Round the Herne

Various things have gone on of late, which I shan't bore you with, that have lead me to reflect a little on certain well known stories and the windows they provide onto human nature. The wonderful Danny Kaye gave the Ugly Duckling a whole new lease of life in his film 'Hans Christian Andersen'. The story is pretty self-explanatory as a tale about finding your own sense of worth and value, though it can also be read as a story about puberty and emergent sexuality ~ the shift from gosling to swan. The topic of self-esteem is rather a popular one these days, and certainly an awful lot of populist academia is based on the idea of low self-esteem being at the root of poor classroom achievement or disruptive behaviour (which doesn't quite gel with those very bright, gentle kids who have zero esteem but expend themselves in study rather than causing mayhem... and yes I speak from both personal and professional experience). Does disliking yourself prevent you from giving or

Today's educational event went pretty well, with glorious weather and a steady footfall of people coming along to say hello and make contact ~ some new pagans, some just curious. We also had our first negative snit (not bad for all the years we've been running) with some old trout with disastrous dental work wanting to know why we had a banner outside bearing the logo 'Ipswich Pagan Council'... erm, because this is a meeting of the Ipswich Pagan Council I tentatively responded (whilst wondering what other possible reason she thought we might have such a banner up for). To which she said, "So you're not Christian then?" This astounding insight confirmed, she said, "well you wont get to Heaven then", and spun on her heel and left... presumably with an air of smug satisfaction at her own dazzling riposte. That mini blip aside, everyone else was thoroughly nice and we had some good stories (the Greek tale of Priapos, and the Heathen story of the Gif

Not entirely sure about this one, but it popped into my head on a boring train journey, and I may read it on Saturday afternoon at the LGBT poetry event. I expect poor old Clive Staples will be turning in his grave. It's partly a reaction against the dispiriting tendency I've seen for people (particularly pagans, who should know better) to portray satyrs and even the All-Begetter himself as sexless eunuchs for fear of upsetting the casual observer. The Song of Mr Tumnus A hundred years of winter, So it felt. Once limber branches grow numb and splinter, Life frozen, unchanging; Jadis, solitary, the table cleaves Songless woods sepulchral stand, Leached of hope, fallen with the leaves, Veined skeletons spiralling into mulch. All that was once held so dear Decayed, dissipated. We few survivors, tired with fear. Would Aslan’s roar echo Promise throughout the world? No lion’s thunder stirred me; It was your greeting that unfurled. Softly s