From May 2018
One black candle lit, one white candle lit. Palo Santo, sage, and lavender smolder, sandalwood incense smokes. Taking a moment to speak directly to the ones who listen and the ones who mutter and whisper at my ear.
"Yes, Papa, I know. Things to do. Decisions to make. Yes, things to make for others for you, you greedy bastard. Always looking for another and another, you are."
"S, if you can hear me, I still miss you so deeply. You are welcome here. I promise I will add a photo of you soon. Come anyway."
Hecate asks for more too, in her way. "Yes queens of fate, I hear you. I will do it."
And always buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, my muse, that faceless bitch, "Yes, yes, yes. Let me serve you by serving them. If I do, can I paint again? I miss it. It's been over a year. You send the images and refuse to guide my hands and it hurts. I will follow your call, I always do, what more CAN I do?"
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The way of the witch is not always fluffy, painless, trendy or cute. it's pain and work and and allowing deity to come in to your life in a very personal way. Sure my altar may be pretty and smell nice, and it's filled with objects of beauty, but I promise it will never always be sunshine and roses. Or moonlight and jimsonweed.
Listen, children, listen keenly. If you do not they will shout until you hear them, and sometimes that shout is more than just sound. Sometimes it is filled with consequence.
They will strip you of everything and make you beg. This path, this craft, will carve you up, leave you raw, and come back with lemon and salt and ashes to rub in the wounds. But man...the resulting scars? Beautiful.
Aesthetics are nice but this is real WORK. Patience and perseverance will get us everywhere in this.
Note: Papa referenced above is Papa Legba, a voodoo deity, an orisha/iwa/loa. S is my older brother, Simon, who died in March of 2017.
One black candle lit, one white candle lit. Palo Santo, sage, and lavender smolder, sandalwood incense smokes. Taking a moment to speak directly to the ones who listen and the ones who mutter and whisper at my ear.
"Yes, Papa, I know. Things to do. Decisions to make. Yes, things to make for others for you, you greedy bastard. Always looking for another and another, you are."
"S, if you can hear me, I still miss you so deeply. You are welcome here. I promise I will add a photo of you soon. Come anyway."
Hecate asks for more too, in her way. "Yes queens of fate, I hear you. I will do it."
And always buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, my muse, that faceless bitch, "Yes, yes, yes. Let me serve you by serving them. If I do, can I paint again? I miss it. It's been over a year. You send the images and refuse to guide my hands and it hurts. I will follow your call, I always do, what more CAN I do?"
------------------
The way of the witch is not always fluffy, painless, trendy or cute. it's pain and work and and allowing deity to come in to your life in a very personal way. Sure my altar may be pretty and smell nice, and it's filled with objects of beauty, but I promise it will never always be sunshine and roses. Or moonlight and jimsonweed.
Listen, children, listen keenly. If you do not they will shout until you hear them, and sometimes that shout is more than just sound. Sometimes it is filled with consequence.
They will strip you of everything and make you beg. This path, this craft, will carve you up, leave you raw, and come back with lemon and salt and ashes to rub in the wounds. But man...the resulting scars? Beautiful.
Aesthetics are nice but this is real WORK. Patience and perseverance will get us everywhere in this.
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| my altar in May 2018 |
















