Fairies

February 18, 2018

Fairies begin their day by coming together a moment and sharing joy.

They love the feeling, which dew on the leaves draws from grass, lilacs and the response of meadow and flowers to the dawn.

Diminutive green sylphs now run in the grass, whose growth seems intimately associated with theirs, a single line of concentration.

They talk to themselves, constantly repeating, with an intensity causing their etheric doubles, grass, to vibrate as they pass, vivifying growth.

To rabbits and young children they’re visible, but I see points of light, tiny clouds of colour and gleams of movement.

The lawn is covered with these flashes.

In low alyssums along a border, one exquisite, tiny being plays around stems, passing in and out of each bud.

She’s happy and feels much affection for the plants, which she regards as her own body.

The material of her actual body is loosely knit as steam or a coloured gas, bright apple-green or yellow, and is very close to emotion.

Tenderness for plants shows as rose; sympathy for their growth and adaptability as flashes of emerald.

When she feels joy, her body responds all-over with a desire to be somewhere or do something for plants.

Hers is not a world of surfaces–skin, husks, bark with definite edges and identities.

Trees appear as columns of light melting into surroundings where form is discerned, but is glowing, transparent, mingling like breath.

She tends to a plant by maintaining fusion between the plant’s form and life-vitality contained within.

She works as part of nature’s massed intelligence to express the involution of awareness or consciousness into a form.

And she includes vitality, because one element of form is action.

Sprouting, branching, leafing, blossoming, crumbling to humus are all form to a fairy.

Mei-mei Berssenbrugge

An unfortunate truth - Love hurts

She desires to inspect my bruises, the marks of her whip across chest, belly and thighs. Already they are rainbowing like pieces of peacock tail; I feel like a fruit which has been bruised in order to ferment. She is pleased by the sight, especially the raw welts on my cock. She says, ‘Love hurts, doesn’t it,’ then smiles and walks slowly away.

Sunday morning lay in

February 18, 2018

The most beautiful things to do are those without any other purpose than the provision of sensual pleasure. This includes Sunday morning cuddles with the cats.

More Powerful…

February 18, 2018

How foolish to believe we are more powerful than the sea or the sky.

Ruta Sepetys
Salt to the Sea

The masochistic orgies of the Middle Ages, the Inquisition, the chastisements and tortures, the penances, etc. of the religious betrayed their fiction. They were unsuccessful masochistic attempts to attain sexual gratification.

Wilhelm Reich
Selected Writings: An Introduction to Orgonomy

a vehicle of their will

February 18, 2018

witch - Charles Wysocki

In the west country belief we believe that the spittle of the witch is a vehicle of their will and power, and thus their magical influence. The very act of spitting within the traditional practices of the country witch is to impart their will imbued power and influence…. Likewise is the witch’s breath a potent conveyor and vehicular vessel of power and spirit force, to which the body of the witch has by arte been made host, and those potencies, virtues and spirits conjured within the rites and magical work of the practitioner, may in pure focus of will and intent be imparted and issue forth upon such things such as places, charms, parts of the body and magical likenesses skillfully crafted by the witch’s hand.

Gemma Gary
The Black Toad

Circle-dance of the Deathless

February 18, 2018

By many names you may call us, in many books you may read of us, from many mouths hear tell of us…in the myths of days past, in tales of were- and faerie-folk, in half-caught glimpses at the crossing of Dawn and Dusk. Here a hand is stretched to you from the Circle-dance of the Deathless…hear this voice that speaks to you from mystery!

Andrew Chumbley
Cult of the Divine Artist

I believe in the life; in the flesh of infinite variety. We are eternity, with – as now – a fleeting and fluxing consciousness. Possibilities of being are limitless, because there is no total of experience or memory. Our potentialities are within this all-spaciousness, reined in by dimensionals and senses.

Austin Osman Spare
Zos Speaks!