Practical Magick

So today I have been writing my script for my Kickstarter video.My butterflies have butterflies. I haven't even filmed it yet. I spent this morning nursing a poorly TK (in bed in his onesie and reluctantly taking medication) and writing the script while buying soup in Tesco's. All the while listening to Practical Magic soundtrack. There is something wonderful about wrapping music around yourself like perfume or a pretty scarf. It comforts me. The world seems to want to intrude today, whether it those scarey staring eye posters from the Government or the articles of the vile erosion of our personal rights everywhere, still the music dilutes that sense of pressure.
The world is a wonderful place full of love, hope and magick. It is inspiring, beautiful and full of positive possibilities. It isn't grey, wet and dreary, it is a silver blanket leaving gems and pearls of light on every surface.

In the dreaming.
When I meet people they can trigger memories within me. My husband and I remembered each other. It has happened on and off since I was 16. They do not always remember me. One of the first I had was being heavily pregnant and in a room that is on fire. I could not get out. I could not breathe. Other dribs and drabs would come back. At that age it is quite unsettling to remember such things.
Having been reacquainted with the person who triggered this memory I guided myself back to find more out about this life before bed last night. I expected this person to feature heavily or emotionally in this remembering but I remembered most a place, a low island in Scotland with a village made of stone. It had only one purpose which was to be a birth center for Kings, queens and other royal children. My mother ran this place. She was thin but wiry. Her hair was wrapped in blue clothe and she had piercing but twinkly eyes. I was the second of 4 of her daughters and while my sister married a King she resented me because I would inherit this place, and my mother's title. The jobs was not only getting the baby out but then taking the women to the sea. We would wash them and let the blood and first milk flow into the ocean. We would read the "Life map" or placenta and give that up to the ocean too. I remember the special wooden peg for the cord. I remember the silver axe and the gristly texture of it cutting. I remember the great fires in the "hot rooms" that newly washed mothers and they babies were placed. I remember long births. Slow births. Still births, where the child was give straight back to the sea wrapped in the "life map", some of it's mother's blanket and a lock of her hair.
All the time I remember my mother talking almost to herself as she lead me through all that needed to be done. I feel this closeness. Connected without expectation. Her unwavering belief in what we did and my ability to do it. There was such a strength to her, a power that radiated in her presence. Yet she was softly spoken. Sweet of voice. She had a metal rod that denoted her office. She would take it out into each storm. She would place it within a pit of wet sand. When lightening hit it she was the most radiant I have ever seen her. Her hair unbound and rain wet face. I remember seeing it and knowing that it would be my rod and it frightened me. Yet within the warm stone walls she told me I should be frightened. That all power can kill. That I must remember everything we are are borrowed except for our names and the children we bear. Then she would sing her lullaby to me the same way she would to every new babe and it made me laugh. I remember the smell of sheep fat used to rub on her sore knuckles, raw and red from water and cold and salt. I remember the blanket room, with boxes stacked from floor to curved ceiling. I remember the pregnant mother's room where the women would spin and some would weave. I do not remember any men. Not a father or brother. I do not know who the father of my child is anymore than before the dreaming. Or why I die within a fire. Yet I remember walking into the ocean to let my own blood and milk flow. Ah what makes sense in the dreaming does not make sense in the morning.
I do not know how much more or less I will remember as the day wear into it's silver winter noon colours but maybe there will be more. At least now there will be no less. 

Into the Cauldron.

I am currently (as well as being under the weather with a chest infection) exploring the mysteries and myths of my Welsh heritage. It is challenging. I recognize much and yet find it difficult to put into words the meaning and depth of all that is raised. I have bought more books (Victor Tuners work) but it is the soulful quality of this exploration that makes me feel...different.
Words and phrases, questions raised without answer that have me haunted by this half remembering. In this cauldron of rebirth, of inspiration I am wary of my own voice. Wary of things covered half in mist and myth. Only in the dreaming, only in the Veil does all this seem simple. The stag within my dreams that has been with me for years as a gentle, comforting presence.

The bird, the blood and the feather floating on the water.

 I am finding words for way I have always been.

 Annwfy, the deep, both here and there, close but separate, a thousand worlds in a drop of water.
Goddesses of flowers and owls and lovers who are consumed in their passion for each other. Horses, dogs and stags, there but not there like the long dead cat playing with my curtains. I could weep and I am not sure why. A feeling of connectedness and yet distance like the shiny spinning stars. It is like the feeling at Worlds End, heart stopping beauty and a feeling of peace, and yet, and yet it is a liminal space that can not last. It is a place to visit, to pass through to Dinas Bran, to the white roaring river, to home.

 I surrender. I relax into that space within myself that remembers. I remember the sea. I remember my hands covered in the blood of birth. I remember fire and death. Of not being able to breathe. Nothing else comes but it has been so long since I pushed that memory away. So then it becomes clear. To accept I must remember, for the dragon in my skin, in my bones, in my belly that knows, that always knows and remembers requires my attention. I must dream of the river, slow and deep. I must find the clearing and leave the boat. I will walk up the hill in the meadow hemmed with old tree down the mound. I must bend my knee and touch the bones, the skull, and dream within my dream, down, deep and deeper down. I will speak to the dragon.

It has suffered all my pains, my injuries, and it remembered. All the evil words and deeds. Every blow. very touch. So I honour the dragon and I give it my respect and my love. She will shed one tear I drink it down. I will surrender to the blackness that comes before.

Handfastings:Magickal marriage

The most basic gist of a handfasting ceremony is thus: you begin by blessing the space. Then you call on spirit to empower the space. Calling what is sacred to the couple to the space Gods/Goddess or the power of nature, trees, the moon, to bless and empower the joining. Then you bind them together (for however long they have decided). This joining is usually two hands.The bindings can be made of anything but witches tend to use their measures. This adds power and meaning but can cause problems too.The act of binding makes it harder for the couple to reach out to other people, makes it far more difficult to leave a relationship that has naturally ended, and can have other side effects.
 At this point they make their vows, "to all that is sacred I swear by the sacred earth of my body, the Moon above and the light within to love, honour and respect you...." This kind of oath and promise within a circle means breaking them has serious consequences. If you cheat on your partner or break these vows you are likely to upset more than just your partner. You have called the Gods and spirits their and oaths are important to them.
Next in the ceremony people usually drink from a blessed cup (mead/wine/ale) and share it around everyone there. You can then remove the binding as the symbol has taken hold.
As usual you then thank all you called into the circle and release the circle. A handfasting sounds great but I have seen people who would have been happier and healthier apart "stuck" together longer than they would have been but for the magickal binding. I have refused to do some handfastings because I was not happy that this kind of bind was appropriate or a good idea. A handfasting is super personal, much more so than any other kind of wedding I have seen. It binds the magick, karma and energy of two people and families and is not easy to undo. I think it is the most serious and joyous way you can show your love and commitment for someone. You call on all you hold sacred to bless and bind your lives together. That doesn't mean it always works. Yet the deep raw emotional power of such a service should never be under estimated. 
This spiritual handcuffing to another person makes "legal" marriage look tame. I have seen and know un-handfasting services too. Magickal divorce is sometimes the hardest and most painful of them all.
"Jumping the broom" is not "marriage lite". It is the most profound way of connecting with someone other than the Great Rite.

Down with the Sickness.

So I have a chest infection. I have been to the doctor and have antibiotics. I am resting, taking plenty of fluids (though you know I am ill proper when I can not even mange tea). I have a fever and generally feel like buckets of warm crap.
I even missed my on-line course. While I have plenty of reason to turn this into a big old pity party I have to say I have been lucky this year.The new meds seem to have helped me kick winter in the ass this year as I haven't had my November through to March lurgy. I had a wonderful birthday and saw friends from all over the country. Some stayed with us a few days, some a little longer. I had wonderful handmade and bought gifts of all shapes and sizes, though the hand crocheted blanket kind of my go to right now. I have an apple wood candle holder. A ton of chocolate. A glass altar plate all shiny for Imboc and a vase full yellow roses. While it is frustrating being vulnerable and frustrating I can not do the things I want to get done, especially with the book, I have dreamed long and deep.
In my dreams I see rivers. I see mountains and mist. Towers in the distance and sometimes I hear bells, sometimes the call of sea birds. All feels peaceful. I feel like I am forgetting something, and remembering all at the same time. Of course then I have another coughing fit and hope I don't puke up the meds I last taken.

Steam.
After a long birthday weekend of much food and merriment I seem to have caught the chesty lurgy of one of my many guests. He is still here and currently steaming in my "working" cauldron with herbs, fruit and oils. I believe we will all have a sit and steam. To cleanse and be clear. It is a great way to get rid of all the gunk. As a meditation it is also rather powerful. I sometimes end up scrying with the dark murky depths too. Truths foreseen are not always truths, especially when you are off balance.
My blend today was sage, rosemary and thyme, a touch of lavender, juniper, some essential oils (black pepper and clove).
I will be immersing my self in deeper waters too. Looking at myths and symbols in old poetry.
I doubt the dishes will get done today. 

Duets.
It seems logical today for me to talk about duets because I have been playing one with mini witch on our flutes. Magick with others is very like music. As within a rehearsal or piece of music you have to decide whether the mistake requires stopping and beginning again or carrying on.

 It matters little who made the mistakes, though it is fine to feel pleased when you didn't make any. It doesn't make you superior to the other player for we all miss notes sometimes, get our tuning off or just have a bad day. Be gracious and kind when you play with others and allow them their space as well as their mistakes. It is how we learn. Keep your music tidy, and your instruments clean. It is not only sensible but respectful to those objects and also to the music. Practice makes better, but never perfect. A spine tingling performance need not be note perfect and some that are, seem flat and dull. While some seem to torture The Art in the name of money, remember that it is okay to earn money doing what you love.
Music build bridges, sheds hope and light where there was despair. It can reveal and hide the truest things about the performer and what it means to be human and can touch on the Divine. It can happen anywhere. When it happen spontaneously it is one of the most memorable and wonderful experiences in the world.