Paganism Explored

Millennials and Gen Z are being told they will “own nothing and be happy,” trapped in a permanent cycle of rent and debt-slavery. We are working ourselves into an early grave, priced out of our own ancestral lands, while our women are shamed for wanting to be mothers. Meanwhile, the Haredi community operates outside the rules. They are exempt from military service and work, living off the public dole. They use the very tax money stolen from our paychecks—and exclusive, interest-free loans available only to them—to buy up the property we can no longer afford. While our men are shipped off to fight their war, our women are forced into the workforce and our children raised by the state, their men stay home and their population booms at our expense. We are not just losing our culture, we are losing our land, and we are being forced to pay for the theft. They are buying the future we are being denied at our expense and in our own homelands.

Universalist religions are a curse on the White race. Folk First! Everything else is secondary. @RedIceUncensored

Modern Ireland in a nutshell. Irish father who has already lost one son to genetic disease pleads with government for help to save his other son with the same disease to no avail. We all know it’s because he’s Irish. If the family were invaders they’d be put top of the list & given all the help they need. The government has a bottomless pit of money for invaders yet won’t help dying Irish children. This won’t stop till we make it stop.

This is a traditional medical herb today named after Mary but in pre-Christian times was named after Mara. This herb wards off Mara. Since it's medical properties are that of cleansing the liver I guess that the sleep paralysis and shady figures are hallucinations caused by liver flukes (the same disgusting little scumbags that cause diabetes). If you suffer from Mara attacks, you may try this as a tea, maybe mixed with some wormwood and tansy if the Mara won't go away. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silybum_marianum

I sometimes hate being a mother. And it’s not because I hate motherhood and certainly not becuse I regret my children. I hate the pain that comes attached to loving a human being this much. People love to romanticise the journey, but nobody talks about…

I sometimes hate being a mother. And it’s not because I hate motherhood and certainly not becuse I regret my children. I hate the pain that comes attached to loving a human being this much. People love to romanticise the journey, but nobody talks about the grief of the hallway. It’s a strange grief because nobody has died. They’re still standing in front of you. There are no funerals. You spend years pouring your identity, your energy and your soul into a person. You are the sanctuary, the steady hand, the absolute world for a tiny human. Then, one day, you blink. You look across the room, expecting the toddler who needs you to be the center of his universe, and you see a man instead. This transition is a slow, silent and violent unraveling. Our ancestors understood that life moved in cycles. Birth, growth, death and renewal. Winter taking what summer once held. The old giving way to the new. But knowing the cycle does not make surrendering to it painless. A mother lives through these little deaths repeatedly. There was a final night you carried them to bed. A final tiny hand slipped instinctively into yours. A final time they called for you in the darkness. You weren’t told it was the last. The wheel just turned, and maybe that is why motherhood can feel both sacred and merciless. You are the hearth they begin beside, but you cannot command them to remain beside its fire. Your task is to keep it burning while they are small, teach them how to carry fire of their own, and eventually watch them walk beyond its light. People call mothers clingy when they struggle with this and treat the sacred intensity of the maternal bond as a joke or a weakness. They laugh to distance themselves from the uncomfortable truth: motherhood is a sacred cycle of loss. So when the house grows quieter and another season turns, I understand why a mother sometimes looks backwards. She just remembers who once sat beside her fire, knowing that one day her work will be done, the hearth will fall silent, and the ashes will cool. And somewhere inside her, until that final ember dies, she always will.

We need Pagan creators to make Pagan movies and documentaries.

Before the Romans and the Anglo Saxons. The native Britons had gods of their own and one of them was Andraste. Andraste was a native Brittonic goddess associated with victory and warfare, and famously the goddess invoked by Boudicca during her revolt against Rome. Before battle, Boudicca is said to have released a hare from her clothing and watched the direction it ran. The omen was favourable. She then raised her hands and called upon Andraste. Her name is commonly interpreted along the lines of “the Invincible” or “the Unconquerable.” Another goddess named Andate, possibly another form of Andraste, was described as the Britons’ goddess of victory and was associated with a sacred grove. Andraste may have been like ancient England’s version of Ireland’s Morrigan, a female divinity standing close to warfare, victory and the fate of battle. But unlike the Morrigan, almost nothing of Andraste’s religious tradition survived.

The Irish once had a drinking vessel specifically designed to be passed around an entire gathering. It was called a meadar/ mether. Unlike an ordinary cup, the traditional meadar had four handles. This meant that as it travelled around a Gaelic feast, each person could easily take hold of it, drink, turn it and pass it to the next. The cup was passed around in a circuit, with each person partaking before sending it on. Accounts of the custom describe the drinker leaving enough for the meadar to continue its journey rather than emptying it before it reached the end. The design encouraged exactly what the feast demanded--participation. You drank, but you also left something for the person after you. Feasting in Gaelic society wasn’t all about getting drunk. It was also tied to hospitality, status, alliances, ensuring no one is left out and the bonds between those gathered around the same table. Even the cup was designed with that in mind.

This ancient Greek lion statue has runes carved into it. The Piraeus Lion dates to around the 4th century BC and originally stood in the harbour of Athens. Over a thousand years later, Norsemen arrived in the Byzantine Empire. Many Scandinavians travelled south through Eastern Europe to Constantinople, where they traded, fought and served the Byzantine emperors as Varangian warriors (Norse mercenaries and elite guards employed by the Byzantine emperors). Around the 11th century, some of these Norsemen reached Piraeus and carved runic inscriptions directly into the ancient Greek statue that was already more than a thousand years old. The lion was taken by Venice in 1687 and remains there today.

https://x.com/reasonablevril/status/2085753044780920952