tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85702250784296105192024-03-17T20:02:43.958-07:00VIA HEDERAFolklore and Animism in the New WorldRiverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.comBlogger135125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-16479491194293517802024-02-07T20:56:00.000-08:002024-02-07T21:40:09.022-08:00Winterlore: In Memoriam: A Drunk Witch<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "High Tower Text", serif;"><i style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;"></i></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim56AAgCKpL4i5nUOI1OmFmHFswBshSCo9AFQVIfDAUz7T75cr77awnGv_P6bHZaM9CX8cHQWEmn5L0GHXCjQnyXzrvFtVRXkwWsCYWCq1f8vlxcx2DkCM_EWyOQMZVHNWEKHe0T5f9189uwRrwzIyOE_b1qVo00FD3TtzF4-sJToe_pdmuavnqQjXjpT0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1580" data-original-width="1804" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim56AAgCKpL4i5nUOI1OmFmHFswBshSCo9AFQVIfDAUz7T75cr77awnGv_P6bHZaM9CX8cHQWEmn5L0GHXCjQnyXzrvFtVRXkwWsCYWCq1f8vlxcx2DkCM_EWyOQMZVHNWEKHe0T5f9189uwRrwzIyOE_b1qVo00FD3TtzF4-sJToe_pdmuavnqQjXjpT0=w400-h351" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i>Night-flyer </i>by Via Hedera<br />linocut stamp<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i> An Ode to Phoebe Ward</i></div></i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>by Via Hedera</i></div></span><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i>Bitch. I wana be you.<br />You fun, son of a gun.<br />Gutter queen,<br />often seen<br />making bulls flee, way over the hagerleen.<br />Through a hole, over a creek;<br />Inspire the bold and scare the meek.<br />Ride men, drink sin.<br />By Satan below,<br />with his fiery glow;<br />I wana be you<br />Before I go.<br /><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">You know what I love most about folklore, fairytales and
fables? The sense of identification we find with the figures we
discover. For some, the idea of a witch and the legend surrounding
them means more than the facts, and over time, what is fact and fiction simply
becomes folklore, legend or myth. I spend most of my time combing
books. I collect and hoard them, and I read them day in and day out
taking notes on everything I find of any interest. As the cold wanes, I
hunker down into my books even deeper and enjoy the stories and tales that help
pass the time as we wait for the sun's return.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“It is known that she was a woman of bad morals.”</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">I have to say, I really love falling in love with a
folktale witch. Cross recounted a tale of the supposed Northampton
Witch of North Carolina, Miss Phoebe Ward in the <i><u>Journal of American
Folklore</u></i>, and it was later picked up and further distributed through
the Green, Brown and Hand collections, giving it some
popularity. This folk narrative was highlighted in Elizabeth A.
Lay’s folk superstition drama/theater piece <i><u>When Witches Ride: A
Play of Folk Superstition.</u></i> Supposedly, this 19th century witch
was famed for the misfortune </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">she brought to those who turned her away, (</span><i style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">like
the fairy from Beauty & the Beast</i><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">), and embodied much of the
superstition we love about witches here in the West.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">What I liked about the witch in this narrative was that she
represents the best aspects of witchery; this unashamed, unpredictable, cunning
creature who could be near death in the freezing cold and still charm a man
into giving her booze and a fire to sit by. The idea of this woman
engenders affection in me. The tale says that she died very old,
surrounded by a life of scandal and superstition, fear and fable. I
want to go out like that.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">Phoebe was a beggar, an old woman, presumably a white
American person, possibly a traveler, who made her living off of the rare
charity of others. The account states that the general atmosphere
around her was fearful and negative; with people said to need to perform all
acts of inhospitality in order to get her away from their homes where she was
well-known to overstay her welcome. People were seemingly quite
cruel to this old beggar woman, sticking pins in the chairs they offered her
and burning foul odors to drive her away- this was done using pepper, an old
remedy for driving away evil spirits, devils and witches, and I suppose, poor
old women.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">"<i>Through thick, through thin, way over in the hagerleen"</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">The transformative skin-slipper is very much the
quintessential new world witch motif of old, a definite throwback to the most
classic fears regarding witchcraft that happen to be shared across cultures (as
magical concepts are want to do). I find the skin-slipping witch to
be the most fascinating one, a kindred spirit. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i>Correspondences of her variety of hag</i>:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"></p><ul><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Keyholes, doors, chairs</span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Hexes, enchantment, tricks</span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Brandy</span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Winter</span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Fire, Wind</span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Cow, horse, toad</span></li></ul><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For these new world
witches of old tales, the slipping of skin was quite literal- the skin came off
by means of a grease, ointment in combination with an incantation of some sort,
or some kind of ritualistic movement like turning round in three
circles. The witch flew either as a beast, </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">succubi</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">,
force or spirit- and the skin would be quite literally left behind, or
otherwise, the “skin” could be interpreted as the body itself while the spirit
flies away. But Phoebe Ward had more gifts than sheer skin-slipping-
that art is basic to our kind, and Phoebe was no basic </span><s style="font-size: 12pt;">bitch</s><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> witch.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Among other mysterious gifts presented within the brief
narrative of this folktale witch, Phoebe could:</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><ul style="text-align: left;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Ride people at night as a
nightmare<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Fly through keyholes<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Ride animals at night until they
are spent in the morning by making them leap rivers<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Make a bull jump a river with an
incantation which when disrupted or revoked, caused the animal to fall</span></li>
</ul><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A witch like this could be warded off by:</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><ul type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Horseshoes hung over entrances<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Sieves hung over keyholes (she’d
have to count all the holes before entering)<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Needles stuck in her ass by way
of chair<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Pepper burned in a fire or stove<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe the idea of Phoebe was just a way to express the
narrative of witchery, maybe it was a hogwash tale of
nonsense spurred up to to give folks some good fun. Maybe, just maybe, Phoebe was a bonafide witchy woman (or amalgam of women) who
went out like a solid boss. I’m not sure I care, I kind of just like
knowing that this personification of American witchy superstition has a name, has
the wisdom to help pass along to the next generation of witches. So
here’s to you, and cheers to you Phoebe Ward the Northampton Witch of
lore. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">May we meet someday on these nocturnal flights, somewhere far
away from b'needled chairs... <br /><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 12pt;">When Witches Ride </span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> by Elizabeth A. Lay<i><br />
<u>Witchcraft in North Carolina</u></i> by Tom Peete Cross<br />
<i>The Journal of American Folklore: <u>"Folklore from the Southern
States"-</u></i>by Tom Peete Cross:<i><u> Journal of
American Folklore V XXII</u></i><br />
<i>The Silver Bullet, and Other American Witch Stories </i>by Hubert J.
Davis</span></span></p><div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p></div>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-35711262156727091332024-01-24T21:23:00.000-08:002024-02-07T19:46:34.944-08:00Hours of the Tide: Blessing of the Seeds<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxKIvi3okiRaqbFlrhdjv3k3TSTR3-twPKjWgwDGiRwoIzGSUxPfvoJPVqQEl3AXlxRKpWWTa86Ff3v0j63QK3Wmmoxwhfc4MI7j-GoFpvQ-3Wb_eCQlXnXpC1u2K1LIjva-MwEUZ2_ds9FWwU_GowwUCYlqYg6qxDEvzUABpQ9I7Rh7qJNAaize7MnFvE/s3326/seedblessing.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3326" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxKIvi3okiRaqbFlrhdjv3k3TSTR3-twPKjWgwDGiRwoIzGSUxPfvoJPVqQEl3AXlxRKpWWTa86Ff3v0j63QK3Wmmoxwhfc4MI7j-GoFpvQ-3Wb_eCQlXnXpC1u2K1LIjva-MwEUZ2_ds9FWwU_GowwUCYlqYg6qxDEvzUABpQ9I7Rh7qJNAaize7MnFvE/w640-h498/seedblessing.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>From garden dibble to rusty sickle, the Green Lady watches and blesses all within her purview.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /><i>You, oh Earth</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Who, in utter darkness; crushing and tearing,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>opens new life to the sun</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>and feeds the dying</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>the dead</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>and the living,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You, Mother</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>kiss my seeds</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>and make them fertile as you.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I spend this Hour of the Tide honoring the Sacred Sickle; the bringer up of grains; the blood that scours the land. Rye, oat, wheat, barley, poppy, amaranth; this harvest season will have the hours marked in deep commitment. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Summer Mysteries are still... well, a bit of a mystery to me. I'm planning my garden with great intensity, and taking the time to weave and mend things. It gives me a sense of hope for the future. There is a spring to come, one that will bring up the green and bring out the pollen and poplar fluff... I intend to work my garden with great care, and find gratitude in every process, every life, every death. I intend to find meaning in what I make, what I eat. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, to you, oh mothers of land and harvest, I beg: breathe over these sleeping things, and give them life.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9LQCviZWqar4KwwdIWcxwap63_FZBfWADHP_K53fYJ_Md-gEMTlh3hxO6AbINSpb_vroAVU7kaGbKkWY1OfxoNrCmbKHXkVx4HKSr0wJLdQtGRQtO6v9Rs_0WTJwFYCh3Bt30SUrJ5y-JyI2Oi8XRj3gMerDqywwPF5P2RUGQm1n1Ufm4C2saMAVijgn/s3888/IMG_6954.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="2592" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9LQCviZWqar4KwwdIWcxwap63_FZBfWADHP_K53fYJ_Md-gEMTlh3hxO6AbINSpb_vroAVU7kaGbKkWY1OfxoNrCmbKHXkVx4HKSr0wJLdQtGRQtO6v9Rs_0WTJwFYCh3Bt30SUrJ5y-JyI2Oi8XRj3gMerDqywwPF5P2RUGQm1n1Ufm4C2saMAVijgn/w426-h640/IMG_6954.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A Weaver Witch's Cauldron: from lucet to hook, from loom to spindle, from nostepinne to nalbinding-- baby, I've got the magic.</i></td></tr></tbody></table>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-24476511600172555582023-12-13T17:51:00.000-08:002024-02-07T19:46:20.608-08:00Winterstide: Wool & Loom<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3888" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivX2zj8AXodER18JTimCiCna951JgvDHvsuzsjlO9Jy30bWiK2dkpgEG2CAS9a0YaJwq30uXPDg3YuYyrT-frqCMJsU27UC013ZrdqmelYdnu0qp642ntJenv3wuzSsCFkMlDXTQoVhphb5LLx6OokziLsBVcy09KDCkc_YIcy4uw1Gds5EZDsPqTyDBds/w640-h426/IMG_6772%5B1%5D.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Spider spider, is that web for me?"<br />"Of course! To hold you tenderly."<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivX2zj8AXodER18JTimCiCna951JgvDHvsuzsjlO9Jy30bWiK2dkpgEG2CAS9a0YaJwq30uXPDg3YuYyrT-frqCMJsU27UC013ZrdqmelYdnu0qp642ntJenv3wuzSsCFkMlDXTQoVhphb5LLx6OokziLsBVcy09KDCkc_YIcy4uw1Gds5EZDsPqTyDBds/s3888/IMG_6772%5B1%5D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Merry Witch's Night. What is it about winter that brings out the domestic magic in me so hard-core? Is it the constant cold and darkness? The silence? The short days that need filling with work before the long night sets in? Maybe all of it. Winter gives me a strange energy. A buzz. A rat-like change of spirit. Maybe my shadow self <i>does </i>change shape this time of year; from a rabbit in spring, a mole in summer and fall, to a rat in winter. Scurry scurry, with lots of hurry, stirring pots and tying knots. I've been boiling pears in butterscotch and brandy, whipping berries with heavy cream, layering dough and stuffing jars with the last fruits for oxymel. I need to be careful with all of these brown-sugar and pine cinnamon buns, I'm plumping up on 'nog and dough.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">I've spent the summer dying new wools with poke and walnut and verbena... I've been washing my old threads in saining water and rewinding them around their white bones. And, I finally whipped out my spindles and hooks and bag of old fibers and am about to undertake a project I haven't heard of anyone else doing before. I'll be using a seasonal fiber common to the Northwest but woefully underrated, and I collect it annually. I've finally thought of a neat idea for my fibers. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">While I practice, I reflect. When I reflect back, I start to pull at old threads and wonder. I don't regret much in my past, except the things I didn't do sooner. The projects and progress I've undertaken these last few years have overwhelmed me and I've discovered a renewed desire for total independence and self-sufficiency. I want to weave things, create bonds and wind lost threads back together. For now, it starts with keeping my working-wools in good shape and getting them ready for a brand new year of absorbing my work. That's their purpose after all; to bind and hold all the magic they touch.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_7_iWs0KFjMf4jn1e8NqG3gc5f6jGSYwuZlThlIvrlItMP2Yc_FFNN1KCe65dL-VDFJRSEDiFdbaBdA1B5idCjreJQLDJgeuS7bv7r2zTkh0_hD4fXwJGxNr4ekrVnFZXmXPNApF4GKGjhnWjJOACMCifCcrsO0uUyfXHgt25TBJlgh348fq9qjnGSil/s3888/IMG_6451%5B1%5D.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3888" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_7_iWs0KFjMf4jn1e8NqG3gc5f6jGSYwuZlThlIvrlItMP2Yc_FFNN1KCe65dL-VDFJRSEDiFdbaBdA1B5idCjreJQLDJgeuS7bv7r2zTkh0_hD4fXwJGxNr4ekrVnFZXmXPNApF4GKGjhnWjJOACMCifCcrsO0uUyfXHgt25TBJlgh348fq9qjnGSil/w640-h426/IMG_6451%5B1%5D.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Never doubt the power of Red Thread. It is a popular magic. It's well known around the world that a string or rag or spool of red has a binding, connecting, banishing, petitioning and protective power. Red thread connects the fated, red thread leads us through the labyrinth of life and death, red thread binds the dead, red thread winds a trick and pulls the future towards us.</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">I don't know how you choose to wind <i>your </i>wool, but mine goes round bones much of the time. Simply because they're smooth and never catch on the wool and hold the spirit of life and death. Wrapped in wool, like muscles and sinew round a skeleton, reminds me of what it means to give body and substance to something. My wool feeds from the energy, and you can feel it-- a cold strand in each thread. Horse-chestnut-dyed wrapped around horse-tooth, poke around chicken, rue around rabbit bone... They bind up around the bones and sit ready at hand-- never to be snipped, only to be wound and unwound with each charm, with every fortune.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHL6UkXKeM8ANAs8hjtaXmYkXmn5Tyy03UNAb8sbRBAb3BEE5DBdnlHsKw31HzBqI8bTO1XqceEX84pw3veJI5KOqiNNpmOxDby9-svFnLNDIDjT8ySWgGXMwtPSoJWLQksllhDvRtqMrez5_BS-tULpEJSlp_RRQU-f-nMGMo8MGc08X5oCLmx3T2XEMg/s2482/We%20Weave.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2470" data-original-width="2482" height="637" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHL6UkXKeM8ANAs8hjtaXmYkXmn5Tyy03UNAb8sbRBAb3BEE5DBdnlHsKw31HzBqI8bTO1XqceEX84pw3veJI5KOqiNNpmOxDby9-svFnLNDIDjT8ySWgGXMwtPSoJWLQksllhDvRtqMrez5_BS-tULpEJSlp_RRQU-f-nMGMo8MGc08X5oCLmx3T2XEMg/w640-h637/We%20Weave.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i>Spin. Measure. Cut.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Fate is funny. They are funny, I should say. Or at the very least, they have a wonderful sense of humor. Sick. Cold. Cutting. She who weaves, she who measures, she who cuts... Parcae, Norn or Fates; whomever is spinning the threads, they seem to have a way of laughing at us, crying with us, sympathizing blindly. The Fates, as I know them-- as an American metaphor and personification of destiny, are unseeing things, just like blindfolded Fortuna (Lady Luck). They are not too closely scrutinizing, they seem to be following some greater directive, one given in the textiles of destiny, by Lady Luck, and by Trivia-- by the triple-facing, terrible Queen we witches adore. It is the Soul and Chaos directing the triumvirate of weavers and cutters. They're all in cahoots, they've ensnared us all.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0vExgyuEzEWSeQkNHiGWcK22hdghNyVblKucEj7v6oS2rWpwrhD_ctFYaqk3gQ9uC7fEMbZuz8COYcIELZXf37Q_uc_nG2EzNzNxvYWsKIdD2syLnc50gTZspdEqqcmraufpV3MnQtLpwL7Xq2SgZ0AzksgMUf5j4u8wbndoVJ5MMAxaODnUP8boOkGh/s3888/IMG_6760%5B1%5D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3888" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0vExgyuEzEWSeQkNHiGWcK22hdghNyVblKucEj7v6oS2rWpwrhD_ctFYaqk3gQ9uC7fEMbZuz8COYcIELZXf37Q_uc_nG2EzNzNxvYWsKIdD2syLnc50gTZspdEqqcmraufpV3MnQtLpwL7Xq2SgZ0AzksgMUf5j4u8wbndoVJ5MMAxaODnUP8boOkGh/w640-h426/IMG_6760%5B1%5D.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Weaving was taught to me by my favorite teacher, Missa. You may have seen her name mentioned in my acknowledgements section of my book. She taught my sister and I so much; how to card and spin fibers, how to dye and soften, how to weave on fingers or looms. Spinning wheels, drop spindles, indigo dye, frame looms, pin looms, round looms, lap looms, beading looms, wool, cotton, flax-- when a teacher of great creative and domestic skills is in your midst, love that person, for they are teaching your children some sacred magic. Because of her, I expanded past crochet and into appreciating how my textiles get made. My sister is a quilter and seamstress of great skill. I... was not so gifted with the complex things, but I was always very good at simple; lap looms and drop spindles, crochet hooks and embroidery hoops.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Looms are phenomenal magic; framework magic. What does a loom mean in sacred work? As part of the everyday domestic arts, kitchen and hearth witching, homemaking and artistic innovation, the weaving of things is pure magic. The tools used for this creative work are like any other tool or arte. The scissors, the hook, the needle, the wool, the hoop, the loom; they all serve a purpose in magical practice. The hook is ruled by earth, and is feminine, and generates the energy of activity, strength, protection, binding, protection, creation and community. The frame loom is balanced, genderless, and holds a supportive, creative, guarding energy; it says to the witch; <i>all things are temporary, and fate's boundaries, while ever present, are changing. </i>My looms are usually handmade from a wood with containment properties; something with masculine scent, with Solar or Jupitarian energy. So, oak or walnut usually. They are usually square or round, but never rectangles or triangles (preference).</span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_iJV9heMphJchjIY3TRmhqxbGYv5Yo4W2MtNewHd5ykJwd7TRfgdRB8-ckdn3I8sz0jtLLZDpDG_R8yNYIcdQSS5RUzgd22DsQhdX4dJnfURiJRykuKfQvboobJU72GzDnicOyiqnwwBSFYnlDr_qSSQsGqUmKnUMRA39N7inYeJjWN9eXXMB2tt8mZkt/s3888/IMG_6761%5B1%5D.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3888" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_iJV9heMphJchjIY3TRmhqxbGYv5Yo4W2MtNewHd5ykJwd7TRfgdRB8-ckdn3I8sz0jtLLZDpDG_R8yNYIcdQSS5RUzgd22DsQhdX4dJnfURiJRykuKfQvboobJU72GzDnicOyiqnwwBSFYnlDr_qSSQsGqUmKnUMRA39N7inYeJjWN9eXXMB2tt8mZkt/w640-h426/IMG_6761%5B1%5D.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-small;">I will rule, <br />I rule, <br />I have ruled, <br />I am without rule.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">The divination aspect usually comes in with the weaving of shapes and lines. The colors; the weave; the mindless loss; the focus; the feel; the texture-- all of it induces a state where the mind sees... things. Past. Present. Future. There are secrets in those threads as they cross and knit. And the little vibrations-- smallest shimmer of life in every fiber, catching the air and electricity all around it. The stress on the knot, the wind and unwind. It's a trance inducing set of moments; senses engaged in a rhythm, a focus.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXnSMbm0L8-d17iLK8LACU1vwqEj0zUcN3SU5QY8FQo7vX-9Z8D2MYSdYHBPJLYVeIa67CsNRo6Jmx2-8AkrZjiDWHg6l-LXaogwDIAd77KgDJxKn-qiGVqFbYEzmZfDTKTHoOx5lWvrduKrmBy6cgnP9JBq64gEWh-LQl6I6fjj0vfiKbVdtopZYCSnd/s3888/IMG_6702.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3888" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXnSMbm0L8-d17iLK8LACU1vwqEj0zUcN3SU5QY8FQo7vX-9Z8D2MYSdYHBPJLYVeIa67CsNRo6Jmx2-8AkrZjiDWHg6l-LXaogwDIAd77KgDJxKn-qiGVqFbYEzmZfDTKTHoOx5lWvrduKrmBy6cgnP9JBq64gEWh-LQl6I6fjj0vfiKbVdtopZYCSnd/w640-h426/IMG_6702.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">from my scrapbook of shadows</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>I really love all threadwork-- in particular; sacred embroidery, and knot-magic. Love knot magic and Winding-charm fortunes are some of the more popular Halloween, Mayday and Midsummer folklore in the US, and I'm fond of the way it preserves in our practices today. I adore the connection between calling visions of love, summoning spirits and winding a simple ball thread. The connection between binding a charm and knotting a cord; it's such symbolic, simple, accessible magic. Could be a shoelace, could be a sacred band of woven silk-- doesn't matter, both will get the jobs done admirably. It's a deeply intentional magic.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">The Fates are always at work; they are Fortune never stop their wild rhythm. Winter is for them, I suppose. And on this Night of Witches, I honor the raveling and unraveling of life, and death. We are caught in it, all of us, and so, let us learn to manipulate these harmonies, and tangle them as we go. Let us make something from the balls of chaos in our lives, and undo the structures we've woven. Set the knots, pull the knots.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">My books of work (grimoires, cunningbooks) are all full of knotwork, threadwork. It's... a connection many of us practitioners share. I wonder if most folk witches in America have a special spool of wool or ball of yarn or twine? I wonder if we all keep some stock of cord to cut and crochet and quilt... Are we all just knotting our hexes and whispering our rhymes? I'd like to think it's a connection we're all sharing on a folk-spiritual sense. I'd like to think that the pluck of the harmonies these threads weave can be felt, resonating against the work of others. Maybe it's the kind of magic that can draw us to one another. <i> </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i>I wind, I wind... who holds?</i></span></div><p></p></div>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-56484266287458096612023-12-09T14:36:00.000-08:002024-02-07T19:45:58.461-08:00Hours of the Tide: Evergreen Gathering<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9S1g8cADE8mqVjcnJM7RpNos-cF1hKjVXcJM-jzLRwxVNp7EzR_1MebK_hCrIV0OeSme-ErJmPnh0bEwQ8HuGCxpTX_Kof08XQuDucGosY3haHlSb7s5SQW5sEgGGp_9_05M0Oar9006XwWKWODhu9MY7pViFZ5BrTVVkc0hYWEs4I_j8mosTpiBPJHtX/s3888/Evergreenday.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="2592" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9S1g8cADE8mqVjcnJM7RpNos-cF1hKjVXcJM-jzLRwxVNp7EzR_1MebK_hCrIV0OeSme-ErJmPnh0bEwQ8HuGCxpTX_Kof08XQuDucGosY3haHlSb7s5SQW5sEgGGp_9_05M0Oar9006XwWKWODhu9MY7pViFZ5BrTVVkc0hYWEs4I_j8mosTpiBPJHtX/w426-h640/Evergreenday.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Evergreen, evergreen, evergreen. So many smells and textures, so many kinds of conifer and holly and feral arbutus. The evergreens that are brought into the house before Christmas are meant to bring good luck. And likewise, for luck, they must be removed and burned by January 5th, with the ashes taken to the orchards at the feast of Mater Malum (Epiphany). Every tree who stands tall and gives shelter, whispering and weighted with the responsibilities of winter's burden, is honored today. My fingers smell like juniper berries and cedar oil. My kitchen is covered in pine needles and my allergies are kicking my ass. As it should be. In our grimoire, the day is simply meant for the hanging, or laying of evergreen boughs, the making of hanging decorations for yuletide, the maceration of pine and spruce needles in brown sugar and the counting of holly berries. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It's also a day to honor the emerald kingdoms that surrounds us. After all, we're a regional witchcraft tradition, so honoring the most powerful trees in the Northwest in their most powerful and protective time, is just part of the sacred landscape. Everyone gets to take home their own centerpiece covered in boughs and cedar roses, and the presence of it all lingers, in the air, and in the home.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Stay Green.</p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-74676335024671108582023-12-06T17:50:00.000-08:002024-02-07T19:45:47.502-08:00Hours of the Tide: Carol of the North Wind<h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> Hour: Day of the<span style="color: #073763;"> North Wind</span></span></h2><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeV-JuQoVQI_n8hPX5kZWK4h3oHnDzi8ItGb1aqJoBJpk9ok74xGSaZpkJXy6kPp903QkETUhmIsrBToB3KGuCls0OCaoZgnMDE8_bz1bl5hKSVYGJ-KHeaJFcfzsz8D7P91T9HASDsyoYtV0M3smerfRGOGDLYNH4KFJwnOHvVbiIf_7TvwzB-KA3Baz/s3475/Northwind.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3475" data-original-width="2538" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeV-JuQoVQI_n8hPX5kZWK4h3oHnDzi8ItGb1aqJoBJpk9ok74xGSaZpkJXy6kPp903QkETUhmIsrBToB3KGuCls0OCaoZgnMDE8_bz1bl5hKSVYGJ-KHeaJFcfzsz8D7P91T9HASDsyoYtV0M3smerfRGOGDLYNH4KFJwnOHvVbiIf_7TvwzB-KA3Baz/w469-h640/Northwind.JPG" width="469" /></a></div></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">An airy time. A frigid time. And here in Seattle, a dreary and rainy time. The day of the North Wind is meant to be done on the starry clear night of early December but we are knee-deep in a torrential downpour and daylight dies at 4:15pm. So... we adapt. As winter calls us to do. Biting wind. Stern wind. North wind. Ancestor wind. We honor you.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">We caroled in the cold wind that rises North. When I think of winter and the North Wind, I think of specific notes, harmonies, tones of the season. The roar of the wind, the quiet notes of icicles falling, the thunderous cracks as ice melts and refreezes and the delicate patter of rain on what remains of the maple leaves... It's musical, far more than any other season in my opinion. The Caroling in of the North Wind is celebrated by opening the home, airing out the house (<i>lüften </i>that lair, baby) and letting the wind pass through with song. A blade, like the cutting and bitter wind is placed at the entry door, and the smoke of some evergreens to lead the way. <i> Juniper, I choose you! </i> And then, ringing the bells, or, of chimes, and calling on the cold to be kind.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">You welcome it. You welcome the bitter knife-wind. He's inevitable; you may not defeat him you may only outlast him annually. And so, you welcome him and honor his power and ask of the cold wind-- W<i>ill you be kind? I welcome you through with song, and scent and serenade this day. </i> Some spirits are like that. Even though they scare you or cause great calamity, sometimes it's best to welcome them as part of the balance of life, part of the magical cost, the human cost, the living cost, and say to this wind; <i>I will not go gently, nor will you, so let us be ready for what comes. </i> To be honest, I've never liked the ringing of the bells for <i>this </i>day; I prefer the blowing of bellowing wood flutes and ringing of forks or wind chimes. Something... windy. To the wind goes all the songs and warmed, saturated air. With the wind goes the prayers and thoughts. Out into the night.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i>I welcome the North Wind. I will not go gently, nor will you, so let us be ready for what comes.</i></span></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-62825620688493522312023-12-05T13:55:00.000-08:002024-02-07T19:45:31.370-08:00Hours of the Tide: Father Frost<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red;">Hour</span></b>: <b>Day of Father Frost</b></span></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPXix1tsTYytyCcDtPnCGq1ljtkG3x-lJ709n7WmCwVBmWHP8NWfbjZAx1EL5F00UP7-lehLQ203a_c6iBQcEAQiY1JSlDYy7PQVGEO92jdAu3ikuqt0iPd-yXovCLX25sH2BsCcA7P0VrYq3xv3FGu334_M31b1vyYYJxj4l1GT_LZomUepxeqWqVQ1b/s3509/BellFrost.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2370" data-original-width="3509" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPXix1tsTYytyCcDtPnCGq1ljtkG3x-lJ709n7WmCwVBmWHP8NWfbjZAx1EL5F00UP7-lehLQ203a_c6iBQcEAQiY1JSlDYy7PQVGEO92jdAu3ikuqt0iPd-yXovCLX25sH2BsCcA7P0VrYq3xv3FGu334_M31b1vyYYJxj4l1GT_LZomUepxeqWqVQ1b/w640-h432/BellFrost.JPG" width="640" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On Monday, we honored the personification of winter in the Father of Frosts and all that his spirit represents within the season. Snow & Frost: a duet of winter sorcerers of varying mythos and lore. I personify Father Winter as deathly and wild-- he is no sure-footed sprite. He is the bare-bones of the cold wind, moving across the land and spreading across our windows. He wears holly and furs, or nothing at all, not even skin. A withering man, or a skeleton. And, much like the withered Hag holds her hammer and walking stick that shakes the trees; holds a white rose and carries his staff. They herald the change, and hold the dark year in their power. He, the wild god whose host and wolves and haunts are the makings of all our winter-night terrors, is who I honor this day. Hail to he, his bells, his dire warnings and temper, his gifts and silence.</span></div>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-46603151475627880632023-01-17T14:53:00.001-08:002024-02-07T19:45:18.744-08:00Damned and Dirty
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><o:p></o:p></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-H9vx8Iw3Be9vLyq6tVnGw6Z8nZ6huNn2tTAx2Zob35SV-5wL5NbgK2kohhdMvmNAQv8za51hvP9tzobL4Cr4Xnvk8aBAzt8t5hA2ENtGYDjYEFy0dQwNB_THqRTk42-O6bkHFJXxcZVn_1Z0_72lQhrLe_nu8nq-kgVB7mw62kDrzCVr6r02JHVqvg/s4218/P1040953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4218" data-original-width="2319" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-H9vx8Iw3Be9vLyq6tVnGw6Z8nZ6huNn2tTAx2Zob35SV-5wL5NbgK2kohhdMvmNAQv8za51hvP9tzobL4Cr4Xnvk8aBAzt8t5hA2ENtGYDjYEFy0dQwNB_THqRTk42-O6bkHFJXxcZVn_1Z0_72lQhrLe_nu8nq-kgVB7mw62kDrzCVr6r02JHVqvg/w220-h400/P1040953.JPG" width="220" /></a></b></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Funny, for
someone who showers twice a day and cleans the home compulsively, I am happy as
a pig in mud when I’m working like a pig in mud…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grew up around god-fearing folk who were
convinced that Jesus himself was looking at every baseboard, running his prim
little finger over every mantle, silently judging our impurity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, I never got the impression Jesus
would have cared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think many otherworldly
beings do care once they’ve left this tethered place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why should they care?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They know what we are, they know we are
small, slimy, imperfect, puking, farting, bleeding, bile-filled baboons
grunting in the mud and slathering ourselves in chemical compounds daily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t usually care, not unless literal purification
is their game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will go before the
altar of the Mother and Father of bones, witches and corruptions; with dirty
feet and sticky hands and tangled hair, and they will smile at my plainness,
and celebrate my abandon.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Cleanliness may
be next to godliness, but my gods are not always clean, pristine beings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I’m not entirely certain the
spirits and entities that typically work with me are what someone would call a
god-- needing all the bells and whistles and applause so commonly offered to
the divine, and they certainly don’t mind some dirt and grime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a matter of fact, I’d say that the spirit
world in all its vast and varied array, does not always want, need or even
conceptualize our concept of cleanliness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know from personal experience that the world
of the spirits (which include the long-decayed dead and the nightmarish
otherworldly) that there is a place for all of it, for the grave and the
temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There must be a place for it in
magic, because it exists in nature, and there is nothing in nature that is without
value.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think we place too high a value
on making magic look clean, pristine without a little bit of mean, and I don’t
care for that power-washing of the dark arts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’re just animals, folks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re
just rotting animals like the others; covered in bacteria and filled with
viruses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a bad thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a good thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just is.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>Feral Folk-magic<o:p></o:p></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCO4NrvGXnwQsbAh9ErGGrsTCflDj6FY8-uo8WiJjLg1khp5plxJWmxjIOOxDlCcLvJylIVYmkdqBvt9UmzUnUS6pMBWWO0DlosUyxPi7Rc1aKsXoVOBarn3jYL3IzYFgy-JWv4kuLX5KvfzV9ihj84bDh7dRhcyR-0W1Dij2sk4Aq5HwRwIKWG0K58w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="689" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCO4NrvGXnwQsbAh9ErGGrsTCflDj6FY8-uo8WiJjLg1khp5plxJWmxjIOOxDlCcLvJylIVYmkdqBvt9UmzUnUS6pMBWWO0DlosUyxPi7Rc1aKsXoVOBarn3jYL3IzYFgy-JWv4kuLX5KvfzV9ihj84bDh7dRhcyR-0W1Dij2sk4Aq5HwRwIKWG0K58w" width="320" /></a></b></div><p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Do you have any
idea how much filth goes into folk-magic?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The garbage bin or dumpster is a valuable resource in some regards;
you’ll never know when you need the soiled socks of someone who slighted you,
you’ll never know just how useful an outhouse can be until your dropping the
names of your foes down into the shit-pit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To cause living things to grow in the body of an enemy, it was commonly
recommended to feed them the crushed corpses of snails, lizards and worms, or
to fill a dolly with rotting meat with maggots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The fresh and bloody brains of hares were rubbed on the gums of babes;
toenails and urine would be soaked in the drink of an errant lover; feces of
beasts would be dried, powdered and sold as supplements (and sometimes still
are).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Humans harvest
the bile of suffering bears for folk medicinal hogwash and the fat of dead men
were once believed to be an effective ingredient in candle-making.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, some of my favorite old love charms
referenced in Greek and Roman witchery called for the flesh of children, the
fingerbones of murdered men and the blood of puppies. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One charm I’ve found called for the hair of a
desired lover to be sewn through the flesh of a dead man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another I’ve found in a book on Neapolitan
witchcraft, <i>Italian Witchcraft Charms and Neapolitan Witchcraft (Folklore
History Series)</i> called for the use of a dead man’s finger joints in a
fidelity philter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Horrid stuff, but
still a part of magic—the darker end of it at least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>Dancing With Dirty
Divinity<o:p></o:p></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4UmCMuNpJ_8WmJv0wvFgivtfl23-B6ZSJwMlxL93xHvaIUC-egvwznSmphv355DyUkElLJlazbeHgrTRUMWOA-EkyxnMYecm2ddMfuEHrofMoTHuxpSM-ezTqKtAPSsFyojLRPG3llI9mUfXVFbMpttXsVL59gHCaHpL5D-AwSurxJWkledqN2d1wlQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="665" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4UmCMuNpJ_8WmJv0wvFgivtfl23-B6ZSJwMlxL93xHvaIUC-egvwznSmphv355DyUkElLJlazbeHgrTRUMWOA-EkyxnMYecm2ddMfuEHrofMoTHuxpSM-ezTqKtAPSsFyojLRPG3llI9mUfXVFbMpttXsVL59gHCaHpL5D-AwSurxJWkledqN2d1wlQ" width="320" /></a></b></div><p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The ritual of
worship between me and the spirit who aids in my Red Work- Let’s call her Aunt
Lottie for short, does not require that the house is spotless, and doesn’t mind
dancing in the dirt—she requires strong whiskey, coffee-grinds, clothes in
burgundy and blush, perfume bottles, chiles and mirrors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is an avatar for an old entity, one many
would recognize once you smelled that cinnamon, clove, sticky sweet scent of
the grave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She dances topless, in high
ruffled skirts and laughs readily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
doesn’t ask for my hands to be clean, or my altar to be well oiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She, like me, is a creature of her comforts
and can live with the rest.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The Miner,
another spirit who only ever shows up to guide me when I’m lost between worlds
(a bad trip will do that) is another entity who demands no unsullied place to
dwell—he likes the golden sandy dirt of the desert, the rust at the base of an
old pickaxe, and tweed cloth that is worn-in with the musk of masculinity and
labor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He may have been some terrifying
Tommyknocker at one point, but now he travels in that cosmic space, with dirty,
lowly creatures like me for his company.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">They are not
like Hekate, who will not let me keep a film of dust on her table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some spirits of incredible power, once lived in fleshy bodies like ours,
and do not worry for the trivialities they have surpassed when crossing through
death’s doorway.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Vile Vials of
Via<o:p></o:p></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLWxhupLgvMCZYEeK2vqC67ZQt0QSTqcd4jYxy3Qjt7ZFqQKjx3-nGr48rGOkiPTgWsTImSpGGy94jpA3Zkzw4uOIb4ftAF6A9opsKdTXhZQKjJe27XU8ZiwXAxPHTxvhlyPt1wlcVvu1FWNqNGCgi2EGfv_ikxofmHBHwhEA4gjOdJYhQG83EfVbpBQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="555" data-original-width="651" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLWxhupLgvMCZYEeK2vqC67ZQt0QSTqcd4jYxy3Qjt7ZFqQKjx3-nGr48rGOkiPTgWsTImSpGGy94jpA3Zkzw4uOIb4ftAF6A9opsKdTXhZQKjJe27XU8ZiwXAxPHTxvhlyPt1wlcVvu1FWNqNGCgi2EGfv_ikxofmHBHwhEA4gjOdJYhQG83EfVbpBQ" width="282" /></a></b></div><p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">When I was
young, I was so afraid to allow myself to stray away from what was deemed to be
“proper” and “clean” even though so many of my gifts lie in rot, waste, and
withering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Picture, a little 11-year-old
witch with vials of vile putrid molding and decaying organic matter under her
bed, hiding on the wooden bed boards with my collection of soapstone elephants
and yellow jade toucans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my mother,
it looked like some gross science experiment, but to me, they were the first
vestiges of spirit bottles- they were places where strange entities would come
to visit, to hide in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d read the
decay, the flowering bacteria stretching out in green and white mottled rings,
the black slime of decomposition, the formation of salt crystals in rancid
tones— I would read these changes and metamorphose like some kind of crystal
ball, one that would tell me how well or how poorly a charm was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I could see disease coming simply
by interpreting the bile in my throat as I watched the anaerobic bacteria make
an alien planet of my glass vials.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes, I would open one vial ever so slightly, letting the bacteria
feed on the slight bit of oxygen as I breathed an angry wish over the contents,
only to close it back up and put it back in the darkness below the bed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">It seems a
little silly now, I suppose, this strange work of watching living matter decay
behind glass, pouring the blackish, sour ooze from one vial into the mouth of a
dolly, telling the future weather forecast from some mixture of battery acids
and liquified animal tissue…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That little
scent of ammonia and that sweet, sickly smell that comes from rot—it didn’t make
me run, it made me curious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s life,
it’s death and I am in the service of both realms, and so to me there was
something holy in the rot and the mold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So much activity hidden in the airless darkness, and it made magic for
me, small as it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">These days not
much has changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I putrefy and mold and
rot whatever pleases me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A black bottle
charm is something special, it’s transformative, it’s icky, it’s… real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These days I don’t always bother to wash the
dirt out from under my nails when I’m digging up roots, nor do I always bother
shaking the cobwebs out of my puffy mane after wandering through the laurel
hedges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My work needs a little dirt
sometimes, it needs that sickly grime, as a protective mask, as a blessing from
the earth, as evidence of death and life’s power. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Life is dirty
and I know it well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is grime and grease;
it is acrid and oily and in a constant state of withering even as it
grows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I live for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I serve the dirty gods of filth and
desiccation just as I serve the gods of purity and sanitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A balance is struck in witchcraft, between
forces that seem opposing but are working in complete compliment to one
another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life and death are like
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Filthy and polished all at
once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Magic is like that, or mine is at least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Hail to the rust
and rime that devours all with time, hail to the pus and grime, hail to
unsullied and benign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hail to the
inevitable change that comes for all living things and flings their broken
pieces off into a cold and indifferent universe filled with passionate spirits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I serve all you dead— be you bloated body or
mummified jerky-man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I serve the dirt
where the dead are buried, and the new flowers grow.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Soft may the
worms about you creep…</i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i></i></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6NqHaFWk9Lcnu9_96PP-bm0BIvvvCb2jxEKMX-m7a5kFgQ9iZ8krrEPA6-N5bSsfEU3Z_eXOgWoMCM80PG-3sgKYbXn5hOjaXtvQF7WPn61uGipaVcyitGmAdymVB_XuDlnFau2z88TQ4qpMQ5p2Xb13bFtRhRr-cy3it9C4zFkNUMMLkeGyBAE-9-Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="682" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6NqHaFWk9Lcnu9_96PP-bm0BIvvvCb2jxEKMX-m7a5kFgQ9iZ8krrEPA6-N5bSsfEU3Z_eXOgWoMCM80PG-3sgKYbXn5hOjaXtvQF7WPn61uGipaVcyitGmAdymVB_XuDlnFau2z88TQ4qpMQ5p2Xb13bFtRhRr-cy3it9C4zFkNUMMLkeGyBAE-9-Q" width="320" /></a></i></b></div><p></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981779314577388725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-76075900490631750432022-06-17T11:14:00.001-07:002024-02-07T19:45:03.356-08:00Lemon Balm Steamed Rose Dumpling Magic<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrG3O9WtL6naVAhOSTcb_xWtIduxpHEUMNUeJXoFb23gCw8zhm-6d_-Lbm2x0VsctGYdz_rvpAFT2C_6vUEaU_2iyu0V-sqU1LRm3Y7Po45MuAX8i38fecDbGS1ZHaK7KPA0tIUxsZQe0UJS5iWdlLvCMNwba2yXaDwv8xMKdqSVzG1TBPM9QyTdRRsg/s4896/P1030820.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrG3O9WtL6naVAhOSTcb_xWtIduxpHEUMNUeJXoFb23gCw8zhm-6d_-Lbm2x0VsctGYdz_rvpAFT2C_6vUEaU_2iyu0V-sqU1LRm3Y7Po45MuAX8i38fecDbGS1ZHaK7KPA0tIUxsZQe0UJS5iWdlLvCMNwba2yXaDwv8xMKdqSVzG1TBPM9QyTdRRsg/s320/P1030820.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's strange what will cross your mind... </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhni2qLjbK2r9scmb6mh6bFlKbnhVnP1-Wvs4fkKqde6WqSD2Q2BMcKcgvxP1S_e3WaTjdUxsdlylwKiCGjwnPg1gaOHoHmxWlph39biUYhhvGsGlM3qNusipwUCRWw2uXrO3IGcp3jtHsbXpRyVoekB0aw0TvaiC-4RD7Qojm7qm4LvS8ZMxBXFDOZXA/s4896/P1030773.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhni2qLjbK2r9scmb6mh6bFlKbnhVnP1-Wvs4fkKqde6WqSD2Q2BMcKcgvxP1S_e3WaTjdUxsdlylwKiCGjwnPg1gaOHoHmxWlph39biUYhhvGsGlM3qNusipwUCRWw2uXrO3IGcp3jtHsbXpRyVoekB0aw0TvaiC-4RD7Qojm7qm4LvS8ZMxBXFDOZXA/s320/P1030773.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">As summer began to rise, my grandmother died. She loved roses. And tea. And baking.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmSzZSh_QJ5612892X3MPjRyzaDc9VQateIDFfJL9wat-6rt0kA7bjIzgH0rA1T5wbDW_L7QUbXT0YIXEBXAePgMi6FFVBKNrFTQLSQMuieAuT-nGqEaD0a87dc4SQ-S5EUL4vXamYcKyq0Gb66PzHFshNMcSouQwZfJFkJOKQF_atmhDAdV7BslrRw/s4896/P1030771.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmSzZSh_QJ5612892X3MPjRyzaDc9VQateIDFfJL9wat-6rt0kA7bjIzgH0rA1T5wbDW_L7QUbXT0YIXEBXAePgMi6FFVBKNrFTQLSQMuieAuT-nGqEaD0a87dc4SQ-S5EUL4vXamYcKyq0Gb66PzHFshNMcSouQwZfJFkJOKQF_atmhDAdV7BslrRw/s320/P1030771.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And she loved, loved, loved to garden.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ck7kqFWoSo2BnVdzE8BcmnAPzpLe5mW-usi74avSqREFJAPu9htidXCAHoPHBBR6VvsjgyIkzWGiNX7sOFgn-W-NbdgbYrdCOGNw_WJwiWKubo5rpXT69U8Ih7PMFA-fxXC_KtEuWRYrrqtt6963oFZQAHNNkie5yK7vHyGxo403pM2LzBnWIUFgfw/s4896/P1030784.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ck7kqFWoSo2BnVdzE8BcmnAPzpLe5mW-usi74avSqREFJAPu9htidXCAHoPHBBR6VvsjgyIkzWGiNX7sOFgn-W-NbdgbYrdCOGNw_WJwiWKubo5rpXT69U8Ih7PMFA-fxXC_KtEuWRYrrqtt6963oFZQAHNNkie5yK7vHyGxo403pM2LzBnWIUFgfw/s320/P1030784.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've been feeling more reserved and numb lately, there's been a lot of grief these last few months. But slowly, with the sun, I rise. I wish this awful rain would let up, it's dreary.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGju4VYfjurBrczM6JQmBiUuWco4cGxc9t2D0LYdpij7_epsYbEiwE-xIU5Xm9WbiTfaRrzH3UJiQZzPJ2e5FEqcZ-KtXH0I9deMBUcivZyehXDQf3EQcjZDBzTe_m7dr_bf3OQSI52zf-X4qsp-h7VYup0pZ-y3C2_y7MH5KsTHh_XxFq_ujqB3Rsw/s4896/P1030788.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGju4VYfjurBrczM6JQmBiUuWco4cGxc9t2D0LYdpij7_epsYbEiwE-xIU5Xm9WbiTfaRrzH3UJiQZzPJ2e5FEqcZ-KtXH0I9deMBUcivZyehXDQf3EQcjZDBzTe_m7dr_bf3OQSI52zf-X4qsp-h7VYup0pZ-y3C2_y7MH5KsTHh_XxFq_ujqB3Rsw/s320/P1030788.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When I get sad, I get bored, and then I get creative. I found this lemon balm with giant leaves on my in-laws land.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvFWf_0YLKj-lDxkZSAveRjH1GxPEvzcBDM-tHyBtYv7vrhdTWP5nWRo9bzvCj77uPG5TVmP1D4QzEXerJCMAPYxKwxeugD-z_KIX8h-hD4dCiBSMqx9_cVY12HSpRrgPqYxswVv0aNE3ZdrWkH-9MLcv5whqofwk748l2uS3u40LReb9QWkbG2sTmw/s4896/P1030793.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvFWf_0YLKj-lDxkZSAveRjH1GxPEvzcBDM-tHyBtYv7vrhdTWP5nWRo9bzvCj77uPG5TVmP1D4QzEXerJCMAPYxKwxeugD-z_KIX8h-hD4dCiBSMqx9_cVY12HSpRrgPqYxswVv0aNE3ZdrWkH-9MLcv5whqofwk748l2uS3u40LReb9QWkbG2sTmw/s320/P1030793.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And thought of dragon boats and tamales and family and my grandma. And then, something strange fell out of my brain and into an idea. Honey soaked rose petals chopped fine and added to a lemon-balm sugar dumpling, wrapped in soaked lemon balm leaves and steamed over a bed of rose petals. I tied the bundles with the stems of the lemon balm. The result was a lovely mix of floral and lemon tea-like flavors.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kDFTEmR_MD-lbQ3HJnblrB35D3nqw8AGst1ZAcSQBjDA6EbParwErqGPGbLIjOBAm31FaMd0Ea1edSFxal0w7TLQn2D1VWuT21OHd3-RKnDBpVA91MAqrfyFPWxsnI-FdJYngXfRigrHdzXxZv-N2c_lZ7tvxqqkHNOVU5ryRrpXcxg7W8STXMuu5w/s4896/P1030827.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kDFTEmR_MD-lbQ3HJnblrB35D3nqw8AGst1ZAcSQBjDA6EbParwErqGPGbLIjOBAm31FaMd0Ea1edSFxal0w7TLQn2D1VWuT21OHd3-RKnDBpVA91MAqrfyFPWxsnI-FdJYngXfRigrHdzXxZv-N2c_lZ7tvxqqkHNOVU5ryRrpXcxg7W8STXMuu5w/s320/P1030827.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Unwrapping each one was fun, pleasant, aromatic. The bread was a little chewy on the outside, but crumbly inside. I liked it with English breakfast tea. Sometimes it's the little, mundane every day magics that make life feel a little better during grief. Simplicity and gratitude for things is it's own class of magic. I feel... Much better.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Love Magic: lemon balm, red and pink roses, honey<br />Day: Friday<br />Court: Venus<br /><p></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981779314577388725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-6671001543485265172021-12-22T17:45:00.005-08:002023-10-02T19:59:02.541-07:00The Waters We Witch For<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjenrMyAPMPKTSW9KKbRpGMzB15C6h_3mhRZadJa0lUpq68oTwDSMHSobxcQgls8nFtnuhx6B37OvsuenbAYWB0bx_Inl39uF5Rgg68CEyX9tTmwSOEcbxx4djVYyu417v-AaUp62aBJKRZ/s2048/compass.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1868" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjenrMyAPMPKTSW9KKbRpGMzB15C6h_3mhRZadJa0lUpq68oTwDSMHSobxcQgls8nFtnuhx6B37OvsuenbAYWB0bx_Inl39uF5Rgg68CEyX9tTmwSOEcbxx4djVYyu417v-AaUp62aBJKRZ/w584-h640/compass.jpg" width="584" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Water Witching (dowsing) Wands and their Familiars. This compass is used in my tradition of witchcraft to represent the art of navigating nature with our spiritual senses, and the guides who dwell along the roads we take. Frog and Driftwood and Water; Mole and Apple and Earth; Crow and Willow and Wind; Moth and Persimmon and Fire. Illustration by <a href="https://www.instagram.com/andrewjimenezart/">Andrew G. Jimenez</a>.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am no water witch. It is not my element, it rarely appears in my natal chart; I fear the open water and am terrified of unseen depths. I love a bath but loathe the mystery that lies beyond the abyss. I am a child of wind, fire, earth. But... where magic is concerned, water is a great inspiration; I am a under the protection of La Sirene, she who knows well my fear of water, and my love for magic. She does not begrudge my inherent fear of the open sea. She knows I am a daughter of beaches and shores and river people on every side of my ancestry. She knows the rushing waters between mountain and sea is my place of work; especially where the waters weave off into swamps, marshes, wetlands and estuary mucks. That's where water and I may meet in peace and congress.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are a great many waters in folk-magic, witchcraft and occult lore. Like a mirror, or a pool of ink, it becomes a conduit for the living, the dead and everything beyond that. Water is transcending of worldly things and a birth fluid that ushers in life, and often leads to annihilation. It is from the water we emerged. We release water from our bodies as urine, spit, sweat, tears-- all of these fluids make for key ingredients in some of the most powerful charms and spells imaginable.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We need waters to live, we need water to cool ourselves, we need it for sanitation... it is probably the most popular element among practitioners (something I understand but don't personally resonate with). What is it about the waters of our small world that give us so much inspiration? So much power? It gives. It is the giver of immediate relief, like the earth often is-- it is not as aloof and wayward a lover like the wind (though water is as fickle and wandering) or searing, passionate force of destruction like fire (though it is just as overwhelming and consuming). </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And so, thought I do not love water the way I love warm, dry air, I have come to know water as a necessary component to my works. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are quite a few kinds of water that can be used in the work we do as witches, sorcerers and folk-magicians, and to each of them, a spirit, a nature of things. Some waters are made gifted by the nature of their placement, or their collection. Some waters, like those of springs and sea tend to be considered more naturally gifted with power, while others are only made sacred by the circumstances of their treatment, or made powerful by the time of their collection, the tide of the year. And some magical waters are manufactured through simple alchemies. What makes a water magical? Is it "powerful" because it has been touched by moonlight or soaked with earthworms? What is it about the ability for water to absorb and transfer that makes it so easy to give meaning to? Who knows really. There's more mystery to water than I really understand, so much history behind its use in ritual and in life. I'm less concerned with the why and more of the "if"-- if it works for my needs, than why not? I use quite a bit of different waters in my practice, some more than others. Like all things, the diversity of magic in the realm of water is a gift to any magician.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some Curious Waters of Note</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhXjd-KNVy2aq-v4lVOayY0AHvBhN61tV2P4zcjAG2zWQ14q-MsGRsyMKYcOAT4KNF9tuQ6rHY7HT-LegRkqK0NNnfSznK3apWle-GVkrZw8ml8MhGbJno7E1A_OzK3lAxnZMKVDOhHrcJhOFrRcz6MfcV8paEnCRDrGsXg3jBkXsPVTsb5cz5Gs0Gag=s3752" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1625" data-original-width="3752" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhXjd-KNVy2aq-v4lVOayY0AHvBhN61tV2P4zcjAG2zWQ14q-MsGRsyMKYcOAT4KNF9tuQ6rHY7HT-LegRkqK0NNnfSznK3apWle-GVkrZw8ml8MhGbJno7E1A_OzK3lAxnZMKVDOhHrcJhOFrRcz6MfcV8paEnCRDrGsXg3jBkXsPVTsb5cz5Gs0Gag=w400-h173" width="400" /></span></a></b></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Stump/Spunk Water</b>- What do you need a cure for? Freckles (why would you, they're perfect!), rheumatism? Warts? Bad hair? Skin-complaints? Stump Water is the panacea of the afflicted and blighted. The gambler's magical wash, the sanctifier of rabbits feet and conjure-bags, the water that accumulates in the hollow or impression of stumps and logs offers a unique magic and is deeply entrenched in American folk medicin<span style="background-color: white;">e. St</span>ump Water, like <i>Unspoken Water</i>, is gathered with specific rites and taboos observed: moonlight, silence, backwardness-- it is all meant to give an efficacious punch of flavor to this talisman, which can be carried in a bottle on the person, or used to anoint a talisman of great power; specifically a graveyard rabbit's foot.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>"To stop a "haunt" walking, boil prickly pear roots in stump water and sprinkle in the yard with the water."<br /></i><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(CLD)</span></i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: inherit;">Holy Water</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">- oh, the great water of purity, consecrated in the name of some divine entity, some god of grace and morality. The holy water of the Church has qualities of banishment and exorcism, and can be used to bring a searing cleanliness to all it touches. It may drive out some classes of demon and may even harm some witches. Mostly, holy water drives away what some call "evil". I don't believe in </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">true good </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">or </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">true evil</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">, so I have very little use for holy water, but I appreciate that there are magicians who really believe in a great evil and that it can be banished with this kind of water. As a witch, I'm not even remotely affected by holy water (my devils aint scared of shit) and nothing around me is either; my banishing water is simple sea-water. To each their own.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Easter-Water</b>- Cora L. Daniels describes this as water taken up before sunrise on Easter Morning from a running stream, which is then bottled and kept for good luck, prosperity and health. It is used in Catholic traditions as a holy water, mixed with consecrated oils or herbs and is supposed to keep year-round. My only experience with Easter water is recent; my work with Christo-Pagan friends has led me down the road of their holy waters and I'm rather fond of this revived tradition. Might not be my flavor of magic but man do I love when people find power anywhere they can.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Saining Water</b><i>-</i> this bit of Scottish magic became pretty popular with the resurgence of Western European traditional witchcraft practices. The silvered water, used to bless newborns, the hexed, the cursed and to heal the ill. Sprinkling saining water with a branch of juniper has become a common practice among modern witches. Silver is one powerful metal in the realm of Western occultism, and this is particularly true in traditions of American magic; it is the killer of witches and their familiars, the bane of the graveyard haunts and a powerful anti-evil charm that was supposed to inherently drive away all supernatural and otherworldly entities.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Unspoken Water</b>- <i>The Journal of American Folklore </i>and the Frank C. Brown Collection reference unspoken water as that which is collected from the creek, brook or river beneath a bridge over which the living and dead have passed. When collected in silence and under certain auspicious, the water was reported to be able to heal maladies and purify the afflicted.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></b></span><p></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Corpse Water</b>- contrary to first intuition, the water in which a fresh corpse has been washed has purification qualities, and can be washed over porches or sprinkled before doorways to purify the space from evils and drive off the hungry damned by placing the water of tender grace about the place. When the mortuary water is collected from funereal rites, it has the power to drive off the dead and create a boundary of blessing. When the water is washed from the skin of the disgraced and mistreated dead, it can be used to bring a hex upon the foe who is sprinkled in this water.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Putrid/Black Water-</b> this differs from <i>Corpse Water</i> in that it is blackish/brownish from the rot and decay of putrefaction. This rot water or <i>sip-of-decay</i> is made from the process of death and decomposition accelerated by the presence of rancid water. Bloating and rotting corpses instead of the fresh dead may produce this water, or plant matter left to rot in muck water. It is a perfect tool for sealing in death (in a black bottle) or bringing disease and plague when washed over a foe's porch, car or furniture.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3jOIoN9T6k3LSYc6lhSYCI5skdLMzGsx0YdCsHeN4vdXt5FnH39WrclLg0P3Mju3i1md4EY-rJvBf8LlfNe19v0M1JT7wIMRUDdqMW0D25v8ZncEhoUyQ-FIrcMD8XGHKXU7z7bquePJysnPdIzN7G63diu2OjizQUUeJzlITca-HgbH9XmdQUU2p_w=s2560" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3jOIoN9T6k3LSYc6lhSYCI5skdLMzGsx0YdCsHeN4vdXt5FnH39WrclLg0P3Mju3i1md4EY-rJvBf8LlfNe19v0M1JT7wIMRUDdqMW0D25v8ZncEhoUyQ-FIrcMD8XGHKXU7z7bquePJysnPdIzN7G63diu2OjizQUUeJzlITca-HgbH9XmdQUU2p_w=w400-h300" width="400" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>May Dew-</b> the drought of beauty, collected on May's Eve or May Day morning (depending on who tells the tale). The dew collected from Venusian herbs; specifically the hawthorn, when added to washes for the face were once supposed to bring beauty and charm to the person who uses it. May Dew must be collected in early morning light, from only the most beautiful of spring's blossoms or freshest of green grass. Just a few drops on the tongue or rinsed over the face was supposed to be enough to make a person not just beautiful, but lucky in love too.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: inherit;">Well & Spring Water</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">- the water that comes from a natural spring is fresh, tasty and often extremely rich in minerals, which is why so many people swear by it. It is the water of springs that washes the hands of witches before their work. And, it is the water of the common well that youngsters were thought to divine their futures by with mirror and shadow. Holding a hand mirror, leaning backwards over a well, a youth was supposed to catch a glimpse of a long-awaited loved one reflected in the waters surface and in the glass of the mirror.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Luminary (Sun, Moon, Star) Water</b>- of these, it is the Moon Water and Sun Water that seem best known, but the water can be made in the light of other spheres-of-influence who shine in the sky. Where I live, Venus, Saturn and Mars have times when they shine like the brightest star in the sky, and capturing their essence in water can work in a small, distant way. It is not as powerful as Moon Water, but Venus Water can have unique loving qualities that bring a sense of sensual sexuality to a charm/talisman. It can be as simple as leaving a bowl of spring water under the moon's light, asking the water to capture her spirit in its cold reflection.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Teasel Water or 'Venus Basin'</b>- the water collected in the small basins formed by the circling leaves of the common teasel plant is also called a Venus Basin and is thought to draw forth warts, make people beautiful, cure weariness to sight and aid thirsty and desperate travelers. I do not recommend this water as it's where many insects make their watery graves- but I do find the water delightful to use in love washes and protective hospitality charms.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="text-align: left;">Luck Water-</b><span style="text-align: left;"> Water which is collected from a glass bowl in which a Resurrection Plant has greened. Taken on the day of its full unfurling, it is sprinkled on the front porch of places of commerce/businesses. There are a few different kinds of resurrection plants, most popular are the two varieties of "Rose of Jericho" which are commonly sold in Hoodoo shops and Botanicas. I've met quite a few other witches who make luck water with different money plants, but I think the reason why Resurrections are the standard is because they represent plenty from nothing; greenness after drought, growth after desiccation. As they unfurl, the water is supposed to become charged with with the power of their rejuvenation.</span></span></p><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1TmacyDyZ3ZHwLy4cNs9t0mPiO0_-zCa8Q8gOVJ1aMtdipYclZUPKo-wB9jYa6RjiORnku3ez_Ql60_afIWBrEHAkYBQeuvMQL4sd3D8W7LuWjPKLxvYrDtzIJuiSv8mJSuovXcyTfGG-STPfzrUKiYZVG4Nc1pAeGN6GC5JgJH0vEBC8Qy8AT7d1wA=s800" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1TmacyDyZ3ZHwLy4cNs9t0mPiO0_-zCa8Q8gOVJ1aMtdipYclZUPKo-wB9jYa6RjiORnku3ez_Ql60_afIWBrEHAkYBQeuvMQL4sd3D8W7LuWjPKLxvYrDtzIJuiSv8mJSuovXcyTfGG-STPfzrUKiYZVG4Nc1pAeGN6GC5JgJH0vEBC8Qy8AT7d1wA=s800" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1TmacyDyZ3ZHwLy4cNs9t0mPiO0_-zCa8Q8gOVJ1aMtdipYclZUPKo-wB9jYa6RjiORnku3ez_Ql60_afIWBrEHAkYBQeuvMQL4sd3D8W7LuWjPKLxvYrDtzIJuiSv8mJSuovXcyTfGG-STPfzrUKiYZVG4Nc1pAeGN6GC5JgJH0vEBC8Qy8AT7d1wA=s320" width="320" /></a></span></div><div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>War Water- </b> A jar full of swamp water, muck water, puddle water and rusting nails, urine and other putrid and corrupted matter is an excellent elixir for hexing an enemy, for bringing ruin to a foe. A little sprinkled on their porch will slow their steps, and if poured about their property, will bring ruin and rot. You can read more about it in Cory Hutcheson's <i>New World Witchery: A Trove of North American Folk Magic. </i>War waters can be physically dangerous; mixing different chemical compounds together in a sealed jar has the unfortunate habit of causing explosive reactions in some instances. But then again, a witch looking to crack a bottle of war under an enemy's porch would probably appreciate a nice bang to their work... It's not recommended to try, nobody needs to die with a Darwin award for occult mishaps.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Flesh Water/Urine-</b> You have no idea how useful the water released from the body can be. It can seal a witch's bottle, ensnare a lover, curse an enemy, bring protection to the home, bring disaster to an enemy, and add a personal mark to any spell. To use the the water of the flesh in a spell is a personal and powerful thing; think carefully before adding so much of yourself to a charm. It seems a little gross to modern witches but folk magicians know better than to discount the waters of the body in any form-- from spit to tears to urine, our body provides waters with symbolism, with their own magical signature.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Lightning Water/Storm Water- </b> my relatives in Florida were my first exposure to this idea; leaving a jar of tap water out on the porch during the thunder and lightning storms. The water was supposed to be charged with the electric vibrations and wild energy of the thunder and lightning, and would be used to bring a spike of power to a situation, and would protect the home from great evils. Water collected from a lightning-struck stump was a notoriously powerful type; there is always a touch more magic to those things that are lightning struck, especially trees, as they are considered "charged" by this experience, touched by the hand of the Sky gods.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnjTsj1yzQdy2GCKu9xYLhCiFyt4gAAhuX4jYFgYyZYm5sEZdYYhlnwNL5ev8Ym7N7N-ctfVKvVsPIQb1ArEAFpTOZdJN4pOzRWs3vX7F65VJmWO3NhJ2mRTK07xzduZ-KMXICqQ6eBrFNyR2MjVtEWmmlK40rhPBRvZ6T-Gegj9rFXuoCDsiZkpCmiQ=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnjTsj1yzQdy2GCKu9xYLhCiFyt4gAAhuX4jYFgYyZYm5sEZdYYhlnwNL5ev8Ym7N7N-ctfVKvVsPIQb1ArEAFpTOZdJN4pOzRWs3vX7F65VJmWO3NhJ2mRTK07xzduZ-KMXICqQ6eBrFNyR2MjVtEWmmlK40rhPBRvZ6T-Gegj9rFXuoCDsiZkpCmiQ=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>River Water</b>- Rivers are transitionary places, natural crossroads where sea and land may meet, and are holy places for initiation rites for witches. A charm meant to hex and wither is best released in the waters of a river. Rivers, creeks and brooks appear throughout the folklore of the American South as places where rain could be raised by conjure-folk pouring pitcher water into the rivers, as places where witches could be initiated after casting in black-cat's bones, or wetting knotted handkerchiefs. In my region, rivers are powerful places of plenty, the realm of food and family and fortune. For my work, a river is the place where all things meet-- a liminal space of movement that tends to work well for my work honoring the Mountain gods (from whom the river comes) and the Sea spirits (to where the river goes).</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCBWw0oA6P8u_LnkShI4cnbBdHfbs4PAhcYQ2BjO-tbDQixGQMnTIVEwcYf8HU7PZN1mAj8qb5xhq6Qo4MxB_-mSSl6sKLIOmhvN5PevgYxiG1G5nMFBjTF-bFN7jIQIcLtuYRY2P2bDjR-0F410AjCNXzOxJBcHiiKmN1fYNHIFQv1UlxpKEw8_YK0Q=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCBWw0oA6P8u_LnkShI4cnbBdHfbs4PAhcYQ2BjO-tbDQixGQMnTIVEwcYf8HU7PZN1mAj8qb5xhq6Qo4MxB_-mSSl6sKLIOmhvN5PevgYxiG1G5nMFBjTF-bFN7jIQIcLtuYRY2P2bDjR-0F410AjCNXzOxJBcHiiKmN1fYNHIFQv1UlxpKEw8_YK0Q=w320-h213" width="320" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sea Water</b>- Well what more could you need to banish so-called evils and heal impurity? The first womb of life is the sea; the place from which life emerges, the great primordial soup to which we owe so much, and its salty waves are a thing of purity. Churning in the darkness of the waves is mystery and restlessness, but also the salt of purification and removal. Many witches collect their salt right from the sea (when the law allows), allowing the water to evaporate, leaving only the salt and all its wonderful impurities. While sea-salt in some tap water can be good enough for a basic wash, the sea is a more powerful bet. Just a splash, and a baptism may take place; just a splash and a curse will be swept away, out to sea, to die as most things do, in time. Salt water can rebirth a lost soul, or capture one too.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvuZcm7L38pRrdWZ_Iu__i6hq0NJbIPQ_IInYlHdSn4Fb9fbLuL4-ykVaDyyAZcuF2tuK8vxTGxVxEaVQ0bprB7ZsRdxI7k6eFsooAxOU_r498q4LcbdX_CR6tdodoiyOdPMJ0K8V_vLt/s4896/P1030330.JPG" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvuZcm7L38pRrdWZ_Iu__i6hq0NJbIPQ_IInYlHdSn4Fb9fbLuL4-ykVaDyyAZcuF2tuK8vxTGxVxEaVQ0bprB7ZsRdxI7k6eFsooAxOU_r498q4LcbdX_CR6tdodoiyOdPMJ0K8V_vLt/s320/P1030330.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: inherit;">Muck/Swamp Water</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">- if you need a base water for hexing potions and bottles, a good amount of muddy muck water will do the trick. It used to be believed that even dreaming of muddy water is an omen of sorrows. It works to stop-up and dirty-up those who pursue you, and can help facilitate disease spells when washed over the porch of an enemy or broken in a jar in their yard.</span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: inherit;">Pin/Needle Water</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">- the water left over from boiling pins and needles to avert evil is useful because most practitioners speak their incantations against a troublesome enemy or difficult spirit as they boil the nine needles, naming them for the enemy. The water that remains afterwards can be used as an anti-witch floor wash. I've been using this water for a while now and find it useful to get irritating magical folk off my back.</span></div><div><b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="text-align: justify;">Worm-Water- </b><span style="text-align: justify;">water made from soaked earthworms was reportedly used to heal superficial pains. The worms were deposited into a bucket and soaked overnight. I've only seen this one mentioned in a few places, and I've been gifted a small jar of some from a friend, but I haven't put any of it to work. Paulsen quotes this incantation which accompanied the charm:</span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: right;"><i style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Earthworms who slip through earth below</span></i></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><div style="text-align: right;"><i>Secrets of sorcery ye know,</i></div></i><i><div style="text-align: right;"><i>When the good foot doth o'er you tread,</i></div></i><i><div style="text-align: right;"><i>or when it passes overheard</i></div></i><i><div style="text-align: right;"><i>Transfer its power and its merit,</i></div></i><i><div style="text-align: right;"><i>Now I pray you to this spirit,</i></div></i><i><div style="text-align: right;"><i>To do such virtue as it may,</i></div></i><i><div style="text-align: right;"><i>And let this headache pass away!"</i></div></i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">-<i>The Complete Book of Magic and Witchcraft,</i> Kathryn Paulsen, p-111</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Black-Cat Boil-</b> old folk magic in America is rife with the sacrifice of black cats, moles, toads and graveyard rabbits. The black cat is thought to be a conduit for initiation into witchcraft, and one of the most popular methods of initiation with the cat was to boil a black one live in water, and then take it's floating bone into your mouth. But what of the water? I imagine the boiled water can be used as an anointing for new witches, or used to feed one's working tools to give them power, invisibility and devilish strength.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi849wa4cqZbxa82bPSjkGDQ0q_2NlQcNS6fORQGxJyOBfRdLszUYZRFy6bbYovyhj94Sdc2-ddAEeF9u6aO9WjVgU-XenzoCNSwMQ01F-6y7wuLwLD1SO10uSez7TL4tlEwRXoNJezA6sPXGb4OOcooiFYcfxp2k-7aeMKJR7l511Drgxl9-f2Ko6rwA=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1750" data-original-width="2048" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi849wa4cqZbxa82bPSjkGDQ0q_2NlQcNS6fORQGxJyOBfRdLszUYZRFy6bbYovyhj94Sdc2-ddAEeF9u6aO9WjVgU-XenzoCNSwMQ01F-6y7wuLwLD1SO10uSez7TL4tlEwRXoNJezA6sPXGb4OOcooiFYcfxp2k-7aeMKJR7l511Drgxl9-f2Ko6rwA=w320-h274" width="320" /></span></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Mountain Marsh Water</b>- the water that is collected from the swamps of some Cascade and Olympic marshes/swamps. Wetlands are immensely powerful, they absorb so much destruction and power, mitigating the effects of mudslides and floods and acting as a place of both birth and death for the land. Here in Washington, the marches, wetlands and swamps of the mountains belong to invisible tribes of otherworldly and unseen beings. I say it is best <b>not </b>to take water from their swamps, or the whispers will follow you home and tell you the most horrifying secrets...</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><i>For more, take a look... in a book... </i><br />Cory T. Hutcheson, <i>New World Witchery: A Trove of North American Folk Magic<br /></i>Cora L. Daniels, <i>Encyclopedia of Superstitions, Folklore and the Occult Sciences of the World</i><br />Kathryn Paulsen, <i>The Complete Book of Magic and Witchcraft<br /></i>Zora Neale Hurston,<i> Mules and Men</i><br />Newbell Niles Puckett, <i>Folk Beliefs of the Southern Negro<br /></i>B.A Botkin, <i>Treasury of Southern Folklore<br /></i><i>Journal of American Folklore<br /></i><i>Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore</i></span></p></div></div></div>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-11990796823981796942021-12-19T18:04:00.000-08:002022-01-08T13:57:27.491-08:00Merry Midwinter, Magicians<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0rRaz8UwvNkt393UySW6kWbVwgCM_IblFdDZDsTR2Kr7AgkM1bySHfI6l9YRnoSw8UJSVvgkW0a1Q7ThlcH8uH5j-N1W628R8tOBTHReHuRKXfli6XvLqu1mgdUYzLdQwNjJbugTsliSA2pH4UstPYK5JXOfVMkvV1iSCcGt807qOij20zYbrN9SS-g=s3700" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2580" data-original-width="3700" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0rRaz8UwvNkt393UySW6kWbVwgCM_IblFdDZDsTR2Kr7AgkM1bySHfI6l9YRnoSw8UJSVvgkW0a1Q7ThlcH8uH5j-N1W628R8tOBTHReHuRKXfli6XvLqu1mgdUYzLdQwNjJbugTsliSA2pH4UstPYK5JXOfVMkvV1iSCcGt807qOij20zYbrN9SS-g=w400-h279" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cran-Apple Orange Tart-Pie and cran-apple simple-syrup soda.</i></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_ykQeNlhapbfSfVrdigH-n9qWiMG6f45xNBf2SwMdPlKpZzNJS1T_M9c2QlygPyQSeE_sQQwmmQbIPSITvPiOE9YGeL8XwcI6TZYsfao43ye0rHH7Mu0v67vIiu1FLUtYcvoGcP2QCYZHLg9MAicenbSu0EN-eoDcLSVm1lJMi7DALsnMnn2lgETQ7w=s3888" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3U__jz_03jqzvjEXd40cNNdPQufyzvF6ObVvCkhKprEDnyM9_7ba7WE6FUGeJpNUYB1-BSX-akMYJuZ1u-Lc1sEg30UUTMLlYf9NTTXncDDClZwlV3uXhjuBHTmDAi5Mv5gtKbtODGD5sUw5bsP9XPIvRs2rDStl4ijeCukwPJbAKV52zsfT4xDrLvA=s3530" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2581" data-original-width="3530" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3U__jz_03jqzvjEXd40cNNdPQufyzvF6ObVvCkhKprEDnyM9_7ba7WE6FUGeJpNUYB1-BSX-akMYJuZ1u-Lc1sEg30UUTMLlYf9NTTXncDDClZwlV3uXhjuBHTmDAi5Mv5gtKbtODGD5sUw5bsP9XPIvRs2rDStl4ijeCukwPJbAKV52zsfT4xDrLvA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifo-1GGenqS1xogRFmU1YgIJKIFtXf623vuNq6Cg5O9aRnw15c2F5UpUKXnVNgOQN7m9ahJN4kd3f16qmAa0ZKAIJ5zIjUmuRSl1KmKozlT6r-GY3NClrnW_GuLoBsc0rDNsUYkqa3pB381jbewf3wycDvHwFUv7oAHIf8-V2MbbmiHDGD4g9hHmycsw=s3658" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3658" data-original-width="2579" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifo-1GGenqS1xogRFmU1YgIJKIFtXf623vuNq6Cg5O9aRnw15c2F5UpUKXnVNgOQN7m9ahJN4kd3f16qmAa0ZKAIJ5zIjUmuRSl1KmKozlT6r-GY3NClrnW_GuLoBsc0rDNsUYkqa3pB381jbewf3wycDvHwFUv7oAHIf8-V2MbbmiHDGD4g9hHmycsw=s320" width="226" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiy-o9iOeXKBi6igjirgRZb2-bjU4nHueqgneVyiivGx8JMK5PoxvjO1WJCtqg7BPk_vDwmGJenQnp9Agu2yMZgyj5MCu8Cqa3_lrPwfo3kHx7qv-VD-CROP9drEYHG9nU_wCrwwNkhZ2TH7DMb6aflVImiHbUi65z5W09COhojBX_I2SKTqFfhtzGMGQ=s3888" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3888" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiy-o9iOeXKBi6igjirgRZb2-bjU4nHueqgneVyiivGx8JMK5PoxvjO1WJCtqg7BPk_vDwmGJenQnp9Agu2yMZgyj5MCu8Cqa3_lrPwfo3kHx7qv-VD-CROP9drEYHG9nU_wCrwwNkhZ2TH7DMb6aflVImiHbUi65z5W09COhojBX_I2SKTqFfhtzGMGQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBQMvSsZkIfuywYOdJaLQTKD6LquY-x_gpXyqTyHW49M0RRSzxB96rg-Uh-2uS_GW_8H1HsggOnY3OKGmnNELw4kwWKphrIzwpXSD3E4nhufZ1GCVHVi4kyKg7RuIEMO9fp6sn8Vxax4TioDOn8mKfLloZRk02-hczDY87HksgVnpqtrB7S2UTQHk_Gg=s3888" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="2592" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBQMvSsZkIfuywYOdJaLQTKD6LquY-x_gpXyqTyHW49M0RRSzxB96rg-Uh-2uS_GW_8H1HsggOnY3OKGmnNELw4kwWKphrIzwpXSD3E4nhufZ1GCVHVi4kyKg7RuIEMO9fp6sn8Vxax4TioDOn8mKfLloZRk02-hczDY87HksgVnpqtrB7S2UTQHk_Gg=s320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Apple-Cranberry clove poached pear</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPEnP30O12OGHbsdERQgbrEIihr-QVACZLtp73f0JfQLFJvKgtRLbYnLbpXP5_yr08ZTk4dpm4kIYVEdz7kbSaWWQuRZ2qBZwBx6sY3ez0bHEdAgmqUA6X05fVwkK_ytKeqK_I22yyZnYYrMaaRuM7OPh6Yej-BeA7lxSVQ7mw8Q7mkthFSSWUazBZYQ=s3314" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3314" data-original-width="2579" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPEnP30O12OGHbsdERQgbrEIihr-QVACZLtp73f0JfQLFJvKgtRLbYnLbpXP5_yr08ZTk4dpm4kIYVEdz7kbSaWWQuRZ2qBZwBx6sY3ez0bHEdAgmqUA6X05fVwkK_ytKeqK_I22yyZnYYrMaaRuM7OPh6Yej-BeA7lxSVQ7mw8Q7mkthFSSWUazBZYQ=s320" width="249" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cinnamon poached pear with honey goat cheese and dates</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-75750428486906290502021-12-12T15:44:00.006-08:002022-01-24T10:55:07.294-08:00The Diviner's Tide: This Folk Witch's Winter Ways<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Diviner’s Tide<br /></b></span><i>This Folk Witch's Winter Ways</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqrREYPpMQs-ueIpZGaDfnOAQBGm7YFa0OrBGF373OwUrHJs9bJp_Fh8xnQOS6lLnpXmc4XCJt7VetdPaEPW_WSvQyYg3NJfKTayZHs8GIvkh5rTpPbx0-UYYW392-rpc-rpvPkbT1Eg6t8hVfCYBLVPQ1Gmn6l-kjtk0A-WhIcQVi-6dh4AWhKoAeKw=s3368" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2585" data-original-width="3368" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqrREYPpMQs-ueIpZGaDfnOAQBGm7YFa0OrBGF373OwUrHJs9bJp_Fh8xnQOS6lLnpXmc4XCJt7VetdPaEPW_WSvQyYg3NJfKTayZHs8GIvkh5rTpPbx0-UYYW392-rpc-rpvPkbT1Eg6t8hVfCYBLVPQ1Gmn6l-kjtk0A-WhIcQVi-6dh4AWhKoAeKw=w400-h308" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The land stretches even under the stiff soil; can’t you hear her great sigh?
Restless in the dark cold earth, undulating with the change of the tides.
It smells like rain and damp earth outside; a little sweet and tangy where the
pines and spruce needles are falling; muddy and dank where the birch leaves
decay in the puddles. The sun rises just before 8am and sets just before
5pm. Crows caw and huddle in mass murders along the grass, picking it
apart to forage for beetles and worms. I do not love winter. I am a
daughter of sun and spring and warm green. Miss me with this bitter noise, I
want my sunlight back. Such a boring, lifeless time, with nowhere to go,
nothing to do and worry as a constant companion.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Back before the pandemic, in the long, long ago, <a href="https://www.viahedera.com/2020/01/apples-of-epiphany.html">I had written
a little bit about my changing warmth towards the winter holidays</a>. I wrote
a bit on apples, eggs, wassailing, divination and opening my mind to the
secular folk magics of the season. I maintain that Christmas is a garbage
holiday; I still don’t like what it brings out of people, how it ravages
relationships and brings financial misery to so many poor people. But I
have been able to find my peace with the season by ignoring Christmas itself
and focusing on the traditions of magic that appear between Hag’s Night, the Halcyon
Days, Christmas Eve, New Year’s Eve and Epiphany. These are diviners'
days, but then again… aren’t all of the holy days of the calendar used for
divination… and I've taken a particular interest in reinterpreting Winter’s-tide
and all that comes with it as a holiday of divination and home protection.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhE1_IPhULBgX66ve-nw_D0bppt59qMTo_CWhhrbxsW1S52k7yDyIpmB4ZETssCFMD-d1CPKSk4vWdVu-2AnN31d_aaJshloroxQnWm7UgwRIODcae4E62sknmK6m4hkxn5a6uo2BVryFU4pE-pqq0qupcLp8qKw9fkvFA73VTtFJa6IIrmyEFnSDTGqQ=s3561" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2497" data-original-width="3561" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhE1_IPhULBgX66ve-nw_D0bppt59qMTo_CWhhrbxsW1S52k7yDyIpmB4ZETssCFMD-d1CPKSk4vWdVu-2AnN31d_aaJshloroxQnWm7UgwRIODcae4E62sknmK6m4hkxn5a6uo2BVryFU4pE-pqq0qupcLp8qKw9fkvFA73VTtFJa6IIrmyEFnSDTGqQ=w400-h280" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cedar "rose" cones that were cured with olibanum oil and cinnamon for about 7 months.</i></td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And so, I set aside the notion of presents and stockings and
trees and bring out the folk magic; the foods of prediction, the yule-candles
and strings of cranberry garland. I turn my face away from the
celebration of a miracle that I don’t believe in and turn my face towards the
miracle of the great god some call the Sun. With the rise of the Sun’s
renewal comes an awakening of the land, a stirring in the fruit trees, a
weakening in the frost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Sun is the
old god, you know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The herald of
evolution, the balancer of our world, he who sustains us always and consumes us
in time… All these sabbats are his, and yet, what time do we yearn for his
power more than winter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It brings me
peace of mind to take the time to find a place of joy-- a space to live in the
moment and appreciate the temporary nature of all that surrounds us, and bringing
magic into any and every aspect of life has been a therapeutic way to cope with
life and death and the things in between.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEkAlnfwS8sqIZJ25IiqnDlm6TMQ785R-PZaDuiVz_UTWTCnnY-5Zb1Ghnh5o2AocRrwoALSpII1uA_iAEHthQv-_Auaks3AoyQMF5L9As3ubCjUbT1THPFqj8JJhuUlfUpO0hfzQWIBzx83uEENkAYuj1kL1v65JfIxr0XqT_-NRbaBtwLIndePgbmw=s3568" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2528" data-original-width="3568" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEkAlnfwS8sqIZJ25IiqnDlm6TMQ785R-PZaDuiVz_UTWTCnnY-5Zb1Ghnh5o2AocRrwoALSpII1uA_iAEHthQv-_Auaks3AoyQMF5L9As3ubCjUbT1THPFqj8JJhuUlfUpO0hfzQWIBzx83uEENkAYuj1kL1v65JfIxr0XqT_-NRbaBtwLIndePgbmw=w400-h284" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Yule Candle</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: justify;">When the Hag’s Night begins, I begin my Diviner’s Days; prepping my home to let the spirits make their changes,
focusing on feeding my household deities and the domestic spirits who dwell
with me. This has now become my time to perform daily and nightly offerings of service to the
spirits of the land, the dead and the living. Why? Because you have to find and make meaning in
life, you have to strive to finding ways to move your mind in all directions, because
atrophy is the end. I do this by attuning
myself to the constancy of the changing seasons, filling the seasons with spiritual
expression. What does this look
like? It looks like the daily lighting of the Yule candle and the sharing
of meals with the dead; giving apotropaic charms and sharing fortune-dinners
with the living; drinking, caroling, speaking to the land.</div>
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: red;">Winter Solstice/Yuletide</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: red;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5wQDZVBePjpv5vlWhejAXSDkHFxMWCI9UZ169cjbDmg_iCkALja7xYAYya1DW_M_nIl3H00x9F5wUz_DT_Ov7NooSY6T1wh6gSbp74Ki0Ty-2S8dgs-T7AoX2nJzL7-hL4ke56Q1KdPKWc8K1aQ6uFoKVhiSWWFyozhe8ArwBfo6WBb8k4IbuECZofw=s3639" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3639" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5wQDZVBePjpv5vlWhejAXSDkHFxMWCI9UZ169cjbDmg_iCkALja7xYAYya1DW_M_nIl3H00x9F5wUz_DT_Ov7NooSY6T1wh6gSbp74Ki0Ty-2S8dgs-T7AoX2nJzL7-hL4ke56Q1KdPKWc8K1aQ6uFoKVhiSWWFyozhe8ArwBfo6WBb8k4IbuECZofw=s320" width="266" /></a></span></b></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i></i></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i>“The wish that is spoken at Yuletide</i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i>shall not be crossed nor yet denied.”</i></i></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Also called St. Thomas Night or Yule, I call it Midwinter or
Long Night. This is when the Sun seems to have the least rulership over
the land, and with the darkness rises the otherworldly things who love to haunt
cold and dark spaces. I honor this darkness, and light a candle from
sundown to sun up; for luck, for protection, for the honor of the Sun, the
great Luminary. Some practices that have found their way into <i>my </i>Midwinter:<o:p></o:p></p>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Leave
a heap of flour and a little ale or wine outside for the passing fairies,
witches and spirits, and a small bowl of porridge by the doorway or
fireplace for the household entities who watch over the dwelling.
Give them a warm place to be honored by the fire, and keep them happy.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Bring
a sprig of holly into the home and hang beside the door. For every
berry that withers and drops before New Year, a bit of luck will go with
it.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">With a
partner, cut a large apple in two; whoever gets the larger half, or,
counts the most seeds in their half, has good luck and should make a wish
while eating the apple.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ul>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #999999;">Christmas</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6ytDAiI81cG6IYcUiTrs8tUbmPMop6oNd5Z90m1vfGAU27xfexGluEwcRMmswCDLllFIArpthOpc6q33WORZpd5MF4br3k_K1DMI4V0kog0DXZogWi8qJidYK-Mul-JqcA0kDUu6FLBnBqokG6-_s3AbCC6LJkLt_-8XiVzUhaslGTKPfUlTSVuimbQ=s3888" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3888" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6ytDAiI81cG6IYcUiTrs8tUbmPMop6oNd5Z90m1vfGAU27xfexGluEwcRMmswCDLllFIArpthOpc6q33WORZpd5MF4br3k_K1DMI4V0kog0DXZogWi8qJidYK-Mul-JqcA0kDUu6FLBnBqokG6-_s3AbCC6LJkLt_-8XiVzUhaslGTKPfUlTSVuimbQ=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"gilded nutmeg"- for good fortune and health.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b></b></i></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I don’t do much with Christmas; magic didn’t seed in this
holiday and folk charms were not part of my family way for this holiday-- no
mistletoe hung over our door, no taboos against ivy and yew; it was all about
gifts, stress and awkward feelings, and honestly, that’s all Christmas is to
me. Luckily, my in-laws have long supported my pagan ways, and this
Christmas we will be focusing on crafts, not gifts. I look forward to
stringing cranberries and popcorn, drying orange and apple slices, and caroling
around the blue spruce in the yard while the kids and I decorate it and
take joy in being together. I have managed to squeeze some magic into
Christmas where there once only stood boredom and consumerism:<o:p></o:p></p>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Baking
boar’s bread (a loaf in the shape of a boar) -- this one is brand new to
me and was introduced to me by a sister-in-the-craft who has been teaching
me how to bake. Thanks Meryl!</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Give
“gilded” nutmegs on strings to the kids. These nutmegs were supposed to
give good luck and blessings to those who were gifted them. I use gilding
leaf, and string them on red thread so it can be worn or hung from trees
as an ornament or talisman.<br /><br /></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Leave a cup of tea and a saucer for the dead on Christmas eve to drink.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Set a
glass of water outside of your window on Christmas day. When it
freezes over, portents of the future will form shapes in the ice.</div>
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></li>
</ul>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">New Year’s Eve<br /></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_y7zFy_wbLB_KXHeCgNifZrKpLgJRGV9-DpJiffLQACAH0ZQKNxR1VrVUvcFGN0uoCPs-YN3Vyn_0vdf7IYaQS2sFX60p3Gu-XBWjcP3LsBYgHpdvjPFgQE-9AVsaaFjUDiFlggfgrLBn_TI9ZLgAYobrdm9bTim853jtkHfE0M93LFiOVM29bqqKSA=s3888" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3888" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_y7zFy_wbLB_KXHeCgNifZrKpLgJRGV9-DpJiffLQACAH0ZQKNxR1VrVUvcFGN0uoCPs-YN3Vyn_0vdf7IYaQS2sFX60p3Gu-XBWjcP3LsBYgHpdvjPFgQE-9AVsaaFjUDiFlggfgrLBn_TI9ZLgAYobrdm9bTim853jtkHfE0M93LFiOVM29bqqKSA=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> On New Year's Eve, I divine the way ahead and make
merriment-- after all, in my culture, New Years is a big deal and a second
chance for us all, and despite its secular nature it’s actually fairly
spiritual. When we celebrate New Year’s, at least where I’m from, there
is really a magic to it. I can’t count now many superstitions I grew up
with about needing to bathe on NYE, eating the right food, opening the doors
before midnight to let the evil out and closing them before the last stroke to
keep the good tidings in, and most importantly, sealing the magic with a
kiss. Fireworks are a modern luck omen; watching them go off at midnight
and singing in good cheer is like some national ritual of renewal and
relief. You drink libations that open the heart, sing a song of
incantation (<i>Auld Lang Syne</i>) that binds feelings of love and community between
peoples, and play little games that spawn curiosity and good-will. I wish we'd make magic a more prominent perspective for this time of year, as a country. There is a power to the cheer and expectations of this season that make for a healthy brew of optimism and mysticism. We should channel this into reviving divination as a normal part of Winterside ritual and celebration.</div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><div style="text-align: justify;"> Over the last decade, I’ve
introduced all kinds of folk charms into my New Year’s Eve and Day
celebrations; ones that have crept in as I’ve made new friends, as I’ve read
new books, as I’ve walked with new spirits, maybe some of them will speak to
you and your work:</div></span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On New
Year's Eve, place a horseshoe under your pillow to have prophetic dreams.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Place
a spring of young green ivy in a dish of water on New Year’s Eve. If
it wilts before epiphany, bad luck is coming, but if it remains green,
good luck will grow.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Holly
leaves are used in telling fortunes. Ask a question out loud as you
hold a multi-pointed holly leaf. Follow from point to point using this counting
rhyme: <i>"This year, next year, now, never."</i></li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Remove
all evergreens after New Year’s and burn them on Epiphany, to warm the
fields and honor the death of the evergreen gods.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On New
Year’s Day, cut an apple in two and whoever eats the bigger half will have
better luck.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Money
left on a windowsill on New Year’s Eve will bring fortune and good luck to
the keeper.</li></ul>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #38761d;">Epiphany</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRh7ewWl57BfN7YHFJSZN_4oSUTv9JaUGpp_GOXe6AVUB4TC98VIuBKZtEbUKHlnc41w-R61yKGECkY0PJ_QBneTBAGxoJ2V9fF3SIATis9mIyc4QV1OxWE0CITFAHWsQExxMjnNTlz164Zc-vvCJ1R1end5HY82mOkDcHbWQbnSiMyp6Ml_D5Hid5RA=s2733" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2493" data-original-width="2733" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRh7ewWl57BfN7YHFJSZN_4oSUTv9JaUGpp_GOXe6AVUB4TC98VIuBKZtEbUKHlnc41w-R61yKGECkY0PJ_QBneTBAGxoJ2V9fF3SIATis9mIyc4QV1OxWE0CITFAHWsQExxMjnNTlz164Zc-vvCJ1R1end5HY82mOkDcHbWQbnSiMyp6Ml_D5Hid5RA=w400-h365" width="400" /></a></b></div></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Now, I know it seems odd, but ever since my, <i>ehem</i>,
epiphany with the Mother of Apples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have become enamored with this tide as my moment to honor the orchard; a realm
in which I do a lot of my work year-round. Does sound counterintuitive since
there are no blossoms, greens or fruit on the tree, but it’s sort of perfect
for me; the apple trees always have a few decaying remnants on their boughs;
fermented by frost and time, swinging stubbornly on brittle black
branches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is the power of life
deep beneath this layer of death, and it’s in this green heart I find a
connection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s sleepy, and wants
coaxing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hear it…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Washington is known for our vast array of apple trees and
variety of the malus fruits, and so fruit-bearing trees-- especially apples--
play a unique and deeply spiritual role in my practice as a witch. It is
in the orchard one finds so much ripening life and rotting death. It is
in the orchards I find my favorite meadow-spirits, and it is along the <i>pomme
</i>trellis hedges I wander to and from worlds on occasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why the apple?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like a heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s this trophy of the land, this beautiful,
symmetrical, useful entity that has traveled the world bringing endless joy and
nurturing.<i> Mater Malus</i> has a sweet and spicy smell when she holds you, and is
ever warm and yielding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’m in
love. I think she reciprocates.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Because I work with apples so regularly in my witching and
because they are symbolic of the Witch Queen herself as she moves through the
seasons changing shapes, I find a spiritual center in the high grass of the
orchards. And so, what is typically a Holy day for Christians, has become
my own personal day of exploration of personal gnosis, meditating on the power
of this liminal god who has long grown with me and long helped me grow.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I take those old charms to heart and put them to work for me
as a witch; the Apple Mother calls on me to sing, to sacrifice, to warm her
branches and shake the rot from her roots. She calls on me to awaken the
land with song, circle, cider and service:<o:p></o:p></p>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Take
all the Yuletide greens from the home and burn them in the bonfire
outside, to purify the garden.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Sprinkle
the ashes of the Yule log around the orchard for blessing and to drive
away impure or restless spirits.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Shake
the frost and rot off the apple trees while imploring them to give you
good fruit come summer.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Place
lucky stones on the branches of the orchard trees to encourage a bountiful
year.</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Christian folk magicians may mark their doors in three crosses to banish other witches (at least, those with evil intent).</li></ul><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Pour
warmed cider or good ale at the roots of the apple trees in thanks, and to
encourage them to grow. A few sun-wheel cakes go a long way in
sweetening up relations between witches and apple gods.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ul>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>“Oh, here we go a-wassailing among the leaves so green</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>and here we come a-wandering so fair to be seen--</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>Love and joy come to you, and to you your wassail too,</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>and god bless you and send you a happy New Year,</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>the god send you a happy New Year.”</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoLKyngHIHa-L8mxaMbas_VyZX1mDrkijZ8pdnJfI0R6yE5jSIqNgoUzXA7ENKpqEmlCfvbmylOxjhycOWPSeYxF9bicjhEhNy392nlTMz9PkFurOlVUcYh6Spu_9qGj-XNyaT0fsZ1D0IgD4GDhaTbaoZtF_Afk-Vp5-T6fcAR6s-XFZQAcOvGbL6ig=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoLKyngHIHa-L8mxaMbas_VyZX1mDrkijZ8pdnJfI0R6yE5jSIqNgoUzXA7ENKpqEmlCfvbmylOxjhycOWPSeYxF9bicjhEhNy392nlTMz9PkFurOlVUcYh6Spu_9qGj-XNyaT0fsZ1D0IgD4GDhaTbaoZtF_Afk-Vp5-T6fcAR6s-XFZQAcOvGbL6ig=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-82691702131317937612021-11-10T19:35:00.004-08:002022-01-08T13:56:52.050-08:00Needles and Pinlore<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNjxCELGU5PMn1UlPk0tlxETfVtxBTZWv5T7VK-QN8But4AJPTteIT5XUVaU7sgldK4O1mvz1pc0H8xUibGWY-YgKd2MBhw1ucbYGX8iVR7s3tZMLlUfjIvsye49yXkPWSBE_s4h6-iXH/s2048/IMG_4185+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1561" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNjxCELGU5PMn1UlPk0tlxETfVtxBTZWv5T7VK-QN8But4AJPTteIT5XUVaU7sgldK4O1mvz1pc0H8xUibGWY-YgKd2MBhw1ucbYGX8iVR7s3tZMLlUfjIvsye49yXkPWSBE_s4h6-iXH/s320/IMG_4185+%25282%2529.JPG" width="244" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Leave a loaf of freshly baked bread, stuck with many nails at a crossroads, and all who pass it will be cursed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tJ7KasXlTrihjW4ie_MY-vNZaWTC8YQPbUqT9TemqPSLc67ZzgklGZsd7y1nw2O2dM7azDDnDh8ZB1tgDOkav9ExDysiMRFL4mRRE3uXfRHYODAUj5PTnzJdzF-osBtSIHTvHqnauMr9/s2048/IMG_4165+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tJ7KasXlTrihjW4ie_MY-vNZaWTC8YQPbUqT9TemqPSLc67ZzgklGZsd7y1nw2O2dM7azDDnDh8ZB1tgDOkav9ExDysiMRFL4mRRE3uXfRHYODAUj5PTnzJdzF-osBtSIHTvHqnauMr9/s320/IMG_4165+%25282%2529.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Stick pins in your sleeve on St. Agnes Eve and you will see the the lad you'll marry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu0pzGMams9Cmz8vGF9l0bFdiIie3Myyo5JhQy-YGPocCRLrSN6QQ9O5tThksdE2vudBJ-9B45JxLzoI6TvqZsXE5QVdh9oRdnENq_smjk6x9f0AVg1xFn3zXJujfFJPnlh4xlw6uoVAR5/s2048/IMG_4177+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1363" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu0pzGMams9Cmz8vGF9l0bFdiIie3Myyo5JhQy-YGPocCRLrSN6QQ9O5tThksdE2vudBJ-9B45JxLzoI6TvqZsXE5QVdh9oRdnENq_smjk6x9f0AVg1xFn3zXJujfFJPnlh4xlw6uoVAR5/s320/IMG_4177+%25282%2529.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Like a pendulum; hold a needle on a thread above the head or belly of a pregnant woman; it was once believed, in simpler times, that a circle would indicate a girl and a linear swing would indicate a boy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju5e0V50UnmrN52Wfu1y-OYP71X6Lb-fMEhc7qpVzA7f-4aGhg5qtB5g-lNNADdwmYmffpOpIhXTL-ulMRUfkUeulzz9eytTJOUFIZmAPxzkSPzF5AVEAoZ15nJ1Sx-XbLxA8qbx0jLshdbLFeiD3owkQyKhdlBD0sXAoAppH1GNeBs-bpiiLOiPcHRA=s3888" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="2592" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju5e0V50UnmrN52Wfu1y-OYP71X6Lb-fMEhc7qpVzA7f-4aGhg5qtB5g-lNNADdwmYmffpOpIhXTL-ulMRUfkUeulzz9eytTJOUFIZmAPxzkSPzF5AVEAoZ15nJ1Sx-XbLxA8qbx0jLshdbLFeiD3owkQyKhdlBD0sXAoAppH1GNeBs-bpiiLOiPcHRA=s320" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div>Stick a lemon full of needles as you curse the name of the one who has irritated you.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4aR1rXXi9JwHO13Y_t2A7ruEyACly9aGgC3BaVGV0IjiuC_hh9SgVW-qTfrEHGDyBN-Tmr0tBriSR7J8-TZFMzPBFpYYYSXhO4bI7oZlQ2pcRe-eQqpDPU07Ii367Yng_ZG3PVK6OSvo/s2048/IMG_4193+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1388" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4aR1rXXi9JwHO13Y_t2A7ruEyACly9aGgC3BaVGV0IjiuC_hh9SgVW-qTfrEHGDyBN-Tmr0tBriSR7J8-TZFMzPBFpYYYSXhO4bI7oZlQ2pcRe-eQqpDPU07Ii367Yng_ZG3PVK6OSvo/s320/IMG_4193+%25282%2529.JPG" width="217" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If two needles named for lovers are placed in a bowl of water float together, the lovers will stay together. But if they drift apart, so would their love.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYB38MHPmOF-ENhFoYvUsZmRmS7rlxRA3mM_6cVnH5-O-6NJ4n52_naDuViGTz4p7aEky2krtWDu-o8CuSTtDEyi7VuruT21YIC48bRvH97ueN3xe63FrfS5v3UQN7_OCZUgmjgVuv9lP9/s2048/IMG_3937.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYB38MHPmOF-ENhFoYvUsZmRmS7rlxRA3mM_6cVnH5-O-6NJ4n52_naDuViGTz4p7aEky2krtWDu-o8CuSTtDEyi7VuruT21YIC48bRvH97ueN3xe63FrfS5v3UQN7_OCZUgmjgVuv9lP9/s320/IMG_3937.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Nine pins in a black bottle, with noxious substances and ill-wishes, buried in the garden of your foe, will hex them deeply.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7dF8-gU3NhJmqoRsNsCWQHF5lXJ9AoazXBowr8UWIktZLNgXkR8OM75belAN9wNqPWBhDizeo34jyNU9YQzx6pL5APrnQkrX4gNjPMrP0ORjX-gQQ0ZloqWkvmk3f_4hzJYQIJBJMk9L/s2048/IMG_3941.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7dF8-gU3NhJmqoRsNsCWQHF5lXJ9AoazXBowr8UWIktZLNgXkR8OM75belAN9wNqPWBhDizeo34jyNU9YQzx6pL5APrnQkrX4gNjPMrP0ORjX-gQQ0ZloqWkvmk3f_4hzJYQIJBJMk9L/s320/IMG_3941.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A wax heart stuck with nine pins and roasted over a fire will burn the heart of he who you have named the heart for.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbzCcMBuFPsx6-jiSqwo4AS0vtpWaSLCd89bzbhJssNGZ2qegWLg4Gm_Rhhr-DcqNgxXXm_WYK515mYLlZ-RwXOROYu2UykY2c-3HQJDm7Ia0uaFXS_prC5VIrlpiEQWue6xL8AOLXcCW/s2048/IMG_4084.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbzCcMBuFPsx6-jiSqwo4AS0vtpWaSLCd89bzbhJssNGZ2qegWLg4Gm_Rhhr-DcqNgxXXm_WYK515mYLlZ-RwXOROYu2UykY2c-3HQJDm7Ia0uaFXS_prC5VIrlpiEQWue6xL8AOLXcCW/s320/IMG_4084.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A dolly stuck with pins, lets the pain and evils in.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2g3ec9-_8mlWdvwccc-t3r53-glINwQYK2peLjQPbZPREK1W8hcX8eSC2a90YXN5e5ZUc-hc-z4Ad5NZteEyiKaQ9zP9iOB70A4zXnRZ4KBVNv6KPtbc-BJ4Ne51fvfjeVtOfDDEXt1j/s2048/IMG_4097.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2g3ec9-_8mlWdvwccc-t3r53-glINwQYK2peLjQPbZPREK1W8hcX8eSC2a90YXN5e5ZUc-hc-z4Ad5NZteEyiKaQ9zP9iOB70A4zXnRZ4KBVNv6KPtbc-BJ4Ne51fvfjeVtOfDDEXt1j/s320/IMG_4097.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Nine needles stuck in the blade bone of a rabbit, which is then placed under the bed, will produce prophetic dreams.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZJmfDdv0QJUdIbzwNWcIFB9d0t9EaDgQ5F-1xlLTFIfPSGETj3BcqDMWChOB3OqxnGqXLIYR55TC2D69GeqYaRI-C2ou94B-9PJk3uZZt8KFUxAS6gGHXrM5FZ0CfEHDF8HFPkx2R_9f/s2048/IMG_4090.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZJmfDdv0QJUdIbzwNWcIFB9d0t9EaDgQ5F-1xlLTFIfPSGETj3BcqDMWChOB3OqxnGqXLIYR55TC2D69GeqYaRI-C2ou94B-9PJk3uZZt8KFUxAS6gGHXrM5FZ0CfEHDF8HFPkx2R_9f/s320/IMG_4090.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Stick nine needles in a candle one by one from top to bottom and name each for a foe. As the candle burns down, so will those named.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Want more needle-lore? Check out this amazing contribution to the witchery community by my friend Kamden S. Cornell! It's a sensational recipe book for good, sharp, magic. I loved being inspired by this book and I have really appreciated <a href="https://www.heartandvineapothecary.com/">Heart & Vine Apothecary's</a> beautiful, powerful work in the folk-witch community. Get your copy now!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyhTsJwJ8MN52xNHQL7mDNg2xhVXfF3Hs0F7EDn5LVErR1Lov5lNKYrzDxwrSztd1luOcs05FfzrG1NM2Wg0xnviLm-hkAxXJlurrOn_lPSeRcjAk3u1BImJQMzQEIK2DcOM5QyRWSocmM/s2048/IMG_4146+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1722" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyhTsJwJ8MN52xNHQL7mDNg2xhVXfF3Hs0F7EDn5LVErR1Lov5lNKYrzDxwrSztd1luOcs05FfzrG1NM2Wg0xnviLm-hkAxXJlurrOn_lPSeRcjAk3u1BImJQMzQEIK2DcOM5QyRWSocmM/s320/IMG_4146+%25282%2529.JPG" width="269" /></a></div><p></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-6096053234862244522021-09-21T07:08:00.000-07:002022-01-08T13:56:31.900-08:00The Sythe Moon and the Feast of Nuts: Part II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFuE3VXcFmdL8dEQXqkEEm9rQ74-jmS-o4YXcHZjJxPNcuX3WxX-bDhMG-MJN752BivHXEtN0J84mx-5q9TGZ6CWhbp6gbScgmdhT7TBlKCqbgx3Vca2yeG15_aw7Jt8kiUOak7ZH4hSL/s2048/IMG_3792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFuE3VXcFmdL8dEQXqkEEm9rQ74-jmS-o4YXcHZjJxPNcuX3WxX-bDhMG-MJN752BivHXEtN0J84mx-5q9TGZ6CWhbp6gbScgmdhT7TBlKCqbgx3Vca2yeG15_aw7Jt8kiUOak7ZH4hSL/w400-h266/IMG_3792.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Another year in quarantine, another Feast Day in solitude. The Harvest Moon is my birth moon, it is when I came into the world at the time of the scales, under the auspicious Glittering Venus, the Morning Star. This Tide is for corn and nuts and grains and apples. For the late roses and the early frosts and the first rains after the relentless summer dryness. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tEAtr32hCHAVHfTKt7BFkE5difrkG5OXwgX0uHKJ391PorixgDa-7fXwuD4FLTt_Y8VP4v43tdeJnaWBE5FS-sxUwQm0zFb3Ri-0Gx8EnpsdHzWEymis2AF1elspdEVJYJFZg9-MWoU9/s2048/IMG_3762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tEAtr32hCHAVHfTKt7BFkE5difrkG5OXwgX0uHKJ391PorixgDa-7fXwuD4FLTt_Y8VP4v43tdeJnaWBE5FS-sxUwQm0zFb3Ri-0Gx8EnpsdHzWEymis2AF1elspdEVJYJFZg9-MWoU9/w266-h400/IMG_3762.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>For me, this is the time when the lightyear turns dark, when the sun passes from spring's hands to those of the winter Hag and all those riding, nightmare-inducing, wild spirits of the crossroads who go about giving a cold breath to the land. The Hags that ride at night on their many implements and beasts, these are the ones I follow across the night sky.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2TLUFKPv6-tOeEg4g2n8CxbD2msmn-Nurq7RsIgQFvi4NX7WKKhkeNEWElV2zjBP0seANwNKWiY3nsEJBQm5JTfd2FOtA_C2Q0g_w5qRfjydqyvZTlRiK0R9nHHG3J0GNxMsAoQVxS7Gf/s2048/IMG_3796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2TLUFKPv6-tOeEg4g2n8CxbD2msmn-Nurq7RsIgQFvi4NX7WKKhkeNEWElV2zjBP0seANwNKWiY3nsEJBQm5JTfd2FOtA_C2Q0g_w5qRfjydqyvZTlRiK0R9nHHG3J0GNxMsAoQVxS7Gf/w266-h400/IMG_3796.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">They have come for the sacrifice; for the turning of the land from fruitful and green to a time of reservation and survival. This is the time when the horned father rides with all his host and array. The autumn is personified as a lush woman bearing a cornucopia. a sickle, a crown of roses and the flames of burning fields around her. And beside her, a withering pyre, where there rises shadows and spirits. That's what I see in the subtle turn of the land, in the change of the trees. And for this moment, where the day and night are equal and turning toward the short dark essence of a dark-year, we honor the sustenance that emerges from this tide, and taste the changes. I think we all await it; this time of pumpkins and apples and sweet smells and savory ones.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwY0j8UxJw9r8mWNL_b3cXe410sGprOn-v17gXemng7L-6Fvdw5_B9oOOHll0ls7Vsv231CBCbMK-nQPh82s7rKY7ishS_ErGacJuzEWtPun5Hi2h2eHYzm3nHMcTzMIdAdlN7UwCwZDCU/s2048/IMG_3757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwY0j8UxJw9r8mWNL_b3cXe410sGprOn-v17gXemng7L-6Fvdw5_B9oOOHll0ls7Vsv231CBCbMK-nQPh82s7rKY7ishS_ErGacJuzEWtPun5Hi2h2eHYzm3nHMcTzMIdAdlN7UwCwZDCU/w266-h400/IMG_3757.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The Harvest Is... food, family, home, sacrifice, gathering, rush, preparation, sex, finality... it is the light waning, and the all-consuming darkness and the message that it sends to us; there must always be a balance, a time of emptiness, a hunger. All things must change, and we can only hope that the change of the tides, there will come a change... one that will reopen the world.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPLqH6OzTlY7BoNjXagEK4WsRD47X3j5y-TV5twr-3RHY9iHQzDt3cHWWke1wC01GY_wbV256qUiyIgUrF9STQsRCyLvQXWvfYLUAyiytPRdWdt0r5jG3TAYrdAdY3Q65EDlG9_KgjWOk/s4896/P1030383+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPLqH6OzTlY7BoNjXagEK4WsRD47X3j5y-TV5twr-3RHY9iHQzDt3cHWWke1wC01GY_wbV256qUiyIgUrF9STQsRCyLvQXWvfYLUAyiytPRdWdt0r5jG3TAYrdAdY3Q65EDlG9_KgjWOk/w400-h300/P1030383+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p>Death is always with us, some times more than other times... right now death is feasting heavily. I accept this, and think on the nature of mortality. I watch the leaves wither on the trees and appreciate the change that death brings. I watch the tearing of rabbits by the owls; this is the cost, it is the way of things. And I look at the many dead from this disease, and prepare my mind for the change this has brought in the world. And so, I feast. On nuts, and grains, and apples, and corn, in honor of life, and death, and that sacred dance they do.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLPpn2l1V2Bfx8e848uw6MqoE163e08pCzl0F0RkBLFZGTYM8xDKwCW5xUyQ-bXUBr_dz3uNE3CLYiAm6cb4uYms863HsN2hBaHPaP6pHb9laPHVV1A6cxw2VLgbtivqbnUXaktxrdazN/s2048/IMG_3709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLPpn2l1V2Bfx8e848uw6MqoE163e08pCzl0F0RkBLFZGTYM8xDKwCW5xUyQ-bXUBr_dz3uNE3CLYiAm6cb4uYms863HsN2hBaHPaP6pHb9laPHVV1A6cxw2VLgbtivqbnUXaktxrdazN/w400-h266/IMG_3709.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p></p></div></div></div>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-20521823229036716642021-08-18T12:28:00.001-07:002022-01-08T13:56:12.922-08:00The Path of the Seasons<p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JDyGvX3jHr90m4jbiigt-5Rzwur21znPOE81_Eb19eGH0lxCI9xIZ7nFvOj5AaVUn3Z_K0f086UzMUdCbNRHrqDQUm1U2pjdOq0GH3ePLc-3rPK9eDqdX9jK4v4KQlMbxV1KVaA2wygO/s2048/Fuller.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1767" data-original-width="2048" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JDyGvX3jHr90m4jbiigt-5Rzwur21znPOE81_Eb19eGH0lxCI9xIZ7nFvOj5AaVUn3Z_K0f086UzMUdCbNRHrqDQUm1U2pjdOq0GH3ePLc-3rPK9eDqdX9jK4v4KQlMbxV1KVaA2wygO/w400-h345/Fuller.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">We all see the change of the year differently. What one witch calls the calendar, another calls a Wheel of the Year, but I call it the change of the tides. That's what the seasons are, after all; the tides of the shift of our world. It follows a rhythm, a clock, a sacred melody whose notes conjure life and death in turn...</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The seasons are everything in my work; I time so much of my practices by where the sun and moon fall, what is turning green or brown. This is the time of pods and husks and dry grass. It is in the moons after High Summer and before the Equinox that I call <i>Darkyear</i>. When the world turns over to the hands of those old hag gods and wild hunters, there is a tangible shift in the air; a toasty smell, something bold, something brittle, sweet and acrid, a lot of smoke, a little ripeness of fruit. It dances on my tongue and I swallow it. I love the grain seasons just as I love the green seasons. Transitions and the in-between are the place for me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">How does the passage of time move for you? Is it the churning of a wheel? The stretching of roots? How do you trace the path of the Sun and Moon?</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Equinox Spring/Final Frost/First Flowers</b></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's when the violets come in. It's when the bluebells hang. It's when the first lilacs are just ever so perfectly purple, peaceful and perfuming the air. The March hares rise, the days grow longer and the morning is a little less wet each day. It is the tide of the passing of the cold dark sun to the new spring. Here there be brides of the greening and fresh antlered-gods, and virid virgins. Hail to them all. I do nothing but enjoy the wildcrafting and the rain-dodging, and pray the frost away.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjI0mtlAj-kc3O3qDKQN2qEBj58D6tJ6SwZ6k80r_T9yQbmhSVcD55rNbvuXzHFpgsAMkOc3eSprTCw_QYPDCUCZO_nyfl5frzGsqlVhtDDwFYvzfkK_jmY254hIyldOjaBXyJKF5wnqhZ/s3534/Concern.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3534" data-original-width="3229" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjI0mtlAj-kc3O3qDKQN2qEBj58D6tJ6SwZ6k80r_T9yQbmhSVcD55rNbvuXzHFpgsAMkOc3eSprTCw_QYPDCUCZO_nyfl5frzGsqlVhtDDwFYvzfkK_jmY254hIyldOjaBXyJKF5wnqhZ/s320/Concern.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><b><i>The Feast of Hares</i></b></div><div>When the Pink Moon rises, so with it does the tide of the hares. Rabbit spirits and Mother of Leverets make the world fruitful and populous. Thumping the land awake, and making wild all our rites of spring. The hare and rabbit spirits invoke the time with their mysterious rituals of sex and greening. It's more a feast of flowers than anything else; an excuse to eat as the rabbit does, to enjoy the floral wonders of the growing and turning land. I love this feast; it's a time to sharpen culinary and creative skills, to forage and nurture the wild senses, and to celebrate my favorite little buddy, the lagomorph. Feast, my fluffy friends.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLw2Sk-N1kvXT92DZyBvtnV9x4HTlnwu5lU-YQ2M7_e-fQb_0cLwCmFh6I9Ui8ILHKOf248kVw9aMrGpDcVl9A6yai03TT38aa4UbctuAo8D2f1pGnk2bHa5iHF6i4xMqnZmDenfBwTzM/s4896/P1010772.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLw2Sk-N1kvXT92DZyBvtnV9x4HTlnwu5lU-YQ2M7_e-fQb_0cLwCmFh6I9Ui8ILHKOf248kVw9aMrGpDcVl9A6yai03TT38aa4UbctuAo8D2f1pGnk2bHa5iHF6i4xMqnZmDenfBwTzM/s320/P1010772.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div><i><b>May Day</b></i></div><div>What other day is there for snails and flour. May's Moon is for flowers and festivals; it's a time for baskets and eggs and hares and happiness, spring is in full bloom and what is more alive than the ripening of life around us? For some witches, Beltane and Walpurgis are these powerful moments of flight and freedom but for me, I just like to honor the beauty of the time I suppose with a little thought here and there. Sometimes it's fine to have a relationship with a season that at some moments meaningless and at other moments, everything... There was a time in my life when Beltane meant a lot, but now, May will pass me by with almost no real notice. There's love there, and the root of that is deep.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXcUwGiHSX_6vMbbqW2HXEvQnXSi0dTaZ-w_cbje_e1geo_8kd43fye9k5-kDRSUu5CuI3AsX9r3Xq-N5C8ruChMsvfz6Vk8yhyd1J2TFhum4Cu-Cpd6myG5Zr8bDW_EOH7MxmlaL5jMn/s2048/Image.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1374" data-original-width="2048" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXcUwGiHSX_6vMbbqW2HXEvQnXSi0dTaZ-w_cbje_e1geo_8kd43fye9k5-kDRSUu5CuI3AsX9r3Xq-N5C8ruChMsvfz6Vk8yhyd1J2TFhum4Cu-Cpd6myG5Zr8bDW_EOH7MxmlaL5jMn/s320/Image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div><b><i>The Feast of Pines</i></b></div><div>Nothing tastes quite as sweet as the warming sap of conifers. Pines ooze from their cracks and craggy parts with sticky sap. The green ends of the spruce are pale and petal soft. The cedar roses smell like cinnamon and sunlight, and the pollen on the pines makes a fine yellow paste when mixed with honey. The crumbling decay is dry, the needles are pliable. This is the time to honor the greenwood walking along the land in all their fine array.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuKlahUBttbnZwTPam4Cjr4NbVVkhlMRPQ40FQ4crwfQizMX82JMEh8sODXSkG8SJt5Ygq0OhZ6MDDSJpL8F2j530mJ7JwvMPE0ycEKH08X9koAbLU0UhO6Qjq3zMe_tfbRFmbHzg5Kj7/s4896/P1020808.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuKlahUBttbnZwTPam4Cjr4NbVVkhlMRPQ40FQ4crwfQizMX82JMEh8sODXSkG8SJt5Ygq0OhZ6MDDSJpL8F2j530mJ7JwvMPE0ycEKH08X9koAbLU0UhO6Qjq3zMe_tfbRFmbHzg5Kj7/s320/P1020808.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><i><b>Midsummer's Eve</b></i></div><div>The sun rises, and nothing stays dead, every flower grows and withers here. This is the time of warmth and yellows and golds. Midsummer is a magical time, for divinations and seeing beyond this world, and for flying by firelit nights. Witches dance round the ferns and divine by the river waves. Find your romances on this night, go flying with that love, use it and be wild with it. Make a wreath of flowers and let them sink or swim...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjytYdZhBz7cErEpdAcaXy_P3onpUc2FRfmY9pmilzgoBsTTlc6S7CwX4fbkArA6RbbJm2cDaG4tZ9vT0u7Mp8d1vuhgvRfYtSplHpwSlC9fR3yevi2MY64fs9CPLD3uSIkqewB8D86N2-0/s2048/eves.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1707" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjytYdZhBz7cErEpdAcaXy_P3onpUc2FRfmY9pmilzgoBsTTlc6S7CwX4fbkArA6RbbJm2cDaG4tZ9vT0u7Mp8d1vuhgvRfYtSplHpwSlC9fR3yevi2MY64fs9CPLD3uSIkqewB8D86N2-0/w267-h320/eves.jpg" width="267" /></a></div></div></div></div><div><div><div></div></div></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><b><i>St. John's Day</i></b><div style="text-align: left;"></div></div><div>The water isn't warm, but it's warming. It's holy, the saint's water, it anoints and purifies. A time for taking away illness and for delivering fortunes and futures. It's of little consequence to my work but it's recently become a perfect time for purification in-between the great feasts of my faith. I call it a "fresh root", one that may grow strong like the trunk of some great tree, or simply fade to nothing. I don't think it's for me to know right now. It's just part of the path.</div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbpLrvOohmq0b5sxaSExt2_WOaBllW7MebUo8jX842vvfF6p7FefIhyHkVgm6I-QMBSmdXMXYYxgKpMPN4CfwmSMksp65J99XjesNfavNkbZeat60yfOoQMU0Z8dhef3TeHQT1U0dqR8o/s2048/IMG_3134.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbpLrvOohmq0b5sxaSExt2_WOaBllW7MebUo8jX842vvfF6p7FefIhyHkVgm6I-QMBSmdXMXYYxgKpMPN4CfwmSMksp65J99XjesNfavNkbZeat60yfOoQMU0Z8dhef3TeHQT1U0dqR8o/s320/IMG_3134.JPG" width="213" /></a></div></div><p><br /> <b><i>Highsummer/ Feast of Grains</i></b></p></div><div style="text-align: left;">The height of summer is a beautiful thing; it is the Feast of Grains; when wheats are ripe and breads are plenty. The bread represents the alchemy of seasons, of human ingenuity. It is the body of the old gods of the land, the culmination of green life made brown and buttered and good to eat. This is the tide of sustenance, to celebrate the height of a life that is so very fleeting.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJJYXssa_uq5Z4liEMcxAn9SdpcxlV8QaoEJeLK0JJFhhFBgvJSaDoeI02qdUvFy_Asm1SAvDQoqyDVNglRDRvWrESNbWXLMw12_oLyOOZIc964_EadJH6jRrmKhUNEzNC0G19LEqDl14/s2048/Haloween.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1572" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJJYXssa_uq5Z4liEMcxAn9SdpcxlV8QaoEJeLK0JJFhhFBgvJSaDoeI02qdUvFy_Asm1SAvDQoqyDVNglRDRvWrESNbWXLMw12_oLyOOZIc964_EadJH6jRrmKhUNEzNC0G19LEqDl14/s320/Haloween.JPG" width="246" /></a></div><div><b><i>The Feast of Apples</i></b></div><div>The making of cider and chips from the ripe and ready apples of the Northwest is a wonderful time; it is the tide of Mother Apple and her brood of sweetness. The taste of the air is full and warm and crispy. What does a witch do with the Feast of Apples? Why, they celebrate the sweet life giver of course! They count the seeds on their knuckles with ancient rhymes, they bob for them in pits of water and roast them by fires. They coat them in caramel and smash them into cider. Cut them in two, sing of their tidings and enjoy that moment of reaching into the mysterious green for that special, perfect apple. Apple Mother is a god of mine and her feast days occur in Spring and Autumn, marking her promenade across the landscape of the year.</div><div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ud3akm5rjUlh7IqLzh7cSR8YB1iGB35QZS6DZfLjizDC6zUHdSnGVgT5SA6zLjjWjCnLwi7uDxBEYGUKL3mk67zgFg79Oi_HIgBOMmhE0bCWISR9P86gjV3WdCC7Hn7Q6Tzk6r_W0WR8/s2048/20200908_160120.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ud3akm5rjUlh7IqLzh7cSR8YB1iGB35QZS6DZfLjizDC6zUHdSnGVgT5SA6zLjjWjCnLwi7uDxBEYGUKL3mk67zgFg79Oi_HIgBOMmhE0bCWISR9P86gjV3WdCC7Hn7Q6Tzk6r_W0WR8/s320/20200908_160120.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p></div><div><i><b>Equinox Autumn/ The Feast of Nuts</b></i></div><div>The sun changes hands, moving into a dark place, where the sun's power wanes and the nights begin their decent into darkness. The meeting of day and night in this liminal space gives rise to the beginning of Autumn and all the woe and wonder it brings. Here, the Hags of Winter rise and wink up at the fading sun. There's nothing left but the bitter work now, the frosting of every leaf and the beating down of the land into stiffness. The Hunter raises up with all the host of the dead and shades.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75jotjgp6LsapyJXe30rxMAYfjh7K2X0iISURDLcAXMUohC9tsBxdq5Zsk2-8JlD-CC9t2H57DX48KU3GeJqbZXZVvSTB3_dFgmRK1Sw4OZvy1OeZB17pe-c7BXUJNnckkwqv6ncEfH-8/s2048/Powderbet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1518" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75jotjgp6LsapyJXe30rxMAYfjh7K2X0iISURDLcAXMUohC9tsBxdq5Zsk2-8JlD-CC9t2H57DX48KU3GeJqbZXZVvSTB3_dFgmRK1Sw4OZvy1OeZB17pe-c7BXUJNnckkwqv6ncEfH-8/s320/Powderbet.jpg" width="237" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><i><b>The Feast of Corn</b></i></div><div>The tide of the corn feasts is a tide to welcome the fearful return of the dark year, a proper feast to the Hags and Horned ones. The equinox proper is a ritual moment, a time for passages... but the corn feast is for the welcoming, a way to offer your hand to the wild ride and go flying with all those underworldly things that rise with the wane of the sun's power. Go into those fields and get scared. Swipe your sickle at the grass in sacrifice. Offer your foods to the spirits, souls and otherworldly gods, in gratitude.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLD6MpXsZISxtfiDs-GULRbo6EclfaypfZ5d0sv8twaOFRaJ6rsV4RtFfDHzkGJEoDQysqc36GECi8svCG___UZoCxX5-NLCv_g1kNUMIiioPehrDoRtOmS-li7ynBTe3W_WKp2McGtYiU/s4896/P1000406.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4896" data-original-width="3672" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLD6MpXsZISxtfiDs-GULRbo6EclfaypfZ5d0sv8twaOFRaJ6rsV4RtFfDHzkGJEoDQysqc36GECi8svCG___UZoCxX5-NLCv_g1kNUMIiioPehrDoRtOmS-li7ynBTe3W_WKp2McGtYiU/s320/P1000406.JPG" width="240" /></a></div></div><div><i><b>All Hallows Eve</b></i></div><div>It's a feast of pumpkins, a time for witching things. The sun is low and the fields are withering. Everything smells good, even the marshes. Everything tastes good; all the best of human memory and survival finding a place in the kitchen witching that we call the feasts of fall. This is not my new year, this is my celebration of life. This is the glorious reign of the dead, the damned and all dark and enduring things. Ghosts and spirits, foul and fair gods of wicker and roses and thorns... they command the short days and chilly nights. A witch makes off with cabbages on this day, sups with the silent dead and serves the games of love fortune. Hail to the pumpkin feast and the prince of the field, and every cawing crow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguYFu0JkOJse_c8jvHaVT5NOhbkexd6wZir-rhDONN-MUW4TpCpihnpkkcMeR3pRNH2UHYfRxbH4IxEk6lNCF12n2i-UM7-f3rlDGCobWBi7AiVfaLl7cxeEcxpPS80MPNM_K9tCv7rGw3/s4896/P1000446.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguYFu0JkOJse_c8jvHaVT5NOhbkexd6wZir-rhDONN-MUW4TpCpihnpkkcMeR3pRNH2UHYfRxbH4IxEk6lNCF12n2i-UM7-f3rlDGCobWBi7AiVfaLl7cxeEcxpPS80MPNM_K9tCv7rGw3/s320/P1000446.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Hekate's Night</b></i></div><div>Mother of witches, queen of the underworld, holder of keys and patron light of all those witches and poisoners and feral beasts of the world. To your sacred fires, we commend our very souls.</div><div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimGoCWuYq9GCi6brxVbdUBRlg14U-mzF4EDE0Zs61C4QR1ofK4IafNpSjU2Zkm4u7Sp_I8r3hdh_1YfAhMg3J0E57S3TKQdjQM5z1wSTa0e_VW9HLkJx01xnMUaeN_dWvc1C-Tkx5e5oTQ/s2751/Tresbelle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2668" data-original-width="2751" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimGoCWuYq9GCi6brxVbdUBRlg14U-mzF4EDE0Zs61C4QR1ofK4IafNpSjU2Zkm4u7Sp_I8r3hdh_1YfAhMg3J0E57S3TKQdjQM5z1wSTa0e_VW9HLkJx01xnMUaeN_dWvc1C-Tkx5e5oTQ/s320/Tresbelle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p></div><div><i><b>Midwinter's Day, New Years & Epiphany</b></i></div><div>When we dream of Christmas Eve and New Years-- we think of the food, the family, the ferns and fine fir trees strung with lights. It is a cold time of year but full of such warm tidings. I've never liked Christmas. But I love the turn of the year, the wassailing of the apples orchards, the shaking of snow off boughs in a ritual of awaking for the land. Midwinter is a dark and dreary realm in the roots of the yearly tide, but it's when we most gather round our traditions and pray, pray for the year to turn safely, and for the food to never run out. Epiphany is this witch's time to honor the apple orchard and the burning of the evergreens.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-REFNnvuvgl7gfscNFfwHQ7WJ50HvAtGlsxOEpO4rb2WHy16vmS6biY_aEloyRF9y6U7_DTEv4mqjpJvHP8-zgjnrtvPtkjPHrWEPYYiKA0wqxXWS0A9BwIKa1px2B31vhAGdyJnCjmE/s4896/P1010243.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-REFNnvuvgl7gfscNFfwHQ7WJ50HvAtGlsxOEpO4rb2WHy16vmS6biY_aEloyRF9y6U7_DTEv4mqjpJvHP8-zgjnrtvPtkjPHrWEPYYiKA0wqxXWS0A9BwIKa1px2B31vhAGdyJnCjmE/s320/P1010243.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>St. Valentine's</i></b></div><div>It's just a little love, and I live for the excuse. I am a love witch; not the manipulative, cold kind, but the pleasing and fickle kind. This isn't the magic of forever, this is the magic of now, and wherever souls gather their wants and needs and desires and give them an altar to live on; one festooned with hearts and doilies and sweet-nothings... something there is summoned. On this day, we summon the spark of curiosity.</div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrlzzTb9mOHec07X6UJxR5g63NRjsJ-cdJLYbyIIPtyrYZDxbzvyYeflTLxmjnC-FMvw-9bPxCDSBevSKgpV14fv5O9mddZFCUHkO69eimpSyYUYnqBns8qRF5lxsO6LN3redppQn2g6MO/s4896/P1020070.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrlzzTb9mOHec07X6UJxR5g63NRjsJ-cdJLYbyIIPtyrYZDxbzvyYeflTLxmjnC-FMvw-9bPxCDSBevSKgpV14fv5O9mddZFCUHkO69eimpSyYUYnqBns8qRF5lxsO6LN3redppQn2g6MO/s320/P1020070.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div></div><br />Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-33286256273739542632021-07-09T17:30:00.003-07:002021-07-10T16:40:53.021-07:00Witchy Recommendation: Motherland: Fort Salem<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSnvfHOyeyjX-oZGjBrSvNpSPAz9Rs-3utp0z9OfICqJ1h9AV5cgPzQ103fsG3pv6FUCoUs0ifbeNW9mRFiYvya3txXGDWDnCgefZfKoKJrrWvmXuAEQ11xb7ON1vEUe5wNgZtHUquh5v0/s4323/Browleer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3314" data-original-width="4323" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSnvfHOyeyjX-oZGjBrSvNpSPAz9Rs-3utp0z9OfICqJ1h9AV5cgPzQ103fsG3pv6FUCoUs0ifbeNW9mRFiYvya3txXGDWDnCgefZfKoKJrrWvmXuAEQ11xb7ON1vEUe5wNgZtHUquh5v0/w400-h306/Browleer.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It's about witches, military service, sex and sound. Get in on this wicked good fun.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yall know me, I tend to stick to reviewing occult books, card decks and magical tools exclusively, but even this folk-witch has her mundane delights, and television is my other altar...</div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">And, like most practicing witches, I'm both hungry for magical media and skeptical of every new occult-themed movie or show that comes out. The day I heard that a production company was filming a young adult series about a female-dominated alternate United States of America whose military's is run by witches, I was pretty much sold on the idea immediately. It's just what I've been waiting for- less sparkles, less Satan, less schtick and shlock, more original substance. Just the idea that anyone would want to explore a universe like that was thrilling to me. It tickled the part of me that loves American history, the part of me that lives for fantasy, thrills and magic...</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Witches are all the rage right now in pop culture. Each year a new round of witchy-movies makes their way to our screens and we witches of the real world spend hours enjoying or hating the new trend. Personally, I only see the witch-media market getting better over time; Anna Biller's 2016 insta-classic <i>The Love Witch</i>, Eggers' stylish horror <i>The VVitch,</i> the revival of <i>The Craft </i>(not an improvement on the 1994 classic but an interesting spin all the same) and a host of new binge-series; <i>The Magicians</i>, <i>Salem</i>, Netflix's interesting but ultimately difficult <i>The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina</i>, and fan-favorite <i>AHS: Coven & Apocalypse- </i>there's a lot of witchy media to nosh on, but a shining gem of a new-comer is Freeform's <i><b><a href="https://www.freeform.com/shows/motherland">Motherland Fort Salem.</a></b></i></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">It sounds almost ridiculous; the US Army run by witches, mystic mycelium and sonic superpowers... but trust me, it is a strange, gritty, fascinating and altogether completely unique take on the word "<b>witch</b>". Imagine an America where the Salem trials uncovered "<i>real" </i>witches, and that those witches agreed to conscription into military service in exchange for their freedom. This is an America that did not develop a dependency on firearms, probably because even the most simple of whispers could disintegrate a bullet... or brain. <i>Motherland's </i>America is even shaped differently, with a great river dividing East and West coasts. Here there be witches, and they are absolute killers. Even the terrorists of <i>Motherland </i>are witches, causing political and religious hysteria with the pop of a balloon. Literally.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">There are no brooms and wands, no cauldrons (yet), but rather- empty wooden boxes full of deadly sounds, tuning forks that measure vocal power, skrying-stone security cameras and some kind of fungus that isn't above healing or harming whenever she desires. The "work" in this show is sound-based, emphasizing the power of the voice, the power generated from our vocal cords-- no glittery sparkles, no god-forsaken <i>blue sky beams</i>. Even the witches' flight is achieved through a type of flying-ointment-like chemical patch (like an external acid dose to the neck), not a broom. Beltane is a military-sanctioned teen orgy, empty balloons are potential bombs, and little yellow birds climb into the mouths of dead men while young lovers float in the night sky. Yeah, it's a hell of a ride.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Battling terrorist's, the politics of forced-service and the complexities of a culture that has always seen and known magic as a tangible reality, this is how the show opens right off the bat, following our three heroin protagonists as they navigate what service and sacrifice mean to them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefh10WlJnezA_F5V_o1E5536FSMqPsz4pNJssAE-i-XNfsIkPdzhAKbbBd8nxrJe1nFEVnf4zjWhyphenhyphenJbuz9R6Imr8in_OyvRIn61OYtEQkMSu2tq0JFaMAVUxPnNYg6-wSqKe76uLPyb8E/s4896/P1030228.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefh10WlJnezA_F5V_o1E5536FSMqPsz4pNJssAE-i-XNfsIkPdzhAKbbBd8nxrJe1nFEVnf4zjWhyphenhyphenJbuz9R6Imr8in_OyvRIn61OYtEQkMSu2tq0JFaMAVUxPnNYg6-wSqKe76uLPyb8E/s320/P1030228.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Izadora and Raelle</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">Our favorite young cadet, Raelle Collar, is a fierce, gifted, rebellious young lesbian, growing increasingly more distrustful of the Army who now own her life, safety and fertility as a weapon of warfare, as an incubator for future warmongers. Her necromantic love interest, Scylla, is aptly named- she's a monster (or appears to be). Cadet Collar is joined by the admittedly irritating but wildly lovable Abigail Bellweather- the high-society leader who embodies feminine sexual prowess and bitter blind nationalism all at once. Rounding out the group is the heart of the team, and maybe even the show: sweet, kind, wise and tame (if not sheltered and overeager) Tally Craven, a seer from NorCal who just might be the most naïve and unlucky patriot around. Under the dutiful eye of Anacostia Quartermaine and General Sarah Alder, the girls not only develop themselves, but a friendship that transcends imagined power and possibilities. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzyQZP4AG7BodSi3D3QYUiZKD-RZiGyZ8DGgPZ3wgoJ6A5K7Uou0-LGccwqc_vF0abXVETBGmYLl4GAou_knQwrUM7UdfQ0zXJpc0Wvvh_4vO2l0cLf6vg3M1cR0Pfsqso5mlLEad02PN/s4896/P1030224.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzyQZP4AG7BodSi3D3QYUiZKD-RZiGyZ8DGgPZ3wgoJ6A5K7Uou0-LGccwqc_vF0abXVETBGmYLl4GAou_knQwrUM7UdfQ0zXJpc0Wvvh_4vO2l0cLf6vg3M1cR0Pfsqso5mlLEad02PN/w400-h300/P1030224.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>mother mycelium tests, S:2-E:3</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />General Alder is a righteous bitch with a cold heart, but just when you come to hate her, she reveals a humanity that leaves you questioning if we really understand the pressures and perils of war. She condescends to her allies and friends, she unscrupulously uses everyone she meets and most terrifyingly, she's not above running the country from the shadows via some dark work. I've loved her complex character development; from ruthless shatterer of dreams, to merciful mother of lost daughters. The actresses' playing these characters are each exceptional at what they do; Taylor Hickson's cadet Collar is easily one of the most likeable leading ladies in a long while and Hickson was a perfect choice to bring intensity to the role. Personally, I think Demetria McKinney's Anacostia is probably one of the best characters on the program: she is moral, she is just, she has compassion and steel in her spine... and maybe something a tad bit self-destructive inside too. <p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">I love that the gifts these women (and men, who attend a separate militaty school) have is referred to as "work" rather than magic. In fact, I don't think the word "magic" appears in the show at all, even the "spells" being used (which are notes and harmonies) are called <i>seeds </i>I. Love. It. I love that the cast is full of women and nonbinary people of every shape, size, sexual identity and fluidity-- representation in every corner and an emphasis on powerful women of color. I've got to respect the normalization of free-love, pansexuality, queerness, butchness, femmness, and body-diversity, it is so affirming.</p><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;">I highly recommend <i>Motherland: Fort Salem,</i> available on Freeform or on Hulu. I think it's the kind of refreshing take on witchcraft and magic that many of us everyday practitioners might crave, have missed, will need to wash the taste of so many magical-media failures out of our mouths. it's a breath of fresh air, or rather, a freaking storm. So far, this second season has been everything I've wanted and I'm really pleased at all the little details (Izadora's skrying-stone x-ray anyone?). This show certainly deserves a bigger budget, and a wider audience, and <i><b>I'd probably sell (what's left of) my soul to play an extra in the background.</b></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So cheers to you, <i>Motherland</i>, and I hope witches give this show a chance, it's good fun, and so very stylish too! I really hope to see more <i>Motherland </i>cosplay, I've been searching for uniform replicas everywhere but no luck yet... Hopefully, I can look like real war-college material come Halloween.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Catch <i><b>Motherland: Fort Salem </b></i>Tuesday nights on <a href="https://www.freeform.com/shows/motherland">Freeform </a>or Wednesdays on <a href="http://hulu.com/">Hulu</a>.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Say the Words.</b></i></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-81051342202725696652021-06-01T08:23:00.001-07:002022-01-08T13:55:44.039-08:00Your Favorite Teacup<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7VPlRlrp27ab8mQMuyuvZgxo2JCtmQK_c0dNwexyy_ArNagbLStdfBpVkUhyaf3MlYsQMABFb1ZZmXa3eYCpQ_MKj_bO8H6BsoUy6ebLY-NQW5nk027T7I44ld7zIW39JLU5s1alTtU1/s4896/P1020910.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4896" data-original-width="3672" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7VPlRlrp27ab8mQMuyuvZgxo2JCtmQK_c0dNwexyy_ArNagbLStdfBpVkUhyaf3MlYsQMABFb1ZZmXa3eYCpQ_MKj_bO8H6BsoUy6ebLY-NQW5nk027T7I44ld7zIW39JLU5s1alTtU1/w300-h400/P1020910.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Toasted rice tea "I Got You" from <a href="https://www.tprojectshop.com/">T Project </a>in Portland</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">You know, tea culture is incredibly important. So many cultures around the world, so many kinds of fascinating and unique human groups boil a plant and drink it with friends and family in a social ritual that creates bonds, establishes trust, and occasionally, reveals the future. Sharing tea with others or with yourself is so... memorable. It's a moment taken, a silence enjoyed. That's what it really symbolizes to me; pleasant memories. Good memories. Solid and stable memories that always warm me.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I grew around a lot of tea lovers. Our grandma took us to some of the most beautiful tea-houses whenever she could afford to. I'll never forget how incredibly fancy and special I felt having high tea at The Empress in Victoria B.C, or the quaint little tearooms up North of Seattle by the lake, with all their perfect porcelain and delicious flavors. I love that "hot-leaf juice"; red rooibos and thick green matcha… I'm partial to black teas with lots of cream and sugar; Yorkshire Gold, or Market Spice... But then again, I fairly swoon for a strong mango black or pure peppermint. I love my mother's teas too; Russian tea, hemp tea, southern lemon sweet-tea. <a href="https://perennialtearoom.com/">The Perennial Tearoom</a> used to carry my very favorite kind of tea; <i>Blue Eyes-</i> so tangy and fruity, my sister and I haunted that place after college just to get that <i>Blue Eyes</i>, or <i>Sakura</i>. Right now, my addiction is <a href="https://www.tprojectshop.com/collections/green-tea/products/i-got-you">toasted rice and green tea</a> from T Project, it is legitimately one of the most interesting and thoughtful flavors I've ever enjoyed, and smells like some odd and wonderful bakery. I'll be going back to <a href="https://www.somewherepdx.com/">Somehwere </a>for another batch soon.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaMh7yPAC2AefBreYNxDYL1vsT4tGV_Ir2Kayy1twPAEWUOCCHiNQgU8AyIjeVXosR8YinKDfPrk0PFQnPWhgzfOrtz_71YrdYsGhQ3hjtSPAeHFODVOpaTQcOem54m6VfEJvYvyIPxvx/s4896/P1020466.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaMh7yPAC2AefBreYNxDYL1vsT4tGV_Ir2Kayy1twPAEWUOCCHiNQgU8AyIjeVXosR8YinKDfPrk0PFQnPWhgzfOrtz_71YrdYsGhQ3hjtSPAeHFODVOpaTQcOem54m6VfEJvYvyIPxvx/w400-h300/P1020466.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Delicate, cold, painted china balanced on little round saucers... or big ole glass jugs of dark honey colored sweet goodness. Fruity teas in summer, spicy teas in winter; long steeping and tablespoons of sweet glorious sugar (I can literally feel my English friends groaning at that part haha). Oh, and the ritual. The fancy hats and pretty pearls, and all those doilies stacked with every kind of food that feels familiar and comforting to me. I don't know what it is, locked inside my memory, but I feel giddy every time I see those three tiers of cucumber on white bread, lemon tarts, biscuits and <i>petit fours</i>. Nice, pleasant conversations, smiles, and all those marvelous tea pots hanging from their hooks behind the counter, or ringing the room, stacked in glass shelves. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">More than anything, I remember the connection that tea-ware made between people. You see, the kind of tea cup one holds dearest, or their favorite teapot, says a lot about them. You can see all kinds of history and personality in one's choice to teapot or of teacup. There's emotions, wishes, dreams and history in there; broken-hearted tears that fell into steaming cups, trembling hands gripping the porcelain for warmth.... Each hairline crack may tell a story. For some people, a teacup is just a means to an end. For others, their teacup is sending a message- I am delicate. I am stern. I adore fine things. I have an edge...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXa3Ih0Ostg1JTlfaKb4Ya31WbsCUvplfoJnG0xf-iIEJ9rljn3C2hdULH-9junmi_SVeyaqnpTbSEvxqnEbSfQ8AxxSk1poWExDiPWgEBTsn8P3W_OgUnRHvQqcMuiXBb3t_5nzzHj_o/s4896/P1020925.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXa3Ih0Ostg1JTlfaKb4Ya31WbsCUvplfoJnG0xf-iIEJ9rljn3C2hdULH-9junmi_SVeyaqnpTbSEvxqnEbSfQ8AxxSk1poWExDiPWgEBTsn8P3W_OgUnRHvQqcMuiXBb3t_5nzzHj_o/w400-h300/P1020925.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Whenever I'd go to a teahouse or shop, my favorite part (other than opening very cannister for a sniff) was connecting with other people over the tea-set they were picking out. I cherished my girlhood tea-sets, and I still have quite a few of them in storage and in regular rotation. My favorite sugar cannister, teapot and creamer are the thick, white porcelain ones with the blue roses I was given by my aunt while she was alive, when I was twelve. She was a wonderful painter, and she painted my set. I have good memories of her. My favorite tea cup is the "Canadian Dogwood" teacup that my grandma gave me (pictured above). I don't know if it has any collectable value or where it really came from- that's not why it's special. It was a special gift, saved just for me because she knows I love dogwood and collecting favorite cups was our thing. It was one of the last things she gave me before her memory went. Every little gold line, every curve in the cup holds decades of memory and joy. Secrets. Lies. Fortunes read. I love how perfectly soft the texture of the cup is, there's something about it that feels good against the skin. If ever I had a favorite cup, mine is the dogwood cup.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I do believe that my tealeaf readings tend to be a little bit more informative in my favorite cup. As far as divinations go, it isn't at the top of my tool kit but I do occasionally turn the cup and read the remains... And in my favorite cup I always seem to get a warning, some symbol that lets me know that in some ways, the spirits are looking out for me even in small ways.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7LT7dr2vFQYd4VlVn4FS8mM0mMdEWvTo91q5_Z0iHu1z3WC6gmr4SmGeuk7pu1rnrG026QsBFedWdMepVKZnzI_V5rQpBq3t5mq1AAnQLnqreNgXXUQFj3YbepFSmy2g7qqSP7eyIEVL6/s4896/P1020788.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7LT7dr2vFQYd4VlVn4FS8mM0mMdEWvTo91q5_Z0iHu1z3WC6gmr4SmGeuk7pu1rnrG026QsBFedWdMepVKZnzI_V5rQpBq3t5mq1AAnQLnqreNgXXUQFj3YbepFSmy2g7qqSP7eyIEVL6/w400-h300/P1020788.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pine Pollen Honey Cakes: nothing quite goes with a good cup of tea like biscuits, cookies and cakes. For this year's Feast of the Pines, we made foraged pine pollen cream cakes.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">Your favorite teacup or teapot might say a lot about you. Mine say that my values lie in sentimental connections between the women in my life and myself. That I feel connected to my elders and also to the dead. I am feminine and maybe a little remote. I don't do matching sets and I'm a sucker for my vices. My favorite teacup says; I'm old school, and I value memory. I wonder what yours says about you. I bet your favorite teacup has a wonderful memory inside it. Rituals have a way of forming those kinds of bonds, creating a magic within the places we pour so much memory into... I still have tea parties. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'll sit on a blanket in the shade with my rabbits or teddy bears and pretend I'm at the Empress again.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wj-5ZBRlNdNa49nt1Vg6odHyZ9tpUA4JLdotHcoZQCrQwfx8K5NSfv7xfHVCa1_S8UNwrhJEUTuH8a8eGqXVjPpa-oN0ILosZE-JfW2KQWpyazYq5n1vboCqMwJ0q_etLmWxny1i9Ask/s4896/P1000623.JPG"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wj-5ZBRlNdNa49nt1Vg6odHyZ9tpUA4JLdotHcoZQCrQwfx8K5NSfv7xfHVCa1_S8UNwrhJEUTuH8a8eGqXVjPpa-oN0ILosZE-JfW2KQWpyazYq5n1vboCqMwJ0q_etLmWxny1i9Ask/s320/P1000623.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Me, my tea, and my favorite teacup... and all the wonderful memories.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>P.S:</u></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #ff00fe;">Happy </span><span style="color: #fcff01;">Pride </span><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Month</span>!</b></span></div></div>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-33752496376106411152021-05-13T08:36:00.003-07:002021-05-13T08:39:57.559-07:00Regional Witchcraft Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmWukDUwek829RHbD1fS2XWm7R1riN_05wqk5ha68_PjCwrShd6azyqa7Jx_D5mJSKT23lYJUb1UIGVHjPtAiKtM9c1pFnkQqRZc6azTNpcAzey8Of8dYlSbW-dxak4HRQa8gDJKPLZWN/s3665/Breer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3665" data-original-width="3078" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmWukDUwek829RHbD1fS2XWm7R1riN_05wqk5ha68_PjCwrShd6azyqa7Jx_D5mJSKT23lYJUb1UIGVHjPtAiKtM9c1pFnkQqRZc6azTNpcAzey8Of8dYlSbW-dxak4HRQa8gDJKPLZWN/w538-h640/Breer.jpg" width="538" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">When I first posted the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/regionalwitchcraftchallenge/">#regionalwitchcraftchallenge</a> on Instagram, I had no idea that it would take off into such a unique phenomenon. The idea was for people to show me what the magical toolbox of their own region looks like. I wanted to see how magic is shaped by where we live and where we came from, and for us to share those experiences. When I posted it, I was knee deep in Puget Sound story-telling lore for a project, and was just hoping to connect to a few people about their own bioregional animism. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">But then, something happened; the connection was made and an explosion followed. Magicians, <i>brujos</i>, <i>sorcieres</i>, charmers, witches, healers, sorcerers and magical folk from all over the world posted a picture of the tools that best represent the craft in their region. From France and Germany, from Italy and Denmark, from Scotland and South Wales, from Australia and South Africa, from New England and Alaska; witches the world over-- over <b>145 </b>people so far, jumped on this hashtag (or a related one) and shared their tools. Lo behold- we really are a very distinct spiritual group.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Horseshoes, rusted nails, shells, twisted branches and animal skulls it would appear that every folk witch in the world has their own use for red thread and woven magics. It has been incredibly connecting, and affirming, this realization that no matter the denominations of magic we practice, we share a common spiritual center, a common animistic thread that tells each of us to collect from the land and bind what we find together to make a practice that is whole and good. The familiarity was fascinating; <a href="https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/regionalwitchcraftchallenge/">if you take a look at the pictures posted</a>, you will see a definite trend in what folk witches the world over need to do their works, and it would appear we are riding similar waves in our practices.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPdQ5HSTb_ZpeU0oLcb85B5bbwJ6WEKaIRygAXdUIUpP5mYZX5ryu-Dtguyctu-qCVyNotov00cZobunro4l0k0VBkZJgKj_oyAE4wiNsuD-HF2r-IGLvpZO8lNAvJVyrbWrzXerXLc3G/s2048/olror.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1483" data-original-width="2048" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPdQ5HSTb_ZpeU0oLcb85B5bbwJ6WEKaIRygAXdUIUpP5mYZX5ryu-Dtguyctu-qCVyNotov00cZobunro4l0k0VBkZJgKj_oyAE4wiNsuD-HF2r-IGLvpZO8lNAvJVyrbWrzXerXLc3G/w400-h290/olror.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">What we share in common in our practices, far outweighs our cultural and religious differences, and binds us together in the common faith of spirit and magic. I want to thank every single one who participated and made the Regional Witchcraft Challenge a huge success. May the red thread that binds us magical folk never unravel. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'd like us all to come together after vaccination and restrictions lift, and meet at some place, some camp or resort, to host our Goblin Markets and share our magical humor. I picture witchy movie night, ancient board-games, trading skills, karaoke, mischief in the forest, general hell raising. I want to gather round the fire at a crossroads in the woods and hail to the father and mother of witches, play some banjo and cat's cradle... I'm picturing a whole lot of sea-shanties and a whole lot of food.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I encourage you so join in, share your regional toolkit and bond with those fascinating humans from all over the world who understand where we're coming from. I think bringing awareness to diversity/similarity is important-- it's part of the way I was raised and has brought me a lot of good friends and family to share this life with. Highlighting our beautiful variety and bonding over that shared experience, is an affirming thing, and I'd love to learn more about each and every one of you. Folk-witches of the world, unite and take over.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>My Puget Witchery</b></p><p style="text-align: justify;">It started with a simple picture, of my Puget Sound Magic, the toolkit of a witch who lives along the river, in the shadow of Rainier. The Puget Sound region is water and earth and sky energy in such perfect balance, so much life hidden in shadows. We are quiet people in a way, often introverted and socially calm, so often we miss each other. If you are a Puget Sound animistic practitioner of magic, seek me out, we should congregate as the rivers do. I look forward to reaching out to the other Pacific Northwest Witches-- and those around the world, to meet up, to share. The land of mountains and rivers is home to everything a witch could need to work their will. There are whispers in those dark woods and swamps, there are ghosts and monsters in these lakes.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">It smells like cedar here, and damp, and that cloyingly sweet scent of tree resins baking in the sun. It's a land of ghosts, woodland devils, ogres, sea-kingdoms and witches, a good place to be. <span style="text-align: left;">Our magic is riparian, our mountains are gods, our forests are haunted and witches are devourers. There are many demons to dance with in the wood, and underworlds to fly to. Baskets and stones, reeds and bones, there's a lot to love here in the Evergreen woods, and in the whole of the world.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFfXWKSqSGd0xp0eEQyJd_ym5oGpm1JHX29NWjLDlKAYMFcJPNIZBgWbvVh-liAxRBVylFbsqZYayyOjhPhf9P81_YN7iF3n2lvwxTAoy8fdhfcPMVRDA-ZMlJsFe65O-mJuwb2unp2jfw/s2048/Greer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFfXWKSqSGd0xp0eEQyJd_ym5oGpm1JHX29NWjLDlKAYMFcJPNIZBgWbvVh-liAxRBVylFbsqZYayyOjhPhf9P81_YN7iF3n2lvwxTAoy8fdhfcPMVRDA-ZMlJsFe65O-mJuwb2unp2jfw/w640-h426/Greer.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>In My Toolbox...</b></i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Clay Babies</b>- Famously found on Fox (and McNeil) Island in the Sound and surrounded by a wealth of local lore, these incredible, strange curiosities of geology are the children of the maiden of the sea, and tokens of sadness, sea-divinity, gift giving and messages. The ones found on the private beaches are now protected from being gathered, but they were free-game not that long ago and still occasionally find their way places. At this point, most people seem to receive them as gifts from old rock-hounds, like the one I was given by a deceased local, or they gather them from some of the rivers and estuaries in the State that occasionally find themselves populated with these little water-messengers. They aren't always found on private islands or preserves but that's usually the places they get the most attention; either way, they are children of earth and water and time. Clay babies from this particular region house water-spirits, small folk imbued with life over the long stretch of time by the sea gods. Layer after layer, building itself by combination of water and earth over (often) an organic material (such as a worm). One source claims that they are related to the <a href="https://patch.com/washington/universityplace/bp--mcneil-island-clay-babies">souls of infants</a>, others claim they are tokens of affection from the sea. They can represent the spirits of the water and should be kept carefully, and kindly cradled.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>St. Helen's Ash</b>- when the mountain blew her top, her tears went EVERYWHERE. As far north as Canada, as far south as who knows where, this ash accumulated all over the Pacific Northwest, with all the fury and destructive magic of the mountain. A little bit of this in any averting dust brings a sense of finality to the charm.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><i>Poplar Fluff- </i></b><i>Also known as the Summer Snow, the fluff from the poplar trees smell heavenly but they accumulate everywhere the wind blows and can irritate allergies like crazy. But watching them dance in the stillness, capturing the light of the sun, rolling along in great piles as you ride by on your bike... it's incredible. The fluff is an excellent poppet stuffing, but frankly, I like to keep a small pile of the fresh stuff for my spirit to fly with.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Sound Salt</b>- Some people like to evaporate their waters for the salt, but I prefer to imbue. I bought some salt on Bainbridge from a local and placed it in a jar with a large sprig of algae from the beach. Over the months, the salt took up the moisture and scent of the sea from the red algae and now the salt, years later, is perfectly sea-worthy, and cleanses everything it touches, leeching impurities as moisture was leeched from the algae.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Geoduck Shells-</b> when geoduck season comes you'll see a great deal of people out on the beach clamming, it's a Northwest tradition. Geoducks are symbolically sexual creatures, with a history of use as an Aphrodisiac outside of the USA. They are swift, sexual, powerful and (apparently) delicious? Their shells make a good offering bowl to the amorous spirits.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Decayed Cedar</b>- is perhaps one of the most useful incense bases that can be found all over the place-- even in the more lush and wild backyards with a rotting stump out in the fringes. Cedar is god. Cedar has every kind of use and is about as close to a world-tree here as one will get. When decayed, the red bark becomes a sweet, spicy-scented powder that fills the room with the food of the spirits. From the death of some of these trees comes a new life, found in the flames. When sprinkled in foot-tracks, the powder conjures spirits (for me at least).</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Pitch</b>- from pine and spruce, a tool of dark witching indeed, associated with the magic baskets of the ogresses and snake and snail witches who haunt the woods and waters. The pitch is perfect for woodwife torches (wood, sticky pitch and dried moss/lichen).</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>River Clay-</b> the grey mud along the banks of certain creeks and brooks is soft and murky and easily filtered and poured into molds, and the rock clay dries quickly outside the shelf of the riverside away from all the moisture, and when powdered can become some of the most beautiful brown pottery. There's a lot of death in the clay, those spirits must be appeased and respected and placated before granting consent to be taken.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Spring Water-</b> The closest to me is the Lynnwood Well and it was pretty sweet, tasty, refreshing and easy. But the best come from the springs near the mountains further South. There's just so much more magical UMPH to it, you know? Those woods are full of demons, snail witches and ogre tribes; whispering wetlands and malefic meadows, and the waters that come from those places hold the spirit of that dark and mysterious medicine. Spring water is a go-to base for all kinds of potions and notions. </i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Glacial Sediment and Silt-</b> as a magical dust. The glacial sediments give lakes like Diablo their pristine colors, their clarity and coldness. A tiny pinch of these kinds of dust make an excellent addition to offering sands to the jay spirit, among other gifts.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Cascade Crystals-</b> the devil haunted mountains are a forge operated by old gods and dark spirits, and from the heat and fire of the volcanic ark, one might stumble across a quarry of raw crystal with orange and red sediment impurities within them. Beautiful, full of the magic of death and fire and forge. My grandpa would take my sister and cousins and I with him rock hounding up North in the quarries; we'd come back with small handfuls of only the most beautiful little crystals we could dig out by our own hand. I'd share when with friends at parties and talk all about my cool hippy Scandinavian grandpa and his traveling spirit. I feel his spirit in the crystals, and every time I pass by the mountains.</i></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-12987708769461280842021-04-13T12:04:00.006-07:002021-05-13T08:42:41.562-07:00Quarantine Tarot: My Top 2020 Decks<p style="text-align: justify;">A year. An entire year now in basic quarantine. Even as we phase to reopening, we have only recently become vaccinated enough to start hanging out more, planning events. Like many tarot readers, I found myself incredibly blacked-out divination-wise during the lockdown. I didn't want to explore the past, present or future. I was tired of seeing disaster on every horizon, grief in every path... I just took a break and started focusing on practical crafts to keep my wandering mind busy. The crushing anxiety of a pandemic, chronic illness, book release and personal losses made everything about reading for my path (or anyone else) just a nauseating thought. And frankly, I've never gone so long in my life without being asked for a reading, which was honestly a breath of fresh air. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">But, all that aside, I never let go of my love for the cards. I kept the collection growing, exploring what these incredible authors and artists from around the world have to offer. And while 2020 may have been the dickiest year I've ever lived through, I have never been so impressed with the direction that cartomancy is taking. If you have been at a loss for inspiration and direction after a year sitting with this ridiculous nonsense of a past year, then maybe some of these fabulous offerings from 2020/21 will give you some fire. I mean, these decks are fire.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>1. The Infernal Tarot by </b><span style="text-align: left;"><b>E. Pollitt</b></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_DsUH8qOYp3xJpoupn_aK69HA8k7A5sfFWjbWOOR3Zla80UlY-brjzhj2yOyFkBfApjElw2TpzSm9VKavKhdZNSvqie0kzqEQE9AY3FTmLeI-kuKV3zsaymRzXSqZ4urvcQeNdUNKRanV/s4445/Nuocjuom.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3428" data-original-width="4445" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_DsUH8qOYp3xJpoupn_aK69HA8k7A5sfFWjbWOOR3Zla80UlY-brjzhj2yOyFkBfApjElw2TpzSm9VKavKhdZNSvqie0kzqEQE9AY3FTmLeI-kuKV3zsaymRzXSqZ4urvcQeNdUNKRanV/s320/Nuocjuom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had begun </span><a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/infernal/the-infernal-tarot-a-200-year-old-secret-tarot-deck" style="font-family: inherit;">backing this project in 2020</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> and it is a phenomenal deck, one that should prove very interesting for readers into that old-world demonology vibe. Bendy, smooth, thinner cardstock, great gold edges, the etching/woodblock style is fascinating and the colors were a nice slash against the more muted background.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">2. Materia Prima by Uusi</span></b></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8Zm191JoYe4p06ZayWyExO0XVfv-S1pCA2WAnqlWGJIX06AAXLErMqLqlsOn7M3kKli5Lqh-PNoDrD4tu_ww2uN89ER_rcdQPDp6TcYSkfyOZR6xJkSzaUoiU2TTMtwTmTVJqPcWqiCZ/s4778/Huport.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3402" data-original-width="4778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8Zm191JoYe4p06ZayWyExO0XVfv-S1pCA2WAnqlWGJIX06AAXLErMqLqlsOn7M3kKli5Lqh-PNoDrD4tu_ww2uN89ER_rcdQPDp6TcYSkfyOZR6xJkSzaUoiU2TTMtwTmTVJqPcWqiCZ/s320/Huport.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://uusi.us/products/materia-prima-an-expression-of-matter">Uusi </a>is basically the premium deck maker of our day with some really astonishing offerings in their catalogue, this large deck based on the periodic elements and their relationship to our universe is an interconnected journey through the spiritual interpretation of science and really takes some getting used to. Those who know their chemistry will really excel with this deck, but people a little less familiar with the science will need to make sure they get the booklet that accompanies. Perfect cardstock, silky and probably some of the highest quality you can get. <b><i>Unboxing below...</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EvQNZMwn-lI" width="320" youtube-src-id="EvQNZMwn-lI"></iframe></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">3. Jonasa Jaus 5th Edition</span></b></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSabPZPXQX9yVapsdXN8nvl-D_afnnTCk0Pxrqjqem4ac6QE0jGy6KqivVdC4DDwYjrGbahYKEdZVtB97iAcTyZymOduNiUBwqMmIfphqLQ0k9SokG0a1jzL1pST18F4RcNPR62eBuqcF/s4633/Greif.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3427" data-original-width="4633" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSabPZPXQX9yVapsdXN8nvl-D_afnnTCk0Pxrqjqem4ac6QE0jGy6KqivVdC4DDwYjrGbahYKEdZVtB97iAcTyZymOduNiUBwqMmIfphqLQ0k9SokG0a1jzL1pST18F4RcNPR62eBuqcF/s320/Greif.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Every green witch in the world needs this deck. It's literally green! And yellow, and black, and white. It's seriously a wonderful pallet. Floral, feminine, sensual and emotional, it is my favorite overall artwork for the 2020 picks and I highly recommend ordering </span><a href="https://jonasajaus.com/" style="font-family: inherit;">her other editions as well</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">. What I loved was that the cards tell everyone a different story, and they tell me the story of a lush, wild, shaded garden and a woman's romantic journey through it. All of the editions are </span>fascinating<span style="font-family: inherit;">, and this edition is wider than a typical deck, but not too difficult to shuffle. I'm a big fan of the overall </span>aesthetic and you will be too.<b><i> Unboxing below...</i></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Rlb9ikFbAZk" width="320" youtube-src-id="Rlb9ikFbAZk"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>4. Ad Orbita</b></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUsviXE67WUAOvsLrVB2OYO8qcntYsHk3vLaF-Aelqb9eq153VsfFKI0XyebX-Gd4XcOOMhQ2RHbjXBtnTx-fpI21Zy_GKAtUHbu1gya2S9gHq4y-l0AIa6dSvSn0xCXzf2mx5H_4ppd7/s4878/Orbuta.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2963" data-original-width="4878" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUsviXE67WUAOvsLrVB2OYO8qcntYsHk3vLaF-Aelqb9eq153VsfFKI0XyebX-Gd4XcOOMhQ2RHbjXBtnTx-fpI21Zy_GKAtUHbu1gya2S9gHq4y-l0AIa6dSvSn0xCXzf2mx5H_4ppd7/s320/Orbuta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A </span>wonderful<span style="font-family: inherit;"> offering </span>through<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <a href="https://oldrosepress.com/products/ad-orbita-tarot">Old Rose Press </a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">is an interesting combination of nature and space, teaming planets and </span>stars<span style="font-family: inherit;"> with rooted vines and seashells. For those who prefer to do some work in </span>interpreting<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and who dig the poetry of the abstract, this deck is very appealing. While the cards are a bit heavy, and the deck is thick enough to be a little difficult for a traditional shuffle, I can't complain because as always, the quality is just so damn fine and the simplicity is refreshing.</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">5. </span>True Heart Intuitive Tarot</b><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWEBvz5H9t48QWLxaUgb6ijmrBKAIURTwPqbhx7eWJF9-m-ftptAeMmZ7g_a1nsR1crpThOAX8Fk72tx1o6Kpu4-kNZDXPtEwsDthKIcOgfUPCZ3GoDC2LZLvCerveIo3q_looVeAb0U2/s4778/Huport.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXYRXtJrBlEKFNLsYq6R_tkYvAxhyphenhyphenyTbaAjfOjUH2MBk9ThIbAQhnGXXxBrdht7qgcX7-jxDk7J0Q1uxepgD9w2lvldL3HD2g2HL4O-gnPADp2HoB0viNmqRo-cDImRmL_NYJ-IB6KDcn/s3755/Breechs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3755" data-original-width="3589" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXYRXtJrBlEKFNLsYq6R_tkYvAxhyphenhyphenyTbaAjfOjUH2MBk9ThIbAQhnGXXxBrdht7qgcX7-jxDk7J0Q1uxepgD9w2lvldL3HD2g2HL4O-gnPADp2HoB0viNmqRo-cDImRmL_NYJ-IB6KDcn/s320/Breechs.jpg" /></a></span></div></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Beloved figure in the world of witchy media Rachel True brings us a long awaited gift that really stood out last year in the best way. Offering hope, </span>guidance<span style="font-family: inherit;">, positivity, color and inclusion<a href="https://truehearttarot.com/">, this deck was a splash of good vibes in a dreary year,</a> and really reflects the wonderful evolution of tarot styles. Frankly this is the deck I'd get anyone looking to start because it is so easily </span>interpreted<span style="font-family: inherit;">. The </span>packaging<span style="font-family: inherit;"> was great, the </span>accompanying<span style="font-family: inherit;"> booklet was thorough and useful and frankly the whole thing looks really unique and classic at the same time.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Seriously, if you need to reawaken during these, the vaccine times, then these decks are ready to guide you.</p></div>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-61467116022209165332021-04-09T18:36:00.003-07:002021-05-13T08:42:25.818-07:00North American Witches<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1607" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQBMIS22k6HfGmCM6BcIEj5lYjO3wcDRqBsOl-trwwbnM5Ax92Bgjdi5HcmCzsXJvT_icizYjgZOK387N2kNmGH2EQSLuuCfZGgwtDFvDw4NuKjNA9MkFq9r5z0sYJQM1TGIIoMP7wXqQy/s320/Doll_cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cover-art by A. Jimenez, from Folkloric Witchcraft and the Multicultural Experience by Via Hedera</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQBMIS22k6HfGmCM6BcIEj5lYjO3wcDRqBsOl-trwwbnM5Ax92Bgjdi5HcmCzsXJvT_icizYjgZOK387N2kNmGH2EQSLuuCfZGgwtDFvDw4NuKjNA9MkFq9r5z0sYJQM1TGIIoMP7wXqQy/s2048/Doll_cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></i></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nightflyer, Spirit Wanderer-</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> we fly in our dreams, or by other means, alone or in teams, under moon beams, on the backs of horses, without their skins, to the hilltop with the Devil and all of his friends.</span><span id="docs-internal-guid-825262bc-7fff-5048-16c4-d91f2dafa0ab"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />Shapeshifter- </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">changing into beetles, black and fat; wandering through keyholes as a frog or a cat. To unshoe horses or just to make mischief, or to haunt the barn like a common milk-thief.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Healer- </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">of the living</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hexer-</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> unforgiving</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Diviner of unknown things</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: tells fortunes from eggs and rings, makes friends with the damned and reads omens in hands and sees whatever your future will bring.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Conjuror of spirits</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- who dwells between worlds, who opens doors for the dead; and makes spirits tremble as they wander the wood, in awe, and in honor, and dread.</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaker to bees,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fly as we please;</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Worshiping at idols,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And braiding our bridles.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Knotting up love charms,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cursing your side-arms.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Summoning the blue-jay,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">keeping rivals away,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">put lizards inside you,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">make nightmares that ride you.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Snake-rooter, dairy looter,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hair-ball and bullet-shooter.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hilltop matron,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Crossroad patron.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hair-tangler--</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mind-mangler;</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bone-boiler,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And body oiler.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Through a keyhole,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And through the sieve;</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dancing at Midsummer and All Hallows' Eve.</span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Through thick, through thin</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and way over the hillside;</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">we are new world witches,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and that's how we ride.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">-Via Hedera</span></span></div></span></span>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-49524343276385641292021-04-07T10:19:00.001-07:002021-04-11T10:16:11.016-07:00Vernal Awakening: News, Revisions and Spring<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVngZHZHP4IBCQzb4o3gqkfiWxCQC5RQr-YKpExF6flL3JUA3lVIBUQnMeqqkq2lmEd0aL4Bvfb3yIHbiOjYZVuoV6n4ckT9v-9qnxezwtr8__cGUIALe8R9cHSEDzhj7YsYAXyg1PP-Df/s4896/P1010549.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVngZHZHP4IBCQzb4o3gqkfiWxCQC5RQr-YKpExF6flL3JUA3lVIBUQnMeqqkq2lmEd0aL4Bvfb3yIHbiOjYZVuoV6n4ckT9v-9qnxezwtr8__cGUIALe8R9cHSEDzhj7YsYAXyg1PP-Df/w400-h300/P1010549.JPG" width="400" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><p></p><p><b><u>Awakening:</u></b></p><p><i>It's up to the cherry blossoms and dandelions now... it's up to the sun and the new day.</i></p><p>Whoa this has been a lot. I mean a lot. Have you ever stood in the shallows only to look over your shoulder at a massive wave as it inevitably rolls towards you? I have. I remember that moment on a beach in California. Vague memories of visiting the wildlife center, and then down to a crowded beach with waves so sudden and high, they scared me to death. That what Spring has been since last I wrote here- a tremendous wave coming right at me. Thrilling, fun, daunting, humbling, sad.</p><p>Out there, beyond the walls of pre-vaccinated restrictions, there is a world itching to open up. We plan to hit the road for summer, see the Oregon high desert, Yosemite, the Bay and back up the Coast again, scouting new living locations along the way. We're westerners to our bones and prefer to stay over here, but the world is changing and it's time to go see it. Spring is about movements, and we are all so jittery.</p><p>If you're feeling very jittery, one way to pass the time is by going outside- to the garden, wide-open parks, to the greenbelts, national parks to places where the land is greening and changing (and you can be safely distanced from others). Watch those changes each time you go to a place, the turning of buds overnight into bushels of flowers, the awakening of spiders in every corner. Remind yourself that life is a cycle, and it is always changing to a rhythm. Not much left to do after that but dance the jitters out.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2p6swRqU5LE" width="320" youtube-src-id="2p6swRqU5LE"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NfGMpojeH1E" width="320" youtube-src-id="NfGMpojeH1E"></iframe></div><p></p><p><u><b>Spring</b></u>:</p><p>Did you know that I have a YouTube channel? Featuring folk charms in real life; everything from clay withering hearts, to tarot unboxing, to black witch-bottles The channel hasn't been updated in a little while due to winter/covid, but now that the daylight has returned, so will the videos. I'm working on covering every aspect of folk-magic that I find interesting, including rat-letters and egg fortunes. Mostly. I'm aiming to get better equipment and take more time to show off the beauty of the Northwest.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6CbYQQGhV1DM1VDvBA9mANEeW8QaRWVFjLRJtmPl2JX1PkuXtl8UMjJx5NGUPTvUqOae01CDzHmxNJJ4LyyOKqTvR-z-L05ASzrA6zvxG8PDlqkPKULGDQA4XfjQeQtskvxsT2_EBfFN/s4896/P1010531.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6CbYQQGhV1DM1VDvBA9mANEeW8QaRWVFjLRJtmPl2JX1PkuXtl8UMjJx5NGUPTvUqOae01CDzHmxNJJ4LyyOKqTvR-z-L05ASzrA6zvxG8PDlqkPKULGDQA4XfjQeQtskvxsT2_EBfFN/w400-h300/P1010531.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><b><u>Updates</u></b>:</p><p>Last I wrote here, I was waxing poetic on the sweetness of Valentines Day, but since then there's been a lot of spring changes; small improvements to my long declining lung health, a scheduled vaccine, a new bunny buddy, a book debuted to kind and compassionate responses, I've finished a bunch of deadlines and now have more time for art, parks volunteer opportunities are restarting for the spring, I'm transferring to complete my major, looking to leave the area and start new adventures elsewhere... but then again, who isn't trying to move right now? Seems like the pandemic has given us all the itch to get closer to family and further from the expense of the metro areas... I guess we're all free-falling a bit, standing before the wave...</p><p>I've been getting a lot of wonderful questions and feedback about my statues, the writing and some of my social media content and it's been incredibly humbling and kind. Being able to speak with the fine folk over at <b><a href="https://thatwitchlife.com/">That Witch Life Podcast</a> </b>was a highlight of my year honestly, they were so welcoming and forward and funny and open-- it's that kind of energy that makes me grateful for the community we've built- a sentiment I expressed recently with Cory over at <b><a href="https://newworldwitchery.com/">New World Witchery Podcast</a></b>. It's always a pleasure to speak to Cory, to bond over our mutual appreciation for so much magical shit in the world. And if you somehow didn't know, Cory has a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/New-World-Witchery-Trove-American/dp/0738762121/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=new+world+witchery&qid=1617491329&sr=8-1">new book out</a> that you simply MUST have in your collection!</p><p>Those of us flying free on that wild magic seem to be coalescing into a mutually respectful and supportive niche community of witchy weirdos and being able to nerd out like this the last month or two has brought me some incredible peace at a time of incredible fear and stress in the world. A huge de-stressor was hanging with Lori over at <a href="https://myamericanmeltingpot.com/podcast/"><b>My American Melting Pot Podcast</b> </a>and vibing on the mystique and media of witchery. Hanging out with so many writer and speakers and thinkers in the world of multiculturalism and magic has been incredibly humbling, and I'm thankful for it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPuBDJK_VXE-xgJtRWmhVNJ7wtv9Ks6L1YhWUI7Hi4d_sZecXF5j92phG5Q7pMW3Wb0QEfAWxmXQ4cZ5dtLgMLM7O84XbGQYxRY8E0hKAXQMYrCpsgRrLLwUxaB7lfP0C3mtoUfE7l_S6/s4896/P1010539.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPuBDJK_VXE-xgJtRWmhVNJ7wtv9Ks6L1YhWUI7Hi4d_sZecXF5j92phG5Q7pMW3Wb0QEfAWxmXQ4cZ5dtLgMLM7O84XbGQYxRY8E0hKAXQMYrCpsgRrLLwUxaB7lfP0C3mtoUfE7l_S6/w640-h480/P1010539.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><b><u>Authors Note: A </u>Vital Revision </b>to <i><u>Folkloric Witchcraft and the Multicultural Experience: A Crucible at a Crossroads</u></i></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the process of writing and publishing we meet all sorts of challenges and difficulties. Most authors I talk to walk away feeling just a little more anxiety, as there are always parts of their books that needed a seconds more attention in the editing process. While there are a few noticeable inconsistencies in the punctuation and typeface, a glaring error that must be addressed is the misidentification of the tribal affiliation of story-teller Vi Hilbert, who belongs to the Upper Skagit people of the Pacific Northwest and is a revered figure in the cultural restoration movement of Lushootseed-speaking tribes of the Puget Sound. It is imperative that I correctly identify this elder and I apologize for this mis-affiliation and ask that readers please make a note of this change going forward in current editions, and be aware that that e-books will be updated and print editions revised going forward.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> With love, support and acknowledgement to the first people of the Pacific Northwest and their traditional territories.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghc7y01C-P2SDSc1baV-IIdXMlsxKXOMxr_0x0YGYgx9o-InKpfTFeaBaADAM54qITHp2FET_B4X2GbqLZKGuW1qdgyLaLp0odbMOH4Zg6-SmOLu6sc4OERTpfo_ds5CXRuXXhrk5Y2_YK/s4896/P1010534.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghc7y01C-P2SDSc1baV-IIdXMlsxKXOMxr_0x0YGYgx9o-InKpfTFeaBaADAM54qITHp2FET_B4X2GbqLZKGuW1qdgyLaLp0odbMOH4Zg6-SmOLu6sc4OERTpfo_ds5CXRuXXhrk5Y2_YK/w400-h300/P1010534.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>"by way of ivy"</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>via Hedera</i></div>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-81896947703429001932021-02-11T12:25:00.018-08:002024-02-07T20:00:21.633-08:00Valentine's for a Love Witch<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmSranPp5C5q7YjV2JrFqTTJQ5Qf9eRgwyWQuuEGtjGpu1kNvTzkp31rXhLLJrSrtpxL9G1JqYeiJf8cTs5kHgB405hd4KbyRPc1KYOxOdiw3z7xktWqzYJPsPz1qhlMiETi8UfvO9xxD2eoqPE-dWjwdYcH63tkjz8oOLIfcOISexoT8pFqFTZ2R6Zg=s3888" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3888" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmSranPp5C5q7YjV2JrFqTTJQ5Qf9eRgwyWQuuEGtjGpu1kNvTzkp31rXhLLJrSrtpxL9G1JqYeiJf8cTs5kHgB405hd4KbyRPc1KYOxOdiw3z7xktWqzYJPsPz1qhlMiETi8UfvO9xxD2eoqPE-dWjwdYcH63tkjz8oOLIfcOISexoT8pFqFTZ2R6Zg=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: red;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-e72564e1-7fff-6c95-a0ec-de4cd907099f"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="white-space: pre-wrap;">“Of flowers and plants employed as love-charms on certain festivals may be noticed the bay, rosebud, and the hempseed on St. Valentine’s day, nuts on St. Mark’s Eve, and the St. John’s Wort on Midsummer Eve.</i><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">”</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: red; font-style: italic;">- Thomas Firminger Thiselton Dyer, </span><u style="color: red; font-style: italic;"><b>The Folk-lore of Plants</b></u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKSIolaf1hjzguClyQa21pXmDuV-B8zzwrlTbaw6Jydu_sD3XbxW5Bg3K0jU6Wxtc-BsSGSN961nJRJy-9bnwwpjTeYH7A-hrxuV4a3g-6euQVLM-XCGv1CPZN80OgWIHrFvNlrj-6YhS/s4028/Cresctes.jpg" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3169" data-original-width="4028" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKSIolaf1hjzguClyQa21pXmDuV-B8zzwrlTbaw6Jydu_sD3XbxW5Bg3K0jU6Wxtc-BsSGSN961nJRJy-9bnwwpjTeYH7A-hrxuV4a3g-6euQVLM-XCGv1CPZN80OgWIHrFvNlrj-6YhS/w400-h315/Cresctes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">St. Valentine's day, a day imbued with the folk magic of love and romance; more common to the early American superstitious fabric of the common people than the old pagan fertility rites are. There's something about Valentine's that makes love magic feel normal in the world for a moment, for everyone, even those who would typically never dabble in magic. It's a social more than spiritual day, and there's something strangely likeable about the energy as it shifts and people put passion and love and thought into romance and friendship and desire.</span></i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i style="text-align: justify;"></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpurH6GWfSlYHWrwzQTIpnBPUtxkPRohgA0cdDzVE75g13c1zzxTgKuSR1EW8QFfxNyE_7E-ON7x2e41UOeT4g_hz56a6tx24ev-a0gkqUO5C4qn78m6vCGl5GNrAknfZtknn0yZHt5nE0zKjcQ5nOemHl2x2amg2vK_qeKUsydeSeu94B2koe9HuOtQ=s3814" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2586" data-original-width="3814" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpurH6GWfSlYHWrwzQTIpnBPUtxkPRohgA0cdDzVE75g13c1zzxTgKuSR1EW8QFfxNyE_7E-ON7x2e41UOeT4g_hz56a6tx24ev-a0gkqUO5C4qn78m6vCGl5GNrAknfZtknn0yZHt5nE0zKjcQ5nOemHl2x2amg2vK_qeKUsydeSeu94B2koe9HuOtQ=w640-h434" width="640" /></a></i></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i style="text-align: justify;"></i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i></i></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;"><i><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"Before going bed, sprinkle a sprig of rosemary ad a sprig of thyme three times with water, place one in each shoe, put a shore on each side of the bed and say:
</span></i></span><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">“St. Valentine that’s to lovers kind,</span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-6262d843-7fff-0cf8-564a-ce1fe0d96b99"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">Come ease the trouble of my mind,</span></div><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: center;">And send the man that loves me true</div></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: center;">To take the sprigs out of my shoe.”"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: center;">- Morrison, Lillian, p. 23, <b> <u>Touch Blue</u></b></div></span></span></span><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMUH1sdt0bgPhRUXy-aRBPSMTaWrSYGUeUv3pqpJpdOPeiVxcblrSFE9amOoVKUXcltnb9LB_iXIMqWQy78cx6H-3GNkhPz8eu3kR-md-4jaKXjQawCW2xagLZeDBQJVBUSEV-CGEjucPss8Dn_FO1VrfXN6sbKkL3dPBGnINhMmyB-GEAQO_H_vLidA=s3149" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3149" data-original-width="2662" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMUH1sdt0bgPhRUXy-aRBPSMTaWrSYGUeUv3pqpJpdOPeiVxcblrSFE9amOoVKUXcltnb9LB_iXIMqWQy78cx6H-3GNkhPz8eu3kR-md-4jaKXjQawCW2xagLZeDBQJVBUSEV-CGEjucPss8Dn_FO1VrfXN6sbKkL3dPBGnINhMmyB-GEAQO_H_vLidA=w339-h400" width="339" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i style="color: red;">"All who walk on St. Valentine's day should wear a yellow crocus; it is the Saint's especial flower and will ward off all evil in love."</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="color: red; font-family: inherit; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;">- C.L Daniels, <u><b>Encyclopedia of superstitions, folklore, and the occult sciences of the world</b></u></i></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SEx4141DeT5kYDF_13OwAig5xcTtPMNoPU38Cpc1QfbovQUskmZUWEdbOSFtmyeKZwT4pz3L-pU5wpWTJfol6y0P7WOLpNqRL9MqVkVWcr1x9_kBnFwJMb83OSsSAx2vI7JhcQMzfCss/s3804/beerolong.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3194" data-original-width="3804" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SEx4141DeT5kYDF_13OwAig5xcTtPMNoPU38Cpc1QfbovQUskmZUWEdbOSFtmyeKZwT4pz3L-pU5wpWTJfol6y0P7WOLpNqRL9MqVkVWcr1x9_kBnFwJMb83OSsSAx2vI7JhcQMzfCss/w400-h336/beerolong.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Love Magic, that's my bailiwick. Where sweet tastes meet rough feelings, where fury meets frenzy, where want and infatuation are a detonation... that's the realm I most enjoy. It is not always moral, it is not always wise. It is a short fire, one that burns quick and lingers after. I like the kind of magic that send shivers up your legs when you reminisce about it years later. Red magic, that's what this is to me. That place where amorous and relentless spirits reside; the ones they talk about in the old folklore, you know, the succubae and night riding hag, the specter who tangles the hair of men in their sleep. I don't dabble in it for myself much, but I love working with and for others. Never direct love spells; no names used, no pictures of specific people- I've got my rules, my hard-stops. But to inspire lust? Spells of attraction, charms of allure, bewitching cosmetics and persuasive incantations... now that, I do. St. Valentine's day has become one of the many days of romance and love that I dedicate a moment of my life to that red and pink and wild magic.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNG1zvNxNubT0uyPQHFICEML2iJkx9sI0ZfTuDNjHXjlKP-riIK22OLUkhvVU6qV1aA0X-dVQ9z71rxkrt7UKCXvaMizqWD84GM3jaxSJAeW1matpBQ_28atFmxL3WzNCrgPzmjRjdfUK3/s3306/Excent.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3059" data-original-width="3306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNG1zvNxNubT0uyPQHFICEML2iJkx9sI0ZfTuDNjHXjlKP-riIK22OLUkhvVU6qV1aA0X-dVQ9z71rxkrt7UKCXvaMizqWD84GM3jaxSJAeW1matpBQ_28atFmxL3WzNCrgPzmjRjdfUK3/s320/Excent.jpg" width="320" /></a></span><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-eed51e0b-7fff-6b96-8d88-1e9cdf9d24f8"><span style="color: red;"><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: 700; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bird Augury</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: center;">It was believed once that birds pick their mates on St. Valentine’s day. Those birds of specific color who foretell the occupation of a future lover on St. Valentine’s day:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p style="font-family: inherit;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>A <b>blackbird</b>- a man of the clergy</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>A <b>redbreast</b>- a sailor</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>A <b>goldfinch</b>- a millionaire</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>A <b>yellowbird</b>- a reasonably rich man</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>A <b>sparrow</b>- love in a cottage</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>A <b>bluebird</b>- poverty</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>A <b>crossbill</b>- a quarrelsome husband</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>A <b>wryneck</b>- no marriage</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>A<b> flock of dove</b>s- good luck in marriage in every way
</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><i style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">"If you meet a bird in a scarlet vest on St. Valentine's day, you will follow your love to the beat of the drum."</i></p><p style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"If you chance on that day to meet a goldfinch or any yellow bird, it is </span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">extremely</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> lucky." </span></span></i></p></span><span style="color: red;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>- C.L Daniels, <u>Encyclopedia of superstitions, folklore, and the occult sciences of the world</u></i></span></p></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><i><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">It may not be some ancient pagan festival- a far cry from the old Lupercalia of Rome, but it is the modern feast of love itself in the Western World, and we folk witches find magic in everywhere we can, especially in the old charms, tricks and incantations associated with St. Valentine's day. Just like Midsummer, May day, Halloween and New Year's, St. Valentine's day was ripe for the practice of love spells and romantic magic. As always, divinations and fortunes are the popular pastime of the day; involving bay leaves and sprigs of rosemary, involving sweet scented waters and warm fires. Hail to all those red and wild spirits that fill the day with kindness and passion.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-12f57bba-7fff-e9a7-321e-64a613313f3d"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><p dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1hjlzfAPtPpPMbkDKbh8O3D_BP2KX4FaFudFa3xl7d5PDZ-vvTyvI3gBk7y4kzbhjNdlbL6bcOPUStga1L59N8tsFhqWkihpJ2Wn_yJZ_6nyXBKvo69tXMCdO-U9iNvuSQ-MITi-WMi6/s320/P1010269.JPG" style="font-family: inherit;" width="320" /></p>Incantation spoken when tossing a pinch of salt into a fire every Friday for three Fridays:
</span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It is not this salt I wish to burn,</span></div><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: center;">it is my lovers heart to turn,</div></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: center;">that he may neither rest nor happy be,</div></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: center;">until he comes and speaks to me.”</div><div style="text-align: center;">
-Salt in the Fire Charm, p. 13- Duncan Emrich, <u><b>The Folklore of Love and Courtship</b></u></div></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqmu4mPX5w1o_UebkCwQFfSovlcksKq5NQOOJioZ8EEnXq5_deU7gqSl909iVtdE0Cz0lGBM5Fjkw5vy-l8e4euU0zPKLC3aDEMaFPOybqRW3XC6iotFH36KfEwQH_RgL74-_4z25dMBb/s4896/P1010251.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj43Tj6EVUpEpRcZ-kw9Nek_yvWHyJ0FJH8KGe6uWYniqki5DOmfUJlGrRCcGITkcobL0ap0vikQVqYGif3995HuZ3NFiHwcHn9moTeQwcczqxWf2-D30C3P1YhZBfH9P7Cvhgh0X7VE19Cirf7BMxgzvt4cclamK1an0e-TZ7hMcn4c2bVdIEVWHb9jA=s3790" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2453" data-original-width="3790" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj43Tj6EVUpEpRcZ-kw9Nek_yvWHyJ0FJH8KGe6uWYniqki5DOmfUJlGrRCcGITkcobL0ap0vikQVqYGif3995HuZ3NFiHwcHn9moTeQwcczqxWf2-D30C3P1YhZBfH9P7Cvhgh0X7VE19Cirf7BMxgzvt4cclamK1an0e-TZ7hMcn4c2bVdIEVWHb9jA=w640-h414" width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-9c7539df-7fff-b484-5317-e23d56475af0"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“A popular charm consisted of placing two bay leaves, after sprinkling them with rose-water, across the pillow, repeating this formula:</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Good valentines, be kind to me,</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On dreams let me my true love see.”"</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">- Thomas Firminger Thiselton Dyer, <u><b>The Folk-lore of Plants</b></u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><b>Further Reading:</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">The Folklore of Love and Courtship- Duncan Emrich</span></li><li><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Touch Blue- Lillian Morrison</span></li><li><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Love Charms- Elizabeth Pepper</span></li><li><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Folklore of Plants- </span>Thomas Firminger Thiselton Dyer</span></li><li><span style="color: red;">Magical Symbols of Love and Romance- Richard Webster</span></li></ul></div></i></div></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-42422844965304422162020-12-21T11:41:00.001-08:002021-05-13T08:41:23.833-07:00Return, Return, Let the Evergreens Burn<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMf6adNJZ0CnSLkZRwIR_HrCuyVvh0JEayjUsHQi1kzVwKEruOy5_LyztHovbzSQP7iuAXd51JL-nN9BsqmShL1TOvgzfW2rpi1WLyFBksOiHcgR6DHiuDp7j_0n1KOiA3WTVULKoMblSn/s4896/P1010149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMf6adNJZ0CnSLkZRwIR_HrCuyVvh0JEayjUsHQi1kzVwKEruOy5_LyztHovbzSQP7iuAXd51JL-nN9BsqmShL1TOvgzfW2rpi1WLyFBksOiHcgR6DHiuDp7j_0n1KOiA3WTVULKoMblSn/w400-h300/P1010149.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Resurge and Reemerge, come back dear sun, and warm the land again...</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Solar Virtue, the first god, the old god, the spirit of the sky, the great one referred to by so many of our ancestors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the life giver, the illuminator of both day and night, bestower of lunar light, bringer of famine and plight, lord of justice, rule and right, god of music, math and second sight, eater of self and eventual devourer of this world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is our sacred star, the holiest to us because it alone shines the light upon which we depend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evolver, blessed bringer of fire, crown of the Horned, when our declination is such that the sun is less present, we feel it deep in our primal bones- perhaps many living things do.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhisHXxOJR-Ah-uO1cMaasOtqa8phAhCJGmqyuujYWtueBlt7wtt8HZFcipAKwYcEERTH16n6dDhTa8ZxejmHvSjdu3ZbWu1ikXEr3qfGJhCQoOGSdjs5W5kgayzFHlSBlDJD_CDTEn4z9h/s4896/P1010213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-style: italic; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhisHXxOJR-Ah-uO1cMaasOtqa8phAhCJGmqyuujYWtueBlt7wtt8HZFcipAKwYcEERTH16n6dDhTa8ZxejmHvSjdu3ZbWu1ikXEr3qfGJhCQoOGSdjs5W5kgayzFHlSBlDJD_CDTEn4z9h/s320/P1010213.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="text-align: justify;"><span>One’s perception of the season depends on their culture, their religion, their country, themselves.</span></span><span style="color: black; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;"><span>Where I live, on the west coast of North America, winterstide is rather particular, with a vibe that translates across the land, across peoples.</span></span><span style="color: black; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;"><span>The colors of white and gold, red and green, silver and bronze; the smells of cinnamon, nutmeg, evergreens and roast; the icy mornings and short days- this is what Midwinter feels in my life.</span></span><span style="color: black; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;"><span>It’s a spicy, savory, sweet taste, a chill in the air that is unbearable some nights.</span></span><span style="color: black; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;"><span>I like nut spice flavored rustic winter, not peppermint </span><span>candy cane</span><span> consumer Christmas.</span></span><span style="color: black; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;"><span>The woodstoves and the wooly sweaters, the baked goods and sad stories of the frost and ghosts of the season.</span></span><span style="color: black; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;"><span>I like the part where the sun returns, and mornings become bright again.</span></span></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmxxjKTzlMmS9er2sw7rzhqwpTmWeTC9DjjLSt4F5LhWZEtwcY6TgiKQoTNdixfYUsFMtEMhSraBFu-MzCAJ7rPnnJD8Te5B0lys8RzwS-wO-eXwlnY3EPeXQJTbqD_ARaxi6N-FcxpQ6/s4896/P1010194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmxxjKTzlMmS9er2sw7rzhqwpTmWeTC9DjjLSt4F5LhWZEtwcY6TgiKQoTNdixfYUsFMtEMhSraBFu-MzCAJ7rPnnJD8Te5B0lys8RzwS-wO-eXwlnY3EPeXQJTbqD_ARaxi6N-FcxpQ6/s320/P1010194.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Spirit: Ivy</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxM8sZ35zYqneO1G0f_XaECb9QDxGykhSzwZ0H-4oNvk7NDhfjXbBNGPOvBAvBxI902zlsV0psSTCAc9BL_2M6nCpn-jqrotv92axh7kcEaXEafjBUx0hyphenhyphenNhjNQi7PvoS9nOAlwAr-Ygo/s4896/P1010192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxM8sZ35zYqneO1G0f_XaECb9QDxGykhSzwZ0H-4oNvk7NDhfjXbBNGPOvBAvBxI902zlsV0psSTCAc9BL_2M6nCpn-jqrotv92axh7kcEaXEafjBUx0hyphenhyphenNhjNQi7PvoS9nOAlwAr-Ygo/s320/P1010192.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Spirit: Holly<br /></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeSrGrEdi2pkEqz0ggorXGHLv9qICQr7_Olrnfq3TGB9jZHLgtHScoxgoOrEJaahsLnnSdTl8qdZ3RMwL4xK2HQ2G19CDV6Vqknat4IeAdhO65x3tGYt8RUQ-MJkXgtpdnFk3SxhGlDxqo/s4896/P1010198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4896" data-original-width="3672" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeSrGrEdi2pkEqz0ggorXGHLv9qICQr7_Olrnfq3TGB9jZHLgtHScoxgoOrEJaahsLnnSdTl8qdZ3RMwL4xK2HQ2G19CDV6Vqknat4IeAdhO65x3tGYt8RUQ-MJkXgtpdnFk3SxhGlDxqo/s320/P1010198.JPG" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Spirit: Mistletoe</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span>The Sun shapes how I
mark the days and the seasons, personally- something that’s always kept me
grounded, feeling connected to the terrestrial sacredness, to tangible reality
when I live so much of my life in the otherworld.</span></span><span style="color: black;"> </span><span><span>Most modern pagans have some kind of sacred
calendar, some “wheel of the year” that they use to mark the changes of moon
and tide and season.</span></span><span style="color: black;"> </span><span><span>These days, that
wheel usually consists of the 8 sabbats.</span></span><span style="color: black;">
</span><span><span>But what about folk witches like me?</span></span><span style="color: black;">
</span><span><span>Beltane isn’t May day, and Imbolc, like Mabon are not the names used to
mark those tides in the world I’m living in.</span></span><span style="color: black;">
</span><span><span>My sacred calendar contains many branches; holidays, holy days, feasts,
moons and celebrations.</span></span><span style="color: black;"> </span><span><span>Like many
pagans, it’s the equinox and solstices that interest me most- the worship of the sun being so deeply rooted in our </span><span>veins</span><span> calls to me.</span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This year, it will be
more reflective than usual, a time to meditate on the sun’s return as symbolic
of healing renewed and the promise of something after the cold, the dark and
the silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll candlewalk around the
home and deep in the wood, guiding the spirits as I go, letting the light
glimmer on the frost, letting it guide me through the dark night as the sun
does through the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll build a maze
from the boughs and light it to its heart and wander. I’ll pop hollies in the
fire and bind wreaths all together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
candle will be lit and, barring ill omen, will remain so until after midnight
on the solstice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The home will smell
like nutmeg, the wine will be red and the days will be painfully short as we
wait for the sun to return.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p style="font-size: 13.5pt; font-size: 13.5pt;"></o:p></span></span><p></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-3413131229108474302020-11-17T11:58:00.004-08:002021-05-13T08:41:08.671-07:00The First Frost<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxPvZTTNsVPt_AfGRP4mQr3kMsBso4PkJCVlyxPsb4XEM-gs8pgLPSXWXOcP4OmZtTHTDmnX7h6hB6KXpT-3vHTs907Q_62hCGlTjaTsIOfPtN6DDoiNbxC5vNsh9aFYkJmpzNPJlsAcOJ/s4896/P1000161.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxPvZTTNsVPt_AfGRP4mQr3kMsBso4PkJCVlyxPsb4XEM-gs8pgLPSXWXOcP4OmZtTHTDmnX7h6hB6KXpT-3vHTs907Q_62hCGlTjaTsIOfPtN6DDoiNbxC5vNsh9aFYkJmpzNPJlsAcOJ/w640-h480/P1000161.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I look out my window... the leaves are yellow brown and the trees are near bare anyhow. Rain flies, the wind is breaking branches. The sun peaks through occasionally, tossing a cold orange glow over the hillsides, but mostly, a gray has set in. It's stormy in every way around here, and yet for some reason, I haven't felt so focused in years. Maybe it's the realization that things may finally change around here that makes me feel inspired to change... I can't tell. The storms have come; it's always the way this time of year. What follows is the freezing rain, the icy roads, the bitterness of every morning as we step from warm sheets onto frigid floors. The hags of winter have begun to walk.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1hXp6GjzHKKlVouvmaDk8sRBd-eIxyD6C3t6z-qVHgHBI25CPjtBuovhTebU8oNdSArgXWQSeVjtdVuEaNgBsNUR7e-Q4MxeahZr1a8ZOHJkZCOgrSiWDInsIJY10mO1Txz3pBuL93yX/s4896/P1000536.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1hXp6GjzHKKlVouvmaDk8sRBd-eIxyD6C3t6z-qVHgHBI25CPjtBuovhTebU8oNdSArgXWQSeVjtdVuEaNgBsNUR7e-Q4MxeahZr1a8ZOHJkZCOgrSiWDInsIJY10mO1Txz3pBuL93yX/w640-h480/P1000536.JPG" width="640" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><i>The Hag...</i></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She is the queen of witches you know. But which one do you fly with in that chilly night? There are many hags of the night, many old mothers of the shadows, old gods of the wind and dark. Those spirit-witches rule the sky, hunt along the encroaching frost. The winter hag, is a consuming spirit, a night flyer, going along those ghost roads, corpse paths, among bare branches and concealed in the evergreens. She is the land as it becomes hardened and stony, she shapes it as she goes, and shape shifts as she steps. She, and her Lord of Silence, flying over land, today in the shape of a rising storm. The amanitas are out, the lunaria pods are broken, the energy in the world feels like upheaval and unsteadiness, a great breath before a blow. I align with the hags, and ready myself to fly. It's going to be a very stormy winter, in every way.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP7buz2EXibszGOtpIjcBKm5fhukXo5osRtB436X_Ij3XYzNl-1G5TQuUqoZr0d6LoJeBqOzGuL9zWD9AAJnCIneEaQoy0WhyphenhyphentlCeNMOs8CJSxZUdKAbe86BHd3ZR86Hlzak8GajfQxPu9/s4896/P1000800.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP7buz2EXibszGOtpIjcBKm5fhukXo5osRtB436X_Ij3XYzNl-1G5TQuUqoZr0d6LoJeBqOzGuL9zWD9AAJnCIneEaQoy0WhyphenhyphentlCeNMOs8CJSxZUdKAbe86BHd3ZR86Hlzak8GajfQxPu9/s320/P1000800.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><b>Homecraft</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Aside from writing a contribution to an upcoming book, writing a second book, finishing Morgan's piece's paint job and fighting with lungs, there's the simple comfort tasks to keep the mind off the increasing isolation presented by the virus. Warding illness and disease takes many forms, as does warding boredom; dyeing wool, brown-sugar butter brittle up some walnuts, candied and rolled cranberries, walnut-cran buns, drying apples, drying amanita, pouring tinfoil-mold candles... The countertops are stained with resin, the floor burned in places now... This is a place that welcomes household spirits more than ever- the kind that help you keep house and tend to your basic needs as a family. Some have reappeared and others are new, but all the spirits who gather in the kitchen or around warm places seem comforted by the sweets and laughter that is building here.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtuPQwBohIg_fvwuq8kEXgt3wyddnr708qpyHLsLwtGr2IlebcLQGV_1rjOubkZhjvJzAle0m_iXR3ons-qG3nTAQAwIYuuDcrfnRK9gxKddsmdPiZaLtnjziRvNf3yhIbOlDpqquh9Sq/s4896/P1000814.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtuPQwBohIg_fvwuq8kEXgt3wyddnr708qpyHLsLwtGr2IlebcLQGV_1rjOubkZhjvJzAle0m_iXR3ons-qG3nTAQAwIYuuDcrfnRK9gxKddsmdPiZaLtnjziRvNf3yhIbOlDpqquh9Sq/s320/P1000814.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What would normally be a summer, fall and winter full of pesticide conferences and social justice training has become zoom check-ins and log-keeping. What used to be hitting the bar with the crew every other week has become meeting 6 feet apart in the woods on cold, windy afternoons. What is normally witchy pop-up market mingling is now etsy browsing. The introvert that is me adores the distance from others, but the witch that is me always prefers to walk among others. As the trees become bare, you can see further into the distance, all the mysteries between being stripped away and we slip into a strange winter, a lonlier one. That's why it's important to practice your crafts, hone your skills and find a way to keep your mind occupied with creation. You'll need the skill of creativity when times change again. We always need the magic of creativity.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GRJDSGYHpM4wKg3wlJK7KIz5gWIMPK6EgbFVDCk1vSi9tlwXjBTDmDRXyC0s34F00FhQBT5qAFPh9v0NTsXJcUyJk4-m6hWXOABvO8klZdEAYct8mSPtQmv8ls_paD2VWde0tyI8XgoM/s4711/Brush.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2895" data-original-width="4711" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GRJDSGYHpM4wKg3wlJK7KIz5gWIMPK6EgbFVDCk1vSi9tlwXjBTDmDRXyC0s34F00FhQBT5qAFPh9v0NTsXJcUyJk4-m6hWXOABvO8klZdEAYct8mSPtQmv8ls_paD2VWde0tyI8XgoM/w400-h246/Brush.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><i>The Cold Clay...</i></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One statue left, just one- a years long promise finally being fulfilled. I hate when I lose my inspiration to sculpt, my passion- I just haven't had it in me to push through these last commissions during the last few years. Right now, it's just me and this work, staring at one another every day. Every day I add a little, take a little off, paint, change, repaint... Painting is such a bitch. I always get stuck here, and change is slow to come. But the turn of the tides has brought with it a sense of renewal. Now, I need to wake this fairy queen up from her long rest and push through the paint process (the part I genuinely hate). And come December, I'll finally be ready for more. This time around, I intend to do my own ideas and work, take on less commissions and stick to expressing myself.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxIG3trOpi7qaILf3qtbITMyg04Ba2Ta6q2wC_aawGxCRnXzsn-QV_7giH6iXjJmC4tGf8FVkCLJboj8hmYbhRTPTjRRVMJbXUjovi44jybthlfNb5dvRf7sgfmCoR6qiWfx-mprlSQVq/s4499/Gothener.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4499" data-original-width="3375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxIG3trOpi7qaILf3qtbITMyg04Ba2Ta6q2wC_aawGxCRnXzsn-QV_7giH6iXjJmC4tGf8FVkCLJboj8hmYbhRTPTjRRVMJbXUjovi44jybthlfNb5dvRf7sgfmCoR6qiWfx-mprlSQVq/s16000/Gothener.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>years long overdue work for a sister in the artes<br /></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I've had visions of the Apple Mother more and more and want to put her to clay. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Apples are such an eternal symbol. When their blossoms bloom in spring, I fairly swoon for their baby fine scent. When they emerge in the summer, I feel the growth in my skin, in my soul, and I see Her smiling between the branches. Come summer's end it's mead and cider season and the fruit are dropping all around. But now comes the first frost, the apples that remain on the vine ferment into sacks of sweet chilly cider, and those on the ground become mushy cobblers for the rats and raccoons. Year round, there is always an occasion to celebrate the apple, its symbolism and its magic is something that is </span>ever present<span style="font-family: inherit;">. And She haunts me.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIOOEmu4JLghoqmlzbwZJIlyxl_4FV9WDpbAcGW87_j0tVT6E_aTNyCBT_NWzeD7dQDfOusFMyrjdTdnUc-ql17rt6ZJGoINkH72pUKHy0dQ9uS3BrNqpGlFkSlRaV7JU29RhTbwA3ozR/s4896/P1000797.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIOOEmu4JLghoqmlzbwZJIlyxl_4FV9WDpbAcGW87_j0tVT6E_aTNyCBT_NWzeD7dQDfOusFMyrjdTdnUc-ql17rt6ZJGoINkH72pUKHy0dQ9uS3BrNqpGlFkSlRaV7JU29RhTbwA3ozR/w400-h300/P1000797.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I must make her faces in the clay. Young and wise, old and beautiful, ripening and wilting. There's others too- kitchen witches, harvest mothers, ivy gods and Pan... I sculpt for <i>myself</i>, which is why most of my statues are very feminine, but I've been feeling less about my old self, so I want to try </span>neutral<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and masculine work. It's an energy that's different from mine, I wonder what I'll do with it. But for now, I come to terms with the past and put an end to those chapters before the frost takes root.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_J_D6AV6QsbzSsYcv6DuwHuz9c6fGNyVJ4t53jG9ldruNqKVCkLqQO0lPcWaLsp6HgWYAkMeXlX9ZOdB0NRGbrr_MsrNhhhN2rr3Hpihylcu5VEwa042fiLdfBvPtouVstaWcNpKTxbz/s4896/P1000534.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_J_D6AV6QsbzSsYcv6DuwHuz9c6fGNyVJ4t53jG9ldruNqKVCkLqQO0lPcWaLsp6HgWYAkMeXlX9ZOdB0NRGbrr_MsrNhhhN2rr3Hpihylcu5VEwa042fiLdfBvPtouVstaWcNpKTxbz/w640-h480/P1000534.JPG" width="640" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>A Note...</b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Change has come with the frost. I hope it brings something real. I want the world to be cool and green, I want people to be responsible and selfless. I want people to grow exhausted with hate and grow passionate for evolution. I want to take what I've learned these last nine months in quarantine and share these domestic crafts with friends. Right now, my bubble small due to my high risk (pulmonary disease), but I look forward to the future with optimism because I had exceptional plans for the witch's tides of 2020 and now, who knows, I'm hoping come next <a href="https://www.viahedera.com/2020/03/venus-day-violet.html">Venus Day</a>, I won't be writing about spending it stuck inside the same place, baking the same tart... We're all hoping that spring will bring something new. For now, we wait, beneath the frost.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUfNp1U1BkpPQcfpvqLBnlDgbJ8zQGiCt4DIY9ORDBPJcHEWtUdw7zyLRzDFwijTfT8Z24eFD3Vm0fKoTD3eoJP3UhnaCwYBF1pGwN-8UL6UduWswgDsAjWiEu-eWcWQPTbYddkHTN0ey/s4896/P1000625.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUfNp1U1BkpPQcfpvqLBnlDgbJ8zQGiCt4DIY9ORDBPJcHEWtUdw7zyLRzDFwijTfT8Z24eFD3Vm0fKoTD3eoJP3UhnaCwYBF1pGwN-8UL6UduWswgDsAjWiEu-eWcWQPTbYddkHTN0ey/s320/P1000625.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-83186672125095160152020-10-09T12:27:00.002-07:002021-05-13T08:40:48.574-07:00A Selection of Familiar Shapes<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>On the Shapes in Nature Taken by Familiar Spirits</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></i></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The deed was signed in the blood of the witch and horrible
ceremonies confirmed the compact. Satan then gave his ally a familiar in the
form of a dog , ape , cat , or other animal , usually small and black , and
sometimes an undisguised imp.”</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">- </span>Terri Hardin, <i style="font-family: inherit;">Treasury of American Folklore: Our Customs, Beliefs, and Traditions</i></div></blockquote><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><div style="text-align: justify;"></div></span>
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL300ipdTDgsp6_JQa6so3Df7Di8hobWpXBfS-KYLTOPZRbWGMia93xkI7LmX2RnVzA4TjCaYrbkECfUfqEkFBpUs0SuytoVHA652zK7IMQacXFIAlm06cmXb1vRFEvWYPyYUAIDDFO6xY/s1228/owlet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1228" data-original-width="1144" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL300ipdTDgsp6_JQa6so3Df7Di8hobWpXBfS-KYLTOPZRbWGMia93xkI7LmX2RnVzA4TjCaYrbkECfUfqEkFBpUs0SuytoVHA652zK7IMQacXFIAlm06cmXb1vRFEvWYPyYUAIDDFO6xY/w373-h400/owlet.jpg" width="373" /></span></a></div></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Owl</b>- The Old Hag
of Night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">The owl witch is an old one. These familiars are well endowed with
witching art and are in the service to the darkest mothers the world
over. As a familiar, thy serve witches
as messengers, as trackers, as omens and as guides for necromancy. Owl familiars are not to be treated lightly,
and ought to be given their freedom to move.
Their ultimate service is to the dark mothers, those queens of
underworld and inferno and so their wisdom must be respected. Unlike some familiars which are sometimes
brought to heel by force, this one is selective and requires wooing.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"></span></span></i></div><blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The
most important creatures in American witchlore were familiars; demon servants
that took the form of living animals in order to surreptitiously serve the
enchanters.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><i>Familiars were indispensable
in casting spells, but by disguising themselves as normal beasts of the
wilderness, the spirits could move undetected through the countryside, spring
upon innocent citizens and performing evil assignments.”</i>- Sally Smith Booth, <i>The Witches of Early America</i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"></div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4TtdTs3au-XumGmGDPN6-V14YwX_-MrD_P5CDmv1gzG2yDIUz6rlsgRyR3F2a3FuxfdTaNIqydBHESqincHM-X9Zgfgg4ttJRhOcqRePvExreJkE4n8rmNoSgIyHik0yYAa1x5GfGjuQ/s884/Ratcorn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="884" data-original-width="752" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4TtdTs3au-XumGmGDPN6-V14YwX_-MrD_P5CDmv1gzG2yDIUz6rlsgRyR3F2a3FuxfdTaNIqydBHESqincHM-X9Zgfgg4ttJRhOcqRePvExreJkE4n8rmNoSgIyHik0yYAa1x5GfGjuQ/w272-h320/Ratcorn.jpg" width="272" /></a><br /></span></div>
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<b>Mouse & Rat-
</b>Little Devils</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">The rat and mouse class of familiars ought to be
approached carefully and with planning.
Many spirits, shape-changers and demons take the shape of rats and mice
for their work, and a familiar in this shape often works in company with
others. Offerings of food and
shelter are often enough to draw a whole nest of hard-working familiars who
will nuisance any neighbor you despise.
They can be politely reasoned with through well-written letters but are
quite difficult to get rid of. If this
familiar appears, the witch will move swiftly and with cunning, and be
given access to hard to reach places.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfBo5fJnzsBHqBkpOaDkjjK730C6KtKeu4jnqAN3AugGlefjBzahsWKgi65s_81P6wpOJiDoacVRuofSNZxcPkEhNk-gWHbOoeacGxfy7AMBzfX4MNBCz90SlxAU_-53NqFBcNjKtObOP/s968/Rabbit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="968" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfBo5fJnzsBHqBkpOaDkjjK730C6KtKeu4jnqAN3AugGlefjBzahsWKgi65s_81P6wpOJiDoacVRuofSNZxcPkEhNk-gWHbOoeacGxfy7AMBzfX4MNBCz90SlxAU_-53NqFBcNjKtObOP/s320/Rabbit.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rabbit-
</b>Jack-in-the-Graveyard<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">To select this familiar spirit, one
need not obtain the foot. Witches appear
as rabbits quite often, and familiar spirits of all manner wear the skin of a
rabbit to hide their true faces; it is one of the easiest forms to attain and
familiars to encounter. They are a
lucky, swift and self-preserving friend, a valuable spirit. Rabbit witches are not to be crossed, as
harming one brings an instant hex, unless a silver bullet is used.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Z6W-J429g4nAIUBTkmC2bZk9z9KIDtXMCQYHKBWmL7JGEc1be3uYXC4AGIIvBUBxQDMrVmFSyls3OqpVJ5TC8gUz4jotg04cfxAgo_9f8tkLOCH3rMIYSrZLJXrjTrritdyzW5EtHyL6/s1052/frlo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1052" data-original-width="1052" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Z6W-J429g4nAIUBTkmC2bZk9z9KIDtXMCQYHKBWmL7JGEc1be3uYXC4AGIIvBUBxQDMrVmFSyls3OqpVJ5TC8gUz4jotg04cfxAgo_9f8tkLOCH3rMIYSrZLJXrjTrritdyzW5EtHyL6/s320/frlo.jpg" /></span></a></div></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Frog and Toad</b>- The
Living Thing Within <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Though a selector of familiars
would recognize lizards, toads and frogs as components to hex work, they are
also valuable familiars. A familiar who
takes this form is long associated with our kind and provides a plethora of
innate gifts such as healing prowess, weather reading, communication with other
spirits and usefulness in the production of elixirs and potions designed to
harm others. The killing of toads and frogs is taboo, as witches often take these forms.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZaagWkHA5SAIt1t6P8kc7ilfZJKOLxabERccQ5MWGFubXynGBCulpckhcFID1Zk3ZaWMptRmqvDvzV6Hb16XbN6pibnCan_v6_zBH3j9mubCdiz8kSIKHhMjY5rITXKfsID5AAik_dm1/s1148/Gato1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1148" height="633" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZaagWkHA5SAIt1t6P8kc7ilfZJKOLxabERccQ5MWGFubXynGBCulpckhcFID1Zk3ZaWMptRmqvDvzV6Hb16XbN6pibnCan_v6_zBH3j9mubCdiz8kSIKHhMjY5rITXKfsID5AAik_dm1/w640-h633/Gato1.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Cat</b>- Ye Olde
Familiar<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">By bone and by black fur, the cat
is an old mask of the practitioner and a highly prized form for a familiar to
take. Those who wander out of their
skins and into another will find the cat an easy form to shape, and as a
familiar spirit, the cat is quite loyal and powerful. Its very bones emanate with the power of
invisibility, initiation, conjuring and divination. A familiar in the shape of the cat will guard a witch but only
at its own leisure.</span></i></div><div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiadiD3wcZ4q3pOsyrevtMRnOd-JKW5AP_tiY_gOnowZFmV2bLfbRklqRJzKcGZ3zlNTZoEWSa_SQksab7nJ3n1S94OGvk5532w_0Rr-7Y6vaZ8-0wm3zbzraSn-dwvaO5i7PJtqe_yaet/s1628/Horsay.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="1628" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiadiD3wcZ4q3pOsyrevtMRnOd-JKW5AP_tiY_gOnowZFmV2bLfbRklqRJzKcGZ3zlNTZoEWSa_SQksab7nJ3n1S94OGvk5532w_0Rr-7Y6vaZ8-0wm3zbzraSn-dwvaO5i7PJtqe_yaet/w640-h454/Horsay.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Horse</b>- The
Nightmare<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">The horse as a
familiar spirit or wearing it's shape will give the witch a distinct advantage in nightriding,
shapeshifting and travel. Witches may
even be able to turn humans into horses to use as they please as though they
are familiar spirits themselves. This
familiar can assist a witch in dreamwork and flight.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3DwpU8kJ953XZfCXZyAHoqWs_OA0Ai1wT4XA9xJmKr_K51SWPqcesTIFZRb-6RkQthc3kXqmna7eixI9s-H9WlG3noZpNNJc2tRhvBBGZtakm60vnq-bIeR6ecBFRy7WtniMJLY2RsAO/s1428/pilo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="928" data-original-width="1428" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3DwpU8kJ953XZfCXZyAHoqWs_OA0Ai1wT4XA9xJmKr_K51SWPqcesTIFZRb-6RkQthc3kXqmna7eixI9s-H9WlG3noZpNNJc2tRhvBBGZtakm60vnq-bIeR6ecBFRy7WtniMJLY2RsAO/w400-h260/pilo.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div></div></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Hog</b>- Swine Haint<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">A hog is a form often taken by the
witch, and witches are known to bewitch pigs belonging to others, but
they are also a permissible familiar spirit that can perform tasks for witches
of all manner. They are wise, unassuming
and will serve as a suitable specter for the night-riding hag witch. A hog bewitched or a familiar hog can torment
others by spoiling their crops or spoiling their dreams with the squeals of
unholy songs. A witch hog is hunted by
silver bullet and pokeberry, so these things ought to be avoided.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Mole</b>- The
Magician<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">The selection of the mole for one’s
familiar spirit is a bloody affair. Familiar moles evade the law, harbor the gift
of invisibility, the healing virtues that take away disease, and general
command of the magical arts. This
familiar is promised to remove obstacles and block other witches from being a
burden. The difficulty of this familiar is
attainment, as it must offer itself, or, be taken. If the former, this bond is forged in roots
and dirt; if the latter, the mole must be crushed in the left hand and the
heart and or liver consumed quickly before the paws and teeth are removed and
set to dry.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgL7-idZ1DHt_gX0Ku7Kcb71SPTAHtEOLpi8qd48Q2U7ohoM3105jytlm_yYx6EDTsbh3LWWiVGeMt92OWMHqbQDro627j5trU_aln8cmV4QFzuy_AkmYwJJQI7AgiqHVJQNWVzZppvF8/s720/beekte.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="644" data-original-width="720" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgL7-idZ1DHt_gX0Ku7Kcb71SPTAHtEOLpi8qd48Q2U7ohoM3105jytlm_yYx6EDTsbh3LWWiVGeMt92OWMHqbQDro627j5trU_aln8cmV4QFzuy_AkmYwJJQI7AgiqHVJQNWVzZppvF8/w400-h358/beekte.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Beetle</b>- The Death
Watcher</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">A familiar who takes the form of
the beetle is one who is well adept to traversing the keyhole. It is the teller of death, rain, thunder and
will be useful in delivering forewarnings as a familiar. Its gift is that it may wander in small places
and keep watch without notice. The black
beetle will climb into beds and pinch one’s enemies and will find their way
back to the witch even in the deepest darkness. Sadly, the beetle familiar is
easily captured in an anti-witching bottle.<br /><br /></span></i></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i></i><blockquote><i>Familiars, whether shaped as ghastly specters or as everyday animals, were not thought capable of sustaining themselves without nourishment.”-</i> Sally Smith Booth, <i>The Witches of Early America</i></blockquote><i><br /></i><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />The Odd Shape</span></b></div><i><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>These can take the shapes of specters, winds, lights or shadows, or, fantastical shapes. Some of the devils and imps of witchlore which appear to witches and non-witches alike look like fireballs moving on the wind, or appear as dust-devils kicked-up on a breezeless day. Some may have the ability to take on shapes we recognize in our animal kingdom while others take rare and strange forms unnatural to our perspective. These spirits may appear before a witch in forms simple and strange, silly and odd, or so terrible it nearly breaks the mind to try and comprehend. The sacred geometry of some spirits is a fascinating thing; that the spirits in their unseen forms can be greater in size than imagination, smaller than reckoning and can be in shapes that twist the eyes and stun the mind. They can be twisted and terrible, wrenching to behold, the very stuff that inspired the horrors of hells’ mythology or perhaps celestial beauty. Their bodies can be infinite fractals winding in and out of themselves, undulating with the deeper maths of the universe, or simple and senseless things- barely imagined, barely there, a simple wisp of an idea lost on the wind. A spirit is not always a familiar face, sometimes, it is so vastly foreign that we are instantly repelled. What is beauty in one universe can be a nightmare in another and the shapes of familiar spirits can take these drastic and diverse forms, but most typically, entities appear in forms suitable to our world; our animal and plant and mineral allies, aspects of nature that can trick our eyes and the eyes of others.</i></div></i><o:p></o:p><p></p>Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570225078429610519.post-22525749298777539402020-09-20T16:17:00.002-07:002020-09-21T10:42:11.778-07:00The Scythe Moon and Feast of Nuts<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ldd8CpLQrdJ4DBW-txagiAZGyMHogtWGIjhXfyWRtK_V-PhNxv1ZtNe2__sf9CijbbOynhgOtV2M9e88o-6B9GdDlNbYsw_7IKVo7NDtHrVmbQ0hQJnGOzPaBGLasPnCkbc_EtGuMCmj/s2048/stewel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ldd8CpLQrdJ4DBW-txagiAZGyMHogtWGIjhXfyWRtK_V-PhNxv1ZtNe2__sf9CijbbOynhgOtV2M9e88o-6B9GdDlNbYsw_7IKVo7NDtHrVmbQ0hQJnGOzPaBGLasPnCkbc_EtGuMCmj/s320/stewel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Harvest Moon is the moon of my
birth.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I came into this world after the
equinox had passed, on a moon’s day under a waxing moon, and it has landed so again this year. I resonate with this
time and the taste and smells of autumn.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">These in-between and </span>transitional<span style="font-family: inherit;"> times are when I feel most alive,
even in such a time of death.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
reaping was heavy this year- the summer burned in more ways than one.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Back in May, I had hoped that by the time the </span>scythe<span style="font-family: inherit;"> moon came, that things would be calm and normalcy might look like
possibility rather than a memory.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">At
this point, I don’t even know what will happen but I know that the harvest
sickle swings hard in the heat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The time when the leaves turn, the
dying grass, the fall of the corn and the preparations of preserved goods is a
sacred moment for the human species of mammal; it’s a bloody, hot, burning
reminder of the turning of things, the ever constant change over which we have
no real control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The autumnal equinox of
this, the Year of Hell, the Covidian Era, falls on a Martian day, under a
waxing sickle of a crescent moon as it moves into the arms of the archer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun passes hands around this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those gods of the green and fruiting world
mature into wicker men and rose queens, corn mothers and sickle gods, and go
into the land as they do, making space for those spirits who dwell in the turn
of the leaves, and in the frosts that creep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Those hags of winter and lords of silence enjoy their rides along the
land, bringing with them the hush of the snow, and the endless dark. But for
now, the sun is still high, the horizon is ablaze with fire and smoke, and the nights
are still hopelessly hot.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNTMimHg0GJ-PFvGMQcok2FQI3BWS5Nq4peho61FsMZS3ecKjx9sKSfhAI3jg6hpkwNFsajohZtqBND6KfpHBR_XQkE0eEKExnVjFj13_PvzX9JI-IrehJJrdgo4e5EYP128PtzX-sYD3/s2048/brugge.jpg" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNTMimHg0GJ-PFvGMQcok2FQI3BWS5Nq4peho61FsMZS3ecKjx9sKSfhAI3jg6hpkwNFsajohZtqBND6KfpHBR_XQkE0eEKExnVjFj13_PvzX9JI-IrehJJrdgo4e5EYP128PtzX-sYD3/s320/brugge.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Harvest season brings with it all
the fun feasts of the season; the feast of grains and the feast of apples have passed
with midsummer and highsummer, now is the time for the maples, the buckeyes,
and feast of oaks.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is when the
black blood of the god-trees can be drawn out; the </span>oak-gall<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and the walnut are
here to be bled, and to serve.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The oak
harvest is one of my very favorites-- the whole season of the nut really.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The feast of oaks takes place when the acorns
ripen and the galls grow brown- the wasps have left but the many crawling
mysteries within remain.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The horse chestnuts split and bounce down the hills, crushed under wheel, poking up in the grass. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We feed on the
oaks and chestnuts, hazels and walnuts, and all those good things, to honor
the old gods, the strong and ancient arboreal gods. Around this time, I feel like the Apple Woman and the Lord of Oaks share a kinship, a balance. These liminal spirits appear a lot in my life, as doorways and symbols, as heralds and omens. Their names sound long and ancient in my ears, airy words that I speak only with them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> But they aren't the only ones who speak to me clearly this time of year; the horse chestnut trees I've worshiped under and bled for and fed and honored have come to bare fruit. I only pick from these trees and I have since I was a kid. The horse chestnuts and buckeyes as a personification represent luck, and the protection of good health, but as a personal acquaintance, these particular spirits are teachers of all kinds of loving green art- whispering advice at me like the pinpricks under my heels while I gather. Painful and sharp works that reveal something smooth and slick and well structured beneath its harsh exterior, and deeper within... the fruit of knowledge. The horse chestnut speaks of to me of dolls of health, dolls of love, of clean and fresh smelling clothes and good healthy feelings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRG215sGg2WBkWSq6-OEB-hBwQdyzMbQ4DSuSr-yjeToxJQK5XaXjAaZ149-42C_pno5IHgJ8TGZ76Pmx3GLKdanD6jSsHVna-6w75lvXeqaWAfEcdGx26KZsjmsQlZUJf9vsX95FWdGK/s2048/IMG_2698.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1444" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRG215sGg2WBkWSq6-OEB-hBwQdyzMbQ4DSuSr-yjeToxJQK5XaXjAaZ149-42C_pno5IHgJ8TGZ76Pmx3GLKdanD6jSsHVna-6w75lvXeqaWAfEcdGx26KZsjmsQlZUJf9vsX95FWdGK/s320/IMG_2698.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I feel the land turn and ready for rest, I
go out to the woods to the horse chestnut trees and start picking up the early
buckeyes as they come tumbling downhill and gather in the ivy below.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">They will be all kinds of useful to me soon
enough- as a natural soap, as a fortunes tool, as flour for dough-dollies… a
good time to start readying the poppets and bottles is right about now.</span></div>
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Winter will bring a lot of change, I hope. I've been so stagnated in my statue work, focusing more on videos for <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC94x0n8zsvtahuouAeTFnSg" target="_blank">my YouTube channel</a>, my contributions to upcoming works and my second book. I really miss putting my fingers in clay for purposes of art rather than charms. I feel like I waste every weekend and yet I get so much of my personal goals accomplished I don't know why I'm stressing. The darkyear will be different. It will have to be. Because I need to move on to new statues and I never quite move on when I have old projects left. May the coming dark bring the peace and time I need.</div>
Riverton Witchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08413452009725686183noreply@blogger.com0