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.

The Great Dreaming Tea Experiment

Happy Terminalia.

Well, actually, Terminalia was the 23rd; but I wasn’t online that day. So ... HAPPY TERMINALIA!!!

Back on 07 February 2011, I decided to change my religion to a perpetual worship of Terminus, the God of Boundaries. I announced that the "credo which must appear on the holiday cards which I fully expected my friends and relations to send me each February 23rd (and I’m still waiting): "Concedo nulli". Translation: "I yield to nobody". Each year I preach a sermon to the masses: ‘I VANT TO BE ALOOOOONNNNE!!"

It’s something akin to the official holiday of anti-social, grouchy people like me, who set wide and rigid boundaries around themselves. Love it!!

I’m continuing to read The Plant Spirit Familiar, becoming more and more engrossed with it. I wonder if the entire "wicca" century wasn’t really just an opening door for those of us who are intent on pushing wiccan boundaries back towards truth, angrily and forcefully, if necessary. I was screeching (a few entries ago) about defiantly forbidding the fear-filled beliefs of monotheism to infect our teachings; to question everything; to make certain we knew that our sources weren’t demonized now because christians had infected it with their intense fear of sexuality first.

Penczak has another version of that urge to push back against contemporary wicca: "As witches we are growing away from the model of using plants and tools of all sorts, back to an animistic wisdom, where everything is a potential partner, an ally, a familiar spirit, not a tool." (p. 281)

Considering how long most of us have suffered under others clinging to the (erroneous) belief that human beings are superior to every other living being on the planet – and that includes the planet herself, not just plants, animals, rocks, earth, fire and water … and every other type of resource! - I loved this concise summation of the way things should be.

I am teaching myself the principle behind the Doctrine of Signatures … I am astounded at everything I’m learning about natural spirits. Learned the coven of the guy who wrote it – a literal paragon of non-judgmental virtue, unlike a mess of other people I could name (like me) - isn’t that far away: just past the Methuen border into New Hampshire, in SALEM! (HAHAHA!)

Sorry, the irony of that never fails to hit me in the head. Slightly less than a year ago I was curled up in a fetal position, sucking my thumb and whimpering, "I will never ever EVER go back to Salem!!" – forgetting there were more "Salem’s" than just the Massachusetts one. And so here I am, thinking, "Hmm. I should go to Salem."

So here’s the first recipe I’m going to try: Scullcap. Hops. Valerian. Poppy seeds.

Fine. It WOULD sound disgusting, unless I quickly clear up three misconceptions: a scullcap is not a SKULLcap, we are not going to murder the Yalie valedictorian and chop him into bite-size meaty bits and make a stew out of him, "hops" doesn’t mean "beer" in this context and yes, you can visualize the Wicked Witch of the West crooning, "Poppies! That will put them to sleep! Sleeeeeep," while gleefully waving her mortar and pestle around, red smoke spewing everywhere. Yeah, like THAT happens every time I crush herbs. Red smoke spewing everywhere ... blinding and choking the winged monkeys. Poor li’l guys.

The recipe is for Dreaming Tea, but appears in the book after instructions for both water infusions and decoctions. My first question: so which is it? Do I infuse? Do I ... er ... decoct? Well, here’s my opinion: no time like the present to learn by experience. First step was to order the ingredients, none of which I had on hand, not even the poppy seeds. Here’s hoping the scullcap, hops, valerian and poppy seeds arrive sometime this week. And then I get to figure out what happens after I drink it.
Lastly, I finally had to come to terms with the fact that Massachusetts – despite its horrible history in Salem – still enjoys making life difficult for its witches – athames are illegal here, for some reason no one can explain to me. You can buy KNIVES all over the place, single sided and double sided, but you can’t sell athames here. So here’s my silver athame. It started out its life as a silver letter opener; now its a consecrated athame.

More later.