Showing posts with label witchcraft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label witchcraft. Show all posts

Thursday, October 6, 2016

The Ghost and Miss Cat, Part 2

It has been a couple of weeks since we booted the spectral squatter from Erin’s basement.
In the meantime, the house has returned to a state of quiet serenity (at least as far as spiritual entities are concerned) and I can walk into the mudroom and stand on the stairs to the basement without wanting to retch.

I’ve been attempting to recollect the exact chain of events that occurred when we fire-and-pitchforked into the Murder Room, and it is still kind of hazy. If Erin and Nate hadn’t been there, I might not be able to remember enough to type this post. Whatever was down there must have had an effect on me. While I was exorcising it, I was perfectly calm and collected. For a couple of weeks before cleansing the basement, I had been having awful dizzy spells, thanks to a combination of prescription medication that did weird things to my blood pressure. But in the Murder Room, faced with the entity, I was chill. No vertigo (I have a theory about that, which I mention near the end of this post).

A lot went down in the Murder Room, enough that it daunts me a bit to string together the episodes into story form. So here are the main bullet points, as accurate as we can piece together:

- Enter basement.

- Immediately, the area feels heavy, hot, wet, dark, gross.

- Nate finds a central spot where the energy feels really rough, I sage the shit out of it.

- Erin sees troughs of dirt along the upper foundation, and I sage the shit out of that, too.

- The back corner is the worst, where the only original part of the house remains – a brick chimney base.

- SAGE THE SHIT OUT OF IT.

- I set up my cauldron full of Morrigan incense (mixture courtesy of Silver Ravenwolf) and my statue of Santisima Muerte.

- Nate confined the entity to the corner by the chimney.

- We noticed that there were some odd markings in paint on the base stair, Nate and I realized they looked like the alchemical/shamanic signs for “earth” and what looked to be a cross between “sun” and “salt.” We decide to salt it, then throw salt in every corner.

- Nate drew the shamanic symbol for “fire” on the concrete floor and outlined it with matches, setting a candle in the middle of the symbol, and communicated with the ghost. Apparently it was really, REALLY pissed, especially at me.

- I had given Erin a bell, and she waved it enthusiastically in the direction of the spirit. Every time I invoked a deity or commanded the spirit to leave, Erin would dangle the bell, saying, “And I have a BELL!” She did a great job, for being an agnostic atheist.

- I thought that confronting the spirit with its own mortality would scare it into leaving. I set my statue of La Santa Muerte in front of it and tried talking to it. At one point I saw, in my mind’s eye, the face of a man, shorter than me, about 5’6”, who was glaring at me with a particular sense of loathing. I glared right back and it scoffed, turning and sitting down by the chimney. Apparently this guy was all bluster, ego, and mansplaining while alive. I toss salt in its face. Dean Winchester would be proud of me.


La Santa Muerte Blanca
Durga Maa
The Morrigan by ByTheOak via deviantART

- Nothing seemed to be working. I invoked Morrigan, La Santa, Durga, pick your badass feminine death deity; it just made the spirit angry.

And then I tried something different, on a whim. Not even thinking about it, I calmly began chanting the mantra to the bodhisattva Arya Tara, who has been my go-to girl since I met her at the local Kadampa Buddhist Center in 2011. It goes:

“Öm tare tuttare ture söha.” (“I prostrate to the Liberator, Mother of all the Victorious Ones.”)

((I have included links to a couple of websites that has a great explanation of the mantra, and how it serves to liberate beings from samsara.))

Here’s a description from the Kadampa tradition:

“‘Tara’ means ‘Rescuer’. She is so called because she rescues us from the eight outer fears (the fears of lions, elephants, fire, snakes, thieves, water, bondage, and evil spirits), and from the eight corresponding inner fears (the fears of pride, ignorance, anger, jealousy, wrong views, attachment, miserliness, and deluded doubts).

Temporarily Tara saves us from the dangers of rebirth in the three lower realms, and ultimately she saves us from the dangers of samsara and solitary peace.”

Dayum.

After reciting the mantra, I had calmed down enough to actually talk to the spirit instead of commanding it. I told it, resignedly, that it needed to leave because it would not find any happiness by staying in the house and harassing the occupants. Speaking gently but firmly, I advised it to try and pass on. I was exhausted, and I could feel the entity in the corner, no longer posturing or puffing itself up in defense, but pouting, as if it had been given an earful to digest and was deciding what to do.

“I don’t think I can do any more here,” I sighed, gathering my tools and walking upstairs with Erin. 

“I’ve exhausted my arsenal and there is only so much I can do as an officiant. It’s up to the spirit to make a decision. And dammit, I’m tired.”

Tea followed. Lots of tea. Followed by a booze or two. I went home and saged myself and my tools, took a spiritual bath, and conked out in my bed, Trixy attendant. I went back to the usual dizziness, which caused me to think that perhaps my deities or spirit guides were grounding me during the exorcism so I could focus and stay safe. I probably couldn’t have remained calm during the procedure if I was feeling all sorts of negative juju, and fear probably would have made it stronger.

I spoke to my therapist about the encounter the next day, and she mentioned that it made sense that the spirit responded to loving kindness and not threats or aggression. Tara is the Buddha that people go to for help. Her aspect of Green Tara is known as the Rescuer, or Liberator, and it shows in her posture: She sits upon a lotus, with one knee bent in contemplation and the other leg outstretched so that she can jump off of her throne at any time and hurry to our rescue (she is also a wind element, hence the speed!). In her puja, which is kind of like a Catholic liturgy, she is described as being the one whom “evil spirits, demons, smell-eaters, and givers of harm all offer praise.” Basically, girl is the OG and even nasty entities respect her, because she cares about every sentient being and wants to help them break free from the bondage of suffering.

According to the housemates, the spirit has not done anything since the exorcism. In fact, it has buggered off. Murder Room has gone back to being a basement. I recall, only now, that Nate had been communicating with the entity some time before the cleansing, and he said that it was the father of a family that had lived there in the past. There was also a mother and a child, but the only one causing problems was the dad. It made sense that he was harassing Erin, who is basically the house mother; perhaps she reminded him of his wife. He seemed some sort of misogynist jerk, so it’s interesting that a woman kicked his spectral ass.

Tara, you fucking rock, girl.

Arya Tara courtesy of Tharpa Publications

“Actually, we are also asking to be liberated from the misery of the mental delusions and negative emotions that blind us to true freedom, and to achieve the same enlightened body, speech and mind that Tara represents, not only for our own benefit, but for the benefit of all sentient beings.”

Blessed be, cats and kits.

Helpful links:

http://kadampa.org/buddhism/tara-puja

https://www.yowangdu.com/tibetan-buddhism/green-tara-mantra.html

Friday, September 2, 2016

It ain't easy witchin'.

Really, though. As much as I love my spirituality, it can be a massive source of anxiety for me as far as being "out" as a witch is concerned. There are so many negative connotations to the title, thanks to years of religious defamation and persecution, so of course it will take a long time for pagans to dismantle the stereotypes that have been piled upon their practice. But wow, it sucks.

I grew up a Catholic in the Bible Belt, which came with its own stresses, but this is a different bag of fun. Most people in the Midwest automatically assume that you are a Christian (I do consider myself Gnostic, but they wouldn't get that reference, Steve Rogers) and some can become horribly offended if you are not. In some pockets of Kansas, folks will try to "save" you and it gets annoying. Most Christians will leave you alone, but there just has to be that contingent of people who need to get all up in a stranger's business. Anyway, if you tell one of these nosy people you are a witch, they go "GET BEHIND ME, SATAN!" and all but try to exorcise you. Okay, so that's hyperbole, but most people do back up a step or two when you drop the "w" word.

What bothers me most is my family's reaction. I understand, to a degree. My mom is a second-wave feminist, Vietnam War protester, flower child type, and while my beliefs are still confusing to her, she does try to understand and ask me questions. She has told me about doing candle rituals and attempting peyote back in the early 70's and her interest in history and mythology lend an academic approach to how she questions me. I think she is interested in the idea of the Divine Feminine to a degree as well, but at her core she is solidly Christian and that's great.

The one who makes things really difficult is my dad.

I love my papa. He is my hero. He is Irish Catholic, a Marine, and stoic as all hell. But my mom recently divulged to me that my dad doesn't like me "doing that witchcraft shit." Thanks to his upbringing, my dad likens witchcraft and its attendant practices to devil worship. Never mind that his Catholic relatives in Ireland practice various forms of folk magic, as do most societies. I've tried explaining over and over that the word "witch" comes from the old English word "wicce," meaning "wise one." That the original witches were herbalists, healers, keepers of local history and wisdom. Doesn't matter. In his mind, my denouncing Catholicism - I suppose one would call it "apostasy" - is tantamount to a mortal sin. He knows I'm a kind person, but he thinks I'm mixed up in the wrong things. Kind of like when I was fifteen and started wearing black, and my dad said, "No daughter of mine is gonna be a Goth!"

What people don't seem to understand is, even though I'm kind of muddling around in a fog right now, I pretty much know what I'm doing. I'm not contacting primordial forces of darkness to kill my ex-boyfriend (though the thought is tempting). I'm not using Ouija or hexing people. Actually, more than anything else I'm approaching my practice from a scholarly point of view. Hell, a couple of posts ago I had a works cited section! I ground myself with white light, I call upon my spirit guides and guardian angel when I tap in, I cleanse the heck out of my space with sage and sweetgrass, I even pray to the saints on occasion (Anthony helps me track down my lost keys all the time). My confirmation saint, Hildegard von Bingen, was pretty damn close to being a witch. I guess what I'm trying to say is, whatever I practice, it is not even close to people's idea of dark magick. It is certainly not Satan worship, and by the way, Satanism isn't what you think it is, but that's a digression for another post.

And you know what? Even if I did worship Satan and sacrifice dust bunnies or whatever, as long as I am not hurting anyone, MY PRACTICES ARE NOBODY'S BUSINESS. Even if I tell people what I believe in, it is not an invitation to vivisect those beliefs. They are important to me, and to have someone try and cast aspersions upon them is tantamount to an attack on me as a person.

Actually, here's an idea. Don't judge people or denigrate their spirituality. It's a douchey thing to do. Unless they are causing physical or emotional harm, leave them alone and let them be happy with the way they jive with whatever deity or deities they consider paramount (or don't consider at all). We are, as humans, all just trying to answer the same questions. I think of different spiritual paths like this; we have different personalities, likes and dislikes, and so why should we all follow the same script? Some people like ritual, some people like solitary practices, some people like the idea of enlightenment as the supreme ideal, some people want comfort and community. Religion as a cultural entity also means that regional differences will inform a person's spiritual beliefs. I dunno, this all seems obvious to me, but I tend to ruminate on weird things.

So, I suppose I've gone and rambled on again. Know that I love you all. Signing off.

Blessed be, cats and kits.

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

First Impressions

(Dated August 24th, 2016)

Finally had a chat with Mama Hecate last night. I was pretty exhausted due to not having slept the night before, so I asked her not to expect too much of me.It took me a while to get my spiritual space set up, as my altar needed some MAJOR cleaning and dusting. I also had to do last-minute research on certain herbs and gemstones. I had totally forgotten if my black crystals were jet, onyx, obsidian, black tourmaline, or Apache's tear (turns out I had all but the Apache's tear!).

Also, I had a pot of tea brewing, a hodgepodge of Hekate's favorite herbs. Here's the recipe I concocted:

1 tbsp. jasmine flowers
1/2 tsp. spearmint
1 tsp. lavender flowers
1 inch cinnamon stick
1 tbsp. chamomile
1 tsp. lemon verbena

Additional herbs that are safe to use: mullein, vervain, mugwort.

Put ingredients in a French press and add hot water. You can also use your coffee maker or just make the tea loose leaf and then strain it. Add honey if you wish. I prefer mine neat. I filled a sake cup with the tea as a libation to place on my altar.

I'm still deciding on the final setup of my altar to Hekate, but here are the basics of what I did:

The altar is next to my bedroom door. I don't have a lot of space so I make do with what I have. In lieu of an altar cloth I laid a gauzy red scarf on my small, half-moon table. From left to right:incense and burner; abalone shell with sage and sweetgrass bundle; in the center, a mirror, in front of which I have three tea lights, and in front of that I placed my pentacle disc, and upon that I perched a black taper in a holder. To the right of all this I set a small vial of red wine, a black seven day candle, and my pendulum box. I had placed to tarot cards from the Connolly tarot deck on my altar as well, The High Priestess and The Hermit. I feel that these two cards most accurately describe the state in which I approach Hekate at this time.

To attain maximum witchy ambience, my next task was peppering the room with candles and turning out the lights. Poof! Instant underworld! Throw in some jasmine incense and you've got the perfect atmosphere for encountering the Lady of the Crossroads. Seated on a poofy ottoman, uncomfortably skyclad I had the A/C on), I had all of the trappings perfect.

Next came the hard part.

What exactly does one expect to happen when attempting to chat with a deity? I had no clue what I was doing. I decided to use my tool of choice, words, and introduced myself to Hekate Soteira. I made it pretty darn clear what my intentions were in contacting her, including making sure to note that she asked me to call. Being an empath, I can detect some level of energy fluctuation, but my stupid ADD makes meditating entering a state of trance almost impossible to accomplish. Most of the "phone call" was me undergoing introspection therapy, and through that rambling I realized that I really don't know what it is I want.

Happiness? Security? Communion with the Divine? What the hell, I don't know!

I had dressed a small black taper, carved with my magickal name, and waited until it burned out to tie things up. Trixy, my black cat and snuggly familiar, asked to enter the bedroom at one point, so I introduced her to Hekate as well.

I'm afraid that I don't have a spirit-altering encounter to record here. The ritual was pretty mundane in comparison to what I was hoping for. Not that it was a waste of time, far from that. I suppose I've been thinking that I could enter a different state of consciousness if I did everything right and maybe through that I could understand a little better what I am doing in the dark. But really, if you find what you are searching for within minutes of starting out, then you just weren't paying attention to begin with!

I expect there will be many more one-sided conversations between here and connection.

(8-24-16, 3:50 p.m.)

Friday, August 19, 2016

Hekate, Hecate, Hekitty

Sleep has been eluding me this past week, and I think I am beginning to understand why.

The damn full moon.

I am usually pretty stoked with the energy of the waxing moon, but it has never been this intense. Only a few seconds ago I had an illumination as to why it's driving me up the walls.

Perhaps I'm being forced to stay awake all night for a reason. And I think it has to do with Hekate.

When I was doing research for my last blog post about the Dark Night of the Soul, I came upon a hoard of cool, interrelated concepts; John of the Cross' poem and commentary, Jung's idea of "ego death," and the Thelemic concept of the Night of Pan. But the concept that drew me in through a series of links and Google searches was katabasis.

Katabasis is a Greek word that means "descent," or "retreat." It is most commonly used in literary analysis to describe a descent into the Underworld, an archetype that Joseph Campbell extrapolated upon in his analysis of the Hero's Journey. The Journey to the Underworld appears in myths the world over. I'll bullet point a few:

- Ishtar descending to Irkalla to retrieve her husband, Tammuz
- Odysseus' journey to find Tiresias
- Aeneas and the golden branch
- Dante's voyage through the circles of Hell with Virgil
- Orpheus's search for Eurydice
- Persephone's yearly descent to Hades
- Gilgamesh going to Irkalla to find Utnipishtam
- Merlin in the crystal cave
- Gandalf falling with the Balrog in the mines of Moria (hey, it counts!)
- Romeo and Juliet in the Capulet crypt

The instance of katabasis that I am most familiar with is that of Persephone. When I was rereading her story, I was struck by a figure whom I had often pushed to the side or otherwise benignly ignored.

Who is Hekate?

Hekate, who has so many epithets that I don't want to list them, is predominantly referred to as the goddess of the crossroads and the Queen of the Witches. It is she who was the witness to Persephone's abduction by Hades (Helios was there, but he was a dick and didn't do anything about it, he even thought the match was a good idea), she who bears the news to Demeter, and it is she who guides the goddess of springtime to and from the realm of the dead each year. She is often depicted in modern renditions as a crone, but to the Ancient Greeks up until the 20th century she was considered a maiden goddess. Apparently the Church liked to demonize pretty goddesses by making them old (they were idiots to think that was an insult anyway).

Anyway, sleep. Full moon. Hekate.

I have felt for some time that I am at a crossroads in my life. Within the past few months, the word "crossroads" itself has impressed itself in my consciousness like a glaring neon light. I have been using it in conversation to describe what is happening to me. Right now, basically this past year, everything is in flux. My dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer two months ago. My parents are looking to sell my childhood home. I had to drop out of graduate school when I realized that the discipline I chose really didn't suit me and my ambitions. My love life is just depressing, I won't even go there. I have hit so many dead ends trying to find a second job. Bills are piling up and I barely make enough money to buy food and medicine, and I more often than not have to pick between the two. I don't know if I want to be a performer anymore, and I can't stick to a writing project even if I'm being paid.

There are so many paths laid out before me, but I have no idea which one I should tread. And a few paths which I thought were necessary now have been blocked with "DO NOT ENTER" signs. What I need is a light, a torch, a guide through the darkness in which I find myself.

I think I need Hekate.

I have been thinking of her this past week. My therapist even mentioned knowing a guided meditation to Hekate that she thought would be helpful for me, if she can find it (our Google search came up empty).

And weirdest of all, Hekate first came to me three days before her feast day last Saturday, August 13th, which I randomly read about when fiddling around online. I had the opportunity to make her a cake and placed it beneath the old gate that joins my house with my parents' big old Victorian. It was around midnight. I laid the sweet, spicy, rich cake in the dirt as Asteria's stars gazed down upon my odd little ceremony, and I felt the darkness envelop me. It was pretty chill. No big revelation, no voices in the wind, just swatting away moths on a cool-ish summer night as my bare feet got all messy on the dusty brick pathway.

Hekate keeps inviting me to chat with her, but I keep putting it off. I suck at meditating and spiritual communication, so I make up all sorts of excuses not to do it. "My ADD won't let me concentrate!" is the main one. And it is kind of true. It can be scary to shut out external noise and focus inward. Maybe I'm afraid of becoming bored, which would be insulting to whatever facet of Spirit I am communing with.

Tonight, on the full moon (which I learned is called the "Sturgeon Moon"), I have plans with my empath bestie to do some witchy things. I will shove aside my nervousness and just go for it. I'll call up Hekate and see if she wants to have a heart-to-heart. With my recent experiences navigating the dark, I won't expect too much, but hey, maybe it's the breakthrough I need.

Then perhaps I will be able to sleep.

Blessed be, cats and kits.

*****

Sources:
κατάβασις

noun, plural katabases  [kuh-tab-uh-seez] (Show IPA)
1.
a march from the interior of a country to the coast, as that of the 10,000 Greeks after their defeat and the death of Cyrus the Younger at Cunaxa.
2.

a retreat, especially a military retreat.
1830-40; Greek katábasis a going down, descent, equivalent to kataba-(stem of katabaínein to go down) + -sis -sisSee kata-basis

Lappin, Linda. "Your Journey to Hell and Back."Pokkoli.  http://www.pokkoli.org/files/Katabasis_The_Writer.pdf

d'Este, Sorita. "Is She the Crone? Hekate's Profanation?" Patheos, 11 Aug. 2016,
http://www.patheos.com/blogs/adamantinemuse/2016/08/is-she-the-crone-hekates-profanation/

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Bingo Night of the Soul

One of the few times I've played Bingo, I got a blackout. And wow, was it great in a mediocre sort of way.

Being ADD, it kind of sucked to sit through all the number and letter combinations being called, and repeated, for those not paying attention. There were times when I wanted to just give the hell up and go get more pancakes (this was at Pancakes and Bingo night in college. Self-explanatory.). Anyway, when I got a blackout I scored bag of cheap plastic toys from the Dollar Store and a pencil with one of those rubber aliens that fuck around while you try to do homework.

A Dark Night of the Soul is kind of like that, but the actual game sucks harder and the prizes are a lot better than crappy alien pen hats.

*****

I'm a skeptic at heart, and it kind of sucks.

There are times when all that "love and light" shit makes sense to me, and elsetimes it just sounds stupid. Trite. Meme-like. But that's none of my business.

Anyway, as witchy and spiritually-oriented as I am I can't help but try and rationalize the purpose of magickal workings. Sort of like psychoanalyzing my spiritual practice. When I feel the twinge of power outside of myself, or an altered state of consciousness, is it a placebo effect? Are my trances psychosomatic? I really wish I could push those intruding notions aside, but they are sort of rooted in me like a malignant kind of parasite. I guess doubt is kind of parasitic. But at the same time, it exists for a reason.

Doubt is a facet of instinct, and instinct is what kept our ancestors alive long enough to evolve and carry on a lineage. I really do think that a certain amount of skepticism is healthy. How often do we hear about somebody who adhered to their religion or political ideals so much that they hurt people who didn't believe the same as they did? Just check the front page of your least-favorite news website. Actually, don't. You know it's gonna be there.

Skepticism sometimes works in a way that actually reaffirms the beliefs we doubted before. There was a cool dude named John of the Cross who wrote a beautiful metaphorical poem about finding truth through doubt. He called it "The Dark Night of the Soul." In this poem (and adjoining commentary) he likened the person searching for the Divine through the darkness of doubt to a lover searching in the night for her beloved. It's damn beautiful. Some of the greatest luminaries and mystics went through periods of intense skepticism. Thérèse of Lisieux, Paul of the Cross, Mother Theresa of Calcutta all went through it.

Yes, I just listed a bunch of Catholics, but I'll remind you that I was raised in Mother Rome's brood since I was a chicklet and some things are just base knowledge at this point. 16 plus years of theological study, ahoy! And spirituality really transcends religion, doesn't it? By the way, speaking of enlightenment, a fabulous non-Christian example of someone who found the light in the darkness was Buddha Shakyamuni. Kind of an obvious one. I'd love to hear from you about luminaries from other religions who have experienced the Dark Night in some form or other. Post in the comments!

I think I've been in my own Dark Night since I was a late teen. It weirdly coincided with my depression getting really bad*. Before the Dark Night came around, I was pretty connected with my spirituality. I was a cradle Catholic and just dipping my toes into pagan waters with a couple of friends at our Catholic high school. I still felt something when I prayed the rosary or communicated with faeries. Then all of a sudden, nothing. I was pretty lost at first, but I've since become pretty calm when faced with my spiritual shadow. Not having those tingles in my soul makes it much easier to think rationally about philosophies that I had previously taken for granted, and as such I was able to weed out thoughts and practices that didn't jive with me. It led me toward Buddhism and Christian mysticism as well as ancient Celtic philosophies.

It can still be disappointing when I chat with spiritually attuned friends about their experiences (I have a very close friend who is a fellow empath as well as a budding medium, and she is able to tune in to Spirit in a way that I currently am blocked from). I want to feel that connection. But I just gently remind myself that I'm on a different trail leading back to the main Path. And weirdly, I have finally been able to connect in small ways this past year or so. I'll post more on that later.

When I was in session with my therapist yesterday we got on the topic of the Dark Night of the Soul. She gave me some good validation as only a shrink can, explaining that the Night was basically a form of introspection, like the Jungian idea of the assimilation of the shadow self. I won't get too much into that, since my aim is spirituality and not psychology (though I do enjoy studying the latter). But it is definitely something I'd like to revisit at another time.

The Dark Night is not that scary. I'm just making my way through in order to get that alien pet hat.

*****

"The dark night of the soul comes just before revelation. When everything is lost, and all seems darkness, then comes the new life and all that is needed."
Joseph Campbell, from A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living

"There is no coming to consciousness without pain. People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own soul. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious." - Carl Jung

*(NOTE: a Dark Night of the Soul and depression are very different things. This link provides a good explanation and distinction between the two ((http://www.everydayhealth.com/columns/therese-borchard-sanity-break/depression-dark-night-soul/)). I do NOT condone replacing psychiatric treatment with religion. Just sayin.')

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Witchcraft. As best as I can.

I'm a lazy, broke, ADD witch.

I'd like to paint myself as some sort of polished esoteric scholar, or even just well-versed in rune-working, but I need to face it. Half of the time I have no idea what I am doing.

I grab a handful of herbs from the spice cabinet and hope that oregano substitutes for marjoram.
Esbats sometimes pass by completely unnoticed.

I have no idea where I put my athame...or if a decorative blade from the Renaissance Faire even qualifies as an athame (it's probably in storage, actually).

Thanks to Kansas' broken economy and a Bachelor's degree in English I often can't afford supplies so I make do with what I have. No red candles? Well then, I'll just smother this white taper with acrylic paint and hope for the best. Okay, I was being facetious there. Anyway, I'm pretty good at improvising.

What magick really boils down to is, in my opinion, intention. Yes, the trappings are pretty specific for a reason, but if you live in a small town it might be difficult to come by dragon's blood resin unless you order it online. I like to imagine that Spirit gives us a pass when we are doing the best we can. Things are doubly hard for spoonies, i.e. those of us with chronic illness, physical or mental, and going through an entire ritual can be draining enough, especially as an empath. Some days it's all I can do to shuffle my tarot cards.

So let this blog be a place where the poor and the half-hearted may find respite from a world insistent upon perfection. I'm pretty eclectic in my practice so don't expect me to follow a specific path. Ain't nobody got time for that.

Words are a form of magick themselves, so you will also find that I post poetry, short stories, and I even write my own spells from time to time. Feel free to borrow the spells and alter them to suit your needs, just give me a smidge of credit is all I ask.

ALSO, BIG IMPORTANT THING THAT REQUIRES CAPITAL LETTERS:

Trust your intuition, kids. If something doesn't feel right, don't do it. You evolved those gut instincts for a reason. Working magick is the perfect time to try and hone those instincts into a valuable tool you can apply to most areas of your life. This BIG IMPORTANT THING is doubly important if you work with spirits and entities outside of yourself. I don't use Ouija boards for a reason, and that reason is that I have a baaad feeling about them. I add a candle to certain rituals because I have this nagging sensation that I should add a bit of illumination to the atmosphere. A lot of the time we think we have to adhere dogmatically to the recipe, but sometimes a little less sugar or a little more frankincense is just what is needed.

My cousin, Fr. Eamonn O'Conghaile, is an Irish Catholic priest in Connemara. He is also a seanchai, a keeper of our clan's oral tradition, very similar to the ancient bards. He has a beautiful analogy that I try to employ whenever I think about why people operate differently:

"Everyone is on a journey. Some people take a boat, some ride a bicycle. Others might drive a car or take the train. In the end we all end up in the same place, some fellows just get there sooner than the others."

Blessed be, cats and kits.