Κύριος της ζωής , Λόρδος του θανάτου , Rising Sun , και του ανθρώπου τελευταία του πνοή

Ένα κερί. Ένα ραβδί του θυμιάματος. Μια ραγισμένη καρδιά. Λίγα ήξερα ότι αυτά τα πράγματα τα τρία θα ενεργεί ως η αρχή του μεγαλύτερου πνευματική μεταμόρφωση της ζωής μου. Η πρώτη συνθηκολόγηση με την ξαφνική και αδιάκοπη παρουσία του ένα δεν είχε αναγνωρίσει, αλλά αναμφισβήτητα αισθητή. Το όνομά του ένας ψίθυρος από ξεχασμένες μνήμες, χορεύει με όλα τα αιθέρια γέλιο της αρχαίας κλαδιά σε ένα καλοκαιρινό αεράκι.

"Cernunnos .... Cernunnos .... Cernunnos ..."

Ένα όνομα, ένας τίτλος, αλλά και τόσο πολύ περισσότερο. Φορώντας αιώνες για ένα μανδύα, και κέρατα για ένα στέμμα. Και πώς θα περιγράφατε το μεγαλείο αυτών των πραγμάτων; Όντας σε ένα σκοτεινό δωμάτιο. Γνωρίζοντας ούτε ειρήνη, ούτε εμπιστοσύνη σε αυτό που κάνετε, αλλά μόνο ότι εσείς πρέπει. Μια ψιθυριστή συγγνώμη για τίποτα να προσφέρουν αυτό το ένα, και όχι επίπληξη, ή τη σιωπή που αναμένετε μετά σιωπή για τόσο πολύ καιρό, η αίσθηση του πολύ αέρα γύρω σας σταθμίζονται με δύναμη τόσο πυκνό, ώστε να καλύπτει όλα, ότι κλέβει την ανάσα σε σας πνεύμονες με δέος και ηλεκτρίζει την ψυχή σας. Έτσι ξένες ότι σας φοβίζει. Και δεν μπορείτε να ενεργοποιήσετε μακριά, για να Τον έχετε έρθει, και το αυτί Του έχει δοθεί ίδιος.

Η απαλή φωνή, τόσο ισχυρή και άγρια, ότι καταπραΰνει. "Μην ανησυχείς, παιδί. Σε σύγκριση με το πώς τα πράγματα ήταν κάποτε, ξέρετε πόσο λίγοι μιλούν ακόμη και για μένα, πια;"

Ξέχασα ότι είχε με κάλεσε εκεί. Μια τέτοια θέση είχε πάψει να είναι το δωμάτιό μου. Μεταμορφώθηκε σε ένα σταυροδρόμι. Η ενοποίηση των κόσμων, και η καταστροφή του ενός γνώριζα. Θα έμενε σε εκείνη τη στιγμή, το πιο κοντινό που είχα ποτέ στην αιωνιότητα και το τίποτα με τη μία. Ένιωσα προσκαλεσμένους να μιλήσει, γιατί ήταν εδώ για να ακούσετε. Ρώτησα ότι θα μπορούσα να τον γνωρίζουμε. Befriend Αυτόν. Και αν Ήθελε να κάνει το ίδιο. Ένα δυνατό ναι, μετά το άλλο, που χορεύεται από το κορδόνι του εκκρεμούς.

Ζήτησα να τον δω τότε. Για Εκείνον να εκδηλωθεί σε μένα. Και σε αυτό το αίτημα, το πρώτο μάθημα του άρχισε. Ξεπεράστε ήμουν τότε. Ένα συναίσθημα τόσο ενοχλητική, και σοβαρή, χωρίζει το συνειδητό μυαλό μου από τη φυσική μου περιβάλλον. Ήμουν εντελώς απροετοίμαστος για αυτό, και του ζήτησα να σταματήσει. Έκανε, και τόσο γρήγορα όσο πλένεται πάνω μου, είχε φύγει. Ένα συγκρατημένο γέλιο, τότε. Το διασκεδάζει γέλιο ενός δασκάλου με τους οποίους έχω γίνει τόσο οικεία.


"Νόμιζα ότι είναι ό, τι ήθελε."
Το τραύλισμα, ζήτησα να τερματίσετε τη συνάντηση. Αυτή η πατρική ζεστασιά prickled δέρμα μου και πάλι, ακόμα γεμάτη γέλιο. Και πάλι η απάντηση ήταν ναι. Σκεπτικισμός πλημμυρίσει τις σκέψεις μου καθώς έσβησε το κερί και θυμίαμα. Αυτό ήταν όλα στο κεφάλι μου. Ναι, φυσικά.

Τότε aslumber, ονειρεύτηκα. Τραχιά και αρχαϊκά δέντρα, στέκεται ως φρουροί γύρω από ένα ξέφωτο που θα ήθελα να επιστρέψω ξανά και ξανά. Αναδυόμενες από τις darksome δάσος και στο φως Στάθηκε, χαμογελώντας. Σαν να λέμε, "Αυτό είναι το μόνο που μπορώ επρόκειτο να σου δείξω».

Το επόμενο πρωί, η μητέρα μου μου περιέγραψε το ενεργειακό φορτίο στον αέρα που κρατούσαν ξυπνήσει από τον ύπνο, μέχρι που είδε σημεία χορό του φωτός στο σκοτάδι του δωματίου της. Παρατεταμένη μόνο για μια στιγμή πριν την αναχώρηση με ένα φιλικό γέλιο. Και ήξερα τότε, ότι δεν ήταν στο κεφάλι μου.

"Έχω ήδη διδάξει κάτι, δεν μπορώ;" Η φωνή του επέστρεψε, ανεξάρτητα από μένα. "Αυτό είναι ένα παλαιότερο τρόπο της πίστης. Τα πράγματα δεν λειτουργούν με τον τρόπο που έχετε συνηθίσει. Θα πρέπει να προσέξουμε τι ζητάς και τι σας καλούν σε λειτουργία, για σένα θα το πάρει σίγουρα." Του ζήτησα να μου φαίνεται. Ήθελα ένα σημάδι. Ωστόσο, δεν ήξερα τι θα μπορούσε να σημαίνει, και έτσι την αρχική του, και πιο ισχυρό μάθημα για μένα ήταν να είναι πάντα, πάντα υπόψη τις συνέπειες. Ήταν εκεί για περισσότερο, ωστόσο.

Εγώ δεν θα μπορούσε να γνωρίζει ότι θα είναι η διευκόλυνση του θανάτου μου.

Δεν είναι ο φυσικός, καταλαβαίνετε. (Αν και ο Λόρδος Cernunnos θεωρείται επίσης ως psychopompous.) Θάνατος υπήρξε η πιο γνωστή την εμφανή πτυχή της προσωπικότητάς του, στις σχέσεις μου μαζί του. Ότι για ένα πράγμα που πρέπει να είναι, ένα άλλο πρέπει να σταματήσει. Αυτό τι είναι «καλό» θα πρέπει να ανταλλάσσονται για το τι είναι καλύτερο. Αυτό αναστολές, όπου σας αποτρέψει από την ανάπτυξη, θα πρέπει να θανατωθούν.


"Δεν θα αναγνωρίσει ακόμη και τον εαυτό σας πριν είμαστε μέσα."
Μέσα από αυτόν, έχω μάθει ότι η αλλαγή, ενώ μερικές φορές επώδυνη, είναι ο αγωγός μέσω του οποίου η ζωή μπορεί να ανθίσει. Ότι όλα τα πράγματα αρχίζουν και όλα τα πράγματα καταλήγουν, όμως αυτό δεν είναι ποτέ ο τελικός προορισμός. Ότι η ζωή είναι μια ατέρμονη λαβύρινθο, όπου χαθείτε, μπορείτε να βρείτε. Νιώθω σαν να είμαι ρίχνοντας το δέρμα μου, για να γίνει κάτι εντελώς νέο.

Μαγεία είναι, πάνω απ 'όλα, η διαδικασία του μετασχηματισμού. Και όπως όλες οι προσωπικές μεταμορφώσεις, αρχίζει ως μια εσωτερική διαδικασία. Είναι μια επανευθυγράμμιση της στάση, σύμφωνα με την οποία, με την εστίαση, θα, και η πρόθεση, ο κόσμος που βιώνουμε έχει αλλάξει, η οποία εκδηλώνεται σε εξωτερική πραγματικότητα με αυτό που κρατάμε στο μυαλό μας.

Χωρίς αυτόν, δεν νομίζω ότι θα ήθελα να αντιμετωπίζετε αυτό. «Ο μακρύς θάνατος." Όμως, θα πρέπει να αποκαλούνται, "Η Μεγάλη Αναγέννηση».

Γι 'αυτό είναι ακριβώς αυτό που φαίνεται να είναι.


"Ο μόνος τρόπος, ένα νεαρό ... είναι μπροστά."

Matters of Willpower

     There is, I think, a certain mindset with which it is tempting to approach magick. And in that mindset, it is stripped of its true potential. It is easy to see magick as a quick fix for any problem or challenge we may face. As if one could literally just wave their wand, and watch all the struggles and complexities of life disappear, in a single instant. This is not what magick does. Rather I think it helps us bring our will to bear on just such situations.

     Energetically, we may be harnessing and directing that source, but they key ingredient to those workings is willpower. Without an external force of resistance, we would have nothing to direct our will towards, no obstacle to move. Just as a body-builder grows stronger as he lifts heavier weights, it is a continuous and conscious process of choice to live by intent. To push ourselves. To make decisions that are in accordance with our desires. Even when it is not the easiest option. And that involves discipline.

     The magick doesn't just turn off when the circles come down, and the athame goes back on the shelf. The real focus should be to continue channelling that power. It is in the manner of our existence, in our expression of thought and action, combined, which transmutes the "mundane" into actual, physical change. Every decision is an act of creation. Every idea can become a manifestation. To write a poem. To dance. To sing. To sculpt. In the doing, the magick is wrought.

     It is not sitting around and waiting for something to happen. It is bringing your whole self into alignment with your purpose(s.) Which means taking risks. Daring yourself to dream. Seeing things through. Not allowing yourself the luxury of excuse.

     The key is not in stripping away the pain, the loss, the frustration. (Those things will never go away completely.) It's in viewing everything as an opportunity for growth. In having the ability to see the magickal within the ordinary. Nascent. Hidden. Malleable. Moments of inspiration are (usually) rare, and thus cannot be depended upon. Sit down and write the book. Pick up the guitar. Set reachable goals. Take small steps. It's better than taking none.

     Very seldom is it, that anything of tremendous significance is accomplished overnight, as a certain Horned friend incessantly reminds me. We must allow ourselves, and the undertaking, the latitude to grow. Maturation is a steady endeavour. In today's society, we are often of a mind to recieve everything right now, as quickly as possible. And when we do not, we vindicate ourselves with, "I don't have the time," or "I'll do it later." (One attitude contradicts the other, by the way.)

     Not everything can be pre-packaged, bought, and driven home in our cars for easy consumption and convenience. The developments of character and skill even less so. The present holds lessons of its own. It is no more, or less, than the future we await, and the past we have lived. And truly, there is no better moment for things to end, while others yet begin.

     What could you bring to fruition, if you shifted your attention to the parts of your life you've been ignoring? What could you build if you acted as if success were the only outcome? Who would you reach out to, if you thought it could make a difference? For them? For the both of you?

     There is no fault in falling down. But there can be no victory if you do not stand up.

Morrighan: "The Great Queen."

                


I know very little about The Morrigan, but what I've learned from other people has instilled me with enough respect to hope that I don't attract Her attention for the wrong reasons. She was the third God to introduce Herself to me, (the only female Deity among them all,) yet this first encounter could not have been more unexpected. Or, (to be quite honest,) any more creepy.

So why have I sat down to write about this Goddess, cigarette dangling from my lip as the scent of Dragon's Blood wafts from the altar behind me? Because I'm supposed to. Or rather, I want to. And in order to explain why, I need to start from the beginning.

------

"I've been having some weird nightmares." My ex-lover said to me one day.

This was nothing new--he had nightmares quite frequently, which told me more about him than anything he might say.

Still, I asked anyway. "About what?"

I remember him frowning, as though something were unusual. "I keep seeing this woman in a black feathered cloak, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes."

"Huh, wierd." I said. "Does she hurt you or anything?"

He took a moment to respond. "No, I guess not....but she does not look happy."

The timing of this was made all the more peculiar, because I had very recently bought Christopher Penczac's book, "Feast of the Morrighan." Now, I'll admit here to being a natural skeptic. I am often the first person who will try to find the thread of logic connecting cause to effect, but if recent experience has been any indication, it's that true coincidences are rare. I had no reason to buy this book beyond compulsion. And the funny part is, I haven't even really touched it since flipping through the introduction.

That, and Cernunnos had also made a point of appearing to my then-lover in the past, in what was one of the most vivid and sensory dreams he'd ever woken from. "Not on his behalf, but yours," Cernunnos would later say. That's a different story for another time, but I was further intrigued when he asked me, "What God would you make an offering of Dragon's Blood to?"

I found this an amusing question. He was Catholic. And often derided my "silly" belief in "false gods."

"Why?" I smirked.

He shrugged. "Just curious. I bought a whole box, 'cause it was on sale."

I laughed, but he shook his head. "No, you don't get it. I hate the way it smells."

"Soooo...why'd you buy it, then?"

"Something told me I had to." He said. "I just kinda picked through the incense pile and that was the one I had to get."

He continued. "Every time I light it, I go like this.." He made a strange triple sign in the air, "And say, 'This is for you.' "

I blinked. "For who?"

"I dunno." He said. "S'just what I do."

"You do realise how Pagan-y that sounds?" I teased him.

And how could I not? I remember once, at Dragonmarsh, he snickered in my ear as he poked at a crystal wand. "I dunno how you expect me to take any of this seriously. This stuff is a joke." My face flushed red and I rolled my eyes, resisting the urge to bring up things like the transubstantiation of the Eucharist. He didn't have to believe it. And perhaps to an outside observer, all of this, our Gods and our Magick, may indeed seem like an over-indulgence of fantasy. Even if it's not.

Yet now, here he was, asking genuine questions. And I recall one of his comments that struck home:

"She seems like She'd be a War Goddess."

...

What.

Okay. Now I was definitely interested.

"Whyyy?" The word was a slow, inquisitive drawl. No need to jump to conclusions, Nick. Nope.

"She's like, ready for battle."

There wasn't much said after that, for awhile. I did a little bit of online surfing to see what other people had experienced with The Morrigan, and a couple things from various accounts stuck out as coincidentally eerie to me:
She appeared to them in nightmares...
...And they used Dragon's Blood incense in their offerings to Her.
So, naturally, I went back to him with this information. And (to my surprise,) he was more curious than unnerved.

The first thing he said was, "I want to make an offering to Her."

Double-shock.

"I...don't know if that's a good idea." I said.

"How come?" He asked,


"The Morrigan is known for being a little...intense."

This would not dissuade him, however. And so, minutes later, he was closed up in my room, candle burning, making offerings to a Goddess whose existence he never would've accepted before. And now that I think on it, such a shift takes quite an open mind. In some ways, it makes me wonder if the only catalyst for believing in the Gods is through that experience--that almost tangible, inexplicable and personal sign of their presence that you cannot ignore. I know that without it, I would not have been Pagan, otherwise.

Nevertheless, that experience was not good for him.

He emerged from my room after what felt like a long time, clammy, and visibly shaken.

"What happened?" I asked.

"She told me I was pathetic." He frowned. "She just kept saying it, over and over..."

And that made me really sad. I tried to tell him that maybe that's not exactly what She meant, or that maybe there was something deeper she was trying to convey. I couldn't understand it. Why would she be appearing to him? A non-Pagan of all people? Someone who laughed at the possibility of these beings, these entities, existing as more than fictional myth?

I wanted to make sure this wasn't all in my imagination. Or worse--that I wasn't simply wanting him to have an experience, to the point where my mind was drawing connections between a Goddess and someone who She may not be talking to at all. No, he was very insistent. He really felt Her. He really heard a voice telling him these things. And stepping back into my room, I felt Her, too.

I've come to recognise that weight. That almost olfactory gravitas of a God's presence. This time, it was unfamiliar. Where usually I could sense the tremendous age and wild earth-power of Cernunnos, this was the overbearing and volatile agitation of a different dignitary. It wasn't "hostile," but like he'd said earlier, She did not seem happy.

I was feeling puzzled, and particularly ineloquent. So it was, that we went to bed soon after.

"I can still feel her in here." He said, as I drifted off to sleep.

"That's probably because She is."

That night, the sound of madly cawing crows flickered through my mind, again and again. Needless to say, I slept like total shit. It was like a movie scene put on repeat; a big flock of crows flying away, as if disturbed. Then, it stilled. And against a grey sky, I saw my lover's face vanish in an explosion of black feathers.

Later, he bought a black raven statuette, and tried to make offerings again. To no avail. He heard nothing, and felt nothing, which only deepened my initial confusion. What was it all for? It wasn't until at least a month later, sitting at the park with my good friend Sarah, where she gave me one of her "knowing" glances as I explained all of this. The one where her eyes suddenly dance with the amusement of someone who's long discerned the "obvious" answer to something that is a total conundrum to you.

"You know She wasn't there for him, right?" Sarah smiled. "She was using him to get to you."

That had never occured to me. And I still didn't really "get" it. I mean, why wouldn't She just come to me instead? The only thing that came to mind was that Cernunnos did not approve of my relationship at the time, with the only "allowance" being "so long as he does not impede your progress."

It's a very strange thing. As a Christian, I never really "heard" any Deific observations on my life. I did not experience God saying, "I don't like this person or this influence in your life." In that moment, I realised that what He once advised was true.


"Where you go, he cannot follow."

Let us fast-forward to the present. That relationship has come to its end, and instead I have fallen in love with the most awesome fucking person imaginable. Who not only supports me, but who hears the voices of the Gods as well. Up to this point, my practise has centered exclusively on my relationship with Cernunnos. (As most anyone could tell you.)

Now She's back.

Last week, I had another dream. I was standing in the parking lot where I work, holding a long, black feather. I could feel it blowing in the wind, and I remember thinking, "Huh, that's strange." The very next day, it became a reality, when in my hand, I held a long, black crow feather.

Two days later--my birthday. My ex-lover met me for coffee, and what should he give me for a present?

The black raven statuette he'd used as a representation of Morrigan.

"I guess things happen for a reason." He laughed. "It--she--has no place in my life, anymore."

I knew better this time, than to ignore a message from the Great Queen.

So there I sat, alone in my room. The scene so familiar to when I first spoke to the Horned One. Only now, a glass, full of rich red wine, the feather, and burning Dragon's Blood. I was a little skittish. Not knowing what to expect. I invited Her to my space, letting Her know that I was open to whatever it was She wished to say to me. I waited.

The first noticeable change was the air. (And isn't it always?) The hair on my arms stood up; an intense feeling of power rushing over me. My mind's eye was filled with the image of a woman, screaming fiercely, descending from the sky.

I'm not gonna lie. I was totally expecting a cosmic bitch-slap to the face. For what, I had no clue, but lemme tell 'ya, that was pretty damned intimidating. What happened was more interesting. (And less painful.)


  Her image in my mind walked toward me. Clad in armor, with black tresses flowing over Her shoulders. The look on Her face was a peculiar mix of affection and uncompromising firmness. The hand on my shoulder, so gentle for such a frightening entrance.

Her voice was the sinuous whisper of shadows.

"Let us dispense with introductions." She said. "You belong to another. Yet I am your ally."

My attention was directed to the full glass of wine I'd offered Her.

"Pick it up."

As I held it, it felt "different." "Other." My eyes were caught on the reflection of candle-flame on dark red liquid, and for a moment, just a moment, I saw an older version of myself. Stronger.

"Drink." It was not a request.


"Passion. Pain. Joy. Lust. Love. Sacrifice. Power. Strength. This is the cup of life.

This is my gift.

Drink."

And so I did, until the cup was almost empty.


"You have fought hard to make it this far. But now, you lay face-down in the mud.

Get up.

You are afraid to bleed for your desires. Meet the challenge. Know that I am watching."
As quickly as She arrived, She was gone.

Her lesson still rings clearly. If we are to embrace personal power, and self-mastery, we must drink deeply from all that is set before us. Knowing that this experience is what makes us Human. The joy, and the sorrow. Fear, and the opportunity to have courage in the face of uncertainty. Pursuit of our passions bears risk, and struggle. In order to keep moving, we must keep fighting against everything within that would hinder our growth.

And there is no turning back.

The Soul Eclipse

When I was little, I remember being afraid of the dark. A common phobia for many children. We associate the darkness with fear. Those lights go out, and our subconscious suddenly becomes pregnant with every sort of nightmare. They awaken in closets, corners, and worst of all, under the fucking bed. I'd stare at the ceiling for what felt like hours, certain that if I went to sleep, I'd open my eyes to find some malignant horror standing over me with bared teeth and flaming red pupils.

I'm smirking as I write this. It's funny, how something that was once genuinely unsettling can seem powerless; indeed, almost silly, years later. Fear of the dark is really fear of the unknown. And if something frightens us for its lack of familiarity, we make it familiar by splashing grim and terrifying shades of demonization all over it, if only to reassure ourselves that there's a reason to be scared.

In this way, such an "irrational" fear has followed us into adulthood. The monsters in the closet have been locked up tight. The only difference is that now, they actually exist. Innumerable doubts, insecurites and suppressed emotions rattling the doorknob from within, haunting the shadows of our mind. We settle for tiptoing inside just long enough to turn on the light, daring only just enough to remain convinced of our bravery. Yet, along with everything else, we have locked away the very thing that should be brought to light:

Desire.

For many, darkness is synonymous with evil. Considered disdainful. The realm of death and danger. More than anything, this is an indication of the things we fear to aknowledge as well those we wish to accept. If the darkness scares us, it's because we're unwilling to look at our own face in the glass. We've been taught--we've been conditioned to ignore our deepest desires and instincts. Ferocity has been silenced, replaced by a voice of total aqcuiescance, total obedience. Every day, our lips say "yes", when our heart says "no," bowing to the expectations of others and tossing away our personal power, our individuality. Our self imposed slavery needs to die, so that the sweat, the passion and delight, can thrive.

A moonless night. The silence of the womb. Within these lies gestation. Transformation. And the parts of ourselves that enable us to be every bit as glorious and free as we wish to be. It is only in recovering what is found in that darkness, that the light can reveal it to benefit all.

So go ahead. Open the closet.

The only thing you have to lose is your fear.

The Rotting Age...

There are things in my relationship with Cernunnos that I have shared with very few, and never before have I written them down, for fear that my experience may be mistaken for the words of the God Himself. I do not claim to be His mouthpiece, nor shall I ever, yet these are the sorts of things He speaks to me. All I can say is that in knowing Him, my world has been changed. I have been changed.

There are days when sanity is replaced with passion. The kind of smolder that burns as hot coals around the heart until nothing but ashes of an old shell remain, a withered cocoon to feed the growing blaze of dreams undreamt. Transformation is both a grand gift and fearful curse, for no longer does certainty exist. Familiarity crumbles like a cliff before the waves.

It is too late to turn around. What is known cannot be unknown, and to ignore it is folly. A narrow path whereupon your foot strays...and suddenly you find yourself in a more dark and hauntingly beautiful wilderness the like of which you've never beheld, losing yourself there with hope of what may instead be found.

This is what it means to know Cernunnos, Lord of the Earth.

His name dwelt aslumber, though I suspect He did not. And I cannot imagine what it must be, to dream greater nightmares while awake, than sleeping. To watch your followers destroyed. An iron cauldron bearing your image as the only whisper of your memory, and even that stolen away from those who held you dear. Your domain desecrated by the greedy hands of man in their lust for dominative conquest, listening to the vain cry of animals as they are pushed to extinction by wickedness and ignorance.

Betrayal is an understatement.

How he bears no hatred for Humans surprises me only slightly more than his willingness to aid us at all. Rather than hate, I sense great sorrow. For what we have done to each other. For what we have forgotten, and what few desire to remember: that we are of nature, no more or less important than the whole. And we are orchestrating not only our own obliteration, but that of the world of life itself.

The irony is that we consider it progress. We are the most evolved species on the planet, but that is more through self-proclamation than anything I now observe. Of what worth is our evolution, when the bees and butterflies give greater contribution to the ecosystem than we? So highly we think of ourselves, but who among us can run with the swiftness of a lion? Or even the hare, for that matter? Who without wings may soar like an eagle? Or like the whale, delving deep beneath the perilous sea?

He is an entity of great paradox, Cernunnos. Laughter and sorrow. Predator and prey. Death and rebirth. Protector and destroyer. Darkness, and the light hidden within. Yet behind it all, I hear the roar of the wind bearing one thunderous command:


"Enough."

I believe even His patience has worn thin. We who call ourselves witches, shaman, and druids, we who walk between the worlds to hear the voice of Gods, we who claim to bathe in the wellspring of life and its magick should know that something is wrong.

Can you not feel it?

The heavens weep and the earth trembles. The stalwart trees hold a council of whispers, and though we have the ears to hear, we do not listen.

"Where has all the magick gone?"

I would often ask myself this question in recent months, though I knew the answer well enough. We have chased it away, traded life and vitality for a mere existence, a pallid shadow on the wall with nothing left but a scar , an open wound to remind us of what we've lost.

Identity and diversity exchanged for a masque of name-brands and the illusion of freedoms we yearn to enjoy, the demonization of those we have oppressed as justification for our gluttony. We have become like tame pets. To speak (or not) at the behest of our masters as every thought that individualises us is replaced with not a parody of meaning, but a mockery of it.

If I have learned anything from Cernunnos, it is that we, who call ourselves witches, shaman, and druids, have a greater responsibility that we are neglecting. We who have these talents and gifts of knowledge and foresight, to hear the hidden songs of earth and fire--could we be failing to actually do something?

And for what excuse?

I feel challenged. Compelled to discover and retake the wild spirit within, to wear away at the inhibitions that limit me from being effective.

Paganism, witchcraft; all of it, is by its very nature, unapologetic. It seeks no desire to be understood, it does not replace tooth and claw with white gloves. Yet have we done just that? Have we sought so much to avert misunderstanding and fear, that we have sacrificed our power-with in submission to those who would have power-over?

Paganism of old was bloody and fearsome. It was beautiful, and it had heart. Purpose. Ritualistic theurgy is at best, useless if it does not empower us to reclaim, to shape, to impact the world around us. With all honesty, the cost has already been calculated, and I believe it is time to balance the scales. The magick is not gone. It's still here.

For now.

Every grain of soil, every blade of grass pulses with it, and so it will be until the stars fade. A divine blessing has been bestowed upon us. To create. It has ever been our grandest asset. Yet abused, could also be our downfall.

I think we can do better.

It is time to remember ourselves. We do not possess the luxury or the naiveté to sit idly.

And we certainly do not have the time.
-Sylvanus Nightwolf

Lord of Life, Lord of Death, Rising Sun, and Man's Last Breath...

A candle. A stick of incense. A broken heart. Little did I know that these things three would act as the beginning of the greatest spiritual transformation of my life. The first capitulation to the sudden and incessant presence of One I had not recognised, yet undeniably felt. His name a whisper of forgotten memories, dancing with all the ethereal laughter of ancient boughs on a summer wind.

"Cernunnos....Cernunnos....Cernunnos..."

A name, a title, yet so much more. Wearing eons for a cloak, and antlers for a crown. And how do you describe the majesty of such things? Being in a darkened room. Knowing neither peace nor confidence in what you are doing, yet only that do it you must. A whispered apology for nothing to offer this One, and rather than reproach, or the silence you expect after silence for so long, feeling the very air around you weighted with a power so dense, so all encompassing, that it steals the breath in your lungs with awe and electrifies your soul. So foreign that it frightens you. And you cannot turn away, for to Him you have come, and His ear has He given.

The gentle voice, so strong and wild, that soothes you. "Worry not, child. Compared to how things once were, do you know how few even speak to me, anymore?"

I forgot that He had called me there. Such a place had ceased to be my room. Transfigured into a crossroads. A unification of worlds, and the destruction of the one I had known. I lingered in that moment, the closest I had ever been to eternity and nothingness at once. I felt bidden to speak, for He was here to listen. I asked that I might know Him. Befriend Him. And whether He wished to do the same. One strong yes, after another, danced by the string of a pendulum.

I asked to see Him then. For Him to manifest to me. And in that request, His first lesson began. Overcome was I then. A feeling so jarring, and severe, seperating my conscious mind from my physical surroundings. I was utterly unprepared for it, and I asked Him to stop. He did, and as quickly as it washed over me, it was gone. A chuckle, then. The amused laughter of a teacher with which I have become so familiar.


"I thought that's what you wanted."
Stuttering, I asked to end the meeting. That fatherly warmth prickled my skin again, still full of laughter. Again the answer was yes. Skepticism flooded my thoughts as I extinguished the candle and incense. This was all in my head. Yes, of course.

Then aslumber, I dreamt. Of rugged and archaic trees, standing as sentinels around a clearing that I would return to again and again. Emerging from those darksome woods and into the light stood He, smiling. As if to say, "This is all I was going to show you."

The next morning, my mother described to me the energetic charge in the air that kept waking her from sleep, until she saw dancing points of light in the blackness of her room. Lingering only for a moment before departing with a friendly laugh. And I knew then, that it was not in my head.

"I have already taught you something, haven't I?" His voice returned, independently of me. "This is an older way of belief. Things do not work in the way you are used to. You must take care what you ask for, and what you call into being, for you will certainly get it." I asked Him to appear to me. I wanted a sign. Yet I did not know what that could mean, and so his initial, and most powerful lesson to me has been to always, always consider the consequences. He was there for more, however.

I could not have known it would be to facilitate my death.

Not the physical one, you understand. (Though Lord Cernunnos is also seen as a psychopompous.) Death has been the most prominently apparent aspect of his personality in my relations with Him. That for one thing to be, another must cease. That what is "good" must be exchanged for what is better. That inhibitions, where they prevent you from growing, must be culled.


"You will not even recognise yourself before we are through."
Through him, I have learned that change, while sometimes painful, is the conduit through which life can flourish. That all things begin, and all things end, yet that is never the final destination. That life is a never ending labyrinth, where in getting lost, you can be found. I feel like I'm shedding my skin, to become something new entirely.

Magick is, above all, the process of transformation. And like all personal transformations, begins as an internal process. It is a realignment of attitude, whereby through focus, will, and intent, the world we experience is changed, manifested into external reality by what we hold in our minds.

Without Him, I do not think I would be experiencing this. "The Long Death." Yet it should instead be called, "The Great Rebirth."

For that is exactly what it is turning out to be.


"The only way, young one...is forward."

Why Religious Arguments Are Stupid....

...Because nobody wins.

As a matter of fact, I don't think it's possible TO win. It's one thing to argue, say, gravity. Everyone who hasn't floated off into the sky can pretty much agree that gravity is, 'ya know, a thing. Ask them who created gravity, and you may as well strap yourself in for a friendly, (or not so friendly) discussion on Deity. Who created the world, and why? How should they be worshipped? What do They expect? What rules need to be obeyed, and what happens when you don't?

I think it's funny, because no one, beyond a shadow of a doubt, can say for sure. No one can say that they know, one-hundred-percent, Who created the Universe. They cannot give you infallible, factual evidence as to WHY their beliefs are right. That's why it's called "faith." So. All the discussion becomes, then, is whether or not their understanding of God is better than your understanding of God. Whether or not your understanding is even a valid concept to be brought to the table. (Which first of all, is pretty insulting.)

The whole point of the argument is to prove somebody wrong about their own experiences by saying your perceptions are the only ones that are correct. What's so amusing is, at that point, you're really not trying to prove them wrong:

You're trying to prove to yourself that you're right.

Yet here's the thing....you don't need someone else's validation or agreement to be correct about how YOU relate to God.

Joe says, "I think of God like a mountain." Bob says, "No, God is definitely an ocean."

Why can't God be both? But here's a more interesting question:

Does it really matter?

"Well of course it matters!" Says Bob. "If everyone walks around thinking that God is a mountain, they're all going to perish in a horrible rockslide!"

....Says the fuck who??? To begin with, the rockslide is an intangible theory within the construct of your own belief system, Bob. It doesn't mean that mine has to have one.

The reason people have these arguments is because their understanding of reality is threatened, (and therefore their spiritual way of life,) when an idea is presented that challenges the way they think. What I want to know is:

Why is it so scary to think?

You can never put yourself fully in the shoes of another person. You cannot see the world with their eyes, live inside their unique mind and experience life as they've done. Why do other people have to think like you, for you to relate to the world in which you live? Personally, I think the fact that there are so many ideas about God is a testament to how our Creator is bigger than a single Human idea. Notice that every face of God in history has an identity based upon something that's ALREADY in creation, and that the ideas about it only ever come from Human minds. The various personalities given to God(s) are resonant within our OWN idiosyncratic traits.

God can only be angry because we understand what it's like to feel anger. God can only be jealous because we know what makes us jealous. God can only be loving because WE have the capability to be loving. It is my belief  that every Human emotion, value, hope and dream is part of God because it's part of us. If God didn't have some Human qualities, we wouldn't be able to relate to Deity. (Because, we're Human.)

Athena spoke to people thousands of years ago. She still does. (People built a city in her honour for a reason.) To a Christian, this would have to mean that their belief in Yaweh/Jesus was false.

Unless....

Yes, of course!!!

She's a Demon in disguise. Deception! Straight from the Devil himself to mislead the people of Greece into worshipping a false God!

How do you know Athena doesn't exist, just because you haven't decided to talk to Her?

How do you know that God doesn't also exist outside of the way you've been taught, (or chosen) to think?

I didn't ask what you believe.

I asked how you KNOW.

If a system of faith doesn't resonate with you, doesn't move you or reforge you--here's the thing, it doesn't NEED to.

That doesn't mean it shouldn't do that for someone else.

I don't think the form or facet of God's existence matters more than the fact that God DOES exist. (Or so I believe.) Why?

Lemme put it this way. If everyone on the planet liked cake, we would have no pie.

And I fucking LOVE pie. Moreso than cake, actually.

Diversity is present in every single aspect of life. When you argue against diversity, you argue for a uniformity that is simply not found on this planet.

Is it possible that Jesus is the only way to God? It is possible. Do I believe that's true?

Not remotely.

Is it possible that Mohammed really was the Prophet meant to lead people to the truth?

Also mighty fucking possible.

Even more probable to me is the idea that Jesus and Mohammed both lead people to God based upon the spiritual needs that draw people to both Islam and Christianity.

Trying to tell me that my experience is wrong because you like your experience better doesn't make you right.

It doesn't mean you're smarter than me.

It doesn't mean you've secretly won, even when I don't acquiesce to your philosophies.

It just makes me think you're a dick.

You know what they say....

You are what you eat!

(I guess in that case, I'm pretty well fed.)