Worm Moons, Palms and Pine Trees, Leo Louis Martello ... and Piero Barone's Sexy Legs, Part II

Oh my, the beauty of the full Worm Moon this morning!

"Hands, palms up, under water".

Last Saturday was one of the few times I went so deeply into trance I had a slow time resurfacing. I had no idea why I was seeing what I was seeing, though, but it was very clear: I was staring curiously at my own palms – or at least I assumed they were mine – palms up, but under water. Water was clear and blue and looked refreshing and cold. But I was just staring at those hands, palms-up, under the water, and thinking, "What does this mean?" Feminine energy, healing, cleansing, purification, passion, emotion, subconscious? All of those, some of those, none of those correspondences?

I had just finished going into trance by staring at the tall, majestic pine tree outside the window of the Derry Town Hall, or whatever that building was in which the workshop was held, and breathing deeply. I rarely am able to achieve that level of trance during a group – hell, even a private – meditation session. If this wasn’t a directional sign pointing towards my working with trees, I don’t know what was.

It wasn’t until three days later, riding the train, that I decided that I thought the answer was: "all of them". The hands possibly represented "work", as in "working on myself". To raise energy, to heal, to cleanse myself, to purify myself, I needed exactly what this group "trance" had provided: meditation skills that would free my subconscious. Only that would open up the door to passion and emotional fulfillment, all of them properties of water.

And because my attempts at meditation with only myself as the guiding force had never really worked – as I said somewhere, as soon as I started a meditation ritual of any sort I tended to break into jaw cracking yawns – it seems that, in addition to a tree ally, I initially needed an exterior voice to provide the guidance, as I hadn’t started yawning in the workshop. Bob Hackett had provided the vocals at the workshop, but I doubt he had a CD of "trance inducing guidance rituals."

I briefly considered running the idea past Mr. Signpost, because goodness knows, HE has one of those voices that sends you into instant peace and tranquility. I still may do that, actually, but right now he’s preparing for a trip to Sweden? Denmark? Both? I can’t remember. Or he will be, around 09 April. In any event, I’ll suggest it later.

Ahh, but in the meantime, Christopher Penczak did! I ordered his one of his CDs, hoping he had a calm and soothing voice. My definition of "calm and soothing": a voice that can send you into a meditative head space; not a voice that puts you straight into a sleep so deep you start snoring in public. If not? Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Anyone who has studied Native American history is familiar with the late author, theologian, historian, and activist Vine Deloria, Jr. Probably best known for Custer Died For Your Sins; God Is Red: A Native View of Religion and Red Earth, White Lies, he was sharp, incisive, had a wicked sense of humor and could be very, very angry when confronted with ignorance, condescension, willful stupidity and blatant historical revisionism. I remember being completely blown away by him: he made me see things in a way I’d never seen them before.

I was reminded of Deloria when I started reading the late Leo Louis Martello’s Witchcraft: The Old Religion (1991). A lot of the same anger; I haven’t found Vine’s same satirical sense of humor yet, though. I read somewhere that Martello filed lawsuits against the catholic church and against the Village of Salem, Massachusetts for retributions for cruelty and inhumanity against, and the wholesale slaughter of, his ancestors. (Gee, I wonder how those lawsuits turned out?)

In some ways we’re alike – besides being Italian, I mean. He seemed to have very little patience with nonsense.

I had to keep remembering that he was a standing member of the Civil Rights generation – the AIM days, the Gloria Steinem days, Stonewall, Martin Luther King – a lollapalooza of seriously pissed off people, and Martello fought for witches’ rights amidst that passionate crowd, and in his favor, he was obviously NOT trying to placate christians threatening to start a bonfire with him as the kindling. Many of his predecessors – Gardner, Valiente, even Crowley - carried a great load of christian baggage on their shoulders. Martello did not. He carried anger.  Sometimes he was carried away by it.  At other times it was refreshing.

Still, I have many of the same issues with him – as much as I’m enjoying reading the book – as I have with some others. Some historical comments are cited; far too many of them aren’t. And usually the un-cited ones are the ones that make you go, "Wha …?"

One example: "Many modern scholars believe that Jesus was an Essene; this sect was a secret society that had its roots in the worship of the Goddess Cybele, whose priests were eunuchs. It is believed that the thirty years of Jesus’ life of which there is no record were spent as a eunuch priest devoted to Cybele." (page 121, no citation)

Hell, I’m not even a christian and said, "Wha …?" Where did THAT come from? Those are the things we need to be seriously citing, along with avoiding the untraceable passive, "It is believed". By whom? Why? When? It isn’t believed by me right now, that’s for sure. As far as I can see, he’s the only person who "believed" that, because I hadn’t heard that before. Give me some serious reasons for paying attention to that and I might, but you can’t just throw out things like, "Jesus was a eunuch and a Cybeline priest" and expect people to nod, "Oh, okay, sure, that makes loads of sense!" Sorry.

Another example of sweeping generalizations:

"In the Craft, there is no hard dogma. Hard drugs are forbidden. Mindless morons can't be a compliment to our Mother Goddess. Sex is sacred, not something to be exhibited at a peep show. Power is something personal, not to be used over others, which is contrary to Craft ethics. Those who think the Old Religion will make them masters over others are slaves to their own self-delusions. A happy person is always a powerful person and is hated by those who aren't. A happy person is in many ways selfish; in the Craft we must protect our best interests and ensure that the power that comes from joy remains constant, knowing that none of us are immune from the vicissitudes of life, but that our Old Religion will help us handle an adversity."

I sighed heavily, reading this. Ah. "There is no hard dogma, but hard drugs are forbidden." Forbidden, are they? Really. Aren’t those two sentences rather … you know, contradictory? Did anyone tell the Eleusinian initiates that? John Dee? Aleister Crowley? The Sicilian witches in his own ancestry who concocted flying ointment? The shamans of South and Central America? The alchemists who were precursors to today’s chemists? And I’m wondering what Vine Deloria would have had to say about that – given that peyote is considered a "hard drug" in the minds of the U.S. Government, and is a key component of the spiritual practices of a number of First Nations, largely located in the southwest. The minute you start trumpeting ANY hard laws like that, we have a problem. So, the ethics of Martello’s witchcraft trump the ethics of Vine and the priests of Athens and the streghone of Sicily? What’s wrong with this picture?

"A happy person is always a powerful person and is hated by those who aren't."? Riiiiiight. That’s a bit … Tinkerbelle-ish, idn’t it? I know a lot of happy people who haven’t an ounce of power in their entire being, and aren’t hated by anyone. And does sex ALWAYS have to be "sacred"? Can’t it be … you know, fun?

And he should probably have left out the chapter on prophets – all of the "end of the world" predictions were dead wrong. How do I know that? Easy. We’re still here. 1981. 1999. 2000. 2012. All gone by.

Still, I could fully understand his anger, and it’s rather refreshing.

It's nice to have the One and Only back again ... preparing for their third South American tour, and posing for lots of pictures.  He really does have the most beautiful legs ...

 

Tree Magick Preparation and Perdurabo

I’m preparing for a workshop on The Standing People being held today … [pause for thought] … I don’t like the word "workshop"; it makes a tree sound like bacteria you peer at through a microscope, scribble notes about in laboratory notebooks and discuss endlessly with your peers in biology class. "A Respectful and Powerful Introduction to the Magnificent Tree" is better. I’m preparing for that.

I finished Perdurabo, and suggest that if you’ve only heard bad things about Aleister Crowley, you’d do well to read the book, if you have the time.  Very thick, well documented, 562 pages!

Not saying I would have enjoyed being part of his OTO family; just that you realize he was nowhere near as evil as the British and American press said he was while he was alive. Enormously intelligent and quite gifted. He seemed to REALLY enjoy sex magick, until he got older and his ‘get up and go’ got up and went. AND, he seemed to have an odd habit of being sexually attracted to women who were borderline insane – in the medical sense of the word "insane" – as more than a few of them became so downright frightening after becoming involved with him that he seemed tame in comparison. Of course, our primary source for that are his notes and diaries, so he could have greatly exaggerated his demeanor in the midst of their chaotic hysteria, knife-wielding crazed jealousy and baby-producing.

Things I questioned: I tend to give people of Crowley’s era a bit of a break, because it almost feels as though they were the ones who had to forcibly begin to crawl out from under the historically smothering, dangerous, toxic cloud of patriarchal christianity that had placed Europe and the Americas in the dark ages for so long. They tried their best, but they seemed to be still suffering in many respects from the choking stench, even though they’d lifted their heads above the swamp.

For example, Ida Craddock did her best to maintain an intense christianity while railing against their loathing of and longing for sex – the end result killed her.

Crowley’s biography discusses OTO and one of the grades of Magus he claims Crowley had attained:

"The Magus was a special attainment, as only seven others in the past had ever attained the grade and founded a religion: Lao Tzu’s Taoism, Thoth’s Egyptian mysteries, Krishna’s Vedanta, Gautama’s Buddhism, Moses’ Judaism, the suffering and slain pattern of Adonis, Attis, Osiris, Jesus and Dionysus, and the Islamic religion of Mohammed." (p. 295)

Now, I would have backed away from "founded a religion" like I would have backed away from a nervous skunk backing away from a porcupine being stalked by a cougar. As it was, my first thought was, "Yeah, THAT’s exactly what the world needed: another religion!" But Crowley was still deeply entrenched in the era of men whose world view consisted exclusively of organized systems of political, sexual and personal power with themselves at the apex, something all the more evident if you look at the gender of the list of so-called "Magi", above.

As far as Crowley was concerned, women were merely tools in sex magick and walking wombs who could produce heirs. Not a single one of them had any real power or respect. (And his women, being the stupid, chronically insane nitwits they were, went along with it.) Crowley wasn’t intelligent enough to see past his own world view, and ultimately, that would be why he DIDN’T found anything of lasting value beyond many interesting ideas which can be incorporated into more relevant and contemporary belief systems. Yes, there are those still studying Thelema and more power to them if they can bring it into the next century. But I don’t think they can.

I don’t mean to pick on the Thelemites, though. Honestly, I don’t think any of us can. Seeing past one’s own world view is something so rare, I have yet to see or read anyone who could manage it. If you’re going to create a "religion", name it the "Religion of Moi", because you’re the only person who will understand it; the only adherent to whom it will make sense.
 

The Amazing Ida Craddock

As I finish up the biography of Aleister Crowley – I ran across Vere Chappell’s Sexual Outlaw, Erotic Mystic: The Essential Ida Craddock. Craddock had written a number of books and pamphlets, although the only one I could find in Google Books was Heavenly Bridegrooms: An Unintentional Contribution to the Erotogenetic Interpretation of Religion, by Ida C. (Ida Craddock), Bibliography, with an Introduction by Theodore Schroeder, 1918. Schroeder, by the way, was a Freudian, who basically held her up like a psychological specimen and peered at her curiously. Unfortunately, Freudian men in 1918 were just about as bad as the Comstockian pastors. Nonetheless, one does what one can with what’s available.

Heavenly Bridegrooms is fascinating. Although, I would suppose that you’d need to know something of Ida Craddock to appreciate it. Basically, she researched the topic of spirit lovers, and provided a huge wealth of bibliographic detail on the subject. Surprisingly – or perhaps not surprisingly, as she was raised by a strict evangelical christian mother, a lot of the examples she used were biblical. And yes, she brought in the Book of Enoch and the wonderful angels already mentioned here.

What made Ida unusual was the time period in which she lived and worked: any woman who displayed even a remote interest in sex could be tossed into an insane asylum, or in jail for running afoul of the evil Anthony Comstock’s obscenity laws. (And Ida was.) Both Ida and Margaret Sanger, among others, came up against Anthony Comstock, who as the Postal Inspector and self-proclaimed vice squad, was the perverted christian right’s spyglass into everyone’s bedrooms; women, of course, always being the ones punished for anything odd taking place in the bedroom.

What made Ida even more unusual – and what caught my attention immediately! – was that she had a spirit husband. She identified him as "Soph", and their sexual unions were so passionate and so loud, that even the neighbors noticed. Why should anyone find this unusual, she wondered, when Jesus himself was the offspring of such a union? Human mother, spirit father.

"Am I not right in saying that to impugn the possibility of marital relations between earthly women and heavenly bridegrooms is to strike at the very foundations of Christianity?"
Ida Craddock, Heavenly Bridegrooms: An Unintentional Contribution to the Erotogenetic Interpretation of Religion, by Ida C. (Ida Craddock), Bibliography, with an Introduction by Theodore Schroeder, 1918

I grinned from ear to ear when I read this! The conclusion of her life? Tragic. Anthony Comstock and his christian supporters had her arrested for sending "smut" though the mail, the said "smut" being marital advice for women, none of whom had been told what "sex" was, before they were tossed into the marital bed. Rather than die in prison, she committed suicide, already fully aware that she would NOT be punished for it, the way christians insisted she would. She’d be with her spirit husband, and death held no fear for her. Her suicide letters, one to her mother, the other to the public, are some of the most powerful letters you’ll ever read.

For those interested in a brief but very interesting biographical sketch of the amazing Ida Craddock:
http://www.radiolab.org/blogs/radiolab-blogland/2012/may/17/sexy-ghost-story/

 
　

Dreaming Tea Test #3 and Piero Barone's Sexy Legs

Dear Anonymous # ... whatever, there have been so many of them ... you’re absolutely correct: Bette Midler did release an awesome version of Peggy Lee’s "Is That All There Is?"

Morning after Test #3: "Dreaming Tea", this time prepared as an infusion, and prepared without Galangal Root Tea as an aperitif. Drank this one at 5:00 at night. Didn’t feel much of anything until about 6:30. Then I started feeling yawny and lay down to sleep. Woke up at 4:00 in the morning (my normal waking time) but couldn’t get functional, so laid back down again. Finally woke up at 9:30 in the morning. After fifteen hours of sleep, my second entry in the Book of Shadows follows. Ahem:
 

"Holy crap!"

Apparently, in Penczak’s world, "Dreaming Tea" actually meant, "If you want to wake up the next morning and get anything done, dream on."

Advantages: the taste was better; was able to drink the entire cup. The result was the same. Cannot recall any dreams, but woke up very groggy. Not as bad as last weekend, but enough that I spent the first 10 minutes stumbling around my apartment on a slant, leaning on walls.

But again: no dreams!

Now I’m thinking: okay, lessen the measurements? I was using teaspoons: 1 teaspoon hops, 1 teaspoon scullcap, ½ teaspoon valerian and 1/8 teaspoon poppy seeds. Ground in a mortar, infused with thanksgiving and intent. Cut the measurements in half? Although I’m not sure how you measure half of an eighth of a teaspoon.

I will say this: Penczak must have the constitution of a steam engine. I am not tolerating this well at all. Holy crap, indeed.

For those wondering why I haven’t mentioned "Mr. Signpost" in a while. Yes, I’m still following him on Twitter. But every once in a while, I wonder if he hasn’t been forced to politely drown in a sea of Twinkies - which I would never have thought of him. Not the guy who went to Death Row for having written "Aleister Crowley" in a notebook. Anyway, he’s beginning his next stage of his life: teaching meditation. When I read that, I thought, "YES!" because I’m sure he’d be the world’s most effective teacher – goodness knows, I’ve already learned all sorts of stuff from him - but he’s teaching the classes in New York and Salem. Since I can’t go to Salem ... I’ll either have to learn from someone else, or these will be the most expensive meditation classes since the Beatles went to India in a private jet.


Anti-Tinkerbelle/Wiccan Church Lady
Hyperventilating Police Squad

Perfect example of Echols drowning in Tinkerbelles: on Twitter, Damien commented that only in Salem would you find a Love Spell on the back of a menu and included a great photo of it. And THEN, up popped someone in a sickening Tinkerbelle moment of Twinkie condescension: "Dana Porter @sixaone @damienechols love spells are not kosher -interfere w/ free will.... cute thought tho. Salem must be wonderful!"

You know me. OK, if you don’t, go back and read this. Or that. Really, your choices are endless.

Steam started ejecting from my nostrils. The twit(terer) has no idea how many spirits were holding me back from flying through the internet and slapping her senseless. Wait, she already was senseless. Slapping her sideways! I typed a quick response. Erased it. Tried again. Erased that. Tried a few more. Erased them all. Fortunately, when I’d finally come up with a response that didn’t reek of condescension and irritability strong enough to equal hers, her comment was no longer on Twitter. So perhaps she thought better of it. Leave it to me to immortalize it anyway, on this blog. Heh! Well, that’s what happens when you try to spew such appalling nonsense at a real witch.

No, Salem would NOT be even close to wonderful with cows thundering around in it mooing rules and regulations at everyone. Go back to the church or synagogue or mosque you grew up in, sweetie. You’ll be a lot happier there, corseted by millions of rules and regulations and hiding behind your prayer book, terrified of hellish punishments.

Women like that remind me of some of the great misogynistic quotes: "Misogynist: A man who hates women as much as women hate one another" (Henry Louis Mencken). So what IS the word for women who are usually seriously disgusted by and pissed off at other women? Misogynista? Yup, that’s me: a misogynista of the first order. Grrrrr....

Oh yes, while we’re on the "Stupid Things Women Say Out Loud" corner of the page, another bunch of idiot women have taken it upon themselves to shriek, "Witchcraft is a CRAFT! Wicca is a RELIGION!" every chance they get. If you see that comment, trust me: a church lady with a pointy hat has flown into the room. Prepare yourself for a major case of nausea. And then, slap the b*tch. Really. She needs it.

It seems Il Volo is back in the U.S. and back on tour ... if by "On Tour" they mean, "On Tour of the Jackie Gleason Theater in Miami, Florida". March 26th and 27th. Wha ...??? Are they filming an "Il Volo Live" CD or something? What an odd choice of things to do.

Meanwhile, here’s the One and Only and his beautiful, sexy legs, now in front of the Ocean Way Recording Studio in Los Angeles. Not entirely sure what the One and Only and His Beautiful, Sexy Legs are doing in L.A., but suspect they’ll be there for the next ten days or so, before moving on to Miami.

The gesture he’s making with his right hand probably means something entirely different in Italy than it does here, or perhaps means something in a non-magickal world than the magickal gesture I know ... this was taught to me back in Enchantments, although I’ve never had the inclination to use it.

Anyway, I was taught that the gesture should only be passed between two adherents of the old religion (la vecchia religione, Piero, if you’re reading this) and combines the yoni and the much beloved horned or priapic god into one symbol that (basically) means, "Please join me immediately if not sooner in a time-honored activity which I will not express verbally, as the Thought Police are watching attentively, but I will slyly pass you my hotel room key and fervently hope that you will appreciate the urgency of my respectful but eagerly desperate request."

Or something along those lines. ;)

There. Did it pass the censors? There’s definitely a more blunt way of stating the same thing, but I’m not going there. Enchantments was more versed in Celtic-type wicca than stregheria, which is why I’m pretty sure Piero isn’t saying THAT ... it’s just lovely thinking he is. Whenever he makes that symbol with his fingers, I get such a rush .... oooooooooh.

Boreas, Aleister Crowley, Dreaming Tea ... and Peggy Lee

"Boreas, I conjure thee, receive me on thy pinions in the air, as thou didst ravish thine Athenian bride."

Nonnus, Dionysiaca 1. 134 ff (trans. Rouse) (Greek epic C5th A.D.)

Boreas, Greek God of the North WInd

Now, call me a hopeless romantic, but if I had been Nonnus, the one writing those lines (and if Nonnus had been a woman), I might have tried to sound ... oh, I dunno … a little more enthusiastic? A smidge more … passionate?

"Boreas, I conjure thee! Receive me on thy pinions in the air – as thou did ravish thine Athenian bride!"

Boreas, lest thee hast forgotten ... eth ... is the Greek God of the North Wind. He of the Purple Wings, the wings on his legs, the bad temper ... I have grown somewhat fond of this guy. Well, except for the small issue of kidnaping and ... what was that euphemism again? Oh yes ... ravishing! ... and ravishing his future wife.

The cad. She’s out dancing next to a river … which girls and women often do, I’m sure, as our favorite past time is dancing on riverbanks for no good reason … Boreas comes along, blows her skirt up, and … wham, bam, she’s pregnant with at least four children. Ravishment, indeed.

As a matter of fact, Boreas was so skilled at the "whoosh!"-"bam!" – "thank you, ma’am" that mares were turned away from the North Wind when he was invoked. In other words, if Boreas could ravish his wife by blowing up her skirts, he was also skilled enough to impregnate a mare the same way. Face the relevant mare lady-parts into the North Wind and let Boreas do his thing. Voila! Foals galore, even without a stallion nearby. This guy is awesome.`

Well, before we get into invoking the four winds – and, while I’m at it, NOT aiming anything impregnateable in his general direction – here goes Test #1.

(sip) (swish, swish) (swallow) Hmmmmmm. Not bad. (Having my first cup of Galangal Root Tea.) Fragrant, earthy, delicious, with a hint of a ginger-y bite. Supposedly, it’s a good tea to take before going to sleep, so why I’m taking it now (1:49 pm, Saturday), I have no iddddeeee .... zzzzzzzzz.

(Blink)

Sorry. Actually, the reason I tested it earlier is because all of the components for Test #2, the Dreaming Tea arrived. This would be Christopher Penczak’s "Dreaming Tea" recipe. (The Plant Spirit Familiar, page 170). And now, I will share with you my official Book of Shadows entry pertaining to "Dreaming Tea". Ahem:

"Holy crap."

Well, I didn’t say it was a sedate, cool, calm and collected response; just that I had recorded one.

I do not recall any dreams (which is unfortunate), but I passed out at around 7:00 pm Saturday night and still felt seriously drugged twelve hours later, to the point where, were it a commuting morning instead of a Sunday morning, I would be concerned about trying to drive in that condition.

The tea itself was bitter, so I would like to find something that would make it more palatable – I could only drink about half of it. BUT, I should note that I was also drinking the Galangal Root tea during the day, so it may have been a factor, intensifying the results. I should test that theory.

[Test result: I tried the Galangal Root tea alone the following Thursday night. This was a dangerous test, inasmuch as I had to get up and drive to the railway station the next morning. I slept deeply from 7:00 pm at night until 4:00 am the next morning – nine hours – but did not have the "intensely drugged" sensation I described previously when I woke up. I also don’t recall having any dreams. Now I have to test the Dreaming Tea without the Galangal Root chaser.]

Another issue: Penczak was never clear as to whether it was a decoction or an infusion. I went with the decoction, which may have resulted in a much stronger brew; I might want to try re-creating it via infusion next weekend. It could also be me, and my tendency to physically overreact to most drugs and medications. You know, give me Nyquil, or any antihistamine really, and I pass out and sleep through the entire illness, no matter what it was. Maybe I should have diluted the tea more than I did.

Dionysus! The Pagan Book of Days tells me that this is the start of two days of celebrations in honor of Dionysus (if you’re Greek) and Bacchus (if you’re Roman). Purpose of the celebration? To promote a fruitful grape harvest! The Witch’s Book of Days inexplicably says "Examine both your friendship braid for new additions and removals, and your cobwebs for progress." [Long pause. Assume bewildered expression. Play theme from the "Twilight Zone". HUH?????]

Moving on: was searching for something to read during the morning and evening commute that did NOT require enormous amounts of concentration. Main reason: if the train isn’t packed with women open-mouth coughing like Typhoid Mary all over everyone, it’s packed with women babbling like a pack of shrill baboons on their cellphones. It’s enough to drive you bat shit crazy, and if nothing else, it shatters what little concentration you have left into little shards of half-assed attention.

In any event, I started reading Richard Kaczynski’s, Perdurabo: the Life of Aleister Crowley, and found myself fascinated and paying more attention than I expected. Richly detailed, well documented – so far, the parts I’m enjoying the most is Kaczynski’s explanations of the rites Crowley performs at each OTO level ... and the realization that the spirits he conjures are sometimes deadly accurate ... and sometimes so off-base you have to admit that they’re not only NOT scary, they’re fairly stupid, to boot. Even Crowley gets tired of them, after a point, and begins to suspect that learning to conjure them was relatively pointless. [Musical soundtrack: "Is That All There Is?", the awesome Peggy Lee version.] Some of the other spells he does are so interesting you can’t wait to try them out yourself. The invisibility spell, for one. And no, it doesn’t make you actually invisible. What it does is make you "unnoticeable". My favorite ritual diary entry: he figured it worked when he walked around Mexico City in a red cape and a crown and no one even looked at him. He also teaches you the reasons for the basic "rule" I mentioned earlier: "never invoke anything you can’t banish". Proving that even Aleister Crowley can be incompetent at witchcraft, when he’s impatient and just learning the ropes. Now I don’t feel so clueless.

I’m thinking he would have loved the "Ghost Hunting" era of today. He knew so many spirits and so many so-called "demons" on a first name basis – and could control them without even exerting himself – he could probably walk into one of those places haunted by some sort of annoying what-have-you and toss it out the window without breaking a sweat. And then take a swig of champagne and saunter out the door.

Basically the biography tells you something you probably already knew: fundamentalist christians are idiots, and are practically paralyzed by fear. There were plenty of moments when he was told by an invoked being to do something and because he perceived the request as "black magic" refused to do it. He just didn’t argue when British pinheads in the Church of England labeled him "the most dangerous man alive" – all that accomplished was help him sell his books, and, apparently, to get Mr. Signpost tossed on death row. Of course, Crowley might have also pointed out that it was being born into a fundamentalist christian household that inspired him to seek alternative spiritual paths in the first place, but he didn’t do that, either. Heh! I’m loving this biography.

I Test Datura Veneziana, Christopher Penczak and ... The Hand Arrives!

Enjoying Black Jack's (in Boston, not Cambridge) vegetarian ravioli: half butternut squash ravioli, half stuffed vegetable ravioli, smothered with broccoli rabe and artichoke hearts, all tossed in pesto, garlic & olive oil. YUM!

As I said, I have been reading a group of magickal best selling authors: I’d already started Grimassi’s Italian Witchcraft. and Oberon Zell-Ravenheart’s Grimoire for the Apprentice Wizard for solid refresher and background information, finding it helpful. I did take "Wicca 101" at Enchantments back … er … back in the Stone Age, so I definitely do need a solid refresher. Hence Christopher Penczak, Oberon Zell-Ravenheart, Raven Grimassi and Donald Craig’s introductory structured courses,

Right now in Apprentice Wizard, we’re in the process of coming up with magickal names and aligning ourselves with color preferences and associations. Magickal names was fun. And by "fun" I mean: not as easy as it looks. You had to try and match your Life Path number with the number of your magickal name – in my case, my Life Path is a 9, so all of the letters of my new magickal name had to add up to 9 as well.

Datura Veneziana? I sorta liked it. I’ll mull on it for a while.

The February Full Snow Moon went visually missing thanks to a day of snow and rain and yet still had an impact on the hormonal side of things. Apparently, it doesn’t matter whether the moon is visible or not for its impacts to be felt. Translation: I was horny as hell unexpectedly and intensely interested in things of a romantic nature during the days surrounding the full moon, and it seemed to keep going. I made the decision: yes, I want to invoke a spirit. For myself. Yes, the purpose and reason for doing so is fairly self evident.

So – what I have learned so far: invoking and generating spirits are functions of intent, will and an enormous amount of studying on the process of doing it. I’ve been told that learning the process is out there if you know where to look. Out of the teachers I have investigated lately, Christopher Penczak seems the most likely to provide the type of instruction that works best for me: he’s mostly logical, he does his historical research, he doesn’t try to pass anything off as traditional when it isn’t, and he doesn’t get all silly over things. He’s also nowhere near as judgmental as I am, so I could probably learn from him better ways to react to things I find distasteful or ridiculous. I only wanted to once chuck his book across the room – an excellent statistic, as I often want to toss other people’s books at least once a page after encountering something so inane it made me want to scream.

Penczak’s one logical misstep so far came from The Witch's Heart: that I had to love myself before anyone else could love me. That doesn’t even coincide with the basic foundation of all things "magickal" – I think he should have said, "To draw someone to me, I need to will them to draw close to me." Did he understand Crowley’s Thelema? "Do as thou wilt shalt be the whole of the …"

If I WILL it, someone will come to me and love me. No magickal law ever said anything about my having to love myself. In fact, I don’t even know what "loving myself" actually means. That I’m an expert at performing "the greatest love of all"? I’m a narcissistic twit? I play with myself in public? I’m not even sure "loving myself" is a good idea. That’s Tinkerbelle and her sparkly wand stuff, not witchcraft. It’s based entirely on whether or not I WILL it so. So, yeah … I think Penczak really dropped the magickal ball on that one.

I mean, think about it. Has he actually read any newspapers lately? He has just gone through an exercise of defining what love is, for each person, so obviously, he’s aware that people do define love differently. Women who stay with men who beat them up define love in their own way. Women who are morbidly obese have to define love another way. Sick, ill, crippled, mentally ill – how do these people define love? How about women who have been through a horrific relationship and no longer trust love as they once knew it? Do they love themselves, or have they erected walls so high most men can’t be bothered to climb them? Should they be denied love in his universe? Methinks he needs to rethink that part of the chapter, because my first reaction was, "Huh?? That can’t be right."

And I’ve also learned: be careful what you wish for, but not because something unpleasant happened. Actually, it was a result of something lovely happening. Once I had made the decision to go ahead and work diligently for this outcome, I was laying in bed wondering what this relationship would be like. Oddly enough, it almost felt like anticipating a first date: what would he look like? Would I be able to see him, or would he be invisible? Would he be with me all the time, or only occasionally? Would we have fun, or would he be serious and pretentious and (*yawn*) boring? Could he get seriously kinky if I wanted him to? What would he get out of the relationship? I knew exactly what I wanted to get out of it, but would he be okay with the reality that I was, at least temporarily, perhaps longer, partially paralyzed; given to painful spasms that twisted my legs and feet into knots when I least expected them? What would HE get out of the …

… a male hand closed around my ankle. I say "male" because the grip was large and masculine and hard. I felt each and every finger of this hand. I gasped and then squeaked and then – forgive me! It was instinctual! – pulled my foot back in surprise. The hand disappeared. It happened so quickly I thought I had imagined it; then I knew for a fact that I hadn’t. A warm bolt of electricity sizzled through me – head to toe – I was so startled and then excited when it happened. I was still tingling from the experience a good thirty minutes later. It was a warm, luscious, delicious tingling, and EVERYTHING in me was tingling – not just my ankle. I can’t explain it any other way.

"I’m not afraid! Please come back!"

But that was the only physical sensation I had (so far). Later, I was annoyed that both cats were out of the room – I was sure that had they been there, both of them would have reacted to the presence, however brief, and I might have anticipated the appearance somewhat; not been taken so much by surprise by it.

But it did make me realize that I needed to be very clear and very specific as to what I wanted and needed from the relationship, AND to build a strong enough relationship in the spirit world so that I could very clearly hear what it was HE wanted and needed from the relationship. He’d let me know he was there. We just needed to start building this structure between us, and then move into it It gave me something very definitive to look forward to, and gave me something to work towards. And yes, I just ended both of those phrases with a preposition. So sue me.

Naturally, as soon as I made that decision, a government agency who shall remain nameless decided to show up the very next day for a biannual inspection of the facilities which I call "the office". This is primarily the focus of my entire job, being able to produce any record they needed in 30 seconds time, so I now had to work some awful hours for two weeks straight. Exhaustion and high-level stress set in. I was too exhausted to do anything beyond go to work, come home, collapse, go back to work, etc.

I decided to attend a (for want of a better description) three-hour "Commune With and Learn From a Tree" workshop in New Hampshire, to be held a few weeks from now, on a Saturday. With my own history, and being able to hear trees under adverse circumstances, I suspected this was the direction I should be headed, and wondered if perhaps the spirit hand had originated from within a grove. I loved that idea. I wondered if he was also going to mention the Italian "Moon Tree" that Raven Grimassi mentioned in his Italian Witchcraft book.

Given my propensity for getting seriously lost and misdirected within a matter of minutes anytime I went anywhere, I decided to take a "trial run" trip to the workshop site on a peaceful Sunday. I immediately knew there was a huge difference between Massachusetts and New Hampshire, when I did get seriously lost and didn’t even blink an eye … if I were in Massachusetts, I would have been shrieking and banging the steering wheel in a rage. In New Hampshire? Meh. Passed though a beautiful and peaceful area of New Hampshire, and thought, "I would love it here." If the commute is survivable, maybe I’ll move.