Personal Advice on Scrying

November 9, 2015


Scrying is a great, very cheap (or free) method of divination; but also one that can be extremely frustrating to get down. So here’s my personal tips on how I make scrying a little bit easier. These aren’t necessary by any means, and it’s literally just my method. Don’t feel like if you don’t follow what I do that you’re doing it wrong. This also isn’t a fail-proof method. Scrying is hard! Honestly, I fail to see anything more than I succeed.

Step One: Prepare your Scrying Material

While free methods of scrying include water gazing and fire gazing, fire gazing can seriously hurt your eyes and water isn’t always accessible to everyone (nor does it necessarily jive with everyone). I started out fire gazing but after switching to a crystal ball had much better success because I connected with the crystal and therefore the element of earth better. It also didn’t make my eyes water which helped. Some other common scrying materials are black mirrors, seer stones, and incense smoke. Take your material and put it away from other materials first and foremost. I find it helps that if the object is reflective, to keep it angled away from things that it might accidentally reflect. If the material is non-reflective, I like to make sure it’s at least against a blank background. I want to make sure I’m staring into my material, not past it at bills I gotta pay. Now is also the time to turn off anything that might distract you.

Step Two: Enter a Trance

I like to take my time when I do this. Entering a trance for some people can involve listening to music, binaural beats, or chanting to themselves. I like to sit very still and try to clear my head. I will take each thought swimming around my brain and acknowledge it, think about it one at a time, and then dismiss it. It takes a long time (sometimes up to an hour, one can worry or think about a lot of things at one time), but once you’ve completely cleared everything you’ll feel kind of tingly in a sense. Like calm. Relaxed. Once you notice this, it’s hard to resist the temptation to fill your head with thoughts again. But this is not a good idea. The clearer your head is, the less chance of interference you have for your scrying. You want to make sure that your visions aren’t coming from residual daily worries.

Step Three: Stare at the Scrying Material

This one is the most difficult step, because it’s the hardest. The first time I successfully scried, I had to wait for almost 20 minutes until I saw something. It’s easy to get bored or distracted but stay diligent! Keep staring, searching. I find it also helps to relax my eyes and let my vision blur a bit, almost like if you were staring at a magic eye puzzle. Actually, exactly like that. If you just kind of relax and keep looking, it’ll come to you.

Over time, you’ll get faster and faster at seeing things while scrying. But like I said, it’s very, very hard. I have failed many more times than I have succeeded, but don’t let that discourage you. It also does come easier to some than others. I’ve found that those who dream often and have prophetic dreams take to scrying better than those who don’t. But, it’s nowhere near impossible and the joy of having your first vision is amazing.

So, that concludes my tips. Let me know how this worked for you and if it did at all, and I’m always open for tips myself!
Source HERE


I thought y’all might be interested in Just What Happens to a book after the writer is “finished” writing the manuscript:

A. Books don’t go directly from the author to the bookstore.
B. Books go from the author to the Editor, who
i. reads the manuscript
ii. discusses the manuscript with the author, and
iii. suggests minor revisions that may improve the book
C. The book goes back to the author, who
i. re-reads the manuscript
ii. considers the editor’s comments, and
iii. makes whatever revisions, emendments, or clarifications seem right.
D. The book goes back to the editor, who
i. reads it again
ii. asks any questions that seem necessary, and
iii. Sends it to
E. The copy-editor. This is a person whose thankless job is to
i. read the manuscript one…word…at…a…time
ii. find typos or errors in grammar, punctuation, or continuity (one heck of a job, considering the size not only of the individual books, but of the overall series), and
iii. write queries to the author regarding anything questionable, whereupon
F. The book comes back to the author—yes, again— who
i. re-reads the manuscript
ii. answers the copy-editor’s queries, and
iii. alters anything that the copy-editor has changed that the author disagrees with. After which, the author sends it back to
G. The editor—yes, again!—who
i. re-re-reads it
ii. checks that all the copy-editor’s queries have been answered, and sends it to
H. The Typesetter (aka Compositor, these days), who sets the manuscript in type, according to the format laid out by
I. The Book-Designer, who
i. decides on the layout of the pages (margins, gutters, headers or footers, page number placement)
ii. chooses a suitable and attractive typeface
iii. decides on the size of the font
iv. chooses or commissions any incidental artwork (endpapers, maps, dingbats—these are the little gizmos that divide chunks of text, but that aren’t chapter or section headings)—or, for something like the OC II, a ton of miscellaneous illustrations, photographs, etc. that decorate or punctuate the text.
v. Designs chapter and Section headings, with artwork, and consults with the
J. Cover Artist, who (reasonably enough) designs or draws or paints or PhotoShops the cover art, which is then sent to
K. The Printer, who prints the dust-jackets—which include not only the cover art and the author’s photograph and bio, but also “flap copy,” which may be written by either the editor or the author, but is then usually messed about with by
L. The Marketing Department, whose thankless task is to try to figure out how best to sell a book that can’t reasonably be described in terms of any known genre , to which end, they
i. try to provide seductive and appealing cover copy to the book (which the author has to approve. I usually insist on writing it myself).
ii. compose advertisements for the book (author usually sees and approves these—or at least I normally do).
iii. decide where such advertisements might be most effective (periodicals, newspapers, book-review sections, radio, TV, Facebook, Web)
iv. try to think up novel and entertaining means of promotion, such as having the author appear on a cooking show to demonstrate recipes for unusual foods mentioned in the book.
v. kill a pigeon in Times Square and examine the entrails in order to determine the most advantageous publishing date for the book.
M. OK. The manuscript itself comes back from the typesetter, is looked at (again) by the editor, and sent back to the author (again!), who anxiously proof-reads the galleys (these are the typeset sheets of the book; they look just like the printed book’s pages, but are not bound), because this is the very last chance to change anything. Meanwhile
N. A number of copies of the galley-proofs are bound—in very cheap plain covers—and sent to (NB: This is SOP, but we haven’t been doing it for the last few books, owing to the fact that the book itself is coming out on the heels of Production; there’s no time to distribute ARCs (Advanced Reading Copies).)
O. The Reviewers, i.e., the bound galleys are sent (by the marketing people, the editor, and/or the author) to the book editors of all major newspapers and periodicals, and to any specialty publication to whom this book might possibly appeal, in hopes of getting preliminary reviews, from which cover quotes can be culled, and/or drumming up name recognition and excitement prior to publication. Frankly, they don’t always bother with this step with my books, because they are in a rush to get them into the bookstores, and it takes several months’ lead-time to get reviews sufficiently prior to publication that they can be quoted on the cover.
P. With luck, the author finds 99.99% of all errors in the galleys (you’re never going to find all of them; the process is asymptotic), and returns the corrected manuscript (for the last time, [pant, puff, gasp, wheeze]) to the editor, who sends it to
(1. The ebook coding happens somewhere in here.)
Q. The Printer, who prints lots of copies (“the print-run” means how many copies) of the “guts” of the book—the actual inside text—are printed. These are then shipped to
R. The Bindery, where the guts are bound into their covers, equipped with dust-jackets, and shipped to
S. The Distributors. There are a number of companies—Ingram, and Baker and Taylor, are the largest, but there are a number of smaller ones—whose business is shipping, distributing, and warehousing books. The publisher also ships directly to
(1) Arrangements are made in this phase for ebook distribution through retailers like Amazon and Barnes and Noble.)
T. The Bookstores, but bookstores can only house a limited number of books. Therefore, they draw on distributors’ warehouses to resupply a title that’s selling briskly, because it takes much longer to order directly from the publisher. And at this point, [sigh]…the book finally reaches
U. You, the reader.

Diana Gabaldon.

Source HERE

she being Brand

November 9, 2015


she being Brand
-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff I was
careful of her and (having
thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.
K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her
up,slipped the
clutch (and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell) next
minute i was back in neutral tried and
again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my
lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning) just as we turned the corner of Divinity
avenue i touched the accelerator and give
her the juice,good
was the first ride and believe I we was
happy to see how nice and acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens I slammed on
breaks Bothatonce and
brought allofher tremB
to a:dead.

E. E. Cummings

The White

November 9, 2015

Snow drugs us to sleep
this evening.
All one
suddenly, houses and lawns
one landscape.
The bare trees holding
a white, stunned fruit–
it feels like love.
Filling the gutters and the pipes,
blessing the cracked pain,
gilding the claws of the pecan trees.
Yesterday the old woman
at the subway lay as if waiting
for a lover,
curled up tenderly, hugging
her knees. She smiled.
In her dreams,
each flake that touched her
was a grazing of lips.

I remember now how heroin
once made all the faces kind.
Even the face of the black girl
giggling She do stuff, don’t she
behind her hand at the 7-11.
At that moment, she knew me
better than anyone, and I loved her
for that. And the small
coin of blood in my palm
from a dropped cigarette–
how it loved me, wanting to stop bleeding.
The way the trees love us,
wanting to live again
under the snow, having already
seen the easier way, this whiteness.

Suzanne Paola

(Susanne Antonetta is the pen name for Suzanne Paola a US poet and bestselling author.)


And this would be the view: uncommunicative backs
of Suffolk humps; a broken line of freezing barbered trees
the wintering company of rooks.

If this were my life, my window
this my home, my day after day, I’d be obsessed
with cryptic shifts on grass of shadow

a cloud stalking the tractor’s progress
a dog’s outing, the baleful wintering company of rooks in curia.
Would I learn to calm the empty endless

window-shopping for events
for anything in the paper? For terror? I concoct a plot around
that dun figure sloping along the fence

to a defunct premises’ blackened windows
two other faceless persons are lighting a bonfire in front of.
The brick’s slow rose glow

bloodies the January mist
and they’re off to warm their hands. I sense satanic heat
as the fire devours the grist

they feed on it. The fire is greedy as my eyes
for anything… how cold this stranger’s room, this home;
each dusk I’d light a meager fire

to stoke up the hoodoo with showers of sparks
warm up my soul in front of while dusk extinguished
the broken line of barbered trees.

And if I could be still?
Allow the nothing? Just watch rooks land and stalk, red willows flare
against another morning’s pale

cold. How cold would be this nothing more
this fear. Who are they? What are they doing?
Another faceless one sidles through the broken wall.

Judy Gahagan

(Judy Gahagan left behind academic psychology to write poetry, fiction and essays and to explore the thinking in archetypal psychology and ecological thought, both of which with her own work as poet have informed the courses she has run for the Poetry School London. She has published extensively in magazines, won many prizes and published two poetry pamphlets: Ghosting The Cities and When The Whole Mood Changed both from Artemis, and two full collections: Crossing The No-man’s Land (Flambard) and Night Calling (Enitharmon) as well as a collection of short stories: Did Gustav Mahler Ski? (New Directions, New York). She has also published translations of poetry from German and Italian. )

Good Morning…

November 9, 2015