The coming couple of days mark a rare occurrance: the pairing of a Full moon with the Spring Equinox. For me, having just been inspired by reading the blog of another witch and aware of some changes I want to make in my life, last night presented itself as the perfect opportunity to revive my power as a mage and rededicate myself to active magical growth. As well as tie up loose ends. Spring Equinox is a time of rebirth, after all, and there were certain unfulfilled demands I no longer wanted burdening my heart.
Potion ingredients and a new pestle
on the altarspace of Severus
Knowing that it would be a multifaceted sort of night with lots to do, but that I also had all night in which to accomplish everything, I set to work. I gathered the stuff I needed for a simple outdoor ritual, along with my Snape frock, on the bed: candle in a holder, lighter, throwing bones, and three deity link objects (specifically, my Kirke/Hekate amulet and a tiny key for Hekate and my new cobra figure for Mama Serpent and Severus), all wrapped in a fur throwing scrap. I also selected an Oak leaf to write on, symbolising the old to be released and banished with last year, and a Bay leaf for invoking the new. Don't forget the Sharpie marker to write with!
I picked a different smoke to invite each attendant power: old withered Pearly Everlasting from Powell Butte for the dark crossroad goddess and a clove smoke for Severus. Yes, Severus! Let's be honest, here: he's been a figure of power in my life and aid to my spiritual growth now for a formidable ten years, a guide through hard times, a psychic lover, soul animus and, of course, a symbol of total Potions expertise and the undisputed Cursemaster. If the fellow wants a place on my altar, he can have it!
More accurately to the above: According to Chaos theory (I'm a Physics minor, remember), our realities are largely our own constructs, and the universe around us influenced by our minds and vice versa; beneath the complex systems we use to describe our reality, energy in fact works in much simpler patterns. All those systems, from Qabala to chakras to deities, can be considered tools of equal validity in working magic and manifesting our intent, depending on which one works best for each circumstance. This makes an archetypal, collective thought-form embraced by millions of minds, like Snape, as powerful as a god for doing magic or spiritual work --- IF you choose to work with it in that way. Some say you choose what to believe. Another perspective is that we need not "believe" anything; what is, is --- but, we
do choose our frames through which to see it, and our tools to manipulate it.
But back to last night.
I managed to fit all the loose bits in my little alchemy-themed box. (Above photo shows what box looked like when opened on site.) But I also packed a small bottle of blended chocolate wine and elderberry liqueur as an offering of gratitude to my two chosen guardians. Before I ventured out, however, I wanted a little boost of courage: I haven't done any truly shady work in awhile.
Courage and energy took the form of a potion, brewed at Severus' altar. Black Chai tea as a base provided the stimulus of heat, spice and caffeine. To it I added the tiniest pieces of:
• Black Nightshade (dark forces, spirit work, endings),
• snakeskin (same, plus transformation, releasing old), and
• Hornet nest paper (spitfire, self-defense, righteous anger, courage, determination, ability to pulverize what you've been given and build a new project of homespace with it).
The tiniest, pinhead-size pieces. Unlike with a medicinal herb brew, the idea here is that large amounts are not necessary to impart the desired energy to a brew, especially when the ingredients are magically potent and/or medically dangerous.
I drank half my cup of potion tea . . . but my work with herbs wasn't finished.
Fur throwing piece makes a good altar
cloth in a Birch grove in the park
I'd gone out to the car and fetched a little pestle I'd found at The Dump (Lopez Island's famous transfer station and free-trade exchange), which just needs a chip at its base repaired. Time to inaugurate it! On the ground beside the car I found an old dirty curved bone, and promptly decided it was a gift, to be used in ritual that very night. I'd brought both inside and put them on the altar before I started brewing my tea.
Now, at long last, I dug out the dried herbs I'd salvaged from my poor destroyed garden six months ago. My Mugwort, Perovskia, Yarrow, Mullein, Pennyroyal, Mints, Salad Burnet, Catmint, Fennel; all gone, cut off at the roots, demolished. By the time I'd gotten there last September, the shoots had lain in the refuse pile too long, and were too withered, dank and mildewy for decent use in drinkable tea. Rather, they carried the dark energy of a hex. And for such, I gathered them!
I took a pinch of the various herbs from each paper bag; again, not a lot needed. Then I pounded them in the mortar, made of some kind of pink stone. I remembered how betrayed I'd felt. How angry. And, how violated, by yet another entitled, ambitious man who'd just barged in and stamped all over somebody else's place. I thought of all the plants that had suffered because of that same attitude, but especially those plants that had depended on a space demarcated to my care. I pounded and ground them finely with my new little pestle, enchanting. Then I wrapped them in a pair my underwear(!), and packed them too.
Time to leave, well after one a.m. I grabbed my carryall, and one other thing: that two-gallon jug I'd prepared a couple months ago, full of straight white vinegar into which I'd dissolved a full canister of salt. It had lurked in a corner until now, waiting! Magic is all very well and good, but sometimes, you need to take material-plane action. The almost-full moon was beautiful, the sky silvery with a light haze, and the air bearably balmy with one of the first gentle gusts of spring, when away went Betty the Car (who no doubt pines for longer drives to blow the crap out of the cylinders) into the night down blessedly nearly deserted 82nd Street.
Again the park spread, lit briefly by candlelight
How strange it felt, to return to a place I'd one felt welcome! How surreal, to arrive as a thief in the night, but to take only by means of delivering. I've heard a good hex is like any other grubby job --- you don't think on it too much after the fact, you don't feel guilt, you just get in and get it done. And then get out. It's what I did.
Act like you belong here, because before this shit, you did. Repeated silent trips between the jug and garden beds. Only select spots. A distant loud sound like a gunshot, followed by a couple of barks from a frightened dog.
Shh . . . don't get the dog's attention. And away I went again.
Next I dug out the powdered herbs.
Dear ones, this is the one who murdered you, I whispered, and that I was sorry to have let it happen.
Do as your spirits deem appropriate. Because at that point, I merely felt like a facilitator. If I laid down smack for every plant hurt by a human, none of my race would even exist anymore, let's face it! I can't play Judge Dredd on behalf of the whole plant domain, and besides, my existence alone guarantees pain for other species. But I could address this one issue, which revolved around balance of justice
for plants who had been under my care and violation of my space, and thus betrayal of both plant and human ward.
As I murmured, I sprinkled the herbs in a "hotline" across the opening of the guy's driveway. This is a typical foot-track or hotfoot powder hoodoo method: Lay down a trick where the target person will step or run over it. In this case, he couldn't walk or drive his vehicle out of the driveway without hitting the herbs. I don't care to hear what actually happens; I'm leaving ultimate results on that part of the job up to the spirits of my killed plants.
Once again I was off in Betty, focused only on the work of the moment (driving, in this case), but smelling more than a bit faintly of acetic acid.
The light of winter's last Full moon and the glow of a clove cigarette offering
I'd already settled on Laurelhurst Park for my Full moon pre-Equinox rite, for its size, location, and some indescribable overall quality or vibration of its landscape and features, no doubt which included the presence of a body of water. I didn't think to invoke it openly at the time, but my City Magick book would describe this presence as the "Deva" or spirit of Laurelhurst Park, and I definitely felt it as I worked, embracing my wary, furtive self protectively. What might it have felt? That instead of beer-swilling oblivious youth or vandals, here was a member of the two-legged race trying to appreciate the park and nature for its own sake? Regardless, the night felt perfect, the lovely moonlight filtering through the ragged silouhettes of the birches, willows and maples still bared from winter, yet with clusters of white flowers bursting open on the ground and tiny sprays of blooms on low trees. A night of power, gateway of mystery between two seasons.
Prowling carefully off the unlit path, I found a place under some bare birches, next to a patch of white and purple crocuses pushing joyfully up from the earth. I laid out my fur throw, arranged with items, then put on "dour" lipstick and drew symbols on my face. Then I changed into my black frock, and cast circle with the dirty bone I'd found. I invited Hekate and Severus and also Selene, who is the deity of the Moon. To invoke the first two, I lit my candle: This is risky, lest I set fire to something or someone sees me, so I lit it only long enough to take photos, and to light in turn the Pearly Everlasting and clove cigar. This I smoked a bit more in celebration, gazing at the pale moon through the gothic bare branches, feeling content if wary, and very much the witch.
Magic work consisted of first writing an intent of release on the Oak leaf. What was I just plain
done with? Self-doubt and shame were good ones --- heck, those are always good ones to work on kicking out! Using a lighter, I burned the leaf; not completely, again out of safety, but enough. Then on the Bay leaf I wrote, in runes this time, what to manifest. What was the watchword of tonight and the months to come? How about . . .
Boldness. And again, I burned the leaf with intention.
Throwing the bones
The Full Moon, as well as the Dark one, is also a good time for divination. So I shook the little pouch of foretelling bones I'd made a few weeks ago, and scattered them on the fur to see what I could glean for the coming couple of months, regarding travel and career. Of course, with only moonlight and my candle put out for sake of stealth, I couldn't see my reading for squat! So I took a photo. The bones I made are based on the ones Terrence read for me at Raven's Wing last year; same symbols. Ever since then I'd wanted my own set. Bone-reading is just so delightfully witchy!
Meanings for this particular set of runes
Crocuses in the moonlight
After the divining, it was pretty much time to wrap up the night; even the wee hours were growing old! Now I brought out the mixed wine elixir, took a tiny taste, and addressed my guides Selene, Hekate and Severus as I poured it on the ground in offering, and in gratitude for my renewed power as a mage and witch. Then I devoked, and away went all my carefully arranged items back in the box, before I opened circle with the bone pointer.
Moonlight over Laurelhurst Pond
I really am loth to have to end such a night as this, so to savor it a bit more and "dewitch" from the rite, I walked back along the dark path, where white flowers were opening and the moon shone eerily through the bare weeping willow branches. Then along one side of the little lake, on which lights were shimmering from the opposite shore. I grew up around water, and I miss it, so this revived wonderful memories of evenings on the bays of the San Juans and nights on our family's boat.
Finally it was across the park meadow and home in the car, with traffic noticeably increasing as the early shift made its way to work. I got home at 4:42 a.m., and pretty much went straight to bed. My feeling was one of deep gratitude and satisfaction for a long-planned and anticipated night, on which everything from the drive to the workings had gone so smoothly.
Go to bed an unwashed witch, wake up with magic on your face! (Besides the usual very greasy hair.) Not to mention, necklaces pressed into your cheek. I had to work at my job the next day and figured my late-night exploits would leave me feeling deader n' a doh-knob. . . . They did, but as I suspected, it was worth every minute. There was a thick, painful tension weighing on my heart that has now lifted, replaced instead by a kind of gentle ease and lightness. I feel like from this day forth, and from at least one phase, place and situation, I can gratefully move on.
And so Severus finds a mortar and pestle blessed, potions brewed and major magic worked at his altar for the first time, all on one night! I'm liking the idea of regular, even daily, devotions more and more, and certainly of regular magic work. For too long, my life has been a grind of untapped potential, devoid of the richness I desire to give it. May that change.
So mote it be!
