Article

photo by Antonio Filigno via Pexels

by Christopher Penczak, edited by Tina Whittle

Magickal spirituality is many things to me, but two keys have always been the quest for attainment and the intention of embodiment. I see myself as part of an ancient, non-linear, decentralized timeless tradition of magickal priesthood, and I find kinship in others who are also a part of it, in this time or ages past, whether they would necessarily use this description or not. Despite identifying as a Witch at heart, I find this kinship with mystics of all stripes and seasons. What do we have in common? Attainment and embodiment.

The quest for attainment is a paradox, for part of the understanding of it is non-doing in the context of doing, crafting, or working. Through our effortless effort we become what we are always becoming. Our becoming contributes to the becoming of the world, the Great Work. As creatures in the Garden of Time, our eternal becoming—our “I am that I am, thou art that”—is expressed in patterns and progress. In spiritual study, we experience degrees of training, ranks of initiation, or titles of experience. Our most common triune model is trade guild apprentice, journeyman, and master, found in the three degrees of many covens and the three orders of ceremonial magick lodges in the Hermetic Qabalistic traditions modeled in the Golden Dawn systems. The patterns provide a map to understand where you are, where you have been, and to prepare you for where you are going next. Once we attain one step and complete a stage, we really don’t “have” anything but the experience to go onward to the next. Some make the mistake of attaining a title as ownership of a mystery, missing the point entirely.

One can embody a teaching, live a teaching, but not own it. To truly have mastered a mystery one must not just learn it intellectually, or do it through ritual or even life experiences, but digest it and integrate it into the matrix of your being. Those of the magickal priesthood embody the virtues of the mysteries, transforming themselves and remembering what is true in one stage is not always the truth, or at least the focus, in another. At deeper levels of the mysteries, the behavior of the magickal person can be hard to understand as they are working with forces unknown to most. While magickal training can balance the personality, in doing so it can lead to extremes. We can find ourselves on a plateau of one extreme, and if we wait too long before seeking attainment of the next, grow distorted and arrogant in our place. We fail to embody the principle of eternal becoming.

The only way we can truly embody is by attaining, moving, and living in a pattern. We continue to grow and evolve while in the fields of time and space, and return to the eternal with the depth of direct experiences. The only way we can attain is through the integration of embodying the qualities in our day-to-day life. While service to community, veneration of the divine, and the keeping of rituals are all well and good—and are parts of my own practice—many of my peers in the Timeless Tradition do not. Those seeking magick for personal empowerment alone might not yet have opened the gate to magickal priesthood, but even in using it for all the “wrong” reasons, they have opened the door to magickal spirituality (even those looking for power over others as their only goal, from leading the mesmerized to gallantly telling others what they should do, think, and believe). Even then, the door to magick is opened.

And magick has its own ways. While on one fundamental level, it’s a mindless force, like electricity, it has also been personified as a god, as the Egyptian deity Heka, or even the Witch Soul. Magick has its own mind and will at times. Magick has a way. Yet in the magickal priesthood, all use these twin keys, attainment and embodiment, whether they describe them as such or not. The keys are continuously cut into new shapes, but they open each chamber in the temple of the mysteries until the final mystery is reached.

Samhain: Through the Eyes of a Broom Closet Witch

Blessed Be! Welcome back and welcome to “For Broom Closet Witches”, with a new twist! Claire de Lune here, a High Priestess in the Temple of Witchcraft tradition, with the 21st article in our “For Broom Closet Witches” column, where, as a Broom Closet Witch, I turn inward and show that, even if a Witch can do nothing outwardly to celebrate the Sabbats, there will always be ways to celebrate the Wheel of the Year inwardly.

What does it mean to see through the eyes of this Broom Closet Witch? Well, let’s see . . .

During the Season of Samhain, when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is at its thinnest, we turn most easily to thoughts of our ancestors and feel their presence and influence more profoundly, especially if such contact is purposely sought after.

Up until quite recently, I have thought of my ancestors as “other” – those individuals who had their own lives, experiences, and their influence on me from “outside” of myself and people whose remains are now “resting” in their graves. However, lately, especially since having my DNA tested with multiple companies, I have become keenly aware that (as I see it, anyway), my ancestors were not just people who existed prior to, and in some cases, concurrent to my own existence. Furthermore, the way I see it, they still live on – inside me! I am them and they are me! (Maybe not enough to “freak me out” but it is enough for me to look down at my hands and see both my mother’s and my father’s hands at the same time. I see my mother’s hands in the shapes of my fingers and the way I hold them in different positions. Even my cursive writing is very similar to my mother’s. I see my father’s hands in the hair patterns on my fingers, wrists and forearms. (Yes, I said fingers – but much lighter and sparser, thankfully!) Anyhow, back to Samhain.

At Samhain, I celebrate my ancestors’ lives and acknowledge their presence inside me in the form of DNA – my flesh and blood, breath and bone. I have spoken about my ancestors before – about my DNA tests and discoveries, new understandings about my family’s holiday baking traditions from the new vantage point of my DNA results, etc. So, I can say, for example, that I am Norwegian, Saami, Icelandic, Scottish, (even Pict), Irish, Welsh, Native American, Mayan, German, Polish, Hungarian, Greek, Italian, Bulgarian, Turkish, French, Russian, Balochi, Syrian, Iraqi, as well as Syrian and Iraqi Jew, Bedouin, Iranian and more. How is all this possible? Royal, Nomadic, Diasporic, Displaced and Sea-faring people – especially Vikings – who “got around” – as well as Invasion and Colonization.

Connections to different cultures, languages, customs and cuisines of the various ancestries one has discovered can easily be done with a little research, a little reaching out and a little reaching inward to see what aspects of one’s various ancestries may resonate/strike a chord/trigger a genetic memory. I have done this with many of my ancestries, and I have found it most helpful to buy a book or two about each one, especially cookbooks from the various cultures represented in my family tree.

But, until quite recently, part of me has slipped through my fingers and eluded me every time I tried to get a firm grasp on what this part of me means. I desperately wanted to understand and make sense of these particular ancestors of mine, this particular part of myself. I knew that they were there – in the very fiber of my DNA – and that I could not escape their presence in my body and my life. As a matter of fact, I have more of this ancestry than 80 percent of the clientele of the company that I tested with. For me, this is big. This is important. This is real. This is not fantasy.

I have wondered how to honor them, connect with them, know them, pay tribute to their lives. I felt that I should be able to do all this, as parts of their DNA are my DNA and parts of my DNA are their DNA. But I couldn’t, until quite recently, completely take myself seriously, as there has been much downplaying of the intelligence of this population. At this Samhain Season, however, I felt the need to honor this part of myself regardless and hoped that they would grant me the honor of feeling their presence in my life in a real, serious, no jokes, no kidding way.

So now, with much humility and honor, I can proudly say that I am Neanderthal. There. It is done. And so, it is.

But, back to the question of how to know them, honor them, connect with them? My answer came quickly after I seriously asked my Higher Self. And it is so simple. I couldn’t believe I even had to ask. I would know, honor and connect with them the very same way I do with any of my other ancestors – through food – foods that they used to eat and would recognize if they were here today. So, I did a little research to learn about the foods Neanderthals ate. I learned that there have been discoveries made of remains of food in fire pits in caves that Neanderthals occupied. Also, through the analysis of dental calculus found on the teeth of Neanderthal skeletal remains, it is now known that, among other types of food, three items that I can easily access today are Pine Nuts, Bison and various Greens.

So, first I buy the food, cook it (or not, depending on the type of food it is), and eat it with the intention of connecting with my ancestors. Then, in a light meditative state, I see what insights come to me – what intuitions, what mind’s eye visions, flashes of scenes of places and faces, memories, as well as automatic writings. I also look for dreams and daydream visions. If one is able, shamanic journeys are very helpful. A pendulum is also useful for Yes/No questions.

The particulars of my findings through the above methods will remain in my Book of Shadows.

I hope this article has been helpful, and until next time –

Merry Meet, Merry Part and Merry Meet again!

Samhain Blessings,
Claire de Lune

Meditation does not come easy for me. I enjoy meditation journeys to be sure: I have an active imagination and it loves meander and discover along a guided path. Sitting still in silence is another thing completely. Yet, for the past several months, without fail, I have been diligently sitting for five minutes of “being still”. Then seven minutes. It is a daily struggle. So this week, I decided to flip my morning routine on its head. Explore a different way of approaching my morning routine: meditation, my three mile walk, my set of morning prayers, and the little rituals of devotion.

Act 1

I walked first. Put aside the exercise tracker and simply walked for the joy, the pleasure of being in fresh air, seeing and listening, being a part of the dawn breaking. It was the same number of steps as before, but this time it was looped in as a visceral part of my meditation practice vs something I’m doing to keep myself from weighing over 200#.

On the final mile of my walk, I gathered random flowers, magnolia pods, acorns, leaves, a funny little plastic skeleton hand the size of your inner palm that had somehow landed on of curb and made me laugh. I chuckled and chattered back and forth with a squirrel as I passed under his pine tree, tried to imitate the mockingbird who followed me a ways, perhaps she was curious to see what I was carrying. Perhaps I stole her breakfast? Sky shifted from deep navy blue with the silvered, creamy crescent moon to pale grey, to pink, to metallic lemon gold which portended warmer weather later that day. Sunlight scattered a myriad of diamonds on the small inlet of pewtered water. I was able to rescue a few earthworms who had strayed too far onto the asphalt (why do earthworms do that?). It was a peaceful lighthearted walk, till suddenly it wasn’t. There was the squirrel, dead on the edge of the road, his eye bashed in. His little paws posed like he had dropped an acorn and not realized it. Perfectly cupped with sharp little black nails.

I bent low and studied him, checking to see if he was possibly breathing. Maybe he was just knocked out and would now be blind in one eye, like a scrappy pirate. The fur on his tail ruffled lightly in the breeze. He was so newly dead I could feel the heat rising off of him… like he was surprised to find himself dead and his little spirit Squirrel self was studying his now dead corporeal self with vivid curiosity. Years ago, I would have carried his carcass home to show my children, so they might examine and touch a squirrel up close without fear of being bitten. (yes, I very much have done that very thing in the past… much to my kid’s embarrassment and chagrin… that I would walk down the neighborhood street carrying a dead squirrel by the tail to show them) Today, however;  my heart was merely shocked and saddened. Hadn’t the two of us creatures just shared a silly conversation? The same type of jolly conversation we have been sharing for months each morning as I walk under his tree? Now he’s dead. What was I supposed to do? I lifted the miniature red roses from my pile of gathered treasures and laid them gently between his delicate paws and cute oversized nose. Perhaps he could still smell for a moment? Perhaps, his little spirit self could smell… or at least know that a fellow creature had shown him honor as he rested there? Perhaps his little surprised spirit self could now move on and do whatever it is that spirit squirrels do.

This story is not going to be a morality tale on mortality. Act 1 thus ended.

Act 2

Quietly it began with this now small bundle of gathered things and me crafting a mandala of gratitude. Usually, I save making ritual plate offerings for special occasions, not just a random Tuesday morning walk. Besides, who was I making the offering for? What deity, saint, spirit, or element was I trying to connect with? The squirrel? No. I was simply creating a work of beauty from nature for Nature. To spin with my hands and imagination a pattern of loveliness where before had just been the broken or retrieved bits of randomness. I put a small bowl in the center of the now decorated plate and to it added a fingered dollop of butter, a spoonful of honey, and a splash of milk. Nestling a tea light on the squishy butter, I peeled added some fresh segments of clementine around the gap between the candle and the rim of the bowl, licking my fingers, nibbling on the extra pieces of fruit: sharing in the offering. I was feeding it and it in turn was feeding me. Mutual blessing. Match struck as I lit the small wick and incense. Stare at the finished piece admiringly, wafting the fragrance in and around the plate. I didn’t say any words. Didn’t think any profound thoughts. Simply stood there quietly for a few moments watching candle flame, smoke, the intricate texture of leaves, flowers, and small skeleton fingers.

After a few moments, I moved the ritual plate to my main altar and did my usual ritual tending that I do, none of which is elaborate. All of it; however is tied into my personal, daily acts of devotion and focus. I will “attend”. Stand watch. Remember. Call to mind with each flame; each pour; each softly spoken word. Not to gain favor. Not to curry a “you owe me now” balance sheet. Understand: I am vain, proud, and quite stubborn. These small actions remind me that there are a lot of things out there “greater than” myself. That I can hold the duality of being a sacred sovereign self under the golden vast infinity of powers, forces, and energies beyond me in breadth, scope, and depth. It’s refreshing to hold complete personal agency with and for myself while simultaneously acknowledging and honoring my place within the cosmos.

Act 2: there is merit in a creative, contemplative task done in silence.

Act 3

Some folks don’t like the use of the word prayer. I get it. Use another word. Maybe it’s mantras, incantations, affirmations, or readings. Whatever one chooses, coolio. For me, it’s a set of three small “prayers/invocations” that I play to a set piece of instrumental music (Skyrim’s “Past to Present”). Act 3 involves full body movement, memorized words, timing, and attention to both cadence and flow. It is (for me) a form of dance. A dance in both the physical and the astral realms. A dance requiring keen listening focus. A dance that gets sweeter and more effortless in its motions with repetition. It grows, evolves, adjusts itself to the day at hand. It becomes a sublime act of grace. Shimmering and luminous.

Act 3: my devotion is a living flame expressed through music, words, and motion

Act 4: Finale

Finally, finally we get to the actual “meditation” part of the morning. Here at the end of it all and yet, it is the beginning of all the rest that is to come that day. Recently, a close friend was encouraging me to practice deep breathing more seriously… as a true mindful intention. “However you must: change your position, throw yourself over a chair, ground on the floor, breathe deep. Make it a part of you. As often as you can throughout each day. Learn how to truly breathe deeply so that you may find calm and reset at any time. At any moment.” This wise person so full of grace and healing benevolence. I pay heed. I breathe deeply and slowly. Earbuds in. Green noise on, pushing out all other sounds. My skull a resonant cave. These days, part of my meditation is also a breathing and humming meditation set to another, newly discovered song (Cradle/“Midnight Hum”). It is breath and hum and improvisation. Mesmerizing. Engaging. Beckoning. Six immersive minutes where there is nothing but the mutual breath and harmonic hum. Abandoned and lost in the fullness of it. Tears stream silently down my face. I am not sad. Not delirious. Not on some emotional high. I am deeply calm, anchored to the core. It is rather, connecting to the joyspring  well that is found within my innermost, vibrant self. That often quiet, still, deep joy, filled to overflowing. So full my eyes leak. My personal life still feels like a bit of a shitshow right now. More grief than anything. Grief, Grief, when, O when will you finish your intense coursing through me? Shall I bear grief and sorrow forever? I don’t know. If grief is in one hand, joy is in the other. In this space of deep wounds, past trauma, cleaving pain, loss, of grinding, piercing, wrecking transformation that I am navigating, there is an undercurrent of the deepest joy. Unshakable. Refusing to be extinguished, even when diminished. Despite, or maybe made more so, joy seeps and grows through the cracks of everything when other parts of my being are scorned, mocked, berated, ignored, mind-fucked, gaslit. This present journey that at times feels like I am once more treading the myriad levels of hell… and back again. Like Persephone, Joy reminds me. There is juxtaposed within hell itself: joy. Not fleeting happiness. Joy. Found within the deepest hidden spring softly glowing with the energetic, loving current of Universe: eternal Source itself.

When I give myself the gift of time each morning, room is made for me to see more clearly. To notice and acknowledge that unbounded, untamed eternal joy from which mine is sprung. Joy in so many things. The simplest of things: a beloved’s smile seen in my mind’s eye, the tiny hidden flower nestled in the grass, genuine connection with complete strangers, the savory goodness of a good meal: be it ordinary or a “feast de verte”. So much joy, Sweet Ones, waiting to be seen, smelled, tasted, explored, discovered. Acknowledged as the counterweight to sorrow.

The Final Act: deep magick is in giving ourselves over to everyday, found joy.

Blessed Be.

Erica Sittler is a Witch practicing her craft in Mississippi where she is a local, active member of the Temple of Witchcraft. Her magick is in the mundane and in bringing honor and attention to those small things that build a sustainable and adventurous life. She is a Temple Mystery School student under the instruction of High Priestess Sellena Dear.

Photo adapted from a photo by Cottonbro Studio via Pexels.com

by Christopher Penczak, edited by Tina Whittle

One of the things I was always taught—and which I now pass on to those I teach—is that we shouldn’t be casting circles and doing magickal spells when we are ill. What do we do when we are always ill? Cases of chronic illness and unknown illness can make it hard for us to follow that guideline, and I am certainly not saying anyone with chronic illness cannot be a Witch. Yet as a student of the occult sciences, where magick is not simply a cultural expression but a metaphysical, energetic, and tangible reality, I tend to heed the advice of my elders mostly because of my past experimentation and learning that when I didn’t, there were deep reasons to the things I was easily dismissing as archaic and unnecessary. Every good student gets their fingers burned now and then, and the trick is to make little mistakes to learn from and avoid the big and spiritually damaging ones.

I had a friend many years ago write a manuscript on the very topic, but sadly the book never saw print and he focused on other things. Recently the topic came up again in class, and the student involved suggested sharing these theories, thoughts, and guidelines in the form of an article.

So why can’t you do magick when sick? Three reasons, if not more—focus, energy, and pattern.

The first reason is that proper execution of effective spells requires some clear focus, an ability to concentrate. When you are feeling ill, that is diminished. I know many, myself included, who have learned to move through distractions and moments of unclear focus when necessary, putting whatever is going on with us aside to do the magick. And you should build the skill and discipline to do so, but when you are sick, it is a factor that can contribute to the failure of your magick and leave you feeling even less focused after the expenditure of effort.

The second reason is the mechanics of energy. Magick is entwined with life force. Even if you are using other sources of energy—and ideally you should be, whether support from spiritual allies or the ingredients in the charm or the burning of the candle—your intention and will are wrapped into your life force, and part of you guides the magick even if you are not the fuel. When ill, that vital life force is naturally going inward, in a time of consolidation, to fuel immune responses or repair of damage. When we are ill, our bodies automatically undergo many processes to bring us to health, and they all require vital life force and the attention of our bodies. That is why many of us like to sleep when sick, to shut down anything that is unnecessary to let the body do its job. When you are doing magick when ill, you are reversing the flow for a time, and robbing the body of what it needs in this mode. The automatic responses don’t necessarily understand your intention and can think you are sicker, and then respond harder because the process has been disrupted.

Our vital life force can often be seen as waves going in and out from us, into the greater sea of life force. Intentions roll out in waves, and when the spell succeeds to manifestation or fails, that wave of life force returns to us on some level. We can have many things going out at once. Some parts of our vitality are easily replenishable, but our bua and others are finite and limited; our bri and our magick can include both of these vital currents. This why you are also cautioned to not do more than three spells per Full Moon circle, to not spread your energy and focus too thin, or deplete yourself too much. If we set too much into motion while sick, even if it’s for the intention of healing, we might not have enough vitality to maintain the recovery process and instead cause further sickness or injury.

Lastly, we have pattern. Illness has a pattern to it, or a vibration. Illnesses have distinct energies and spirits. Your state of being—your own vibration, energy, and state of mind—influence the magick you are working. Magick initiated and fueled by anger is different than magick drawn from love. Cold and clear magick is different than passionate magick. All can work, but all feel—and manifest—differently. When the state of your being is permeated with the vibration of illness, that gets woven into the pattern of your creation unless you are strictly doing self-purification magick. Do you want that as part of the manifestation of your spell? I have found those who have successfully done magick when ill often have manifestations that don’t turn out, ultimately, the way they wished. The issue might be they got exactly what they asked for, but not what they wanted, due to poor wording or unclear focus. They might get it, but not be in a position to use or enjoy it because they are still ill, or the manifestation itself is subject to decay more quickly than normal: a successful opportunity that dries up, a new job or new love that doesn’t last, a protection that diminishes at an inopportune time leaving one exposed. The nature of the illness is wrapped into the magick, sometimes bringing joyless manifestations or inflamed manifestations. I wouldn’t cast wards of my home when sick, or do a spell for love or romance either, but those are my personal lines on the matter.

So when people are temporarily ill with short-term prognosis of recovery, tradition suggests waiting before doing magick. The guide for me is that if you are taking time out of work or canceling social plans, then cancel magickal plans until you resume normal activities. You can’t necessarily call back parts of you from other spells prior to being ill, but you don’t want to add to loss of energy. If those spells done previously manifest when we are ill, or just after, they will bring a little personal boost to the tides of life within us.

When someone has a long-term illness or chronic condition, there is a lot of learning to manage energy levels for all things, including magick. Everyone is different, but if you are still doing work/going to work and attending social events, then consider how magick and spells fit into the expectations and management of your energy. Sometimes with the levels of both mental energy and life force, you might have energy for work and family/friends, or work and magick, but not work, spells, and your relationships, so you have to pick and choose priorities and necessities for energy levels at these times. It’s not impossible, but it becomes more of a challenge to manage with any chronic condition.

There is not a specific guideline on the types of magick you can and cannot do, or should and should not do when ill, short term or chronically, such as candle magick is good, but potions are not. It can vary with the Witch. When you are doing magick when experiencing a flare of a chronic condition, there are three factors to consider:

1) Do I have a clear intention, and can I focus upon it long enough to do the spell?

2) How much energy does the spell require on my part? Do I have that? Do I have easy access to other sources that will fuel the spell and it will just require my intention and guiding presence?

3) Will the symptoms and spirit of my illness, its pattern, adversely influence the effect of the magick? Will there be long-term affects I can’t see right now? Are these influences simply a part of my life now, and not a big deal to manage?

If I can do the spell but not have the focus for the entire ritual of the sacred space, this is when fellow practitioners, covenmates, and tradition-mates can be a great aid. Simple folk practices of magick might be what you are called to do, foregoing a formal ritual, though the formal ritual can give you the built-in containment, amplification, and protection. Without it, you might be trying to dive deeper than you can breathe without your diving suit. While it can be a fashion to forego a formal magick circle, the old traditions I learned said that as much as possible, your spells should be in a circle, turning an act of thaumaturgy into one of partnered theurgy. You commune with the divine intelligence rather than your personal desire alone and have the protection and magnification of the energetic temple that is the circle’s sacred space.

So think about that and the underlying issues of illness and ask yourself, what do you feel up for? If in doubt or even as a doublecheck, do a simple divination on your plans. While divination can take energy and focus too, and the patterns of illness might obscure our clarity, a simple yes/no divination should be in your abilities, and if you are not up for that, then you really shouldn’t cast circle and do a spell. If you can, then divine your answer and go forth with you magick.

For more on living with chronic illness as a magickal practitioner, check out the new book Chronically Magickal, by Temple High Priestess Danielle Dionne, available from Llewellyn Worldwide.

by Claire du Lune

Blessed Be, and Blessed Mabon! Claire du Nord here, a High Priestess in the Temple of Witchcraft tradition, with the twentieth article in our “For Broom Closet Witches” series.

Mabon, the Wheel of the Year Sabbat that comes after Lughnassadh/Lammas and before Samhain, is another Harvest Celebration – the Harvest of Fruits – as well as the recognition of the Fall Equinox.

Mabon always feels sort of like a turning point for me – an unexpected twist in the road – a step away from the familiar toward something new and different. It isn’t always immediately clear what that change will be or how it will manifest – just that there will be a change. Kind of like the three abandoned newborn kittens – wait, no, make that four – (another one was found and brought to me two days after the first three.) – that I am now taking care of. So now there are kittens sleeping in my living room when just a few days ago there weren’t any. And then there is my new Craft Name – Claire de Lune – that I will officially be adopting with the signing of this article!

Being a Broom Closet Witch can mean that one’s Sabbat experiences happen inwardly, for the most part, as outwardly observed Sabbat celebrations are not always possible for many Broom Closet Witches.

So, after a full Wheel of the Year cycle of articles about the types of outward celebrations that I, personally, can “get away with”, (given my own circumstances), “For Broom Closet Witches” will see a shift from the outer Sabbat experiences to the inner Sabbat experiences in the year ahead. Beginning with Samhain, this column will be taking a turn inward, exploring the inner landscape and terrain of the Sabbats, as seen through the eyes of a Broom Closet Witch – me! I look forward to seeing how this new perspective develops.

There will also be a new title for the articles, also beginning with Samhain:

For Broom Closet Witches: (Sabbat Name): Through the Eyes of a Broom Closet Witch

For this Mabon’s celebration, I decorated the table with a purple tablecloth and a purple accent runner. I bought some artificial fall leaf bouquets and placed purple candles on either side of the vase:

I also added some pinecones:

And here are the decorations with a Mabon refreshment platter:

There are grapes:

Pomegranates:

Apples, with their characteristic five-pointed star:

And walnuts:

I hope this article has been helpful, and until next time –

Merry Meet, Merry Part, and Merry Meet again!

Mabon Blessings,

Claire de Lune
(Formerly: Claire du Nord)

A watermelon decided to show up in my desolate flower bed. I say “show up”, because none of us planted it there: it sprung from some passing bird dropping. I say “desolate” because the flower bed is in reality nothing more than red mulch over hardened earth. There are no flowers. Not this year, save the fake ones in a pot nearby. This melon decided to show up right near my front steps where I could watch it daily… watch it in the dry, barren heat of Mississippi’s hellfire August, with no rain for weeks and temperatures wavering near 100 degrees each day. Watch this melon. First the two leaves standing upright, shouting in their little sing-song voices, “Whooo hooo! Over here! Look what we are doing!” I watched them, at first assessing that they were watermelon…wondering how they got there, and then waiting for them to shrivel up and die in the heat. I gave them no water. I was not merciful. I was not kind. I wanted to see them wither and die under the oppressive sun, their fragile, water-laden vines and leaves unable to take the glare and brutality of this particularly wretched August. Yet, the melon just kept sending out more leaves. Big and lush and deep green.

We have been taught, in our version of animist witchcraft, that flora, fauna, and lapis come to you in seasons to be teachers and guides along the path of life. This merry melon has been one such teacher for me. For me, who struggles to find my authentic self under the layers and masks and protective shells I have encased her in. For me, who longs to sing and dance merrily and yet is terrified of being obliterated by a world that does not care if I exist or not. For me, whose strength is both tender and fragile, whose fecund body produced many children, yet it is now my fertile mind that bursts and flowers with thoughts and ideas worth spreading. This melon simply is. It cascades and overflows and now in mighty, riotous chorus shouts joyously at me to simply be what you were made to be: leaf by leaf, tendril and vine, blossom and fruit. Be who you truly are, despite all the reasons not to. All the reasons perhaps to shrivel up and die. Pay no heed to any of those… just be.

Photo by Ashutosh Sonwani via Pexels

by Christopher Penczak, edited by Tina Whittle

Being an open and non-dogmatic tradition, modern Witchcraft should have no problems with dogma, fanaticism, or extremism, right? Well, compared to the violence found in the history of many mainstream religions, even those extolling the virtues of love and compassion, we are doing okay.

We have had no crusades or jihads in our name, but if you think we are not capable of it, think again. The main reason we haven’t is that our relatively new contemporary movement lacks the resources and greater social status to do such harm. While our ancient Pagan ancestors did not necessarily go to war for religious reasons in the ways we think of today, they were capable of the evils we still see today, the evils of empire—violence, control, and persecution. Despite our romance with it, the ancient world was far from a peaceful society. The karma of the past unfolds in those who claim spiritual descent from Pagan, Heathen, and Witchcraft ancestors, and while we embrace the blessing, we have to work through and resolve the ancestral burdens. Our magickal inheritance is twofold.

As we grow as a community, hopefully evolving and seeking new ways while rooting ourselves in ancestral wisdom, it could be helpful to talk about what could go wrong. It’s easy to see the same potential problems in the Neopagan and polytheist resurgence. I see both dogmatic trends in theology holding hard lines and the reaction to it as dissolving all lines and breaking down all magickal traditions as inconsequential. Many seek to unconsciously recreate the religions of their childhood with Pagan aesthetics, while others reject everything in the course of rejecting dogma, even the very things they seem to be seeking. From this we get the non-magickal and non-theistic branches of modern Paganism, cut from the tree of their root traditions.

Though they are not always overt, we do have our Pagan zealots. While historically the Zealots were an ancient Jewish sect that resisted Roman rule but ultimately sought a theocracy, today a zealot is considered an individual with fanatic devotion and enthusiasm (though the word “zeal” isn’t used with the same religious or political overtones). Such figures are considered extremists or radicals in their activism and can be dogmatic, militant, or sectarian in their views and actions. I’m sad to say I’ve come across that in Pagan community.

Zeal can be a normal phase in any passion, whether religious, social, or political. We can become possessed by a fervor in our hobbies—music, art, movies, and games. We can cross from appreciating them to creating them ourselves, or creating something about them, like the fanzines of days past and the podcasts and YouTube channels of today. This is sometimes the definition of “geek” or “nerd” when not used pejoratively. I’m a magick geek. I’m a Star Wars nerd. Though my fellow herbalists are less inclined to say they are herbal nerds, we are herbal nerds. Magickal training even takes advantage of our zeal for magick.

Yes, you read that correctly. The magickal process will use our zeal and channel it towards a greater good. Most of us enter into this path because we have an attraction to the occult. That can grow into a love of it and a deep desire to know. We seek to learn everything we can. For some, this leads to the armchair occultist, knowledgeable about all things and experienced in very little. For others, we want to put into practice all that we learn.

When we don’t have a path, school, mentor, or group, we can either become easily distracted by all the things (more now than ever before) and never gain proficiency in anything, or we become overloaded and burn out. We experience too much too fast with too little context or support.

In the Golden Dawn system of training, the first degree after neophyte is the Zelator, aligned with the earth element and the sephira or emanation of Malkuth, the kingdom. Malkuth is the tenth realm and lowest, and the degree is sometimes written as 1 = 10. 1 is usually in a square and ten in a circle. One must use their excitement and enthusiasm to build a strong foundation to prepare for what is to come. Those who lack passion, are easily discouraged, or just find this a passing fancy are said to be weeded out. The initiatory ritual of the Zelator is based on the Hebrew Tabernacle in the Wilderness as described in Exodus.

So our key as a magickal community is to inwardly channel the natural zealous inclinations people have to their study of the mysteries rather than the outward manifestation of dogma or militancy. Through the process of seeking spiritual growth, we can hopefully transmute other tendencies they do not serve for our own good and the good of all.

When it finally became obvious to me that what I was by name was a witch, there was an immediate sense of relief: like a missing piece of myself had been found and in this dreadfully dark wandering space where I had been wandering seemingly aimless for years, decades even: in a sense since I was about four years old. Suddenly, in that instant of comprehension, a flickering light appeared, and in that light…a path.

It wasn’t long before a friend had pointed me to the local, Mississippi community of the Temple of Witchcraft, including the Mystery School classes I could sign up for.

So of course, I did. Immediately. Instantly. Let me fast track my studies, my craft, my new “religion” as quickly as possible. I was accepted and then suddenly, strangely, I was not. Somehow, I had signed up for classes in Missouri! (How did I know it mattered the where and when I took classes?) I had to wait for more than a year before the next session of local classes would be offered and then, if accepted, I could participate in formalized training.

As a consolation, I was invited to come to the next Sabbat on the cycle of the year. That’s how I looked at it—as a “consolation”. The hubris and vanity that I had was, and perhaps still peeks out from time to time, truly grimace worthy. I had never been to a Sabbat with my local group. Or any pagan group. I had never participated in a ritual outside Christianity. But, yeah, I was ready to hop on the Mystery School train and ride it straight to high priestess. Fortunately, for all of us, that didn’t happen.

Instead, I was welcomed as an ordinary. Just another curious one welcomed to experience what an eclectic Wiccan ritual was like. There, in that first journey we did as a group, I found stillness and a chance to take a deep breath… and then another. And then I went home. What was I supposed to do between rituals? The only thing I knew to do was to walk outside and get to know Nature as more than something pretty to look at for my viewing pleasure. Now, I could actually attempt to follow the seasons. This new “wheel” that noted the cycles. To sit quietly. Repeatedly. To watch. To soak up the cacophony of being that was both outside myself and yet was now riddling its way through every fiber of my being.

There was a time in my still recent past when I despised the Canada geese who descended by the dozens to my yard and the common space directly across from me. It took me time to go from self-absorbed despising to contrite respecting to profound gratitude for the geese who return year after year, generations of them. To study them. To try to learn from them. To watch the cycle of migrating birds of which these geese are the first to arrive to our small inlet. They are followed by the much quieter mallard and wood ducks. Then the white herons. Then, if we are lucky, the white pelicans.

I began to realize in that year of waiting, while I followed the migrating birds and the cycle of trees and flowers, various bees, gators, stars and the phases of the moon, my life had largely been disconnected from Nature. That nature had no daily place of reverence in my life. What kind of human had no genuine connection to nature? Me. That’s who. Oh, I’m smart. I could tell you the names of more plants than most. I “knew” things, but I didn’t really know anything. What kind of being was I? Did I want to stay this kind of being? One ignorant of cycles beyond the scratch surface? One nearly helpless in the realm of plant medicines, even though my “apothecary” was filled with over 50 jars brimming with all manner of healing? Did I dare use any of them? Would I make folks sicker if I offered them a cup of my blend of tea? It was a horrifying, sober thought… that I could unintentionally truly harm someone in my stupidity. How many books did I need to purchase and not read to show my magickal earnestness? You read that correctly: unread books by the dozens. All the tools, all the knowledge, but basically useless. I was eager, untrained, feral, and desperate for an anchor to give me a sense of purpose.

True, I wanted a spiritual path. What I had to learn; however, was to find my humble place within Nature. And so, I walked and walked and continued to walk. I stood out and gazed at the stars, not knowing their names, just observing them. I watched the moon in her ever-returning cycle. I stopped trying to figure out what it all meant and just let myself be a four year-old child again. The part of me that runs her fingers along the tops of flowering rose bushes, who tastes the drop of honeysuckle there at the base of its blossom. I became a gatherer of acorns…so many different varieties that I gathered from all my wanderings. I attended rituals with my community. Serving in the small ways where I could.

Erica Sittler is a Witch practicing her craft in Mississippi where she is a local, active member of the Temple of Witchcraft. Her magick is in the mundane and in bringing honor and attention to those small things that build a sustainable and adventurous life. She is a Temple Mystery School student under the instruction of High Priestess Sellena Dear.

photo by b-role via Pexels

by Christopher Penczak, edited by Tina Whittle

What makes magick successful? Ultimately the practitioner. In a world overemphasizing consumption and accomplishment, is magick something one can be successful doing, or should we focus on the intangible spiritual dimensions of the practice? As with so many either/or questions posed to me, my answer is usually both/and. The paradox of two truths creating an ineffable third is the deepest act of magick.

To define what is success, one must define the goal and start by asking if there is any goal at all. As occulture changes, the assumptions of a magickal generation change. It can be good for both new and experienced practitioners to examine those assumptions. Today I’ve heard people quote an internet posting that teaches 90% of Witchcraft is just “spicy psychology.” You tell that to an old Craft practitioner, and you’ll get strong disagreement. To me, if you define psychology as your relationship to your soul—recognizing the inherent reflection of forces within you manifesting outwardly, gods within us reflected within the cosmos—then sure, I won’t fight that phrase. But if you mean something like mental self-help tricks to cope with life and feel better, with no deeper dimension to the cosmos as there is no deeper dimension to be had, then no.

The divide comes when someone thinks of it as “all in your mind.” By that, do you mean contained and localized in your body, or reflected in the cosmic divine mind of creation? Is your mind a biological phenomenon generated by nerves and brain tissue, or does your biology act as an antenna for an independent field of consciousness briefly manifesting as “you”? Magick can be a coping aid in times of need, but it is also a science by which to know the cosmos; an art to create your life and express what it means to be divinely; and a religion linking—or revealing our ever-present link—to the divine, encouraging our relationship with the divine to find some level of union.

Today there can be a popular emphasis on doing what we you want and calling it Witchcraft. While the Craft will change greatly over time, there is a magickal thread of continuity. The Craft of a British Traditional Wiccan is different from that of the Cunning Woman and different from the Temple priestess and tribal healer, but there is a thread of purpose and practice on a mythic level. The current emphasis is often not on theory or ritual structure, but on the feeling of peace or empowerment afterwords. There is certainly Magick to the manifestation of those feelings. But if something was objectively desired to manifest, and it doesn’t, then was it successful? Practices seem more intuitive and haphazard without an emphasis on repetition, building, or discipline. Do what you want as you need it.

In times past—and in those practitioners continuing those formal traditions—there is more emphasis on technical execution in the context of a specific tradition, teaching that there is a right way and a wrong way to do something. The boundaries are a way of building energy and intent. The repetition of a specific containing structure allows the forces to build and release more effectively than no structure. There is also more emphasis on operational Magick in terms of specific manifestations of psychic phenomena and tangible results. While it can appear to be mostly outer actions of ritual, ideally these were combined with equally disciplined inner practices through meditative training and focused intent. One doesn’t always stay in those rigid bounds when gaining greater experience, but like learning music, dance, or art, you learn and experience all the rules before you break them, so your breaking of the rules is with purpose, artistic intention, and full clarity.

Both can be Witchcraft and Magick. But sometimes the more recent practitioner, wishing to be a facet of a growing modern culture and accepted by it, can think the old-time practitioner delusional. While Witchcraft can be an identity as well as a practice, in that identity, Witches are just like everyone else.

The traditional practitioner sees the modern as losing the magickal thread of objective possibility, of being both a human and a magickal creature outside the bounds of common overculture, a huge point of Magick and Witchcraft. Witches have the same rights as everyone else, but Witches are different. While there might be some fundamental difference in orientation to the world through Magick, the practices themselves change us magickally and set us apart. The same can be said of all mystical practitioners following different practices, but we don’t seek to be the same. Otherwise we would just be the same and not go through the process of finding and embracing our Magick. Ironically. as time goes on, a deeper understanding of holism occurs, but the initial separation is necessary in the alchemical initiation. One must separate, heal, and purify and then recognize.

Both are looking at different standards of success and keep different things in mind. It is important to realize that with diligent practice, whatever that practice might be, things will change.

The traditional practitioner becomes more mystical over time. All of life becomes one big devotional ritual or cosmic experiment. With such practice in astrological timing, spellcraft, and healing, things soon line up more and more without planning or direct intervention. Many manifestations and banishings equalize into a harmonious life with initiatory challenges being paralleled by life experience.

The modern practitioner will often get bored with simple practices and either box themselves into a corner by embracing a specific cultural practice and rejecting other practices, or seek out deeper lore and knowledge, often swinging too far in the other direction of the traditionalist or academic (for example, insisting that anyone not using traditional Greek whole sign houses in astrology is a charlatan or that the pentacles of their favorite grimoire must be traced in the blood of a screech owl to be effective). Eventually those who remain will more deeply embody whatever they are learning and become more mystical in their practice. There comes a shift in their study out of self-apprenticeship to a hard-won journeyman, or even master.

I think it is important to self-evaluate, to be both accepting and critical of yourself. I think it’s good to get feedback, particularly feedback from those whom you respect, even if it’s critique. I think it’s dangerous to only seek validation as support or see only validation as support. And I think before doing any of this, it is important to define what success is for you, in any particular act, practice, or place in life, and take evaluation with that consideration. If you are only looking for comfort and your work is bringing you comfort, success! If you are looking for objective psychic skill and your practice is not getting you the skill you want, change it! Find others who have the skills you wish and find out how they honed their craft.

The same applies to your magickal artistry and philosophy. What are the criteria of your own measuring line? Knowing your standards of evaluation helps define the boundaries of your own practice, for the measuring line is the often-forgotten magick tool that helps us trace out our sacred space. Then we can adapt the space as we grow and change.