February 22, 2018

I watched you dancing in your garden,
Elfin child;
threading your silver tears through
sunlight strands of your laughter.
And the pearls of your wisdom
hung about you in a shining radiance.

I felt the enchantment of your star studded music,
rippling through the aching contours of my being;
felt each quivering note peel away layers
of the mask I had moulded about me,
making me as naked and free as you.
Elfin Child.

The curtain of light
that hid your face fell away
and I saw my own face.
You held out your hand in silent invitation,
your eyes beseeching jewels of love,
and together we danced as one…

Stephanie Wilson

A Mount Erice

Significantly, Trapani is located directly beneath the legendary Mount Erice, one of the most sacred spots in the Mediterranean. In antiquity, Erice was famous for its magnificent temple, situated on a perilous cliff, where, in succession, the Phoenicians worshiped Astarte, the Greeks Aphrodite, and the Romans Venus. This temple stood for over a thousand years and a sacred fire always burnt from its enclosure, so brightly that sailors used it as a guiding beacon. It was here that the Priestesses of Venus served the Goddess with their bodies through the art of ‘sacred prostitution’, a spiritual practice that included the celebration of the sacred marriage rite.

Tiziana Stupia
Goddesses of Love, Sex & Death in Sicily

an imaginary mirage

February 22, 2018

Love is one of the great instruments of magical power, but it is categorically forbidden to the Magus, at least as an invocation or passion. Woe to the Samson of Kabbalah if he permits himself to be put asleep by Delilah! . . . Sexual love is ever an illusion, for it is the result of an imaginary mirage.

Eliphas Lévi
Transcendental Magic

In the Museum of lost objects

February 20, 2018

You’ll find labels describing what is gone:
an empress’s bones, a stolen painting

of a man in a feathered helmet
holding a flag-draped spear.

A vellum gospel, hidden somewhere long ago
forgotten, would have sat on that pedestal;

this glass cabinet could have kept the first
salts carried back from the Levant.

To help us comprehend the magnitude
of absence, huge rooms

lie empty of their wonders—the Colossus,
Babylon’s Hanging Gardens and

in this gallery, empty shelves enough to hold
all the scrolls of Alexandria.

My love, I’ve petitioned the curator
who has acquired an empty chest

representing all the poems you will
now never write. It will be kept with others

in the poet’s gallery. Next door,
a vacant room echoes with the spill

of jewels buried by a pirate who died
before disclosing their whereabouts.

I hope you don’t mind, but I have kept
a few of your pieces

for my private collection. I think
you know the ones I mean.

Rebecca Lindenberg

destroy it first…?

February 20, 2018

A witch is, actually, a successful (in the sense of surviving) deviant. You have a cultural, ideological, social, what-not pattern which is, for that society in question, normal (and, importantly, this is understood as a synonym for natural). Most people survive because they conform to these patterns, because they behave normally. …But then suddenly you get a deviant which survives, and since it does not draw its support from the normal pattern…that deviant is understood as drawing its support from “unknown,” “supernatural” sources…If we cannot survive without our order, how can she [the witch] survive in solitude? Hers must be indeed a very powerful order to exist so independently, without all the inter cooperation and individual compromise which we have to go through to survive. And if it is so powerful, then it could destroy us. We must try to destroy it first.

Maya Deren
Notebook of Maya Deren”, October 1947


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