I find, living the way I do and especially if I have to leave my space, I crave the no-nonsense simplicity reflected in Nature. Subtle shifts of color in fading or growing light and the rudimentary beauty of swaying branches, tall grasses, bright mornings or days of persistent mist… in all of this lies a secret…
Nothing fussy, just nature getting things done. No different to the moon rising without instruction, the sun setting on a sultry eve or the joy of finding little gifts; a feather or leaf, on my doorstep.
Magick is that way for me… and can be for you, if you know how to perceive it. It’s nothing about tools and regimented rites, other than the knowledge of how to keep oneself safe and how to build energy through intention, and repetition to create layers that recognise, where we’re going as much as, we recognise its subtleties of inflection and change. We are changed each time we perform our rites and so therefore, no two rites are the same.
A different pair of hands, a different mind-set and the rite is altered, but what is stored in the layers of intent that create something new with each change?
No matter how microscopic that change, the physical conduit is different each time, even the language in which the words are spoken will alter the layer of the original rite. Add to that, where do the words of a ritual come from and, if quoted by rote without fully understanding the consequences, they may be more or less redundant, unless quoted with authority and knowledge.
Layers, pyramids, circles may be built, adding memory and new data via the experiences of the individual or group memory, but authenticity can only be that of the participant, and every participant in a group rite brings something new and different to it, and each time… layer upon layer.
We can perform a rite over and over, but it will never be identical just because the words, tools, ingredients are the same. Mood, intent, moment in life, age, day, month, year, hour, season… all play their part in the alteration, to craft change.
There are no places on earth holier than another… perhaps more memories are stored in certain places through and within the history of events, that rebuild or rework those energies anew, when an ancient memory wakes from sleep or a rite, re-woven. Nothing is exactly replicated because no two moments, even by intention, are ever the same.
With authenticity and courage… scribe your own words… craft your own rite. Bring to it all your own knowledge and power… don’t be dictated to, as long as you know yourself to be protected and safe and then the secrets may be revealed to you.
Forget your fussy tools… point a finger, pick up a stick, find the herbs in your garden, kitchen cupboard or a hedgerow, a stone, a feather… a tiny something that can be utilised, to express your connection to the nature of your rite and to your Magicks.
Let loose, with harm to none… for you are the secret…
You are this
Your blood the hiss
Of molten lava over rock
Like a kiss
You are water dripping from ancient trees
You are the overwhelming prayer
That brings you to your knees
You are the bliss you seek
The knowledge you keep
The earth’s loamy soil
Even the molds that spoil
You are the storms that brood
You are the secrets held in the ancient stones
Ancestral riddles in a cairn of bones
Soil reveals the DNA
Naked bones are on display
Secrets hidden for millennia past
Slow to decay… bones will outlast
All but the rocks
the bones of earth
and one day perhaps
…from a wild spirit who lives beyond the gate…
All content copyright Penny Reilly