“But I don’t want to cross the road!”

There’s something about this photograph which speaks to the folly at the heart of paganism.

It might be the full-arm Gummi gloves and the bondage harnesses. Chair... or sling?

Tits.

I’ve read some nice rants on the subject of Unverified Personal Gnosis lately so I thought I would have a bit of a gnash and a foam myself.

UPG is intended to be a move away from what is seen to be woo-woo. The idea is to shear what would at one time have been called prophecy and revelation away from personal status. What actually happens is that the corpus of heathenry, for example, becomes nothing more than a scrapbook of factoids rather than any coherent and directional doctrine. There aren’t any prophets in heathenry, no small cohort of people who are picked on by gods, just bloggers. Heathens have become god-twitchers, and they get together for a jar and jaw about their latest piece of god-spotting. UPG is portrayed as a technical, evidence-based process but it’s really only a distillation of the Gnower’s knowledge and imagination. What fits is what matters. Methods are more important than message, and methods boil down to a bic and an A4 tablet.

It’s the infection of animism, in which everything is regarded as people and all people are regarded as equal. If everyone is equal then nobody’s message is special or has any legitimate imperative. Which brings me nicely to those who do not regard themselves as equal, and the identification of those who aren’t. If I were asked whose example and guidance it is best to avoid then I would say anyone with a title such as seidkona or druid, or anyone who uses adjectives in self-reference. Such people are hopelessly romantic. It’s all about them and any message they utter serves their ego and their agenda. Who aren’t equal? Who has a valuable message? Those with questions. No claim of magical skill or a seer’s eye from these but a real stuff to give about the life they lead which they love.

There are some people who have always regarded UPG as the aspirational religionist's equivalent of “My cat told me it prefers Whiskas”, that is, when it’s not “Look at me everybody! I‘m a seidkona and a PhD! Wheee!”. They’re really cynical types, though, as a rule, and don’t get invited to Christenings. Anyway, next time some one tells you that they’re spotted the Greater-Bearded Trickster, or the Bad-Tempered Ginger Hammer, step back for a moment and consider the possibility that you may be listening to the song of a Big-Headed Tit.

It’s not modern myth…

It’s fanfic. Derivative, turgid fanfic at that. What next; The Manga Mabinogion?

Do War Gods do Crosswords? (Christmas Colouring-In Competition!)

I haven’t a clue about that, but here's another one; what need does a 21st Century A.D. social network have for a war god?

Looks like Christopher Biggins in Panto. Scarey. Anyway, post your solutions in the comments section and the first n winners will receive a sarcastic quip. Attach a coloured-in copy of Brython's war god and you'll receive two. Those coloured only red will be disqualified for their lack of creative flair. Have fun!

Mothers’ Night at the BBC.

Is that Starhawk Month out of the way for another year, then? Yes? Excellent. You can ditch the stubble now, girls.