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.

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.

The Dead You Know / Diaspora of The Dead / Holy Supper.

Memento Mori

I remember my first experience of "death" - it was a relative, I don't know who. I did not understand why everyone was upset and sad. I did not understand why someone was in a box. The second experience was my great-grandmother passing. I still didn't understand what was going on, or why maw-maw as in a box. But I understood that Maw-maw wasn't in there, not really.

Then, like a lot of kids, I had a short-lived pet and I thought I almost had it, then. It was ugly and awful and why would a good god do a thing like this? And then came living on a farm, where animals dying was normal, and explained. But people? Still clueless on that front, and then a... boy I really had a heart-on for died, and I turned into an emo little turd - I took his death as a personal insult from a spiteful demiurge and a source of torment from the world around me to punish me for some unknown crime.

Then my grandmother died... and I still didn't understand it completely. I understood the mechanics, I understood the biology. I did not understand the psychology - I was a pretty newly minted witchling, and even though she wasn't in her flesh, her spirit was never absent, always visiting in dreams and leaving the scent of her perfume around. She was in 'heaven', her suffering was done - Why are we crying? She was kicking it with big J and the Angels.

But I felt utterly, utterly, guilty for not feeling really, really, really bad. Now, another fifteen or so years later, my last grandparent has left the world. And I get it now. It took me a lot longer than most to leave the swoon of childhood innocence and skillful, wonderful, constructive self-deception to simply mourn.

Offering Recipes 1 - “Wildlife Friendly ‘cakes’”

These cakes are low on “additives”, making them safer for wildlife, and low on salt (which can be omitted entirely) - additions and subtractions can be made. They are not a “dog biscuit” recipe, so you don’t have to worry about that hanging around in the back of your head, either.

Wet Ingredients:
1/2c Honey
2 Md/Lg Eggs.
1/2c Oil

Dry Ingredients:
1c Nuts (Sunflower, Pumpkin, Sterile Hempseed) - if you do not intend to eat them, feel free to substitute any wildlife friendly blend, including songbird seed blends. Dried fruits, BUT NOT RAISINS, may be used. Avoid raisins and chocolate as they are deadly to a lot of animals. 
1 1/2c Wheat flour (have yet to try the gluten-free flour on this one)
1/4tsp Salt.
Mix your wet first, add the dry. Combine.  If it's still too sloppy, add more flour, or more crunchy bits. 

Grease a baking sheet and zap ‘em at 350 for about ten minutes. Cool on racks. They will be soft, chewy, puffy, mountains of joy. If you use a human-and-wildlife-friendly blend of seeds you can chow down too. When made with flaxseed, pumpkin seeds and sunflower kernels these things are filling, and delicious.

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?

The Faithful Retinue.

It starts with an itch. I can't define where it is. It becomes annoying. Then it is a thirst, and it gnaws. Then it is a buzzing that won't cease. Then it is a call, subtle and sweet as music. It is the music that is the most maddening.  I wrap myself in my ritual robe, I slip my blade into it's sheath, and I run - barefoot - into the woods.

First I run. I run like a hunted beast. Then I dance, dance to the music only I can hear. Then I sing, shaping the tune with my voice. It is a song of summoning, of seduction, of fearful prey. Then I cease to sing and only bellow. The bellowing becomes a howl. And I find myself on all fours. I can only howl, and moan. My mouth hangs open, and I am drooling onto the soil.

I tear at the robe, and hunch naked on the ground. I am beyond sensation. The spirits are coming. They are on me, in me, over me, beside me. This is what the Maenads felt. Were there more than me in the woods we would rip at each-other with our teeth, and fuck like animals.

I am aware of only my eyes, and a spot somewhere above and behind them. I cannot communicate with the rest of my body - it is no longer just mine. It is Him. And it is something else entirely. It is a sensation like the rolling waves of orgasm, but it does not cease, does not plateau, does not decrease. It grows ever-stronger, and begins to consume me.

But it is not me. And I twist, and fall, and slither on the ground. I dig my fingers in the loam, worms crawl up my arms. Torches flickering, lamplight, owls hissing and screeching in the trees, wine runs from my lips, satyrs run through the undergrowth - the world around me dissolves into thousands of years of revelry. Vines grow through my skin, using my bones as their trellis. I am utterly broken down, into dust, into loam, into mold.

And suddenly there is a stillness and clarity in the chaos of my destruction. My mind slips itself, and becomes another. Fluid flows through me, and my limbs come alive. I begin to see through other eyes, and hear through other ears. I speak with a voice that is not mine... and I don't understand. Suddenly the whole of creation is alive around me, with figures darting here and there. They are the pipers of the circle, my faithful retinue.
Because, I am no longer the witch in the woods, nor the maenad in the leaves. I am the god who comes.

"Dangerous Knowledge."

The Necronomicon - Archetype of Dangerous Knowledge

I do my best not to shy away from any topic here. I feel that shying away from something in a medium as non-confrontational and hopefully tone-neutral as a blog means that I can't discuss it calmly and I don't like that idea one whit. I've discussed insanity, self-sacrificial magic (twice), and a myriad of other stickiness hidden in the bowels of my blog. And I'll be adding this one to the heap.

There has been a recent spate of blog posts about "dangerous knowledge" and/or "oversharing".The crux of the arguments being that if one shares knowledge and experience, "teh noobs" are immediately going to go out and get themselves all fucked up on it. Except... it's just not that damned simple.

The issue of "Dangerous Knowledge" is not easily summed up. Not even a post with 30-odd comments has yet managed to rectify the misunderstandings, benefits and/or pitfalls of concealing information. A dozen other posts broaching the issue hasn't clarified it either; it's just muddied the water and made a few people rather cross.

Obligation.

I pour out perfectly good wine on the soil. Because I Have An Obligation.
I drink a poisonous brew to induce an altered state. Because I Have An Obligation.I consume a ritual meal that will leave me rolling in agony the next day, and ass-blasting my way around the countryside. Because I Have An Obligation.I writhe and dance, busting up my already fragile body on the ground, furnishings and ritual implements. Because I Have An Obligation.
I dream restlessly, her words pounding in my ears like thunder. Because I Have An Obligation.My home is a never-silent port-of-call for spirits, wights, the dead, the gods, familiars, fetches, fetiches and hungry wildlife. Because I Have An Obligation.

I do not rest (read: I am not permitted to rest)... until my obligations are taken care of. Why anyone would ask for these things - beg for them, seek them out, lie about and glorify them, unless there is no other way for them to exist is... beyond me.

Unless you have to. Unless the spirits demand it. Unless you have no other option: Do not walk the Witch-path. You'll come out the other side mad, dead, or a shaman. And them ain't the best odds.

The Crow's Ethics.

Picking apart date-fruit with my fingernails, mixing it in to a blend of roses and other herbs. It smells sweet, and yet dark - it is the fruit of the tree of death and it is the perfume of funerals.

I'm angry while I do all this - I had to go down to the police station and report a man. He's a level three registered sex offender (for acts with a child, not simply a minor or statutory offense) - and he has not been disclosing this information. Not to the people he has stayed with, not to the groups he has interacted with, and likely not to the local authorities as he should.

Crow's Ethics.

On the way home I saw a crow, roadkill, in the middle of the median. I think it's only the second I've seen in my entire life. It was nearly perfect. And I wanted it. I planned to go back after dark and take it. I was readying my funerary blend, and getting my kit together, and suddenly it hit me.

I could take what I want, ignoring the law of this land, and in the eyes of the law I'd be a felon. I'd be on some of the same lists with this motherfucker - this worthless waste of tissue that has the audacity to breathe my goddamned air. And I don't want that. 

I realized exactly what that crow was teaching me. I don't need to bring it home, macerate it's bones, and turn it's tail into a smudge fan. It cleansed me from the median. It told me "Tow the line, grasshopper. I broke the rules and look where it got me." And it also said "You want me? Find me the right way."

Burdens and Blessings.

I've bitched a lot on this blog about my community, and I had a very sudden realization in the middle of my sleepless morning. My community is diseased by silence. Everyone tip-toes, everyone lies. Everyone tries to hide and protect and ... enable?

This is MY land and I will not permit this bullshit in my territory any longer. I will not permit the diseased, the criminal, the -slime- that has infected this community to continue to do so without fear of retribution. The claws come out - poisoned, and dripping with the blood of my enemies.

Animal Sacrifice - Long Post.

Our modern food industry is lacking in a lot of ways. Animals are raised wholesale, and dispatched in slaughter-houses which more accurately resemble torture chambers. I've seen video of Texas Longhorn having their horns knocked off with sledgehammers and hacksaws because they wouldn't fit through the chutes intact (Note: Horns have living tissue in the middle). I've seen heifers past their prime being manipulated with fork-lifts and electrified prods because they simply refused to stand. I've seen chickens thrown from rather large distances into holding pens. Chickens that, due to weight and breeding, cannot break their fall with flight.