Poetry: John Greenleaf Whittier

An excerpt from Snowbound, which struck me, and which may be in some way relevant to our interests:

 We tread the paths their feet have worn,
   We sit beneath their orchard trees,
   We hear, like them, the hum of bees
And rustle of the bladed corn;
We turn the pages that they read,
   Their written words we linger o'er,
But in the sun they cast no shade,
No voice is heard, no sign is made,
   No step is on the conscious floor!
Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust,
(Since He who knows our need is just,)
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must.
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress-trees!
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play!
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,
   The truth to flesh and sense unknown,
That Life is ever lord of Death,
   And Love can never lose its own!

Witching Up

Mugwort and mead hangover, and that certain je ne sais quoi sensation that comes of having gotten one's witch on, so to speak. Good times.

Candles in the Darkness

You may have noticed that I fell mostly silent following Halloween. The darkness without and the darkness within sort of coincided this year, leaving me with little to write about, a lack of inspiration, a lack of motivation. Mundane circumstances started overwhelming me, once the busy October season was past; and while I know damned well that it's past time for me to witch up (hat tip to Evn for the phrase) and get on with it, well, sometimes it's task enough just to get up and put on actual clothing, let alone figure out how to go about restructuring your entire life midway through.

So I've spent the dark time between Halloween and the solstice in a sort of hibernation, accomplishing little, idling, as it were, waiting for the light to change. The things providing light at the moment are puny at best and hard to see by, but the fact that I'm even here posting this may be indicative of the necessary internal shift that will start the upward momentum. (Despite my apparent inability to even string together a cogent analogy...) I'm one who doesn't like to leap without looking, who likes to have a plan in hand before making a move. I am at least mildly hopeful that it's almost time to begin.

Witchly Dreams and Stranger Things

Last night I had a strange and rather beguiling dream. I was visiting a small and rustic shop in an unknown locale; it might have been on festival grounds or in a woodland, I couldn't say for certain. There was a table set up with a selection of glassed purpose candles, and my eyes were drawn to the ones at the far right of the table; these were in yellowish glass containers, with yellowish wax, and each one contained a few leaves from a small paperback-sized book. Studying the containers I learnt that the candles were designed to work with the energies of a fictional being from an obscure horror novel (one that has never existed on this plane to my knowledge); the candles contained pages from said novel and were meant to evoke the character to a particular end. One of the candles' glasses had broken into several pieces, and I remember picking that one up and sitting it carefully at the back of the table.

I know that other things happened, but they have mostly all retreated to the far edges of my memory and refuse at the moment to be drawn out. However, the one thing I do remember is my friend Glaux joining me at the table and proceeding to anoint my forehead with an ointment she called the Toadman's Salve. I was instructed to be careful what I looked through thereafter. Sometime after that I picked up my camera and found that my vision through the viewfinder was--altered, is the only way I can really describe it. I also remember wondering vaguely how this Sight was going to impact my ability to drive safely home!

I've never given much consideration to toads and their meaning to me personally, although now that I do think of it I realize that they've always made their presence known in my life, from a young age. As a child I could catch them easily, and I know that I was responsible for the death of a few as a very young and stupid kid; I could catch them, all right, but had no idea what to feed them. At our previous home, I often saw them around the property, and again I would catch them and move them out of harm's way (say when the lawn mower was approaching). Tree frogs were common visitors, as well, but it was only the toads that I could easily catch. What this means I have no idea, but something tells me it is a subject for further investigation.

Invocation of the Horned One

Another of my favorite chants, and one that is particularly appropriate this time of year, also comes from Doreen Valiente. I reproduce it here, with no further comment needed:

By the flame that burneth bright 

O Horned One!

We call thy name into the night 

O Ancient One! 

Thee we invoke by the moon-led sea

By the standing stone and the twisted tree

Thee we invoke where gather thine own

By the nameless shrine forgotten and lone

 

Come where the round of the dance is trod

Horn and hoof of the goat-foot God

By moonlit meadow on dusky hill

When the haunted wood is hushed and still

 

Come to the charm of the chanted prayer

As the moon bewitches the midnight air

Evoke thy powers, that potent bide

In shining stream and secret tide

 

In fiery flame by starlight pale

In shadowy host that ride the gale

And by the fern-brakes fairy-haunted

Of forests wild and wood enchanted

 

Come! O Come!

To the heartbeat's drum!

 

 Come to us who gather below

When the broad white moon is climbing slow

Through the stars to the heavens' height

We hear thy hoofs on the wind of night

As black tree branches shake and sigh

By joy and terror we know thee nigh

 

We speak the spell thy power unlocks

At Solstice, Sabbat, and Equinox

Word of virtue the veil to rend

From primal dawn to the wide world's end

Since time began---

The blessing of Pan!

Blessed be all in hearth and hold

Blessed in all worth more than gold

Blessed be in strength and love

Blessed be where e'er we rove

Vision fade not from our eyes

Of the pagan paradise

Past the gates of death and birth

Our inheritance of the earth

From our soul the song of spring

Fade not in our wandering

Our life with all life is one,

By blackest night or noonday sun

Eldest of gods, on thee we call:

Blessing be on thy creatures all.

Chants: The Witches' Rune

My friends over at American Folkloric Witchcraft recently posted a version of Doreen Valiente's classic chant The Witches' Rune. It's one of my favorites, and I've used it often with good result; but the version I was taught goes a bit differently, and I thought I'd post it here for the contrast:

Doreen Valiente (Ameth)

"Darksome night and shining moon,
East then South then West then North;
Hearken to the Witches' Rune:
Here come I to call ye forth!

Earth and Water, Air and Fire,
Wand and Pentacle and Sword,
Work ye unto my desire,
Hearken ye unto my word!

Cords and Censer, Scourge and Knife,
Powers of the witch's blade,
Waken all ye unto life,
Come ye as the charm is made!

Queen of Heaven, Queen of Hell,
Horned Hunter of the night,
Lend your power unto the spell,
Work my will by magick rite!

By all the power of land and sea,
By all the might of moon and sun,
As I do will, so mote it be;
Chant the spell and be it done!"

A Highland Witch's Powers

Unlike modern Wiccans, classic witches are not bound by the command of harming none; on the contrary, s/he would be fully capable of cursing and curing, with equal facility. Isabel Cameron, in her A Highland Chapbook, describes the powers of such a witch thusly:

(She) could o'ercast the night, and cloud the moon
And mak' the de'ils obedient to her crune,
At midnight hours o'er the kirkyards she raves
And howks unchristened weans out of their graves;
Boils up their livers in a warlock's pow;
And seven times does her prayers backwards pray;
Then mix't with venom of black toads and snakes.
Of this unsousy pictures aft she makes
Of ony she hates;--and gars expire
With shaw and racking pains afore a fire;
Stuck full of pins the devilish pictures melt;
The pain by fowk they represent is felt
Whilst she and cat sit beeking in her yard...

You'll note that the witch in question is credited with doing more than just casting the evil eye; she's also commanding demons, speaking incantations, and stealing unbaptized infants from their graves and using their organs in the making of poppets of her enemies. No "bright blessings" to be found here; these witches of auld were expected to throw down when the need arose! (Please note that the proprietress of the Classic Witchcraft blog does not condone or recommend grave-robbing or demon-summoning, and reports the above for entertainment purposes only!)

Of course, there were available countermeasures, should one find him- or herself on the receiving end of such attentions. Should you believe yourself to be "o'erlooked," pronounce the following countercharm immediately:

The eye that goes over me and through me,
The eye that pierces to the bone and the marrow,
I will overthrow and the elements will help me.

(The snippet of verse detailing the witch's powers appears to have been taken from the 1808 printing of the Scots pastoral play The Gentle Shepherd, by Allan Ramsay, albeit in a slightly edited form. The astute Googler will easily locate the work in its entirety.)