Well, then...

There are things I’ve thought of discussing here that I just kept very firmly under my cap. This is somewhat out of self-preservation, because once you put things in the public sphere there's always a chance someone's going to make it weird, but that's not really all of the why.  It's... already weird. It's weird, and uncomfortable, and weird. It's a reality-questioning weird. It's a "Wait, what the hell is my entire life about then?" weird. And that realization lead to a simple truth: This blog has a purpose. It's meant to be a signpost hammered into the ground for someone as lost and witless as I was (and whooooboy). Life is to goddamned short to argue with yourself about things that, ultimately, only matter to the people they matter to (and we'll get back to that). 

So here's something I was going to talk about a while ago, and dusted off to finally talk about now.

An Attempt Was Made.

I wrote the start of this post, originally, as we were moving into winter here in North America in 2018. It’s that time again, a full two years later. Some of these posts languished for a long time, and change a lot along the way.

The last two years? Bitter ashes. 

Where to start? Do I want to start? Is this a thing I do anymore? What is the goal? Am I the person I was when I started? Am I enough the same that this-as-this makes sense?

“The radio silence isn’t about a lack of ideas, or topics, but a feeling like there’s simply no ‘room’ for me to exist.” - It’s fine, Or it Will Be. 

“When your heart and soul starts being co-opted by the terminally misguided the water gets muddy.” - Ol’ Bent and Bowed.

I stopped blogging for a lot of reasons. None of them were exactly intentional. I emphasize that this is a "travelogue" type of blog. That it is, in essence, a digital journal. Anyone who has kept a journal for any length of time will understand an indelible and immutable truth - when you look back over old entries you realize how much has changed. Things change, things stay the same, and there it is - your blog or my blog - a monument to all of the things which are and are not.

Some of the me you’ve seen is now woefully out of date, yet still new to you. I, and the image made of me, exist at odds, out of step and out of sync. And that’s very weird to experience. 

I got tired of bullying. I mean, who isn’t tired of that crap? But I got especially tired of the middle-school bullying-by-gossip. I heard back a lot of things being said about me that were bad enough to cause me to reach out, and let me tell ya: When you reach out to the person triangulating others against you and ask them, honestly, why they did it they do not respond politely.

I got tired of the over-familiarity. It was a real shock to me that running a blog meant some folks developed a parasocial attachment. I thought you had to be a lot “bigger” to have that happen, and it turns out I was very wrong. Some of those folks thought we were tight enough for ribbing, flirtation and coarse humor - we weren’t - and they didn’t appreciate it when this was made clear. 

Mostly, though, I just got tired. Trauma is life-altering. It impacts you in ways that you won’t understand until you process and begin to inventory your thinking. The way it affects the brain and the body is exhausting. There were other things, too. 

Take it from the top.

There’s now a hole in my life - caretakers talk about that a lot - that I don’t know how to live with. I’m learning to step around it, over it, not fall into it, but it is there and it is ever-present. For the majority of my life I cared in some capacity for my mother, and in the last decade that intensified to an actual role of “part time caretaker” in fits and starts. There are regrets (thank god that telling her I love her and am proud to be her child was something I was sure I did, often, and emphatically), there is pain. There is this hole. This missing step in a flight of stairs I took ten times a day. Muscle memory falters, stumbles. 

I keep coming back to the phrase “Words ceased existing.” because what is there to say? No matter what hurt I feel, she lost herself, her family and her life. No matter what beliefs or experiences I’ve had I cannot know what transpires past the edge of death. Nothing matters in the face of death, absolutely nothing. Nothing means anything when nothing feels different and everything has changed. 

I have not celebrated. What remains of my family made sure to mark birthdays, to make sure we did not let those pass without some acknowledgement, because they are so few (and grow fewer every year). But on the slow crawl to The Big Two… no thank you.

I could not do my usual witching. Not really. I couldn’t even work my regular job worth a damn - I shudder to think of how very little I scraped by with, monetarily. I did what few things I could. I maintained. I couldn’t find it in me. I’m not sure I could even find me in me. Grief is like unclogging a drain - it’s a normal enough process, but goddamn is it grotesque. 

And it’s hard to be the person you want to be - honest and open to a fault with no wistful filter - while also avoiding talking about the elephant in the room. 

It is easy for bloggers and influencers to just straight up lie to their audience. I mean, I assume by now everyone’s savvy to the ugliness behind an instagram-ready lifestyle, especially when Witchcraft is involved. They will blog like everyone reading is an intimate friend, they’ll take your money and give you advice, but you’ll never know they had a kid (I don’t), or a ‘mundane job’ (I do) because it doesn’t fit the picture of the perfect Witch Aesthetic (as if Ye Olde Witch didn’t also have to work a dozen mundane jobs and also wipe with rags and leaves). You find out years later that their life was on fire all while the content kept rolling at an unaltered. 

It’s not a failing as a magician, or as a person, or as (insert category here) to say that one finds themselves in these situations. It’s not a sign of some personal inadequacy to say that the last few years have been trying. It’s not a shame upon anyone that sometimes we falter. Not when the whole world is pushing, crushing, grinding and praying for us to fail.

For some, the path of - well, whatever this is - is one of total power, total mastery. A blazing triumph over. And when they put that ideology forward-facing, it mutates. They’re never struggling with money, unless it makes a good byline. They’re never sad unless it’s adequately wistful. They never falter because they, good readers, have meticulously edited and curated their public-facing-media to ensure you cannot see the steep slope they just (to borrow a phrase from my grandpa) ate shit the whole way down. 

That’s a deeply Problematic way to live. Maybe a good maladaptive coping strategy in the meantime, but the lies we tell ourselves by telling them to others are often the ones that smack us upside the head the hardest when the truth bounces back into shape. 

And the truth is that for a long time, everything has really, really, sucked. So I didn’t post, because I refuse to lie, reframe, or instagram-ready it up and I honestly didn’t want to dig through and litigate my suffering. 

Peeking out of the doom-hole.

I’ve begun to sort through the pieces of wreckage left behind from, well… a lot of mistaken steps made with the best intentions. To be brutally honest, I spent the last decade having The Good And Dutiful Woman narrative crammed down my throat ("Accept that you'll be working twenty hours a day and come home to find that your partner has gone through the house like a typhoon and not lifted a finger to clean it up. If you don't clean it yourself you're the asshole! That's your domain and your job!") with a few extra scoops of the Sacrifice For Others Even If It Costs You Your Joy ("It's so selfish to want to be happy if that happiness isn't found through service to others!"), and that’s enough torture to make you think “Eh, maybe if I just compromise a little…” and then you’ve compromised entirely and no one else has, and you’re a stranger to yourself in your own existence sliding into a second nervous breakdown. But life is hard and complex and often quite shitty and you take on the problems as you can take them out (more on that in the future). 

I managed to celebrate the First Winter this year, and this year it was not Last Harvest, but a proper Winter, bared teeth and all. I’ve been managing to work steadily. I struggled up from maintenance to headway. I’ve even started to write again.

Of course, as I wrote this the election is/was still being counted with an optimistic call for sanity. I have no idea what the future will bring. It may shove me right off my precarious little ledge back down into the pit. My life may become very unpleasant, or things may merely return to the mildly progressive normalcy we’ve been slowly building for the last forever. Ideally the last four years were some kind of extinction burst fever spasm of decades of lead poisoning. We can hope, we can look toward the dawn, and we can ideally not lie to ourselves or others about the realities of our lives along the way. The only way out is through, and the only way through is with the occasional helping hand. 

The Book Stayed Empty

Courtesy bohdanchreptak at Pixabay 

A while ago I woke from a dream very suddenly, distressed and upset even as sleep shed off of me. I had been at an intimate coven gathering in the dream. We sat in the circle, perhaps before or after ritual, enjoying what looked to be a very fine charcuterie board, and sundry nibbles. Each of us tending to tasks one usually does “in circle”. Someone off beside me was grinding herbs slowly and methodically, chanting as they worked. Another was plaiting cords, the tail end hooked over their outstretched big toe. I was copying into my Book. It was the sight of the book that woke me, actually. The realization - in my semi-lucid, go-with-the-flow, state - that I knew what that little book was. It exists in the real world, y’see.

I’ve been hanging onto this book for… well… we’ll say 20 years at this point. Honestly, it could be a little more. The book itself went out of print a while ago, which is weird but also understandable since it’s a blank, lined, journal. I remember buying two of them. One was cannibalized, covered in leather, filled with handmade paper and gifted to a friend. The other, plus the original “text block” of the first, were squirrelled away, wrapped in paper, beneath my altar.

I knew the moment I saw this book that it was supposed to be with me and I even knew what it was for. It was for the book of shadows. Not “a” book of shadows, nor “my” book of shadows. Nah… it was for THE book of shadows. One of the properly-received Wiccan ones.

When I knelt at my altar and did one of the early “solo initiations” from a mass-market paperback it was done with the hope that one day I’d experience a ‘proper’ one, and fill that little book.

In that moment, saying my very heartfelt words about the whole thing (speaking directly to the gods and to those who have gone before), I felt very strongly that I needed to bring something to the table should I ever approach a prospective coven - I took this as spirit-guidance, something to do with being some specific and subtle connotation of that “Proper person, properly prepared” phrase. That went into the words I spoke - to bring to a coven no less than I would ask of a coven. I felt that if I did not have something unique, novel, and most importantly useful, to offer… then why seek it out? Why take more than I would offer in return? In hindsight such an Oath may have been something of a mistake, but… what’s done is done.

So, I learned. 

Well, then of course I got burned, badly, by many different subsets of the witchcraft and occult communities. The voices of authority never really spoke in a way that sang to my heart, and so I wondered if I belonged there at all. I was filled with knowledge that I sought on my own, trials I endured solo, and initiations between myself and rather dubious sorts.

I studied every sort of thing I could afford to have access to. Basics, sure, but also some rather out-there bits of theatrics. I learned to better sew and to draft simple patterns for robes and the like, I learned leatherworking and bookbinding a little more properly, I studied but never really properly practiced smithing, I learned simple woodworking, I already knew pottery, etc. I learned how to make masks and other costumery, how to make flash powder and pyrotechnics, different kinds of puppetry, shadow-theater, phantasmagoria, stage magic, and on and on and on.

The book, however, stayed empty.

I still have a deep respect for Wicca itself. It moves in it’s own world, orbits its own courses. There is something in that unknown country that calls out, even to this day.

It’s sitting in front of me on my desk. It’s gold filigree border striking dozens of memories so deep in my heart that they ring rather than recall. To bring nothing less than I would ask. Well, by then would I not already be my own, sovereign, priest? Would I not have already learned Mysteries? Would I not already have met Them, and known Them, and adored Them in my own way?

So, I write my own book. I fill it with the knowledge I have received, details I might otherwise forget (or already partially have), and things that I might want to preserve, should I ever pass this information onward - and I can’t think of a way more proper (for me) than through blood, sweat, and tears. Tucked into the back, behind the text block of dyed paper paper, nestled into the leather flap that wraps the whole thing shut, is the home of that empty book. Maybe still waiting, maybe a reminder.

Don't Be A Dick.

Smugness - courtesy pixabay

Stop me if you've heard this one before: "I want to be a Witch" says a forum poster. Or, maybe they said "I want to do this spell." or "I want to be initiated.", maybe they said "I'm having a problem with a spirit and I need to get rid of it, but I'm not sure how."

And of course someone else comes in and decides to regurgitate really old, rehashed, horse-shit that doesn't even really apply instead of contributing to the conversation. They spin the old classics: "Readiness", "This isn't (insert fictional media here)", "Red in tooth and claw", "When the seeker...", "Mad, dead..." and they get ass pats for being so wise.

Because of how long I've been around the net and what I've seen I can tell you that even the nicest and most responsible people will whip out one of these floppy dongers once in a while. OP maybe has a fit or just sulks off. Forum pats itself on the back for a solid month for really stickin' it to that noob/fluffer who was so unserious they couldn't even handle time-tested, sage, wisdom. No one's problems are solved, but the social equilibrium has returned and everyone can get back to the familiar, old, circle-jerk.

Bonework And The Wrathful.

Various Familiar vessels and Figurines by Scylla. "Ladyfrog" figure by Erin Nightwalker.

This entry has been languishing in my "Drafts" for a long time now. A long, long, time. Re-reading this entry in repeated attempts to finish it I broke down crying quite often. I would shelve it for a few weeks, then a few months, and now... ah... it's been a while. Because it involves stories of spirits who deeply impacted me, and who set the tone for the way I deal with the Animal Dead as well as the Human Dead.

This is also about animals in general, and expands on HTTAS: Permissions - About the need for a working relationship and consent when engaging with others in that relationship.

TW: Animal Death, descriptions thereof. Bone work, bloody bits, witchcraft, emotions.

This post is a letter of love and fondness to Wrathful (especially), and to all of the spirits I have known. It has been my privilege to serve as their psychopomp and friend.

This is not a how-to post, this is another example of why I tell people that my blog is a travelogue and journal rather than an instructional guide.

Dangerous Knowledge. Pt.2

Hamsa from one of my personal workbooks.

A long time ago I made a post about the situation I found myself in as a youngin, and the horrors I went through as a result. Now, as an adult, I've been going through massive amounts of soul-retreival-type work and discovering... well... the whole woo-woo thing didn't start there, that's just where my memory of it picked up. So, in that respect it's basically just "pretty lucky" that it took until then to get weird/dangerous.

Recently I've had several people mention the "Dangerous Knowledge" post to me, either in passing or in direct reference. When that many mentions happen you need to pay attention, and I've found that it's definitely time to revisit the topic. 

And here's precisely how I dealt with it, though your own needs may vary.

Permissions.

Railway spikes found near a dump-site in the woods.
Brought home and re-purposed to "nail down" the corners of my land.

I have decisions to make, but I'm not alone. 

Decisions about trees.  Decisions about wildflowers. About fallen logs. About old bricks. Decisions about rocks. Decisions about dirt. Un/fortunately, I am not making these decisions solo. There are a myriad of spirits and forces that have to be taken into consideration before these decisions can be made.

Fangs and Claws.

The clock has stopped ticking. My spouse's snoring has gone quiet. The cat's grooming has ceased. Everything stills, utterly, completely, fully.

The only movement in my entire body is the slow surge of blood, and my breathing. I am so still I can feel the swelling of veins move tissue and muscle. I will, through sheer force, myself into a point of consciousness somewhere behind my face, and nothing else. This is the reverse of phantom limb syndrome - my body is insensate and alien. I cannot feel my breathing, my limbs, my blood, or the bedding. And thus removed I feel my body change, to be as it is when I run wild, ecstatic, in the night. As I reshape the image of myself, I expand my awareness back into my body, bit by bit, until I can occupy those changed members once again - first the surges of blood, then the rock of breath.

And then I am a beast.

I stand up from the bed, and my skin is there - empty, sagging, dead to the world. This new shape that had been hidden in it crouches to get through the gap beneath the door, tip-toes through the house, and out the chimney. It thuds down to the deck, through the garden gate, and to the hedgerow fence. As soon as my toe crosses the line, the pack is there, waiting.

Doing this is different than "just ending up" at the Sabbat-hill. The conscious direction stays, and so it is with the others there. We make our signs and off we go, faster than fast. Blazing, blurring, twisting. Half-smoke, half-form, bestial and wild as demons.

Tonight our hunt is sinister. A black bear the size of a house takes us thundering to another person like us - a horse so beautiful it's just a shame what's about to happen - we eat him. I know that some terrible law was broken, and that his body in this world must be taken from him so it cannot occur again. I really have no idea what happens to him when he wakes up. I imagine this un-asked question is answered by "nothing good."

And the strange thing is, I can tell that my spouse is shaking me in the bed. I've howled in my state, he's getting upset. I gallop back, crawling between my own teeth like smoke so that I can draw a perturbed breath and say "The hell did you wake me up for?" - I have to come back quickly, he gets scared because when I'm asleep a ladybug's fart wakes me up, but when I'm out... I may as well be dead.

I can taste horse. Not the blood, or the meat. But the musk and sweat. The froth and foam of a panicked prey-animal. The clock is ticking. My spouse is settling back into snoring. The cat is slurping noisily at her toes.

For that night there will be no more flight.

Gasp.

In the recent wake of entries about nonconformity, or "different cognition" and how anything other than middle-of-the-road needs to somehow be hyper-vigilant about not becoming batshit crazy - fuck that noise. This wild witch has weird shit happen, questions it until it hurts - and finds it just as beautiful in the morning.  So, here is a story of weird shit, things that border on insanity, but that changed my life forever - for the better.

The Foreplay.

I don't recall how old I was, precisely... 14 is a good, rough, estimate. I was already practicing whatever this -thing- is that became "Witchcraft". I was also routinely suffering from allergy attacks that, by all rights, should've been taken care of at a hospital. But they weren't "so" bad - I'd take the dose of OTC antihistamines suggested by my doctor (read: A LOT) , the symptoms would fade, I'd pass out... all would be well in the morning.

Except that night. When you have mysterious food allergies, allergies to your own hormones, allergies to perfumes and additives... sometimes a perfect storm crawls up your back when you're busy, and rodgers you dry. I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't breathe.

Note

There is an individual out there claiming to train others in the Tradition I am a part of, and citing me as the person who trained/inducted them. I want to stress fully, and without the slightest hint of wiggle-room, that this is not true. In fact, I have never properly discussed even my personal practices with them (let alone Traditional ones), without enough blinds to blot out the sun.


This person had previously asked, repeatedly, for training and had been turned down in spades. They are not in the neighborhood, region, state, continent, planetoid, solar system, or galaxy of "proper" for the Work, and have proven that time and time again.

Caveat seeker, because there's some crazy mofos out there.

Types of Initiation - Types of Initiates.

Titles are like Tits.

 The People Who Have Large Ones Often Find Them Unwieldy, and Yet Others Seem to Envy Them and Yet More Burden Themselves Into Ridiculousness With Them In An Attempt To Be Admired.

There is a need amongst people to be able to distinguish "I'm in this for the long haul" from "I'm in this to make my parents uncomfortable." It is the same need as "No, I do not like this band because their song was on a printer commercial." or "I read Lord Of The Rings before I watched Lord of The Rings."

It is the fundamental statement "I am not shallow about this. This is important to me. I do not want to even be thought of as having come to this place in a shallow way." Because, well, we've all met that one really shallow person - in fact, that statement probably brings one or more people to mind. I could go through a list of flaky characteristics, but you already know that person.

It's not about trying to claim you're something you're not - unless you are.  It's about making sure that there is a distinction - a distinction that is important to you.

But is the distinction all that important?

Icky Bits Pt. 1 : "Permissions" of Sacrifice & Toadbone

The Seed of The Topic. 

Eric from "Philosophies of a Witch" asked a few salient questions concerning The Toadbone Rite over on another blog. Not only were/are my comments not showing up, that is just not the place to discuss this.

This is a topic that, right now, I could write you a book on the whole thing.  That is because The Rite encompasses a number of moral puzzles, social quandaries, and occult niches which are not routinely discussed - and there's reasons for that. Chumbley's treatment "One: The Grimoire of The Golden Toad" is meant for Cunningfolk and Sorcerers who do not need to be mushroom stamped (NSFW) by morality and ethics - The Witch is the holder of their conscience.  If I were to expound, 'cause I'm damned well gonna, I'd go into those nooks and crannies - they interest me. I like discussing them, I like the moral puzzles and what great power and wonder they bring to the table. These are part of what make the rite as powerful as it is.

This is a topic a little like the Dandelion - You would not assume it's ad weighty as it appears. You might assume a lot of the hub-bub is just bluster... but bound up in the discussion of one, small, English rite are matters that can apply to all areas of Traditional Witchcraft and it's modern incarnation.

Finding a Mentor/Coven.

Anon Asked: I know this isn't even your most recent post, but it felt too "off topic" to post this there. I would have hunted down your email, but I figured if you were open to that direct of contact it would have been front and center somewhere.
I've been wondering just how does one find a mentor. I've tried to obtain one through the means of internet and real life connections. I've had nothing but bad luck on both ends. Maybe my standards are just too high. Any tips (that go beyond "find a local coven = profit")?

Well, Anon... you're right - Direct Contact is not one of my strong suits. I do have this blog and my tumblr, though. My Tumblr (same name as this blog) has questions enabled as well, and I get some interestin' ones from time to time! To get forward with it... Mentors, covens... hmmm...

Wherein I Tell You What A Dick I Used To Be.

Once upon a time I was a young pagan. I had a demonic entity driving me mad, and then I ate it. And that sort of dietary change does things to a person - in short, I got in a massive heap of fucking trouble because I had a massive heap of fucking power coursing through me. And I found some folks that "jived" with me. I pestered them. A lot. And they said "No, you're too young, and too crazy."

I knew I was fucking up. I knew I was doing dangerous work - I was desperate. I crossed their fucking conditions, I jammed my fingers up their asses and yelled "1,000 years of pain!" (metaphorically), I hassled them endlessly - illustrating my knowledge of them, their system, and shit I should not have known. Until the Elder finally said "Alright, someone needs to train her, because she won't leave us alone, and she's one of us, and she's an asshole."  I was initiated into that system, and into another one of it's members was a part of - both places were squarely "Family".

So, my technique was "batter the gate until it falls" - that was stupid, and wrong, and assholish. Don't do that.

Wherein I Offer Advice Completely Not What I Did.

So, what do you do? Find the things that are important to you, and find parallels with others and their paths. Find someone you trust or admire who is a little further along the road you feel that you're on.

If they blog, or do classes... read/attend. Build a rapport, comment frequently.  Never doubt the value of Internet Occultists - I've known Jack Flash since the late ninties or early naughts on various journal and blogging sites. I'd probably jump in front of a knife-wielding madman to ensure his safety.

Ask them one or two REAL important questions (to you). See what the answers are. If the answers jive - if you feel like "AH! THIS!" then ask them what Trad they are part of, if their Trad trains, if -they- train (if they are non-trad), ask them about their sources of inspiration and Work. Ask them about avenues you might find proffitable - of course, that assumes they're personable and will answer.

And The Real Core Of It All.

The BIGGEST thing is to find someone/someones with whom you feel a connection - and that connection ought to be mutual. It may not be everything you asked for, but it may be more than you ever dreamed. Be flexible - be willing to accept a mentor who occasionally rips ass in front of you, or looks different than you expected. Be willing to travel, or at least jump through weird and seemingly nonsensical hoops to provide -them- with information on who you are magickally. Be willing to accept a No, or a Yes, or a "Yes, but not now." or a "The Gods are saying yes, but I say no. Because XYZ" But be willing to accept a "Yes. And not only yes, but come over here and give me a fucking hug, bro!"

Set firm boundaries,but don't consider your boundaries to be an immoveable force. You may never be called for the things that squick you, so never behave as though the demand is currently present (unless it is).

Wherein I Bitch And Moan About Being Lonely.

I get the want, and the need for Family.  My "Family" is no longer with me in the flesh - when I touch my feet to the Sabbat Hill I find fewer of them each year - some old, some hateful toward rogue upstarts like myself, some dead and gone. Where there was once a great, big, united coven... now it's splintered. Some have simply gone to other hills, and other ways - their blood a bond, but Family may not always meet for Thanksgiving. I sought it with CUUPs - and I did not find it. I sought it with Pagan Pride and Psychic Fairs - and I did not find it. I sought it with online communities - I did not find it. But between them, in the cracks and little places, I found a few people with whom I can converse openly - and honestly? Not in the places I looked!

Sometimes we ask for something, and we get something a little different. Eventually, longer than we'd like, we get something amazing. Keep your chin up - Witchpower does things, you don't step on the path without garnering notice.

Appropriate Responses

 A post over at Deep Woods Tea Party sparked some ideas in my head. In concert with some recent bits of conversation, I felt like writing about a topic near and dear to my heart: Watching Pagans go all Chicken Little over stuff that a: isn't really worth the fuss. b: isn't any of their business. c: all of the above.

Every incident, every entity, every potentially crossed condition, must be met with guns blazing and scorched earth scenarios. Bad day? You're hexed and you need to literally counter-hex the feces clean out of their colon, NOW, before they really get you.

Cautionary Tales: Unseelie.

I've mentioned before an entity (an unseelie fey) "living" on the West side of a nearby lake.

I've heard of numerous people attempting to deal with that nastiness, and getting burnt. I, myself, had only roughly felt around the edges - and I felt it was time to actually say hello to what can only be a batshit crazy fay... after all, it lives in a lake so full of iron that the water is red. 

Sticky-fingered Readers, and The Occult.

I've always had mixed feelings about the trade in torrented Occult documents, xerox'd copies of out-of-print books, PDFs of high-priced volumes... all making their circulations. But a part of me says "Ah, they're meant to be read. I've begged, borrowed and paid off people to read their books before, I can't blame someone for not going to the same lengths to do things right" -- and yet, can't I?

Whether the text is copyrighted, or intellectual, or spiritual, or emotional - the theft is there. Distribution of books with proper attribution may not send me into frothing, but erasing the credit and replacing it with one's own? Ooh, I seethe.

I read more blogs than some folks must think. I know quite well when someone is copying material, experiences and ideas from this blog (or other blogs, for that matter), and posting it as their own. I find it absolutely disgusting. Blogs are absolutely meant to be read, to inspire - but not "inspire" in the sense of inspiring someone to copy them outright.

I'm not just pissing around, you know. I really do have these experiences, and I fear - to the depths of my heart do I fear - what will happen to those who dabble, meddle, and falsify about them. You're flirting with meaner and more vicious things than you realize, and by each of your actions, each of your words, you ring out to them. You garner their attention.

Of course, that brings me back to the old chestnut of Magicians/Witches who espouse their own greatness, and secretly have no faith whatsoever in the reality of their workings, have no faith in the spirits, and no faith in the gods.

The beings in the firelight of the Sabbat-circle are not all sweet. The growling maw of The Mother is nothing compared to some of those things when they are offended. When you speak of the Power they hear, and they come - and if they find you wanting? Oh god, pity does not approach what I would feel.

Shelby Ellis and a Culture of Fear.

The Backstory.

A 16 year old girl named Shelby liked black clothes, vampire books, and the ilk. She liked to dress goth, and was on the social networking site "Vampire Freaks.com"

Her parents didn't like what she was into. They forbade her wearing goth clothing, makeup, or hanging out with certain friends - so she sneaked around behind their backs and did it anyway. They cut off her internet access so that she could not log onto the networking site - so she sneaked around behind their backs and did it anyway.

Things got more restrictive at Shelby's house, so like a lot of teenagers she ran away from home. Of course, if the story ended so simply, I wouldn't be blogging about it.

"Vampire Cult"

Shelby's alarmist parents referred to her interests as a "dark cultic behavior", apparently being a teenager is now being in a cult, ya know. And when Shelby and two of her friends ran away around the same time, her parents jumped not to the conclusion that their daughter (who stole $160 and a cellular phone) had run away to evade strict parenting, but that she had been abducted by a dark, dangerous, vampire cult.

The young lady had an account with the website "vampirefreaks.com". This website, despite a dark theme and color-scheme is really just a dark version of Myspace or Facebook. In other words it's the "Hot topic" of social networking sites. "Vampire freaks.com" doesn't have groups, or forums... instead (trying to be cutesey and "konstantanos dark") they have "cults".

Yeah, I think it's dipshit too, but then again, despite wearing black clothing for the last fifteen years - I'm not a total douchebag (only about 1/1oth douchebag). The parents, already alarmists and freaking out about the dark clothing take a social networking site's categorization style as gospel truth - dark, dangerous, vampire cult!

CNN picks up the story, showing images of vampire video games, clips from the twilight movies and True Blood, and various video bites of rotating pentagrams, candles, and people in hooded robes. CNN begins first asking, then just openly stating, that a teen runaway involved in a silly, dipshit, social networking site is actually a member of a underg- oops, forgot my formula - DARK, DANGEROUS, VAMPIRE CULT!

The Facts.

Shelby and the two unnamed friends were members of "Vampirefreaks.com", and all went to the same school. The other two girls had already been recovered and refused to give any information on Shelby's whereabouts. There were no ransom notes, no suspicious letters or e-mails, no phone calls, no signs of struggle. Just a girl, vanishing.

There was no indication, including a lack of breaking into the girl's computer to recover e-mails/forum posts, that anything had happened to her.

Media Response, and Community Reaction.

Amongst the voices raised was that of Author, Lecturer and house-leader Michelle Belanger*, the governing body of the Atlanta Vampire Aliance, Vampirefreaks.com, and numerous local houses and individuals who've made it their mission to spread correct info. Info stating, without hesitation, that there were no signs of her ever having been in contact with the vampire community, no one had heard of her - that also, there were no signs of violence or abduction, so it might be prudent to cease the scare tactics, and focus on her return.

Within a very short period of time the Vampire community had circulated photos, news articles and potential locations for her whereabouts. A few papered towns with leaflets out of their own pockets. Those of us who are witches were working to make her visible, nigh unmissable, and for her safe return. And even as we did these things - we were being labelled as dark, cultic, dangerous, and responsible for her vanishing.

Found safe. Now what?

A day or so after it hit the national news, Shelby was found. Alive. Unharmed. NOT being held against her will. She had made it all the way from Georgia to Washington, where she was found in the company of at least one adult, and several minors. She went willingly with police and is awaiting extradition to Georgia in a Juvie facility.

Her parents still believe she was abducted by a "vampire" cult, though Shelby herself has not weighed in, and the other girls are tight-lipped. The news media is still spinning the angle that a dangerous cult is somehow involved, even though every indication is to the contrary. No apologies have been issued, no retractions or clarifications have been made.

Per usual, being different, being goth or a witch or a self-professed vampire is enough to scare up a nationwide culture of fear. Fear over what?

Good fences make good neighbors.

because then we can spy on them when they think they're safe and know what they're REALLY getting up to!

People don't want the truth from their news. They want scandal and sensation. The average American doesn't give two shits that Shelby Ellis came home safely - to be honest, most of them probably really wanted her to be dead. Another statistic, a lesson, an example they can point to and say "This is why THOSE PEOPLE are inferior, and why we're so goddamned awesome."

This sort of topic is as important to the Pagan community as it is to the Vampire community - Because while we may have internal distinctions and solid lines, no one on the outside will make those distinctions when the time comes, and things get rough. We have to defend each-other from accusations that we know are baseless, before those accusations get applied cross-category. That whole "United we Stand" bit, y'know...

* I know some folks seem to have an issue with Michelle Belanger, but I've never quite figured out why, or how. No one's really ever explained it other than "I just dislike her" or "Vampires should've stayed in the shadows!" So, if someone can offer a lucid insight into their own dislike, I'd at least "get" why mentioning her is sometimes met with sniggers - unless it's about the S&M photos, which I get, but c'mon...

Whitewashing History.

This was going to be a review of Raven Grimassi's "Italian Witchcraft", but as I read through the book I came across something so enraging that I had to stop and vent my vitriol.

Conclusions Reached.

"It is interesting to note that Jan Ziarnko, in 1612, produced an engraving for the work Tableau de l' inconstance. In this engraving he displays a horned entity sitting upon a throne. To it's right sits a woman who is labeled in the text as the Queen of the Sabbath. Kneeling before them are worshipers who are presenting a small child. All about, people are involved in dancing and feasting. The fact that people kneel to the throned individuals addresses the issue of worship. The importance of this image is that it shows a male and female entity overseeing the sabbath. In the picture, we note that they do not participate as would a High Priest or High Priestess. The Sabbath is being performed FOR them. This addresses the issue of Deity. Are we seeing Befana and Befano before they were dethroned by the Christian Church."
- Raven Grimassi Italian Witchcraft, pages 62/63.

... which is all well and good, except...

Take a moment to examine the image. In the image we see, everything Grimassi attributed to it seems plausible. Unfortunately, this is an exceptionally small section of a far larger image. In a rather small size it's still huge, so I'm going to post the whole thing as a link a little later. But first we'll take a winder angle at Grimassi's narrow crop.

Notice anything different?

Yeah, had I not literally seen this woodcut the day before buying the book, why... I might have taken the observation at face value.
The Grimassi crop is highlighted red.

Here we see three figures seated, not a god/dess pair, but rather a Goat on a throne flanked by two women. Each one is holding a bundle of snakes conveniently cropped in Grimassi's view. The child is bring presented not by "kneeling worshipers" but by a woman and a winged demon-figure (conveniently cropped). As far as what the text of the book in which this image appears says - I haven't the foggiest.

All about, people are involved in dancing and feasting.

Here's the aforementioned feast. Notice anything interesting here? There are demons and women feasting on HUMAN CHILDREN.

The dancers are composed of human females and demons dancing around a tree. The only male human I can suss out is a musician.

To be frank, the whitewashing of this image, and the manipulation of a narrow crop to "prove" a point is seriously irritating to me. This etching does not even vaguely depict a feast we'd recognize as a pagan survival. It's a Christian depiction of a diabolical sabbat. This image can inspire those of us who are Traditional Witches of a sabbatic tint, those of us who certainly don't eat babies, but don't feel the desire to whitewash over 90% of the picture to make it fit a preconceived idea.

But, I could be wrong here.

It's entirely possible that Mr. Grimassi only saw the smaller image, and didn't do any follow-up research to see if there was "more" to the image. It's possible that he took the single source, and it's content at face-value. I'm not exactly sure that paints a better view of his scholarship, however. It's a small thing, but it's one of those things that just stuck in my craw. I'll post a full review sometime in September.

(NOTE: The "whitewashing" referred to in this entry is NOT meant in the racial sort of way, but rather in the sense of "Painting over the things you don't like" in an entirely different way)

What to do When Trouble Comes Knocking.

A while back I posted an entry about being bothered by locals who want my advice and refuse to take it. There I went through the scenario of what I do when contacted. But I thought, for the sake of posterity and to be helpful to those who aren't familiar with the process, I might go a little more into depth.

Please Help Me.. you just HAVE to!

When someone approaches a Witch for advice, or aid, this is usually the phrase. It doesn't matter what kind of work they want done. Though, occasionally for malefic work the phrase is more like "You wanna make someone's dick bleed?" - which is just another way of saying "I'm hurt, and I need assistance".

My suggestion is always this: If you are inclined to spend the next few minutes hearing the person out, invite them to give as calm and honest an appraisal of the situation as they are able. Listen to their use of words, note their body language, and especially eye contact. For me, I tend to stare off into space when I'm thinking. If someone is spending a lot of time avoiding eye contact, they're searching for words - that could mean they're digging up old memories, or making up new stories to tell you.

Listen to word choice, and tone. Weasel words will come into play if the person's motives aren't sound. "He always", "you won't believe", "he'd, like, (anything terrible)". The assumption is that in order to win your favor and advice, the event/s need to be outlandish and irresistible. Which will lead to embellishment, or outright lies. If he "always", there will be specific citations. If you won't believe, you won't need to be told that. If he'd "like" skin the cat once a week, he'd just fucking skin it, skinning it isn't -like- anything.

Then, get out the cards. Do a simple four-card reading. Do it in front of them, and tell them your exact interpretation of the cards, no matter how golf-shoe-to-the-face it may be. Watch their reaction. People who are genuinely at their wit's end will be exasperated, people who are lying will get defensive and angry. Do another string of four, laid above or below the first. Compare the messages in the cards. Do so aloud, and with honesty.

You just aren't taking me seriously/don't understand/are an asshole.

Then we're done. For every one person who is honestly in need of advice or assistance, there will be a very large number who aren't. That's fine. You just don't need to waste your time convincing either of you otherwise. If your time and energy are met with the above, chances are this is not someone who's business you want to get entangled with anyway. They're an ingrate, and no matter what you do, they will never attribute success to it. Therefore, they'll feel cheated, and may cause you trouble later on.

Follow your reading, if it is taken poorly, with "Well, this is what I'm receiving. This is the information I have available to me. If you had conflicting stories like these presented to you, you'd also distance yourself. I'm sorry, I can't help you."

But... why?

Sometimes your reading will make a light go on. Not that the person coming to you was lying, but that maybe they didn't quite understand the situation in it's entirety. Your reading may flick on a light in a room filled with some uncomfortable things. This is where you have to resort to, in Terry Pratchett's words "Headology". If they are convinced a monster is after them give them a metaphorical shotgun and a large chair to stand on. Give them rituals for protection, for cleansing, and to fortify themselves. Invest their belief fully into it, and it will solve the problem, psychological or real.

If you've just informed them that their lover is cheating, and not really afflicted by malevolent spell-work, give them time to assimilate the data, and come to their own conclusions. DO NOT suggest that you immediately get on a reconciliation spell, or a vengeance spell. That's a dick move.

Is it worth it?

Once or twice a season, in the life of a Witch, someone will come along with work that needs doing. Dirty work. Extremely unpleasant, nasty, dirty work. Curses, revenge, hexing, blasting and even death-dealing. Someone may come along requesting In-tranquil Spirit, or Death Unto My Enemies-related work. Is it worth it?

I don't have the moral compass of some neo-wiccan folk. I see "dark" work (a topic for another entry entirely) as a natural part of what makes a Witch a damn Witch. If we'd concerned ourselves ONLY with healing, fertility of crops, and making folks feel better about themselves there never would've been a persecution. But there also would've been a lot of murderers who never tripped up, a lot of cheating ex-lovers who never got exposed, and a lot of unhappy marriages. The power of the witch lies in healing AND hexing, and our ancestors knew this one in a way we've long-since forgotten. Meting out a little Karma is our natural place, in my opinion. Delivering swift kicks to the asses, or swift (metaphorical) bullets to the head, of deserving individuals who do terrible things is a divine gift we've been given. We'd be morons to ignore it in favor of feel-good buzzwords.

That said, there are times when the vengeance is unwarranted. Joe Schmoe did nothing. Jill Frill just wants to make him suffer because he left her. This leaves the Witch in a position of a difficult decision: Is it worth my time, energy, and financial investment (Regardless of whether I get it back) to make Joe get a wicked case of penile-dripping just because he left Jill for someone who probably isn't quite so quick to -want- his penis dripping?

For some of us, once the palm is crossed with enough silver, the costs are fair. We make the petitioner swear to accept any backlash, be it legal, financial, emotional, mental or spiritual - as this is work for hire, ultimately belonging squarely at their feet. But the toll it takes from us, whatever it may be, is fine and dandy if the bills get paid on time.

For others, no amount of money, no effort, and no compensation is worth it.

A Fair Price for a Fair, or Foul, Work.

Whenever I do Work for hire, I have a scheme by which I calculate the value of the work. This scheme may be valuable for other practitioners to apply to their own practices, and figure out something that works for them.

1: Hourly wages. I expect to make no less than $X per hour for my time, and manual skill, and expect the work to last Z hours in total, over Y length of time.

1a: Energy. What personal toll will it take? Does it involve exceptional risk, or difficult shennanigans? Will it run counter to my usual practices, requiring me to later kiss ass with some of the entities I work with to get things right again? Should I receive any additional compensation for this?

1b: Asshole Tax: How hard is the person to deal with? How much of my time will they take up, in addition to the time spent on the Work itself? How much do I expect to earn per total hour of time spent with them?

2: Supplies. All materials involved, in last known purchase-price, multiplied by one and a half, or two times. This covers not only the cost of getting the materials if I do not have them, but covers any potential price-shift. I also calculate not by the price at which I have to replace them. I.e. I cannot buy one spoonful of Gum Mastic over the internet, I have to buy it by the ounce. Generally, I split the difference between the by-used, and by-purchase price. If I have to buy the supply, or replace my own stock - I shouldn't HAVE to take that hit.

I add all of these totals up, and come up with an estimate. I suggest rounding the estimate to a "round" number, to forestall any curiosity, and coming up with a "payment plan". For trustworthy people it's the supply total as a down payment, followed by the remainder. For others it's half down, or even the full cost, with any remainder upon completion.

An Example

Let's say I expect to make about $25 an hour, which is not unreasonable for a professional in a niche field. Let's say that I expect that, over the course of a 7-day spell, I'll spend about 3-4 hours in total time, including prep, over that 7 days. The person is amiable, and I doubt they'll cause me any problems with additional time. - $75-$100.

I know that the spell will require two figural candles, two medium tapers, and four chime candles. In addition, it will also require three oils I don't have on hand, and an ink that I don't have the time to make, and am currently out of. - $50-ish. Now, because I know I can re-use the oils, I'll give the person a break on it. - $30-ish.

The total I arrive at is a round $100. It's a nice, tight, even, number. I'm taking a small hit on some of the supplies (why the HELL are figural candles so expensive, anyway?) but I'm also going to add several oils to my "inventory" that I'd previously been out of. I decide to split the difference, and ask $50 up front, $50 on completion of the work assuring spell remains will be nicely packaged, and their additional nation sack will be handmade for them and waiting at the end of the Work. Because of the nature of the work (in this hypothetical case a love/fidelity ensuring spell) I can fairly safely assume the petitioner will return and pay the balance.

$50 at least covers the supplies, gas money/shipping to get them, and the time involved in picking them up. If they do not pay the second half, I have at least not -lost- any money on the venture.

I Won't Pay That / I Won't Pay You At All.

Isn't it great to be a Witch sometimes? Someone asks for your hard work, and refuses to give anything in return. Well, if you haven't -started-, don't. Tie it up, pack up your things and send them on their merry, merry, way. You don't have to be a charity, unless you want to, and if you want to - fine by me. If you've already started, silly you for not taking the cash first, but hey... you're a Witch, and you have probably gotten something that belongs to them by now.

If you've completed the spellwork, they've gotten what they want, and you haven't gotten your money, it's time to employ your own skills to get it. I suggest a "Pay Me" hoodoo-style spell. Be as ruthless as is required.

As a suggestion for ensuring payment: Retain the "concerns" involved in the spellwork. Most spells require that the remains be properly disposed of, usually deployed toward the target's residence, in order to work. Reinforce the NEED for this to be done, whether or not that's exactly true, to ensure the person returns, pays you your money, and takes their bundle. Reinforce that for it to do what it's supposed to, the Work needs to be completed, and if "left hanging", will tend to wander of it's own accord, causing strife.

I hope that this post has been informative, even if it's very frankly worded. I also hope that speaking about money-in-craft doesn't turn too many stomachs. Understand, even though I may love the hell out of you as a person, or feel empathy for you as a human being - I don't live on glitter and air. I need food, water, and electricity. If I'm spending an hour a day tending a spell, that's an hour a day I'm not crafting items, or working at a shift-job. It's money out of my pocket, so money has to go back in.

The Witch's Advice.

It is a searingly hot night. The moon is nearly half-full and there's not a cloud in the sky. All around the sound of insects and frogs chokes the air, creating an almost physical pressure of sound. In the middle of the woods there is a mobile home, a few lights are still on, despite the late hour. The Witch's phone has been ringing off the hook (metaphorically, their phone is actually a cell), voicemails are piling up. Begging for occult help, and doing it wrong.

Someone is asking The Witch for advice, and The Witch knows that no matter what advice they give, they will be greeted by the same "No, that won't work, I haven't tried it but I don't want to so I'm dismissing it offhandedly" that they're always greeted with.

With great trepidation and reluctance the witch picks up the call.

I don't know what to do. A spell has been put on my boyfriend to force him to go to another girl. She's been getting into his head and making him suggestable. She refuses to release him. I want him back. She is hurting him so bad. What can we do to stop her.

Firstly, The Witch gets out the deck of tarot cards and does a simple reading, contemplating the request.

The Witch narrows her eyes at the cards. It's pretty damned simple... A fair, young, male! He's constantly on the move, shifting like the wind from place to place and idea to idea. A choice between two objects of passion. One being chosen over the other. The Tower is about lies, facades and keeping up appearances. The bolt of lightening striking the tower represents truth coming to light and the lies crumbling. Everyone wants a hero. Unfortunately, this triumphant hero is a liar and a fake. She purses her lips, the querent is already having a fit on the other end of the line, screaming obscenity and vitriol. The Witch begins cramming the cards back into the tuck box, when another flips free.

If the previous four cards weren't visceral enough, the image of a man juggling two objects, while regarding one with more care than the other is, well... cut and dry. The Witch knows, insofar as she can, that the man is cheating (or dearly wants to) and using magick as an excuse. She tells the person as much, in the nicest way she can (which isn't terribly nice, because "Girl, he dippin' that wick in other lamps" is something that there is no nice way to say). However, she also gives extensive instructions on removing any malevolent spell-work in place.

Silence ensues.

Then, in the background, someone asks if THEY can get a tarot reading. The Witch seethes. The Querent still won't respond. People don't want to hear the truth. They want to be told everything is alright, the sun is shining on their every fart, every thought they have is not only valid, but justified and worthy of applause, and possibly Jesus himself even bends an ear to their most inner philosophical musings. The Witch grows impatient, and the Querent finally chimes in.

Sorry to have bothered you. I can see you're not taking this seriously. A spell was put on by a witch so I thought you would help. No he is not two timing me. This is real. We are both scared and I went looking for help. I just needed some answers not sarcasm.

The Witch gets angry. She speaks slowly and carefully, explaining that she took it VERY seriously, hence the reading and the spell advice. And the willingness to literally walk the afflicted through the series of uncrossing spells. The Witch Also explains that, well, ignoring the advice because it wasn't phrased the way the querent wanted is silly, juvenile, and counter-productive.

The Witch shouts "To translate: This is the spell you need to undo the bad spell against him. Take the advice, or leave it, but don't pretend you never received any. "

Thanks for nothing.

WHAT?! When someone approaches us we do readings to clarify the hidden parts of the situation, because no one person knows the whole story (and no person, anywhere, tells strangers unflattering things about themselves without the help of alcohol).

We must do these readings like doctors do scans and tests - We have to know the root of the symptoms to provide a 'treatment' for the problem. This is, by the by, why witches were also called "Witch Doctors" and "Fairy Doctors" in the past. Just like a doctor, you might hear things you don't like. That doesn't mean it's not good advice, or proper for the situation. At the end of it, you'll receive something of a prescription, which either the witch, or your local occult shop will help to fill.

"Thanks for nothing means that nothing was given. You were given a serious, helpful, response. I don't see what your hangup is, unless it's tone, and if you're ignoring the advice to help you out of what you describe as a dire, desperate, situation because you dislike it's delivery - that's a special kind of horrible." The Witch shouts. "You have been given the proper procedure for removing the bad spell against him. Take the advice, or leave it, but do not dare be an ingrate about it! Do not bite the hand that feeds you, just because it isn't serving on fine china. It's a very poor idea to cop an attitude with witches when you have already found yourself in dire straits of the magical variety - my inclination to help YOU may become an inclination to help HER."

The Witch hangs up, and the Querent calls someone else. And then another, and another, and another. Until no one will hear them out. They burn through the magickal community in a few days, pissing off dozens of competent witches in the process, cutting themselves off from workers and shop-owners.

A few days later, The Witch's phone rings, and she hits Silent. She won't be helping when all she gets is a smack in the face, and 40 minutes on her plan that she'll never get back.

(Note, the Assclows featured in this entry is actually a composite of several assclowns, so as to hit several birds with one stone)