Here is an interview with pagan author Margot Adler at the Pagan Spirit Gathering in Illinois 2012 as shared by Damh the Bard in tribute to her in honour of her passing. This was broadcast in DruidCast 65 but here he shares the interview in full, without the bells and whistles of the podcast episode, so we can hear the kind of woman she was. <3
We are very sorry to hear of the passing of Margot Adler, she was 68 years old. Adler was an American author, journalist, lecturer, Wiccan priestess and radio journalist and New York correspondent for National Public Radio (NPR). Her grandfather, Alfred Adler, was a noted Austrian Jewish psychotherapist, collaborator with Sigmund Freud and the founder of the school of individual psychology.
Reporter Margot Adler’s mellifluous voice has been heard on National Public Radio for 35 years, where she covered everything from budget cuts in education to the arts to Occupy Wall Street. She died yesterday at the age of 68, after battling cancer for three-and-a-half years.In addition to being a brilliant reporter, she had another life as a leader in the Pagan community, and was a Wiccan priestess. She was a guest on the show in 1989, and she spoke with Leonard about witches.
Margot Adler, an iconic NPR correspondent and Wiccan priestess, died on Monday July 28 from endometrial cancer at the age of 68. Born on April 16, 1946, Adler began working with NPR as a general assignment reporter in 1979. She reported on topics …
“We are not evil. We don’t harm or seduce people. We are not dangerous. We are ordinary people like you. We have families, jobs, hopes, and dreams. We are not a cult. This religion is not a joke. We are not what you think we are from looking at T.V. We are real. We laugh, we cry. We are serious. We have a sense of humor. You don’t have to be afraid of us. We don’t want to convert you. And please don’t try to convert us. Just give us the same right we give you—to live in peace. We are much more similar to you than you think.” ― Margot Adler
margot adler died — an important journalist, pagan leader, essayist, radical feminist, goddess advocate, anthropologist, and scholarly writer — and we diminish for a moment. Come back to us. Be within us.
"It’s two a.m. The emergency room psychiatrist looks up from his clipboard with eyes paid to care and asks me if I see people who aren’t really there. I say, “I see people how the hell am I supposed to know if they’re real or not?” He doesn’t laugh neither do I. The math’s not on my side ten…
I joined a poetry forum in an attempt to poke me into writing more and get some critical judgement. The forum seems to be mostly 17 year olds that use poetry as a soapbox of “I NEED TO TELL MY FEELS!!!” which has caused me to react in a number of ways.
Terrible Love Poetry
You left me that night I drunkenly called you a whore. Our arguments were pyrotechnic by then and escalated to grease fires, slippery showers, home invasions.
I remember the night we ate psychotropics under magnolia trees to watch blooms wave and burst like campfire embers. Visions of you, a deity among the stars, called me along the trail like a pilgrim into your hands - cupped hands - as if an oyster was gathering sand.
There are times I still wake up caught in the muscle memory of one arm upon your abdomen while the other rests in the space between a pillow, your neck, the mattress.
“There’s a very deep strain of existential gratitude that runs through a lot of poetry. It’s certainly in haiku. Almost every haiku says the same thing: it’s amazing to be alive here. There’s a little haiku: ‘A cherry tree in blossom / In the distance / I hear a dog barking.’ Those two things have nothing to do with each other, except the fact that the poet was there to see and hear them. So the haiku is saying, I was here. ‘Kilroy was here.’ To appreciate the wonder of that, you have to imagine the absence of that, of not being there, of nonexistence, right? I consider poets to be a part of a larger group of people who don’t have to survive major surgery or go through a windshield in order to feel grateful for being alive. It shouldn’t require such traumatic experiences to feel grateful. So I think a love of language and a sense of gratitude would be two ingredients in the recipe for making a poet.”