I'm feeling rather tired. I have two days of work ahead of me, and then it's off to Flint. I'm visiting my family, and hopefully some friends. I have a lot to say, but I'm not really sure what it is. There's a bond on my heart - I need a change to loosen the knot. I'm hoping to do that with my trip to Europe, but I think I'm also going to take a quick trip before that, just for a weekend. Sometime in the next couple months.
This was my breakfast this morning. It was my first time working with TVP, and it was rather nice.
Vegetarian Chorizo and Eggs
Serves Two
1/4 Cup TVP
3/8 Cup water
1 T Chili powder
1 tsp Paprika
1/2 tsp Salt
1/2 tsp Epazote
1/2 tsp Garlic Powder
A few pinches of Cumin
More salt to taste
2 - 3 eggs
In a skillet heat the water to a simmer. Add the TVP and heat on low, letting it reconstitute. It'll be a bit wet - it should be as you'll be letting it fry off. Add all your spices at this point and mix well. Add the oil of your choice, enough to get the pan nice and slippery. Turn the heat up to medium and fry for a minute. Add the egg and mix it all up, scrambling the egg slightly in the pan. Cook through. You may wish to add a bit more salt at this point to taste. Spoon into warm tortillas and eat!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Knowing Magic
Yesterday Theo and I were walking home from Leona's and talking about magic, as we are often to be found doing. When we finally emerge onto the street, coming down from the El station, Theo mentions a little idea about how knowing your magic is more important than actually being able to do it. I can't agree more.
I see too many otherwise talented witches around me doing sub-par, unimaginative magic because they don't know their theory. These people never stop to consider the how or what of magic, they just do. And they get results. think though, just think about what could happen if these witches considered how the spell is put together, what the spell affects and why. Magic would all of a sudden be adaptable, changeable. All of these beautiful, wise witches would be so much more effective than they are now because their spells would be theirs again, not the copyrighted property of some mainstream publisher.
I guess what I'm saying is that to own your magic you must first understand it. The next time you do a spell really think about what is happening. How is this going to work? Understanding theory is paramount to memorizing spells and techniques. Knowledge is the bastard stepson to Wisdom.
I see too many otherwise talented witches around me doing sub-par, unimaginative magic because they don't know their theory. These people never stop to consider the how or what of magic, they just do. And they get results. think though, just think about what could happen if these witches considered how the spell is put together, what the spell affects and why. Magic would all of a sudden be adaptable, changeable. All of these beautiful, wise witches would be so much more effective than they are now because their spells would be theirs again, not the copyrighted property of some mainstream publisher.
I guess what I'm saying is that to own your magic you must first understand it. The next time you do a spell really think about what is happening. How is this going to work? Understanding theory is paramount to memorizing spells and techniques. Knowledge is the bastard stepson to Wisdom.
A Rice Cooker and Mock-Thai
I'm so happy with this new rice cooker in my kitchen. It satisfies the deepest, laziest urges that I have, and believe me when I say that I have some crazy lazy urges.
Realize that I have fought the anti-rice cooker fight for well over a year now, probably much closer to two. It's a single use appliance, says I. How dare you suggest such a thing, begone with you else you should taste my wrath! Even though I've never enjoyed cooking rice I always fought with long tooth and sharp nail against a rice cooker, rebelling against such a simple unitasker.
Enter my practical streak mixed with my truly strong desire to eat rice on a more consistent basis. Oh, the dilemma. Oh, the internal struggles. Not even Poe had internal struggles like mine.
In the end, of course, practicality and laziness won out. And I can't honestly say that I'm displeased. It's not like I was using that counter space anyhow. It performed like a dream, and the rice wasn't even too dry after it had been finished cooking and warming for a little while. No watching, no worries. Pour it in, flip a switch, and watch it go. I can't wait to experiment with different types of rice - this was just a long white grain.
Here's the quick recipe for the Mock-Thai Stirfry that I threw on top of it. Customize to suit your needs. The ingredients are almost certainly already in your pantry, and if not you should be deeply ashamed for not having such wonderful things as lime juice or soy sauce. Ashamed, I say.
Mock-Thai Stirfry
(serves however many damned people you need it to)
Ingredients
Realize that I have fought the anti-rice cooker fight for well over a year now, probably much closer to two. It's a single use appliance, says I. How dare you suggest such a thing, begone with you else you should taste my wrath! Even though I've never enjoyed cooking rice I always fought with long tooth and sharp nail against a rice cooker, rebelling against such a simple unitasker.
Enter my practical streak mixed with my truly strong desire to eat rice on a more consistent basis. Oh, the dilemma. Oh, the internal struggles. Not even Poe had internal struggles like mine.
In the end, of course, practicality and laziness won out. And I can't honestly say that I'm displeased. It's not like I was using that counter space anyhow. It performed like a dream, and the rice wasn't even too dry after it had been finished cooking and warming for a little while. No watching, no worries. Pour it in, flip a switch, and watch it go. I can't wait to experiment with different types of rice - this was just a long white grain.
Here's the quick recipe for the Mock-Thai Stirfry that I threw on top of it. Customize to suit your needs. The ingredients are almost certainly already in your pantry, and if not you should be deeply ashamed for not having such wonderful things as lime juice or soy sauce. Ashamed, I say.
Mock-Thai Stirfry
(serves however many damned people you need it to)
Ingredients
- Mustard
- Soy sauce
- Lime juice (preferably fresh)
- Tofu, cubed (Cubed seitan would work, too.)
- Carrot, sliced
- Broccoli, chopped
- A small handful of flour (Preferably whole wheat. A few tablespoons should do it per 2 servings)
- Spices and herbs (I used tumeric, sweet basil, epazote, and cumin. Small amounts of everything, heavier on the tumeric and cumin. Just the lightest touch of epazote.)
- Cooked rice
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Candles in the Windows
It is rather appropriate that Mercury went direct just before we lit the fires for Imbolg. There's a sort of poetry in seeing things set right just at the beginning of spring. Imbolg is a time for true beginning, for the manifestation of impregnation.
Many pagans who celebrate the Sabbats from a Celtic perspective have already celebrated their spiritual New Year, myself included. At Samhain we die, and acknowledge that death as the beginning of a new cycle, as nothing can renew itself until it is ended. Personally, I prefer to think of the death at Samhain as "La Petite Mort", seeing as how a renewal of the spirit is often exhilarating and refreshing (much like the namesake of that particular French phrase).
Yet however exhilarating or refreshing a renewal of soul may be at Samhain, it is still a death and we are still stiff and still in the ground during the winter chill. Winter, from Samhain to Imbolg, is a season of thought and stillness. We review the past cycle and think on the new. Our magics stay primarily internal a quiescent, leaning more into the realm of preparation than that of actualization.
And then there's Imbolg, the beginning of spring. Imbolg is the light at the end of a very long, dark, and cold tunnel. It marks the beginning of the reign of the Bright Lady, the Dame, the Muse. It is when our eyes open and our hands flex, wordlessly longing to start some project that waited out the winter.
It is also the time when the coming year finally begins to construct itself. We can begin to enact the goals we may have set for ourselves in the winter. We also attempt more exacting divinations. Questions were asked during the winter, of course, but the answers all relate to an internal landscape. The self is closed and still beneath the ground at this point. It is difficult to look into the next plot. But just as the winter has us waiting in the soil, Spring has us blossoming. Once above the ground we are free to look around. Spring, like autumn, is a season of transition. Unlike autumn, of course, we're transitioning to life, not death. Beginning, not ending.
So we act. We divine. We look to the coming year. A lot of spellwork in this season is meant to illuminate a path. Spring may be here in spirit but the weather still says winter, and we need to find our way back to the warmth and the sun. A great deal of time was recently spent in the Underworld, where we looked at ourselves and took stock. Now we take our findings to the Upperworld to flesh out the details of our base desires.
Now we venture out of ourselves again and into the world. We join our friends and family in prayer to the Lord and Lady of Sun and of Fire, and we ask for their guidance.
It is often said that when we place a candle in the window at Imbolg we urge the Sun to return. I think, rather, that we are calling the Sun back to us, like an invitation to a lost lover. I think that by the end of the winter the Sun needs the candleflame, that dancing little point of light, to find a way back to us, just as we need the light to find our own paths out of the dark and cold.
Many pagans who celebrate the Sabbats from a Celtic perspective have already celebrated their spiritual New Year, myself included. At Samhain we die, and acknowledge that death as the beginning of a new cycle, as nothing can renew itself until it is ended. Personally, I prefer to think of the death at Samhain as "La Petite Mort", seeing as how a renewal of the spirit is often exhilarating and refreshing (much like the namesake of that particular French phrase).
Yet however exhilarating or refreshing a renewal of soul may be at Samhain, it is still a death and we are still stiff and still in the ground during the winter chill. Winter, from Samhain to Imbolg, is a season of thought and stillness. We review the past cycle and think on the new. Our magics stay primarily internal a quiescent, leaning more into the realm of preparation than that of actualization.
And then there's Imbolg, the beginning of spring. Imbolg is the light at the end of a very long, dark, and cold tunnel. It marks the beginning of the reign of the Bright Lady, the Dame, the Muse. It is when our eyes open and our hands flex, wordlessly longing to start some project that waited out the winter.
It is also the time when the coming year finally begins to construct itself. We can begin to enact the goals we may have set for ourselves in the winter. We also attempt more exacting divinations. Questions were asked during the winter, of course, but the answers all relate to an internal landscape. The self is closed and still beneath the ground at this point. It is difficult to look into the next plot. But just as the winter has us waiting in the soil, Spring has us blossoming. Once above the ground we are free to look around. Spring, like autumn, is a season of transition. Unlike autumn, of course, we're transitioning to life, not death. Beginning, not ending.
So we act. We divine. We look to the coming year. A lot of spellwork in this season is meant to illuminate a path. Spring may be here in spirit but the weather still says winter, and we need to find our way back to the warmth and the sun. A great deal of time was recently spent in the Underworld, where we looked at ourselves and took stock. Now we take our findings to the Upperworld to flesh out the details of our base desires.
Now we venture out of ourselves again and into the world. We join our friends and family in prayer to the Lord and Lady of Sun and of Fire, and we ask for their guidance.
It is often said that when we place a candle in the window at Imbolg we urge the Sun to return. I think, rather, that we are calling the Sun back to us, like an invitation to a lost lover. I think that by the end of the winter the Sun needs the candleflame, that dancing little point of light, to find a way back to us, just as we need the light to find our own paths out of the dark and cold.
Sun and Star that burns so bright,
Can you find your way by candlelight?
These dancing flames in my window burn
So that to me you might return.
Can you find your way by candlelight?
These dancing flames in my window burn
So that to me you might return.
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