Bloody Merlin's nose, is this all I've got to work with? A manky, mouse-nibbled pouch of 12-year-old mistletoe? And you expect me to fly us how far? Well, well, good thing I am a Master. Give me an inch, and I will make a mile. But I cannot guarantee you will end up in the place you desire. . . . or at least, expect.
Happy Solstice to all! And here we haven't quite worked out all our Humbugs yet.
My Solstice turned out rather nicely, considering I didn't go out and join a group. I almost always go out. But as circumstances went, by the time I finished buying new tags for my poor car so it wouldn't get towed (Mercury retrograde, and now Saturn in Capricorn!), I'd be late for any and all planned Dec. 21 activities. I did do a group event, however: I celebrated with my witch-sisters at SisterSpirit, where a teenage girl wore fake candles on her head, a la the Swedish Yule figure of St. Lucia. Beautiful! I came that night with a Humbug attitude thanks to that rotten little green tow sticker and "derelict" car fine -- Hands off my Betty, you lawmongering arseholes! But after raising a bit of witch power, meeting a friend after long hiatus, and brewing up a crack-a batch of mulled ginger cider potion for everyone to quaff, I felt much improved.
Perhaps this was one reason I felt less of an urge to venture out on the longest night itself. (We've got enough trolls in public office, I don't feel the need to seek any in that sense.) Added to this is the sheer cosiness of my current home. My mind was made, and as I posted on social media: "I think I'll stay in, brew a bunch of Solstice potions and get f---ed up on 'em."
I did just that. Except, I didn't need a bunch; one potion, it transpired, did me fine.
Oh, I'd be a wicked Snapey snake if I brewed a kicker after so much time away from the cauldron, and didn't post it here! My original goal was to provoke "flight" or at least potent visions of some variety, or dreams if the brew kicked in after going to sleep. After all, it's Yuletide! Coupled with so much magickal impetus being lent us by the planets' configuration, I felt I couldn't not seize the moment! Certainly when I'm so keen, and able, to both brew and work magic. (Thank you, Maslow Scale guardian angels, wherever the heck you are.)
But what to add? A potist who still has twelve-thirteens of her stash in a storage unit does her best. I had a bundle of mugwort hanging above my stairs, cut from my garden, and mugwort is a first for dreams. But since moving, I've acquired some other goodies . . . stuff a regular tea sipper just doesn't stock. Mistletoe, for example: It's a classic Yule herb, but it's poisonous. Where was my mistletoe?! I had a bag only a couple years old . . . I dug in a few small boxes -- lots of old herbs, tiny bottles, and Merlin's beard, was the smell of herby goodness amazing! So woody and bewitching. But no mistletoe, except a really old bag from Essential Elements' graveyard bins. Testing it with my pendulum revealed it to be at least twelve years old! Well, less risk of poisoning, and I could always call the spirit of mistletoe back into the herb if need be.
In addition to the two M herbs, I had some nightshade(!) from Going Street -- why not! Then I had the Amanita Muscaria from this October; that might get me somewhere. Finally, I had some codskins I'd gotten from the natural pet supply. Codskins?!?!?! The reasoning here is simple: Dreams and intuition again, thus a water creature . . . plus it's fun to brew potions with totally gross yet safe ingredients.
This brew was a bit of a reach on my part, since I've always been a super cautious person who's had little to do with drugs (barring alcohol, coffee and chocolate, and not in an addictive sense). I even made a beautiful water-pipe in high school, yet never used it for anything. But I reasoned that in small amounts, even powerful or poisonous herbs can be sampled safely. Paracelsus, remember: Sola dosis facet venenum, the dose makes the poison.
While rooting for ingredients, I found my 8-year-old tub of flying ointment I made, still labeled in honor of Snape's influence with dubious Latin above a skull and crossbones: Unguens Levitamens. Perfect! I'd give that a run, too. Grease perhaps a bit rancid by now . . . who cares?
Then my in-home Solstice began. I lit a cosy fire. Kept it going while I started my brew. With use of the pendulum again, I did my level best to determine safe and/or effective doses of each ingredient, then decocted it all on our gas range. I transferred it to my new little cauldron, added some port, and set it to simmer on the woodstove whilst I did some Solstice banishing magicks using seven of the literal cornhusks from our old year.
The brew tasted incredible, dark and heady and potent. Fruity, slightly thick and slippery. The port soon went to my head; following shortly came the rest, especially after I had lain down for an attempted vision, Unguens smeared all under my arms (I could have gone greasier, kind of wanted to, and witches of old put the stuff on their privates, for Minerva's sake!, but I had a lot to get done the next day, before catching the Greyhound!). I felt flaccid, leaden, not light; then came flushes of heat, shots of alarm to my nerves and a racing heart -- overdose? Nope, just being tuned in to subtle drug effects. But I never "lifted off" -- I would have to wait for dreams in sleep, if at all.
I refreshed with a shower (not going to sleep in that much grease, and doubt even Snape would), then did a proper ritual at the altar before bed. Coolest of all, was that a vision quest did sort of materialize: After inviting in the Lady/Goddesses and Lord/Gods and my usual guardian, I held Severus' relicquary phial to my chest as usual . . .
. . . and there he was, the very same green-gem-encrusted, magisterial saint in the ikon I want to make, in his benign and dignified form. He led me down a dim corridor, and then the space opened out into a laboratory -- the Lab of Dreams, you could call it. It was a bright, lovely space, sun pouring into windows, and around the walls were jars and bottles by the hundreds, filled with all one might need: truly a chemist's, or alchemist's, fantasy.
Joy and longing filled me in equal measure.
How I wish I could remember everything St. Severus said! But in the centre of the room, there appeared a tiny vial of some precious potion, glowing with gold light, so bright I could hardly look straight at it. Eagerly I moved toward it, longing to touch, convinced this was the most important find; but I met a resistance in midair, soft at first, but unyielding. I was, Severus said, not ready to own that golden vial. It was, is, the Essence of Enlightenment, the alchemists' perennial goal. To own it now would be to use, or fail to use, it for the greatest good, whether for myself and others.
I had work to do!
But all I needed, said he, I could find within myself. Even the golden secret lay within me, somewhere deep, and the entire contents of that glorious laboratory also lay within me: No matter where I went, or how woeful my small earthly lab seemed, I would always have access to this place and its resources. These ingredients I could then use to obtain the golden potion in the end. Discipline rose in his voice, wry and gentle yet absolute all at once, as he explained how it was my task to make good use of these auspicious planets right now, how Time was my only true currency -- it would be spent, regardless, and I could either fritter it away or invest it to its maximum -- and as the Spirit of Saturn (or ine of them), and thus of Time, he expected to see some work done!
But despite the aura of discipline, and the prospect of work, I did not fear the Master. Rather, I felt a deep kind of love, bigger than human love -- more like agape, or Divine Love -- both for him, and coming from him. That, and total trust.
Something was calling, waiting its turn, from in my earthly body. It wanted to see Severus as I'd known him so often the past couple of weeks. At last, the glittering ascended mage gave me that turn: Would I like to see him that way? Teasing, almost. Then he morphed, into the dark, smirking, lusty young sorcerer that had kept me slippery for hours in the bed.
But I told him I loved and needed his Ascended form much more right now -- I needed the higher vibration and more cosmic type of love from the sternly benevolent teacher -- and that if he did appear in dark, "greasy" denser-body form, I'd rather it be after I retired to bed . . . where I'd be ready for him.
And back he morphed, into the Ascended Alchemist.
We parted with his blessing, me resigned to leaving the dream lab, yet feeling greatly content. Ready for The Work.
And so, success was partly achieved. That night, I did have a few interesting images come to mind; not all of them were pleasant, even fewer were enlightening in terms of my current or future spiritual state, and it was hard to determine what stemmed from the potion and what was just me being sleep-deprived and too loaded with odd crap off the Internet.
What my brew did was knock me flat with grogginess! So tired, I'd tried reading my new crystal sphere for the first time and literally could not hold my head up. That's when I lay down, and tried to "fly" then, to no cigar. I woke too early to the smell of incense from our AirBnb guests, managed to fall back, and finally crawled out of bed at an appalling 4 p.m.
And yet, that wonderful journeying meditation!
The Lab of Dreams . . .
Isn't that where I've been trying to get all along? The message I've been needing? The essence of that whole "Don't let others determine your value" banishing ritual, and the truth that all you need lies within? Not to mention, higher cosmic communication and union with God, however the Creator decides to appear to me in this time?
On this longest of nights, my magick has been a success, then, has it not?
So, what went in this wicked brew? Quick Snape tip: Always scribble down any recipe you make, and/or its modifications. Even if you recall the general recipe by heart, you may not remember the modifications!
One cool thing about this brew was the instinctive planetary correspondences I ended up choosing. Mugwort is a plant of the moon -- not only good for dreams, but we have a still-very-new moon right now. Mistletoe is of the sun, a perfect Solstice herb. Nightshade brought in Saturn, who is powerful right now. Finally, in one of my books I discovered amanita muscaria listed under Pluto! This, of course, is perfect for transformation, Mars in Scorpio, and Pluto itself entering the fray on Dec. 26. I've a lot to learn about Alchemical (or Spagyric) herb brewing, but I think I'm off to a good start -- I have a cool book to draw help from, and as the Master might say, life is the ultimate lab!
Solstice Vision Brew
1 Tbs mugwort
1/2 tsp mistletoe
1/8 tsp muscaria
1/2 leaf nightshade, black
1/2 tsp codskins
6/7 cup ruby port
2 cups water from simmered veggies (sweet potato, beet, leek)
1-2 cinnamon sticks*
3 orange slices*
*from mulling cider at women's Yule ritual, thus incorporating magic from that event
Heat veggie water in stainless pot with mulling spices and simmer to infuse and reduce volume, at least 1/2 hour. Powder first five ingredients in mortar-and-pestle, with intention. Add to mulled veggie water, decoct 11 minutes. Transfer to heated cauldron via tea strainer to remove particles. Add port. Place on stove, keep at simmer heat until ready to drink.
~ Why didn't I just simmer or decoct the whole mess together at once, or mull the port as well? Because I didn't want to boil off any of the alcohol! I wanted that buzz, dammit!
~ Several of these are potentially deadly-poisonous herbs, hence the very cautious measures (1/2 a leaf?...!). But better safe than permanently on my arse . . . especially with holiday travel coming up. If I dare, I can always up the dosage!
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