man of God".

I knew from 5 that either:

"God" isn't there.
"God" doesn't care.
"God" is evil.
"God" let's evil men wear his trappings.
Men of "God" are strong in the world, but Pan is strong in my spirit.


No...I have no need of bibles, or pulpits, or preachers.


I am...and always will be...


Lord Glade Panmot...Brother to Pan.


smilinginthedark

fear not

Tho darkness be swept about me and my feet be lifted from the earth, I shall not fear.
Tho thunder crash and lightning strike and zephyr winds howl hard upon my naked flesh, I shall not fear. Smiling...in the dark.

In my thyme will I be taken and ne'er before.
My Father and Mother keep me, mama and papa protect me... within me all the days of my life they dwell. A living thing am I, by will of the Gods created and given form, by grace of the gods given voice and sight, by virtue of the gods given faith and life. I am a vessel.

Thunder and wind my instruments, sit and watch as I call the lightning flash.

Rain and stone my rhythmic drums, beating the life course of the earth.

I stand, high upon the mountain top, wavering apelike from the tree limbs, walking catlike cross the rooftops and rafters, unshaken, at ease...without fear.
My father, goat god, sure foot, forest friend, protector, he has other need of me. I am not the one to let fall. Gentle hand on my back, I feel his strength and support, and I am treated to a view no one else shares.

Landscapes painted for my eyes only.

Darkness falls and across the landscape I run...for fun.

A child tripping in the moonlight...at 50...feeling 5...I run.

My mother, ever watchful, her eye upon me, somethymes wide with wonder, other thymes slit to a flashing peek...mama...watching her son play for her pleasure. Swimming, sky-clad cross the lake in the moonshadow. Playing leapfroq with the fire and smoke. She ever is smiling down.

I fear nothing, for nothing can harm me.

A child of the gods am I...In my thyme will I be taken and ne'er before.

Blessed be,

Lord Glade

smilinginthedark

~ Moments Trapped in Amber~

Mostly I remember the big stone.

There was in my grandfathers back yard a "stone".

This stone was a fallen monolith, 2 foot by 2 foot square and 10 feet long, it lay beside grandpa's tree. The stone was a never ending source entertainment.

Between the stone and the tree I was in my great castle. Climbing up the tree trunk turret I could see beyond the long moat of a driveway on to the ocean of dirt road that was all my kingdom.

I was a benevolent king, safe in my castle, tending to my clothespin subjects and arranging my clothespin guards along my borders...

A perfect peaceful kingdom.

Climb upon the back of the great flat stone and I was riding my dragon, FlameStrong, over a landscape of clouds and mountain tops. We looked for those in peril to rescue, and songs were sung by the people of my lands about our grand rescue of my sister's Raggedy Andy.

Over the years I remember the stone as rocket, elephant, cliff, surfboard, and ultimately the place where I would sit and have chats with my grandfather.

Years before I had been thought about, the stone was there. My grandfather had marked the stone, his initials forever embedded into the great stone, my fingers found them smooth and often.

My grandfather espoused wisdom from our stone...that great seat of learning.

Some 40 years ago my grandfather passed...and not a day goes by that I do not think of him.

I recently had to drive past his old house...he would have been sad to see the condition of the place.

The tree is fallen and nothing remains but a jutting stump...

...but our stone was there.

For whatever reason I have found myself now, closing in on 50, thinking back to my grandfather.

There I stand on the stone, while he ties my shoe...and coarsely rubbing my head he says,

"I won't always be here for you, boy."

Yes you are, grandpa...yes you are.

Funny, but whenever I sit down on a stone ledge or concrete slab, I find myself tracing his initials with my finger.

I miss my grandpa.

Blessed be,

Lord Glade

smilinginthedark