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A Series of Musings @powderandclay....................................................................................................................3 ANon-Exhaustive Guide To Making friends with the land @ivycrownedwitch.....................................5 Mullein @rosa-nitida.................................................................................................................................................8 Odin as the Devil @satsuti......................................................................................................................................10 Daemon Sleep Aid @winebrightruby.....................................................................................................................12 The Serpent that Lies in the Grass Unseen @rosa-nitida..............................................................................15 A Primer of Stellar Wortcunning @kitchentoad...........................................................................................19 Plumeria @empyrealhesper.....................................................................................................................................23 To My Dearest @witchcraftingboop....................................................................................................................25 Ulfhednar and Soul-Parts @fistfightinggod...................................................................................................27 The Pouring Sky @ivycrownedwitch...................................................................................................................29
cover and logo by @lunefrog 2
H.L.H. @powderandclay A Series of Musings: Death, Dying, and Spring i. Lilacs and Violets The violet is a flower that symbolizes death; the lilac shouldn’t be taken inside the home without precautions if one wishes to avoid drawing restless spirits in with it. The flowers I’ve come to associate most strongly with the dead and their spirits bloom only for a few weeks, at the crux of spring– a time of life and birth. It’s May as I type this, and I’ve just made an anointing oil of hyacinths, lilacs, violets and dandelions from harvests I can only partake in once a year. Isn’t it odd that the only time I can steal lilacs from my neighbor’s overreaching bushes is when litters are birthed and eggs break open? Why is it that flowers that smell like the perfume on a casket only offer themselves up when new life claws its way from earth? Isn’t it interesting– the juxtaposition between life and death, of seedlings and violets in the cemetery? ii. Honor I read something on tumblr that stuck with me. I don’t remember where I read it, or who said it, just that it’s now written somewhere under my skin, lingering in the ridges of my bones: “Everything dead deserves to be honored.” I arrange the bones a crick spirit gave me neatly beside stones and snake skins, unwilling to risk offending whatever lingers on them, hoping to please anyone who might see. “Everything dead deserves to be honored.” A baby bird fell out of its nest into my garden. My dad used to throw dead things in the weeds between our house and the neighbors. I wrap its broken body in a threadbare washcloth and bury it next to my tomatoes. “Everything dead deserves to be honored.” There’s a dead deer beside the river, and it doesn’t want to be disturbed. I don’t disturb it. “Everything dead deserves to be honored.” I clean Mrs. Elizabeth Warrick’s grave and leave her some lilacs. I don’t know who she is, and I never will. “Everything dead deserves to be honored.” Is this honor, or decency? iii. Rot My compost bin is happiest in spring, I think. I fill it with grass clippings and rotted daylily leaves, I move every worm I find whilst planting my garden into it– the rain spurs it on, the wet rot of dead things returning where they came from. There’s something about this decomposition that makes me pause in reverence. My compost bin is an old wood thing, and the compost is reclaiming even its container. Is decay death or life? The boards are crumbling, and I need to build a new bin before this one falls apart. Is the consumption a part of the process of ending or beginning? The dirt that comes from the compost is dark, and it feels holy. My chest aches when my hands are clean, and the ache dissipates when my palms and knees and feet are stained black with earth. My hands are covered in the reclaimed remains of the life around me. Is it holy because it is made in a series of contradictions, or do I hold it dear because it will one day be made of me, too? iv. Bones The crick was happy to see me this spring. I came back to her, as I always do when the melted snow makes her banks swell and the sun tempers her chill, to reclaim the piece of myself I left in her waters last fall. She gave me gifts, eager, presenting them one after the other; she gave me glass and stones and ochre and wood. She gave me bones– a jaw and three legs– fragile and brown. Where did these bones come from? There was an animal whose skin they laid under once, a part of her, sustained by her water and earth and foliage. They 3
died beside her or beneath her, their bones scattered by water and carrion birds. How many people stepped over the gifts she gave me? How many animals nosed them aside in favor of the plants nurtured by the last, disintegrating granules of their flesh? How long did she carry the last pieces of something that used to be before she gave them to me? I receive them with care and display them with pride– a last piece of something that lived and died in her embrace.
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Ivy @ivycrownedwitch A Non-Exhaustive Guide to Making Friends with the Land In my early teenage years, I was able to attend several camping trips to the Khao Yai National Park at Nakhon Ratchasima, Thailand. As someone who grew up in a bustling, urban city, venturing into the woods for the first time was an eye-opening experience. I remember my parents telling me to introduce myself to the เจ้าป่าเจ้าเขา- the ‘Lords of the Forests and Mountains’. It was customary to pray to them, to let them know that we are here with peaceful intentions and that we acknowledge their rule over the natural lands. Animism is inseparable from Thai culture, and paying respects to the local land spirits - especially in lands where you are a guest - is a lesson I keep close to heart. It was only in my college years that I was lucky enough to be able to attend university in the UK. Around that time, I began studying traditional witchcraft, and just when I managed to find my bearings, I was uprooted once more and had to return home. If I was certain of one thing, it was that there was no way I could call the Bucca from halfway across the globe, nor could I rely solely upon books such as Under the Witching Tree by Corinne Boyer or grimoires the likes of Viridarium Umbris by Daniel Schulke. The majority of the herbs and trees mentioned in these texts do not grow where I live, and importing most of them just seems wasteful and silly. I had to adapt. ***** Below is some advice on how to get to know the land you live on, and make the land your ally. 1. Learn about local folklore Blackthorns and hawthorns may not grow where I live, but we have the banyan tree and the sacred fig. Just as Irish people may choose to build a road around a hawthorn rather than committing the blasphemy of cutting such a tree down, Thai people rarely fell a banyan or sacred fig tree without reason. Trees which are supposedly haunted by nature spirits are wrapped around with multicolored ribbons to mark their sanctity, and ceremonies have to be performed if anything is to happen to the tree. Even certain commonly found trees, such as banana trees, can be haunted, and the spirits in them are known to be vicious, even deadly. Ask around. Are there any trees or patches of land which are feared or revered by the locals? To be even more specific, you may also observe the very trees that live in your backyard or local parks. There is a pomegranate tree in my garden that looks frail, its branches thin and fruits tiny. Yet when other flowers or vegetation are planted near its trunk, they tend to all die whilst the pomegranate tree ends up surviving year after year. There may be a scientific reason behind this, perhaps something to do with the intensity of the sun or the quality of the soil, but I believe there is something special about this tree too. The tree was planted for a specific reason: my parents believed that a house with a daughter in it should have a pomegranate nearby, for luck and protection. The tree knows its duty and purpose. It is also at this tree where I pour libations meant for the dead, due to both western and local folklore linking the pomegranate to ghosts and the underworld. 2. Give offerings Introduce yourself to the land and the plants that grow upon them. Tell them who you are, what you practice, and acknowledge that you are a peer who shares their domain. If it was your grandparents who seeded the tree and your parents who watered it and now you are the one approaching it, then let it know. Trees remember. The land never forgets. 5
Then, give offerings. It was either my mother or grandmother who taught me to feed trees a mixture of water and sugar, and to sing and talk to it, believing that sugar makes the fruits sweeter while song and conversation helps the tree grow. After learning some science behind plants and trees, I don’t often water trees with sugar nowadays. Still, that does not negate how the trees and the land they sit on appreciate offerings in the forms of voice and water. Give constant offerings. In my opinion, it is better to be constant in your gifts and shows of gratitude than to do a big ritual once in a blue moon. My routine is as simple as giving libations of water to the big trees in my garden once a week, and also a general libation dedicated to the land and all who dwell there. Eventually, you’ll sense what the land and the plants prefer. Warm water or ice cold? Tap or something else? Perhaps a dash of honey? Ask, and they will let you know. 3.Get to know them Ever fallen asleep on the grass before? Or under a tree, with your head resting on top of its gigantic roots like a hard pillow? Some trees like the blackboard tree - nicknamed the Devil’s tree in certain countries - are said to be unlucky and that if you fall asleep beneath them, you may be visited by the spirit of the tree. Spirits of the land and the fauna can talk to you through feelings, through flashes of intuition, or in dreams. There are some trees in Thailand where people would give offerings to and in turn, the spirit of the tree will visit them in dreams and give them prophecies that will bring them prosperity, such as information about where to find treasure or what lottery number to purchase. Dream incubation can be also used to communicate with nature spirits. Sometimes, the best way to find out the magical uses of certain plants or herbs is to ask them. Herbs or parts of plants may be ritually consumed or burnt. Take care to research plants which may be toxic or poisonous. Even an innocuous-looking houseplant such as the desert rose can be harmful if their sap is treated in a certain way. Within reason, you may experiment with burning flowers, leaves, barks, or roots. Smoke them, or throw them upon burning coals and breathe in their fumes. Before you do so, you may try to become ritually ‘clean’ by avoiding eating meat or abstaining from having sexual relations, or fasting for a certain amount of time. 4. Consult books Not all books will contain information that is applicable to you. Still, try looking up the name of the fauna in the local tongue or finding out local knowledge about it. For example, I found out that the very paper flower that we burn in funerary rites are made from sandalwood pulp, which links to sandalwood’s ability to guide the dead to where they are meant to go. Likewise, the famous “witches’ poison plants” sounded very exotic to me, until I realized daturas are grown here too and are very common and their seeds used as recreational drugs. Trying to identify the uses of plants by their planetary correspondences can also be helpful. For example, plants that reach for the sun have solar qualities while plants which have large roots are saturnine. More information can be found in Agrippa’s Three Books of Occult Philosophy and a quick summary is present in Roger Horne’s Folk Witchcraft. ***** The land is vital to my craft, and I believe that it is a massive boon to be in the good graces of the land you live on. Tend to the land and the land takes care of you.
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Photo by @satsuti
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Following photo and article by Rose @rosa-nitida Mullein: The Silent Witching Plant If you have ever traveled past disused fields, gravely road sides, or sandy hiking trails in the heat of summer, you may have encountered mullein without being aware of it– though once it’s been identified it isn’t a plant you’re likely to forget. While it can be small and unassuming with its silvery, fuzzy leaves in its first year, mullein can grow over six feet tall with a strong central stalk and bright yellow flowers in the second year of its biennial lifespan. A part of the Scrophulariaceae, or ‘figwort’, family, at least five species have naturalized in North America– verbascum thapsus and verbascum densiflorum being the most prolific in New England in particular. Folk names for mullein include flannel leaf, beggar’s blanket, felt-wort, candlewick plant, and hag’s taper. Mullein draws its roots from Europe, North Africa, and Asia, having most likely arrived in North America from seeds that hitched a ride over on colonial vessels. The earliest fossil records of verbascum thapsus seeds were discovered in the Cromer Forest Bed in Norfolk, England, marking that particular species as half a million to two million years old. Medically speaking, mullein has been used to treat a litany of ailments. The leaves, roots, and flowers can all be used in folk medicine. Mullein is an expectorant, nervous sedative, anti-inflammatory, antimicrobial, and acts as a tonic for the urinary system and connective tissue. When smoked or inhaled as a steam, the leaves (once the hairs are removed so as to not cause further irritation) are used to remove mucus and accumulated gunk in the lungs. The leaves can also be made into a warm tea in order to calm the body before sleep. In Ireland in particular, the leaves were often steeped in milk and drunk as a treatment for tuberculosis. Fresh leaves can be applied to the area of a bone fracture while you’re on the way to the doctor in order to reduce pain and inflammation around the break. A tincture created from the root will treat incontinence and frequent urination, while olive oil infused with the flowers will, when dropped into the ear, soothe the pain of ear aches, aid in clearing infection, and can assist in loosening compacted wax. Mullein isn’t just limited to its medical uses. It has been used ritualistically and in magic since at least the time of Ancient Rome, where the stalks were dipped in tallow and set alight as funerary torches. While it was also used as tinder to ignite mundane fires as well, the use in funeral rites is what has earned mullein its lasting association with the dead. In my personal practice I classify mullein as being both solar and saturnine, as it is useful not only for necromantic and apotropaic endeavors, but it also comes in handy as an ingredient in magic that requires illumination such as uncovering information, tracking down thieves, and recovering lost items. Lending to its saturnine aspect, mullein can be used in exorcising demons, an empowering agent for graveyard dirt, and can aid in returning the spirit of one who has been bewitched. The root, when tossed into the water, is known to be used as a folk charm to lure and subsequently stun fish. In my experience, mullein is fairly easy to woo as far as saturnine plants go. It commands respect but doesn’t require the same level of flattery and courtship as many of the more classical witching plants such as hawthorn, elder, and the nightshades do. Standard offerings of milk, water, alcohol, olive oil, and homemade foodstuffs during the waning or new moon go a long way in establishing a relationship with the spirit of mullein. If you’re lucky, you may end up with a plant which takes on a role similar to that of an alraun. Once a relationship is established, mullein asserts itself as an indispensable plant ally. Sometimes that which is seen as a weed is worth a second look after all. 8
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Meute @satsuti ODIN AS THE DEVIL Many people often dismiss the Odin-as-a-devil topic as simply a Christian demonization of the Norse trickster god and nothing more. In some traditional witchcraft circles the folkloric Devil’s association with Odin is somewhat acknowledged, but few seem to have any actual experience to talk about. That’s why I’m choosing to write this article and share the perspective of someone who’s both raised and currently living in Sweden, of someone who wasn’t actively looking to run into Devil-Odin but couldn’t avoid it in the end anyway. ”A late medieval trial for theft and apostasy in Stockholm charges the accused ’had served Odin for seven years.’ . . . Nor is this case an isolated one: some years later, another man is charged in Stockholm with similar crimes and a similar connection to the old heathen god. This man is sentenced to burn at the stake for apostasy, and again the accusation maintains that he served Odin. Evidence from the postmedieval period strongly suggests a continuous Swedish tradition in which people appealed to Odin for success, especially in financial matters.” - Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages, Stephen A. Mitchell As a woman of color I’ve had an aversion against anything to do with nNorse gods and religion for a long time, thanks to white supremacist who have tainted these traditions with their bullshit. The thought of looking into anything Norse related never crossed my mind because of that sad fact, despite me living on Scandinavian land. I think that’s why the Witch Lord basically grabbed me by the scruff of my neck in order to get me to see. Usually, he’s talked about as an elusive spirit who drops clues for you to pick up and piece together like a big puzzle. But in this case he was as direct as can be; a pale man dressed in all black who told me his name - Odin - before making it clear that he was the mediator and gateway to my land and its spirits. A king of trolls, elves, the dead and the like. I’ll start with clarifying that Oden, Odin, Wodan, or Wotan, who’s the norse-germanic folkloric Leader of the Wild Hunt, is not the same as the Norse god Odin. Not entirely. One of my earliest mistakes was to approach him as just another facet of the Norse god Odin and view him through a strictly Norse lens. It didn’t take long before I was twatted over the head and told that he in fact was the Old One, the Horned King, who uses Odin’s face when it’s convenient for him and is by no means restricted to this shape or name. Faces and names have different powers attached to them, and the Devil taking the guise of Odin does exactly that: he taps into a certain power of a powerful sorcerer. Moreover, the Hidden Folk are known to not be keen on revealing their true names and the folkloric Odin/Woden is the King of them, after all. A master shapeshifter. Traditional Witchcraft is regional witchcraft..? (*) So does that mean that Odin as the Devil is tied to Germanic land, then? The short answer to this is yes, in a way. I say this because the Devil in this shape ties into the cultures and practices of these countries (for me that includes runes, staves and álfáblot) You can clearly see that folk practices that are closer to each other on the map - with roughly the same flora and fauna (and sometimes seasonal changes) - are usually more similar to each other. Now, I’ll add that the Old One and his Lady are by no means small spirits, they have the same power as most deities. That means that Devil-Odin isn’t bound and shackled to a place, but can travel through and about the Otherworld. He can be invoked and present anywhere he is called. On the other hand, he isn’t the key to the land spirits everywhere. I wouldn’t approach the Odin I’ve met as an authoritative figure for African nature spirits (despite being part African myself, I might add) and neither would I invoke him for Japanese yokai. Yeah, you get the gist of it. The difference in my case—compared to, let’s say, someone in India—is that I cannot really avoid working with this particular Devil figure, not if I want a relationship with the spirits of my land. Odin made that very clear when he first revealed himself to me. Non-Germanic places often have their own head spirits in their folklore that act as sort of authoritative figures on their land, and so while it’s most certainly possible to 10
work with Odin as the Devil anywhere, it’s also important to not forget to look into one’s local lore in parallel to that. Because, let’s admit, a big part of traditional witchcraft is about working and communing with the spirits that are right outside your window. ( * This doesn’t count for sabbatic witchcraft that works through an Abrahamic paradigm with Devil figures as Azazel and Tubal-Qayin. They don’t have a folkloric tie to a region and can be worked with everywhere. The same goes for Lucifer as a witch father. )
Photo by @empyrealhesper 11
Ruby @winebrightruby By the time I go to bed, my daughter has been asleep for a couple of hours. Under her Frozen blanket, her shoulders barely move; her eyelashes shadow her cherubic cheeks. I check the baby monitor and lay down in bed for my final task of the day: sending my daemon to sleep beside her. “Daemon” is the Greek word for “spirit” and could historically refer to lesser immortal beings, the gods themselves, the in-dwelling spirit of a place, the Fortune that attended a person, or other numinous beings. But in the case of this particular working, the term and concept come from Phillip Pullman’s work of fiction, The Golden Compass (and following works in that universe). In this fictional version of our world, humans’ spirits are externalized as daemons, animal-form sentient beings who are sort of a person’s conscience, sort of a person’s soul, and sort of a person’s own identity reflected as another being. I read Pullman’s books young, so, like most fans, I wondered what animal my daemon would be. What would my soul look like, sound like, as an external animal companion? This concept may sound similar to one that periodically re-circulates through witchblr: the fetch-beast. As most commonly used on witchblr at this point, a fetch or fetch-beast is the animal form a witch’s spirit assumes when it travels from her body. (There are other historical meanings/usages that are beyond the scope of this piece.) Several months ago, when my two year old daughter began having trouble sleeping through the night, I merged these two concepts and developed a simple technique that, so far, has proven effective in helping her stay asleep at night (aka, the number one priority in my, or really any parent’s, life). Sending Forth the Daemon I lay on my bed and breathe deeply, calmly - meditative breathing. My body relaxes, and my awareness of it subsides, leaving my mind clear. In my spirit, I allow the image of “my daemon”1 to form in my spirit. At the same time, I extend my senses and locate my daughter. She is asleep down the hall, drowsy and warm as a banked hearth. Beside my bed, the daemon forms: four velveted paws, a creamy belly and tan coat, a black-tipped tail. Her blue-green eyes and expressive ears come into focus last. She is a North American cougar, Puma concolor couguar, a mountain lion of the southeastern United States. I maintain the meditation until her form is so vivid and detailed I might be able to reach out and touch her pink nose. By that time, I can feel her drowsiness as well as my own, the unfamiliar power in her muscles as she rises to her feet and yawns, the deadly claws needing only a quick flex to reveal them. She has never felt the need to show her claws in my home. Our senses flow into one another: I don’t find the shadowed hallway difficult to navigate, and she doesn’t have any doubt about where to go. We sneak into my baby’s room, quiet on those soft paws, and step up easily into her bed. There is plenty of space for the cougar to lie down between the toddler and her bed-rails, adding her weight2 and warmth to the bed. Her tail swishes over my daughter’s legs. She nuzzles the pile of flyaway curls on baby’s head, then lays her own head on her paws and closes her eyes. I re-ground my awareness in my body: feet, legs, hips, belly, lungs, arms, hands, head. I don’t know how long that particular emanation of my spirit remains externalized; she’s always gone by the time I wake up, and there are never any missing ‘parts’ of me. Just a well-rested toddler who spent the night snuggled close to a mountain lion, as kittens do. 1
I, as an avowed nerd, went through months of meditations and personality quizzes and internal examination to determine what I really truly think my daemon would be in the Pullman-verse. The first time I did this particular working, the animal that appeared was not the same as the daemon to which I’d accustomed myself. Every time since, I’ve had the same result: never once has my Pullman-verse daemon appeared. I theorize that, for most people, there are a variety of animals and figures one’s spirit might appear as in these various spirit-flight-related activities. I suspect that the, to steal a term from friends funnier than I am, “fursona of the arte” way of thinking of the fetch (as a singular animal-shaped representation of one’s spirit) is not universally accurate to most people’s experiences. 2 Her weight is technically none, which is good because the bed is approved for normal human toddler amounts of weight, not an extra ~100 or so pounds. But in her sleep, my daughter turns toward the cat, exactly as if she feels the mattress shift from someone sitting down beside her.
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I suspect there are near countless variations on this technique that would work, but this is the way I tried, and I’m reluctant to test out alternatives and gamble with my sleep. In the past two months of sending my spirit to sleep in her room, my daughter has woken up only four times.3 This is a vast improvement over the 3-5 nights per week that she had been waking up, and I know some of that success is directly attributable to this magic.
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I started using this technique around the winter holidays, but I only have hard data from the past two months because I clear out my sleep-tracker that often. Her sleep has been steadily improving since January, barring a recent, thankfully mild, illness that kept her up all night for several days.
photo by @satsuti 13
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photo by @empyrealhesper
Rose @rosa-nitida The Serpent That Lies in the Grass Unseen: Ophidian Magic and Superstition in New England As long as there have been serpents and people residing in the same place, the latter has been enchanted by and apprehensive of the former. This is no different in New England, where old European tales were held over across the Atlantic and took on a life of their own. This became especially apparent during the 17th century - where religious ideology laid the very foundation of colonial society and accusations of witchcraft, however unfounded, abound. John Hale stated in regards to the practice of folk magic in colonial Massachusetts: “Such have implicit faith that the means used, shall produce the effect desired, but consider not how; and so are beguiled by the Serpent that lies in the grass unseen”. The parallels to the Edenic serpent can not be ignored in this sentiment, and supplies demonstration to how profoundly ingrained the snake’s characterization remains even to this day: trickster, beguiler, and to the perceived heretic - teacher and ally. The first person executed as a witch in the American colonies was Alse Young of Windsor, Connecticut in 1647. Though the persecution of witchcraft tapered off significantly after the 17th century, the last witchcraft trial in America was held in 1878 in Salem, Massachusetts against Daniel Spofford and the case was dismissed without further incident. In the interim, superstition and folk beliefs incubated in the minds of colonial Americans. During the witch hysteria in particular, it was stated that the snake was among the creatures that could be counted as a witch’s familiar and fetch - spirits in the employ of the witch or a piece of the witch’s spirit itself that is sent out of the body to enact the witch’s will. In a parallel vein, the presence of snakes in dreams and in the realm of physical reality, particularly one of the two species of venomous snakes (copperheads and timber rattlesnakes), indicated that magic was afoot. In dreams the snakes indicated that a person was inclined towards the craft, whereas if the snakes presented in reality it was a sign that the individual was already engaging in magic and the snakes were protecting the individual in question. It wasn’t only those accused of witchcraft that were subjected to the superstitions surrounding |serpents - there were instances of children having preternatural relationships with snakes. According to folklore, if a child fed a snake from their plate, their souls would become bonded. Sometimes this meant that the snake would act as a guardian to the child, in other cases it meant that the snake would effectively become a spiritual double to them. In either case, the consistency remained that if any harm came to the snake, up to and including death, the child too would wither away and follow them to the grave within a few weeks. Thus it was generally recommended that no matter how unsettling the parents found these activities to be, the snake should remain unmolested for the sake of the child. In my own practice, I agree with the serpent’s role as interpreted by the Puritans, albeit from the heretical side; the serpent’s wisdom regarding magic and shapeshifting is not to be ignored. Tools are bedecked with their bones, shed skin is used in transformative works, yarrow and wormwood are used to entice and compel the spirit while offerings of milk and eggs help satisfy their price. 15
A Brief Skin-Slipping Chant: Hither and thither Slither and wind, As you shed your skin I will shed mine. Three times around And three times again Hither and thither And slip back to bed.
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Photo by @poemsandmyths PRECEDING PHOTO BY @SATSUTI 18
Mahigan @ KitchenToad.com A Primer of Stellar Wortcunning: Seeing Through the Gorgon’s Tears “Hellebore juice with an equal amount of wormwood placed under a diamond, etc., brings hatred and |courage, preserves the members of the body, and grants vengeance over anyone you wish.” Hellebore is a plant steeped in lore; its oldest mention denotes that it was often prescribed for insanity and mania by the famed Greek physician Hippocrates. The plant’s name indicates its poisonous nature, composed of the Greek heilein (to injure), and bora (to eat). Even so, its sinister reputation seems counterintuitive when contemplating the creamy, delicate rose-like petals of its February blooms. As a member of the Buttercup family however, its sap burns the mouth when eaten, and its caustic juice does an excellent job of guarding the plant during a time when its aerial parts float lonely above the Spring snow. This of course did not stop our forbearers from utilizing the plant in medicine, but especially in magic. Hellebore was traditionally prescribed for mania, insanity, paralysis, gout, as well as seizures. Its effect is soporific to the point of cardiac arrest, but in small doses its near-coma inducing properties could be used to forcibly sedate an agitated patient, allowing their body to rest after many days of frenzy. In magic, Hellebore is attributed to Saturn, Mars, and elemental Water. It is used in rites of exorcism, burned as a fumigation for talismans falling under its rulership, carried as a protective talisman, or even unearthed for rites of fertility. It is easy to see how Hellebore came to be associated with these celestial bodies; as a soporific poison it falls under the rule of Saturn, especially by its tuberous roots from which the most potent poison may be obtained. As a violent killer that bears musk-scented blooms in the season of Aries, it is Martial. Evocative of the decapitated head of Medusa, it both protects and harms, and does so viciously. Hellebore may be used in all matters of cursing and blighting, especially those binding in some aspect. It is traditionally a plant of retribution, used in poisoning the cup of Alexander the Great or yet again the waters of the ancient Thessalian city of Kirrha. It is a bloodthirsty spirit, yet it is the fiercest protector in a witch’s arsenal. Planted in the garden it will protect against malefice, and ward the home against danger of all kind. Similarly, it may act as a familiar spirit to bring vengeance onto an enemy, tossed in the fields of one whose crops and livelihood we may wish to see wither and pester. Yet again, Parkinson writes in 1641: ‘a piece of the root being drawne through a hole made in the eare of a beast troubled with cough or having taken any poisonous thing cureth it, if it be taken out the next day at the same houre,’ hinting to its dual powers of blight and healing. Interestingly enough, Hellebore also finds use within Asclepian mysteries and the shamanic practice of Iatromanteia, a form of magic focusing on the healing arts. Dioscorides writing in the first century AD says: ‘Those who dig it up (root of the Hellebore) pray to Apollo and Asclepius by observing the eagle’s flight. They say that the bird’s flight is dangerous, for it would bring death if it saw Hellebore being dug up.’ As medicine, Hellebore was sacred to these gods, and it is appropriate then that Hellebore be used in the conquest of Kirrha, a city built upon the plain of Apollo. It is said that, after the war, Kirrha was destroyed, and the plains dedicated once more to Apollo, Artemis, and their mother Leto. Hellebore’s association with Apollo as a god of healing and blight alike is an interesting parallel to its prior connection to Medusa’s dual-natured head. Within English lore, Hellebore’s ability to pull one’s spirit into the depths of the underworld was utilized in the concoction of flying ointments, within which its aqueous attributes truly shine. Perhaps easing of pain was not the only purpose for which Black Hellebore was used by those practicing Iatromanteia. Such practitioners offered their services at Asclepeion. These temples, of which more than 300 have been uncovered, were home to priests of Asclepius who aimed to cure their many patients through spiritual cleanliness, divine intervention, ritual, rest, medicine and relaxed entertainment. A large part of these treatments was spent lying on the temple floor, sleeping before an icon of the mythical healer to which they were dedicated; the patient was to rest until Asclepios himself visited their dreams, bringing with him the answer 19
to their ills. This hypnagogic dream-meeting was no doubt aided by the use of Hellebore, whether intentional or not. Black Hellebore is given to the fixed star Algol, whose malefic influence resonates perfectly with Hellebore’s Saturnian nature. Agrippa recommends crafting a ring by setting Hellebore and Wormwood beneath a Diamond under the auspice of Algol to create a strongly protective talisman whose reputation endures to this day. Just like the head of Medusa, this talisman brings incredible protection and healing to the wearer, but also brings destruction, vengeance and blight to their enemies. Algol is known as the Demon Star and is the second brightest of the Perseus constellation. It is a blinking star, eclipsing itself from our sky every two days for the span of 10 hours. This has earned it the title of ‘The Gorgon’s Blinking Eye’, fitting the description given by Alexandrian scholar Ptolemy. In his 2nd-century text Tetrabiblos, Ptolemy describes Algol as the Gorgon of Perseus and associates it with death by decapitation; fitting given the story of Medusa’s death at the hand of Perseus and the star’s location within the constellation bearing his name. Today, this is often re-interpreted as dementia in old age, or death related to mental health. It is also associated with insanity, the figurative losing of one’s head. Although this star carries a sinister connotation, those born beneath it are also blessed with the gift of a forked tongue; Algol natives are natural poets, singers, prophets and magicians, they are gifted in the field of magic and are granted the star’s favor should they know to wield it. Unsurprisingly, Algol’s power is tremendously protective, taking an aggressive approach to defense; its powerful influence is alleged to have a tangible effect on the body as well as affecting nearby electric devices. Interestingly, the blinking star’s incredible protective power is exemplified in Hellebore’s fastinduced stupor, which mimics the effects of the Gorgons’ ability to turn their enemies to stone by their stare. Similarly, Algol’s aggressive nature is evocative of the wrathful union of Phorcys and Ceto, whose monstrous births gave life to the Gorgon sisters. In fact, the star often takes on a not-quite-motherly nature in its protective aspect, being incredibly selective with those it accepts to work with, but keeping them closely guarded forevermore. Ptolemy’s mention of Algol as the star of insanity and madness draws an interesting parallel, which begs further exploration. As a remedy against insanity, Hellebore’s association with Algol represents the dual nature of its pact; it is the antidote to its own poison, its duality highlighted once more. However, Hellebore’s use against insanity, gout, mania, paralysis and other such ailments insinuates an antagonistic relationship with Dionysus, the god of madness, wine, and frenzy. Followed by his retinue of maenads, satyrs, and kathartai, the god spread madness by a touch and was often blamed for hysteria, frenzy, and overconsumption of alcohol. In fact, the god’s influence often makes an appearance in the myths of ancient Greece. Black Hellebore famously features in the tale of Midas, or Proetus. Touched by the mad god’s follower, the king’s daughters were found screaming naked in the streets, in a frenzy from which they could not be brought back. With quick wit, Melampus of Pylos employed Hellebore to undo the maenad’s spell. It is similarily said that Melampus of Argos, rather, cured king Proetus’ daughter by the use of Hellebore, baths, and charms. This man was likely a practitioner of iatromanteia who was able to apply the Asclepian mysteries of Hellebore discussed earlier. Fascinatingly, Melampode was one of the names used to refer to Black Hellebore, and this may be the source of the name Melampus, who in both tales is described as a s eer-physician. The Christians called Hellebore Christmas Rose, or Lenten Rose due to its winter blooms. Madelon, on her way to witness the birth of Jesus, took sight of three priests bearing gifts for the child; gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Noticing that even shepherds had fruit to give, Madelon stopped in her tracks wishing she had at the very least a flower to offer the child. As she turned away and began to weep, an angel noticed her plea and pointed at her feet; there, the snow began to melt, revealing a small, white flower formed from Madelon’s very tears. Rejoiced, the shepherdess offered her gift to the newborn king, her very own Christmas Rose. This Old Testament story was naturally adopted from Judaism, within which a young girl’s tears melt the snow beneath her feet and there sprouts a small, pink-tipped flower. 20
Algol is indeed a blinking star, and it is difficult not to notice the connection between Madelon’s tale and the name of the Gorgon’s Blinking Eye. As Madelon cries the flower into existence, perhaps Hellebore sprouts from whence Algol’s bloody tears land, offering poison and antidote to those who show respect and care. Madelon’s tale is the outlier within the otherwise grim lore concerning Hellebore, but it serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of genuinity when it comes to working with this star. After all, Hellebore as the gift of Algol is a plant used to punish those who betray us. Honesty and tact are valued by Algol; they are met with protection and blessing, but affront is met with retribution and destruction. The Gorgon’s Head is not a force your work with on a whim. She calls to those she knows, granting them favor and protection, and strikes down the arrogant, those wishing to harness her power for the wrong ends, and those who would abuse the weak. Mahigan 2021.05.11 Please find me at kitchentoad.com, where I offer all manner of sorcerous goods and services! https://gardenofeaden.blogspot.com/2009/01/stories-myths-legends-and-folklore-of.html https://www.patheos.com/blogs/poisonersapothecary/2018/06/11/the-court-of-helleborus-a-collection-of-hellebore-lore/ https://renaissanceastrology.com/hermesfixedstars.html http://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/h/helbla14.html https://www.alchemy-works.com/info_hellebore.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Algol “The Writings of Hippocrates and Galen”, 1846, Lindsay and Blakiston, https://oll-resources.s3.us-east-2. amazonaws.com/oll3/store/titles/1988/0881_Bk.pdf https://gardenflowerhistories.wordpress.com/2015/03/27/hellebore/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proetus Jannoray, J., “Krisa, Kirrha et la première guerre sacrée“, BCH 61 (1937), 33-43. Oracle Hekataios, “Strix Craft: Ancient Greek Magic for the Modern Witch”, Llewellyn Worldwide, 2020. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asclepeion https://ag.tennessee.edu/news/Pages/POM-2013-02.aspx
Following photo by @rosa-nitida 21
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Hesper @empyrealhesper
Queen of Heaven and Hell: On Plumeria
Plumeria (also known as frangipani, but I prefer the plumes and royal sound of the scientific name) is, surprisingly, a member of the Apocynaceae clan—that is to say, dogsbane—and she has the milky latex-like sap of the family in abundance. Commonly seen in ornamental use all around the Gulf, Plumeria is gorgeously scented and absolutely majestic in bloom. The flowers are often used for leis, symbols of welcome; they are exchanged during weddings; they are, generally, heavily associated with both love and heavenly worship, appearing often in temple offerings and relief representations of deities across a multiplicity of cultures. Their scent is pleasing to the gods and used in many popular incense varieties, including Nag Champa. However, these beautiful flowers have their dark side, as Plumeria’s dogsbane membership might suggest: they are also believed in many cultures to be hosts for ghosts and demons, as common graveyard plants. Indeed, their fragrance is said to be the sign of a Kuntilanak, a Malay vampiric spirit said to be a woman who perished either while with child or during childbirth, thereby inverting the positive fertility and love associations Plumeria carries elsewhere. Indeed, the red varieties are never used for weddings. As above, so below: Plumeria has an interesting relationship with reproduction physically as well. Her tricky flowers are most fragrant at night in order to attract their primary pollinators, the sphinx moth. However, they actually produce no nectar, so that the moths drift from flower to flower seeking nectar and transfer pollen in the process. This is known as “floral mimicry”, and Plumeria is one of the rarer examples where the action is self-based, rather than mimicry of another feeding-flower. (Yes, I know. I was formerly Moth, and my favorite is the Plumeria. Hush!) Thus, Plumeria is Venusian and Saturnine in her regal reach; her fragrance soars from Earth to Heaven above and draws the dead up from Hell below. She links the three worlds together. As such, a bowl of fresh Plumeria blossoms is an excellent flameless option to decorate and scent altars and meditative spaces, a sweet and beautiful offering to spirits both ouranic and chthonic. Her virtues of welcoming and hospitality make her a powerful necromantic ally, especially in reconciliatory or cooling work. She is, too, a tree of immortality. Her branches easily regrow. Broken ones are likely, in fact, to put off shoots and flowers by themselves: as my cousin’s new plants testify, all you need to do is put a stick in the dirt and you’ll get flowers. Invoked properly, she can promote healing, particularly in the emotional spheres; by sprouting rootless, she rises above poisons and buried grudges in the earth, and establishes herself as her own beginning. Plumeria oil is anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, stress-relieving, moisturizing, and has been used as an aphrodisiac. As a Venusian flower, her power in love spells goes without saying—but she is especially powerful as a glamor-charm, or in compulsive love (consider the metaphor of the mimic and the hungry moth, above). Dew and rainwater gathered from the petals is a potent glamor in the form of a facial wash. A toner prepared by steeping the petals in boiling water overnight is an even more available format; the evening Venus hour on Friday nights (being a night planet) is ideal for starting this process and blessing the resulting water. Be sure to split the petals from the base, and rinse them first; the milky sap can be an irritant due to its alkaloids and glycosides as well as its natural latex content. Those with latex allergies should avoid contact with Plumeria, especially the sap, as with any latex-producing plant (often identifiable by their milky sap). Individuals with fruit allergies consistent with latex-fruit syndrome should also be extra wary of Plumeria sap. On a related note, as with all cosmetic formulas I provide, be sure to patch test.
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Like the Evening Star that rules her, Plumeria is a patron of the arts; she opens up channels in the mind, inspiring the creation of beauty and soothing the heart, and she particularly likes to appear in poetry. I collect the flowers fallen from a local tree for my altar bowl, and the days I’ve found the freshest, finest harvest have come after I’ve composed in her honor. For her, then, this: Lessons Learnt from Plumeria there is no need to pluck what is freely offered. accept shed blossoms with open hands, for the gift they are and drink. forget you were ever so desperate to steal what was yours to receive. you may be beautiful without being expected to feed yourself to all. be sweet, be glorious; you need produce no nectar and the moth will visit anyway, though it come away hungry. roots are not all they’re dug up to be. from your cut-off branches, green shoots: you are immortal, holy flower, haunted by the ethereal, precious of the gods. 24
Photo by @empyrealhesper
@witchcraftingboop My Dearest Love, Simple are we, a collected few of the cells that make up the circumference of your awareness. A longing that covers the surface of parched skin in dewy droplets and eases beneath the pores, to a second skin that shimmers and twitches– alight at but a glimpse of you. To try and touch you with mine own hand would surely propel the self from its bonds, a white-bellied doe arcing towards the moon. A love like glistening stars, enriched with the sweetness of all that is forbidden. You were the first to compel me, truly, to fly, and perhaps, one who is now capable of clipping my wings. A blinding, binding love that I’m sure the likes of which has worked as countless, seedless inspirations in a world full of pale affections. . . . Is what I said to my flying ointment the other night. Some might mock the deep connection a witch, or other magic practitioner, may form with their herbs and herbal concoctions, but truly there is a depth that one can– and, in fact, often must– make with the components of their craft to reach the heights they so desire. Simply throwing a bit of mugwort and vervain into a cup to steep will only get you so far. Indeed, many an outsider can be heard claiming, “Well if [thing] is so magical then why can’t anybody [some claim or another]?” And I would go so far as to say that they’re right. What sets a witch’s actions apart from a non-witch? How can you be so certain that what you are doing is truly part of the occult– hidden– ways when you are only going through the motions? You can, of course, buy a rock from anyone and say that it does things. This rose quartz cures my PMS cramps. Sure, so why doesn’t Suzy’s? What is setting your ingredients, your “tools” and investments, apart from those of any other earth-dwelling person? It is simple, in my opinion, to then determine where one’s beginning in all things magic truly lies: in connections. Just as the Fates have woven their strings and decided the currents, so too must a practitioner step upon the shores of their awareness and beckon to that which dwells beyond perception– invite the hidden to take their hand and become part of their circle. To connect and to know is to expand your reality and take control of the outcome. Anyone can set a stone before the sun and ask for its energy; solar power is well established enough to support this. So then what is it that truly draws the chariot from the sky to the chalice? Why is it that my flight assistors, the herbs I’ve blended and tended, have the power in my life to help me to soar or to crash? The journey of a witch– a witch in the sense of a malefic, unencumbered being, as I have come to know them– is one full of pacts and oaths and bonds, strange as that may seem to some. The actions of a thing are seldom what truly matter, but rather the underlying connections that have already been made. So then it is my suggestion that any who can stare at their herbs fresh from the grocery store and think “this will do what I say because it has worked for others” need not really bother applying any of what I say to their own praxis. This isn’t really for you. But for you, my dearest, I shall speak of what I’ve come to understand. Just as a stang can be seen as merely a tool to clear the hedge, so too can herbs. A shift in perspective, I think, is the key. Though I will add that my animist and Latinx background certainly add their own layer of flavor to my suppositions and theorizing, so it is best after all to take all I say with a pinch of skepticism even here. 25
It has taken me many odd years to learn what works best for me. My mother and teachers would rather I sit for months with every herb in my collection, I’m sure. And, to their credit, I have tried this method, though only on one or two subjects. There is an intimacy in working together with an intelligence you have sought to understand and learn from for a number of moons. A heightened edge certainly works its way into the workings learnt from the roots of older beings. But it is a long process, that’s for sure, and the older I become, the less time I have to dedicate myself to extensive dealings such as that. It is far simpler and far easier to choose instead a more “necromantic” approach (I mean this to be very tongue-in-cheek, by the way). Waking ingredients is not as far reaching a concept as I had previously been made to believe, I have found, but that does not negate the need or practice of it. When it comes to herbal salves, ointments, and blends, waking the herbs is an essential stage. Some view waking ingredients as a baptismal experience, as the cleansing or giving of a soul or purpose. Myself, I was raised with the understanding that every creation naturally has a soul– creation being a very liberal and loose word, sometimes being stretched to include even that of the artificial and man-made. This bleeds into my wakening practices as well. Much like Sleeping Beauty, the herbs that have since been plucked from their source and left to dry, are awaiting a kiss to wake them. To wake them, we give them our breath and the drive to reconnect with their central intelligence and spirit. Traditionally, seven breaths are given, directed from a focused and steadied mind. On the last breath, or perhaps after if you prefer, they are given a direction, a goal, or a request for aid. I suppose in the popular turn of phrase, they are charged. Like to charge, reblog to cast. Or maybe here it’s: breathe to wake, whisper/sing to charge, incorporate to cast. In truth, there are countless means of “charging” your ingredients. Song, poetry, hymn, whisper, whistle, state– so long as it is given, it is fine. It is also fine to ignore me completely, dear one. I am sure whatever secrets you keep locked away in your perpetual silence are far greater and far broader in reach than the breath I’ve shared with a thousand plants and bones. But shall I leave you with one thought? To steal the breath of another is said to be akin to stealing parts of their soul. Do you think, in the long run, they who dance with devils breathe the life of their own into their tools and that is truly why they’re damned? Because at the end there’s nothing left to save? Or perhaps I’ve just grown morose from being without you for so long. I’ve attached a simple tea recipe that you might come see me sometime. Add plenty of sugar, my sweet. Forever Yours, B A Simple Tea Blend ● 4 parts mugwort ● 3 parts vervain ● 2 parts anise ● 3 parts cinnamon (or to taste)
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Neht @fistfightinggod
Ulfhednar and Soul-Parts: A Working Theory aka How Does Old Norse Shapeshifting Work?
The key to understanding the Old Norse concept of shapeshifting is to understand the concept of soul-parts in the Pre-Christian Norse worldview. In the Pre-Christian Norse worldview, the soul is comprised of several parts. Among these parts are the hamingja, or “luck”, which is often passed along to one’s descendants; the hugr, translated as “thought”, which refers to one’s consciousness and probably corresponds best with what we would today call a soul; and the most important to consider in this essay, the hamr. The hamr is the part of the soul used for shapeshifting. Hamr means “skin” or “form”, as in the phrase skipta hǫmum– to change one’s form. The hamr refers not to the physical form of one’s body, but rather the form others perceive the physical body to take. It is also, according to the work of Clive Tolley, used to refer to an animal pelt. But unlike the word serkr which refers to an ordinary animal pelt, the word hamr in this context refers to a pelt used to change one’s appearance, or sometimes capabilities, such as Freyja’s feathered cloak, or in the Vǫlundarkviða, wherein women in possession of swan-pelts can fly (Perabo, 2017). Clive Tolley has also connected the word hamr to certain mental and psychological states through the words hamslauss and hamstolinn, meaning “devoid of hamr” and “deprived of hamr” respectively. The use of the word eigi-einhamr (“one that doesn’t have a single hamr”) in reference to berserkir seems to support this in relation to psychological states, particularly unstable ones (Tolley, 2009). In several stories, the shapeshifter changes only their perceived appearance, rather than their physical form directly. One of the ways this can happen is described in the ‘Heimskringla’: Óðinn skipti hǫmum; lá þá búkrinn sem sofinn eða dauðr, en hann var þá fugl eða dýr, fiskr eða ormr, ok fór á einni svipstund á fjarlæg lǫnd, at sínum ørendum eða annarra manna Odin could transform his shape: his body would lie as if dead, or asleep; but then he would be in the shape of a fish, or worm, or bird, or beast, and be off in a twinkling to distant lands upon his own or other people’s business. 1 The use of the word hamr (declined to hǫmum) here invokes the idea that others are able to perceive Óðinn in this state and/or that his psychological state is unstable, which aligns with the above ecstatic trance-state. This oft-cited account of shapeshifting gives us a look into one of the most common methods of shapeshifting found in myriad traditions around the world. This method involves a trance or trance-like state that can be induced by a number of means. This trance-like state, typically an ecstatic one for the Norse, allows one’s mind to wander freely in whatever form it pleases. This type of so-called “Óðinnic magic” often includes the Norse practice of seiðr. This form of magic is often called “shamanistic” though rarely do scholars discuss it beyond that. Seiðr does, indeed, have vital links to the Sámi shamanic practices of the Noaidi. Please note, however, that these links are not enough to justify the direct use of Sámi religious practice in one’s non-Sámi magical practice. An interesting find in a shipwreck in Hedeby harbor are two animal-head masks (Price, 2004). These are more than likely related to shapeshifting in the Oðinnic sense, and possibly related to Tolley’s notion of the hamr to mean an animal pelt. Although we can’t know for sure what these masks were used for, they appear to be ritual objects, likely involving a shapeshifting ritual. This idea of shapeshifting is also closely related to, as mentioned before, berserkir and úlfheðnar. The notion of shapeshifting in warrior bands is a long-standing one that is an “unbroken tradition from Vedic and Homeric times to those of the Icelandic sagas” (Speidel, 2002). The style of shapeshifting in the tradition of the berserkir and úlfheðnar is also in the style of an ecstatic trance. This is, however, a battle-trance, strengthened and enforced by the thrum of battle and the sound of biting shields. 1 Snorri Sturluson Heimskringla trans. Samuel Laing 27
Here the term “ecstatic trance” bears a bit of explaining. Ecstasy, from the Ancient Greek ἔκστασις, refers to an altered state of consciousness characterized by a lack of awareness outside an object of interest. Trance is often described as an unconscious or half-conscious state wherein the subject is unresponsive to external stimuli. Thus an “ecstatic battle-trance” would be a state of consciousness in which one is consumed with battle to the point of lack of awareness and response to stimuli outside of the battle. In some cases, this is said to have included severe wounds and even the loss of limbs. The berserkir and úlfheðnar are characterized, and distinguished, by their associations with the animals from which they get their names– bears and wolves respectively. These warriors likely used animal pelts, or physical hamr, to change their form, given that the name berserkir comes from the Old Norse words bera (bear) and serkr. Úlfheðnar likely derives from úlfr (wolf) and heð from the Proto-Germanic *haiduz meaning state or condition. Thus, berserkir wear bear pelts, and the úlfheðnar are in the state of a wolf. There are many connections between the berserkir and úlfheðnar and Indo-European initiation rites which, though outside the scope of this essay, leads one to believe that there are certain ritual requirements needed to change one’s appearance and achieve a state of ecstatic battle-trance. In addition, the berserkir and úlfheðnar are totemistic warriors related to tutelary spirits, likely the bear and the wolf, both with strong associations with Óðinn. Interestingly, another tutelary spirit appears in Old Norse literature, the ‘Fylgja’, which is also a soul-part. It often takes the form of an animal and is often related to the nature of the person to whom it belongs. It translates as “follower”, and may be somewhat related to the fetch from Irish folklore. Therefore, the ecstatic battle-trance is brought on via the changing of the hamr of the berserkir and úlfheðnar. While this method and purpose for changing one’s shape is likely unhelpful for most modern practitioners, it provides a basis for the study and understanding of shapeshifting in the Old Norse tradition and will hopefully give the modern practitioner ideas for methods of shapeshifting that may be more applicable. The soul-parts are essential to understanding shapeshifting in the Old Norse tradition, though the way they interact with other notions of the Old Norse worldview can be complex. The study of seiðr, berserkir, soulparts, shape-changing, and battle-trance intersect in many ways in many places, some of which are lost to time.
Perabo, L (2017). Shapeshifting in Old Norse-Icelandic Literature Tolley, C. (2009). Shamanism in Norse Myth and Magic Sturluson, Snorri Heimskringla trans. Samuel Laing (1844) Price, N (2004). The Archaeology of Seiðr Speidel, M (2002). Berserks: A History of Indo-European “Mad Warriors”
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Ivy @ivycrownedwitch The Pouring Sky: Animistic Gods
A long time ago, it is said that the Lord of the City had a disagreement with Phaya Thaen, the King of the Sky. The disagreement turned into an argument which left Phaya Thaen deeply offended. Feeling insulted, Phaya Thaen refused to send rain down onto the city. The land became arid, and crops withered away. Citizens of the city who were but mere humble farmers begged and prayed for forgiveness to no avail.
Only a brave and cunning man was smart enough to find a way to earn Phaya Thaen’s pity. From then on, should the city wish for rain, they must launch Bang Fai into the sky- rockets that would act as a signal to Phaya Thaen, informing him that it is now the time for rain. Upon the rockets being launched, only then, will there be rain. This is the general framework of the folk tale behind the rocket festival (ประเพณีบุญบั้งไฟ) celebrated in Northeast Thailand and parts of Laos to herald the rain season. The story is one that is told orally, so there is next to no written evidence of it. Even so, as I learnt from words of mouth, it appears that the story has changed throughout the ages. Before Buddhism has spread to Siam, the culture was an animistic one with Phaya Thaen (พญาแถน) being a clear example of that. Another name for Phaya Thaen is Phi-Fa-Phi-Thaen (ผีฟ้าผีแถน): Phi meaning ghost or spirit, while Fa means sky. He is somewhere between a nature spirit, a genius loci, and a local deity. He is proof that the people are dependent upon the land and the land likewise relies upon the sky. Other versions of this folk tale are clearly influenced by Buddhism, with Phaya Thaen’s ire being caused by how Lord Buddha’s sermon had led to him losing worshippers. Some say that the individual who negotiated that deal to send the rockets into the sky was none other than a monk who is a student of Lord Buddha. Personally, I do not venerate Phraya Thaen because he is a very localized figure in Northeastern Thailand and I currently do not live there. However, he is a very good example of the old faith that existed before Buddhism. I stopped believing in Theravada Buddhism some time in my teenage years. I don’t remember exactly when, but I do remember having made the conscious decision to stop praying every night before bed. It was only recently that I began to reconsider my relationship towards the state religion, and realized that my heart belongs to the old faith - a faith that has survived and has been integrated into modern day beliefs - to the gods that are the personification of the natural world: the earth, the river and the skies. This is a lesson to those who wish to become pagans or animists: look further. Dig deeper. If you are unhappy with the mainstream religion, then look at what came before. Chances are, many pagan beliefs still survive to this day in some syncretic form.
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