provide sacrificial tribute

September 16, 2017

12 – 15 th September

My dreams: feverish ramblings through some mythic wilderness. Troubling storms in the night, gales and rain, rain, rain.

We should all bow down to the great sky cock and provide sacrificial tribute. Say, the odd virgin or three – but if they’re too hard to find, what about a couple of goats?

They’re naming these feckin’ storms now. Shitty Kitty would be a good name –

I’m thinking of building an Ark –

Then, abruptly, trapped in this breathless precision of silence. Where’d the wind go? Did some bastard cut the throat of a virgin? Is the storm finally ended? Or have I gone deaf?

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Enough. I’ve had enough of here. Of work, of people. I need a break from it all. So, off to the north coast we do go. A room at the top of a tall building overlooking the sea. Observe at first hand the rage of the ocean as it hammers the rocky coastline.

Oh, wonderful. Our windows full of sky and ocean and we can look across to the coast path, all elbow bends as it climbs towards a truncated horizon. And, amazingly, the rain has stopped!

Food here is out of this world. Excellent. Great choice of wines, too. We spend our time walking on the rocks, or gazing out to sea while seated on wooden bench seats, or making love in our rooms. At night the sea sounds like an express train rolling through the darkness.

Morning walks in the wind, foam flying from the sea. Luminous grey sea, banded emerald green further out. Sun burn on my face, and occasional bouts of ecstasy. Last night loving again, wild, free, in a world of magic, drunk on fleshy bliss –

But all good things come to an end. Time to return to the daily grind…

Crooked Path sorcery

September 9, 2017

As a feature of Crooked Path sorcery, the initiate is perpetually refining poison into nectar, a process sometimes described by its adherents as ‘self-overcoming’.

Daniel Schulke
Veneficium

there we work magic

September 9, 2017

Though we come and go, and pass into the shadows, where we leave behind us stories told – on paper, on the wings of butterflies, on the wind, on the hearts of others – there we are remembered, there we work magic and great change – passing on the fire like a torch – forever and forever. Till the sky falls, and all things are flawless and need no words at all.

Tanith Lee
Final Blog Post

spooky but enchanting witch

September 4, 2017

Her one great desire was to be this spooky but enchanting witch living deep in the darkest part of the forest; her cottage there would be filled with the mingled scents of sandalwood and cinnamon, and her pet crow would sit close at hand and engage her in meaningful, magical conversation the whole day through.

Patrus
Witch dreams

This sex magick ritual is recommended for frequent practice. Through this ritual the ideal self is purified, extracted, and then ingested. Thus the procreative process is leveraged to produce, oneself as one’s own offspring and then become that child.

Before performing this ritual you should have a magical name or motto and a sigil designed from this.

Self consuming should be preceded by a banishing and centring ritual such as the Star Ruby, Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram, or other similar practice. You should feel powerful, clean, and centred going into this ritual. A ritual bath or other cleansing is useful. It is convenient to perform this ritual in a shower or bath.

Stand erect and reach above your head with both hands. Feel above you the presence of Desire, in whatever form this takes for you. With your left hand cradle the tips of the fingers of your right hand between the fingers and thumb of your left. Bring your left down and push up with your right and allow your fingertips to symbolically pierce the opening between the fingers and thumb of your left. Alternately you may visualize a phallic form of desire above you which you stroke. Whatever form Desire suggests is correct. From this draw down the divine fluid of desire to your forehead and begin intoning the “I” of “I-A-O”.

As your finger tips touch your forehead feel awareness of a bright light opening as a tunnel within you and through you. Bring your fingers down to your heart and feel this opening through. As your reach your heart intone “A”. Clutch your hands together then pull them apart as if rending a veil or opening a curtain. This is the overwhelming and overcoming of self. You push through your own identity and cast it off in this motion.

Now let your hands fall to your genitals. Feel the light continue down and settle here. Desire settles in the seat of your desire. This may be a sense of presence in the clitoris, prostate, g-spot, or phallus.

You may wish to sit, squat, or lay down as is comfortable for you now. Wherever you feel the feeling of Desire has settled, at this point trace with your fingertips the sigil of your magical name or motto. While doing this begin intoning this name or motto. Repeat intoning this throughout.

With the sigil drawn and clearly visualized upon your desire, begin massaging and stimulating yourself to bring yourself to climax. At the moment of climax, feel this divine desire excreted in your sexual fluids. Catch this and cradle it. Bring it to your lips and consume it, feeling its energy integrate throughout your being.

Repetition of this ritual will help you become the person you wish to be. Each performance acts to further distill this essence within you.

Anon
The Church of Nothing

The Witches’ Round

August 30, 2017

Nowadays used to raise the Cone of Power, this old dance may be used alone or in full coven. It is better if the Drawing Down of the Moon has gone before, for then the Gods shall fuse with the energies raised in the ecstacy of the dance and thereby accomplish your will.

All join hands to form a ring about the High Priestess. Heads turned left and eyes tightly shut, will a flowing river of power about the circle, moving from one through the next, from man to woman and woman to man, about the circle without beginning or end, gathering strength as it goes.

When the circle is set thus, in motionless intensity, the High Priestess begins to clap to the rhythm of the heart-beat. And upon this signal all open their eyes and step widdershins; slowly at first but with a quickening step as the High Priestess quickens the beat of her clap, until three rounds are complete. And this must be accomplished smoothly and without awkwardness.

Now change direction and dance deosil to the Witches’ Rune or some other tune; slowly at first, but faster and ever faster until, the Power being at its peak, the High Priestess shall release it crying: “Down !”, whereupon all shall fall to the ground to sit in a circle facing in. Thus also was the Cone of Power raised of yore.

Janet and Stewart Farrar
The Witches Bible

Witch Burn

August 17, 2017

It feels like freedom, sitting next to a grown woman,
squeezed into a corset, blessed woman, crowned in silver and gold,
body-strong as we grapevine in a circle,
body-vulnerable in diaphanous skirts.
We gargle meditatively, our voices vibrating
across each other’s solar plexi.

This witchy thing, inspired by
Druids, ancient and unknowable,
those Roman-fodder, those barbarous,
who never wrote anything down,
who probably practiced human sacrifice,
at their altars under monoliths, but
that’s what all the websites say, in curly-que letters,
BASED ON THE DRUIDS,
like wishing can make it true,
(prayer
and spell
all at once),
and under that in fine-print,
really brought to you by: a man named Gerald Gardner,
British civil servant who thought one day in the 1950s,
to look at nature and breathe in the moon
and stare at the stars and say yes, okay, yes,
this I worship.

And so we sit pentacle-corner to pentacle-corner,
humming hymns to horned gods
that I don’t believe in,
but the night smells like basil and mint
and the gardenia blossoms
in the desert heat, delicate blooms
that shouldn’t thrive here, but do,
like me, like magic.

Kristen Figgins

The Matriarchs’ Charm

August 16, 2017

Take hungry grins full of spittle
place sticky, beating hearts in the middle
and twine with salt and pepper hair
through endless days and nights laid bare
Add pebble, bone, root and feather
then wrap in tales and bind together

Wipe your brow and bow your head
spill blood upon the marriage bed
Now cross yourself – once, twice, thrice
and you become the sacrifice

Mary Bach

the edge of the dark

August 15, 2017

In Welsh mythology the otherworld is known as Annwn: the not-world, the deep. It is the beyond of adventure, the locus of alterity. Its landscapes are unstill, its deities and monsters have many faces. It is a source of beauty and terror, of awe, of Awen, the divine inspiration quested by the bards and awenyddion who crossed the edge of the dark to explore its depths.

The ways between the worlds are fraught with danger. Safe passage is only granted at a cost. Those who return from the otherworld are never the same. Thus they shroud themselves in the cowl of the edge of the dark.

Those who live on the edge see our precarious reign over the land and its myths is illusory. Tower blocks and elaborate street lamps are ephemeral as Dickens’ fairy palaces. Electric lighting is no defence against the edge of the dark, which seeps in because its memories are deeper than us, its darkness more permeating than headlights.

Lorna Smithers
The edge of the dark

15th August

So he enters her bedroom through that impossible two way mirror. She’s not there but he finds a mannequin that looks like her and dresses it in a flowing white bridal gown. He utters the words that make them husband and wife, and consummates their union on her untidy bed. Afterwards he takes her to the cemetery on the edge of the moor. It is the happiest day of his life.

‘I think of you,’ he says, ‘at midnight each and every night.’

He takes her in his arms and they begin to dance to the music playing inside his head. He is overcome with passion, and he has her there, bending her over a tombstone and thrusting into her.

She is like a woman from another time. She awakens so many different emotions in him. She has the soft smell of a child about her, and he whispers words of love into her tangled hair as he cums up her.

He loves her, every atom, every particle. Squeezing her breasts through her bridal gown and gently kissing the back of her neck. But she doesn’t respond. She lays quite silent and still over the tombstone, like a woman in some other person’s dream –

Then he wakes.

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The creative artist is much better equipped to exploit the obscure sources of myth, magic and ritual surrounding us than any ‘academic’ writing down pure ‘facts’. Contact with the sacred in nature may effect a transformation in our ways of ‘seeing’. The visible and the invisible and the veil between become momentarily transparent to assist in our enlightenment. It is possible for the creative artist to live in both worlds at once. To live inside and outside of time. The trackless, sheep-wandered moorland beyond my window suggests power, joy, growth – and the possibility of transformation. Here, it is easy to believe, is Pan’s playground, his kingdom, and that he waits, a bodiless shadow, to brutally ravish some innocent female out walking his domain without due care.

One should always propitiate the Gods with an appropriate sacrifice.