Birthing and Other Crazy Shit
So this one that I’ve been sitting on for a while, I’ve had a busy last few months and haven’t done nearly as much writing as I should. Sorry folks!
This one got shelved for a while for various reasons including stupid ones like “What would the cute boy think?” and “I don’t feel like dealing with ignorant blog comments right now” … but you know what? Whatever, fuck. People can accept me or piss off. Then I saw a fellow blogger whom I respect catching hell for posting things along these lines and I felt the need to stand in solidarity.
If you don’t know about my casting collection, you might want to read about it a bit first.
Also, squeamish idiots should not be reading this. If you are easily offended, don’t like pain or bodily fluids, or don’t want to picture me messy and naked, go fuck off now.
*
Back at harvest time I brought a bottle of English bitter (along with a few other things) to a small potluck feast of the Pagan variety (I am Pagan for the potlucks). I wound up giving that bottle as an offering and… Continue reading
Quick Update
The experiment was a success. The ritual took only about 2 hours, which is good for a first foray with a new ointment. It was defiantly easier to slip through the little door inside myself. Once there, my familiars were all like “Well, that worked. Good job. Now fuck off.”
I feel funny. Light headed. Pupils not dilated but seeing tracers. Very thirsty. Bad taste in my mouth. Lips are numb. I smell like a dead duck. Difficult to form proper words (ok, not that difficult).
Big bonus is having a friend to lovingly wash grease off your back for you. Tip: use dish soap.
Difficult to type coherently, yay for spell check. Fully expect my journey to continue in my sleep. Weird dreams tonight. Texting the cute boy right now is probably a bad idea. Doing it anyway.
Good night.
The Tenth Rune Spell
Let’s fuck with someone, shall we? Time to hone your defence against the dark arts skills.
In a 13th century Icelandic text called the Poetic Edda, we find a long poem called Hávamál, and in that poem the god Odin recites a list of Rune-spells he has learned while hanging upon the World Tree (axis mundi). This part of the Hávamál has come to be called the Song of Spells. There are many translations of this verse; here are four of them.
For the tenth I know,
if I see troll-wives
sporting in air,
I can so operate
that they will forsake
their own forms,
and their own minds.
~ Benjamin Thorpe
A tenth I know: when at night the witches
ride and sport in the air,
such spells I weave that they wander home
out of skins and wits bewildered.
~ Olive Bray
If I see the hedge-riders magically flying high,
I can make it so they go astray
Of their own skins, and of their own souls.
~ Nigel Pennick
A tenth I know, what time I see
House-riders* flying on high;
So can I work, that wildly they go,
Showing… Continue reading
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