Dark lunar blessings and the fox among the hounds.

Green turns to muted gold as the cycle of the year continues, Mr Barleycorn grows in strength awaiting his fate and there is a lethargy in the air that high summer only brings, bovine herds graze upon lush meadows blissfully unaware of the loss of the one who with love helped them into this world.
Life continues and I am reminded of the beauty and resilience of the human condition, the darkness that surrounds our home has lifted somewhat, the needs of the land once more take precedence over grief, life has to go on.
I feel that those who have that connection to the land, agriculture, farming in general and the craft, may find that by necessity the mourning process is shorter than for those without such blessings, an inbuilt understanding of the cyclical nature of this world, life and death may hold less of a mystery for those who choose to truly live with it day in and day out, for myself, linked through the craft and my working life this is true, often seemed to be callous by those who perhaps have not had the opportunities that I have had, my thoughts of those past are constantly there, acceptance of another's fate is not so cutting for me.

The loaf mass will most likely take part at the darkening of the moon, instinct and need will most appropriately be my guide, despite the above, my celebration will be coloured by the life and passing of another, maybe joined within ritual as can often be the case ,a celebration it will be none the less, the wheat that arrived in my garden as a blessing ( or perhaps as chicken food) has yet to become the alchemical wonder, and when he turns bright with his gold, ready with the knife I shall be to fell him.
There is work to be done, the witch bottle in my window has become black, perhaps an offence has been caused I know not as yet, there is another who by his actions and inactions encourages the Blackthorn to sing to me, on that issue I am still seeking guidance, ethics and the right to intercede on another's behalf without their knowledge, a tricky area and a highly complicated issue, abuse of an innocent cannot go unpunished, integrity and trust are the virtues of restraint thus far, I will also not be governed by anger or hatred and with all such matters endeavour not to do so.

On a lighter note The Cunning Man and his beloved are off to the big smoke for the launch of Where Witchcraft Lives in September, the accommodation booked so only travel to arrange, looking forward to the day with a certain degree of trepidation, as the launch takes place at A day for Gerald b Gardner and Wiccan I am not, there are many good ones out there , I readily admit and thank the man for his contributions, there are few even within traditional craft that have not been influenced by him in at least a small way, even embracing some ideas as evolution of the craft is important.
So hope to meet some nice people up there, if any who read my observations would like to say hello I would be happy to make your acquaintance, look for the man in black who looks like a fox who has just walked into the huntsman's kennels.

FFF

Cunning man's house of tolerance.

The oppressive heat of the burning sun, together with the emotional turmoil of recent times has given way to summer storms and welcome relief from some of this months tension, the land that was fastly turning a shade of brown is once more resplendent in its coat of emerald cloth, nature breaths a sigh as sustenance pours down apon her from the heavens and fruit is born to the jungle that dwells within the house of glass, as the Devil's Apples now also green begin to turn to their scarlet hues.

Soon the rites of Lammas shall once more be upon us, I for one require the need for ritual focus, the pressures of work and other social commitments have left me with a void in that department, communion has been little and I await the festival with the excitement of a child, Hecate's own son in the time of Mr. John Barleycorn shall fell and cry the neck.

The questions of faith yet continue to perplex and confuse this student of Cunning, If one has true faith and has required the necessary knowledge to make it work for them, then that individual will not be threatened by the faith or the uncertainties of others, regardless of the origins of that others belief, to state that your way is the only way shows a lack of personal belief, to refuse to except that what works for one may not work for another is a sign of complete ignorance.

Of course acceptance of other opinions by the Semitic or Abrahamic faiths is by their own rules not allowed, as these faiths are governed by scriptures and rules that must be followed (usually to suit themselves at their own convenience), this fact does not mean that we do not have the ability to accept the beliefs and opinions of them, indeed there are lessons to be learned from the scriptures and holy books of the new religions, as well as those produced by our own.

For many years I studied the nature of my native land, all aspects seen and unseen, trying to piece together bits of the old faith, alone pretty much, but with the aid of reconstructed “British” pagan rituals and Ideas, ignoring the Deities of other lands in order that I should connect better with those of my own soil, supposing this is how it might work, paying to much attention to the wrong people, attempting to bring order to that which demands chaos, looking at reconstructs and not trusting instinct.

This was the beginning of this fools journey, when you build a house you start with foundations, this is a truth, for without solid foundation the house may easily fall, A house of straw, a house of sticks and finally a house of bricks, still not all was right, it worked but there were leaking holes in the roof.

In order to find the holes and make my faith absolute I had to look else where, to other faiths and systems, to compare the truths found there with my own findings, the world over there are more similarities within spiritual beliefs than there are discrepancies, it is often only the methods that differ, in many ways it makes more sense to look to those in other places to piece together the current within our own land, India, America all have systems that are more relevant to the seeker of knowledge than pieced together parts and loose assumptions, Egypt and Mediterranean ancient history, the first writings of human kind hold as much knowledge as the stone circles of our own land, and they are so similar to our own as to be completely valid, the Celtic peoples of northern Europe embraced these ideas and so should we, it is not about adopting an alien way of working but adding richness and substance to our own, fixing up the house and making it stand strong.

Bickering among our selves, creating hatred for those religions that threatened our ancestors is not an answer, neither is trying to create a fictional past life in order to give ones self credence, If every neo pagan wiccan I have met in this life was burned in a previous life, then the souls of such must have split in to many pieces, so many tales of the like I have heard, all those claiming to be in Britain at the time, few were burned here, most were hung.

We should accept and receive knowledge from all people, we must stop trying to “reclaim” what is an untruth or is not ours to reclaim, and we must never stand up and declare that our way is the only way, ignorance is lying to oneself first and ignoring the knowledge of others second.

Look at the holy books for what they are, not as an attempt to mock those who choose to follow the rules therein, but as a way of understanding why they choose to do so, there is knowledge within as a bonus. Let our tolerance and faith evolve.

Ritual form within our own community is another mine field, again many stand atop the stone to declare that their way is correct and others are but falsehoods, many of which are only re writing what others have written before, changing few words and invocations here and there, bright domes of blue fire, a popular visualisation technique and one I have used many times over the years, having to cut a door with a blunt knife in order to collect the chalice that I left outside the circle.

The circle, a sacred space cut off from the outside influence of the world, a place between the worlds, trying to work naked in this country requires working indoors most of the year demanding the presence of spirits and gods, these things I have done and were true for me once, now however they are not, that does not mean that I would ever say that these things will not work, only that they do not work for me any longer.

The outside wildness of my land, away from the new gods of computers and television, that is my sacred space, my compass is but a marker, a gate way, it is an announcement to all, it connects me to the divine, I am not prisoner within its confines and I am free to pass through its edge whenever, clothes or robes allow me to work in all seasons (mist, fog and rain here usually), there is no commanding but an invitation to those who would join with me, seen and unseen, and aid me in what I do, I would not now seek to have domination over nature or to isolate myself from its very being, intuition is my path to knowledge and there are many others who walk that path also.

A driving thirst for knowledge is the forerunner of wisdom. Knowledge is a state that all organic life posesses, wisdom is the reward of the spirit, gained in the search for knowledge. Truth is variable – what is true now, will not be true tomorrow, since the temporal truths are dependent upon ethics and social mores – therefore wisdom is possibly eternal Truth, untouched by man’s condition. So we must come to the heart of the People, a belief that is based upon Eternity, and not upon social needs or pressures – the ‘witch’ belief then is concerned with wisdom, our true name, then is the wise people and wisdom is our aim.”

Robert Cochrane 1931-1966

Remember if a wall should collapse , you can rebuild, you do not require planning consent to build an extension either.

Tolerance over ignorance, love. over hate.

FFF

Medieval mayhem and the art of not haggleing

A weekend spent away from the covering storm, that is understandably set to continue here for some while into the future, the air is thick with the grief as those who mourn the departed struggle to deal with their loss and the loss to our community, time will undoubtedly heal but not within the foreseeable .

T, myself and the girls departed for the Tewkesbury Medieval festival, a welcome relief from all of last week's tragedy's, primarily we were there to trade (artwork, woodwork and Oli's smith craft), but the main reason for attending is really to party with friends who we only ever see at such events, some of who have become exceedingly dear to us.
The event is populated with the most eclectic bunch of people you would ever meet, every odd one out within normal parameters can find themselves amongst the same, the dispossessed and the rejected, those shunned and scorned from within our "normal" and overly judgemental everyday society have home and comfort among their like and kin, a chance for those with secret passions to indulge and yet not be judged, for within the legions of armoured reenactors at the evening muster can be seen those who's outfits are expressions of another side of their own nature, the hidden passions of the man who wear a ladies frock or the cloak and sabre of the Jedi order, free to parade in an environment where the participants will not persecute or judge them .
Belief and religions from every faith, both Abrahamic and the raggle taggle Pagans, stand side by side, similarities are discussed and yet the arrogant are few and far between, all the aggression of the modern towns seems to get placed in a box for the weekend, I once witnessed a drunken individual trying to start a fight at this festival a few years back, as he staggered aimlessly bumping into heavily armed and armoured people,spilling drinks, growling with alcohol fueled hatred and swearing and glowering at all in his path, not one would rise to his challenge, so thereby defeated he retired to sleep it off.
The groups that attend such events are often ridiculed by the members of the public when they are not entertaining them with reenacted battles, but we should never forget that these same are the people who keep history alive, some live as they would have in the time of the original battles, keeping the old skills of outdoor living alive and even contributing greatly to archeology by doing so, educating those who would perhaps laugh at other times, they are often intelligent well beyond normal consideration, and for many of them it creates a connection to the past and therefor an honouring of their own and all our ancestors.
This one however does not feel the need to cook myself in armour under the radiant heat of the midsummer sun while my friends hit me with swords, nor the need to wear a cocktail dress and high heels, but I am proud to be counted with those who do and all those who accept them as well, thank you all for another great weekend.

Another thing you will find at these events, is the artisan craftsmen and women who supply the weapons and costumes to the armies of medieval would haves, weavers, leather workers, blacksmiths and potters to name a few,so one is often able to pick up suitable bits of ritual kit when needed.
After last month's labouring in the hot weather I went to the festival with the hope of finding one such item, I have never owned a specific knife for ritual use, often grabbing the nearest thing from the kitchen (when needed) on my way out the door, I am enjoying the use of tools in my rituals and beginning to appreciate the idea of having such items set aside especially for that use, Ritual now has more meaning to me that when I first practised it many summers ago, so I thought I might treat myself.
Haggling over the price of such items is of course forbidden so with this in mind I set off upon my search accompanied by T, as she wanted me to make a purchase and was fully aware that if she didn't support me in my choice I would most likely return empty handed.
Up and down the rows we went, stopping often to admire some piece of art or item of worth until we came to the Smith, a coal black, knife making smith, and there it was, among the rack of grand designs, all functional and sharp, yet one stood out, bronze fittings and a handle made from bog oak, the blade itself a pattern welded or Damascus blade, beautifully shaped and definitely way out of my price range, not to mention the fact that any haggle would not be able to take place for this one.
On seeing me admiring his work, the smith removed the item from the board and placed it in my hand, he explained to me the origins of the component parts and informed me that if he was to tell the price I would most likely fall over, the temptation to make a bargain was there, time for some Cunning.
I asked how much the knife cost and nearly fell over when told, he straight away took twenty percent off the price, I then asked how best to look after such an item were I to purchase it, he told me and took off another ten percent of the cost, I thought deeply for a second then asked him how much the knife was? five more percent of the price put the blade among my ritual items.
I obeyed the law of bargaining and let fate and a little cunning lead the way, I am sure the man was happy as am I, after haggling with himself on my behalf, we both got a good deal, and played by the rules.

FFF

A dark cloud obscures a dark moon!

A black cloud has descended over the tranquility of the cunning man's abode, so a short piece by way of an elegy.
Things on a personal level are all going well, however we have learned that earlier today one of our friends was taken from this existence in an aeroplane crash, a young man in the prime of his life, leaves behind a loving family, and it is through their pain and not mine that I am writing this.
R leaves a large hole in our local community, a farmer with vision and passion for this land and the world as a whole, production on his farm paid careful attention to animal welfare, the well being of his staff and a dream to make the farm one with the earth, carbon neutrality was one of his goals, indeed it was while exploring the ideas of anaerobic digestion in Norway( in order to attain the above) that today he has met his end, these systems have been up and running in Scandinavia for a time now and that is where the accident appears to have taken place.
In this day and age when many landowners are only to happy to chase the youngsters from the countryside, R always encouraged children to do what children do, they are free to explore hedgerow , woodland and farmyard, always happy to oblige the young in last minute camping trips, giving our children the freedoms all children should be able to experience in order that they too become at one with our beautiful land, it is also he who has allowed me to be who I am, the woods and Fields are our larder, the fallen trees our heat, never one to bat an eyelid at this old witch's midnight fire.

You shall be missed by all in our household, and by others within the tribe that you have met at our annual gatherings, tonight I light my fire to you and a glass has been raised.

Travel well my friend.

The wild Rose blooms.Honouring the man in black and the Witch who was burned.

The wild Roses are reaching their peak in the Cunning man's tame and wild places, the timing of which is somewhat appropriate to the passing of Roy Bowers, to whom the fires were lit this week in honour of his passing many years ago.
Honouring those who have built the paths that we now travel is an important part of our Craft, those who still linger within living memory are equally as important to us as those whose shades have walked the circles edge for Milena, often they are one and the same, working alongside us all, unseen by all without the wit to look .

The blossom on Her tree has already started to turn brown and it seems it will not be long till the branches are heavy once more with the black fluid laden fruit, Bees are swarming and last night's full moon shone bright with orange hue, in reflection perhaps of her lover at his peak.
Restoration of the farmhouse has this week left this one burnt to a crisp, mixing Lime mortar in the full heat of the midsummer, building walls and removing the old materials, while my skin begins to turn to leather my mind is very much prone to wander.
Laborious tasks and Witchcraft are not great bedfellows, a tired body makes for a feeble mind, the craft demands more of creativity and thought than brawn, my working arrangements fit within my own structure and I soon will be able to blossom once more with my creative energy, comfortable with the fact that I have provided the proverbial flags, flax and fodder for me and mine, it is often plenty enough for me to return home covered in the dust and dirt of the building world to see the beauty in the creations of my beloved, who upon Fate has provided a fresh muse, one more week to go then some time to the self.

I met some good people today, perhaps the call has been answered, only time will tell, but I think Fate has thrown in her hand once more, she has guided me thus far and continues to do so, it is all about going with the flow, just occasionally having to swerve to avoid the eddies and pitfalls that happen along the way, a touch of twisting here and there and she takes good care of the rest, if it ever gets too much just step out of the flow and rejoin it elsewhere, ultimately she will always look after her own, as one of the above mentioned today.

The sky here is once more filled with Raven song, soaring high above the green yet slightly scorched fields, far above their dark brethren who flit between cultivation and pasture tutoring the fledged in the skills of avian survival, old Bran has been a large presence in our lives this year, when we came he was a rare sight, now he is ever present, even manifesting in T's artwork. As the messengers of Odin they bring wisdom and learning to my house, far from the portents of doom so often associated, one mans poison is indeed food for another.

Stonehenge, my initial joy at the smiling faces of the solstice celebration has turned to bitterness, due to those who decided to treat our sacred place as a makeshift landfill site, shame upon all those responsible, may they all be rendered infertile and unable to create any more over consuming filthy spawn, don't they realise that the local police and English heritage want one excuse to shut the whole thing down, graffiti started the whole thing(maybe deliberately by the above, we shall never know), stay at home next time, watch the sun rise over your local landfill instead, many of those are too young to remember those who fought for the right to be there, sometimes literally, show some respect to your ancestors living and passed or stay away.
So like wise, may all those who helped to clear up the detritus of these morons be blessed with love and happiness, as it is only through your actions that the party is able to continue, a big thank you all whoever you are from one who once but no longer walks the stones.

World cup fever grips the nation, our team, simpletons who are payed far to much money to kick an inflated pigs bladder around a grass field, Glastonbury festival, now not about the music as much as the being there and Wimbledon, Cliff , Champagne and Strawberries, not a Womble in sight.
Sorry about the rant everyone! as I said, tired body, feeble mind.
Time to throw the TV out of the window

FFF

Mad dogs and an Engish Witch go out in the midsummer sun.

Here we are, the Solar year has reached its peak.
This morning's news with pictures of all the people having made the pilgrimage to the henge fills my heart with joy, for what ever reason they go and weather or not I agree with that reason, it points to the absolute fact that we are still very much tied to this land, both physically and spiritually, long may it continue.

No such grand pilgrimage for this one however, a special time in a place that is of significance to me, high upon the Cornish hills a view that explodes with beauty in all directions, to the North the rolling splendor of Bodmin moor and to the South the sea, newly Shawn lambs bounce around this ancient hill fort, almost too large now to take the sustenance from their mothers, but persist they do, the hairy bees take to the wind between the Furze and the Fairy Glove, and all manner of tiny weavers bask in the radiant sun amongst the tufts of wool and drying grass.
A small amount of witchery and a longer meditation, soaking up the fire at the Zenith of the suns energy, I even lit my incense using an hand glass and letting Lucifer do the rest, a perfect day which began with me watching a Bumble Bee trace a perfect double spiral in the grass at home, pausing at each end before a return trip, I have never seen this kind of beehaviour before.
A truly remarkable day so far, one that beautifully reflects what has been a fantastic weekend.

The whole tribe gathered to celebrate my dear brother Andy's fortieth summer, together in an orchard in Worcestershire, new Friends and old, some who I haven't seen for many a year others more often, meeting with some of the newer editions, youngsters, the uncorrupted minds of the future that are as yet untouched by our often cynical world, proud to welcome all of you to our strange collective.
Much food and drink was consumed by all in an atmosphere of love and joy, to think there were those that at some point probably didn't think either Andy or indeed I would ever make it to this age, I often wonder how we managed it, the children who hedonisticly flowered as nettles and brambles to hinder what was then Thatchers Britain, yes it did feel good at the time, naughty boys we were indeed, too much substance abuse and not a care in the world, saved by my T and the craft itself to tell you the truth, I still like to think I can be the fly in the ointment of authority, but no longer in such a selfish fashion, there is still far to go and so much to see.
On the way home we popped in to see my friend the blacksmith, Oli has been at me for so long to visit his forge and what a pleasure it turned out to be, his work is a delight to see, as is his family, his daughter is truly the flower among the thorns of a deeply harrowing and turbulent relationship, circumstance beyond the control of her father, who has bounced back with the enthusiasm of the above mentioned Ovis aries. http://www.oliverdakersblacksmith.co.uk/

So this brings me to that point, news and thoughts of the ongoing season, for me the influences of others have been brought to the forefront, those people who have been there as we mature and ripen to a hopefully fruitful time, people who's work has been of significance, as writers mentors guides along whatever road we are on, many of my perusings have gone this way recently, as this year has been a one of new contacts, finding people within the craft whose authority I can actually respect, they are few and far between but they are there and they know who they are!

One such influence on my journey was and is the remarkable Doreen Valiente, I was a young petulant youth when I happened across a book called Natural Magic, the metaphorical metaphysical light went on as it were , it still shines brightly in the head of this petulant adult.
Because of this lady's work I went further,I kept looking much as she did in her own life, an exploration of the occult sciences and it varying methods of achieving the truths and wisdom, I kept reading, looking and asking questions, it was through her that I became aware of "the Man in Black" and a certain Mr E J Jones, those methods and his legacy, are ones that still fuel me on today.
this brings me neatly to my news.
The Centre for pagan studies and the Doreen Valiente trust held a competition to design a cover for the re issue of Doreens first book "Where Witchcraft lives", I submitted a painting of mine and I am overjoyed to tell all that my Artwork will grace the books jacket.
Many years ago, Doreen showed me that in order to find the wild natural magick, one was to look beyond and often into the wild places of nature, so I did, I found it and learned to work with it on many levels, both practically and esoterically, I still look, I still find and I am still learning to work with it today.
For my work and my name to appear on the same publication as Doreen Valiente is a complete pinnacle in my life and a true honour. This lady's work set me upon the path many years ago, Thank you Doreen, and may you continue to watch over this wayward child.

Flags, Flax and Fodder.

Midsummer,Tubelo's green fire and Storm

A new moon and a glide into the heady warmth toward the peak of our solar year.
The May trees that seemed only yesterday to be heavy with the bounty of white blossom, have turned red to brown, our winged fellows roam the Skies above field and hedgerow in constant search of sustenance for their constantly hungry broods, meanwhile Reynard steals into our garden at the break of day in order that he may provide for his whelped, by helping himself to one our our chickens.
Needs must my red coated Friend, a lesson learned and I guess a willing sacrifice, we have hens a plenty and new chicks growing by the day, not to be unexpected when one dabbles in the arcane art of poultry keeping, the others are locked down a little more securely now, so dine well my foxy fellows, for next time your meal may not be so easy to catch.

Fate has once more stepped up to the mark to ensure we have some finances coming into our home, another months work renovating a beautiful old farmhouse, flexible days as well to allow for my own chthonic activities.
The world continues to turn as I ponder over the coming change of tide, I am comfortable and secure upon this solitary path for the moment, my ritual is lead by instinct still and until I truly find my place in the space of others this is the way it shall be, this fool will enjoy the company of the hidden and not have to suffer the company of other fools ( until I find the right fools of course).
My midsummer will be little more than a walk and a meditative time ( a picnic perhaps) within the wild places of my land, beneath ( with some luck) the rays of our sun at the zenith of its power. An Englishman among the mad dogs, my thoughts already reaching out to consider one mans decision to sacrifice himself upon this day, which in turn leads me back to a work of study that has consumed much of my time over this past month.

Tubelo's green fire, a collection of essays by Shani Oates, maid of the clan of Tubal Cain.
Well, what can I say, a book that has taken me and continues to take me on an intellectual an spiritual voyage, through the ideas and constructs of the clan itself. Never one to blindly except the writings and opinions of others, this book has guided me toward cultures and concepts which I have often considered to be out of my cultural sphere, therefore of little importance to me, each to be examined in greater detail, together with a re-examining of things I had already known, A collection of work that has forced me to address parts of my intellect that I have found were indeed lacking.
Not a Grimoire full of spells and invocations, but an aid for the study of the greater truths, for every door opens to reveal more doors, no answers only pointers to aid the seeker of knowledge.
I had always thought of myself as well informed, only now to realise the human capacity for ignorance, a refusal to step beyond the comfort zones of ones own ideas and my own ethnicity, the similarities between my own cultures and that the world over are astounding, origins, history and faith, love, beauty and understanding, my world is richer for having read this book, although I worry how much my Simeon brain is capable of holding. Thank you Shani, I think the above mentioned would be overjoyed at the evolution of his clan.

There was good news for the Cunning man this week, a connection to one of the great Women of the craft, a true honour for me personally, unfortunately I am not able to elaborate any further at this time, but I hope to at a later date, needless to say this one is in euphoric mood.

Finally, I would wish to confer the blessings of the solar year upon my youngest, it is her birthday on Thor's day this week, somewhat appropriate as she has always been known as Storm, a name conferred on her by her own fairy godmother as a baby, even then she would smoulder quietly for a while before unleashing an hurricane upon the household, she has become calmer over the years but is still prone to the occasional tempest, happy number twelve J my love, I am very proud to have shared my time with you,Through the ups and the downs you have enriched my life and often forced me to examine my own failings, I love you, and your sister very much indeed.

FFF