Magic

"Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The allure of magic is in its mystique. Hidden knowledge, secret words, spells and potions. My own version is less robes and circles and more candles and herbs. I'm a kitchen witch; I seek the magic of the natural world, of herbs and plants and stones. I plant my vegetables during the waning moon with a prayer to Freyr and an offering of beer.

Magic is about intention, the focus of energy. Complex spellwork may be good for formal ceremonies and holidays, but for the everyday, I look to the energy of natural things, and use them as a vehicle. In that sense, I don't really consider what I'm doing "magic." It's more a matter of channeling the natural world into my thoughts, and using the power in those objects to assist my own will. My spells are extremely simple. Writing down something I want to cease or change, and burning during the night of a full moon. Selecting a yellow candle and burning it with a prayer to Athena for wisdom in my meeting today.

I suppose these could just be called superstitions, and perhaps they are. But perhaps there's something more to superstition than paranoid nonsense. Perhaps it's the recognition that the world around us has much to show us, if only we'll open our eyes to see.

Magic is a fascinating concept and practice, and I wish to explore it even more deeply than I have. Such is another of my goals for the coming year.

 

Spell for a Peaceful Home

Gather freshly cut parsley and place it in a pan of water. Let soak for nine minutes, and then sprinkle throughout the house while visualizing a calm environment.

Elements

I came across a suggestion that life on Earth did not originate from the stars, but from the ocean depths. I like the notion that the Earth herself gave birth to life, that she is, in fact, the Mother of us all. From her we arose, and to her every one of us returns.

Many myths talk of the separation of the Earth from the Sky. Usually this is the Earth Mother and the Sky Father, but in the Egyptian pantheon this is reversed, with Nut the sky-goddess whose image decorates the inside of many a sarcophagus. It is in the separation of the Earth and the Sky that we humans are given a space to live.

The simplicity of the elements is so powerful and beautiful. Each of them give us life, and in turn can snatch it away. The earth on which we build our homes might tremble and erupt and swallow us whole. We can scarcely survive a week without water - but it can swell and rush and wipe out entire cities. Air, we cannot do without for even a few minutes. It animates us, gives us spirit, rips the roofs from our houses. Fire...without fire, nothing we have become would be possible. It gives warmth, light, protection; cooks our food, wards off predators, heats our shelters. We stare transfixed into its dancing flames, and it seems impossible that it is not alive.

Well, it is alive. It requires food and oxygen, just as we do.

The elements give us life; the elements are life.

Gaia Theory suggests that living organisms and their inorganic environment have evolved together in a single living system. That the Earth itself is alive - not merely the conduit of life, but a living being in its own right. Mother Nature, a living goddess...Gaia.

I Am In Them

Edvard Munch, "Girl Looking Out the Window," 1893

With the new year, come resolutions.

Not everyone does this, I've found, but I do. In fact, I usually begin compiling my resolutions at my birthday, in early December, when another year has truly passed. December's a difficult month to institute disciplinary changes, though, so, like most, I start in January. 

I think resolutions are so hard because they require daily commitment. Over and over again, choosing to stay true to your resolve. Since resolutions are usually painful changes, it's very difficult to make this commitment, day after day. It's the reason most of us fail, the reason the gyms go back to their normal crowds in mid-February or so.

My method last year was the most successful I've ever used, so I'm using the same strategy this year. I'm dividing my life into the areas in which I want to make changes and improvements: physical, mental, spiritual, emotional. The physical list is always the longest and the hardest to stick to, but last year I managed to lose twenty pounds and keep it off. It wasn't the forty I wanted to lose, but it was a good start and this years' resolution will be to finish the job. 

Only the job is never finished, is it? There's never a place where you're just - done. I have to eat right, every day. I have to exercise, every day. And every day simply doesn't happen. The key, I think, is to not let one bad day - or even one bad week - derail the effort completely. Scarlett had it right: tomorrow is another day. 

The spiritual resolution is what I'll be focusing on here. Developing a daily practice of rituals, prayers, spells - to do every day those things I am sporadic with now. With that in mind, I want to find a quote, spell, piece of folklore, or some other lesson to share every day. 

Today I'd like to share a quote from Edvard Munch. He's most famous for his painting "The Scream." It sums up quite well what I think is the likely meaning of "eternal life." 

I don't think there's much consensus on what Pagans believe about the afterlife. Reincarnation seems to be a popular theory, and it certainly makes sense when one looks at the world and how it functions. We are part of this organism called the Earth; from her we were born and to her we will return. But what of our souls, the anima that makes us individuals? Does it linger on? 

I have no idea. 

Darkness and Light

Although the wheel is turning back toward longer days, we're in the heart of winter's darkness now. Despite the fact that winter arrives every year, I'm never quite ready for the 4:30 sunset. The dark, even more than cold or snow, is the hardest part of winter.

And then I drive through the neighborhoods. The beauty of the houses lit up for the season is such a welcome sight in the everlasting darkness - so much so that I can't bear to take them down after the Yule season. I don't decorate the outside of my house, mostly because I'm lazy and don't like ladders. Inside, though, I swap out colored lights for white ones, and leave them strung over the corner barrister bookcase and the windows in the front room and the library.

For most of human history, we didn't have the ability to light up the night. The hearth fire, candles, oil lamps - these were the weapons with which we fended off the darkness, and they are feeble things in the vast scope of the night. What would our ancestors make of this brightly-lit world?

One of my small Yule rituals is to turn everything off for a brief period. Television, lights, even the cable boxes and night lights. Turn everything off and just feel the darkness. It's a little frightening, to be honest. I'm always glad to turn on a lamp again.

On the other hand, there is no beauty like that of the stars on a clear night, and winter brings my favorite constellation: Orion, the hunter, so huge in the sky, so easily found. You've seen him. If you don't know him - look up, an hour or two before dawn. His left arm is marked by the red giant Betelgeuse; his right leg, the blue star Rigel.

(image linked from Pinterest - source link here)

The myth of Orion is Greek. There are differing accounts of his story, but the one I know best is where he, the great hunter, boasts that no beast on earth can best him - and, of course, such hubris is immediately punished. He is killed by a tiny scorpion. For this reason, he and Scorpio are never in the sky at the same time.

As the saying goes, I have loved the stars far too fondly to fear the night.

But I light the lamps.

Cold Moon

It seems this is the first full moon to fall on Christmas since 1977. Can't see it tonight, unfortunately. It's been cloudy for most of the night here in my corner of Colorado.

Interestingly, I moved from Florida to Colorado in 1977. I'd just turned six, so I don't remember it.

It snowed today, a relatively rare white Christmas. Only an inch or two, but it was welcome all the same - there's something about the crisp cold air and a soft falling snow that just makes the holiday feel more...authentic.

I grew up Catholic, but I've been Pagan for many years now, and no longer celebrate Christmas as a religious holiday. Nevertheless, the day holds a special place in my heart and memories, and I struggled for some years with the dilemma of whether or not I could continue to observe it. I've decided there's no reason why I can't embrace the turning of the wheel at Yule and still enjoy the spirit of goodwill of Christmas.

There's a thousand articles detailing all the ways Christmas was stolen from pagan traditions, etc., and I have no desire to beat that horse here. Rather, I'd like to think about what it means to observe traditions.

Yule  - the long dark night, followed by the promise of longer days - is one of my favorite days of the year. Near my house is a park with a lovely little square, marked by standing stones at the cardinal directions and the sunrise and sunsets of the solstices. The markers aren't perfectly aligned, but I appreciate the spirit of the thing. This is the philosophy I carry into much of my spirituality; the spirit in which a thing is intended.

The value of tradition is found in its connection to the past. Generation to generation, we pass on beliefs and behaviors with the intention of keeping our families connected across the span of time. It's a beautiful thing, mostly. It's the reason I still sing Christmas carols, even though I no longer believe in the stories they tell.

In my journey, I'm looking to create new traditions. I've been a haphazard practitioner of my faith up to now, and as we move into a new year, new resolutions, one of mine is to embrace spirituality on a daily basis. This blog is the beginning of that journey.

To be continued!