Dew distorting lenses settle in eye sockets

Like globules of melted glass.

Gone are the memories of rabbit blood,

The sharp crunch of bone,

The sweet taste of marrow on the tongue.

Months within the Mother’s womb

Of warm earth, maggots, wood lice

And the gentle transforming mercury of slugs,

Have done their work.

I am awake now,

Hearing the call of the white ghost, the soul leader,

From the bosom of the May tree.

I follow her silent wings across the silver grass.

I will howl at the plump bellied moon

And live again in the tricksy night dreams of men.

© Elen Sentier 2012: all rights reserved.

So here it is: the quiet after the storm. After months of preparation and hard work finally the week-end of the South Wales Summer Camp 2011 had arrived. We had one of the most perfect spots in Wales, we had excellent speakers, we had fantastic workshops, a big fire, lovely fellow Pagans; the only thing letting us down was the weather. Now, we in Wales are used to a bit of 'weather' aka rain and after a hearty chant to call the sun on Saturday, led by Siany, we did indeed manage the impossible: the sun appeared for the day. It was the wind though. The payment for the gorgeous views was the wind.

When we arrived on Wednesday, it was pretty dire. So we decided to do all the other jobs and leave the marquee for the next day, when there would be more hands available to help. In the night the wind was so bad that our tent nearly took off and our brand new gazebo folded like it was made from match sticks. This did not bode well for the raising of the marquee. Now, thankfully we had David and Karen from Hereford with us, very experienced festival visitors, who had helped put up a marquee or ten in their time. We were all set to lift the top onto the legs when disaster struck: a huge blast of wind and the marquee roof tumbled down the site like a child’s umbrella. Everyone leapt into action and together we finally caught up with it. What an adventure! In the end we managed to put two marquees up, a welcome area for our intrepid visitors as the weather was bad Friday and Sunday.

Regardless of these little issues, we all had an absolutely wonderful time. The excellent advertising by Lizzie brought in the punters from as far as LLoegr: Bristol, Gloucestershire, and Herefordshire – and obviously Wales. We had not expected anyone from North Wales but Steve and Moya made the effort and the long trip to be with us. It was lovely to meet many new friends, some of whom had never been to a Pagan Federation Summer Camp before and to see again our usual suspects like Sheila and Alan from Newcastle, Pat and Nicholas from Staffordshire, Lee and Lou all the way from Basingstoke.

We danced the night away to the sounds of DJ Psyborg, seeing two Heathens doing the Prince Charming dance was a sight to behold! The home made Blackberry brandy flowed and greased old bones, some of us reverted to their misspent youth and I think we had the better of the young-uns but I could be biased.

There was a lot of witchy cackling around the fire, many a naughty song was sung and dirty joke told, in between Pat French told us stories and played the flute as did our host Sid, both beautiful and haunting.

One of the highlights of the camp out for me was our panel debate: a concept blatantly stolen from the Witchfest gatherings by me but nevertheless, I could not let the opportunity slip by when I had so many eminent pagans in our midst. For many months now I have been worried about the backbiting and bitchcraft that is making itself felt in the Pagan community in the UK. Wherever I come across a forum, a facebook site, visit a moot, speak to individuals etc. there are often quite bitter exchanges about the right and wrong path, which leads to diversity when others are working hard to establish a closely connected community.

So the question was: What is Paganism? Kicked off by our own esteemed ex-DM, Steve Ludford, who has been a Crafter for over thirty years, the question was discussed by Ros Briagha, James Denning, Cyt Warwick, Pat French, Siany and members of the audience with myself as referee. The result was astounding: we are not defined by our similarities to each other but our difference from other faiths: we have no dogma and there is no right way to be Pagan. Tolerance is the keyword that connects us all. A lesson we should all take to heart, including myself. Be good to each other, until next time -

Brightest Blessings

Bee

You are all welcome to Earth Day on Gower at Arthur's Stone. We are holding a ritual near the stones followed by drinks and food at the 'King Arthur'

Earth Day Celebration 2011

Nidian Sedge

There was still a great deal of snow on the ground, so Terry, in true Topgear stylie, tried to spin the car in the empty car park - never works when you try!

We walked along the empty beach in the dark, the waves gently lapping up at us, the stars sparkling still, that alone made the effort worth it. Like in most other areas, the cloud cover did not allow us a look at the moon but there was an eerie glow in the Western sky. At one time it went bloodred. It was a beautiful and awesome sight to behold.

Now, I know a few people talked about evil portends etc. in conjunction with this phenomenon, but to me it was magical. I felt vibrations in the air and earth that I hadn't ever felt before. Anything seemed possible in these moments.

Soon the red in the West was rivalled by the red in the East of the upcoming sun, which eventually rose with a warm, golden glow. The new day had begun, the spectacle was over - and we had been part of it. Blessings indeed.

Bee

• a ‘self’ like unto our own sense of self
• but also different and separate from that
• which we can communicate in some way.  

Applies to elementals, fairies, tree and rock spirits, wights, angels, demons and deities, servitors, thoughtforms, fictional characters, even your own impression of living persons.  Can apply to talismans and magical tools, spaces and places, even aspects of your own character or other abstractions such as ‘love’ or ‘the spirit of the ancestors.’ 

Practical rule 1:  Whatever you wish to evoke, you treat it as though it has an identity. 

Practical rule 2:  In evocation (not invocation), yourself is in control of ‘you.’ 

Practical rule 3:  Stay in a state of attentiveness to what’s going on.  Instead of internal noise such as ‘is it working yet?’ you should relax into the procedure itself.  Lose any anxieties in the feeling of just getting on with it. 



A simple pattern of evocation:  Evocation of 'Entity X.' 

Preparation:  firstly, think about 'Entity X' for a bit. Get clear about what you mean by contacting 'Entity X' as though it was a person.  Imagine what that might be like.   In other words, clarify your intent here. 

Secondly, if you find it helpful to have a physical focus for your evocation, find it or make it.  A picture, object, sigil, mark on the floor, anything.  If some sounds or music help you to visualise your chosen presence, use them.  Most of all, if there's a smell associated with it in your own mind, use that. 

The ritual itself:

Banish. 

1.   STOP and PAY ATTENTION to the space and environment in which you are expecting Entity X to manifest, including your imagination.  Just shut up and use your senses.  See, hear, smell, touch, even taste anything in the space, including prepared artefacts, and observe the pictures and voices in your mind. 

2.   ADDRESS Entity X – call for and expect attention back.  Treating like a person, yes?  Chanting its name can help. 

3.   PAY ATTENTION to any impressions you get.  Your imagination is the means here. 

4.   RESPOND in turn.

5.   Cycle 3 and 4 until you’ve had enough.

6.   Close.  ‘Thank you and goodbye’ might be sufficient. 

Banish. 


Some further notes: 

As with human communication, evocation should have: 


1.   A reason.  What is your intent behind evoking?  What’s it for? 


2.   Norms, agreement with the presence on: 


a.   Context (where and under what circumstances to manifest)

b.   Relationship (stranger, friend, hierarchical, hostile etc)

c.   Etiquette (behavioural standards, expected correspondences etc).

Generally, the structure and language of your evocation presupposes most of this information. 



3.   Ways of dealing with the unexpected: 


a.   Sticking with your reason for the evocation.  Stick to the point of your intent.  When it's done, end. 

b.   Protection (banishing, physically enclosing the presence’s space, insisting on the norms agreed above, big sword, big deity etc.)

c.   Discernment (testing the spirit, common sense)

There you go.  Any questions, just ask.  Good conjuring. 

Kite

I speak in freezing streams if you listen,
In dreams , in visions and in rainbows
I cry in the wind as I hunt my quarry
I am in the sun the moon and the planets.

I haunt the cold, grey barrow and cromlech
I climb the winter sky with orion's sword
I died for the love of the Goddess.
I am reborn again at the winter solstice.

For I am the Child of Promise
I am crowned with holly and oak
I turn with the wheel of the seasons
I am eternal crowned with horns.

To put things in perspective, magic is very much a secondary function of the Craft. Any Coven worth its salt should put the worship of the Gods and spiritual development of the Coven members first, otherwise we have no wicca. Nevertheless there are working evenings of the Coven or Esbats to give them their correct Craft name. These usually occur on or before the full moon of each month although special working meetings may be convened at any time in an emergency.

There are many different types of Magical working ranging from long and highly ritualised Golden Dawn style invocations of God forms to simple candle magic workings, all are valid and may work equally well as the complex ritual.

Read more...

She moved through the forest alone and content, the Lady of the light. Her robe leaving a trail of movement as leaves fluttered and fall slowly back to the forest floor. Singing softly as she wandered, touching trees gently as she passed, he watched mesmerised by her beauty and grace. He can smell her perfume as she passes by him, and his heart soars with a love so strong. His eyes take in her every movement; he slowly follows as she draws him to her. As he watches, the forest envelopes his senses and taking a step forward he disturbs the tranquillity as birds rise in a flurry of noise that echoes around the forest as they fly away.

She stops and turns, glancing around her with a nervous smile then as if in relief she laughs out loud as she watches the birds flying up into the trees. Hardly daring to breathe he stands hidden as the forest slips back into a haven of peace. She resumes her walking though with her senses alert as if sensing that he was following her. He follows as he can do nothing else as she has hold of him tight in her spell.

They move slowly on through ancient paths that have not changed with time. She loves the forest and feels at peace and as she draws him closer he can feel his senses whirl with emotions and feelings that capture his very heart and soul.

She enters a clearing and whirls around with happiness her hands held high in the air embracing all in her world. This is her place and takes it in with joy. Her oak tree strong and proud with boughs of laden foliage that shelter her as she sits. The mossy ground with faerie rings, the small stream trickling gently. He watches hidden on the edge of the clearing, the light summer breeze caressing their skin, the sun warm and the gentle whispering of the wood.

Time stands still as she sits her face raised in homage to the goddess, he can hardly breathe as he watches her every move, this maiden so beautiful and so pure.

The sun dips and she moves over to the oak, glancing around with a playful smile on her lovely face. She slowly and sensuously removes her robe; it falls slowly, moving down her perfect body like a silken river, stroking each contour before falling in a silken puddle on the forest floor. She steps out of it and raising her arms to the sky as she revels in her nudity. He can’t breathe, his heart is racing, he longs to go to her, hold and love her, this Lady of light.

Turning until she is facing where he is hidden, she smiles and calls him softly ‘M’Lord come to me for I am yours’

Slowly he walks out from behind the tree, his heart is pounding, his mouth is dry, his every move heavy as he makes his way to her.

Taking his hand she takes him to her and he feels such lust and such love that his senses take over. In haste he removes his clothing as she smiles and watches, holding him with her eyes.

His arms pull her to him and he kisses her neck, her face and then the sweetness of her mouth. The forest no longer exists as he drowns in the depth of his love. Her skin feels soft and warm against his, his manhood risen, hard and proud; he lays her down and begins the song of love. She moans as he takes each part of her body, sighs as he takes her passion and slowly he enters his Lady of Light and the joyful rocking motion of love begins as their love and passions rises in waves over them. Crying out she holds him tight as he empties his seed deep within her.

The forest whispers around the couple as they lay sleeping as time drifts away the forest is ageless in its age and beauty. He wakes and looks down at his Lady of Light asleep in his arms and drifts back to sleep with a smile on his face.

He stretches and reaches to find that she has gone, he calls, his heart heavy for he knows that there is no-one there. As years go by his heart in darkness he searches in vain for his Lady of Light and becomes of the forest waiting and hiding.

He senses her before he sees her, he is older but to him she is ageless. It is dusk and drawn to her yet again they move through the forest, he follows in awe, his heart racing, the love still so strong beating in his heart. They come to the clearing and as before they play out their roles. He hides and watches as she takes it all in with joy. She raises her hands and embraces the goddess and turns slowly to face him and softly calls ‘M’Lord come to me for I am still yours’

Heart racing with such joy he rushes to her and as he draws near he sees not a maiden of his memory but a mother. He stops his emotions in a whirl; she smiles gently and holds out her hand, as he comes to her she murmurs ’M’Lord’ and as if he was a child holds him to her breast. They stay embraced and slowly he feels his love returning and with the experience of age he slowly undresses her and kisses her neck. She moans as his lips caress her skin, she strokes and caresses him as his manhood rises hard and proud. He lays her gently on the ground her body plumper and softer from motherhood. As they feel their passion rise the slow and deeper feelings grow and he calls out for his lost love of the light and looks down on his Lady of the Dark.

Crying out she holds him tight a tear falling as he calls for his youth. They lay in passion spent and she rises, her body beautiful as mother, her soul still Light she moves away. He watches in wonder and sudden realisation that he has lost his love. A tear falls and joins hers on the ground.

She moves slowly this Lady of the Dark through her forest. He follows hidden and watches as she moves away from him, he can smell her perfume and as his love soared he realised that she was his Light and Dark, for they have grown old together. He tries to catch her but she has gone to far ahead, he calls in desperation. She turns and smiles with tears on her face and then goes from his sight.

He falls to the ground his mind is shattered for in realisation he had lost his one true love for too late he had realised that love is ageless. From Maiden to Mother to Crone they are all of the Light and dark.

Phil Cope's book took five years to produce and is an obvious labour of love and is part of a series of two books (the other being Holy Wells: Cornwall - a photogrpahic journey). Just fifty years ago, literally thousands of sacred wells were accessible to the general public in Wales. Today, this number has shockingly declined to just a few hundred! 'Holy Wells' succeeds in its aim of highlighting the beauty and historical importance of these sacred sites at a time when, shamefully, so few of their number are afforded protection by environmental and heritage organisations. 

Although this book is subtitled 'a photographic journey', the copious images in this large tome are accompanied by a fairly substantial text. As well as descriptions of the various sites, their individual histories and the numerous pagan beliefs and healing properties associated with them, the book includes poems from a number of Welsh poets, including the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan William, R.S. Thomas and Gerard Mankey Hopkins. Ordnance Survey co-ordinates for all the wells are also given - a handy addition as this book certainly makes its readers want to visit these sites for themselves. I can't think of a higher recommendation for a book of this nature than that!

Holy Wells: Wales - a photographic journey is a hard-covered book and is published by Seren, priced £19.99. You can purchase a copy of the book here.

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