Archive for December, 2013

On catching up

Watch as I struggle to get these last posts up before the year ends!Fall altar '13

The Wheel has continued to turn, even as I struggle fruitlessly to keep up with it. Here is my beautiful fall altar (not boasting, I just quite like how it turned out myself), hardly set up in time for Samhain. I normally spend Mabon collecting leaves for my fall altar, but did not this year…I did so much later this year, the leaves weren’t even pressed correctly by the time I’d decorated, hence the curling.

Even this post is long overdue, having sat in my drafts for over a month. Ah well, better late than never I suppose, and there is a matter that deserves writing on…

Sindr over at I Greet the Dead(http://oyasdaughter.wordpress.com/) has a beautiful Etsy shop (https://www.etsy.com/shop/SindrWorks)–one that, truth be told, I avoiding looking at too closely because I knew I would end up spending money when I haven’t that much to spend. Lo and behold, once I finally DID check it out my prediction came true: a set of prayer beads dedicated to Fire that were mine to collect. That’s the particularly strange part; I have a good deal of craftiness myself (hell my old blog is called Confessions of a Crafty Witch), and Etsy is usually where I go to find things I want to make, but no, not these beads. This wasn’t something I could simply replicate and have it be less expensive and more effective, I needed that particular set.

To be fair though, they are breathtakingly gorgeous…
prayer beadsI was quite impressed that Sindr waited to ship them until they had the appropriate packaging so that they would arrive safely–and when they did arrive, WOWZA the energy in these beads! I love running them through my hands, they feel amazing! I also especially like the concern given to size and texture in their crafting–you know exactly which beads you’re on without looking. Being an elemental set, these beads did not come with a prayer to go with them, and I find myself a bit awkward in coming up with one. It’s likely one of those times when I just need to get out of my own way–nothing I come up with seems “good enough” for these beads. My current working prayer is really quite simple, but wonderfully sibilant…I may keep it, I may not. It’s close, but not quite right somehow…

My only concern with these beauties is the fragile beading floss they were originally strung on. I worried that somehow I would snap the floss just working them–yes Sindr cautions against rough use as they are indeed fragile, but I didn’t like how they felt fragile. I worried that if I were sinking deeper and deeper into a trance I might not be aware of how roughly I work the beads. Thus my one change–I delved into my own crafting supplies and carefully restrung them on sturdy black silk beading thread. Now I could twirl them if I wanted to–not that I ever would!


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I lit an herb bundle, recaned the room calling in safety, peace, wisdom. I lit candles all about and let the bundle to burn as I cleansed by candlelit spongebath, ritual soap made with black salt and clove. I lit a match, inhaled, raised the skull and sang in my ancestors.

I hailed and welcomed them, spoke to them of my day as I had these many nights past. I told them of my intentions for that full moon night, invited them to stay and join if they wished…and they answered. Sometimes I understood what they were saying, many times I didn’t, like many voices talking all at once muffled by distance. Two voices however I heard above the others, two voices I sometimes understood. “Are you the lumberjack I’ve met before?” I hesitantly asked of one.

“Lumberjack! Ha! Did ye hear what she called me? Lumberjack, don’t that beat all!” and I had the impression of being scooped up into a big bear hug with a giant wet kiss planted on my forehead. Something I noticed when he spoke now that I never had before, I seemed to hear him speaking with a scottish accent.

The other was the same proper madam as before, a stiff grey button up dress with sleeves a bit poofed, who didn’t have an accent per se but enunciated everything crisply and concisely. But I had trouble ‘hearing’, and she spoke slowly and painstakingly trying to tell me a name. I think I heard “Mary Elliot”, but I cannot be certain. She said, or I thought she said, that she had started the line. The line where I once saw an old black and white photo of my great grandmother–and the only reason I knew it wasn’t me was that I knew I had never taken a photo like that.

Then the murmuring grew too loud and I could not distinguish voices anymore. I sat then and did some readings, both rune and tarot–the connection was good, but I didn’t get much new information. I wrapped my shawl about me and opened the window to the winter, setting a candle upon the ledge and a shotglass of brandy as I smoked and drank to the Hunt, to Old Woman, to the wild and the hard and the cold.

When I was done I shut the window, leaving the candle and brandy to be retrieved next day, returned to my ancestor skull and shared a brandy houzle with them, then kissed them goodnight. Yet even as I lay there falling asleep the night was not done. I generally have a better knowledge of what’s going on magickally if I view it through the lens of memory, and I did so then, seeing finally many people standing about me as I had stood at my altar, faces beaming and hands on my shoulders though I’d had little perception of it at the time.

I noticed something else as well, behind me and below me in the dark; glowing yellow eyes and white pointed teeth grinning, green skin and big noses and woolly black fur covering their bodies with horns curling above their heads as they pointed at the gathering and talked amongst themselves. I saw them approach me then, as I lay in my bed, one directing and pointing the others as they carried a large clay jar between them. He unscrewed the top of my head and the others poured the contents of the jar in–bees. A black wave of bees poured into my head, swarming behind my eyes making shimmery kaleidoscope patterns and in my ears making them ring, my whole head feeling strange and foggy like a migraine with no pain…until finally the jar was empty and the top of my head was screwed back on and they left laughing.

I’m not sure what to make of it all. I think it may be a safe assumption to say that things are ramping up spiritually, which I’m perfectly happy with, but while I still get the effect of the “bees” that I did that night on occasion (trouble concentrating, more ear ringing, etc.) I don’t know what it’s really changed. I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see…

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I had a rant planned for this. A good long rant of frustration and feeling helpless; I need to CHANGE in order to grow, if the world’s made up of Thinkers and Doers then I’m a Thinker, but I need to start DOING, etc, etc.  

Then I stopped a moment. Took another look at myself.

I’ve done this song and dance before, and not on the same subject.

No, the last time I was singing this tune–on this very blog, no less–it was about self-hate and how I NEEDED to change, NEEDED to learn to love myself, but couldn’t see any way to do it. At that point I felt like I had tried countless things to accomplish this and all had failed–I had failed. Now here I am, past that hurdle, bemoaning the impossibility of this current challenge, wailing and railing like I have before. “All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again”, it seems. 

Let this realization serve not as an excuse to slip back into sloth, but rather as an inspiration–it is possible. It IS doable. You’ve been here before, and succeeded. You can do so again, and you’ll be so beautiful once you do.

How? Fuck if I know. I know the method I used last time, but recognize that the method did not cause the change; it merely served as a vehicle for the change to take place. It may not work as well for other people or even other situations…however, it can’t hurt to apply the same method and hope for positive results again.

And the gnosis-inducing message that I’ve been listening to on repeat to serve as water running over the stones of my mind?

Maybe it’s trite, cliche, and/or sugary sweet, but it worked dammit and that’s what counts. Thanks Disney.

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