August 26, 2011

A Provenance Charm Forbidding Nightmares




This work is Lunar in nature, bolstered by the Saturnian sub-current. On a night of the moon's greatest majesty, toast the Mare-Queen of Night with a Red Meal boasting wine that has been adulterated with a philtre of moon-infused well or spring water, a pinch of dried peppers, and a decoction of mugwort. Have on hand three small measures of dried or fresh mugwort, verbena, and rue, and a black cord or string, and a piece of black or red linen to bind them up in. The charm follows.

* * *

The Son of Light grasps the key
That lays open every portal that can be;
From She Whom All Fear has the Master won it;
So in his celebrated name I pray:

Let the portal to the dark unseen be open
To the door of night and dream-
Keep that way open for me until I return safely.
Good Master and Lord of Spirits,
Open that way for me.

In your revealing name I call to the below,
To those powers that run like horses in night:
To the realm most deep, provenance of life,
With the good favors of Aquilo,
Of Septentrio and Cautus I make this conjury,
And with the notice of their good grooms-
You, Supernas, you, Boreas,
And Thrascias, and Gallicus,
You Circius, and Cotus also,
And all of the winds of the Valley of the Nadir:
Chasm of the Hag and her Groomsman Death.

These powers I name and gather to me,
With the knowledge that they hear all-
Say the weirds of the dark winds, "we hear thee."

Winds of spirit, carry my words to the Mistress of Dreams,
The Great Mare of Night herself,
The White Horse, terror of the living and the dead.
I plead and petition Her most wretchedly,
To forbid her servants from tormenting ____
With their nightly rades and terrible visions.

And you wicked powers, wild and unjust,
Who in delight may torment _____
In the same manner, and in the lonely night,
In the name of She before whom all Daimons tremble,
I sternly forbid you entry to the mind and soul of ____
The green and dark pastures of his/her mind
Must remain untrampled by you,
For as long as the pleasure of the Queen may be.

In the name of the Mugwort-wight,
The weird of the moon,
In the name of stormy weird Verbena,
And the wierd of Rue,
And in the name of She who is greater
Than all who course in the Unseen,
I tie up this charm and secure its power,
The power to forbid nightmare and night terror:
May its potency endure for moons ten and three,
Or till the coming of the day.

Such are my words,
Such as these are the Master's words,
And this the consummation of my spell.

* * *

August 13, 2011

Hail Antonia Gavilan, Queen of Spirits!

Hail Antonia Gavilan, Queen of Spirits!

Robin Artisson's Considered Response to the Reuters Wiccans who Complained that True Blood was "Giving Witchcraft a Bad Name."

Also Entitled
"A Popular TV Show Finally Depicts Sorcerers and Witches Properly."

By Robin Artisson
Copyright © 2011


True Blood Rocks, Bigger Than Ever- So Why The Long Faces, Fangbangers?

Just the other day, I was preparing to write an article about how great the current season of True Blood is. I was going to talk about how realistic and powerful their portrayal of the 16th century necromancer- Antonia Gavilan- was, and how delightfully flaky and fun (and realistic) their depiction of Wiccans was. The degree to which the lead Wiccan character in the show, a medium named Marnie, is so weird and conflicted lends to her character a realistic feel of the strife encountered by legitimate mediums who lack formal understanding or even the needful culturally-encapsulated training to handle such a gift.

But my plan was cut short. It was cut short by a very undiscriminating media outlet, who allied themselves with a team of publicity hungry Wiccans, to criticize the portrayal of witches in True Blood. What are the chances? Robin Artisson is appreciating what might be the first real legitimate mass-media portrayal of a powerful sorceress on television, a necromancer from the 16th century, and Wiccans somewhere (ever media-hungry for the sexy scandal spotlight) are squealing against it! Their complaint? That Antonia, the Necromancer portrayed on True Blood, is "giving Witchcraft a bad name."

So, I had to sit down and write this response, a response to the Wiccans who were interviewed by Reuters and to Christopher Penczak who (not surprisingly) joined them in defending their fully unhistorical and inauthentic modern version of "witchcraft", and to set the record straight on why Antonia- the Necromancer from True Blood- is the best thing that the public has ever seen, when it comes to understanding the truth about historical Sorcery, and the men and women who engaged it.

But something deeper motivated this response- two things, really; my own experience with the hidden core of that particular strain of historical sorcery (and the extreme states of mind tied to it) that has come down to us under the title of "witchcraft", and the most fundamental, intolerable reality of the new-age movement as a whole: the way that it has pathologized all (so-called) “negative” emotions, creating a false and bloated over-focus on "positivity"... and the further way that its resultant lack of wholeness has led its proponents to distort the historical realities of actual sorcery, and the humans that worked it and experienced it throughout time.

You Give Love... A Bad Name

To hear these Wiccans talk- and talk they do, in the Reuters story that you can read here and in countless places on and offline- any witch who tries to get revenge on others, who tries to harm others, "isn't a real witch"- and are giving "witchcraft" a "bad name".

To begin with, no one except “rede beating” Wiccans, in my way of seeing, are giving witchcraft a "bad name". To end with, does it strike anyone else as telling that these Wiccans are using the same logic that fundamentalist Christians (and most Christians generally) use anytime they want to distance themselves from the very real harmful actions that Christians have performed against others throughout history? The oft-repeated assertion that the Christians who were crusaders or inquisitors or witch-hunters "weren't real Christians?"

The new age discomfort with witches being portrayed as fully human, and having the full range of human emotions (negative or positive, however hopelessly simplistic and subjective those terms may be), is fully isomorphic to the Christian discomfort with Christians also being fully human and therefore capable of kindly AND foul acts.

Let me say it up front: a person expressing anger, vengefulness, or hate doesn't cease being a sorcerer or a sorceress anymore than the same kind of behavior stops a person from being Christian. It doesn't give "sorcery" or "witchcraft" a bad name. It merely presents a reality that we must all accept, and a reality that we have for too long (whether new-ager, new-age "Wiccan", Christian, or secularist) denied- that every human being is a full vessel of every possible state of mind, every emotion, and that Nature designed us this way for a good reason.

They deny the more subtle truth that the key to our own personal and collective peace and wisdom isn't drawing a dividing line down the middle of that vessel and ignoring one side, but drinking the whole thing down, and learning to wisely integrate what is there into the omnipresent wholeness which is found in the world and in every person. Easy to say, but hard to do! But without trying, no peace in the future for us is possible.

Nothing Less Than Wholeness

Nothing less than the truth about us will ever serve to heal what divisions slice deeply into the blood and body of this world and our cultures. New-agers help to create those divisions by continuing- ironically- the same "witch hunt" started by Christians- except now, the witches are "negative" emotions which must be "banished" or driven from the body as visualized dark clouds, and replaced with visualized "white light" that enters you and "heals" you.

This isn't healing; this is amputating half of our own humanity and our natural power. And the result is just what you see, everyday (if you pay attention)- New-ager media clowns that try to pass themselves off as hippie love-lords in public, but who, in their private circles, are power-hungry, controlling, tyrannical, sexually depraved, and petty. Many of them even succeed at gradually becoming open egomaniacs in public, but they don't tend to last very long after that point.

In the integration that I spoke of above, the powers that dwell in us which may have the propensity to encourage us to act unwisely, are held safely amid the power of all the others, and we find the truth behind that hideously-abused and overused word: balance. I prefer the terms "conscious completion" or "wisdom recognizing wholeness", or perhaps even “the grail”- but even our beloved Arthurian legends have largely become a new-age flophouse.

Only a person who accepts- fully accepts- and integrates their propensity to harm or be unwise, alongside their propensity to be kindly or loving, can ever be whole, or free- or genuinely "moral" in a sense that transcends localized codes of morality.

That person can be more like Nature Herself- able to wield, without obstruction, the powers of Giving and Taking, when necessity calls for them, and able to spread love- or vengeance- when it is proper to do so. And yes, despite the new-age propaganda that may preach otherwise, there is a time and a place for love and for strife, for creating and destroying. When we frame it in terms of "self-defense", the idea of killing another suddenly seems so rational and normal, if regrettable. But when we talk about using something as natural (though rare) as sorcery to defend oneself, or to right a legitimate wrong, suddenly it seems so diabolical.

And why? Because, from the highest levels, people are taught to be afraid of themselves and the power that potentially lurks in nearly everyone- and they are taught to doubt that the divine force in their own person could ever be a vessel of wisdom, guidance or justice. Most people are taught to look to the powerful institutions that exist in the world for the resolution to these sorts of issues, institutions that purport to answer those "big questions" with the pre-fabricated, shallow, and half-wise answers they've peddled for so long.

The voice of real, natural wisdom is silent; in its place the rote words of dusty pages fall into the uncreative minds of the sheep-herding priests and preachers (themselves also victims of this system) who are content to herd all that searching human potential, and to aid their institutions in vampirically feeding off of the mass anxiety and mass longing that they hold the shepherd's crook over. No member of such institutions can start the walk towards being a real, whole human; fear closes that door. For reasons of fearful "piety" and contrived "holiness", they will remain half-humans, forever, the victims of the real vampires that no show is ever made about.

In some cases, a few rare cases, people should be afraid of what lurks within us. In a world of wholeness, as in the world of nature itself, fear can be a helpful reaction. Wisdom might be defined (further) as knowing when to let fear teach you a lesson.

One of the problems I am addressing today stems from a dullness inherent in our culture. It begins when you have new-agers buying wholesale into hopelessly naive and unrealistic (and anti-natural) codes of morality which come (in essence) from the same churches they tend to avoid or claim to present an alternative to- codes which, for whatever reason, they MUST believe once informed the ancient strains of witchcraft and sorcery which they so unsuccessfully look to as spiritual ancestors.

But more on that in a moment. Let's go to True Blood now, and to the complaints against it, complaints registered by two (before now) unknown spokespersons for modern "witchcraft": A person going by the new-age "craft name" "Taarna RavenHawk", one calling herself "Elaanie Stormbender", and the man who may be the first contender for crown-prince of the new age "magickal" world, the celebrity Wiccan/magician Christopher Penczak.


Reuters Finds Some "Real Witches"- Really?

The Reuters story (which I hope you have read) begins by letting us know that "real witches" are upset about the portrayal of the behavior of Antonia Gavilan, the Necromancer-Spirit who possesses a lead Wiccan character in this season of True Blood. They are as upset by the Wiccan- Marnie Stonebrook- "letting herself become possessed", as they are with the depictions of the ancient sorceress Antonia's vengeance against vampires in the world of True Blood.

The "real witches" on Reuters say that Antonia's deadly vengeance, gained through sorcerous working, is giving "witchcraft" a bad name. They discuss how expert "witches" are at "controlling and banishing" spirits, and how a (presumably) "real" witch you might find today (maybe themselves and their fellows) would never let some spirit or spirits just arbitrarily use their mind and bodies. Mr. Penczak "had concerns about Marnie's negative impact on the overall reputation of witches." Penczak waxes a bit poetic about the "witches" out there that get "good training" and how they "usually learn to balance that with discipline, strength and focus."

Terrible Powers, where shall I start? Reuters didn't find "real witches". They found three new-agers- Wiccans- who have co-opted the title "witch" and layered it on top of their personal mixtures of modern new-age hodge podge. What are these "witches" really doing at heart? They are misrepresenting historical forms of sorcery and spirit-contact, to defend themselves and what they do (and what they choose to call themselves) from the fearful reactions of their neighbors who may not understand their strange choice in names or spiritual practices.

They are, in fact, revising history to suit them and their personal religious industries, and calm down their neighbors. They are fighting a war for positive public opinion, and the truths of history are always the first casualty of that war.

They are attempting (with the help of Reuters) to make people believe that "witchcraft" was always about being in control, being careful, avoiding the extremes of hate or vengeance, "harming none", being prepared to banish after invoking, having discipline, strength, focus- and most importantly, never tampering with "forces beyond their control." Truly?

To suggest that historical forms of witchcraft might have included dangerous, mysterious or uncontrollable elements would be a pretty scandalous thing to suggest (and bad for public relations with the neighbors), even though most people who study worldwide forms of witchcraft and sorcery, especially those extant forms that still deal largely with possession by spirits, know that they actually do include disturbing traditional elements that would terrify our expert Wiccans. Our experts apparently want the “witch” title, and the power it still commands in the unconscious layer of the western psyche, but none of the truly powerful, sometimes dark history that comes with it. That part, they want forgotten.

Our experts want to be as non-threatening to their neighbors as they can, and truly, who could blame them? But I feel I must suggest that what their neighbors need to know isn't that historical witchcraft really was “all lovely”- all those neighbors need to know is that what our Wiccan friends are doing isn't historical witchcraft; it is, instead, a new-age brew of goodness, peace, pop-culture cabbalism, light, so-called "shamanism", ceremonial magic, and karma, which couldn't harm anyone, at any time, ever- unless you consider massive confusion to be "harm".

Mission accomplished! The neighbors are satisfied, and we never needed to re-write history and dumb-down the public further to get our restful sleep at night.

Arcana Mundi: Obtain it, Keep it Secret, Keep it Safe

I have to wonder if Penczak or RavenHawk, or Stormbender, have ever cracked open a book by Georg Luck, entitled "Arcana Mundi: Magic and the Occult in the Greek and Roman World." If they had, they would find the most accessible, scholarly-well done, and enthralling revelation of what we really do know about Witches and Witchcraft, and Necromancy, and Divination, Daimonism, Trance-Possession, and Sorcery from Classical Antiquity. And if you read this wonderful book, which should be on everyone's shelf, you'll see something very enlightening: The makers of True Blood have created in Antonia Gavilan the most realistic depiction of a Necromancer ever seen on television.

Far from misrepresenting historical necromantic sorcery, Antonia embodies it. Women (and men) like her once really existed. They commanded the shades of the dead, made them give omens, divinations, and do favors for them- they threatened them, cajoled them, offered to them, seduced them, and held power over them. It doesn't sound pretty from a Christian or white-light New Ager perspective, but it is the historical fact of the matter.

And modern necromancers who work outside of the new-age current still have a fraction of the power of those authentic traditions available to them. Yes, they exist. Yes, I've known them. And yes, if Penczak or RavenHawk, or Stormbender ever had to talk to them too, they'd likely run away screaming, and (I fear) never laugh at anything, ever again.

I’m not exaggerating much there, for real necromantic practitioners have put their minds and bodies in touch with the supreme Saturnian current at a profound level- the same current that carries us all away at death, and thus, their very minds and personalities resonate with a fatalism and dark wisdom that most cannot handle in its pure form today. To Christians, a meeting with such a person is a meeting with pure "evil"- for in their way of seeing, death and sin or evil are practically synonymous. For most new-agers, a meeting with such a person would likely seem very "negative" or oppressive.

What's even more impressive is the way the very bodies of legitimate necromancers react to that Saturnian current- the one I've known became (as I call her) "the only real goth": always pale without the need for makeup, gaunt without the need for a daily cup of vinegar, and barely existing in any traditionally healthy, vital sense. She became some shade of the world of the dead herself, walking in this one.

If she was depressed, it wasn't because she was "emo" in any way; it was for the reason that she drank from the deepest cup of the Underworld, and most people who see the truth beyond appearances- as only the power of Death can reveal it- find the time to be a little depressed, alongside whatever strange joy they may gain from it.

My hat off to my Necromancer associate- the most powerful one I ever knew- she keeps a real and important part of human history alive in her own person (ironically!) And we need their unique "other side" perspective to stay in a real, powerful balanced perspective ourselves. If you haven’t already, obtain a copy of “Arcana Mundi”- to the properly prepared mind, it can plant the seeds of legitimate tradition, and cause the birth in you of something far beyond anything “Wicca” may offer today.


True Blood’s Necromancer


Antonia the Necromancer is a spirit, who was murdered (burned to death) in the 1500's by vampires, after they raped her, no less. She used her magic to destroy the vampires who colluded in her arrest, rape, and murder- and now that she has inhabited the body of the mostly witless, somewhat sad Wiccan character Marnie, she is using her necromantic sorcery to drive away vampires.

Is this a bad thing? Not at all. In the mythology of the television show True Blood, vampires are blights on nature- not good things. They are impulsive, very powerful, very violent, and almost entirely inhuman. They look upon living humans as little more than insects. As with all modern vampire literature, a few vampires either attempt to hold on to their humanity, somehow, or demonstrate that some shred of humanity still exists in them, at times. But this is the exception, not the rule.

The show’s vampires are not safe creatures to have around. They cannot be restrained by human law enforcement. They can move faster than humans can see; they can overpower anyone they like; they can do what they want, really- only a single vampiric organization attempts to restrain them, in the name of "mainstreaming" or assimilating into the mortal world. But as the show has amply demonstrated, they fail at that enough for humans to really worry- and the way things are presented, humans should worry.

Antonia's necromantic magic affects Vampires because they too, are dead. Antonia herself calls them "unconsecrated walking corpses"- and she's right. They are. She can accelerate in them the natural decomposition that they evade by stealing blood and life from living beings. Vampires are not heroes in a show like True Blood- and rightly so! I think the portrayal of Vampires (fictional though they are) is actually rather mature for mass media. Vampires don't exist in the physical, Anne-Ricey sense that True Blood feeds to us, but if they did, Antonia's powers would affect them just as is presented, at least if historical necromantic theories held true.

Antonia has a right to her vengeance. The vampires that raped and murdered her likely found her in 16th century Spain acting as a medium for people in the cities or countryside- an ancient vocation all over Pagan Europe, and into the Christian period, in places. Those vampires had infiltrated the Church and were abusing that power; they were cruel and (if we follow the lead of the show) likely responsible for a lot of people being burned to death, whether they were legitimate Necromancers or not. Vampires in the show are (rightly) afraid of Necromancers because they know that Necromancers can control them.

Antonia isn't evil to take her vengeance. She is acting, in a way, as the immune system of both Nature (hurrying walking corpses back into the ground where they belong) and a protector of human society- a society (as she points out) which is comprised of true immortals. Vampires, she says in a memorable scene, are not immortal; they are just much harder to kill. Human spirits, however, are immortal, as she has proven by surviving her death on the spiritual plane and passing through time, to manifest herself again.

Human society cannot survive with a supernatural society of vampires dwelling within it; the dark hints of True Blood, and the novels upon which the show is based, show that Vampires as a whole will always be manipulative, passion-driven killers. But unlike humans, many of whom can be described the same way, vampires have almost godlike power to work their will on anyone they choose.

Throughout the season, Antonia has protected innocent humans- Wiccans, in this case- from vampire attacks, using Marnie the medium as a vessel to drive away threats that certainly would have brought about dead Wiccans. Antonia isn't a “bad guy.” She (technically) is the antagonist of this season, but things are not so black-and-white. She seeks righteous vengeance against blighted creatures who don't have the same claim on life that human beings have. And nothing in her character, and nothing she does gives “witches” a bad name, nor diminishes their reputation.

If Wicca presents "witchcraft" as a weak, new-agey thing normally singled out for various degrees of ridicule in the mainstream, Antonia- even as a fictional character- brings a sense of austerity, danger, and old traditional respect back to sorcery, even her necromantic variety. She presents an alternative image of the sorcerously empowered human being, one that we've been lacking for a long time.


True Blood’s Wiccans

The most realistic depiction of the modern occult world on True Blood is the depiction of Wiccans. Marnie (at least before she was possessed by Antonia) leads an embarrassingly realistic coven of Wiccans, out of a metaphysical/new age store in Shreveport, Louisiana. I've seen countless "circles" just like them- and they are accurate down to the jewelry, the props, the chants, the books, the absurd "thank Goddess" exclamations, and their intolerable propensity to mistake magic with "religion".

Marnie angrily responds throughout the show about the Vampires who attacked them, saying that they are innocent Wiccans who were just trying to practice their "religion". But we've seen no religion- just circles, hand-holding, chanting, and glee when they manage to make a dead bird come back to life for a few seconds, or manage to channel the spirit of a deceased person through Marnie.

This isn’t religion, really; this is a low-grade form of new-age sorcery, and the only reason it works as well as it does is because it's a TV show. In real life you wouldn't find the circles or chants doing anything except causing some excited talk about people "feeling" this or that, and well, maybe one person (usually the high priestess) claiming to be "possessed" by "the Goddess"- and occasionally, a "high priest" claiming to embody their mysterious "God".

On my occasions of attendance, no "possessed" Wiccan priest or priestess every said or told me anything (or anyone else there anything) that didn't sound like something a sweet grandma wouldn't say, or a pop-culture psychology book ("Don't be afraid to be yourself!" "Find the love in you!" "Accept your power" "Forgive yourself for what you've done, for I love thee" and dozens of other equally-as-deep messages from the "Gods"). The rest of the time, it was the expected drama, petty games, "great rite" sex, and new-age positivity affirmations.

That's where this all begins and ends. I hate to sound cruel- but my intention isn't cruelty. My intention is honesty to my own experience, and to the experiences many others have shared with me, and honesty to the historical traditions of Sorcery that modern day new-agers either ignore or misrepresent, ostensibly to create in themselves an appearance of traditional legitimacy which their new "magickal arts" don't actually give them, and to give themselves a non-threatening appearance to outsiders. The “craft of the witch” in the old days was always counter-cultural and “outsider”; the craft of Wicca today is very much a social religion, intending itself to be at home peacefully among everyone. This is both a defining and a redefining distinction which is all-important.

I am doubly certain that the majority of people involved in all this new-age business aren't bad people. I know what they thirst for- the promises of the hidden reaches of sorcery and historical witchcraft- but despite the fact that Wiccans use the title "witch" like its going out of style, they do not offer the gateway to what witchcraft was, in historical reality.

They embrace Wicca- a modern synthesis of occult ideas, tied together with modern ritual and modern poetry- not historical witchcraft. They offer (generally speaking) "visualization" training, positive thinking, modern occult self-help science, some Eastern Karma notions, a reincarnation belief, and a moral code that is powerful and simple. All of this is free (at least on the surface) from the absolutist codes of Christianity. And all of that ain't nothin'- it's quite useful and soothing in the lives of many lost souls these days. And truly, all that positive thinking and visualization could even cause minor positive changes in a person, so it ain’t all a waste of time, either. But historical Witchcraft it is not.

The Witchcraft That Was

Witchcraft, in that historical sense, is about allying with (and sometimes taming) powerful spirits- nonhuman persons- from the Unseen world (familiars) and utilizing fair partnership with them to gain power; it is about detaching the consciousness from the body and plumbing the depths of the Underworld and the Unseen world for vision, wisdom, insight, and many other sorcerous goals. It is disturbing, exhilarating, and ultimately, it leaves one wondering about many things. It puts people face to face with something infinite and unexplainable, and makes them comfortable with uncertainty. It makes iron-hard souls that fear cannot rake away, eventually. It reveals Fate’s reality, and it sometimes brings about the early deaths of its participants.

Most importantly, it keys a person in, intuitively, to a perennial aesthetic that feeds the hungry soul of people forced to embrace the spiritual aesthetic of aridity and desert-dwelling frenzy and monotheism brought by Christianity to Europe. The Witch as I mean it is a dweller in the dark bog and broad forests of Old Europe, not some bearded Hebrew patriarch with his cloth-draped women and their camel train.

The Witch is legend; she is the vessel and the oracle of the long-faded wisdom of the Pagan world, transmitted in many strange ways; she is the human image of the primordial mysticism of the ancient Indo-Europeans, and perhaps even the pre-Indo Europeans. She is the human who can become a ghost and then human again. She knows the secrets of the dead. She changes her shape at will. She knows the properties of the growing things of the ground. She is grandmother to all our faery tales and folk-ballads. She is our culture soul’s sorcerous form. She is good and she is evil, and she is beyond good and evil. She is always with us.

What bothers me is just that people tend to find Wicca first (due to the neon-light blinking sign that they’ve set up in our cultural consciousness) and then they stop with Wicca, never questioning what came before, or what might be deeper. Maybe it shouldn't bother me; maybe it's a good thing, because to this day, and after meeting countless Wiccans, I've known maybe two that I thought had the mental fortitude to handle what really lay below the surface of things.

New Age, The Media, and the Destruction of the Occult Heritage of the West

And all of this might be tolerable, and even expected, if the media wouldn't get involved. For me, the occult heritage of the west is a horribly neglected (and very vital) chapter of our common history. So much of what was once important, sacred, or precious passed into the "hidden" side of things, there to be interacted with by occultists and occult luminaries from the great ages before this one.

Occultists in the real historical sense became secret guardians of real treasures from the past. To see the occult world- historical and modern- being represented by new agers, people who lack the simple wisdom to understand the necessity of wholeness, and people who participate unconsciously in the pathologizing of entire segments of human experience, is unconscionable. And to watch Reuters setting up "experts" like this is another nail in the coffin of our true occult heritage.

These Wiccans may not realize it, but the historical occult world didn't share their moral thinking or their pop-psychological shipwreck; and living occultists who draw upon those historical traditions still do not. And yet, if I tried to tell this to my own neighbor who might have read this Reuters story, what then? "Hey Robin! Ain't you one of dem "RavenHawk" people? You do dat "wicca"?" "Why no, Joe, you can't trust the news... they found a bunch of people who have nothing to do with me or "witchcraft" as I know it, and let them speak for me and those like me. Sorry about that. Try to see past the news, Joe."

But Joe can't see past the news. Few these days can.

And history? How many times do I have to hear Wiccans who really still believe (somehow) that "nine million" Wiccans died in the "burning times"? And _every one_ of the brain trusts who still buys this modern myth will tell you that those (mostly) female witches were led to their burning stake with nothing but "perfect love" in their eyes and hearts for their tormentors.

An entire history- an entire human history- of witchcraft has been quite literally whitewashed away under the choking light of "positivity". Witches in the past- real witches- would have hexed the life from your bones had you tried to come into their little neighborhoods and arrest their people or themselves, or their families, or for many other reasons. And thank the Powers for that- sorcery was one of the few ways common people really had of striking back at oppressive authorities, in some of the old days.

No one "bided the Wiccan rede." Not before Gardner, his Rosicrucian Co-Mason pals, and Doreen whipped that (admittedly nice) turn of phrase up. People who survived (and some who died) bided the "hex the shite out of you" rede. That's life. That's reality. Not for no reason does the legend of the witch include the hexing witch. It isn't just propaganda! Real sorcery doesn't come with some ingrained "moral code". It relies on individual humans for that, and well, as they say... "it takes all types."

And a character like Antonia Gavilan is one of the types it takes. She reminds us of our humanity, even in the house of real Sorcery. And she demonstrates real power- what some are capable of. Real power is always a little disturbing; in the same way that the roar of a mighty thunderstorm may make you a little unsettled, a little humbled, this is just its nature.


Love and Hate: the Occult Truth too Awful to Hear (for most)

This brings us back to where we started- my little talk on wholeness, and the new-age discomfort with so-called "negative" emotions. Read on carefully, and quote me on this all you like: now, I'll give you the little gem that your patience in reading my response/rant has earned you.

Love and Hate are not a conflicting “positive and negative” duality. We only say that, and unthinkingly believe that, because we are taught to love love, and hate hate. The reality is this: Love and Hate, if separated from one another and isolated from one another, make no sense. In isolation from each other, neither makes any sense.

This is because Love and Hate are the front and back of the same powerful, unseen hand. If they are given the honor of their natural co-existence, and both accepted, and allowed to speak with their own voice, then suddenly, they both make sense. They help to explain one another. They complete one another, without becoming one another. Then, they can both be known for what they truly are. When one really knows what love is, and what hate is, then (and only then) can one make a true moral choice between them.

If Love and Hate are not known for what they truly are, then what they appear to be really will possess a person- and people quite often become puppets for "hate", to the detriment of themselves and others; and they often believe themselves living for "love", while hurting themselves and others around them, all in love's name. They always find ways to explain away the pain caused by both, and ignore the deeper issue of unwisdom and fragmentation of understanding.

I like to think of it as a scalpel; a single tool which can cut out a tumor, thus saving a life, or stab someone to death. If you didn't know the harming power of a scalpel, you might unthinkingly stab people to death. If you didn't know the helping power of it, you'd never be able to do surgery with it. Yet, surgery relies on sublimated harm, just as love actually does rely on sublimated hate. Anyone who's ever felt love turn into sudden hate for a former intimate partner already knows how close the two are.

Many people can’t abide by this; they demand loudly “how dare you imply that the generous and soul-fulfilling love I have for my children is only a hairsbreadth from hating them!” To be clear, it is. Love and Hate are polarities of the same intense power- what drives your true and intense love as a caring parent is the same wind that drives the intense hate of the fanatic or the racist. But how it is polarized, integrated, and expressed makes all the difference.

The wise must simply never lose sight (as the half-wise do) of the fact that this polarity isn’t as wide a distance as one may feel it to be, nor is it as far apart as we may want it to be. Part of moving towards wholeness or completion involves passing through that uncomfortable region of initiation that turns the most fundamental things we’ve thought and felt all our lives upside down, and makes us see and think in new ways.

Love and Hate are the same intense emotion (perhaps the most intense we can feel!) simply turned to the left, or turned to the right. You can be pushed to the left forever, or to the right forever, or you can take the rare “third road” and seek the power of the whole, where you actually possess the power of both. Then you can love or hate consciously, without breaking your soul on their sharp, dangerous curves, or becoming their fool victim. Such a person loves beyond the ordinary sense of love, and can hate beyond the ordinary sense of hate. They can unite what needs uniting, and break apart what needs breaking apart. This saintly and rare person is both wicked and pure, pure like the Gods.

A cursory reading of the words of many First Nations mystics will reveal that such beliefs as I have presented here regarding Love and Hate- or other dualities, like "good" and "evil"- are not uncommon in the First World. The Minneconja Sioux Wicasa Wakan (holy man) Lame Deer (in his book "Lame Deer, Seeker of Visions") spends a good deal of time discussing how all things, humans and Gods, are "good and bad" at the same time- and how the most sacred powers (even Nature itself) are both of everything. Love and hate, good and bad, in his worldview of wholeness, are both "wakan" or sacred- a teaching carried on by the informants of Walker, as well. This isn't to say that the sacredness of "hate" or "bad" makes it utterly desirable to have around all the time- only that Lame Deer and his people were wise enough to understand a deeper picture for these natural aspects of human existence, and the existence of the world. By having such a deeper view, they engaged the "good" and the "bad" in a different, wiser, more balanced way.

Some people reading all this will be bothered by it. Good! If it lacked the power to disturb, it wouldn't be channeling the core of truth that it is attached to by these insufficient words. Some will read this and immediately begin working out a counter-argument to protect the sanctity of love, and banish the hatefulness of hate. Others will just roll their eyes (they’re probably my favorite team) and others will just nod knowingly.

Such is the way of it. Antonia Gavilan, as a fictional character, may not be a wise enough woman to have found or realized the secret truth to Love and Hate that unites them and transforms them. She may be just a hateful, spiteful bitch who happens to also be a powerful necromancer.

That's fine. Many powerful sorcerers in the past (or present), male or female, may have become hateful or spiteful, just as Christians have, Muslims have, or Secularists have. That's every bit as human as becoming a loving, kind person. If we could just magically wave a wand and banish the hate, the possibility of love would go with it. And then, we'd be zombies without emotions, fully bereft of the vitality of emotional intensity, all without romance or tears or the roar of wrath… and the world's completeness would be impossible.

When you see it this way, and further, when you experience it this way, Love and Hate cease to be shackles, and become allies to you. Both become sources of real strength- for this “enlightened love” and “enlightened hate” far outstrip polarized love and polarized hate. They feel the same, in most ways, but neither are as limited or as dangerously unstable as their polarized twins.

Calling Antonia’s vengeance “unbecoming a witch” is just another polarized reaction, another expression of our habit of loving love and hating hate. It simplifies her, and her arts, and this world and all the people in it into a moronic lump that has no relationship to or bearing on reality. The best thing about Antonia is her humanity, with all its bumps and lumps (and occasional vicious curses.) In the same way that the ancients could relate to the Gods precisely because the Gods were portrayed as occasional victims of infatuation, desire, and anger, Antonia is also reachable by everyone. We understand her. That is its own power.

One More Thing... Why Not Give Up on "Witch"?

Yeah yeah, I always hear people tell me that the word "witch" is a laughing stock word, something that will never be anything other than a diabolical cesspool of christian propaganda, or a new-age joke. So why not change the language? Give it up?

The term "witch" refers to a region of the Western/Indo-European consciousness which, for whatever historical reasons (and there are many) has survived into our modern day loaded with power. Sure, most of that power is tied into sensationalism and smacks of villainy, but there is something standing behind it- the legitimate image of the hedge-crossing, boundary-crossing sorcerer/sorceress who once interacted with the underworld and other more-or-less frightening or forbidden reaches of this reality, for the purposes of power-gaining, divination, and wisdom.

The word "witch" itself drips with a power that nearly everyone feels on the gut level, and it is constellated with many images that themselves maintain an archetypal association with legitimate objective unseen powers. As much as it seems like we should just cut all ties with this word, those who deal with the extraordinary reaches of consciousness in the western context cannot simply do it.

This word alone, almost, has the necessary "hint of darkness" but also the necessary "aura of power" that makes it among the most ambiguous (and therefore really powerful) words. It is precisely the scandal that it causes in most minds that empowers it. And as I said, behind its complexity is something legitimate- not servants of Satan mind you, and certainly not servants of a smiling, shiny caveman mother Goddess, but something far more sublime and deep.

Behind it, deeply, you will find the "Haljoruna", the women (and men) knowledgeable in Hel's mysteries. And they are objective powers that still exist, and still follow all descendants of the Indo-Europeans around, everywhere we go. This is what "witch" really means when you go back to the roots of the language- "rouser of spirits" from the Proto-Germanic word *wikkjaZ, which is another way of saying "Helrunar"- a name for the persons knowledgeable in the mysteries of Hel, or the Underworld. The "Helrunar" are the actual historical figures standing behind the distant personage of the "witch"- men and women able to draw upon the deepest of places for power.

This is the darkest core of our real heritage. And we cannot shake it, and really, we shouldn't want to- some of us are tied to it by Fate, compelled by it. And the world itself needs it, in some secret way at least, or such a thing could not be to begin with. Veritas Vincit!

June 26, 2011

A New Season of True Bleeding


Ah yes... the new season of True Blood begins tonight. Is there a seer out there who can tame the powers needed to tell me if they'll be able to recover from their miserable third season?

Even ratcheting up the sex and violence- which they did nicely in season 3- couldn't spare them from lame story lines, needless character assassinations, and more insufferable Anna Paquin as Sookie. I'm certain that Madame Paquin is a gifted actress well suited for other roles, but I've always felt that her casting as Sookie was a mistake on the part of the casting team.

The added touch of the Wiccan who showed up at the end of season 3 and performed the worst pennyroyal tea administration ever seen was just the new-age icing on the cake: and she had to have been the most realistic depiction of a Wiccan yet seen on television. (Her invocation of the "Goddess" was majestic- up to and including her "Okay, she's here!" announcement after glancing up into the air above her circle.)

I think I speak for everyone when I say: Eric, grow the long hair back and stop getting skinnier... Pam, please get your lesbian on more... Jessica, please get more camera time and less clothing on... Lafayette, you are awesome and you need to become the main character, not whiny annoying Sookie. And if your brujo boyfriend has any power, make sure you learn from him. And Sam: please stop being a douche and turning out to be a killer with a bad temper. We know you're really a nice guy, no matter how much the writers want to add a ridiculous "dark" dimension to your character which is totally unnecessary.

The Second season was probably the best, so long as you could ignore the shameless and inaccurate equating of Dionysos with Satan. Beyond that, superb. Good and realistic characterization of fundy Christians. Good show, really. I hope it gets good again.

Being from South Louisiana, it is impossible for me to avoid watching- and critiquing- a show like True Blood. I'd watch it just for the artful opening sequence, if nothing else, which captures the delirium of my homeland quite well. I have always watched the show hoping for a more "in the right spirit" depiction of southern occultism, but always been dissatisfied. Naturally, it being television, I never expected an overly accurate depiction. But as an occultist, it is my duty to examine all angles of popular culture for traces of the Old Sorceries and Old Practices when they arise, for arise they do, in surprising ways.

True Blood as a whole is, in my opinion, a good show. I like the blend of grit and humor and sex and the supernatural- and I've always loved Vampires and shape-changing things. Perhaps it is the distant blood of the Balkans in me; whatever the case may be, the swamps of Louisiana are a good place for sweltering mysticism and blood drinking, even today: if the mosquitoes don't get you, creepy rednecks or black worshipers of snake gods will- or maybe just teams of idiot libertarians who are all in denial about being republicans.

Sadly, the fictional town of "Bon Temps" is set in North Louisiana, not south, where it properly belongs. There are no Cajun-seeming enclaves of Spanish moss and good old fashioned southern hospitality between Monroe and Ruston. Charlaine Harris is certainly using her imagination big time there- trust me, as someone sentenced by Fate to spend a lot of time in Monroe, you would be more likely to find redneck, Budweiser-swilling werewolves, actual vampires, and cheesy dancy fairies in North Louisiana, than you would a town like Bon Temps.

All is well. All is as it should be. Join me in watching the beginning of Season 4 tonight, as we go into our new season which (from what I understand) will have "real" witches as the main bad guys- and dark powers preserve us, Harry Potter's aunt from the HP movies plays the lead witch. Aunt Petunia's gone to the dark side! I hope she can overcome the Petunia thing, to give us a good villainess.

June 6, 2011

Spell of the Crossroads


Spirits of this place, weirds of needled pine, of stout oak, weirds of ragged grass, of wild onion, of nettle, of dandelion; weird of the seven-sharp holly, weird of the brown rot mask that hides a black soul, weird of the choking wet heat that rakes fingers into every space, weird of the buried stones, weird of the iron spikes, weird of the screeching locust swarm, weirds of the twilight birdsong, weird of the water trickle, All you indwellers of this lonely place, the strength of the mighty God's blessing be yours, as my words speak it so!

The Master of the Word is present in this spell spoken for you, made potent with the warmth of my breath and my very life! Know that His power swiftly accomplishes what my words declare. Here is the Water of Life, and the white milk of the nourishing cow, poured into the land for your increase.

By your leave, let it be that I pass through your tangle of bodies and shapes unseen! Faces in the ground and wood, move aside, give way, and part the hedge for me, beyond which lies that Hallowed and secret place where the Road to the North crosses the Road to the West- the radiant and dark heart of all places, which touches all lands seen and unseen and joins them together in fateful union. There at the crossed roads, I will make petition to the Master who has flown on the road of the Sun to his invisible throne at the crossing of every forest, road, hamlet, bog and meadow.

Cunning Master, Oldest Thing in the Land, Clever One that moves to the ends of the Earth and back again with the ease of thought, you guard the gate marked with your own sign, admitting whom you will. Open the Door to All Places for me, and let that door close when it must again. Master with two faces, Master who holds the keys, Master of spirits, herald of Great Majesty, open the Door to All Places for me! Between the country of living men and the country of dead men, let me know the true gate and the true crossing in my soul, and let my fetch move like a luminous moth through the eternity beyond.

You are the utterance of these words, Master; I celebrate your invisible fire in me, and my flesh thrives with your secret life. You indwell this very breath! So let these words pass the Crossroads on the witch-wind and reach those powers that my heart desires! In the Name of the Old Trinity, So mote it be.

June 5, 2011

Some Myths Die, But Myth Never Dies


The Onion- America's finest (and most humorous fictional) news source recently published an article entitled "Church Canceled Due To Lack of God." As funny as the story was, it got me thinking about the collapse of modern organized and revealed religions in the west, and the need for a mythical life in us, despite the failure of certain myths and the organizations that calcified them to death.

I think that churches are emptying not because "god" isn't real, but because "god" isn't what people have been taught to think it is. They are falling apart on the weight of their myths- the particular myths embraced by Christianity are heavy and clunky and can't hold up to modern scrutiny. Of course, I think myths are generated in every era- a "myth" here being a story we tell ourselves to explain things. Atheists particularly hate the word "myth" because they think it just means "made up and fake", but as any student of actual mythology (or analytical psychology) will tell you, "myth" has more functions than just empty explanations, and they are more than just stories told in the pre-scientific world.


So, for me, "myth" almost never means "fake", however, SOME myths have outlived their usefulness- assuming they ever had any- and crashed and burned in the modern world. The myths of Christianity are perfect examples. The sad thing is this- ancient people were not just ignorant primitives. The human psyche has not changed that much in 100,000 years. The contents of our psyches, the focus of certain aspects of the psyche- those things have changed. But the innate intelligence, adaptability, and perceptiveness of humanity has remained constant.

New bodies of knowledge have been created, but the psyche of man has remained the same- and the psyche has a myth-creating function, because the psyche is itself a mythical force, a story-generating power that is part of the larger story of "mankind".
I think ancient people understood that greater powers were part of our world, and part of us. There is nothing "out there" that isn't "in here"- this universe is a whole, not shattered, sundered parts. It is one great event, and our psyches are just the medium by which we receive this universe in symbolic form. Our languages, for instance, are another expression of the symbol-creating function and the assignment of meaning to sounds and signs.

The ancient peoples knew that there was a massive, deep, dark depth to everything; they knew that life and intelligence was not limited to just themselves. They expressed these half-conscious insights in many forms, and certain "myths" arose to suit that expression.
The problem is that the mythical function of the psyche has to alter itself to suit the changing of the world and the changing of the psyche, which are two events that might be seen as a singular event with two ranges of intimacy, at least from our perspective. When organized, revealed religions "locked their canons", they froze their myths and refused to evolve.

This is the real reason why they are rightly scorned as false today. Their conception of "god" is meaningless outside of the original culture that manifested it, though the power that was interacting with that culture likely was an autonomous collective of force that really affected those people, and defined their character, as they went on to define its character.
But was a single culture's notion of "god" the absolute? Of course not. It was an event of power- full of the predictable errors and terrors that come with humanity- unique to a certain time and place. The only relevance it has to us now is as a warning, and a guide on the path of avoiding the dangers of absolutizing moments long past. The powers of our Ancestors, and of our time and place are still working in conjunction, this very moment- and waiting for the Seers among us to recognize what power means today.

This universe holds more for us than we can realize at this point, and only the hints that come in non-intellectual dreams, visions, and intuitions still remain- in that dim way- to alert us to the fact of the mysterious vastness that exists. It's fashionable these days to worship at the feet of the Gods of Rationality- the pantheon led by Sagan and his fellows- and to dismiss the non-rational and the non-intellectual as so much background noise, but I think this is just as big an imbalance as existed when we killed people like Sagan, and floated in defiance of the intellectual.


I side with Jung in his insistence that rationalism and doctrinairism are the diseases of our time. His full and superb quote (from "Memories, Dreams, and Reflections") reads:

"Critical rationalism has apparently eliminated, along with so many other mythic conceptions, the idea of life after death. This could only have happened because nowadays most people identify themselves almost exclusively with their consciousness, and imagine that they are only what they know about themselves. Yet anyone with even a smattering of psychology can see how limited this knowledge is. Rationalism and doctrinairism are the diseases of our time; they pretend to have all the answers. But a great deal will yet be discovered which our present limited view would have ruled out as impossible."


He goes on to say:

"We cannot visualize another world ruled by quite other laws, the reason being that we live in a specific world which has helped to shape our minds and establish our basic psychic conditions. We are strictly limited by our innate structure and therefore bound by our whole being and thinking to this world of ours. Mythic man, to be sure, demands a "going beyond all that", but scientific man cannot permit this. To the intellect, all my mythologizing is futile speculation. To the emotions, however, it is a healing and valid activity; it gives existence to a glamour which we would not like to do without. Nor is there any good reason why we should."


On the question of the myths of life beyond what we call "death", the Master Jung waxes even more powerfully. He says

"...Naturally, such reasoning does not apply to everyone. There are people who feel no craving for immortality, and who shudder at the thought of sitting on a cloud and playing the harp for ten thousand years! There are also quite a few who have been so buffeted by life, or feel such disgust for their own existence, that they far prefer absolute cessation to continuance. But in the majority of cases the question of immortality is so urgent, so immediate, and also so ineradicable that we must make an effort to form some sort of view about it. But how?


My hypothesis is that we can do so with the aid of hints sent to us from the unconscious- in dreams, for example. Usually we dismiss these hints because we are convinced that the question is not susceptible to answer. In response to this understandable skepticism, I suggest the following considerations. If there is something we cannot know, we must necessarily abandon it as an intellectual problem. For example, I do not know for what reason the universe has come into being, and shall never know. Therefore I must drop this question as a scientific or intellectual problem. But if an idea about it is offered to me- in dreams or in mythic traditions- I ought to take note of it. I even out to build up a conception on the basis of such hints, even though it will forever remain a hypothesis which I know cannot be proved.


A man should be able to say he has done his best to form a conception of life after death, or to create some image of it- even if he must confess his failure. Not to have done so is a vital loss. For the question that is posed to him is the age-old heritage of humanity: an archetype, rich in secret life, which seeks to add itself to our own individual life in order to make it whole. Reason sets the boundaries far too narrowly for us, and would have us accept only the known- and that too with limitations- and live within a known framework, just as if we were sure how far life actually extends. As a matter of fact, day after day we life far beyond the bounds of our consciousness; without our knowledge, the life of the unconscious is also going on within us.

The more the critical reason dominates, the more impoverished life becomes; but the more of the unconscious, and the more of myth we are capable of making conscious, the more of life we integrate. Overvalued reason has this in common with political absolutism: under its dominion, the individual is pauperized."


May 8, 2011

Amor Fati

"My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not to merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it—all idealism is mendaciousness in the face of what is necessary—but to love it."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

I do believe in Love, in more than one way, and love in a spiritual aspect. Of course, as the Master Jung said, people focus on Love's gentle side without realizing that Love is terrible, too. That's the catch. I do believe in something beyond my true conception, beyond the conception or grasp of this ego-center that I am floating amid my Self with, like a raft on a great, immense dark ocean. From this narrow perspective, little really makes sense. It is the messages coming from the dark- chief of which come to me through folklore and myth- that gives me an inkling of the true Powers and Purpose behind things, if those unsatisfactory words may be used.

I think we're all in a big story, to be honest. I think the chief quality of the world or cosmos, the chief reality of reality, is a mythical one, a matrix that generates stories, through which profundity becomes real. Words have that kind of sorcery. I don't think it's all "fair" in any given story, but in the meta-story, something sublime and unknown is happening which moves as close as our understanding ever will get to love- and it's a kind of love that puts everything in harmony, no matter what has gone before or what will come ahead. We have a place we can each accept with peace, with reverence, joy, trepidation, and even a wise fear- and embracing the story of Cosmos (and the older story of Chaos) is the best way to settle all these affairs of the confused heart.

I know some of the Great Powers, the great characters in this story of Cosmos. The Ancestors rightly worshiped them as Gods. I know one of the chief storytellers, that Clever spirit that gave us words, and made all this real in a new way. And I know that together, all powers- including us- line up in a synchronistic harmony that overpowers the senses and over-floods the reason. I would never call that a "God", for devotion to Gods is another matter, but that great Self of which I am speaking, and of which Jung spoke, only speaks and reveals itself in the tiny crack of intuition, or the single moment of sublimity that you gain when the deep meaning of an old tale comes to you. What is this unguessable space that contains everything, and by which everything seems influenced to come to pass? Fate, Old Fate, nothing but Fate and Her Mystery. Nothing can be said about it more.

But I can call it something else- this is the spirit of peace, the door to the best wisdom. Making things too focused on "love" in some "we humans are special above all" sort of way just confuses love with ego. No need for that. We need to be the part of the story that we are. We are Fate's protagonists and antagonists, Her children, Her monsters, Her heroes, and Her own deepest satisfaction.

* * *

April 23, 2011

Homosexuality and Integral Traditionalism: A First Response


As a break from my usual reading and pondering, I have been studying another form of traditionalism- NOT traditional sorcery or witchcraft, but a minority intellectual movement of Neoplatonic Western thinkers that have evolved a loose perspective referred to as "Integral Traditionalism". And what a vibrant, violent time in my head it has been! I've recently been perusing the works of M. Ali Lakhani, Frithjof Schuon, and Rene Guenon, and while I've enjoyed some of their clarity of writing and thinking, and certainly enjoyed some aspects of their aesthetics, I've also begun to consider some of the aspects of their thinking that I personally consider flawed.

Since reading Lakhani, I've begun to understand now, in ways I never did before, why these traditionalists- and why exoteric mainstream religionists, who are so closely aligned to them, in form if not in depth or essence- are offended by homosexuality so much, or why they refuse to allow homosexuality a place in this world without adding a note of criticism to the very notion.

I've decided to make a few open responses, over time, to the traditionalist camp, in the hopes that they or others may help me to see what I am not seeing- if indeed I am the blind one. Who is lacking clarity of vision in some of these cases is far from certain.

Here is my first reaction to some of Lakhani's considered opinions about "traditional understandings of sexuality", specifically his contentions about homosexuality. After reading and pondering, I think the fact that homosexual human beings exist at all is a direct threat to the entire philosophical foundation of integral traditionalism, and to the "Perennial Wisdom Tradition" or "Perennial Philosophy" throughout the last 1700 years of Western history.

I would like to present a touch of background, to help make my points. In the integral traditionalist worldview, male and female are not just designations given to surface gender differences. That male and female creatures exist here in the formal world is an "echo" of spiritual and eternal principles in the divine world. That male and female creatures here can mate and produce new life is a literal "image" of a deeper divine reality.

To these traditionalist thinkers, sexuality has an unavoidable sacred role, function, and purpose because human sexuality is (or should be) a re-creation of a divine unity that exists above. In the mind of the traditionalist, "God" or the "First Principle" has a feminine and a masculine nature within itself- it is a divine androgyne. That union within itself makes it able to "pour forth" all things. Creation, to these thinkers, is an outpouring of goodness and power, driven by a divine fertilization from within the divine itself.

A man and woman who unite sexually in a sacred manner are re-creating and re-enacting the divine wholeness, the divine androgyny, and can have a "paradisal vision" of the unity that existed before the breaking apart of things, or before things came to be in "two-ness".

Thus, sexuality in the human world (like everything else) is supposed to follow in accord with deeper principles, which are eternal. To "do it" differently is to go against universal principles, and to create disharmony. And this (obviously) means that homosexual humans (male or female) are running contrary to the eternal principles, but so are 'straight' men and women who use sexuality in a non-sacred way, for instance, just using sex for egoistic and physical pleasure.

This "misuse" of sex is the equivalent of not appreciating a great work of art for the art it is, but instead, tearing off a piece of the corner of the canvas upon which it is painted to use it as toilet paper (to make a humorous example). However much you appreciate the convenience of the toilet paper and enjoy being clean thanks to it, you're really missing the greater point of the majesty of the art you're ignoring.

Traditionalists believe that homosexuals are doing something specifically contrary to the eternal principles- they are isolating themselves. You see, "complementarity" is the term used to describe how male and female forces are intended from eternity to "work" in this world. Male and female are intended to complement one another, and in the complementary relationship, fulfill one another- and ideally, to bring forth new life. For two men (or women) to have sex, totally excluding anything female (or male), is to isolate one principle from the other, so it is a denial of both complementarity and unity, and ultimately, a denial of new life.

But here's where the problem begins. The Traditionalist view is easy to understand. But if what they say is true, then homosexuality shouldn't exist at all- and yet, it does. You can say that people are just making a choice to selfishly move against universal principles instead of in accord with them, but anyone who really examines this issue can see that this is not the case, with the vast majority (if not all) of true "homosexuals".

Just on the personal level, I've interviewed quite a few homosexual men and women, and they have all- in full isolation from one another- confided in me that their own sexual urges were not consciously chosen by them; they can recall, far back into their youths, feeling sexual attraction for members of the same sex, long before they knew anything at all about "homosexuality" or "heterosexuality". They also display some characteristics that would appear to be physiological in conjunction with their status as "homosexual", though that rule is far from perfect. Like "heterosexual" people, homosexual individuals cannot be stereotyped away.

The fact remains- homosexuals are no more "choosing" to feel as they feel, than I am choosing to feel attracted to women. This presents an extreme dilemma to the traditionalist. And it gets deeper. Members of close to 1500 different animal species (from primates to gut worms) have been observed engaging in acts of "homosexual" behavior, with almost 500 of them demonstrating it regularly. And what's more, many animals do (contrary to popular belief) engage in non-procreative sex. (I give a link below to a report on a study entitled "Same-sex sexual behavior and Evolution", a recent study published in the Journal Trends in Ecology and Evolution" which may interest some.)

Traditionalists of all varieties say that humans, being humans, have choices that animals don't have, to behave wrongly in the face of cosmic principles. But they can't claim that animals are choosing to 'sin' or act against the cosmos- by definition, in the traditionalist camp even, animals are not in the same moral category as humans; they are fully incapable of 'sin', incapable of doing anything other than behaving according to nature, to instinct. And if nature itself is driving them to homosexual carrying-on, then the dilemma of the traditionalist rises to the level of a crisis.

Apparently, if "Nature is good", and "Nature is the great teacher"- if Nature is the first revelation of God's goodness, perfection, and omnipotence- as so many Traditionalists claim, then she's teaching a lesson that's contradicting their Neo-platonic preaching. Clearly, simply following their logic, there must be a possibility that there is a "homosexual" eternal principle somewhere out there, too, manifesting itself in this formal world just like every other principle.

As strange or humorous as that might sound (and as infuriating as it might be to traditionalists) this is a possibility that they have not considered (presumably) due to the particular constraints they have accepted on their own thinking. Should I blame the Supreme Principle, or human traditionalists for this seeming error? I would tend towards the humans, myself, just to preserve their own claims about the Supreme!

Bear in mind that I'm only speaking in terms of possibility here for the "homosexual principle"; I am not even convinced myself that "eternal principles" in the sense they mean exist at all. But that is a debate for another time. It does seem odd to me, however, that "The Supreme Principle" is happily and eagerly declared to be the source of all things, but when it comes to homosexuality, suddenly, there is a refusal to connect the two in any way. Before I proclaim this a flat failure of traditional metaphysics, I will say that it is more likely an unconscious obedience to dominant strains of Western religious and cultural idiosyncrasies, the matrix of which we more often see expressed as "conservative thinking".

And now we have arrived at the rub- that homosexual humans or animals exist is more than just a challenge to Traditionalist dogma; it is a form of death to their cause and philosophy. And this is why, I think, throughout recent history (history dominated by traditionalist views at the level of religious and political authority), homosexuality among humans has been ignored, murdered, denied, and blamed on "immoral but fully free and reasoned choices by humans" to sin against the cosmic order, or in every other way blamed on anything but the "transcendent reality".

To be charitable, it should be noted that M. Ali Lakhani, the gentleman and Integral Traditionalist whose essay entitled "Toward a Traditional Understanding of Sexuality" I read to write this response, did point to the fact that Integral Traditionalists do not favor violence or persecution to homosexuals for any reason. He says that "tradition demands tolerance, rooted in compassion." Sadly, the austerity and dignity of his traditional talk, in this age or any other, has seldom manifested such an outcome.

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Link to Journal Article Review: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/06/090616122106.htm

January 25, 2011

The Cavalcade


Themes explored herein:

1. White-hot nightmares birth a sorcerous cosmology
2. Poetic meditation
3. Automatic writing and inspiration
4. Key Concept: the world of balladry encodes lost maps of worldview and wisdom
5. Key: Prophecy as a recounting of the past
6. Key: Power songs for the Fetch
7. Key: The Devil and the Iron Queen’s Litany
8. Key: The souls of the departed as leaves in a book of Man
9. The essence of traditional witchcraft



* * *

The Cavalcade
These Thoughts Are Not Your Own


I. The warp and weft of shapely dark force

Choking darkness, alluring vision- old beams frame it; flesh weighs it down, the cold burns it, the sun warms it, the laughter of children at last gives it a joy. The world, vast and ancient, is all of it; it is a stone, a lonely wood, a dense fog. Man is a lot of a thousand lots, countless unseen lots, a power among many. Man is pursued by loss, fallen by obscurity, blind with eyes open, due to fearful doubt. Man is a home of happiness in flesh, invisible made visible, vitality collected, a swirl in endless watercourse. Man is not alone. The Cavalcade has no origin or reason. The Cavalcade excludes none.

Man is one that has walked on the loam and moss, the grit and dirt, bled on it, laughed on it, clutched at it, wept on it, dropped sweat upon it, lifted wood, stone and metal upon it, delved within it. Man was in deep darkness; man was in mist, man was in the invisible; man was in the dusk world, man was near to truth. Man has wandered to himself. Man has reached for glory and forbidden things. Man has leapt the boundaries that should not be leapt. He has dared and died. Man is another knot in the fateful threadwork of the unfathomed.

Man is not alone; man cannot see what he ought to see. Man's eyes are few among many. The world is full of eyes. Man's world is not empty; man is sibling to rock, to trunk, to grassy clump, to scouring wind, to hissing brook, to bubble and foam, to deep wells, to ancient hills, to soaking rain, to light above clouds, to the people of the grave country's dim bottom.

Man's pride is his undoing. Man sees so little, but is seen by so much. He sees halls and abbeys of wood and stone, but halls a hundred times great built of sorcerous dark and undying light spread out unfathomed. Man's kings and queens tromp in the mud and cut at flesh, but Lords and Ladies of fearful majesty tower above the greatest of them.

For each form seen by damp eye orbs, a delirious and eldritch cavalcade of forms are conjoined; man believes rightly in haunts and fiends; rightly fearful of waste and wood is man if wisdom is wise. Life is in no place a narrow trickle in a narrow gorge; it fills all spaces and wears innumerable masks, more than blades of grass or grains of silt. Every portion of every beast is a magic charm, a magic in the soul; under the flesh and hair, scale and hide, is one flesh and luminosity. Beast and man, in the grave-pit, you will see that boundaries fall away there.

As one is given egress to the cavalcade, one shrinks away, declining in size, one among infinitude. Infinitely smaller, then larger, then smaller again, then naught. One learns of truth by losing the vastness of mountains, the lumbering flesh- the lowly ant is gigantic to the speckling weird, and so very tiny to man, who is a fragment of a germ in the vast apron of the Iron Queen of ice and mountain and night. She is scarcely knowable, and yet she is there. Better to feel like a man feels than to try too much, and better you celebrate her as world and cold sky than seek her bone-circled seat.

In the paving of the elfin roads through the hollow, in the houses of the Indwellers, Man is but a stone or a weed; in their cups of intoxicating brew he is a bubble or foam. In their ballads he is a dim, needful shadow and a helper at the birthing bed, though in his legends they are godly and immortal, deceptive and cruel, helpful and hurtful. They drink blood on the side of burial hills; they take bowls of cream, and take they the newborn unwarded and unguarded.

The Cavalcade goes on, led by the Elf-Knight; know that he is the porter between the hard world and a soft and beautiful place: golden-lit, greenly treed; from that place a road extends to every point and everywhere. There are others in his train; more others than can be named. They have a place in the warp and weft of shapely dark force that comprises the world; their allotments are as right as the mountains that break the world and the trees that drink water from the soil.

Where each droplet of rain falls is its allotted place, and so the Cavalcade's knaves and lords, beasts and fair maids, ladies and shadows, turf-dwellers and indwellers, hungry monsters and sleeping ones all live out their allotted place, as time wends to strange time and then, naught. And then, the shrieking Cavalcade. Under your feet, what chief wears the goat-crown? Who peers through the dark of your home when all sleep, seeing to its neatness and preservation from weird forces?

It is beyond the gallows; it is full, that Unseen; as full as the world of clouds and shadow and dark brown earth; it allows for no truth in emptiness, nor truth in nothingness- it breaks in a man's mind like light in mist; It makes a halo that recounts songs and describes legends. Man lives despite his will to perish, or his bile or sorrow; alone, he only breathes sorrow. But he lives because life is legend. Life is allotment, it is story, it is sorcery. Denial and dullness make it duration, but still it weaves a spell unawares, a dweomer that carves graves out of the ground and opens another door to life. Come what may, graves are carved and life whispers needle-like from the waters of the depths to seek sunlight.

They seek wooded lands, they seek caves and gorges, they seek river-sides, they seek marshes, they seek clouds and drizzle. They find themselves amid thundering herds of horned creatures, amid ragged antlers, near the darting fertile hare and the lurking barking fox, amid the shrieking frenzy of the twisted and goatish people that haunt distant hills; they find themselves killing and living, bleeding and growing, smoothing stones, chipping stones, crushing stones, piling wood, binding wood, splitting wood, heating rocks, heating metal, binding grasses, slicing at grasses, swaddling children, drinking water, burying the stiffened dead, and gazing at the sky amid the smells of forestland.

There is sorcery there, too; they never fail to know it. They will submit to no conqueror; they will live their lives amid thick scented fields and golden pastures. The bodaich goats will lurk in the shadows beyond their fence-lines; the ghosts of ancients and ancestors will trod their roads and hear their shots. They will have memory in song.


II. The company of white deer and white hares

The Elf-queen rides her great white horse. She is in the company of white deer and white hares, of serving maids and men; She is the royal indweller of the hungry and generous land, and enormous spaces into which dirt and dust may fall and vanish forever are her true mantle and body. Elfin mistress green and white, green and dark, white and white, red and white, she is young and very ancient. Her language is memory, madness so old, but completion without a sound or a symbol. She dissolves the dead in a water that turns to life-giving breast milk.

Her people were once dead, yet they live; they have sloped heads like stones, eyes like berries, breath like breezes, laughter like crows, skin like stream-wet sand, bodies like ghosts, worlds like visions in the night, and yearnings that mortals sometimes share. Their Lordly king is so broad and handsome, so full of strength; the King and Queen's tables are always full of generous portions of fruit and meat, of honey and finest breads. Great and hairy cows cry out and make their frightful noises in the Elf-king’s mighty herd. Look into the hollow places of the earth for their pleasant and darksome land. Look to the bloodstained stone-side and hillside for their old feasting tables. Look to your own hide and innards for their portal and resounding gulf.

The Elf-Queen's charnel house has the tooth of fire and tooth of ice inside; it has the scale and measure of justice within, boiling in the soul that spread blood and broken blades on guarded boundaries and sacred ground. To live straining greedily at the edges of life’s allotments is wickedness; to walk unbidden across is wickedness; to trample forbidden roots, runners, and blooms is wickedness; to take and take again is wickedness; to have not cleverness nor poem to repay transgression is wickedness; the heart speaks with the voice of vengeance; it knows the lots; vengeance comes furious from the deep to restore the heart and the air to silence. Vengeance comes as the women of the invisible.

They are furious, and terrible, long-haired and silent, tearful and hidden, swift and fierce; they will strike the flesh, whip the flesh, send the blows of woeful fate onto a man or woman's hide, into their minds, and into the soul that fades. They are fate's women, keepers of our lives and fortunes, and the same to all in the Cavalcade. Gigantic were their ancestresses, gigantic are they in generosity and wrath. They have the allotment-sticks, carved with necessity, carved with what will, what ought, what should and what shall. They charge a fine in blood or breath for that precious knowledge. They fill every air, break every peace lotted to fail, and fill every house lotted to full.

They move stone to stone, stream course to stream course, star track to star track, fire-flown spark to night above, the screams of bairns they urge on, and the moans of the violently slain. They have no origin but origin itself; they have pale white skin and coal dark eyes, seeing beyond seeing, cruel beyond cruel, sheltering beyond sheltering, giving beyond giving. The elfin knight-lord leads them; cavalier, twirling wand, taming his gray horse, making visions, deceiving eyes, calling away, working baleness, working peace, striking at will, striking at all in unguessable order. He leads hunters; he leads the wild rout, he leads the winds and the storms. It is he the winds all fear; his magic has made men and women to love one another and hate one another.

He bruises the flesh, he bites the flesh, he ravishes and comforts, he shrinks the eyes in laughter. He takes wine with the devil in the mirror. His great art was known to you when last you sat overlooking the beauty of the land and felt a brief moment of peace, and when you last wove or cut, dited or pressed, recited or sang, built or plowed, worked sorcery or planned a cunning strategy. When you have boiled worts and simples, pulled the wild onion, whittled the twig and root, or made the circle of pale flour, you have done his art, which is Man’s art, too.

Don't you see them there, the majesty and the mighty of the mighty and ancient? What sun ever moved through the sky not the eye-bright gem of the fiery one? What moon ever waxed or waned without imparting the salty secrets of mineral and blood and of birth in caves? The dead that way go. Above and below, the dead that way go. She is the phantom sun. Can love tie a few together, such that death will not sever them? Yes, the bond of souls can remain so good, for as many ages as the wish may be good. The divisions of hate can remain just the same.

A fire glows on the open land under a dark sky, and for miles it is seen- what it fails to illuminate lights it instead: great dark, the entity night, the entity sun with its ancient cross, which every evil hates; the entity moon and sea, the old woman, the young woman, the elfin people, the devil's hoof-prints, the layers of devouring things, the wolf headed people, the splendorous people with light in their brows, the jester dead in the dusk-world, sliding below waters, sliding into mirrors or caves into the sky of stars, the circles of huts and dwellings that sank down under the ground, the cities of shining gems and living beams, the wildness of raw, red things and sheltering dead trees, the long line of each family's deceased, moving into the distance, ever living. All of these are the lights of the ember nights.

They all see the lonely flame under the night sky. Ages come and go. Many walk the earth, many walk below. Many walk above. Ages and ages blow away like fluttering seeds. Fire is the fullness, it is the gateway of all gone before and forgotten charms. It is the eye of the unseen. It cooks food, and devours flesh and straw, too.

Hear the anger of those who will not slip away into the unknown, the punished and goblin dead who rage at the breath of life, the transformed dead who were ensnared by sorcery, the curses of the unjust, the groaning and roaring of giants in the ground, the triumphs of the virtuous that make a road of fame, rising up, until that light is extinguished by inexorable time; the greatness of the breath and emotion that fills the bellows of man’s history entire- all just one breath among numberless winds and words and irruptions that sail in gusts of thousands and thousands through the darkness of not knowing, through the gap of unlit being. Incomprehensible is that darkness- the truth that may cease.


III. Days and ages fell by

It is too big for you, as small as you are. Be that immensity, that expanse, but doing so will kill you. The Cavalcade will rush you to death. It is a kindly death that makes two lives where once was one, and those two describe a greater One.

Tangled up, tangled foot, tangled hand, tangled heart, you might fight to escape, but only love that endures the blows of fate without care can embrace the beloved. And that love is hard, cold, joyful, deadly, fecund, and alien to men. But it is theirs too, once they stir to wake from their long dream of nets and boats, of fish and bread, of honors and yellow gold. Sometimes a curse awakens them; sometimes a blessing. Sometimes the savage hunt stalks them; sometimes the killer comes on cold wind. They are queens of maleficia, ladies of benediction, who love and kill and go out to see what they shall see. They are master-men, journey-men, who notch the lots on wood and triangle and watch the red and blue birds prance on ground and branch. None may choose how they feel nor love.

The only power you ever had, once the long wandering to yourself began, was the breast of a mother, the warmth of kin, the satisfaction of a meal from the kettle, the laughter of those close, a story well-recounted, the joy of children, the dark scented land and rainy sky, the warming sun, the goodness of restful sleep, the fleshful fire of carnal congress. This was allotted and good. The world knew it good; it was good. Days and ages fell by, and the hungry entity burrowed into your skull, and the fearful one, and the indolent one, and the terrible one, and one land's grain and beasts and leafy blooms was no longer enough. Good was no longer enough.

Strangers came from east and west, from south more and more- old seasons failed. Things were forgotten that were precious to memory. The distant horizon hummed with strange voices, and malevolent spirits came among you, given leave to wander by your doubts and forgetfulness. The adamantine tower fell dark. Fate scourged you. Wisdom failed you. Summer was not enough. Spring was not enough. Autumn was not enough. Winter did not make you cease, but weep for green fields. You can be a friend to nothing as you are, nor will the Cavalcade's fairest and greatest be kindly to you. Would that they even notice you, but for some vagrant urge of fate! For it is you that must rise up now, from beneath notice. Let good be enough for the corpse and the Cavalcade home to the fetch.

Look at your poor hands! Look at your poor soul, the food you eat in all its sameness, the weak words you speak so often to those you see- is this where your contentment lies? Those who course in your fear and frustrations will circle you like a bird of red prey, and you will eat one another's flesh; you will feed yourself your own flesh and grow mad. You will try to accomplish what only the mad undertake- to steal, unthinking, the crowns of a thousand unseen rulers, fairer than you, wiser than you, and you will receive only their arrows. Your kingdom may be vast in your fantasies, built on ash and wind, but you will be its only subject. Unless you do penance, you will perish.

You do not feel it, but the Cavalcade is the world's great soul, the world's great spell, full of every glory. To not know your place within it, to not hear it, to not see it, to not believe it, to live in fear of it, to call it unknown, to hate it, to think it nonsense, is to be who you are, a man and hopeless. To know and accept your place in the endless cast of lots, to hear it, to see it, to believe it, to live in fear and wonder of it, to know it nearby, to refuse to love it or hate it, to think it the supreme reason, to give corpse and fetch to it, to fall into it, to emerge from it, is to be both man and rider in the Cavalcade unseen. It is beautiful where you are, it is terrifying where you are, no matter the way you sleep or ride.

When will you stride up to the secret that only the wind can teach your flesh? When will you open the portals in your head and eyes, in the palms of your hands and in the soft flesh of your breasts, and take the mark pressed by the cruel hook and blade? When will you push the burning coal down into your chest, into the center of your belly, and down further, to the limits of desire? When will you be a firefly glowing in the deepest cavern? When will you ungrasp the cold and hot iron you hold so fiercely, and know the unfettering? When will you surrender to the Cavalcade? Until Twelfth Night, they will rule you.

No man nor inscribed page can deliver you this promise of sudden and blinding flight, of blasting power, of spinning in the winds and clouds, of knowing death’s course, of knowing fate, of intimacy with the dead, only that book called the Book of the World contains this, and the Elf-knight and the elfin court holds the great key to the opening of that gramarye. Their mighty jester the Devil will seize you by the hair and turn your head to face the way. Suffering shows the way. When will you know the promise and goodness of the world of grasses and grey skies?

Pale wandering hag, Old Woman, Cavalcade’s undying mother, even your form is indistinct; a lit bonfire, distant songs, teeth of ice, horrid blue skin, ancient ice-wall, torn land, water and ice-furrowed land, falling stones, screaming geese, naked bodies, boiling fat, warm, running blood, substances of the world, vital breath, deep satisfaction, sinking down, the ache in the body, the long night, long darkness, loss, newness, forgetting, memory, passion and the spark in the innards that urges to distant lands- but that is just man's story; your story is not told in such ways, but can't fail to be the secret language of languages.

The animals speak it; the owl before your dwelling-door in the deep speaks it; even the rocks in the ground speak it. The bones of the dead are its letters. The cold spaces of night are the leaves upon which the women write the letters of lives. That is your gown, your apron, your body, your spirit, Old Woman. You mutter in dawn before the light softens the sky. You keep the wild beasts in the soul and in the valleys and on mountain-sides. Deer are your sheep and cattle. Man is not alone.

The eagle rises up to see the light that warms all people. The hateful are defeated. The hopeful learn to abandon hope and enjoy truth instead. The sun moves on, silent and bright. The moon glares pale. The white triangle is illumined and familiars move through the thread that passes through the middle of the chest. Human land, human forest, human sky, human Cavalcade, fiendish non-human world, great world, your great force, this great force, now open, open, open, and be full, then let burst the skin-hide straining at the fullness and be fetched away to naught but one and all.

The brothers and sisters of the Cavalcade, the shimmering ones, half living and half not living, partners to the fateful hosts of women, slayers of innocence, avengers of foulness, driven mad by wisdom, they meet in dreams. You will not go to those dreams; they will come to you, but you must go to them as well.