The Rest of Me

April 21, 2017

The apartment is quiet.
You are still sleeping
in the other room.
It’s just past eight,
late for you.

I hear the whir of the fan
in the corner, feel its breeze
address my right forearm.

My sweatshirt sleeves are pushed up,
the rest of me under the comforter,
somehow warm and cold
at the same time.

Periodically, a car drives by,
above my head, past the
window of our basement
apartment.

Where do they have to go?
I wonder.
I could half-sit here forever
clicking these keys,
finding anything while
moving only my fingers.

Katherine Botsis

Death Season

April 21, 2017

There’s so much advice (conflicting or otherwise) on the internet regarding the practice of witchcraft and magic. Ninety-nine point nine percent of it is…well, frankly, crap. Wishful thinking or delusion seems to be the only rule.

Before any wannabe witch casts (or even attempts to cast) a spell, before they venture in to the arcane minutia of traditional witchcraft with its intricate and very exacting performance of ritual, they need firstly to KNOW themselves.

Margot Anand explains how at the suggestion of an Indian Tantric mystic, she participated with a group of psychologists in an experiment of sensory deprivation. “I was left alone in a quiet room in the countryside, blindfolded and with earplugs, for seven days and seven nights. Each day’s nutrition consisted of water and a pound of grapes. There was no interaction with anyone else for the whole period.

“In this state of isolation, deprived of external stimuli, I soon began to move inward, penetrating through layers and layers of my own mind. In doing so, I began to meet all the various people and voices of my past that had somehow given shape and substance to my personality. I had the feeling that I was going through crowded rooms filled with relatives, friends, teachers, priests, lovers, all standing around at one huge, chaotic cocktail party, spouting contradictory opinions about how I should live my life.

“After several days, I arrived at a place of deep stillness and tranquility. It was a strangely paradoxical sensation, because I could feel a tremendous amount of energy coursing through my body that would normally have made me very active – wanting to run around, make love, throw a party, anything to burn of the excess energy – and yet on this occasion I felt deeply relaxed, in an act of totally letting go, in a state of acceptance and trust.

“I had the feeling that I had at last touched the depth of my being. It was a state of consciousness that not only conveyed an authentic sense of self, the essential “me”, but also extended far beyond, linking me with the collective consciousness of all living things, of the planet, and of the universe itself. It was a state at once luminous, ecstatic, universal, and peaceful.”

Thus it was Ms Anand discovered her true self. She became as one sitting under Kalptaru, the legendary wish-fulfilling tree of Hindu mythology, which manifests people’s innermost longings. In short she had her first true insight into the state of magical consciousness.

As Jean Houston expresses it: “The body is the supreme temple of transformation, the place where all the forces of the universe gather to be channeled and transformed into a higher integral order of nature and spirit.”

And it is this ‘mental state’ that any witch wannabe MUST first achieve. Knowledge and understanding of self is an essential. It takes time; there are no ‘overnight fixes’. Patience and commitment are very necessary. Only when this ‘state’ is finally realised, will true magic become a possibility.

As the river gives itself to the ocean,
what is inside me moves inside you…

Robert Bly
The Kabir Book

Place of note

April 21, 2017

Diary 21st April

Easter weekend, became a lost weekend. We gave ourselves unashamedly to debauchery, Boys & Girls. And strong drink raged (as it does here, from time to time). Driven by our inflamed, animalistic urges we veered from manic to tender, from gently sentimental to crudely rough. It was, in short, an excellent time for us all.

Saturday night I watched a pretty woman put on her makeup. I M’s face, slightly flushed after her time alone with Dee and Gabby, reflected in the dressing table mirror in the spare room. She drank rum and sprite. Fussed with her hair. Spoke in banalities.

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And now, between various feverish activities, I must decide whether or not to cancel an oral hygienist appointment at my dentist’s. The day and evening preceding we will be with old friends, eating, drinking, and over indulging. Can I face the hygienist first thing in the morning with a hangover and a mouth like a badger’s bum?

HYGIENIST: “Please Peedeel, allow me to fart in your mouth and freshen your breath.”

I think I’ll cancel!

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Vast alchemies. Every three minutes, a person goes missing in the UK. Where do they all go? I find it a deeply disturbing statistic, don’t you?

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Oh, yes, which reminds me. I watched the new episode of Dr Who at the weekend. Peter Capaldi’s last series playing the Dr . Mr Capaldi is a fine actor, but the Who series suffers from shite writing, and is in the guiding hands of those who believe that “narrative and characterization are too distracting from their preferred salad of videogame spaghetti”.

Long live the third rate, ay wot?

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Food for thought: If all men disappeared of the face of the earth, every war would instantly be over.