In 2024, a set of claims began circulating online about an alleged historical American tri-racial tribe calling themselves “Qarsherskiyan…
d e v o n

blake kathryn
Doug Jones

ellievsbear
KIROKAZE
No title available

No title available
hello vonnie

Love Begins

gracie abrams

roma★
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
official daine visual archive
Not today Justin

Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
Misplaced Lens Cap
Today's Document
🪼
cherry valley forever

@theartofmadeline

seen from Singapore
seen from Algeria
seen from Mexico
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from Canada
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Netherlands

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Spain
seen from Russia

seen from Singapore
seen from Denmark
seen from Iraq
@littlecornblossom
In 2024, a set of claims began circulating online about an alleged historical American tri-racial tribe calling themselves “Qarsherskiyan…
I don't know how to access or respond to messages on this app. I'm not ignoring anyone. Hang tight, I will figure it out.
Melungeon Lullaby in the old Melungeon tongue, Creekish.
English translation:
Ah oh-way, oh-way oh-wah
Ah oh-way oh-wah
Ah oh-way, oh-way oh-wah
Ah oh-way oh-wah
Quiet now, beneath the moon.
Grandmother softly sings
Carrying you until sunrise
Ah oh-way oh-wah
I can’t seem to figure out what I just encountered tonight and I think I might be out of my mind. For some back story, sometimes when I can’t sleep I go sit out back at the family graveyard. I know it’s not like this everywhere, but here in Tennessee you’re allowed to bury your family right on your property. My family has owned this land for generations and there are 2 family cemeteries here. One that is more recent, the one where I usually hang out, it is well maintained and all the graves have nicely upkept grave houses and one that is much older, a few hundred feet behind the newer one, the grave houses have mostly rotted away and the tombstones have faded to a point where they cannot be read anymore, it’s separated from the other cemetery by a row of trees. I don’t keep that one up as much because I don’t really know who’s in those graves and they’re so old and dilapidated it would be a lot of time and money I don’t have to restore them. Anyways, while I was out at the new cemetery I heard crying coming from the old one. It sounded like a man, and like a very real man, not faint or ghastly at all. Peaking through the tree line I couldn’t see much but I saw a glowing light like maybe that of a candle. There shouldn’t be any other people in this lot, its private property so I am a little put off, but I’m not the only descendant of the people buried there, maybe he is older, maybe he knew them. I always carry the old pistol my papaw gave me when I’m out in the wooded areas of these hills just in case I wander into some wildlife that would rather make lunch than friends so I wasn’t too frightened by the idea of approaching the man I heard, but when I came through the treeline I felt my heart fall into my kneecaps as I was frozen by fear and confusion. It wasn’t a man. Hunkered over, scavanging through one the graves under an old decrepit gravehouse was a creature like I’ve never witnessed before, it looked like a coyote, but was humanoid like a werewolf. It looked emaciated and mangy, it’s head was mostly skeletal with barely any skin left, when it turned to face me I realized what I had seen earlier was not a candle but the orange glow of the creatures eyes. I could still hear the crying but it didn’t seem to be coming from the coyote thing. It raised one of its paws to its mouth revealing long, sharp, boney finger like claws. When I tried to move it screeched loud, making a sound as if a human were being torn limb for limb. I considered shooting it , but it didn’t move toward me, and I didn’t know how fast it was. It just stared at me a while before slowly moving on to digging through another forgotten grave. When it was no longer looking at me anymore I ran as fast as I could back to my house and locked all my doors. I’m still not sure what that was, when I was little my mamaw, a very traditional Melungeon woman, said that we make gravehouses to protect from a creature that devours unprotected or lost souls. She called it a D'gogwa and she said they come from humans who are cursed by their unforgivable actions like cannibalism, rape, slavery, etc. They are cursed to roam the earth, with an insatiable hunger, looking for souls to eat up. Was what I saw a D'gogwa? Were the cries coming from it or the soul it was eating? I’m thinking it’s time to clean up those old graves and give them new houses.
So glad I found this post, my friend just had a similar encounter and I knew I had wrote this down somewhere. That was such a scary night.
Mekhashepha in Melungeon Culture: Breaking it Down
In order to understand Mekhashepha and its ties to Melungeoninity you must first understand some history. In recent years there has been a lot of push back against cultural Melungeons sharing their traditional culture and practices, with new age Melungeons demonizing and invalidating Melungeon culture in search of something more “mystical” in the form of appropriating Indigenous tribes form which they have no proof of claim. It is no secret that this denial and invalidation is rooted in antisemitism, and denial of Hebrew Melungeons. It is undeniable that Melungeon (and Appalachian) people have Hebrew influence, whether this influence is ethnic, cultural, religious, or both varies per family. This can be substantiated by looking at many common Melungeon names (and old Appalachian names), surnames, dialect, and traditions. Examples can be seen in the common Melungeon surname Cohen>Cowen>Gowen>Goin/Goins as well as common Melungeon given names such as Mahala, Nehemiah, Keziah, Hezekiah, Uzziah, Etc. Melungeon people also have undeniable ties to Spain/Portugal this can also be substantiated by things like surnames (chavis/chavez), traditions, dialect, Oral History, and DNA. Mekhashepha is an ancient Hebrew word, it has been in use since before we existed as Melungeon people, however in the early 1900′s a man named Eliezer Ben Yeuhda, a lexicographer, created the first Hebrew English dictionary, becoming a driving force in the revival of the Hebrew Language, giving terms like Mekhashepha a resurgence, even if temporary at best. Many words coined by Yehuda became part of everyday Hebrew language while others died out or never caught on. The ancient origins of Melungeon people remains unconfirmed today, but it was once a common rumor among colonizers that Melungeon people were born of an affair between The Devil and an Indigenous Woman. This is important to note because this is likely in part why the term Mekhashepha was weaponized against our people. Though Melungeon people are not specifically mentioned, the book “ Religious Authority in the Spanish Renaissance “ by LuAnn Homza notes Nicholas De Lyra’s use of the Onkelos Targum when translating the term Mekhashepha to refer to a female soothsayer, sorceress, or witch, with carnal ties to the Devil. Mekhashepha originally tended to refer to a title, usually that of a female, and not the name of their religious or spiritual practice, though today, following Yehuda’s dictionary, it seems to be used interchangeably. In the Torah and the Old Testament, the Mekhashepha are also included with “necromancers”, “those who cast spells”, “those who summon spirits” etc., as “an abomination to Yahweh” in Deuteronomy 18:9-10. Mekhashepha does however have controversial translations as many scholars debate it may refer to an herbalist, healer, poisoner, or even pharmacist. In some translations it is said Mekhashepha may be relied on to heal the sick, foretell the future, and predict agricultural outcomes. These are all things that were tied to Melungeon folk and traditional beliefs as well and can be seen still today in practices like faith healing, the man of signs, reading cards, using blood beads, folk remedies, etc. Due to the negative associations between Mekhashepha and Satan, many Melungeon people were not enthusiastic about identifying with the term, however neither were they about identifying as Melungeon. In recent, with the rise of popularity in witchcraft, natural healing, cultural acceptance, and feminism, many Melungeons have made the decision to reclaim these terms and wear them and identify with them proudly, while others still feel uncomfortably with these terms. For further reading on Mekhashepha: https://history.stackexchange.com/questions/39828/what-was-the-churchs-attitude-to-magic-prior-to-the-15th-century
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eliezer_Ben-Yehuda
https://www.academia.edu/33078425/When_a_single_word_matters_The_role_of_Bible_translations_in_the_witch_hunt_in_the_Grand_Duchy_of_Lithuania
https://archive.org/stream/AbrahamAbulafiaAStarterKit/AncientJewishMagic_djvu.txt
Apron c. 1830s [x]
Chipboard 02 // Screenprint & Collage
mythology aesthetics
FEATHER DEATH CROWNS
In Appalachian folklore, feather death crowns, or sometimes angel crowns, were odd crownlike masses found in the feather pillows of the seriously ill or recently deceased. They are usually elaborate, interlocking designs with the quills always pointing inward, and were believed to be an omen of impending death. One old wives’ tale claimed that if you break these wreaths up you could prevent the death of the person the pillow belongs to.
hereditary witchcraft has become a huge topic of discussion on this site - what’s so interesting about tumblr to me is to see hot-blooded arguments raging on questions i never considered needed fighting. While I understand that that term is used falsely by many who are trying to make themselves seem a little more important than the rest of us, it’s wrapped all the way back around now, where it’s assumed that ANYONE using that term is lying! Fascinating!
I am not one myself, and I am not from the Appalachian area i’m a little too far north, but consider that they are most likely telling you the truth. Appalachian communities are incredibly close-knit and clannish, and most people there benefit from deep family ties and folk remedies and oral history being passed through those lines. They have a generations old distrust of outsiders, and for a long time were more likely to rely on folk cures over medical help. While their grandparents may have never called themselves witches (and may have been teaching magic to ward off witches, a common mindset carried over from the Irish and Scots), they certainly taught their children and grandchildren the way, however they might have called it to themselves.
Maryland's own winged beast? The Snallygaster for several years in the late 1920s and early 1930s caused a sensation in Frederick County.
The snallygaster.
A once humble chicken thief folklore, it became a paranormal phenomena during prohibition.
I like to think of it in story-potential as a living tall tale that became more dangerous as people kept adding features. By the end of it, it had tentacles, a metal beak, and dragged people into the clouds who were later found as burnt, blood-drained corpses
The collective story neared the end when an illegal distillery was accidentally blown up after it drowned itself in a vat.
I beg of you, as an Appalachian, to go watch The Yearling. It’s on Amazon Video. If you have Prime, you can watch it for free without ads. Why do I ask this “as an Appalachian?” Two reasons.
1) This woman has a pitch perfect southern Appalachian accent which is notoriously difficult to do. Most people try to do it and end up sounding Texan. The story is set in Florida, which took me aback because I instantly recognized the hill talk and thought it was set somewhere in the Smokies. She doesn’t sound like Charlene Frazier, she doesn’t sound like Pally Thompson, she sounds Appalachian. It’s distinctly dissimilar to anything else she’s done Southern accent-wise, and I’m honored that my natural accent has been studied and executed so well.
2) This look. I’ve seen these eyes looking at me when I had mononucleosis, double pneumonia, bronchitis, shingles, and chicken pox. I had a very high fever with all of them. Here, I see a wife and mother to whom time has only given its hard parts. Like Ora, my Appalachian grandma has worn this look more times than she would care to remember or share. Appalachian women are tough. We just are. It doesn’t come by choice. And, somehow, fucken Seattleite Jean Smart, who has no immediate kin from the area, has pulled that mountain toughness out of her marrow like it grew there naturally. Like she was brought up from that soil and knew the hard clay beneath her feet. Like every winter frost bit over her skin and her lungs filled with spikes of ice as she raced down a holler. Like the dulcimer rang in her chest as church folk sang sacred harp music. Like the mountains lived in her as they live in me. Jean is tough, yes, but this is a different kind of tough. And she plays Ora’s toughness SO GODDAMN WELL I ACTUALLY CRIED.
So please. Please, if for no other reason than to hear my natural accent done well, watch The Yearling.
Folk magic isn't always synonymous with witchcraft.
Most people who practiced faith healing and folk remedies did not call themselves witches. Today, many claimed witches also practice forms of folk and faith healing, but the title is up to the practitioner.
Stop using the term witch to demonize practices, witchcraft isn't always demonic and folk magic isn't always witchcraft.
Don’t come reblogging the stuff we post talmbout “proud melungeon” if you’re going to turn around and admin a group that demonizes Machisaba, Sabianism, Lusitanian Mythology, Iberian paganism, or any other non-baptist Melungeon practices or religions and promotes the problematic belief that just because we were oppressed, displaced, and isolated, that we were unable to keep our traditions and practices alive, orally. This blog respects all Melungeon descendants family and oral traditions and you will be blocked for colonizer behavior and acting like a Plecker. the Facebook group “Melungeon and Proud of it” is problematic with big colonizer energy. -Fayth
See posts, photos and more on Facebook.
Loving this page
Ataegina, goddess of Spring, magic, nature and rebirth, and the night. Her name could be derived from the two roots *atte- and *geno- to mean “Reborn” or from *ad-akwī- (Irish adaig) meaning “night”.
Lusitanian Mythology the mythology of the Lusitanians, the Indo-European people of western Iberia, in the territory comprising most of modern Portugal, Extremadura and a small part of Salamanca.
Melungeon folklore and mythology, machisaba is heavily influenced by Lusitanian Mythology and Sabianism.
Appalachian Gothic
The chorus of frogs start up in the dead of January. One night, they are silent. The next, they are all screaming. There are some cold nights when something else screams with them.
You stumble across a crumbling shack in the woods. Moss layers the walls, and the roof is more pine needles than shingles. Faintly, you can hear scratching from the inside. The small windows are barred up for a reason.
No one questions the yips and howls of the coyote packs. Leave them alone. Don’t look them in the eye. Be in by sundown. You catch a glimpse of their eyes in the moonlight some nights. Nothing stares back at you.
One day, you hear a ghost story. Some old settler’s cabin haunted by a girl that died in the well. You’ve forgotten the tale by the next morning, but when you walk past that old house, you feel eyes on your back. This town has no ghost stories.
If you listen close enough to the winds, you can hear sobbing. Don’t worry, they tell you, They don’t remember why they’re crying anymore.
Some parts of the forest are dead quiet. The ground is soft and warm, and all you want to do is lay down and sleep. Lie down. Some day, you’ll wake up.
The mountains are always quiet, but they’re quietest during a storm. The ground hums, and every leaf and rock seems alive. The silence is deafening. Be sure not to listen too long.
You drive up the curving highway until your ears are in agony and the world is submerged. The road stretches on, crowded by tall trees on each side. Two hours later, you pass the mile marker. You are not sure where you are going. Only up.
In autumn, the empty back roads come alive, and people writhe out of the foothills like angry ants. They march up the hill and into the plots of craggy trees with a palpable determination. The apple houses stand silent and judging behind them. You cannot remember any of their faces.
A shot rings out. It sounds so close yet miles away. It echoes off the mountains, and the noise is all you can hear. You don’t know where the gunshot came from. You just hope they don’t see you. Deer aren’t the only thing they are hunting.
On the highway, you pass roadkill after roadkill. Some stretch on for miles in red streaks. Others are indistinguishable shapes. There are some that still twitch. They watch you with desperate hope as you fly past.
Everyone knows you by name and greets you with a smile. You’ve never been to this town before.
Made this bottle chime from salvaged cobolt blue jars and driftwood on summer solstice eve, and found the perfect place to hang on summer solstice morning.
☀️