Saturday, November 12, 2011

More Tales From The Witches

Evn: "Every coven she approached told her she needed to do some work on herself first, and she interpreted that as a rejection.  She seemed to like being rejected.  She was stuck in that headspace of being a victim."


Me: "That way she never has to look at herself and accept that anything is ever her fault."


Evn: "Exactly!"


Me: "Fast forward ten years, and she's got a lot of Silver RavenWolf books and is married to a man in prison."


Evn: *making the noise one makes when having an aneurysm followed by lots of scream-laughing*


I think I won that round.



Friday, October 21, 2011

Nema


My friends have been engaged in a book club, which matters of schedule and the annoyances of life prevented me from attending.  I'm madder than a box of shaken snakes about that.  But I read the relevant chapter on the day of discussion and considered the questions on the Evil Minion's Trothwy was kind enough to email me.

As if my life couldn't be *more* obsessed with this book than it has been for nearly twenty years, I enjoyed jumping back in it, knowing that my beloved friends were doing the same.

This book and I go way back.  It gave a very young would-be Witch everything he could possibly want in a "paperback, primer for Witches"; love spells, invocations, recipes, methods for conjuring demons, curses invoking the Devil, secret jewelry and Witch Signs.  I Fucking Loved It.

But, it flavored my disposition.  It made me something of an elitist, and incredibly judgmental about what "my people" sometimes get up to, or make broad statements about what it is "we" believe.

I look at the "Pagan community" sometimes and I find myself thinking "I really don't fucking belong here."

I didn't become a Witch for political reasons, or because of feminism, or nature, or even an initial desire to worship Pagan gods.  The Gods came with, and that was groovy.  But, no.  I became a Witch because, well, I wanted to be a Witch.

Enter Mastering Witchcraft, Stage Left.

In Chapter One, the very first exercise involves severing your ties to previous religious and doctrinal systems, including political ones, by making a token gesture of blasphemy as a form of meditation.  For three nights, you light a candle, recite the Lord's Prayer backwards, and then blow out the candle.  Now, when you're a 9 year old kid, raised on Catholicism and horror movies, the notion of saying The Lord's Prayer backwards can be slightly daunting, even a bit scary.  And, I must confess, just a wee bit satisfying, if you have a blasphemous soul like I do.

So there you are, new to Witchcraft, lighting a candle and preparing to say The Lord's Prayer backwards, and your imagination runs wild.  Will demons crawl up through the floor and drag you away?  Will Jehovah Himself strike you down, murder your family, smite your orchards, and all that other fun stuff right out of the Old Testament?  Are you unknowingly making a pact with the Devil Himself?  Are you secretly hoping all of the above will happen because you always thought the Devil was kinda sexy?

I was a *highly* imaginative child.  And that's the key reason for this token gesture of blasphemy.

It's not much to do with God, or the Devil, or even real blasphemy.  This token gesture is meant to remove the shackles from your thinking, to wake up the deep mind, and to bring those childhood fantasies and fears to the surface, so that they can be sharpened, honed, and used to fuel the magic you'll be doing later.

And so I did it.

After you blow out the candle, saying the words "So Mote It Be" for perhaps the first time in life, you're to sit in darkness for awhile, letting your fears well up and your imagination run wild.  It was scary, and thrilling in the way that doing something you shouldn't always is.

The Lord's Prayer meant nothing to me as a kid, and it means little to me now.  You can't blaspheme something you don't consider holy.  But it was the first time in my life that someone suggested that I had control of my thinking, that I was free to think and learn about whatever I pleased, that I could render ideas many consider to be unquestioningly powerful and authoritative (orthodox religion, conventional thinking, nationalism) completely useless and silly.

If that's not changing consciousness at will, then nothing is.

It's certainly not a politically correct book.  It has some *really* intense curses in it that I'm willing to bet more have performed than will admit to.  I'm quite fond of  it's Barrabas Spell and The Grand Operation of Bewitchment.  It's one of the first such books to suggest modern minded Witches focus more on honest lust magic instead of confusing their desires with "love."  It's conjuration of the demon Vassago differs from those found in ceremonial texts, including an altered sigil.  It offers rituals of necromancy, as a form of divination and in connection with love magic.  It suggests methods for raising storms.  It doesn't demoralize the practitioner, or make you feel guilty for having angry thoughts.  For such a "basic primer" it has a weight and seriousness that most books that came after it seriously lack.

As Paganism continues to court mainstream approval, doing inter-faith work and trying to get into bed with Christianity, a book like this *really* makes it difficult to convince your Baptist neighbors that you practice a peaceful (saccharine), womyn-centric, environmental religion and don't curse people.

I wish there were more books like it.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The Mighty Dead



For a variety of reasons, the idea of "ancestors" is a weird one for me.  I suppose it's a natural condition of being adopted.  I haven't a clue about my ancestors of blood, and only a few adopted ancestors I care to remember at all.

But I always find myself thinking about our departed Witches on Samhain, and where we would be (or if we would be) were it not for their efforts.





Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Pagan Ejaculations

No, no, no, get your head out of the gutter!

Ejaculations, for those not familiar with unfortunately named practices of Catholicism, are short prayers that are repeated throughout the day.  You can think of them as being like coins dropped in a swear jar, because you get bonus points with Big Y for saying them.

Examples of ejaculations would be "Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea!" or "Oh Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner" or "Hail Holy Queen!"  It's fun, especially since they are often uttered in times of annoyance and in practice are used in place of other choice words not usually used in polite society.  So whenever someone, especially a Southern Catholic Lady says "Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea!" she's really saying Fuck.  A lot.

So if you are utterly stressed because your mother in law is criticizing your housekeeping skills and the cat just relieved herself in the soup, you can say "Jesus Christ, Have Mercy!"  And not only will you feel better, but you get credit for time served on your Purgatory score-card.  Do not pass Limbo, do not go straight to Malebolge!  However, as my Parish Priest has informed me on more than one occasion, saying "Jesus H Fucking Christ, Goddamn it all to Hell Twice!" does not count. 

How would this work for Pagans?  Granted, we don't go in for that hell/redemption/fear of the lord stuff but...I think it could be interesting.

If your mind is going where my mind is going, this can get R rated pretty quickly, especially if you worship gods commonly depicted with an erect phallus, horns, generous cleavage, or a real love for swinging parties.

As it stands, I'm voting for Great Baphomet's Cock, which art awesome in all the worlds! as my personal favorite.

Chime in with yours!






Thursday, September 22, 2011

One Foot In The Cauldron, One Foot On The Goat

Happy Equinox Witches!

If you aren't gearing up for the fun Halloween movie season by watching "The Dark Secret of Harvest Home", well, you should be! 






Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Pretty Pictures

We all know the power that aesthetics have in magic.

We furnish our temples, decorate our altars, dress (or undress), and burn incenses that, on some level, create an aesthetic shift from the mundane to the sacred.  And while, objectively, you're still standing naked in your living room, you've turned the living room Off and turned Temple Between The Worlds On.

I sometimes find myself musing on how much the aesthetics are the magic.  I've thought about this a lot over the years, going from doing pretty shoddily staged plays in high school to fabulously done theatricals in college.  Believe me, it helps your performance when you are wearing a real straightjacket and fighting with swords that could in fact kill someone.

I believe this is true when it comes to magical tools. 

I started thinking about this again when I was reading cards for my friend Sardonicus.  I've been yapping about the cards alot lately, since that's been the focus of most of my magical work for the past few months.  He's noticed a definite change in the quality of the readings, and in my eagerness to actually read for people after I switched decks. 

The first tarot deck I ever bought was the Sacred Rose Tarot.  It's artwork appealed to my sensibilities.  And gorgoues though it is, in the twelve years I've owned it, it has never spoken to me nor given accurate or useful readings.



But in someone else's hands, it's probably amazing.

Tarot, being so largely visual as opposed to runes or palmistry, you have to like the images.  You spend a lot of time looking at them.  But what if you love the images but the deck doesn't talk?  Is there more than aesthetics at work? Does your personal magical pactice or religious beliefs determine which tools are going to work for you and which ones are just pretty pictures?

I really learned to read the tarot using the standard Rider-Waite/Smith deck.  It's traditional, there's a long established egregore around it, and since so many decks are basically clones of the RWS, it's weighted with a good bit of lineaged authority.  But the artwork?  Meh.

I've picked up a number of decks to replace the RWS, something more in line with who I am, and that has artwork that appeals to me.  Crowley?  I suppose if I were more CM or had more of an interest in astrology, it would speak to me beyond having gorgeous artwork.  DruidCraft?  It's fabulous for reading for Witches and as a deck for personal meditation.

The only deck that's been talking, clearly geared towards Wiccans and stripped of a lot of the CM of the RWS, is the Robin Wood.  I know some people make fun of this deck, and while the cards are pretty friendly, some of the suits get pretty dark, the swords especially.

 
I've been using the five-card spread in the Little White Booklet for general readings, and when I shuffled for my friend Sardonicus, five cards sprayed out of the deck and landed on the floor.  Those five cards answered his question.  That shit has never happened with other decks.

So I put the question out there.  Do the aesthetics of your particular practice determine which tools work best for you? 






Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Square Of Mercury

I've not done a lot of work with the various planetary squares.  As a young Witchlet, I used the Square of Mars and The Operation Of Grand Bewitchment from Mastering Witchcraft to curse my sophomore year Spanish teacher, and it was *extremely* effective. 

I've been doing a lot of divination lately.  I've switched decks, because my Rider Waite/Smith wasn't talking, and I've been reading for myself and others.  I'm getting good results.  The cards are talking.  They're talking so much they invade my dreams when I sleep with them at night.

I was inspired to re-visit the planetary squares, making a Square of Mercury for divination work, using Huson's directions and recipes for incense.

My dear friend Trothwy has a very informative post about the Square of Mercury here that you should check out.


Wednesday, August 3, 2011

The Tale Of Bambie

No, not the deer.

Once upon a great long while ago, though it was really only about 12 years, I was a young Pagan without a driver's license and a decent disposable income for a kid that age.  But unlike most 14 year olds, my disposable income went towards filling my bookshelves and purchasing things like candles and mugwort.

Not having a driver's license, or living in a place with public transport, I had to beg my mother to drive me the 45 minutes to a neighboring city to go to bookstores.  Being an insanely well-behaved child, she usually went along with it.

It was on just such a day that I met my first ever openly identified Pagan.

Her name was Bambie, and no I'm not kidding.

I saw Bambie before she saw me.  It's hard to miss a woman who looks like a middle-aged Stevie Nicks on meth in a long leather trenchcoat with a huge quartz crystal tied around her neck.  Did I mention it was summer?  Because it was.  And summer in Texas is not a time for leather, or trenchcoats, or the wearing of much of anything.

I also happened to notice Bambie because she appeared to be attempting to banish the books in the Christianity section, which was one row over from the New Age books.  Dramatic arm-gestures, banishing pentagrams, and lots of flailing.  My Spidey-Senses immediately alerted me to danger, but before I could make a quiet get-away, she rounded the corner and focused her sights on me.  A young person with a stack of Witchcraft books in his arms.

Fresh meat.

She introduced herself and I gave a fake name.  She invited me to sit on the floor with her, an offer I declined, and began launching into an explanation of Wicca, the Goddess, broomsticks, and asked if I had any questions she could answer for me.

I said I didn't, which was clearly not the answer she wanted to hear. 

She went through the shelves, removing books she said gave Real Witches a bad name.  The culprits?  Mostly the Crowley, Margot Adler, Laurie Cabot, and everything by Starhawk.  She moved those books to where the Bibles were stocked. More flailing.

I attempted to run the fuck away from her finish my selection and leave, but she asked to see the books I planned to purchase.  At this point, I don't even remember what they were.  I think Buckland's Candle-Burning Rituals and one of Z. Budapest's books was in the stack. 

She scolded me for wanting "power-over" and put all of my choices back on the shelf, and then handed me a copy of Buckland's Big Blue Book.  Which I already owned.  She handed me a copy of Silver RavenWolf's Spells For Protection.  Which I find detestable.  She handed me the Waite tarot deck.  When I said that I already had a tarot deck, she suggested I burn it and replace it with this one.  Any deck a 14 year old would choose would be filled with "Dark Majicks."

I'd already spent quite a bit of time at the store, and more time than was really safe talking with Bambie, and when I offered my good-byes, saying that I had to leave since my mother was waiting for me...Bambie grabbed me by the ankle and told me I didn't have to go anywhere.  And she didn't let go.

She asked for my name, address, and phone number so she could contact me for further teaching.  I rambled off a fake name and the memorized number of the local police station, and then I very quickly got the fuck out of there.  I told my mother what happened, and she alerted the store manager. 

And, if you knew my mother, that was a lot better than whooping Bambie's ass right there in public.

Growing up with Stranger-Danger, why on earth would I have stuck around, continuing a conversation with someone who was so clearly unstable and likely did not have the best of intentions?  I'm not sure.  I suppose part of it was the excitement of "OMG A REAL LIFE PAGAN IS TALKING WITH ME!"  But the strong message inside my head was that Bambie was off, and that I needed to get away from her.  Quickly.

I was lucky.  A lot of people aren't.

That could have been the end of Paganism for me.  I could have decided that all Pagan's were nuts, weirdos, creepy people who grabbed teenagers by the leg and encouraged them to do things behind their parents backs.  Or, more likely, my parents could have put their foot down and forbade any further involvement with something that put me in contact with such people.

But thankfully, it didn't work out that way.  Instead, I did a lot banishing rituals, cleansings, and protection spells that did not come from SRW.  I hoped that Bambie dialed the number for the local police station, trying to contact a 14 year old boy, and got in an awful lot of trouble. 

That was my first lesson that not everyone huddled under the umbrella of The Community is safe, sane, ethical, or anyone's friend.

Monday, August 1, 2011

It was upon a Lammas Night...

Here we are again. 

Lammas is here and the elemental tides are shifting.  We've crowned the Sun in his glory, but everyone at the party knows that the sickle is coming.  The sickle always comes.  We've danced this dance before.  That the dance might one day stop is what keeps us coming.

Traditionally, in the days of yore, some rather backbreaking work would be done in the fields to get ready for winter.  Outside my window to the east, I've watched that work being done for weeks.  The tractors make the work less difficult, and starvation isn't the pressing concern it used to be.

Then again, maybe not.  We're starting to see, on a big scale, what happens when you take without replenishing the system.

As we start plucking from the web those things we've woven into it, Lady Moon is renewing Her face, offering us a chance to plant some new seeds, to weave some new threads. 

Paradox.  One of the many things I love about the Craft.

For me, this night is one of reflection.  Seventeen years ago, athame in hand for the first time, I plucked the fruit from the tree and began weaving some threads of my own.

So ask yourself:  Where are you?  Stuck in the warp or the weft?  Did you water enough or neglect to remove the weeds?  And what new threads do you want to weave?

Get to Work.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

The Mark Of The Beast

Yesterday I was helping out at my aunt's ranch.  She's recooperating from a broken wrist, and she needed someone to haul the hay for her.  Being the uber-butch He-Man-Witch that I am, naturally I was her first choice. 

Being of a complexion commonly called Vampiric, I took the usual precautions for going out of doors, but I ended up with a sunburn on my cheeks and a few patches where I burned through my shirt.

There is currently, at the center of my chest, a one-inch wide pentagram sunburned into my skin, right next to my pentagram/burning heart tattoo.

If Witch Hunters come to examine me in the next few days, I'm totally fucked. 

Monday, July 18, 2011

Stack The Deck

Having had a lot of downtime without all of my usual distractions (several months with no facebook will do that to you), I've been spending a lot of time deepening my Craft practice and spending time with my various tarot decks, working to rebuild my level of comfort with divination.

For whatever reason, I have a block when it comes to divination.  Other forms of sorcery I can dive right into, stuff that others would stay pretty far away from.  Necromancy?  Bring it on!  Nasty curses?  I'll bring the goofer dust!  But when friends find themselves in need of a reading...I put up the walls and recite a long list of reasons for why I just couldn't possibly do it.

Which is silly.  And only further sets one up for failure.  I'm a Scorpio with a Leo rising.  We hate to fail.

I've had a handful of good readings in the past year, from Witches I love and trust, and a whole lot of bad ones from people in occult shops who charged $40 to tell me what I wanted to hear.  I've given readings that have blown my mind.  Frighteningly so.  So why the block?

I suppose it's the Mercurial nature of the art that causes me to be so mistrustfull of it. 

But I've been having long chats with Dame Fate and Mr. Hermes, taking trips to the crossroads, sleeping with my cards at night, and saying "Yes" to those who seek my counsel. 

I find that having a glass of Strega before and during makes all the difference!

Saturday, March 26, 2011

The Entitlement Fairy: A Cautionary Tale

Suzie (it could just as easily be Sam) is your average gal in her early twenties.  She's read a few books websites about modern witchcraft and decided it's exactly the sort of thing that could do wonders for her.

She's bought herself a wand (forged iron is patriarchal!!!!), a gaudy pentacle necklace, and a size 2 pewter cauldron.  She considers herself feisty, intelligent, and a sure-fire winner who can do great things for Wicca.  The history of her new-found religion doesn't mean much to her, and she ignores the contributions and ideas of the various people who have shaped Wicca into what it is today.  Better to rely on Wikipedia and gossip for history.  Books are so last century!

After all, it's not a *real* religion, the way those nasty, dogmatic, patriarchal monotheisms are.  There's no Bible.  There's no right or wrong way.  A forty year practitioner is no different than the person who just discovered Witchvox.  It's about love and freedom and self-expression and doing whatever you want.  You can make it up.  You can talk to fairies.  You can be a half-dragon/flying wombat/McWicca snack pack!  And there's no one who can tell you otherwise!

When Suzie begins to interact with the local Pagan community, she doesn't approach people as a curious seeker or a serious, if new and unexperienced, co-religionist.  She enters the door considering herself the most special princess around, and regardless of how much experience or perception another person might have, her personal assumptions entitle her to run the show.

You see, Suzie has fabulous ideas about what Paganism should be, how it needs to change to better suit her, and a long list of gripes about everything she personally feels left out of or is otherwise offended by.  And she will move heaven and earth in making her voice heard.

The response from the community?  If they pay her any mind at all, it's usually a resounding "Meh" before everyone goes back to their business.  Maybe someone takes her to task, only renewing her crusade to rid the world of dogmas she personally dislikes.  But generally?  Nothing.  The worst review is no review.

At this point, Suzie has one of two options.  She can fess up that maybe, possibly, she might actually learn something if she shuts up long enough to listen and think about the things she reads.  Or, since she considers Wicca to be a free-for-all, she can dub herself Grand Lady MoonSquirt and set herself up as an authority and start spreading her message to the world.

Suzie universally chooses the second option.  There is always a would-be Martin Luther in any group. 

Suzie disregards the need for study, and doesn't actually practice anything she reads about, but is really fucking dead-set on demanding the answers to her questions that are mostly already answered.  Or would be answered if she engaged in her practice.  Wicca is a mystery tradition after all, and even if you are going DIY, there are certain revelations that dawn on you over time.

But that requires work.  Effort.  Dedication to the Craft part of Witchcraft.  All things that have fallen out of favor in recent years globally, but specifically among those drawn to Wicca.  It's easier to bitch until someone spoonfeeds you the information than it is to find it for yourself.  It's easier to be the Entitlement Fairy than it is to prove yourself as a serious, capable, powerful Witch.  It's easier to fuck around in the shallow end than it is to jump off the diving board.

Suzie's story is an open-ended one.  She might one day have a shamanic break where she realizes just how real this shit is and will begin to take it, and herself in connection to it, seriously.  She might eventually get bored with it all, or run out of steam, or free-time, or money.  She might even go back to her religion of origin, or pick a new one, and she will undoubtedly do great things for it.

It's really all up to Suzie to decide.

And that, boys and girls, is part of the Mystery.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Don't Be A Drag, Just Be A Queen

I've been re-reading Bell, Book, and Murder because, well, it's an awesome book (3 books really, published in one collection) and because there just isn't enough fantastic Witch fiction.  There's a  reference from Jeremiah 45: 15-19 in Speak Daggers To Her about the Jews having gone looking for the Goddess.


15 Then all the men who knew that their wives had made offerings to other gods, and all the women who stood by, a great assembly, all the people who lived in Pathros in the land of Egypt, answered Jeremiah:

16  "As for the word that you have spoken to us in the name of the LORD, we will not listen to you.

17  But we will do everything that we have vowed, make offerings to the queen of heaven and pour out drink offerings to her,as we did, both we and our fathers, our kings and our officials, in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem. For then we had plenty of food, and prospered, and saw no disaster.

18  But since we left off making offerings to the queen of heaven and pouring out drink offerings to her, we have lacked everything and have been consumed by the sword and by famine."

19 And the women said, "When we made offerings to the queen of heaven and poured out drink offerings to her, was it without our husbands’ approval that we made cakes for her bearing her image and poured out drink offerings to her?"

Sound familiar?

I'm a big fan of the Queen of Heaven, whether in Her Catholic disguise(s) or in Her full naked, Pagan glory. 


I've recently set up, not merely a shrine, more like an entire wall and shelf-unit to the Queen of Heaven.

Knowing that somewhere a Third Waver just had a meltdown, I suggest you light some incense, click play, and join me in joyous idolatry of the Goddess of the Witches.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

This

"When we become Wiccans, that isn't the end of our religious exploration, but (if we choose) the beginning.  I see a lot of people nowadays who choose to call themselves Wiccan, but who do not seem to be changing themselves in any way.  They seem to view finding the right label to describe themselves as the goal of their spiritual quest.  Once they acquire the label "Wiccan," they breathe a sigh of relief and are done.  They maintain the same values and beliefs as they had before, just under a new name." 

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Full Moon Musings

"Witches today waste much time on unnecessary matters.  You think these things important, but they are trivialities.  Look to Witchdom for your answers.  Do not mix up East with West and end nowhere.  Toledo held many mysteries that you seek.  But do not stuff your heads with book-learning.  Get down to practice.  It is easier to sit reading a book than it is to practise; but reading books nourishes only the thinking mind.  It is the Inner Mind that needs to feel its own strength.  Dip into the Pool of Memory and find treasure."

"When the full moon is out, you can come close to Witchdom.  The rays of the moon have power, when they bathe the earth with its light.  It is the window, in more ways than one.  You too can see through the window."

- John Brakespeare
Recorded in The Rebirth of Witchcraft by Doreen Valiente


Tonight my altar is red; red with fire, red wine in my wine-cup, and bread sprinkled with wine.  I will make offerings to the Old Lass and the WitchFather using this Witch's Blessing and I will drink in Their name.

And then, I will look through the window. 



Friday, February 11, 2011

Experience Trumps Assumption

I haven't posted anything overly thoughtful or provocative in a while.  I've sat with myself and thought "Obviously you have more to say.  Why aren't you saying it?  Why don't you grow a pair and tear into the forces of stupidity and entitlement that have turned Pagan Craft into a punchline?" 

Because I've been too busy practicing Witchcraft, courting the Mysteries as best as I can navigating with only my own study and intuition as my guide.  I've had a lot of portentous dreams over the last few years, bolts from the blue, and shivvers up my spine from coming into the presence of Them.  I'm a Seeker, I've made some contacts, and I'm tending the garden that is my Craft. 

The Pagan Movement has always been rife with conflict, disagreement about praxis, and schism.  Shit happens, people suck, and there's always going to be a Martin Luther in the group. 

Not my battle, and I don't have to try to fix anything or point out where people are wrong.  Even though so many of them are.

I'll still be getting my hands dirty and holding the Craft as I understand it to be.  Other people can hang out in the front yard, escape to the manicured public park for the afternoon, or choose to just stay inside and watch television.

As it should be.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Take The Apple

Friday night I dreamt of snakes.  As in, I was wearing them like a skirt, slithering over the lower half of my body, up my arms and around my neck.  It was fuckin' cool and also kinda creepy. 

I attributed this dream to my allergy medicine, which I firmly believe moonlights as Flying Ointment.

This morning Evn called to tell me about his new pet snake.  He met this snake on Friday.  The snake's name is Inanna Dentata.  I'll be meeting this snake in February.

In my email this morning, there was a note from Trothwy quoting a passage on The Witch of Forest Grove's blog which mentioned my namesake and his connection to snakes.

I'm not usually one to chase after omens, but this is too weird to ignore.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Full Moon Musings

The trifecta of December's Winter Solstice, Full Moon, and Lunar Eclipse made for a potent night.  There I was in my back-yard, not dressed for the bone-chilling cold, watching La Luna turn black and glow with that dark hellish red, weaving a spell on a knotted cord.  The Raw Potency Contained that I always feel when the Horned One comes was near, and the perfume of the Maiden To Be crept through the dead leaves and bitter soil. 

The Hag and the Lord of Death reminding me of Their softness, and the Spring-Tide to come.  It was glorious.  And my simple wish will blossom and flower, in it's time.

But as I sat last night on the cold-ground, looking up at the lunar orb, one month past that magical night, I had a sense of what our ancestors must once have felt, that so many of us still feel.  The dreaded fear that Spring would never come, that winter's food supply would run out, that there wasn't enough heat to make it until March, that Death would come before we could begin again. 

I remembered why, among the many things a Witch does, we have to turn the Wheel.

Candlemas is coming.  Are you ready?

A Whole Blog Post Without Swearing!

Hello again! It's nearly October and I haven't posted anything here since early Summer. What else is new? I solemnly swear that my h...