There is a world of difference between bathing for ritual and a Bathing Ritual.
At 5:23 a.m. I awoke. I knew what I had to do. The instructions came in dreams induced by herbal decoctions in form of tisanes and also inhaled as Sacred Smoke. Sts. Cyprian and Michael gave me the instruction.
So I began boiling water, an entire kettle for the herb bath. Half a handful of Skullcap, a handful of Spearmint, and three large pinches of Barberry root. After the kettle sang I set this to steep in the steaming vessel.
Then I put on a pot with three gallons in it and let come to a boil. Meanwhile I read from the Book of John, as I had been previously instructed by St. Cyprian.
When this pot began to boil (not quite rolling), I set it aside and began boiling a third pot with five gallons of water in it. While I waited I sang Lord of the Dance and finished my previous blog post. As the water reached a good strong rolling boil, I prepared a scrub of rose petals, salt, and honey.
I began at sunrise with establishing a sacred space and the recitation of prayers,. Afterwards I entered between the flames of Madre Huesa and Erzengel Michael. Then I applied the scrub. I did my initial rinse with the warm herb infusion, followed by five bowls of cold water. After the salt scrub had been thoroughly rinsed and had intermingled with the herbal solution, I added the first pot of warm water. again I rinsed five times. The boiling water was added slowly to avoid injury. I then did another round of prayers and holy songs, I soaked until the water was cold.
The tub was drained while reciting more prayers. Final rinse with bowls of cold water. Then I sat on a towel on the floor basking in the sun streaming through my open window. When dry, I said a final round of prayers and thanked all spirits High and Low that attended for their presence.
I feel very vital, alive, and infused with spirit. Have a blessed day.
It's about time for my annual High Mowing Ritual, which happens to coincide with the autumnal equinox.I love the word equinox; it literally means "equal night", beautiful. There is no logical explanation for this coincidence of events, it just feels right. My excitement is heightened this year by two events, both blog related. First was this absolutely wonderful piece from Jen Rue, entitled Tools of the Game. I have been considering the magic of tools recently, there is much in world fairy lore about tools; more on that in a bit. It was after I read this reflection on Dark Ecology by Paul Kingsnorth, who was brought to my attention by the good Aidan, that I discovered what my next tool shall be; a scythe.
BODENEHEMANN
To decide to take on the role of Bodenehemann or "Land Husband" is a commitment to listen and be rewarded with unexpected rewards. To take this liminal role as a boundary keeper, bridging the gap between wild and domestic is a responsibility to also maintain balance. We are the last defense on both sides.
As I dream about next years adventure with a scythe, I prepare for this year's last of the season mowing. Looking about the property I notice an amazing thing, a forest is growing. I have been combining, forest gardening, native species rehabilitation and a hands off approach, to slowly achieve a balance between my needs and the needs of the community of life in This Place. Squirrels will provide an example.
Sciurus Niger, the humble Fox Squirrel, hated by birders and gardeners alike, this lovely fiend has become one of my greatest allies. I used to fret about the competition for pecans and acorns, until I paid attention to what was actually happening in my yard. Squirrels do not eat dry pecans, they don't. They eat green pecans, and bury dry pecans. in the spring when the pecans sprout they dig them up and eat the small green tree. Squirrels are gardeners. This stunning realization coupled with the presence of pecan trees and oak trees in places that I had not planted in, lead me to reassess my relationship with squirrel. Now we have an arrangement, I don't gather pecans until late in the season, and squirrel plants trees and trim the ends of the branches. When I first saw a squirrel chewing the end of a branch I thought it was damaging it, turns out it works like pruning. The tree responds to the stress by producing more branches, which produce more pecans, brilliant. The pecans I gather by the way are still clinging to green husks, way out on the end of low hanging branches, easy for me to pick and unsafe for squirrel to fall from so close to the ground where the predators are. the pecans are usually bigger sweeter and still moist sometimes, definitely worth the wait. I only gather acorns every other year. Added bonus, I get to cull the squirrel population.
Every part of the property has it's own needs and arrangements. At first I thought I was sacrificing too much, but once I learned certain things like brush pile away from the house give rodents somewhere else to stay in the winter than in your house. Also putting said brush into the arroyo will cut down on erosion and save topsoil. I don't rake until spring, by then it is a great mulch that has helped seedlings stay warm all winter. I pile it up in spring and let it melt into the yard throughout the year. Nature wastes nothing. Slowly I have begun building "islands" small areas that are a mixture of whatever blew in on the wind, native plants and certain herbs that I cultivate surrounded by a border of rocks or logs from the property or neighboring properties. These become hands off zones where I let nature do its thing. As time goes by I am learning more and more about how to integrate into the environment. A rewilding of the physical and the spiritual aspects of myself and the land.
SCHROTFLINTE ZAUBERS
Shotguns and sigil shoaling work on very similar principles, by firing multiple projectiles all at once you are more likely to hit the target. Take it another step and dress your shotgun shells with sigils. then make targets of the sigils themselves and fire the gun at them. Each level adds energy. I plan on doing this, but using a barrel as the target. afterwards I will cut the barrel in half and make two fire containers further adding to the enchantment.
Do not think that this is willy-nilly random firing, no just like hunting, magic works better with target practice, a calm hand, a steady eye, and breath control. You are still definitely aiming for a target, your are just increasing your odds of hitting it. This approach can also be accomplished by combining techniques, Materia, invocation, sigil shoaling, micro- and macro-enchantments, candle magic, and spirit work are all combined whenever I launch a magical campaign. Volume is the key.
Fire works and explosives are also handy for energizing sigils and releasing spells. At new years every year we set off two large strands of fireworks with prayers of prosperity and health attached. This year we used incense sticks to light them. We written sigils and intentions on balloons with corn starch in them, thrown into a fire they make fireballs. Sky rockets, bottle rockets, and roman candles can all be utilized. Shotgun Spells are about a multi pronged attack and explosive results.
IM ERDREICH
It's time to get back into the underworld.Time to reacquaint with root and bone. The bare essentials of life and death. Back down into the Unterwelt, to work with Hermekate, the grand androgyne of dark alchemy, deep shadow work. My guides on this Journey will the ever present Madre Hueso, the Necro Saint, San Cipriano, and San Lazarus. Down into the earth.
Earth magic is where one finds the overlap between the sacred and the mundane. More precisely it is where you find that the mundane is the most sacred of all. The Lord of Earth, Auld Hornie, never lets you forget this and thus is feared. To accept your animal nature is the beginning of liberation, not a block against it. To get down into the dirt is to literally get down into yourself.
HEILIGE WERKZEUGE
I have knives to consecrate, a scythe to purchase, and a machete to bless. Every tool I possess is sacred to me. I develop a bond, a trust with my tools. Some tools, like those previously mentioned are used for day to day matters, and others are only used for ritual purposes. Some like my zymurgy supplies and my knives transcend both worlds.
As I said at the beginning of the year, this has been the Year of Knives, and cutting year it has been, I see a very definite rift forming in global society between those aware of our global society and those who aren't. Change is inevitable and like urban coyotes, we need to adjust to our new surroundings. For the Magi, I believe that like the Cook County Coyotes we to must become like ghosts. Operating just out of sight, but our effect can still be felt. Our cunning is our best tool.
Cunning just like knives has a sharp edge that will quickly remove the unnecessary. Coupled with Knowledge , cunning becomes a multi tool and a sword at the same time. Your tool kit is comprised of many things, both physical and non material, it is important to keep them all shiny and sharp. When did you last do an inventory on your toolbox? Sometimes we find things we didn't even know we were missing.
Memorial Day weekend, my family, my wife and our two kids, got trapped by rising flood waters along the San Gabriel River. This is the second time in my life that flood waters have affected me, but this time was very different. When I was about ten years old our house flooded while my brother and I were at my Dad's house, my mother faced that flood alone. This time I was fortunate enough to be trapped with one of the greatest groups of people I know. The entire experience has reshaped how I view my life and the fragility of life in general. I have learned much about LOVE and its expression when guided by WILL. So grab a cup of your favorite beverage and sit down a spell, I have a tale I want to share. I'm going to warn you, you will feel emotions, have thoughts provoked, and quite possibly learn something.
ANCESTRAL BLUES
In the heart of the Mississippi Delta in a little town called Indianola, in 1925, a boy by the name of Riley B. King was born. This is very relevant to my tale, but we will get back to that in a moment, first let us talk about the South. The Mississippi Delta like most of the South was once ruled by three things, King Cotton, free labor, and Rivers. All three of these play into my personal history as well. Cotton is still important and grown with free or practically free labor. Then it was slaves, now it's prisoners. In Texas, theses prison farms are located along rivers, the same rivers used by plantations. Those prison farms are named after the plantations that once occupied the same land. I know because back in 1989 I lived there for 14 months.
Over the Memorial day weekend I attended the first regional Burn festival established outside of Burning Man; Flipside. I actually volunteer my time to help keep the festival going. This year I worked Pre/post which means I went out early to set up and stayed after to tear down. Only it didn't quite go down like that, more on that later, let's get back to Riley King. While I was at this event I took the opportunity to enter the Land of Fey. While there I took a stroll through the city of Pyropolis to see the theme camps that had sprung up like so many Mushrooms after the rain. As I passed one camp the music they were playing called to me like a siren. A guitar named Lucille, played by B.B. King, who was born, Riley King.
Transfixed I followed the sound and found a comfortable seat with a view of a pecan tree and the sound of the river in the background. As B.B. King played I heard the muddy bottoms of rivers, and cotton fields. I remembered my Cajun Grandmothers beer joint were the blues used to play on the jukebox, back when they still had 45's in them. Lucille's siren song took me back to East Texas, to my childhood. Then the Ancestors came, marching down the road, one by one to tell me something. Each had a different message, the overarching theme was, that if I wanted to be a worthy ancestor I must follow their examples. When I inquired as to the nature of this, the reply was simple, every ancestor literally dies carving out a path for the future. The very mud spoke to me.
WHERE EARTH AND WATER MIX
From the very start this years festival was very different than any other I had attended. ( I have been doing this for 11 years now.) It wasn't the presence of the rain or even the timing, it had rained the two previous years. No it was the volume. The absolute sheer amount of rain. We have been in a severe drought for about seven years now, so rain is appreciated, just not 10 years worth in one month.Even when we end a drought in Texas, we do it in a big way. And lest you think I'm pulling your leg check this out:
There are a few quite predictable things that happen when this much water falls in one place. The first thing is mud, even the limestone caliche of the Texas Hill Country turns to mud. Mud was everywhere, at some point one gives over to it like dust on the playa. We had mud on our boots, mud on our pants, in our tents, on our faces, probably trace amounts in our food.
My Wife the Muse, informs us during the ritual of smoke that mud is really heavy emotions. Her reasoning to which I defer, goes a bit like this; Water+ Earth = Mud. Whereas water = emotional being; and Earth= Physical Being; Mud = Bodily manifested emotion. There was a more social one-on-one atmosphere, we were forced together out of the rain. Huddled together we talked and discovered new things about one another and we bonded. The rain and mud brought us together and so emotions were released. It was beautiful. I believe many of us moved through some major blockages this year. Bodily emotion could also be trauma, and I definitely talked to a few folks who were working through theirs. The mud spoke to my heart.
THE HEART OF LOVE
As I navigated this wondrous landscape, something amazing happened; the scales fell off my heart. LOVE was everywhere, the grass and trees were expressions of it, other people embodied it, the volunteers sacrificed some time for it. Everything that was happening was a manifestation of love that some one felt like sharing. I brought my Spirits and the traveling shrines with me, out of love. Others shared food or companionship, performed art or played pranks, stayed whimsical and supportive, while swimming through the mud.
Blood and bone, heart and sinew, something primal emerged and we found ourselves. Washed clean by the rains and reborn in the mud. All became Other and embraced one another. Tendrils of love spectrally enveloping masses of souls. We became more fluid with our identities and the boundaries of imposed society. It's all an experiment. Stolen kisses, proffered kisses, kisses of souls, all floating in the wind, softly landing on willing recipients.Embracing Huggery ensued, and minds were freed. The wine flowed, as did the mead, and hedges were crossed by many. All of this was just foreplay, the main event loomed. We were Wizards of Odd and we had a wizard to burn.
Gathered together as in days of old we waited and watched as the effigy burned. Then we reveled. the celebrations lasted well until dawn. A New Day, shining forth with promise and hope. We had gathered in LOVE directed our WILL and succeeded at the task we spent so many months building. With the flames we released our sorrows, hopes, failures, triumphs, and wishes to fly upon the embers into the night. In that moment we were one. The time had come to part. The mud had spoken to us all.
GATHERING CLOUDS
Every year the exodus leaves one feeling drained and exhausted, yet with a new outlook on life. This year as we prepared to get everyone out, we were warned that another major downpour, like the one we had experienced the night before, was to be expected. We got soaked the night before, but our tents and shelters held strong. I and one of the other volunteers in our camp were staying for post, so we made sure everyone got on the road before the storm. He grew up in Oklahoma and I grew up on the Texas Coast, so we were familiar with storms. We watched the clouds gather and prepared for rain. We had no idea what was coming.
During the ensuing deluge, we gathered under my EZ-up and discussed our exit strategies. We were planning to pack up everything we didn't need after the rain. In the morning, my wife would take our kids home, and I would join them later, after I finished breaking down event infrastructure. So we sat down to wait for the storm to pass. After about twenty minutes the rain suddenly stopped and the air pressure dropped so fast I felt it in my ears. We checked the sky for the green clouds that always spell doom no matter the storm. Before we could figure out what was happening, 55 Mph winds hit us and tore down pop-ups and collapsed tents. My wife put our kids in the car and we tried to prop our tent back up. We had no idea what was coming.
The winds, as I mentioned were gusting at 55 Mph and tree limbs were coming down. My wife and I decided to give up on the tent and get in the car with our kids. Safety volunteers came and told us to come with them to a safer location.The rain that came with the winds dumped 4"-6" in 45 minutes and the river was rising. The land owner had conveyed to Safety HQ that we needed to be moving people to higher ground. We spent the next 18 hours in disaster mode. During all of this my wife ended up on the opposite side of the property from me and the kids. It was a very long night. We had no idea what was going on.
GREY CLOUDS AND SILVER LININGS
In the midst of crisis one gets to see the true nature of people. During this ordeal I watched many people offer emotional support to others, share food, tobacco, and conversation. My children shined like Rock Stars. My daughter was so confident of the volunteers that she slept while others fretted. My son jumped in and helped put together benches and reminded people to drink water and eat snacks. I am so very proud of both of them. I am also equally impressed by the safety volunteers. These people volunteered to see this event through to the end. Many needed sleep and were preparing to go home themselves, yet they stayed on and made sure everyone was safe. Our community trains to handle situations like this, but we always hope to not need those skills. The reason these wonderful souls do this is out of love for their community. The mud binds us.
As the waters rose and fell, I thought of flood myths and their meanings. The implicit life, death, and rebirth motif. The renewal of the land with nutrients from the river bottoms. There are many flood myths from around the world, but I always liked this one from the Chitimacha of Southern Louisiana;
Long ago, a great storm came. The people baked a great
earthen pot, in which two people saved themselves. Since
rattlesnakes were then the friends of man, two rattlesnakes
were saved in the pot, too. The red-headed woodpecker clung
to the sky, but the waters rose so high they wet and marked
his tail. When the waters sank, the woodpecker was sent to
find land, but he could find none. The dove was sent next
and came back with a grain of sand. When this grain was
placed on the water, it spread out and became dry land.
Mostly I think I like it because I know these people, Rattlesnake and Woodpecker. Rattlesnake has great significance, which I promise to share at a later date, and Woodpecker has always been there. I have a fascination for the Ivory Billed Woodpecker, the stuff of legends, supposedly so big it made folks cry, "Good gawd", or "Good Lord" thus its colloquial names. Like my namesake, the Sasquatch and the Ivory Billed Woodpecker are forest guardians. They both draw people into the forest and both are found in pristine old growth woodlands.
In the same swampy bottom-lands of my youth, the Ivory Billed Woodpecker disappeared only to be sporadically spotted, but never definitively. There are other tales, blue lights in the woods at night, the Creature of Boggy Creek, and how Crawdaddy created land. All there in the bayous and creeks of East Texas.The mud binds us.
All of Texas became flood-land that weekend, and the following days. As of this writing the death toll stands at 23 with several more still missing. The most recent body was found several hundred yards away from a friends house in San Marcos. This has affected everyone, 167 of our 254 counties suffered from these floods. Experts say this is a "flood of record" that only occurs about once every 200 years. People are still cleaning up, the debris is everywhere, and everywhere there is mud. The mud binds us.
WATERS OF LIFE
Just as the waters slowly rose, covered the land, slowly retreated and left everything transformed, so too did water reassert itself into my life. Throughout the entire process I felt a vast array of emotions and yet never became so overwhelmed that I broke down. I reached the breaking point several times and had to stop and take care of myself. Thanks to my firm grounding (pun intended) in Earth Work, I was able to be a centered and focused Dirt Sorcerer. Love permeated me and I gave over to the feeling, willingly. Terror and panic tried to overwhelm me, I let them have their say and then dismissed them. I sought knowledge and fact instead of rumor and fear. Comforting others comforted me, I am a big hugger. Water slowly permeated my flesh like the flood waters took over the pecan grove. We merged, my body and my emotional self; I am more integrated. I am the mud.
Some of my earliest memories are of mud, and swampy places. Bullfrog, turtle, crawdad, and catfish were my companions when I played in the creeks. I knew them all and more importantly they knew me. In the summer we all occupied the same space. That narrow margin between water and solid earth, whether on shore, or along the bottom, it was mud. There we came together and learned about each other. We were all mud.
As I reflect upon my journey, I feel I must thank several groups of souls for all they did. First a most heartfelt thank you to all the volunteers who dedicate their time and energy out of LOVE. You are all beautiful. Thanks to my Ancestors, who reminded me of where I came from and helped me appreciate where I AM. Thanks to Saint Cyprian and Santisima Muerte for prayers answered and grace given.Mi Patron y mi matrona, mi espÃritu está en sus manos. Usted llena mi corazón de alegrÃa entusiasta. I give thanks to the Creator, for all that we have accomplished we are still the same as that first DNA strand that you formed with lightning and our raw material. We are all mud.
Originally when I decided to join the conversation started by Briana Saussy in her blogpost, Seeming Being, and the Courage to go Deeper, and continued by Aidan Wachter in his response, A Beautiful Light?, I thought I was going to write about the land I live on. Many unanticipated circumstances, however, have intervened and lead me to different place. First I did some Hedge-crossing on May Day Night. I then concluded my year and a day Earth ritual series, followed up by a massive working with both St. Cyprian and Santisima Muerte. Every step of the way illusions were shattered, expectations exceeded, and my sense of "being" tested.
FIRST STEPS
I first questioned the seeming nature of reality versus its true nature when at the age of sixteen I read the Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, the same year I took High School Chemistry. As I learned about atoms and molecules and how they affect each other I became fascinated with how all that was happening at a level we could not perceive without highly specialized equipment. Remembering the Tao, I was struck by the awesome simplicity of it; what is is, but you cannot know all that is because you are part of all that is. Godel's Incompleteness Theorem, several centuries earlier, espoused by a poet mystic.
Since that year I have always questioned that which I think happened versus what may have actually happened. as Robert Anton Wilson said, "A flag flying in the wind is the truth, everything else is just media." In other words to know the reality of something we must experience the reality of something and even then our experience becomes a filter of interpretation skewing that reality. In this model, reality becomes fluid, which it appears to be at a quantum level.
THERE AND BACK AGAIN
The night of May first into May second I crossed the hedge with the aid of entheogens. I had visions of riding to Brocken for the Walpurgisnacht Sabbath , which of course had happened the night before. I recognized this as a projection of fantasy and desire, so I began to center myself. After becoming quite still, I felt a buzzing sensation in my thighs, it moved up my body until everything was throbbing, buzzing, tingling. I looked up and saw a cloaked figure motion me towards a large cauldron. I went to her. She told me to look into the cauldron.
I asked,"Who are you?"
"As old as the wind, and as dry too. I come in the night, ancient and full of life."
"What is your origin?"
"The fiery remains of stars, that cooled long before your world existed."
"What do I call you?"
"I have been called, Talto, Petrota, and others. You know me as Kali, but I am Lilitu."
Hesitantly I peer into the cauldron, and fall in. I say in because I did not fall down, but rather at an angle and then I lost sense of direction. I saw many things, works that I am completing, works to be initiated, and how I am my biggest blockage. Then I moved up. Up through the earth, up through my feet, up through to my head. I awoke. It was 3:30 a.m. May second.
THE END OF THE EARTH
The second of May ended a year and a day cycle of working with earth. It has forever altered my work, I have found spiritual gold in the most mundane of objects. In the process I discovered the Prima Materia Magica, Dirt. I am a Dirt Sorcerer. So I did my closing work and pledged to work for better dirt everywhere. I normally feel a small vacuum after concluding a ritual cycle, but this time I feel very solid and grounded, literally.
One cycle ends and another begins. Now I begin. I have spent so long with this bit of work that I have lost touch with some parts of myself. I will look them over and decide what no longer serves me and let it go. Other things I will choose to learn more about. My earth work is leading me towards alchemy and a renewed appreciation of Materia.
FROM THE MOUTHS OF SPIRITS
In the wee morning hours of the second day of May, I began to communicate with St. Cyprian and La Flaca. We concluded some previous work and I began to converse with them over some coffee. I asked La Flaca if she had any advice, her response was shocking. She told me to quit complaining. I asked what she meant by this and Cyprian replied. He told me to stop wearing my failure like a badge of honor.
I knew immediately what he meant, I have a tendency to give into a martyr complex. I convince myself that my self imposed suffering is somehow beneficial to the whole of humanity. Horse shit. So many times I have convinced myself that I am part of some oppressed group in the religious minority. This is only true in the sense that there is an overwhelming bias towards one religion in this country; Commerce. As for the minority part, yes I have a spiritual practice that is mine alone. He was admonishing me to own my life. Isn't that what being a sorcerer is all about?
It is these times when I hear things from the spirits that are uncomfortable, or make me uneasy that I know I am dealing with something outside of my normal experience. None of this was presented harshly, just as a nudge in the right direction. This how I know it is Authentic.
THE CAULDRON OF RETURN
After working with La Flaca,and Cyprian I went back to sleep . It was about 6:45 a.m. I dreamt of a circle of light hovering over head, and I was swimming towards it. As I broke the surface, I awoke. I had emerged from the cauldron. At first, I doubted that I had done workings until I noticed the lit candles, incense ash, and fresh roses from the garden. A flood of memories washed over me and I began to write down what I could remember. Some of it will take a while to figure out, but most is clear. I am not the same as when I entered.
I have strength and resolve that was missing before. Some of the things I took for granted are crumbling and falling apart. The facade is decaying, but there is already new growth, and I must face myself and ask those three questions.
"Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you." –Attributed to the Nazarene
PORK
Aaah, the delicious pig. I'm sorry if you do not enjoy swine-flesh, I do not mean to offend. That being said I am going to defend the pig a bit, for I feel there is no better totem for earth as the pig. Both revered and feared, the pig has a rich history and a long association with magic, the underworld, and fertility of the land. Pigs are not what I want to talk about, but rather pork. Pork was always a meat of luxury, raising a pig was like raising a child and used about the same amount of resources. As a result of the expenditure incurred when one decided to raise a pig, its meat was reserved for special occasions; Seasonal Feasts, Holy Days, Celebrations, etc. Pig is an embodiment of the fertile Earth, Pork is communion. Ultimately that is my aim, communion.
I have felt very connected lately to a very international community of people dedicated to the various currents of the Craft as expressed by traditional methods. It pleases me that more and more often I am reading blog-posts and articles, listening to pod-casts, and participating in discussions stressing the importance of Thaumaturgy. I feel very strongly that the Western Tradition has spent far too long venerating Theurgy and the Logos. Hoary praise for the PIG, meanwhile ignoring the pleasure of bacon. I feel that some of the aforementioned conversations have been a bit one-sided, always a call to use physical components to ritual, but ignoring the actual thaumaturgic work that various members of the craft are manifesting. My earth work has deepened my appreciation of Sacred Artists, Hexenkrafters, Wort Cunners, and Rebel Saints. It is my intention during this Year of Knives, to highlight individuals and organizations that are making manifest their Sacred Vision. Yes honey, I'm bringing home the bacon.
PEARLS
Prolonged Earth work has led me to new depths, and encounters with serpentine energies of a most primal nature. Strange thoughts have occupied my mind, I am indeed being educated by Tutelary Spirits. St. Cyprian opens the doors, makes the introductions, and offers suggestions for improved technique. I know this energy, it has worn many guises in my own life, this is what make me think. St Cyprian, Old Horny, Ganapati, Hekate, Santisima Muerte, and Babalon all overlap to some degree in their aspects. More like nodes on a spectrum rather than completely differentiated from one another. Again and again I find this to be true across traditions, techniques and religions. There are certain energy forms that manifest around humans across millennia that seem to exhibit the same strange and interesting properties.
The Snake or rather the Serpent, for instance, occupies many niches in folklore and spirituality, but
they all exhibit similar properties. Most interesting is that the part of our brain that is called reptilian, is where one will find Serpent Wisdom. One can also find the serpent Kundalini coiled at the base of the spine. Like wise in the depths of the underworld one can find the Cosmic Serpent that encircles All. These are Mysteries laid out in plain sight, much as the magic of dirt is often ignored, so too the Sacred Mundane is neglected. The Serpent Path is the Crooked Path and there is wisdom in this. The Way of the Witch is a meandering way, and sometimes there is no path at all, merely an exploration through the brambles and boggy creek bottoms. Just like the Serpent.
Cthonic Spirits and serpentine energies, these are my companions on the path through my Earth work. The treasures I gain are manifest as well as transcendent. I will soon begin introducing you to others who make the transcendent manifest, those who not only work the Materia Magica, but actually make the Magica Materia.
Taking time to reflect has proven most beneficial to my over all outlook. It seems ironic saying that after a back to back memorial and funeral weekend, but still true all the same. How I got here, and the treasures I found along the way to be subject of this tale, so get comfy and let me be your guide. In the most proverbial of ways I will start at the beginning, of sorts.
The Year of Knives
"Do what you want to do, don't talk about what you don't want." - Misty Dawn, New Years Weekend-2015 This sage advice was dispensed by my wonderful partner and muse during a Hedge-crossing session on New Years weekend. It was during this journey that I began to think of 2015 as the Year of Knives. In recent years I have developed a habit of adopting names for the year, it helps me to focus my energy in certain ways, give a direction to my path. 2013 was the Year of Witches, by way of Thad McCracken, this helped me to rekindle embers that had lain dormant for far too long. 2014 was the Year of Ghosts thanks to Gordon at Rune Soup.Little did I realize that when I adopted these monikers the power they would have over my perceptions, just read back through my past posts,the evidence is all there.
KEYS TO THE GATE-Sasquatch Jones 2015
This year however, I have named, The Year of Knives, by this act I have already begun cutting away. The knife is a beautiful thing, useful, sexy and dangerous most of all, a knife cuts. Cuts away fat, cuts through butter, cuts up celery and sailors. Useful but possibly dangerous, like magick. In order for me to execute my plans I must cut away the unnecessary, cut through the cords that bind. I must be careful not to cut to close or I may end up drawing blood, possibly my own. Thus the Year of Knives is about transitions, such as leather becoming a boot, first you must cut out your pattern. There is an inherent warning here, knives draw blood, knives make permanent changes. There are rules to using knives.
The most important rule seems to be; Stay Sharp. A dull knife is a dangerous knife, if you want a cut that's deep and true, only a sharp knife will do. Secondly, one must be patient when using a knife. I have seen this sentiment expressed in the following manners. Measure twice cut once, take the time to make sure you cutting away the right amount. You can always cut away more but you cannot cut back more, proceed methodically and with intention. Lastly treat a knife with respect and the knife will express respect for you. Take care of your knife and it will serve you well. With my knife I carve out my world.
Living the Dream
I have been busy, but in the best of possible ways, doing what I want to do. This seemed to be the theme of this weekend also; two different people, two different lives, one central idea unites them. Both my mentor, Wes Nations aka Johnny Vagabond, and my wife's cousin dared to live their own lives despite what others might think. Both were warm and engaging people, who made friends with everyone they met, they were open, sharing, and inspiring. These two very different people shared the one thing I believe, is the secret to a good life; they dared to manifest their bliss.
At Wes's memorial and Brian's funeral, people talked about how awesome it was that these individuals got to live the lives they wanted. Again and again, always with a hint of sadness, not so much for the departed, but rather an admission that the speaker was not living the life they wanted. Having recently journeyed into the Otherworld and receiving instruction via dream-work, and ritual, I went into this weekend with more mental clarity than would have been possible in the past. My senses sharpened (thanks to Jason Miller and his book), I saw the connections between people, and the interconnectedness that united them all. Two men who dared to live their own lives became beacons to others, not because they set out to be inspirations, but because they were true to themselves. They were not living the "dream", they were living.
Manifesting Liberation
No more excuses, no more procrastinations. The time is now and it always has been and always will be. Sharpen your knives and make your cuts. Live out loud, yes this is a call to arms, an active initiation. The world will always try to stop you and crush you, surround yourself with the lights that inspire. Always be open to giving and receiving blessings, this magic will consistently exceed expectations. Know your allies on this side and in the Otherworld, maintain your relations. Focus your energy into your own endeavors, wishful thinking never manifests, action does.
My year has begun with a prolonged period of reflection punctuated by direct action and manifestation. Work with my spirit allies is yielding tremendous results with very clear messages and instructions. The work progresses and returns dividends on what is invested. By cutting away until I reveal only what I want, I have become more efficacious in my operations. Saint Cyprian and Santisima Muerte continue to bless me, as do Hekate, Mercury Cthonos, the Horned One, Owl Woman, Mother Bear, and the Ancestors. Most surprisingly of all is the influence of Dandelion, never under estimate that which is underfoot.
I have t-shirt designs to finalize and render. A website is in the works and seeds are being planted and tended. The upcoming year promises much and I welcome it with an open heart and a clear vision. The take away from my time of contemplation and reflection upon life can be summed up by the statements of my wife, as printed above and the following statements which came to me while driving home late last night. Seize the moment, seize the day and build relationships along the way.
The very last thing I want leave you with comes from Briana Saussy:
First of all I must thank Briana Saussy for introducing me to the idea of Omen Days. Read the linked article for a full description. Basically the twelve days of christmas correspond to the months of the year and one should pay attention to any omens that may appear. My personal journey has yielded interesting results so far, mostly I am just jotting down notes of what sticks out most. Later I will go back and figure out what it all means. Days 3 and 4, for instance, seemed anti-climatic to my mind, but I made notes anyway, you never know what will appear useful later, a bit of twine, a scrap of cloth, you never know.Today, day 5, is completely different.
Last night before bed, I went to St. Cyprian with fy ngweddi, my prayer, that he and I could work together on my roots, sometimes. My dreams, I believe, answer that question. My lovely wife has a terrible cough that kept her up most of the night. The last time I looked at the clock was 3 something, afterwards I dreamt of Wales. Her rivers, hills, railways, and the mostly rocky coast. I have never been, but I long for the journey. I must see Glamorgan before I die, and St. Govan. I will not feel truly fulfilled until I have tea atTu Hwnt I’r Bont Tearoom in Llanrwst. All of which are plenty to dream about in and of themselves, but my dream was not of these places, it was about people.
The people in my dream were speaking Cymraeg, and I understood them. Not theirs words so much but the message was clear and I understood them. Still trying to suss out who the people were exactly, whether they were amalgams from my studied histories, or actual ancestors. I may never know, but the message from St Cyprian seems clear enough. In addition to my Cymru ancestry, I have always been fascinated with the number five.
Everything works in fives for me, took me a while to figure that out, three works for most, but not me. Well in a pinch, I can make three elements come together, but usually only if the situation is urgent. For long term workings and persuasions, five works best. My fascination with five may stem from being born in May, or that my most vivid childhood memory is my fifth birthday. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, whatever spurred it, it has always been. I am not surprised that Omen Day #5 would yield delicious fruit, perhaps a pilgrimage to Wales is in my future. Maybe I will discover the name of a forgotten ancestor who dabbled in the arts.
The next year seems to be full of promise, but caution is the greater part of valor. I feel the coming year to be a Year of Knives, useful indispensable tools that must be handled properly. There is potency and promise, tempered with caution and experience. I can see many poised on the brink of personal greatness, now is the time. We must cut away the unnecessary, prune for greater results sever the ties that bind, and carve out our place. A Year of Knives.
This Thanksgiving is one I will not soon forget, as it was book-ended by Death.. The day before I learned that my friend, mentor, and Green Muse, Wes Nations, a.k.a. Johnny Vagabond, had died due to complications from liver disease. Learning form my Grandmothers passing, I cried this out instead of holding it in. There is still much to process, but only time can heal, now. The harder death was to come the day after thanksgiving. Our cat, Elvira, sweet guardian of our front porch, was attacked and killed by a stray dog. Wes's passing was hard and unexpected, my cat's violent and brutal, many thanks I have been giving for this fragile gift of life. At this point in the year, after so many passings I have come to a place of acceptance with it all, after all isn't death just another Faceless God? I feel more determined than ever to continue planting my seeds.
As I have mentioned before, Santisima Muerte told me to seek out Saint Cyprian. What I did not know was his connection to the ancestral seas. Conjure Man Ali, describes it pretty well at his blog, so follow this link for more details. During this Season of Letting Go, I have come to learn much about a life less ordinary, but never in my wildest dreams have I imagined such depths as I found within myself this year. Wisdom comes at a high price sometimes, and sometimes it drips from the heavens like honey rain, sometimes it does both. This is one of those times and my Bendicion de San Cipriano has been the bridge that holds it all together. My next step is to follow the ritual at Conjure Man Ali's site, I will report what happens.
It all comes back to the Earth, the Primal Magic that is literally right beneath your feet.This dirt that we taken for granted, this mundane miracle of the everyday, sustains all life and death upon this rock we call home. From the remains of untold ancestors, we grow new life that one day will feed and sustain future generations of life. All through the dirt, the root of all sorcery, right there on the ground, the most powerful Materia Magica of Mother, her very flesh. What has more generative power? What else contains a bit of all that has been? What else is the foundation of all that is? There's even dirt at the bottom of the ocean.There it is, I have found ground again, and with it a renewed sense of Dirt Sorcery and Ur-Sorcery.
Just how amazing is our day to day, this that is taken for granted.The everyday, the mundane is what sustains everything we do. So many days wasted, looking for that which is at hand, the Holy Land. Santa Terra, her face can only be seen from space, but you can know her simply by lying down upon the ground. I venerate her as a lover does the object of their affection. We have ongoing relationship, and as with any lover I choose to protect and nurture her, this is what it means to be Ecosexual.
I have sailed upon the Sea of Sorrow, through the treacherous Straits of Grief, to nearly drown in the(en)Gulf(ed) of Depression, but here at last I have found ground. With Granny Vagabond, I will plant my seeds, in the most primal Magic I know, Dirt. I will Give Voice to what I know and keep the knowledge alive. As my mentor, and dear friend, Wes Nations used to say about Entheogenic Plants, the more love you give now, the more love you'll receive later.This it seems is true of all things.
I began at sunrise with establishing a sacred space and the recitation of prayers,. Afterwards I entered between the flames of Madre Huesa and Erzengel Michael. Then I applied the scrub. I did my initial rinse with the warm herb infusion, followed by five bowls of cold water. After the salt scrub had been thoroughly rinsed and had intermingled with the herbal solution, I added the first pot of warm water. again I rinsed five times. The boiling water was added slowly to avoid injury. I then did another round of prayers and holy songs, I soaked until the water was cold.
