Fae ritual.

Fae Ritual Journeying.

I was a bit rubbish yesterday in that got sucked into other projects (like written with a nib and ink in my BIG book of Shadows) instead of preparing for the ritual I knew I was going to do. Now I gave TK the choice of being their doing (magickal) study or being elsewhere and he decided to study. So after dinner and putting the mini witch to be I eventual got started on things like making the incense and preparing my ritual candles.
I used two candles as ritual items. One white and one blue. 
The white candle was dress with my fae lend oil and inscribed with the following.
"Carry me safely home and back again.
My Mother gently guide me to you.
All my seven sisters aid me on my journey."
Then did the blue on (which I will leave private).
Now to make the incense (thank goodness for the coffee grinder Gina gave me).
I took these herbs: apple leaf and wood, rosemary, gorse, willow leaf and honeysuckle flower and gum arabic. Once ground (which took a while) I placed the herbs in a ramekin and added the fae oils.
I got my altar and it's tools set up already, I had my wand and athame and scourge (it is made of elder wood). I filled a pint glass with water and got my twisted root candle holder onto the altar. (This was a gift from my initiator CW and without TK ritual tools I had space on the altar.) Anyway it was getting pretty late so rather than bake something I used finest Scottish shortbread as my food offering  for libation, I retrieved the blackberry and boozy mush from the fridge (where it has been since Mabon) and but some of it's syrupy blood red booze into my cruach. Phew almost ready? Oh cup of (and I mean a BIG cup) of chamomile tea.
I lit the candles in the root holder and dimmed the other lights. Using one of their flames to light my charcoal. I put charcoal disk into it's old and dented censor. When it had stopped "fizzing" I add the incense a pinch at a time. I opened the window a little and got out my big besom and swept the space clean. After I shut the window and added more incense. It smelt beautiful and sweet. I took off my PJ's and took down my hair. I spoke the Witches Rune to wake up my tools and then I used my wand to cast the circle and called the quarters. I called the fae of each element too at this point and then I evoked the Lady and Lord  and welcomed them in the usual way. Then I lit my anointed candles and lay down on the floor. TK sat quietly reading. I was a bit cold so I got the white(ish) throw and lay on that. I began as I usually do by deep breathing and making myself feel light. I was very surprised by how quickly I went.

Now I was in a sunny pine forest. A large reindeer nudged me and spoke. Then a large bear appeared. I was over joyed and threw my arms around the bear and buried my face into his thick slightly grey fur. I asked if I should ride him to get home, and he made fun of me and in the next moment we were at a a castle on a cliff top looking out to sea. I reached a doorway that was smaller than me and as I ran my hand in a clockwise direction over the frame it seem to grow. In the centre of the door was a disk and I twisted it again with the palm of my right hand and the giant doors opened inwards. Inside was the great hall. Set with tables laid with food and fire burning brightly at the centre. It was totally empty at this point. Behind the top table is the room I need to be in and there are my sisters. All wearing veils of some kind. They are arranged around a circular smooth stone table. I take my place beside them and lay both my hands flat on the table. Markings begin to glow brightly and the table seems to move and yet not move. I can feel the connect and love from these beautiful women. Then as I turn I see the room behind me is full of people now, they are eating and dancing. I am warmly welcomed and then everything hushes as she just appears. She is older than I seem to remember and she tells me this is "just the time of year". She is wear a pale blue robe and carrying a staff that she tells me is holly, it is as white as her long thick hair. She ushers me to "my room" and tells me "the bed is now of ivy rather than honeysuckle."
I lie down and she turn me on my side and then notice my sisters are there too. She heals me. We talk and laugh at length. It is very moving and full of love and warmth. When she is done she tells me to dance. As we reenter the great hall I do dance. I am embraced by many and we laugh. Suddenly I am aware I will have to leave and she just looks at me softly and say "I will take you back." There is a blinding light and she is standing over my body in the ritual circle. She tells me to "bathe in holly, and place a sprig in your broom." Then she bless the house and it seems to me a flash of light that could reach out into space erupts. Then she is gone. 
I am on the floor and my hair is wet from the tears that have cried. I sit up and pat myself down. I drink some water and wake TK and ask him to fetch me some holly leaves from the garden. He is not particularly impressed but he goes out and wrestles with the spiky bush. He grabs about a hand full and a sprig that fits nicely on my broom. I place the leaves in my herb decoction pan and bring it to a rolling boil. I discover that cooking holly leaves smell great (I even dipped my finger in to taste and it wasn't so bad). While it cools on the stove I add more incense to the burning which is still in, just. Then TK and I bless the cup and the offerings. Then I thanked and released everything and everyone. I didn't stripe the altar properly and take off my tools but I did take the jug of strained holly water and run a bath. I put a lot of rock salt in it too (nothing fancy just salt) and blessed the bathroom. I got in the bath and once in I poured the holly water over my head, face, shoulder and back. Once it was all gone I submerged myself in the water and just floated a while (it is a small tub so I can not usually do this). I lay there replaying in my head all that was said to me and by whom. I held onto the images over and over. Then I washed my hair and rinsed off. I felt a bit bad for drying my hair so late but I noticed a chill had come over the house. It was cold, really cold. I got into bed finding TK already there reading still (it was coming up close to 1am by this point). I re-played the journey in my head again and again, holding onto the love, support and healing I received. At about 6am I woke up, really really cold. I got out of bed and tried to find warmer PJ's to wear (in the dark trying not to wake TK who was blissfully asleep) I lay there shivering for a bit but slowly got warmer and warm enough to sleep an hour or so later.
I feel so good in some ways (even though the house feels really cold to everyone not just me today) my back and shoulder feel much improved and I feel calmer and more focused.
I had not planned on sharing my journey with you but it seems to have just poured out. The faeries in my house are very active today (when I told mini witch she moaned "MORE active? I can't find anything as it is!") but all seem quieter now.
So that was my journey. Put holly in your brooms, salt in your bath and go home as often as you can.
 I do not own these images.

How to walk a mountain.

 How to walk a mountain.

The difficult path? The pathless path? The journey that was following your dreams? You ever go hiking or walk in mountains? I don't so much now but I used to a lot. The weird thing about a hike or walk up a mountain is that you can walk and walk, and you don't really think you are getting anywhere and not only the THE MOUNTAIN LOOKS BIGGER! You can look back over the path and you can see the bits that looked easy from where you are standing now, that were tough at the time and belittle how hard it was, and be daunted by how high and how far you have to go. Now when I go climbing or walking I always take a flask of tea. At about the "You have to be shitting me" point of the hike I sit down and have a cup of tea. I don't look at the mountain or the path I look at my cup of warm brown joy. Maybe at the sky. I don't worry about the mountain (it isn't going to vanish or anything) or about how I could have climbed it better. I just sit there and take a little rest. Then I pack up my stuff and I think about the next spot I could sit down and have a cup of tea at. I set myself a little challenge, only small. The next rocks or that weird tree. Then I just let my feet walk and my mind wander, sing to myself, maybe tell someone who isn't there something I wish they knew, think about things I want to paint, or meals I want to make, all the time I keep walking. I give myself permission to feel what I feel. Okay my knee hurts...yes it hurts, but I keep going. It feels sad that I can not climb as well as I want to be able to..it hurt too, but I keep going. Sometimes I might start laughing at something that is funny in my head..that is okay too (maybe not in Tesco's though), and the odd thing is the mountain keeps looking bigger, but it isn't going anywhere. I am the one travelling. I am only accountable to myself. The mountain doesn't care. The trees don't care. The random sheep, they don't care either. If I made it half way today, maybe I can do further tomorrow, or maybe not.
You are the person setting the goals. You.
You can't run a Marathon without training and practice. You have to start small, then add small goals along the way. Life is like that. It has injuries and walls and doubts but all that means is that you are human, just a lot more honest than a lot of people. So take a moment, have some tea (I think this ambrosia of the Gods is awesome) and give your self a break, don't think about any of the if only's or what if's, just enjoy the sky and the way the tea moves in the cup.

Scariest things that go bump in the Night.

Scariest things that go bump in the Night.

 Now I know I am a witch, psychic and medium so maybe I am bias, but if somebody/something was stupid enough to "attack" me when I was sleeping like they do in horror films it would change very quickly from Paranormal Activity to Carrie. Now I don't know if this makes me brave, well trained or just really grumpy if I get disturbed when sleeping. The closest I ever came to this I ever came was while I was staying at my Dad's house when I was 17. Rather than grab me (or talk) they keep ripping the bed covers off in one swift motion waking me up. Then nothing happened.
On the third morning (at the tender age of 17) I gave the room a stiff (yelled at them a lot actually) talking to and told them to show themselves or bugger off.Which he did by walking behind me in such a physical fashion I thought it was my Dad.
That was the end of it. No more sleepless nights. Nothing. No priest, banishing oil or fire required, just a very angry redhead. 
Nothing else happened.
Now in theory this is because while people look like ghosts to dead people, I don't. While other people can not punch them in their spirit form, I can.
Not that I often do. Dead and unseen forces very rarely want to harm the living. Love, forgiveness and kindness are more a part of my ghost busting kit than anything else. 
While we forget that our thoughts become things and our fears distort something like a lost little boy, who didn't want to move into the light because he was "the man of the house now" into a demon terrorizing us, and all it took was some kindness and love to show him the way.
While it can be "fun" to tell each other ghost stories at this time of year, remember that they were people once too.
While I do maintain the idea that the witch should be the scariest thing in the forest, it is not because we are dark, or evil, but because we know. We know what is made by human hearts and minds, and what is not. We know that anger is pain and how to help heal it. We know the way through the Veil and do not fear death or life and respect both in equal measure.
If you have stared into the abyss of suffering and can still dance, and laugh and live, then what is the "dark" Lovecraft like imaginings given form. These man-made (and woman-made) "demons" are usually injured parts of the self, normally from deep soulful trauma. In giving them a kind of face or personality they have something to fight against so they do not remember being vulnerable, or "weak". The bigger and scarier the demon, the bigger the truama and the stronger the desire to erase it.
It can have a very physical presence and look like anything that the person feared or was disgusted by. Yet these manifestation are very real. Where attention flows, energy goes. This is why self reflection and compassion are vital. The spot where a man hung himself after years of mental illness had a being such as this. Yet all it needed was healing and love, underneath was an injured child, part of a person that was rejected entirely to be "strong" was not only his weakness, but ultimately cost him, his life.
So this Halloween season, don't be afraid. Face your demons with tenderness and compassion. Grieve for those parts of yourself and know you can heal. You can be happy. You do get to choose. Light a candle for those who are feeding their "demons" and never open doors you can not close.  

Truth in Fiction.

Truth in Fiction.

So you might have noticed I didn't blog yesterday. I have been a bit under the weather and yesterday the kitten I hand reared went to his forever home.
So truth in fiction is like truth in dreams. It uses symbols and ideas to covey real things to us. In that vein here is a short piece I wrote rather a long time ago.

“Come and take a seat Mr Collins”

The waiting room was overly warm and even the fake plants drooped in it's oppressive air. He took is usual seat, the one nearest the window, though the view was only of a brick wall of the adjacent building through wooden blinds. The secretary went back to typing something and he adjusted his grey suit trousers and coughed because of the dry air.

The door opened and a man with moist eyes and a dazed smile left the room. An elderly lady in a suit stood behind him and motioned that the man should,

“Speak to Sue, dear. Ah Mr Collins, do come in.”

He stood up slowly and headed towards the room. It always seemed so dark after the neon of the waiting room but it was also cooler and more pleasant.

“Are we ready? I think it is time to push deeper, much deeper.”

He nodded and lay back on the couch and the deep breathing and hypnosis began.

It is dark. I am alone. I was asleep. There was something, something that woke me. I go to the down stairs. My feet are bare on the wooden steps. I go to the glass door that looks out over the lake. Lights. There are lights dancing on the lake. I stand at the window and see them. Like fireflies. Like lanterns. One of them gets bigger. The dark lake shimmers. There are sparks. Something is emerging from the brilliance. A lady in the light. A luminous beacon. Long slender arms white and shimmering, raised above her head.

Her ethereal face obscured by the light emanating from her form, but I know she is beautiful. The black lake reflecting her image and as she dances the reflection in the water shows marble columns and a great hall. I can see it, this other place in the lake. She seems so happy, so full of life. She begins to dance. Tiny droplets of water jump and fly like sparks as she flicks her bare legs in figures of eights. The dancing speaks of to me. It is a grace and a passion, a composure and longing. It has a wildness, a freedom.

I press my face against the cold glass. I hold my breath as it fogs the glass. I want to see. I use my blue and white striped pajamas sleeve wipes the glass. It doesn't work, it smears everything. I open the door.

There are trees around the lake. I seem to notice them for the first time. There are no stars and no moon. The only sound is the gentle lapping of the waves as they lap against the sandy shallow shore.

The dancer doesn't stop, it gets faster. Different. I feel something in my heart. It is racing. I feel warm. Ignited. I am confused. I am delighted. Tears stream down my face. It feels like summer, and Christmas, and love.

The dancer turns her head and looks. I see a figure in the darkness standing on the shore. A woman, a real one not like the dancer. She is closer to the light than I am. The dancer seems pleased and spirals and leaps towards her as though she dances in the hall. She dances closer. The woman raises her hand. It is like they know each other. The dancer's fingers touch the woman’s hand and the woman is illuminated. She is crying. She is smiling. Yet there is something sad between them. Something longing.

I wipe my face with the back of my sleeve. Slowly the dancer coaxes the lady onto the lake and they stand on the surface as though it is ice or marble. My heart races. They shimmer and shine together. They orbit like stars. They leap and skip. There is a something different, the joy seems to grow into a sorrow. They wrap there arms around each other for a moment. Then they nod and separate.

The lady takes something from her coat. It seems heavy. It is a dagger in a sheath. She raises it above her head. The dancer kisses her face. The woman for a moment glows like a flame but she pulls away. She throws the dagger into the air. The dancer leaps, and spins.

It falls slowly like a leaf but as it touches the surface of the lake there is a blinding flash. Then darkness.

I look at the lake. I strain to hear. The lake ripples slightly. The trees sigh. A fox in the distance cries. My eyes are searching, searching the lake for the dancer or the woman. There is a splash. I can not tell where it came from. I run into the darkness.

My bare feet run to where the lady had been standing. I stand still, trying to see something. I try and listen. There is something. Something in the water. In the water, the cold dark water the woman struggles to swim. I get a branch and reach it out to her and she pulls herself closer to the bank. Her hair is slicked to her head and her face is streaked with mud. She hauls herself with much effort and heavy fabric onto the bank. I recognise this woman.

“Mum?”

She tilts her head and smiles wearily.

“It's late, back in bed.”

We walk back to the house. Every footfall makes a wet noise. I say nothing. My mother says nothing. We walk back to the house. It is strange to see it so dark. She opens the door and I climb the stairs to goes back to bed.

I turn and look at her. She is taking off her shoes.

“Mum?”

“Tomorrow, Lucas.”

Her voice is shaky and thick with emotion. Tears are streaming down her face. I want to know. To understand. I stand there on the stairs unable to move.

Then there is a scream. A terrible, terrible scream.

I barely see her move but she is rushing me upstairs pushing me gently but insistently towards the bathroom. We go into the cold room together and she picks me up and gets into the bath with me. She pulls the towels in with us. Her teeth are chattering so she clenches her mouth tightly. She hugs me so close to her chest. Her heart is racing. She smells of mud and leaves and damp. She keeps whispering the same thing over and over.

“It will be all right.”

There is a crash outside but she holds me tightly so I don't sit up. The wind howls and the windows shake. There is another crash. I start to cry. She keeps whispering and kissing my head. There is a flash of light.

“What is it Mummy?”

“A storm, a terrible storm. Just a storm.”

I can hear her heart hammering against my cheek. The house begins to moan and groan. I hear something shatter.

“What is it really Mummy?”

“The dragon, the dragon is passing through. Oh Lady protect me.”

The wind howls and I jump at every crash. Yet she holds me tightly. Her teeth stop chattering and her breathing becomes easier. The storm seems to lessen. The noise and light have passed.

Spiritual Guilt

Spiritual Guilt


Just stop. Just breathe. 
If someone else has an attitude problem and you were upset by their behaviour it is okay. Forgive them. Forgive yourself and let it go. It means next to nothing. It wasn't about you. Using any kind of faith, or belief, or spirituality to punish yourself is such a drain on the loving kindness you want to send out. Being tolerant of others is infinitely easier if you extend that tolerance, unconditional positive regard and love to yourself. If someone is being a jerk, maybe what they need is for you to let them know! They might be so lost in their own bad mood they didn't realize that they were being a jerk (they still might not care, but that is not in your control). 
If you go out of your way to look for the bad in people you will always find it, even if you are looking at your self.
Take a few deep breathes and if you have the time close your eyes for a moment. 
Visualize a big bowl full of water. See it clearly, then see a drop of water making ripples on the surface. Then allow the surface to still again. See soothe still water. Working with your breath, breathe in this stillness as PEACE and as you exhale feel the tension release from your body. If the anxiety or anger return, drop another drip into the water and repeat the process. Anger is pain. Are you angry at what happened or something else? Let all these feelings dissolve in this cool calm water.

 As part of your daily practice it might be a good idea to return to working with water and it's spirits to help remove this need to blame anyone for how you feel or what you think. Yes mindfulness is important, but looking for the best in other has no benefit if you do not look for the best in yourself. You are growing and it is an imperfect process and sometimes we make mistakes but that is part of the process not outside of it. Peace is about stillness, breath through the ripples, they pass, they always pass. Stillness is our natural state. The ripples are not wrong, they just are, just as the stillness just is.
The past is past, ghosts of ripples and are not important right at this moment. The future is not important right now, only the soothe water.
Now open you eyes. Smile and continue your day.
 

Witchin' your Craft.

Witchin' your Craft.

What ever your craft, there is a witchin' element, a magick to it when you pour your heart and soul and magick into what you adore- something happens.
It becomes more than a song, more than a painting, poem or scarf. It is a charm, it is an expression of something full of wonder. It is unique and beautiful.
If you want to, if you feel the need to buy your magick fix then use this urge to support those who turn their craft into magick and put magick into their craft. For some it is in making things grow, for sowing, pruning, potting and re-potting, the crumble of the "right" kind of soil between their finger. Things that they grow are different, brighter, greener, infused with a sense of something "other". This like my friend Marie. She walks her pagan path her way. It is how she decorates her house (goth chic darlings) in how she rescues all the cats, how she bakes (oh how she bakes) and how she gardens in turning an urban space into a witchy haven. It is how she raises her step-son and loves her husband (not short on his own witchin').
There is of course Francesca, writer, poet, singer and making of beautiful art. Her qualities and unique beauty shine through it all.
 Her silk paintings

Then there is Brittany. Now I am bias. I have always adored everything she does. Yet more than that her sense of creativity, scientific know-how, business brain and loving heart radiate a power and presence in all her work. From the labels she designs and prints herself. The scents, therapeutic qualities and the magick of her soaps, perfumes, skin care, and hair products, all of which she makes by hand; blows me away. Sometimes she beats herself up for "not having it as pretty as.." yet it is all so beautiful. This craft and passion come from her magick. It is elegant and effective, powerful and playful. Her witch witchin' (not to mention her cooking) is pretty damn good too. Yet she wears her witchin' lightly, never feeling the need to belittle others or thrust her power in a space.
A few of my favorites are:
Her ritual bath salts and potions
Her enchanting perfumes
Her handmade soaps
Salts and ritual cleansing are important to me and it is always nice to use something with a kick in it before you do anything.
Hecate being a Goddess Brittany works with often this stuff kick-ass!

Witch Craft is not something you read, it is something you do. It is a dance, a stitch, a knack, a talent you practice and work at until it is the best it can be. If it is full of heart, if it speaks from the self then it is good magick!

 If your craft is getting someone the perfect bra (a miracle in it's own way) walk that path. Magick isn't just wand waving and pretty stones it is in following your passion to the benefit of everyone around you.

Old Witches.

Old Witches.

In my window right now is an old style but beautiful witch. I was given her as a gift (it puzzled me as I do not collect them). As October dawned I hung her in my front window facing out. Yet as I sat here meditating and doing my daily practice I looked up and saw her smiling at me. As soon as I got her I named her Dorothy, or Dot, after Gerald Gardener's teacher Dorothy Chutterbuck. Now as she came from Pendle maybe Alice might have been more fitting but Dot she became. I have had her a few years and I didn't really know what to "do" with her. She is pretty enough, but she never really was mine somehow. I don't know why but the gift felt weird and she irritated me rather than bringing me a sense of gratitude. I can not really say why particularly. She isn't old but she is I suppose older. She isn't ugly but she isn't classically beautiful. She looks a bit like a Mother-in-law, somewhere between 45 and 55 and at just 30, I was a bit insulted I think. 
"Saw this and thought of you.."

I know if came from a place of over simple logic and from what I gather was an expensive gift. Had it been a hippo or and elephant I might have had the same feeling, though I might have taken it better. Yet here she still is smiling at me gently. As though to say 
"I was 34 once too, it isn't so bad you know."

She probably was and was probably better looking than I am too.
I like my "mother" space, emotionally, spiritually, I am unsure I want to leave it behind.
Yet the time to come will be for myself as well as for others. I am growing into myself, not out of myself.

I have meet a few very old witches, in pastel knits and matching pearls and they are fabulous. Kind and wise and knowing, still dancing the spiral, still drinking too much sherry. I don't know why the old witch bothers me but she does.
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