Sunny Spellwork in the Snow

Custom candle and sachet spellwork

It’s been snowing and raining here so it was nice to do a bit of sunny spellwork for a client for success, achievement, and prosperity. I use tarot cards to customize novena candles to a client’s petition as I’m all about simplicity and using what you have on hand. In this situation I chose the four of wands and the sun from the major arcana and bound them to the candle with red thread.

Consecrating the candle and sachet

The sachet is raw yellow silk stuffed with a mix of herbs matching the desires of the petition and then stitched up inside golden felt with orange embroidery. A ritual, an offering, and some words later the candle and sachet were consecrated to their purpose. The sachet is to be tucked in the client’s pocket during the day and under the pillow at night. My sachets are good for a year and then need to be remade.

Other side of candle

Now to let the candle burn down…

The Witch’s Magical Winter Adventure

Arbutus-handled brooms

A very magical couple and dear friends (who I’ll call Thicket and Huntress) picked me up on Thursday and off we went to Granville Island to visit the market and the artisans. We saw dozens upon dozens of handwoven brooms with handles from every tree imaginable (can’t you just picture one in Baba Yaga’s hut deep in the forest?). They were so witchily tempting, but each of us already had their like at home and which we really do use to sweep our houses with. We played handmade drums and rattles in the music shop, made fun of the incense prices in the magic shop, and went to see the silk weavers’ cottage where I bought plied red silk for weaving rowan cross charms. Then we had dinner in the market and, all of us being dirty-minded, just had to pick the European sausage stall. There was bratwurst and sauerkraut and friend onions and at least half a dozen mustards to choose from.

Granville Island Broom Co.

Bountiful berries in winter at the market

Then it was off and away to Kits to visit Banyen Books & Sound (I’ve gone on about them before). Thicket went to look at books while Huntress and I went right to the drums and to fondle the tarot decks. It’s always so hard to leave there without a stack of books. I managed to get away with only one book, but Huntress (a herbalist) left with a good stack of books on mushrooms and Grieve’s herbal. After pawing over them, we now highly recommend The Fungal Pharmacy, Mushrooms and Other Fungi of North America (a really good identification guide), and both want (but didn’t buy) Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares. I, of course, couldn’t leave without a book on sacred brewing that talked of a whole hive mead, the magical properties of bee propolis and combines my two loves of mead and beer; Sacred and Healing Herbal Beers by the poetic Stephen Buhner.  It is full of recipes for meads and beers: herbal, medicinal, psychoactive, and delicious brews. There are henbane recipes in it – I may have swooned.

Banyen Books at dusk

Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares

Then we picked up their two wee ones and made the few hour drive to their place in an old gold rush town nestled deep in the mountains. The view late that night was black shadows of mountain peaks and every star imaginable shining down when far away from the light pollution of the city. I fell asleep next to a fire under a ceiling of stars. The next day Huntress and I drove through the gorgeous 360° views of impossibly tall mountains, wild forests, and a large snaking river.  When we returned we read aloud to each other favourite passages from Datura and Christian Rätsch’s Encyclopedia of  Psychoactive Plants while Thicket listened in amusement. We planned visionary plant journeys deep in the mountains’ wild forests for the spring where we will build a temporary structure of greenwood and a good fire, watch for wolves, and play our drums far away from the things of men.

Mead warming in glass and silver over a candle flame

The roaring fire

What better way to finish such a lovely simple day than to drink her hubby’s 4-year old cinnamon-clove mead warmed over the stove by a roaring fire? We talked late into the dark of spirits, magic, herbs, poisons, entheogens, wildcrafting, and doing plant journeys in the forest. “My arm hurts. There’s going to be a blizzard,” says Huntress, and it snows all night long and then the next day and the next. Old Woman had arrived at last. The once-green mountains turned white, a blinding mist rolled through the forest, and everything was covered in a deep, heavy blanket of snow.

The view from their front porch

The view from the other end of the porch

We all hid inside from the snow, watching Grimm and 13th Warrior. What do foody herbalists do when trapped by snow? We made all kinds of herbal teas – fresh lemon, fresh galangal root, and fresh kaffir lime leaves is amazing.  Huntress made us delicious lunches and snacks. Together her and I cooked a feast of roast goose with homemade cranberry jelly, bacon-mushroom stuffing, new potatoes, and sautéed mushrooms and asparagus (with more mead of course). There was so much rich goose fat you could feel your arteries harden, but it’s liquid gold and it was worth it.

Lemon, galangal, and lime leaf tea

Roast goose dinner

Bacon-Mushroom Stuffing

1/2 loaf of sourdough bread, cut into cubes
6 slices of bacon, chopped
1 small onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
2 big handfuls of button mushrooms, quartered
pinches, to taste, of rosemary and thyme
salt and pepper
2 eggs, beaten

Sautée the bacon with the mushrooms, onion, and garlic until the bacon is crisp. Take the pan off the heat and add the bread, s&p, and herbs and mix. Beat the eggs and pour them over the bread, stirring quickly before the egg has a chance to cook – get it to soak into the sourdough. Push down the stuffing mixture into a loaf pan and baste well with roasted goose, duck, or chicken fat. Bake for 30 min. Leave it uncovered if you like the outside crispy or cover with tinfoil if you like your stuffing soft and moist.

Drinking warmed mead by the fire

More nights staying up late drinking perfect mead in candle and firelight talking of homesteading, gardening, foraging, brewing, beekeeping, and a thousand other magical and wonderous topics we all share a love of. But then, alas, it came time to say goodbye and make the treacherous drive in the snow back down to the city from the mountains and the forest. We passed semis and suv’s on their sides in the snow and saw many a car fish-tail and almost lose control. But we didn’t – sometimes it’s good to have two magicians in a car. It snowed and snowed until we reached the city and found clear roads and blue sky among the clouds. Old Woman’s hold is less away from the mountains and the wild. I already miss my friends, the fire, and the nights of mead and conversation, but I have a hot cup of tea inside from the snow,  there is a candle spell burning on the kitchen table, and I have my fat black cat who missed my warm lap. Life is lovely.

The Witch’s Wolf Moon

The witch's full moon sabbath

Moonlight streams through my windows onto the floor. Old Man and Old Woman are calling. I smudge myself with lavender and wing and walk sunwise around my home with the burning wand to cleanse and bless for another cycle of the moon’s renewal. I go to my altar of bone, horn, fur, wing, and wood and light the candles for the Old Ones.  I drop my silver ring into the dish of water from seven springs with the holed stone and anoint myself, washing my face, hands, and feet.

Holy water, candles, and bones

A greenman guards the mead bottle Delcious mead

I burn sweet spicy sandalwood and pour the mead into the goblets – one for them and one for me. I say the words, I drink, I wait, and I listen. Oh, yes I see, that’s what that dream meant. I was taking it too literally. The bottle of mead with the masking tape labels on it saying henbane, mugwort, and sandalwood wasn’t a recipe – it was saying those are my intoxicants.

Mead brings me dreams and prophecies dripping from my tongue like honey. Henbane is my dark ally – its seeds found among the charms and talismans of buried völvas and in ancient recipes of ritual beers. Mugwort for the seer’s gifts and because thujone affects me so very easily. Sandalwood because its scent alone intoxicates me and takes me to a magical head space. I always have a large box of the best sandalwood incense by my altar and it is my daily offering.

Burning sandalwood in my copper cauldron

I listen to their other whispers and then bring out the Wild Wood tarot cards for a reading to glimpse the present and the future. After, I sit with the spirits for a while and we share our mead and the heady scent of the sandalwood smoke filling the room. I say my farewells, blow out the candles, slip under my quilts, and dream of shapeshifting rituals and flying ointments.

Wild Wood and Skulls

Why Spirit Workers Are Like Zombies

CDC_zombie

If you want to be a spirit worker, you must die. Just like the child you were must die to become the adult, your human self must die to become a spirit worker. The initiated are half alive, half dead. We are souls stuck in between – not quite spirits and not quite human. We shapeshift between forms – now human, now animal, now spirit, now elemental force, now otherwordly being. We drift between past, present, and future knowing that time is a non-linear illusion and all is accessible.  We are possessed by spirits and the ones who possess others with our spirits. We are the dream-walkers, shape-shifters, psychopomps, seers, mediums, mystics, visionaries, and miraculous healers. We see the unseen, hear the unheard, and experience the impossible. We dwell in paradoxes within the suspension of disbelief. We dance on the dagger’s edge between life and death, magic and insanity. We are unnatural. Supernatural.

It all sounds rather romantic until someone loses an eye, or a soul, or their life. That is why we are so few – we have to die. Some don’t make it back from initiatory death, some don’t make it back in one piece, but most will never go because they fear death above all else. And we should fear it – we should respect death and fear. We should not be fools stumbling in the dark. We should know the danger that lies ahead, the pain that will come, and walk into it knowingly always pure of intent and heart. We should know why we choose to die. Is dying worth gaining power? No, it shouldn’t be about striving for power. We die to serve. Once we die we do not belong to ourselves. Spirit workers are servants to greater spirits than themselves and will always be haunted and hunted. Every spirit serves another and we too are spirits. Erase any romantic notions from your head – this is not about you or being special – you are one of many. Your body is on loan, a temporary vessel. As long as you serve, the vessel is protected from harm and from physical death. If you make it about you or about power there is no guarantee you’ll be safe or come back.

Do you really want this? Is it worth being able to see and hear spirits? Why do you want it so badly? Be honest with yourself and the spirits and maybe one day you will die and come back — joining this host of revenants called spirit workers. Some days you will wish you hadn’t and that you could turn it off and switch back to your old life, but other days your soul will sing and you won’t be able to imagine being anything else.

Truly seek the why and know you have to die.

That’s all for my full-moon mead ramblings this night. Sweet dreams little witchlings.

Rowan, Red Thread, and Feathers

Charms of Red

The witch has been charm making: stringing rowan berries, weaving rowan crosses, stitching leather and feather… Strung rowan berries are an old Scots charm to place around your neck or an object or over a doorway for protection. A cross of rowan wood woven with red wool of which no knots have been tied is another Scots charm hung in the house for protection – from spirits and spells of witchcraft. And lastly a bird foot fetiche with a feather and bone skull. These are for the lovely Snow, but I will be making more such delectable witchy things. I have more rowan berries to string, crosses to weave, and crow, wild hare, and toad feet to craft into fetiches.

Strung rowan berries, rowan spirit trap, and bird foot fetiche

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