Magical uses for kisses

April 14, 2017

A kiss is a very powerful thing, even in fairytales and lore of the past the power of kisses are told of (true love’s kiss, siren/mermaid kiss, first kiss, etc). a kiss can be a powerful tool for any witch. Here are a few suggestions for using kisses and the power they hold.

Use a kiss to charge objects: crystals, tarot cards, charms, amulets, etc etc. Use it to send your emotions and energy into the object. Love is a good emotion, but any positive energies you wish to charge the object with can be transferred this way. Adding your love to something can really give it a boost as well! Especially if it is for another to use. (Note: do not kiss toxic stones please! Be safe and smart)
Spell Sealing: Use a kiss to magically seal spells such as jar and bottle spells or use it to strengthen a (cooled!) wax seal. Imagine placing the kiss its like placing an invisible seal upon it, stamping in energy to lock th spell inside.
For Air and Wind spells: For all of my fellow witches who use air and wind spells, blowing a kiss after a chant or spell to summon a wind in the direction you wish it to blow is a good way to guide the wind but also show it positive reinforcement. Use it to show your gratitude for the wind’s cooperation. It is best for gentler wind spells.
Glamour and Beauty spells: Kiss the mirror after a beauty or glamour spell. Thank the mirror for its aid and seal any negativity into it. It also a wonderful way to reflect love back at yourself!
Love Spells: Kisses are great for powering up love spells! Kiss a candle before lighting it (careful if you are using essential oils be sure not to kiss where they are), kiss the written name of the one you desire, kiss a charm or amulet to help bring love into your life, and finally blow a kiss when finishing the the spell to close it.
• Kitchen Magic: blow a kiss to finish a dish (don’t be too close though, don’t want to spread germs) to put a final charge of love into it before serving it to others. Good for with tea and coffee spells too!
Public Magic: Want to remain discrete while casting a spell in public? Blow a kiss! Its much subtler than pointing or hand motions, especially if it is a positive spell you are casting on another or a friend but it is also good for curses, either way its a wonderful way to send your intentions. Whisper the words or chant needed for the spell (if any) under your breath, imagine them gathering in an orb of energy at your lips as you do so. Then do a subtle kiss motion on your lips (no hands and no ‘fish lips’, you are trying to be subtle). Then release the energy and words towards the target with a gentle blow of breath, sending the ball of energy in that direction.
Mourning/Remembrance Rituals: Ending such a ritual with a blown kiss to close it can help release your feelings in a positive manner and close the ritual with love and sincerity.

Source HERE

the Inner Path

April 12, 2017

So be very sure of yourself before seeking entry to the Inner Arenas, and don’t say you weren’t warned. Once in, there’s no turning back. One has to go on, and on, and on, to the bitter bloody end, because one has to. No matter how horrible, how frustrating or more frequently how blatantly boring the Inner Path may seem, it has to be plodded to the very final and sometimes terrible end before it enters PERFECT PEACE PROFOUND wherein nothing can harm or hurt you ever again. You can’t just ‘take up Magic’ like some hobby and abandon it when you feel inclined. You may, and periodically should, have resting periods during which nothing much appears on the surface while a good deal is developing underneath.

Nevertheless, once you become part and parcel of the Magical Tradition, especially that of the West, expect difficulties from all directions…

William G Gray
Letter to Alan Richardson, 2nd March 1973

Self Love Jar

April 2, 2017

Ingredients:
a little bottle or jar
wax, pink if you can
sugar for peace
vanilla for tenderness
dried rose for love
dried mint for positivity
dried sage to keep negative thoughts away
lavender for calm and love
a love stone such as rose quartz (if you have one)

How to proceed:
1. Take the time to light a candle, meditate if you wish and focus on your intent: self love, feeling love for yourself, seeing your beauty, etc. Visualize it clearly and with as many details as possible.
2. Add the sugar at the bottom of your jar, then all the other ingredients in layers. With each ingredient, repeat your wish for loving yourself.
3. Finally, add the lid to your bottle and seal it with the wax (I used vanilla wax here), focusing on your intent one last time
4. Add a pink ribbon if you wish.
5. Keep the jar with you and don’t hesitate to pull it out every time you feel self doubt overpowering you!

witch-outline

Diary 5th March

There was a woman who lived alone at the end of Walton Drive. Her house was beside the “danger point” (its name came from the red and white sign in the centre of the road that read DANGER). Beyond the sign there was no more road, just a wilderness of trees and shrubs, nettles and brambles. A veritable jungle where kids could turn wild and play. And where the woman often walked alone on a winter’s evening.

‘She’s a witch,’ Susan said. ‘She goes down there at night and makes spells.’

‘She gave Maureen warts for cheeking her,’ Linda claimed.

The girls seemed convinced, but we boys were less certain. A witch? Did such things really exist?

One Sunday afternoon we were playing football in the road near the ‘point’ and Alan kicked the ball into the woman’s front garden. Little Billy went off to get it when the front door opened and the woman came out.

Standing in the road we could see they were talking, but couldn’t hear what was being said. The woman, tall and skinny, was dressed all in black, as usual. She wore thick black mascara round her eyes and mauve lipstick on her mouth, and she had silver rings on all her fingers – including her thumbs. We were surprised when Billy tossed the ball back to us, and followed the woman into her house.

Billy reappeared an hour or so later. His face was very flushed –as if he’d been running.

‘What did she want?’ Alan asked him.

‘She gave me a biscuit and a glass of orange juice,’ Billy said.

‘But you were gone ages.’

Billy’s eyes became suddenly cautious. He glanced to right and left. ‘She took my shorts down,’ he said quietly. ‘She touched my “you know what”…’

‘Your cock?’ Alan said. ‘She touched that? I don’t believe you!’

‘Well she did, see. Honest, she did.’

‘You’re a liar Billy. You’re making it all up.’

‘She told me to come back next Sunday when she had more time. She’d do something extra nice.’

‘Rubbish,’ Alan decided. ‘Boy’s gone sick in the head…’

Later, in Angela’s back garden, Linda told Billy not to go back. ‘She’s a witch,’ she said. ‘Witches hate little boys. She’s probably got this sharp pair of scissors to cut your thing off. She’s more than likely got a collection of boys willies in a glass jar, and uses them in her spells.’

Undeterred by this warning (or anything else) Billy returned to the witch house the following Sunday.

What went on there? I’ve no idea, and Billy didn’t say when he reappeared later in the day. Alan kept on at him, but Billy stayed stumm.

Linda asked him, ‘Did she touch it again?’

He wouldn’t answer.

Whatever happened, happened, and would remain a secret between Billy and the witch.

Then – perhaps almost a year later – I was walking with Billy through the churchyard one Saturday afternoon. We were talking about the future – the far future. All the technological changes that might take place. How we might each of us end up with our own personal robot to do all the household chores. And flying cars, of course. We’d each have one of those. And we’d be able to chose the sex of our children…boy or girl.

‘D’you really believe that?’ Billy asked.

‘Why not?’

‘The witch,’ he said, then hesitated.

‘What about her,’ I prompted.

‘She said if I tell about her, she’ll know it. Said she’d transform me into a girl, if I ever said anything about her…’

‘That’s nonsense, Billy. She’s not a real witch. She can’t do anything like that!’

‘Says you,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen some of the things she can do.’

‘When?’

‘I go to her house sometimes. I keep it secret, like. She doesn’t want anyone to know.’

‘So what does she do?’

‘I can’t tell,’ Billy said. ‘I can’t ever say…’

And that was that. Billy’s secret remained secret. And to the best of my knowledge he never ever mentioned the witch again. But often I’ve wondered exactly what it was he’d witnessed at the witch house that frightened him into permanent silence!

And was the experience real or an hallucination?

Did our witch put some narcotic substance, a small amount of peyote for instance, in his orange juice? A drug induced hallucination would be sufficient to confuse…

To terrify.

I imagine them both somewhere between taboo and transgression in her dark house: Billy experiencing the exhilarating sensations of her hands and her body; she over-stepping society’s limits with her unrestrained sexual license.

And beyond the sexual frenzy, the fear!

Following a sip of her ‘special’ orange juice. Her conjuration made horrifyingly potent. Candles and darkness; smoke and mirrors…

Or was it all just a lie? Make-believe…?

Yes, I often wonder what ultimately became of our Billy.

Witches Rage

February 18, 2017

wont-you-come-in

I craft my witches protections, filled with Witches Rage and Bitterness at the witching hour. I turn my eyes into hollow shells and holed stones, and my words into adders and arrows…

Hey, Moth, Come Eat the Flame

November 19, 2016

another-view-from-the-window

Diary 19th November

Fact is unstable by its very nature.

#

Visit to T yesterday. We spent Samhain at her enchanting home with its menagerie of dogs, cats and chickens. Trees surrounding the house were finally turning to the russet colours of autumn – and so near the end of November, too. It’s very peaceful here. And T is probably the maddest, but most contained woman I have ever met. She works such incredible magic. She is totally at one with her world and the people in it.

She points to a white feather on the ground beneath a chestnut tree. ‘That,’ she says, her voice gentle but totally sincere, ‘is an angel’s feather. It means good luck to us here today.’

And I feel she really believes this feather is fallen from an angel, not from the back of a near albino chicken clucking about in the undergrowth.

How I envy her the simplicity of her chosen lifestyle…

Two years ago her aunt was diagnosed with inoperable cancer. T concentrated single-mindedly on her aunt’s recovery day-in, day-out, for a period of four months. She said at the time, ‘I don’t know if it’ll do any good. These thing are either meant to be or not. We can only try to intervene. It’s all we can do…’

Her aunt’s doctors at Derriford hospital were astonished when a scan showed the cancer in remission. Within two months the cancer had gone and the aunt had made a full recovery. I cannot explain it, but T is convinced her “magic” worked – as it has done many other times in the past.

#

I have kept notebooks since my twelfth year. During periods of creative sterility, I look back across the years for ‘fresh’ inspiration. Like Dylan Thomas whose mature poems were plagiarised from his much younger self.

What, I wonder, would have been in Shakespeare’s notebook in the years leading up to Macbeth? It take no Oedipus to guess. Cats and toads as familiars to witches, rats without tails that gnaw holes in the bottoms of ships, mariners spell-bound for nine times nine weeks, the vaporous drop on the tip of the moon, plants the roots of which deprive us of reason, air-drawn daggers with gouts of blood, maddened horses that devour each other, charms of all sorts, from the sweltering venom of the toad to grease from a murderer’s gibbet, the strange phenomena of somnambulism, ghost-lore, the behavior of owls. And that is as nothin to the farrago of the notebook which might have preceded Lear!

#

Gillian Rogers was my first love. I remember still her kisses in the recreation ground after school, fiery things they were, that tasted incredibly of aniseed balls and chocolate, the taste of innocent sin…

A love charm

November 16, 2016

witchcraft2

A love charm for thee,
Water drawn through a straw,
The warmth of him / her thou lovest,
With love to draw on thee.

Arise betimes on Lord’s day,
To the flat rock of the shore
Take with thee the pointed canopy,
And the cap of a priest.

A small quantity of embers
In the skirt of thy kirtle,
A special handful of sea-weed
In a wooden shovel.

Three bones of an old man,
Newly torn from the grave,
Nine stalks of royal fern,
Newly trimmed with an axe.

Burn them on a fire of faggots
And make them all into ashes;
Sprinkle in the fleshy breast of thy lover,
Against the venom of the north wind.

Go round the ‘rath’ of procreation,
The circuit of the five turns,
And I will vow and warrant thee
That man / woman shall never leave thee.

Alexander Carmichael
Carmina Gadelica

their black books

November 10, 2016

grimoire-of-spells

They keep records of their deeds and write them in their black books. No mere mortal can read their unnatural codes, for their words are for their kind alone.

Andrej Kwertowski
Hidden Evil (1708)

Good advice for Halloween

October 29, 2016

scream-queens-illustrated-015-1996

evening

Incantation: A formulaic use of words to create magical effects. Incantation derives from a Latin word meaning “to consecrate with charms or spells,” and, indeed, charms, spells, chants, and conjurations all employ the apparatus of sympathetic magic. Incantations, whether spoken or chanted, are characteristic of archaic poetries everywhere, which have always employed the rudimentary power of repetition to create enchantment. Oracular and prophetic poets rely on what Roman Jakobson calls “the magic, incantatory function” of language to raise words beyond speech, to create dream states and invoke apocalyptic forces, dangerous transcendent powers. The Orphic poets and Hebrew prophets, as well as those outsize vatic figures who identify with them (Christopher Smart, William Blake, Walt Whitman, Robert Desnos), deliver incantations formally, not haphazardly, and harness the rhythmic power of repetition through parallel structures and catalogs. Here is a statement from “The Song of Amergin,” which was said, as Robert Graves has pointed out, to have been chanted by the chief bard of the Milesian invaders as he set his foot on the soil of Ireland, in the year of the world 2736 (1268 BCE).
Invoke, People of the Sea, invoke the poet, that he maycompose a spell for you.

For I, the Druid, who set out letters in Ogham, I, who part
combatants,
I will approach the rath of the Sidhe to seek a cunning poet
that together we may concoct incantations.
I am a wind of the sea.

Edward Hirsch
A Poet’s Glossary