witchy-woman

The advantages of treating magic as an art seem at first glance to be considerable. For one thing, there are no entrenched and vested interests capable of mounting an objection to magic’s inclusion in the canon, even if they entertained objections in the first place, which is hardly likely. This is patently far from the case with either science or religion, which are by their very natures almost honour-bound to see that magic is reviled and ridiculed, marginalized and left to rust there on history’s scrap-heap with the Flat Earth, water-memory and phlogiston. Art, as a category, represents a fertile and hospitable environment where magic’s energy could be directed to its growth and progress as a field, rather than channeled into futile struggles for acceptance, or burned uselessly away by marking time to the repeated rituals of a previous century. Another benefit, of course, lies in art’s numinosity, its very lack of hard-edged definition and therefore its flexibility. The questions “what exactly are we doing and why are doing it”, questions of ‘method’ and of ‘aim’, take on a different light when asked in terms of art. Art’s only aim can be to lucidly express the human mind and heart and soul in all their countless variations, thus to further human culture’s artful understanding of the universe and of itself, its growth towards the light. Art’s method is whatever can be even distantly imagined. These parameters of purpose and procedure are sufficiently elastic, surely, to allow inclusion of magic’s most radical or most conservative agendas? Vital and progressive occultism, beautifully expressed, that has no obligation to explain or justify itself. Each thought, each line, each image made exquisite for no other purpose than that they be offerings worthy of the gods, of art, of magic itself. The Art for The Art’s sake.

Alan Moore
Fossil Angels

A most important switch

December 2, 2016

wine

witch_torture

our mother would have taught you that
if the world hadn’t convinced her
that despite her body being able
to bring life into this world,
she is not a magical thing.

Maybe the witches you burned
were the daughters of something
more holy than you could ever handle.
So you set them alight for being different,
forgetting that even the son of your God
was once condemned for being too pure,
too beautiful, too different for this world.

History devoured your name,
but we have never forgotten
what you did, witch hunter.

You see, fire never forgets.

When you burned the witches
you thought what you did was small.
But the flames gave birth to ideas
and the ideas set alight souls.
For every witch you burned
there are now a thousand witch women
living differently, and standing tall.
And you may have burned some of us,
but you will never destroy us all.

Nikita Gill

Where there is magick

December 2, 2016

witch2

Magick is not created by man, it is a part of man, having its basis in the structure of his brain, his body and his nervous system in their relations to his conceptual universe, the matrix of thought, and of speech, the mother of thought.

Jack Parsons
Freedom is a Two-Edged Sword

like a burning pyre

December 2, 2016

woman

You are beautiful when you are murderous. You have the skin of your enemies between your teeth and their pleadings under your nails and you look like a burning pyre.

A silence.

Pure.

Purifying.

Pauline Albanese
The Lost Arrows

Night on the Island

December 2, 2016

st-georges-island

All night I have slept with you
next to the sea, on the island.
Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep,
between fire and water. Perhaps very late
our dreams joined
at the top or at the bottom,
Up above like branches moved by a common wind,
down below like red roots that touch.

Perhaps your dream
drifted from mine
and through the dark sea
was seeking me
as before,
when you did not yet exist,
when without sighting you
I sailed by your side,
and your eyes sought
what now–
bread, wine, love, and anger–
I heap upon you
because you are the cup
that was waiting for the gifts of my life.

I have slept with you
all night long while
the dark earth spins
with the living and the dead,
and on waking suddenly
in the midst of the shadow
my arm encircled your waist.

Neither night nor sleep
could separate us.

I have slept with you
and on waking, your mouth,
come from your dream,
gave me the taste of earth,
of sea water, of seaweed,
of the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to me
from the sea that surrounds us.

Pablo Neruda

the womb of the millennia

December 2, 2016

solitude

If you comprehend the darkness, it seizes you. It comes over you like the night with black shadows and countless shimmering stars. Silence and peace come over you if you begin to comprehend the darkness. Only he who does not comprehend the darkness fears the night.

Through comprehending the dark, the nocturnal, the abyssal in you, you become utterly simple. And you prepare to sleep through the millennia like everyone else, and you slip down into the womb of the millennia, and your walls resound with ancient temple chants. Since the simple is what always was. Peace and blue night spread over you while you dream in the grave of the millennia.

Carl Gustav Jung
The Red Book