and there are paths in fields to prove it.
Bent blades of grass,
monitored hills,
cracked cords of wood from trees
that ward me away with ivy.
I envy the movement
of their shadows.
The outstanding height of their leaves,
flatter than hands, they cannot even
handle the weight of veins or bone.
And when I climb alone it is the touching
of hands that I miss. The long glances
at faces, the listening of words
long after spoken. But the movements of lips
are broken against these hills.
In these fields, I have scavenged
small, articulate bones
that I wish were mine or yours.
How refined they are, picked clean,
but stained with clay. And beneath them,
I suspect some flesh must stir,
a breath be taken, blood to seep.
An eye, like a round brown stone
to look up at me.
What looks like bones for a hand
are bones for a wing.
I spread my fingers upon them,
flesh to bone,
and breathe.

Sarah Ansani

Love Poem to Risk

May 20, 2017

after Catherine Pierce
You move over my chest like the swab

of iodine before the scalpel. You are the fourth
shot of whiskey at a party I leave too late, the heels

I wear walking home after dark, and the man
watching me from the other side of the street.

When I was thirteen, you made me pack a go-bag –
toothbrush, Walkman, second-favourite dress,

a note for my mother that said I’m better off
gone. You’re the reason I can leave anywhere

in under five minutes, always a carry-on stashed
under the bed. But I I’ve never stopped seeing you

for what you are: the siren’s stuttering keen
and the storm cellar’s loose hinges,

both the lightning that doesn’t feather
my arm, and the charred ground beside me.

You touch your teeth to my pulse
and claim nothing good happens without you.

I still can’t say you’re wrong.

Emily Rose Cole

This is a spell I wrote to use on someone who just can’t seem to say anything nice and always has to get personal. It’s meant to screw with their ability to say harsh insults. You should only use this spell if you can’t avoid this person. It is recommended to cast a sacred circle first. You need:

• a blue (for peace) or grey (to bind) candle
• pen/pencil and paper
• black poppy seeds (to cause confusion)
• salt (to remove negativity)
• dog hair (optional)
• Carve onto the candle the name of the “dog” as well as silencing commands like “hush!” or “be quiet!”

Draw a picture of the person or you can draw a dog. Draw the subject with a muzzle or an X instead of a mouth. Place the candle in a safe holder on top of the picture and sprinkle the seeds, the salt, and the dog hair around the candle in a widdershins (counter-clockwise) circle. Light the candle.

Invoke the God and Goddess, or any particular deity you feel would be most helpful in this situation, tell them about your problem and your desired outcome. Remember, you just want this person to stop saying mean things, nothing more. Chant:

“You snarl, you growl, you start a fight. You bark because you have no bite.
Well, no more barking, night and day. I muzzle you to keep harsh words at bay.”

If you used a blue candle, finish the spell with:

“With this peaceful candle of blue, I take the bark right out of you.”

If you used a grey candle, finish the spell with:

“Flame and grey wax pull binding ties, hush and let sleeping dogs lie.”

Source HERE

Eroticism & Magick

May 20, 2017

Magical power is sexual power. Crowley understood this. Parsons understood this. Bataille understood this. Or to be more accurate, Laylah knew this, Candy knew this, Laure knew this. Witchcraft sometimes seems to have forgotten it, along with the body, a trend that technology continues to exacerbate. For the return to the erotic we need a physical culture that our dancing bodies weave and chorus into life.

Witchcraft is inherently erotic, by which I mean it is a construct of shadow and light. Of historical elements and of our current experience, of truth and lie; as it always has been. Witchcraft is an art of glamours which demands that we explore and harness our full erotic potential and that of others. Witchcraft is neither a glossy magazine, nor a gender studies module, nor a particular aesthetic; though they may be paths towards it they are not to be mistaken for the thing in itself. Modern expressions of witchcraft that appear to value style over substance are better seen as part of a continuum of erotic expression, of the necessary poses demanded in a culture of surfaces. Witchcraft is a practice with attitude, not a practiced attitude. The erotic is witchcraft if it not only attracts power, or the gaze, but if it is able to harness that power for its own ends. We are not here to please, or to be measured in likes.

Though it is often, and somewhat smugly, pointed out that the brain is the most important sexual organ to stimulate, that misses the fact that the brain is a direct evolutionary result of our need to process movement. We are not a series of selfies but bodies in motion. We are not a brain in a control tower whose interaction with the world is only done with our thumbs. The body awaits our rediscovery of it, for ours is a naked art, garbed only in the shadows we artfully cast and the masks that demand to be danced.

Touch marks and transforms us. It is the most eroded of the senses and the most necessary to our psychological health. Touch is a condition of all sentient life, the loss of tactility is death, and as Aristotle observed, thought itself depends upon tactility.

Though we deal with the intangible, touch is something we should be developing in the creation of a series of exercises to extend the range of our senses. It is not surprising that the blindfold is one of the key technologies of both initiation and sexual play. Leading and being led, hunter and hunted are the ways in which we extend our sensitivity across the country of skin.

Alongside the blindfold, the mask must be mentioned in this context, for the way in which it frees the body. In masking we discover hitherto unknown movements and voices, selves that we pull on like long gloves and that articulate potentials which animals have not forgotten. Masks can wear us, as gods often do. The blindfold is of course the dark moon and initiation, the mask, the sabbat at the full.

The erotic is the art of the extension and the anticipation of desire. It triggers a cascade of chemical releases that renew the body. We glow with it. What all the methods of eroticism and ordeal have in common is the body, and the function of the endocrine system. We can exploit this rather than taking it as a given, by training with the exactitude and presence of dancers and martial artists. The edge play of fight or flight, of tonic immobility, of extended arousal are the penumbra through which we are transvected. Our aim is to extend our mastery over the so-called autonomic nervous system, and in doing so, live more deliciously.

The work of witchcraft is best approached if you have a working energy body. The endocrine system in particular needs attention: hypothalamus, pineal, pituitary, thyroid, thymus, adrenals, pancreas and ova/testes. Unless you have an active method to address it, your system is either aggravated or in decline. Unless you are moving every day you are becoming stiffer. The challenge is that most people in our culture, which includes witches, are heavily self-medicating, particularly with alcohol, painkillers, prescribed pharmaceuticals and in a state of chronic inflammation. If this is not rectified then eroticism is impaired, ordeal work becomes blunt trauma wrought on muffled senses.

In tandem with this are the requirements of herb craft to provide the building blocks and support for the experience so that it is not catastrophic. I am not going to give a full herbal, but let me mention damiana, red clover and ginseng as general tonics as well as two of my preferred and less known ones, amachazuru and tongkat ali. If you are not taking Vitamin D and magnesium supplements I urge you to do so. For men I should add zinc, and testosterone support for those over 40, along with lifting heavy weights: these are far more effective than shunning ejaculation in order to stay vital. For women, dong quai, cat’s claw, ashwaganda, catuaba, and of course the master substance: chocolate, theobroma cacoa, food of the gods. And I recommend you consume your chocolate like your witchcraft, as dark, raw and unadulterated as possible!

The quick hit and subsequent body load of sugar and cooked fats, the over reliance on alcohol as a disinhibitor rather than a solvent for medicines, processed denatured food and death by sofa are the hallmarks of a slave society and a slave body. In addition we trash our adrenals with caffeine and crash our immune systems with cigarettes. This toxic approach does have some short term benefits, but it ultimately burns us out. The excess of energy in youth can lead us to self-destructive displays. I am not promoting abstinence, but an extended drunkenness of the senses.

Would it not be better if we were to stretch into ourselves like felines? If witchcraft drank from the cauldron of medicine and health? If we recognised that what we do requires sustained and sustainable energy work? If when we engage in the work of poisons we pay as much attention to recovery? Ask yourself: How powerful is your erotic response? Then ask, how powerful can it become?

Find a physical practice that you love. Make the body your magical weapon of choice for the performance of witchcraft. Keep extending and retracting your power like cat claws. It is a lunar mystery that we work, and it gives us supernatural seeming powers. The erotic is not linear, this genders witchcraft female whatever our biological sex. It teaches us to sustain from the smudged kohl of evening to the rose blush of day. It makes our witchcraft a full body art from the field of flesh through to our secret interiors that the blindfold and mask reveal.

Peter Grey
Forging the body of the Witch
Presentation given at the Occult Conference in London, England, 18th June 2016

In effect, it is a new religion altogether, displaying unified religious attitudes and beliefs. As an example, one may mention the enormously important role of the gods and goddesses of the underworld… it is characteristic of the Hellenistic syncretism of the Greek magical papyri that the netherworld and its deities had become one of its most important concerns. The goddess Hekate, identical with Persephone, Selene, Artemis, and the old Babylonian goddess Ereschigal, is one of the deities most often invoked in the papyri…Hermes, Aphrodite, and even the Jewish god Iao, have in many respects become underworld deities. In fact, human life seems to consist of nothing but negotiations in the antechamber of death and the world of the dead. The underworld deities, the demons and the spirits of the dead, are constantly and unscrupulously invoked and exploited as the most important means of achieving the goals of human life on earth…

Hans Dieter Betz
Introduction to The Greek Magical Papyri

20th May

In the garden, her wrist on show, the pale white scar bearing witness to a past indiscretion: a failure this, to accompany so many others. The rose blooms bled behind us in soft red bursts. A reflection of another time and her own undoing, perhaps. It’s summer and all the pretty girls wear dresses that show off their freckled shoulders. They come and go beside the living wound of the roses. And in her eyes a reflection of gentle dark night. Later she spreads herself out like a pale landscape across my bed, and my fingers trace her smooth contours with pleasure. But now I am become shadow. A footstep or two, half-heard. I am not here. And none of it really matters. Not anymore…

#

Drunk on wine and poetry and the taste of your skin – especially the ripe folds of skin between those softly curving thighs. Ah, to drink you down in one long draught. To be drunk. To be drunk by sipping without stopping, like some blasé god, Bacchus perhaps? To be drunk on wine and on you. To drink down the fine frothy waves of you. To drift on your tides like a water-logged piece of flotsam. To be drunk forever…

A fate devoutly to be desired.

#

And to the cinema to see Alien Covenant, a film that has filled me with hope for the future of mankind. The day wet. The sky low enough to swallow the earth in big misty mouthfuls. A and L told me the film was “slow”, “not much happening”. Comments that puzzle me in hindsight? I didn’t think it that bad for a film of its ‘type’: “Look, there’s an alien; kill the alien; the alien’s dead…perhaps?”

Afterwards had a reassuringly third-rate meal at R Fast Food, followed by the most tasteless coffee I’ve ever encountered anywhere in the world. Had a brandy with it, which was okay. God bless Courvoisier! It saves even a wilted salad!

#

Thursday given over to Crowley’s ritual technique of eroto-comatose lucidity: repeated sexual stimulation to the point of orgasm – until the body drifts, leaf-like between sleep and wakefulness…in a state of near exhaustion, because of this continuous excitation; erotic massage, fingering, physical stimulation of genitals and erogenous areas – continuing for a period of five hours or longer on this occasion.

Both heaven and hell…

Trance-like state achieved. Saw this wild, grey sea unlike any other sea I’d ever encountered. Heavy drops of rain falling in torrents out of a vermillion sky, and mask-like faces in the air around. Foaming waves…

Vision disrupted finally by ejaculation…but magic made, anyway. All desire centered on one good outcome. Hopefully successfully.

#

Dreams from Thursday night: vivid, confused and disturbing. A beautiful woman, tall, wearing a flounced bell-shaped skirt and no upper garment. Full breasted; heavily rouged nipples. At her waist a belt of jeweled snakes. Around her other women, Neolithic women in tatter skins. All glimpsed by the dancing light of candles set in crystal.

And they dance, these women. A dance of leeches. Spinning in sinister ballerina poses. The dance becoming more frenetic, frenzied and furious. Their bodies come together like a wreckages of flesh…

Wind dancers, these, I realise. Animal shapes crossing the ridges of their backbones. Before they dissolve in to so many particles, shifting in the wind, to reassemble as the sea folds around their bare feet and ankles.

And this wind creeps in through the cracks in the world…

#

Friday off to close friends for long boozy lunch (Peedeel drank only water!), Chinese food in multiple courses, and good conversation. Plenty of laughter. I felt strangely dissociated, though. There, yet elsewhere. The after effects of such an intense ECL session yesterday, perhaps? Certainly, very sore downtown.