West Coast Connections
(1972–1973)
Oh we’re nifty and keen, our religion is green
And we’re proud of our planet up in space! (Up in space!)
And you won’t see us grovel ’cause we’re from a sci-fi novel,
We’re the Galloping Garrulous Grok-Flock in your face!
—from “the galloping garrulous grok-flock”
by adam walks-between-worlds
NARRATOR: The year 1972 was the tenth anniversary of Tim Zell and Lance Christie sharing water for the first time, and there was a lot to celebrate. Green Egg’s circulation was increasing and reaching people around the globe. Tim Zell continued to host the clothing-optional collating parties (eight times a year) and weekly Nest meetings at his house.
And new members continued to join to the Church. Bryan Zell, who may have been the first child to be raised within a modern Pagan family, by then had other Pagan kids to interact with. And some of the new people had homes with big backyards where the CAW began holding seasonal festivals.
DON WILDGRUBE: Our festivals lasted way into the night, and most people stayed all night and crashed in various spots around the house. In the morning, Jodie would fix pancakes for all of us. One Sunday morning, we were sitting on the floor around a very low table, and since the festival the night before, none of us had any clothes on. We were hidden by the low table. There was a knock on the door. Jodie answered it wearing an apron (and nothing else). A few Jehovah’s Witnesses came in and started preaching to us. Soon Jodie came in with more pancakes and bent over to serve them. Her bare butt was facing them, and just about that time Tim got up to discuss things more. They looked at Tim’s naked body, looked back at Jodie and then the rest of us, and decided that good Christians should not be there and beat a hasty retreat!
NARRATOR: Two of the new, early-’70s members were Michael Hurley and Carolyn Clark. Michael had been a college student at Illinois State University, where he learned about the CAW from a Green Egg subscriber who lived in his dorm. Carolyn Clark was a St. Louis nurse. Both of them would go on to become very involved in the Church.
OZ: In the summer of 1972, Michael Hurley was living with us—we always had people staying with us. In late July, Jodie and I went away for a few days, leaving Michael to take care of our animals. At this time Histah was seven feet long, and she lived in the house and wandered around where she wanted to. When we came back home, Histah was missing. Michael had taken her out for a slither in our peach tree, which I used to do with her often, and had forgotten to bring her back in for the evening. I couldn’t find her anywhere. I slept in the backyard at night and tried to dream-fast with her, but it didn’t work. After several weeks I gave up.
CAROLYN CLARK: I had met Tim at the first Earth Day in April of 1970. It was his snake, Histah, that first got my attention. Tim was in a long white robe, and he had the most magnificent snake I had ever seen. So I walked over and started talking to him. Later there was a little article in the newspaper when the snake was missing. So I called Tim and said I hoped that Histah returned safely. He invited me over to his house to hang out. We talked and then he invited me to their next festival—which in Wicca would have been called a Sabbat. I found out later that that was their way of screening people. They would first talk to them for a couple of hours, and then if that went well, invite them to a festival. And if that went well, they were invited to the weekly Nest meetings.
At the time I joined, the Church had never ordained a Priestess. So I studied, and after a year I became the first—ordained at Beltane of 1973. I took on the duties of Priestess and found a real purpose in life.
NARRATOR: After ten years of spiritual exploration, Tim Zell and his fellow members of the Church of All Worlds had absorbed many influences. The elements of what are commonly used in ritual today were being experimented with (including the Elements!), but there was still much that was free-form and unstructured. They were open to new possibilities: a typical Nest meeting was never very typical, and they continued to follow no leader or set path. The CAW had an extensive recommended reading list that included history, science, science fiction, philosophy, and mythology, but it did not have a guidebook or instructions on how to be an orthodox Pagan.
As the Church grew older, so did its members. There were those who were committed to what was going on, but since no one had ever done anything like the CAW before, it wasn’t clear where it was heading and who would stay with it. Many Pagans who had been college students in the ’60s were becoming more involved with careers and other responsibilities. The revolution that some had anticipated hadn’t happened and didn’t seem likely to happen, and Richard Milhous Nixon, the symbol of everything Hippies hated, was re-elected by a landslide.
And in 1972, Tim Zell turned thirty. Jack Weinberg, a leader of the Free Speech Movement at UC Berkeley, had once warned to “never trust anyone over thirty,” but when Tim reached that ripe old age, he found himself in the unexpected position of being a tribal elder.
OZ: I have never wanted to join a cult, so I certainly didn’t want to create one! I have never understood their appeal to so many people—especially in the ’60s. I have always been profoundly suspicious of gurus and cult leaders, finding the entire concept deeply distasteful. It seemed the antithesis of the CAW’s “Thou art God/dess” principle of immanent divinity.
NARRATOR: For Tim there was no turning back. He lived in the temple, and when the rituals and parties were over, he didn’t go home and return to his normal life because the Church was his normal life. He was the one who had to clean up after the party, and then get everything ready for the next one. Tim kept editing and paying for Green Egg, where he made more connections and continued to learn what Pagan groups were doing in other cities. And with that information he began planning his next Pagan road trip—this time to the West Coast.
OZ: The 1972 World Science Fiction Convention was to be held in Los Angeles, and we spent months getting ready to go there. Since my previous VW camper had been wrecked the year before, I bought a 1968 Volkswagen van and spent the weeks before the trip building camper components into it. I was in the front yard one day, cutting wood for the project, and I suddenly felt Histah in my mind. I dropped my tools, ran around to the side of the house, pulled away the big sheets of plywood that were leaning against it, and there she was. I picked her up, wrapped her around my shoulders, and I must have been floating a foot above the ground as I carried her into the house.
But as I uncoiled her I saw that she had a serious wound in her side. I took her to the vet, and he cleansed the wound and sewed it up, and gave her antibiotics, but he couldn’t do anything more. She wouldn’t eat, and she got thinner and thinner. She sustained for some time, but she never got better.
I finished converting the camper, and we hit the road, arriving in Los Angeles on August 29, where we settled in at Lance Christie’s house. Harold Moss and Donald Harrison of the Church of the Eternal Source came by, along with Michael Kinghorn of the Delphic Fellowship. We spent a long evening discussing the Council of Themis and the various problems therein. A year or two after the Council had been started, Poke Runyon from the Order of the Temple of Astarte got the notion of appointing himself and Fred Adams as directors. I was not part of that deliberation at all, and I thought I should have some say. But Poke did not feel that the Church of All Worlds was a legitimate Pagan religion because we were based on science fiction instead of something ancient. He dismissed CAW as a “science-fiction grok-flock,” a term we delightedly took to heart, henceforth often referring to ourselves as “the Galloping Garrulous Grok-Flock.”
I was trying to build an inclusive coalition, but their idea was that only people they approved of should be a part of it. This was one of my first experiences of being cut out of something that I had founded.
NARRATOR: Tim Zell and his van full of Pagans arrived safely at the World Science Fiction Convention in Los Angeles, and I (your narrator, John C. Sulak) was there, too. I was, in fact, at most of the same early sci-fi cons that OZ was at—starting at St. Louiscon in 1969. Unlike the big conventions of that sort today, those gatherings didn’t attract a lot of people or get much attention from the media. All the attendees and activities could easily fit into one hotel, and anyone walking by the building would have no idea what was going on inside. So this made it easy for people from different cities and states to have a centrally located place where they could all arrange to safely meet. It was also a fairly cheap vacation—the convention committee would book a block of rooms ahead of time so that anyone attending could reserve one at a discounted rate. They could then split the cost with friends who would crash on floor in the room with them for the weekend. Most of the people didn’t spend much time in the room anyway, since there were activities that went on round-the-clock, like rarely screened movies being shown, parties, workshops, lectures, discussion groups, a dealer’s room, games, autograph sessions with authors, and of course the hotel swimming pool.
Science-fiction fans in general were not Pagan, but a lot of them were pretty freaky in their own way. They generally didn’t fit into mainstream culture or have much of a social life outside of “fandom,” so they were tolerant of other outsiders. (Anyone who wasn’t a part of their community was called a “Mundane,” a term that was picked up by Pagans and is still in common use today. In this context it’s synonymous with referring to someone as a “muggle.”) And going to a convention was their big yearly chance to cut loose and party, so no one seemed to mind, or even notice, the Pagans.
Science-fiction conventions were also worth a cross-country drive for anyone who enjoyed the art and craft of costuming. Tim Zell had been making his own costumes since he was child. Unfortunately for him, when he reached adulthood, Hallowe’en was still considered to be just for children—unlike now, when it’s a very popular time for adults to get dressed up (and spend lots of money doing it). Sci-fi fans, on the other hand, have always created their own reality when they got together, and appreciated creativity and imagination. So going to a con was a chance for Tim to strut his stuff somewhere else besides a Pagan ritual.
OZ: Saturday we finally made it over to LAcon ’72—the 30th World Science Fiction Convention. Bryan spent most of the day in the pool and kept asking when he could go skinny-dipping. That evening we went to the masquerade. When Jodie and I stepped onto the stage, painted blue and garbed in the Priestly vestments of an authentic portrayal of Cerridwen and Cernunnos, the Goddess and Horned God of Celtic lore, we were greeted with a thunderous applause. Histah, who was draped around the forked stang I carried, really got off on the good vibes, and scanned the audience. Jodie carried a dry-ice smoking cauldron, out of which she lifted a human skull. At that moment, you could have heard a pin drop. We had several hours of suspenseful waiting for the judging, during which we were photographed constantly, until one by one the names of the winners were announced.
Finally the stage was full; all the best costumes had been awarded prizes, and we had not been mentioned. Just as we were consoling ourselves that our costumes were probably too esoteric, came the final announcement: “. . . and for Best of Show—Tim and Jodie Zell as Cernunnos and Cerridwen!”
One of the judges was Alison Harlow. Afterwards she came up to us and introduced herself and lots of other Pagans. Some of them we had already corresponded with, like neo-Druid Priest Isaac Bonewits, and others we didn’t know. It really brought us into connection, in a major way, with many of the movers and shakers in the California Pagan community.
Alison and Isaac invited us to come up north to the Bay Area. When we got there, Alison threw a big party for us at her place. That’s where we met Gwydion Pendderwen. Alison and Gwydion were living together in this big house in Oakland, called Caedderwen. They were both involved in the Society for Creative Anachronism and the Renaissance Faire crowd that eventually grew out of it.
NARRATOR: Gwydion was the Bard of his Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) Kingdom. The SCA had been started just six years earlier as a medieval sword-and-shield tournament in the Berkeley backyard of Heathen writer Diana Paxson (then a UC graduate student). It didn’t take long to expand from the backyard to the rest of the country. It currently has nineteen kingdoms, where people work together to re-create the Middle Ages “as they should have been, not as they were.” Their biggest yearly gathering attracts over 10,000 to a site in western Pennsylvania.
From the beginning the SCA has always been a safe haven for Pagans. One of the original founders in Berkeley was Marion Zimmer Bradley, who would go on to also become friends with the Zells, and to write Mists of Avalon, a fantasy novel set in the same time and place that the SCA role-plays in. The premise of Mists is that the Earth Goddess is real and Goddess worship still existed in Europe up until the time of King Arthur. Though it’s never been official, that kind of medieval Paganism could always be found at SCA gatherings for those who cared to look for it. That’s what Gwydion Pendderwen would sing about at night while everyone was drinking mead after a long day of chivalry and combat.
Tim Zell was quick to grok what they doing—it was a group of people who liked to get dressed in costumes and then stay in them for a whole weekend at a time as they acted out their fantasies.
OZ: So that was another community we were weaving into the mix. We became fast friends and lovers with various people in that group. We deeply shared the same vision of Paganism being a community, a tribal kind of a thing, and living on the land. Alison and Gwydion took us up to Greenfield Ranch in Mendocino County, which was just in the process of being acquired at that time.
ALISON HARLOW: In the mid-1970s I was looking for a secluded place in the country to have Pagan gatherings and so forth, where we could be skyclad in the woods and celebrate close to Nature. I wasn’t looking for a place to live.
I heard about Greenfield Ranch—5,600 acres of beautiful land in Mendocino County that was once a working cattle ranch. We knew the man who was putting the real estate deal together—he had done something similar before. Basically he would take out an option for some land, and then he would create communities by finding ecologically minded people to buy parcels of it.
At the time I was living in Oakland with Gwydion Pendderwen and his wife. Gwydion and I went up to look at Greenfield Ranch, and we both just fell in love with it. I wound up buying a 220-acre parcel.
NARRATOR: Gwydion was the “craft-son” of an East Bay resident named Victor Anderson, who was the founder of a version of Shamanic Witchcraft. Gwydion named this the Feri tradition, wrote rituals and poetry for it, and generally helped popularize the tradition; Alison Harlow was an initiated Feri Witch. At that time little was publicly know about Feri—there was nothing published about it, and initiations were done privately. Though the teachings differed in style from Gardnerian Wicca, both traditions were kept “underground” in the ways they were transmitted. Victor Anderson and Gerald Gardner were both charismatic, clever older men who enjoyed training and initiating younger women. (Gwydion was a younger man who also really enjoyed the company of women, and there were plenty of women who enjoyed his.) And they all were into the Goddess, sex, and Magick.
By that point Tim had met lots of people who claimed to have some degree of initiation in a tradition, and he respected them all. He had no reason to consider any one form of Paganism as being more important than anything else that was happening at the time—his visions of the future had always included having a lot of different options to choose from. But the Feri Witchcraft that started in California, like Gardnerian Wicca from England, both of which were intentionally mysterious and difficult to get involved with, would become extremely significant and widespread by the end of the decade. Curiously, no psychics, Tarot readers, or other practitioners of divination at the time could see it coming. And when Tim and the gang got in the van and drove home, they had other things on their minds.
OZ: I continued trying to get Histah healed. I tried to stay in constant contact with her. We were psychically bonded—she was the most intense familiar relationship I have ever had. On October 17, at 2:30 p.m., I was sitting at work and suddenly I just felt her presence. It was like we were connected, and then suddenly she dropped the other end of it. She dropped her body and was snapped into being in me. I completely felt this. I called home and told Jodie, “Histah just died.”
And she said, “No, she’s fine. I just saw her in the bathroom.” I told her to go take another look. I waited. She came back and she said, “You’re right. How did you know?”
And I replied, “Because she’s now in me.” That was a powerful experience. Ever since then I have felt that inside me is the soul of a serpent. And in the language of J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter novels, I became a “parseltongue,” able to communicate with snakes ever since.
In February of 1973, Jodie turned twenty-one. She wanted to get some independence because she had moved into my house straight from her parents’ home, with only a brief stint at college. So she moved out. That was quite a big thing for me. This was the first time in my entire life that I had lived alone. I felt strongly that Jodie was my soulmate. She was completing her work for ordination and getting right to the edge of becoming a Priestess. But we also had a fairly tumultuous relationship.
I didn’t quite know what to do. I wasn’t used to not having someone to share my life, bed, meals, conversations, and everything. There were a few people in the community whom I had lover/friend relationships with. That was all very nice, and it helped me get through it. But having someone you can spend the night with isn’t the same as having a companion.
One day I went down to the co-op to buy some groceries, and this woman, Kay Brush, came up to me. I’d never met her before. We got into a conversation that somehow revealed that I was alone at the moment, so she invited me over for dinner. I ended up spending the night. At that time I was extremely susceptible and vulnerable. Within a week or so of our meeting, she moved into my house. It wasn’t like we planned it exactly. She took the initiative and I didn’t say no.
But then it got kind of weird. She borrowed my credit card, which seemed reasonable at the time. I didn’t realized until a month later when I got the bill that she was racking up quite a lot of expenses. It got to be pretty intense. After a month or so she moved out again, but we still continued to date.
Jodie then told me that she’d had enough time on her own and would like to move back in. I said I wasn’t quite ready for that yet, which was really stupid of me. I don’t know if it was my wounded pride or what. I should have said, “Boy, am I glad to have you back! I really missed you.” But I didn’t. Idiot.
All this led up to Beltane of 1973, when we had probably the most amazingly intense erotic celebration that we had ever had. It was instigated by an astonishingly gorgeous Yemeni belly dancer who did a topless dance for us at the Beltane ritual. Somehow the intensity of the evening precipitated an amazing sexual experience all the way around. It wasn’t specifically with her. There were people all over the place feeling aroused and getting it on. This was the evening that went way out there.
DON WILDGRUBE: Two people at the Beltane festival had a contest to see how many people they could screw. The next thing you know, about ten or twelve of us came down with trichomoniasis. At that time, there was a lady named Bobby who was a nurse, and she went to the free clinic, and when the doctor told her what it was, he asked, “How many people were infected?”
CAROLYN CLARK: When she said twenty-three, he said, “That must have been one helluva party.”
DON WILDGRUBE: He wrote prescriptions for all of us. So everyone was on Flagyl tablets. It eats up all the yeast. Girls had to take two pills a day, and the guys one pill a day for ten days.
OZ: However, we didn’t get the rap about the side effects: an incredible increase in irritability, anxiety, paranoia, and general bad attitudes. Within a fairly short time of everybody taking this stuff, in this very tight, intense community, people started to go nuts. They were going off the wall with accusations, hostilities, jealousies, and weird stuff like that.
In late May we had a Nest meeting that went all awry. It started reasonably enough. Someone suggested that we had to tighten up our boundaries about who we were having sex with and maybe stick with our own Nest mates. Someone said, “I wouldn’t want to sleep with anyone who wasn’t a water-brother.” And then Jodie, who was at this meeting, said, “I wouldn’t want to sleep with anyone who was sleeping with Kay Brush.”
I was sitting over in the opposite corner across from her, with Kay Brush sitting next to me. In one single movement I rose up from the couch, swept across the room, and backhanded Jodie across the face. Even thinking about it now, it seems utterly unconceivable that I would have ever done such a thing. But I did. It was devastating. We rushed Jodie to the hospital, where it was determined that I had broken her nose.
DON WILDGRUBE: Well, weeks later I happened to be doing some floor work in a hospital, and at lunchtime I was behind the nurse’s station, and I got out the Physician’s Desk Reference, a big, thick book that gives you the breakdown of various medications. And I looked up Flagyl. And there is a long list of side effects. And that’s when I realized what had happened to Tim. He’s a pacifist. When we were all taking Flagyl we were always at each other’s throats, always arguing, always fighting.
CAROLYN CLARK: That was why he hit her. He was angry with her, and under ordinary circumstances it would have stopped with raised voices. Immediately afterwards he was horrified, ashamed, and broken up that he had actually become violent towards anyone, especially Jodie.
OZ: So, there I was. It was the summer of 1973, and I’d lost the woman I’d expected to be with forever. I’d blown any chance of getting her back, and I had no one to blame but myself. I’d heard about the Rainbow Family gathering, which that year was being held in Wyoming on the Fourth of July. And I decided that what I needed to do was go walkabout and find myself.
I realized that up until that point in my life, I had taken everyone around me for granted and focused on my own mission and desires. I really got a chance to see that a bit more objectively, and I felt like an ass. If I had just paid a little more attention to what it was that other people needed or wanted, things could have been very different. The fact that they went along with it was all I needed. I just automatically made all the decisions and presumed that it was all up to me. I got perspective on this and felt terrible.
I realized that one of the things that Jodie had hated the whole time she had been living with me was that the living room had been painted black and that I had day-glo stars and planets all over the walls. So the first thing I did when I got back from the trip was repaint the whole place white. I threw away all of my black clothes, which is mostly what I’d been wearing since the Beatnik days. I started wearing more white and light colors. I looked at the images I surrounded myself with, the music I listened to—I spent the rest of the summer going through my life and tried to turn around everything that I could.
I had to accept that there was no way that anything I did was going to get Jodie to come back to me. But I still fantasized and hoped that it might happen—it was too little, too late, but it did change me. There had been something built into me from the time I was a kid and had to deal with bullies. I didn’t want that to be there at all. I had to abandon the whole concept of being a powerful, alpha-male, dominant figure.
During the last couple of years, my writings on TheaGenesis had been spreading throughout the community. It became a unifying mythology. As Joseph Campbell said, “The only myth that is going to be worth talking about in the immediate future is one that is talking about the planet.” My articles from Green Egg, which I had expanded forth from the initial idea, had been reprinted in other places. Llewellyn Publications reprinted one in their publication Gnostica News. And they also invited me to come and do presentations as a keynote speaker at the Gnostic Aquarian Festival in Minneapolis that was to occur on the Fall Equinox weekend of 1973. This was a big deal for me—my first major public-speaking gig. A bunch of people wanted to come along, so we made plans to have a CAW table there.
Just before we left, we had our Mabon celebration. Carolyn Clark, being our high Priestess, conducted the ritual. She asked everybody to write down on a piece of paper what they would like to harvest for the year. We each had to think about what seeds we had sown, and what we would like to receive as our reward.
CAROLYN CLARK: During the time that I was active, I wrote and conducted many rituals—it was like being the conductor of an orchestra. I wrote them so that other people would be pulled into the action and not be spectators. That Mabon ritual was the first one I had done that involved that kind of requesting the Goddess through writing down our petitions and burning them.
OZ: I got my paper and pen, and I started to write down, “Let me be reunited with Jodie . . .” But something stayed my hand, and instead I wrote, “Let me be united with my true soulmate.” I was shifting my thinking from my directing how I wanted things to be, to trusting the Goddess to know what was best for me.
That went into the cauldron, and I didn’t really think about it much more because then we were on our way. We packed up a van full of people and headed up to Minneapolis. When we got there, we looked around and realized that it was not a gathering of our kind of people at all. They were into astrology, Tarot, crystals, reincarnation, and other New-Agey kind of stuff, but they weren’t really Pagans in the religious or cultural sense.
Well, the other occasion for this was that Llewellyn’s owner, Carl Weschcke, decided that they would also be having a gathering of Witches. So a lot of big-name people in the Witchy world had been invited. They had just gotten Isaac Bonewits on the staff of Gnostica News as their editor, so he was there. And they had brought in people like Ray Buckland and Margot Adler. The ulterior agenda for all this was to introduce a woman named “Lady Sheba.” She had put together a grimoire, which, it later turned out, was essentially the Gardnerian Book of Shadows slightly altered. She was going to be presented to us as the new Witch Queen of America. Needless to say, that didn’t go over very well among a bunch of radical anarcho-Pagans who had no use for British-style royalty!
NARRATOR: Although she was never recognized as royalty, Lady Sheba’s book went on to become quite influential. She didn’t claim to have written the book herself, and that was indeed true. The source of it was eventually traced to an Alexandrian Book of Shadows, and a lot of people got really angry because those kinds of things were supposed to be kept secret.
But, as they say, the cat was out of the bag. After that, it wasn’t a secret anymore! Even though there were errors in it, Lady Sheba’s book was still a source for all kinds of information about Witchcraft and rituals that was available to anyone who wanted to become a Witch or to do Witchcraft and Magick that worked. And that’s just what a lot of folks began to do.
OZ: While we were getting our table set up in the lobby, I looked around, and coming in through the door I saw a gorgeous Hippie woman dressed in a flowing, beautiful San Francisco Gold Rush dress, all purples and lavenders, with creamy lace and long, frilly sleeves. She had long, dark hair and huge deer eyes and incredible breasts. That was more along the lines of what we had been hoping to find!
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to talk to her, because right at that time I was being hauled away to do interviews, and then I had workshops and a lunch engagement with a reporter from Playboy lined up. When I came back, Orion was telling me, “Oh, man, you have got to meet this woman! You and she have so many things in common.” But by then she was gone. This kind of thing kept happening. She would come by the table when I was gone, and people would tell her about me. And then I’d come back, and people would tell me about her.
This went back and forth until finally I came back to the table and she was there, and we talked for a few minutes. We didn’t have a chance to do much because I was just there to pick up some copies of Green Egg and head down to do the first of my TheaGenesis presentations. I told her I had to leave and she said, “Can I walk with you?”
I said, “Okay, but I’ve got to go do this workshop.”
And she said, “Where is it?”
And I said, “It’s downstairs.”
She said, “I’m going downstairs to a workshop, too, so I’ll just go with you.”
So we walked and continued talking. When we got down to the room, I walked up to the front and set the box of magazines down on the table. She sat down in the front row, and that was the first time she realized that I was actually the speaker at the workshop she was going to.
There was a whole room full of people, including Robert Anton Wilson. I presented my “TheaGenesis” paper. And at the end of the presentation, they all came rushing up to talk to me. And this girl was at the head of the line. She said, “We have to talk.”
And I said, “Right.” I grabbed her hand and just walked out of that room, leaving everyone else standing there watching us go.
I took her upstairs to a secluded bench behind some potted plants, and we sat down next together. As we turned to look at each other face to face, suddenly, for both of us, the whole rest of the world just disappeared. For me, there was nothing else except her eyes, and I fell into them like diving into a deep pool. I felt we were completely and telepathically bonded, as if our souls had merged. It was love at first sight, but beyond anything that you read about. I heard the voice of the Goddess in the back of my head saying, “This is the one you asked for.”
Her name was Morning Glory.