Walking the Hedge

A first(ish) draft of the introduction to the chapter on etheogens and hallucinogens in that book I’ll never finish writing.

“Blind as a bat, mad as a hatter, red as a beet, hot as hell, dry as a bone, the bowel and bladder lose their tone, and the heart runs alone.” ~ A teaching mnemonic device about the effects of Datura stramonium

Like many young and inexperienced Witches I had a craving for a deep, mystical and powerful spiritual experience, similar to the tales I had heard the Elders in my community share. I wanted something akin to the tall-tales the other young Witches and Pagans told each other when not within earshot of the Elders. I wanted something special, something that would make me special, some great nugget of lore or wisdom that would impress people. I was envious… and a little bored.

My first attempt at working with flying ointment had been something of a disappointment to me, yet also a temptation. Being careful and cautious as I was advised, I had made a very simple and weak blend. Then I rubbed it on a few pulse points before stretching out on a blanket in my living room and trying out a few different breathing exercises. I had a minor visionary experience but not the mind blowing, enlightening Journey across the Hedge that would allow me to “wink wink” with other practitioners who had. However, it was enough to give me a taste of what might be. I felt like a starving man being offered only a single slice of bread. I wanted more.

As a teenager, I had experimented a great deal with hallucinogens. LSD and mushrooms were easier to get my hands on than alcohol or cigarettes in high school. With that experience, I thought I knew what I was doing.

I made a new batch of flying ointment: stronger, better, faster. It was a combination of lard, a small amount of mugwort  and a large dose of datura. I had done a little cursory researching on the ingredients and the making of ointment. I impatiently waited for the next full Moon, took a few days off work, and prayed for good weather.

I fasted on the day of my planned rite and buzzed around the house and my four acre wooded property with nervous energy, full of anticipation. I choose a spot some twenty yards from my home in a clearing surrounded by birches and spruce. There I laid out my blanket and set up my altar. As the Sun went down I began my ritual, calling upon gods, ancestors and the spirit guides known to me at the time: Owl and Crow. I slathered myself with the stuff, rubbed a dollop upon my tongue, and spread out naked upon my blanket.

I lay scattered in the abyss

Surrounded by a bleak

And terrifying nothingness

The creatures I had trusted

Who naively I had followed

Have torn me apart

And left me in a mess

The shock and horror

Their betrayal

The pain of my dismemberment

Fills my being and all that I am

And then suddenly is forgotten

As I begin to contemplate the blackness

And the fact that though torn asunder

I am still capable of self and thought

I realize that in these pieces

I cannot be more than self and thought

The fear that I will never leave this place

Begins to fill the emptiness around me

I cry out and then I hear myself begging

For release, for a way out of here

A dark figure beyond the black looms

Large and twisting with antlers adorning

He offers me a deal…

A short while later I am slammed back into my body screaming like a newborn babe. I twist and writhe upon my blanket, clutching at it, face down at first but eventually I flounder my way upon my back. My blurred vision clears somewhat and I stare about in gasping horror. The white birches have become finger bones with strips of flesh clinging to them; the spruces loom darkly above menacingly. The Moon and stars in the sky above wheel and spin dizzyingly.

My dogs locked in their run have heard my screaming and now bark and whine, the sound echoing in my ears and my head, making me clutch my ears in pain and fear. They sound as if a pack of coyotes or hyenas are scrabbling at the fence, trying to get through to rend and tear at my flesh, just as my spirits had done to me in That Other Place. Amongst the chaos, noise, and terror, a single thought blooms in my mind and gives me focus: Get this stuff off of me!

Sobbing now I begin to frantically rub the blanket against my skin, trying desperately to remove the offending ointment. The nasty, greasy stuff does not come off easily. It seems to cling to my body, and I weep and whimper at the irrational fear that I would take my skin off with it.

I catch a glimpse of light, streaming from the kitchen window of my home. Somehow I stumble to my feet, but then the ground rushes up at me and slams into my face. Pain explodes through my consciousness. As adrenaline floods my body, I am awarded a moment of clarity and take it, picking myself up and moving as fast I dare towards my home. By the time I reach the front steps I am crawling again, unable to stop the world from shifting beneath me. It seems to take forever to climb the six steps up the front door and my hand passes through the doorknob three times before I can grasp it to open it.

Clinging to counter and walls I shoo my dogs away, which I see as in the house barking and lunging at me, though in fact they were still outside in their run. Somehow I make it into the bathroom and grab at the faucet like a drowning woman reaching for a life preserver. I am afraid to turn on the hot faucet, paranoid I might burn myself so I turn on the cold shower and climb in, coating myself with shampoo and soap as I try to remove the ointment from my body.

I walked with one foot in each world for three days. I did not return to work for nearly two weeks. My life has never been the same since.

Today you can find flying ointment recipes on websites and in forums, even in books written by authors whose works are aimed mostly at teenagers. People call themselves Hedgewitches with no concept of what the word really means. They mistake it for a solitary Wiccan or a domestic Witch messing about with herbs in her kitchen. They look for flying ointment recipes, and tips on how to smoke salvia divinorum, seeking that short cut to a special mystical experience which they think they deserve. In this culture of instant gratification, the masses no longer want to do the work. They do not feel the need to earn their stripes. They want what they want, and they want it now. Meditation and trance inducing techniques are boring and require patience, time and discipline. Would it not be easier to simply drink a tea, slather some ointment or smoke an herb instead?

Many of the folks seek these recipes and tips from complete strangers on the Internet. Paradoxically, many also ask for only “safe” recipes, and don’t want to risk something bad happening to them. Too many people think they can safely dabble with such tools and techniques, based on the advice of an anonymous “friend” on a forum and expect to receive the Mysteries this way.

You don’t take flying ointment, entheogens or hallucinogens hoping that you will have a grand experience and that nothing negative might happen. If you should choose to work with them, then you must be willing to risk a bad experience. There is always a risk of danger and trauma when you work with such substances, no matter how careful you are and how well you do your research you cannot fully eliminate that risk. If you are not willing to accept that risk, then you stand a very good chance of being traumatized, hospitalized, or forced to face something you may not truly be ready for.

If you are not prepared to accept the risk, then do not use these techniques and tools. If you are seeking a shortcut to enlightenment, insight or the Mysteries then you are a fool indeed.

Related posts:

1. Horned God Devotional
2. To Fly By Night
3. Are You Scared Yet?