Devotional

When she sits she is Kerridwen at the Cauldron.
          When she stands she is Kali on the neck of Shiva.
                    When she walks she is Hecate of the Crossed roads.
When she covers me in her grace, she is Isis on the roof of the world. 
                    When she curses she is The Morrigan of Spears
          When she snarls she is Sekhmet the Strong.
When she smiles, she is the terror of a black hole.
In all things she is of the roads, the ways, the keys, the cooking pot, and the tomb.
And I am humbled before her, trembling, in the dark.
-Scylla,

A Charm Against The Evil Eye.

This charm/spell is adapted from the Carmina Gadelica. It combines elements from several of the charms found there, giving it a little more punch, and a bit of bite. I use this, among other protective prayers when I feel that things might be getting a bit hinky. The Evil Eye can be cast through malevolent prayer, through spellwork, and even through raw envy or spite.

I trample upon the eye,
as tramples the duck upon the lake, as tramples the swan upon the water,
as tramples the horse upon the plain, as tramples the crow upon the grain,
as tramples the host of the elements, as tramples the host of the elements.
Power of Wind I have over it. Power of Wrath I have over it.
Power of Fire I have over it. Power of Thunder I have over it.
Power of Lightening I have over it. Power of Storms I have over it.
Power of Moon I have over it. Power of Sun I have over it.
Power of Stars I have over it. Power of Firmament I have over it.
Power of Heavens, and of worlds I have over it.
In the name of the Tree of Life, and the utterance of the Sacred Names,
In the name of all of the Secret Ones, and of the Powers together I say...
Whosoever made this eye, may it lie upon himself, may it lie upon his house,
may it lie upon his flocks, may it lie upon his substance, may it lie upon his fatness,
may it lie upon his means, may it lie upon his children, may it lie upon his works.
I will subdue the eye (Horns up) - I will suppress this eye (Fig down) - I will banish this eye (flip the bird).

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.

Hiatus.

I may polish up old drafts (there's about a hundred) - but I'll be going off-"grid" for a while ... so to speak.

There is work that needs doing, and ... well, I always wonder how much heart one can hope to put into their Work if they are stopping every five seconds to reflect on just how everloving witchy it is, and what angle will yield the best photo for the blog.

SI.VM E.T AV.VM

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.

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.

The Vessels and Their Contents.

I turn the small clay pots in my hands. They are weighty, hand-sculpted (rather than thrown), and still bear the marks of fingerprints. I worked the clay hard, and it speaks softly. Spirit is woven into each press and smoothing. I shape the bodies, the physical houses, for the spirits I will care for. I handle them as gently as I would handle paper-thin glass. I whisper words into their hollow, and stroke power into the surface.

"I bathe you in the sacred smoke, and nourish you with the breath of my mouth. I re-awaken you. This is the cradle of your skull, and the hollow of your chest - your heart rests here."

This all started a long time ago, and sometimes I do my absolute best to forget about the whole mess for a while, just so that the room doesn't slowly fill with greedy raccoons making grabbyhands, or hissing opossum with cataract-white eyes.