A Rite of Death

 

Beneath the canopy of the Stars of Heaven and the Moon’s almost full shimmer, I shiver from the cold trail of death’s wake and the chill of the Western wind up from the Isles of Annwyn from which it returns.

Kneeling in the damp grass before the shadow cast altar I pick up the incense I had laid out and hold the end to the flame of a candle. As I blow out the lit tip the smoke wafts it sweet fragrance about me invoking the memory of rituals past.

I place the incense in the holder before the picture of the deceased and watch as the smoke passes across the image. “Holy art thou ancestors of the Witch Blood, of kith and kin, you whom sit upon the Thrones of the Mighty Dead in the Halls of the Fated-folk, witness these offerings and heed the call to guide one of your own into your company ,” I say just loud enough for my own ears.  Then I toll the bell seven times, each chime shatters the silence in sharp contrast to the calm night.

The chalice is cool to the touch and drips condensation as I raise it in salute to the night sky before beginning to tip the contents upon the ground. The red wine splatters the grass and roots before the altar. The dark stain reflects the dim of the night sky as if it were freshly spilled blood. “Accept this offering o Mighty Dead, may it stir your memories in aid of this rite. Allow it to uplift you and the one who joins you now.” I invert the chalice and sit it back on the altar.

Then I pick up the small loaf of bread from its silver dish next to the photo. Holding it to before the altar, I rip at it, tearing at it with my hands as crumbles fall upon the earth. The last few pieces I sprinkle across the altar itself before wiping my hands against the sides of my robes. Then with my right palm gestured towards the altar I say, “Accept this offering o Mighty Dead, may it feed your power in aid of this rite. Allow it to sustain you and the one who joins you now.”

Stooping I grab an unlit black candle staged beneath the altar. I hold it wick to wick with the lit white candle. I watch the flame pass, growing in strength, mesmerized by the swirling of the dripping black wax as it commingles with the white. I sit the candle in its brass holder before the photo next to the incense and inverted chalice. “Accept this offering o Mighty Dead, may it illuminate your path in aid of this rite. Allow it to warm you and the one who joins you now.” I reach down and pick up the bell, ringing it seven times more.

Sitting the bell down I knock three times upon the altar and pronounce, “So mote it be.”


Boidh Se!

-SM

“Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path.”

Where Witches Go and How to Get There!

There is a metaphorical place that is really a state of awareness in which those of us practicing Traditional Craft attempt to achieve. The idea is akin to one our ritual axioms where we say we are building our circle and temple space in a “time that is not a time and a place that is not a place.” This is also us talking about ourselves. We, our Craft, is designed to create our life about us, just like the casting of circle, a place that is not a place and a time that is not a time. In essence this state in which we aspire transcends but also permeates immanently throughout the entirety of our life—if we make it so.

Mythically this state of being is spoken of as the Witches Sabbat(h) unto which the Witches would travel. At the Sabbat they would metaphorically sing and dance the story of life and intimately, meaning on the personal level, enter into ecstatic congress with divinity. For those of you familiar with flying ointments and the practices of hedge-riding, I’m not talking about those practices at this junction but the whole of the Craft. On that note it is important to remember that our praxis and lore can have multiple meanings. The Witches’ Sabbat is one of those items that is also a symbol of the aforementioned state of being.

Reaching the Witches’ Sabbat is in one sense the same as being the time that is not a time and place that is not a place. The trick is getting to the Sabbat so that the Witch can create about them a life that echoes throughout the whole of existence as the indistinguishable marriage to the sacred. In this our praxis is the vehicle for getting there. This is the reason that Traditionalists stress orthopraxy, or at least one of the reasons.

In the story of the Witches’ Sabbat, Witches travel to the Sabbat by flying on their besom. Our practice, the Craft that we are the legacy of, is like the besom. The besom is our vehicle. Likewise, our practice is the vehicle that allows us to travel to the goal. For this to happen successfully the Witch must become adept at their magick or the besom will never take flight. Additionally, the Witch must come to know and trust the workings of the besom (read as our practice) in order to traverse the journey. In this the focus has to be on the flight and not the eventual destination, continually adjusting one’s heading, grip, and magick, or the Sabbat won’t be reached. This of course is all a teaching story.

Ultimately, the Sabbat is not there, it is here. It is right now, right here. The praxis is not a besom but it is the means. In time the illusions of place and time, and the metaphor, fall away. That is if the Witch takes refuge in the heart of their Craft. To do all of this, the Witch must climb upon the besom and make it their tool.

Boidh Se!

-SM

“Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path.”

Beltane: Wedding the Divine!

It was on a Beltane roughly a decade ago when I first looked through the eyes of the whole of the universe as my own. This mystical experience isn’t the same as your run of the mill spiritual epiphany or ah-ha moment. It was all encompassing.

There is an analogy I like to use in regards to explaining the theologies that fall under the umbrella of the Craft. Interestingly enough the original idea came from talking with my son. It was “the talk.” By which I mean the talk where I had to explain that some people only believe in one God and that sadly many of them will refuse to understand who we are and what we do, and that they can and will be mean about it. He was perplexed almost beyond words. When he finally did speak he said, “But the forest has more than one tree in it.” Brilliant! That is all I could think. Needless to say the conversation continued for quite some time but that one analogy from the depths of the mind of my son has stuck with me.

It’s not a perfect analogy, but none are. A forest is full of many different trees. Some of which many Witches establish relationships individually with. This is spirit work. Polytheism. Animism. Other Witches don’t but choose to work with the wood of the trees. I like to think of them as wood workers like carpenters. These are those that touch upon the essence of the material that composes the spirits. Broadly speaking they like to throw around terms like the divine and the sacred in lieu of specific “trees.” Others like to study the forest and uncover the inner workings and connections of the whole ecosystem. Yet another group likes to focus upon the cycles of the forest. Most Witches though are way more complex than any one of these simplified and limited categories and instead mix it all up to include some I didn’t mention.

My Beltane experience all those years back trumps all of it. In one instance, as I was standing in a doorway watching it rain, I was each plant and animal in the forest, I was the essence that made the whole, I was the inner workings, I was each point in time throughout all cycles, I was the sky and earth below, I was each star and planet to include the sun and moon, I was the nothing in which it all sat, and more. Is this the same as enlightenment? No, not as commonly defined. It is more of a shattering of an illusion, a taste of the feast on the table.

This is what Beltane is about, at least from a Traditionalist standpoint. Beltane is when we are crowned the ruler over the spiritual kingdom. Custom and myths tell tales of the rulers of old being wed to the land at the beginning of May. Just as they are wed to the land we are wed to the spiritual land and crowned with the whole of the heavens as the rightful sovereign. Today is the celebration of the consummation of that union.

This is all speaking from the individual perspective though. Now take this idea and expand it to include the forest and see how each category approaches this point upon the cyclic myth differently, and how each of those applies differently to us.

Boidh Se!

-SM

“Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path.”

Walpurgisnacht!

I wrote this recently. It was an exercise into a form of writing I don't usually play in... it was fun, and hopefully the spirit of it will come through the words. 

The Witches Sabbat

Off to the Witches’ Sabbat we go,

A sojourn into the divine personal,

By the light of the moon onward into flight,

An inward journey will only do.

Pulled by a call into the brush thick and dense,

The hardest is the first step of many,

Therein before an altar of truth all kneel,

Found here is the initiation by heart.

Upon a mound the throne does sit,

By whose authority the spiritual is wed,

To stave every hunger there is a simple feast,

The hallowed deepens with each toast.

A heralding wild call and we dance,

The rhythm of life the drums we beat,

Twists and turns the steps spin,

Transformed in cycles are we.

By a crackling fire we open heavy eyes,

A blanket of eternity draped thereon,

Continue before our eyes the Sabbat goes,

Never having to leave all is here.

Boidh Se!

-SM

"Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path."

Stir the Cauldron

There comes a point when the Witch knows. They know what they need to be doing in the work, they know what resonates with them, and they know how to be in that place between the worlds. They simply know. This does not mean that they always do the work. Knowing a thing and doing it are quite different. This point of being is a threshold in their Craft though, the step from learning to possessing.

Great magick and internal alchemy result not only when the Witch has the realization of knowing their place in the Craft and cosmos but when they proclaim “fear, ego, shadow, dweller, etc, be damned I am doing this thing!” There is an old Latin phrase that is common amongst the world’s Special Forces that applies here, “Qui audet adipiscitur!” In English it is “S/He who dares wins!”

Learn it; do it. Just as the Craft of the Witch is deceptively easy it is equally complicated when not tempered by actually experiencing it. The Craft is transgressive; it is on the fringe challenging us to transform. We just have to dare to stir the cauldron.

Boidh Se!

-SM

“Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path.”

Milestone Post: Reflective Journey in Pictures

Today is the first step for this blog into a next round of hundreds, with 200 posts written and published. Seriously though this blog is my own personal best record of my Craft and how it has evolved over the years. I am horrible at magickal diary keeping—truly I am. This is not to say I don’t have records. There are binders and notebooks staked high full of rituals written, experiments, recipes, and the like.

As such, this blog is a chronicle of a journey. I can at any point open an old post and whisk myself away to a time before. There are even a few posts I would likely argue with myself about. New revelations and experiences certainly change our world view. So I thank you all for coming on this ride with me. Sure there are some things I’ve held back or that you miss but the essence of the journey has stayed the same.

This morning I picked an arbitrary number, but one that seemed high in my blog’s data analysis, and ranked my top previous posts based on the most viewed. These can be found below.

I also included all four guest posts and one interview since all of these individuals were gracious enough to humor me. These posts come first followed by my own

Enjoy this recap as a journey in pictures. Also, blog love is always appreciated!

-------------------------------------------------*Guests*-------------------------------------------------

(click the images)

-------------------------------------------------*All ME: Top 15*-------------------------------------------------

(click the images)

That’s it, that’s all I got. It has been a great journey. Now onward!

Boidh Se!

-SM

“Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path.”

By Three Drops

I wrote the following as an exercise of sorts:

By Three Drops

The sorrow of death spins suffering into fabric,

The moon illuminates tombs of silent agony,

And legends of woe are made.

The isolation of walls tower casting shadows,

The gloom of loneliness grips in despair,

And the soul cries longing to commune.

The void of nothingness shrieks of the terror of oblivion,

The hands grasp clawing in desperation,

And fear whispers that nothing is there.

There is a path through the woods without a map,

There is no beginning and no goal,

But in the now illusion can be stripped from the eyes.

There is an elixir brewed in the heart,

Three drops of mystery, salvation each one,

But from the chalice it must be sipped.

The drop of rebirth the sun rises by,

The next of unity the crown is returned by,

And the last of eternity the heart dances by.

Boidh Se!

-SM

"Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path."