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Mythologically, the Horned God is both the son and the consort of the Goddess.

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The Horned God has both light and dark aspects, which are perpetually at war with each other for the favor of the capricious Goddess. The Dying and Reviving God.

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Lost and looking for a different guidance. Born and raised catholic but never really was true to it. Just saw it like a flock of followers and no divinity. You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Google account. You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account.

Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. Share this: Twitter Facebook. Like this: Like Loading Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Email required Address never made public. Cosmopolitan was too saucy for our household, though mom had one stashed away in a drawer. Dad had a copy of The Sensual Man hidden under the bed, which was about half as useful as Redbook.

The best advice it gave was practice your tongue by rolling around a grape in your mouth. It might not have helped with technique, but it did get you to eat fruit, which is always good advice. To learn what you were doing, you had to learn the other person.

Pan (god) - Wikipedia

That was amazing. Having very few preconceptions about what sex was to most people, what we did was purely instinctual and natural. So nature seemed to be the natural setting for that. Cave Hill hill rises to an elevation of between and feet. The trees are old, towering overhead and in a thick green canopy, with shafts of light raining down on you.

It was also seldom visited at the time.

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But in May it can be very wet, and without some way of finding your way out, you could only go into the first one or two passages. We set off for bluffs at the top instead. I assume we made it, likely had a lovely hike. It was a few decades ago, and I think it involved marijuana, so my memories are faint.

Except for the memory of rolling around there on the mossy floor of the forest, which felt like the softest carpet imaginable. Pan is one of the most ancient gods. Pan is a rustic god, wild and uncivilized, but also one of the gods that give us music. Not the delicate music of the lyre though, but the wild folk music, music designed not just to make you dance, but to lose yourself in the dance.

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Only two temples dedicated to Pan have been discovered, one in the southwestern Peloponnese, now in ruins and in ancient Egypt at Apollonopolis Magna. For Pan was the god of the lonely, those living in the wilds, in the hinterlands away from civilization. You worshipped Pan where you found him, where he lived — in caves, in the forest, in the wild places. The country was where magic happened, where there were things unknown in the woods and in the night. Pan is half man, half goat. The bottom half is the essential bit of this story.

The mating habits and generally horniness of goats are legendary. The male goat will urinate on his face, beard and neck, a scent humans find foul but makes a doe swoon. If so the ritual begins. When the male goat reaches fruition, he throws his head back and curls his lips. Other goats in the area watching can also go into heat, and it can turn into a goat orgy on occasion. The courtship is just as essential as the act itself. He found us that afternoon on Cave Hill and directed our dance. Country graveyards are the best, remote and almost always nobody there. You were surrounded by nature, the sights, the sounds, the smells.

You were a part of what was going on, and to the creatures that stirred in those woods, no different than seeing two deers going at it. You can find Pan everywhere in nature, on the shores of a river, on the banks of a lake, in the meadows and forests.

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Curiously, we found him behind the statue of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn in Hannibal, Missouri, in shadows that were surprisingly dark. A country chapel on a wooded hill, with saints and angels looking down upon us. I was banking on the wedding ring to make it alright in his eyes. I think Jesus would stand up for me on that one. Alastair Crowley sought it in depravity. But what they preached required ritual, planning and rules, which okay, can be fun on occasion. Interest in Pan started growing in the late seventeenth century, and within a hundred years Pan had become a central character in the Romantic era.

But the freedom in his story, the sexuality, the wildness within him is perhaps best personified by a writer whose work went unnoticed till the twentieth century, the Marquis de Sade.

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Echo refused all men, which angered Pan so much he encouraged his followers to tear her to pieces and scatter the bits across the earth. In comparison, perhaps the Marquis is nearly tame. If you strip away the violence of Sade, which yes, is hard, you find a writer extolling the need for humans to get back to their basic self, before we became quite so civilized and so oppressed. He was promoting freedom through sexuality and imagination, and in what he wrote, he predated Freud by a hundred years.

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He also expresses a rather surprising feminist viewpoint when taken as a whole. Written on small bits of paper and glued together to form a long scroll so he could hide it in the walls of his cell, the writing is so small that one needs a magnifying glass to read it, and is now kept in a velvet lined, wooden box. The imagination is the spur of delights… all depends upon it, it is the mainspring of everything; now, is it not by means of the imagination one knows joy?

Is it not of the imagination that the sharpest pleasures arise? My view was blocked by her and I thought it truly was one of those transcendent moments, because as she found her release she literally lit up in silhouette, her aura filling the whole car with white light. So we grow older and more tame. A house is more convenient, and there is less danger of being busted for indecent exposure.

Yet along with the connection to nature, the sense of danger is removed.