Autumn wind, a Beautiful daze and what price is Integrity.

Autumn's cold chill starts to bite, when solar rays deign to bless our skin with warmth we are quick to dismiss the coming of colder times, yet come they must. Even in the clearer Sky's of dawn, the ground wet with morning dew, the ones who would sleep under canvas covers find moisture rich and soaking through to the skin, sticking to the walls of their homes and bringing damp and discomfort to poorly prepared feet as the grass is trodden underfoot, hope springs eternal that the last vestiges of the summer sun will heat body and soul.
Soon the Geese will come and the swallows depart, wild hunts have made the first of their forays into the night sky, Thor's own hammer sounds the changing of the guard, bright flashes scar the sky as winter's grip makes its preparation to take back its own, dark days and chilly evenings around a blazing hearth, solice for the witch's soul as we too reclaim the night.

What is it that makes us who we are, what forms our earthly lives, brings shape to what we are to become, the lessons we learn, the influences we take, we are but clay figures to be shaped and formed by Fate and circumstance. From raw earth we become unique beings, reflections of the gods, we are products of our surroundings, sponges that soak up that which our own souls require, we seek out good company, hold friends as family and we are touched by thoughts and ideas that are already familiar to our inner selves.
We are the vessel, the journey and the destination, if we listen to our spirit then we will never fail, if we are to blindly follow we find our selves on the path to ruin and disappointment.

In all aspects of life there are those who fail to listen to the inner voices, those who would follow the crowd. To accept the world as it is with rose tinted glasses and blinkers, never to question the whys and wherefore's of this or any other existence, Ignorance is indeed bliss for the masses yet still they search, often unrealised, for some small part of the divine truth, to belong to that which the heart would yearn for if the ears could shut out the clamouring voices of a failing civilisation.
The Dream catcher, the rose quartz crystal and the lucky charm, all devices the ignorant may seek out in an attempt to grab something of the spiritual, this is not anger at these affairs, only sadness at the way so many wont let themselves become whole, to be satisfied with small trinkets in an illconcieved nod to the heavens, an insurance against the fact that True Faith has become something that mocked and derided within an increasingly secular land, they know there is truth beyond the walls but would not really want to find or declare a belief.

I have been reminded of this fact, (which is not exclusive to those who would walk an esoteric path) by a pleasant visit to a festival in the heart of Devon. Four glorious days among my own tribe, music and merriment shared with family and like minded people. The Festival originally set up by the Punk/Folk Anarchists- The Levellers, the spirit of the nineties, born out of Thatchers Britain. In those days we were shaped and formed by the things around us, we became as stone, immovable objects that would not be swayed by the establishment and the promise of wealth if we were to behave, always to wave two fingers at the man and not afraid to take direct action against those who threaten our freedoms, or the boys in blue that would beat down the doors of our homes to silence that voice, and there we were, twenty years later, as solid as we were then and stronger in numbers as our own offspring bought into the world now stand beside us.
Yet among the shaved heads, the Mohican haircuts and a sea of tattooed bodies, there are those who did tow the line, those who became as slaves to society, desperate to touch what they know in their hearts is something pure and incorruptible, to stand along side the true defenders of freedom and liberty, to believe in an integrity that they once sold to the Man, they did not listen to their souls and now they pay the price, it has been said that"it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the gates of heaven", and now the penny drops as the masses once more grab and grasp at that which is lost to them, Monday will be back to the mill and social ideology can go back into the cupboard for another year.
Sad statements to be sure, but this poor man refuses to give up that one thing that they cannot take, cunning man or deluded fool, you decide but my integrity stands tall, can you all say the same.

So as in the mundane world we see the way in which those who have sold integrity try to lay claim to that which is lost to them, sadly the same is true in the occult world, the work should stand for itself and clearly within some circles it does not, the answer would be to try and detract from the truths in favour of the mans own lies, power corrupts, it is time that certain people should take off the blinkers and glasses and try to find some thing that works, although it is commonly believed that certain activities of which certain groups enjoy, will indeed necessitate the use of spectacles due to poor sight, an unfortunate side effect.

We are old, we are young, we are in this together
Vagabonds and children, prisoners forever
With pulses a-raging and eyes full of wonder
Kicking out behind us again
(Justin Sullivan, NMA)

Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.

An Owl's Cry, A Dancing Serpent and the Arcane Veil.

An Owl's warning cry breaks the silence, cutting through the ether, echoing the metallic ring of the scythe as it fells the tall golden stalks of the harvest, toward the east a single Buzzard answers this call, as it too rises from it's slumber to face the dawn and all that it has to offer.
Along the dark forest track I make my way to the appointed place, tall trees stare down as this lone traveller goes about his own business, shadows against the night sky, companions who have stood where they are since before I was even a thought and will be standing still in that time where upon my earthly body is consumed and turned to dust, the fate that awaits every creature of flesh and bone who would dare to walk upon this glorious Eden.

The Air is still, perfect silence as my words and gestures soar upwards through the woodland canopy, accompanied by the gentle coils of smoke and sweet air that also rise to greet the dawn. Calls spoken aloud to those who I would beg to hear, to her a devotion and continuation of the week's observance, my pining stomach a reminder that I am closer now, and it is now that I offer my self to her, absolutely and in all lives to come.

A gentle acknowledgement as the sentiment is duly returned, softly in it's nature, that of which I seek creeps slowly into my being, the knowledge and guidance we all require to continue upon the path of gnosis soaking into my soul, within that time that appears to be between times, away from the mundane in a world that is ruled by both Moon and Sun, or perhaps neither, it is hers at this moment and graciously she allows be to share it.

That which has been denied, in times that now seem like distant echoes within the past, is now my own to behold, that which once hid within the dark shadow of the spirit now plays a merry tune for me to dance to, embraced at last by the serpent who would recoil at my touch, we can journey together, the snake who would help this one to ascend the ladder and not send him spinning down to the mud and grime that lies at the bottom, I have given all, I have taken only what has been necessary and I have not acted upon desire, all is found and I am prepared, the reward has been of such high value that to place a price upon it would be an heresy.
On this day I have ascended, further into the tree I have climbed and far from the noise and petty imaginings of those deluded minds, devious ones, who would claim thrones for themselves built on crumbling dust and imagined, as none would offer them a throne built upon good solid stone this option becomes all that is left.
So to fly, high above mortal men, is this not what we dream of, to obey the law and listen to the winds, only then will we be able to soar high upon the currents we so desire.

This world and its every day trappings, can become a place of great pleasure, as long as the likes of Shani Oates continue to write of the wisdom they have gathered and such an event can be seen upon the horizon.
The Arcane Veil: Past and Present.
I have been privileged indeed to be able to read this book prior to publication, it is set to become an occult classic, and should grace the bookshelves of any occultist regardless of tradition or background. Tackling meaty subjects and grasping at serpents that others would be afraid to hold.
Among the collected essays we find one upon the history of magic, within this the influence of Christianity upon it and how through it's adaptability it has survived, in fact it would have been consumed entirely if those who practiced it refused to evolve with the times. Shani wonderfully reclaims Lucifer in another chapter from the vile clutches of the likes of Lavey and places him firmly within the reach of any serious Crafter, not without its controversial topics "Witch Blood" (there will be heads turning and a small degree of spitting from some quarters) a classic and must read for any seeker of truth.
Available soon with any luck.

Bright blessings all, as we head toward the darker months.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

And check out this young pretender, my own dear brother has placed digit to keyboard at long last. The Cunning apostle

Flames of anger, sparks of hope, love light and the mistress of the dark

Warm rain and sleepless nights, golden wheat sways in the warm summer winds as those who would feed the people of this land take to their steel reapers to cut John off at the knee, the sky fills with hungry birds, laying on fuel for the coming journey, a feast upon the flying Ants as they themselves attempt to form new societies away from the bustle of the overflowing hills, all at this turbulent time when our own society seems to fall apart.

Far from the green and gold, the cities of England burn with fire, anger and theft, a misplaced youth in a world that has little to offer them, even time, the distance between the have and have nots now so great, that jealousy engenders greed, the lack of faith and hope creates a kind of hopeless fury, there is no consequence in a land that has no future to be seen.
The tip of the iceberg, a festering sore, that is but a symptom of the beginning of the end, yet it is not too late.
For every unthinking moron with brick in hand, dazzled by the plasma screen or pretty trinket in the shop window, prepared to be the reason and the means that our own civil liberties will be taken away, there are hundreds of valuable members of society, children of talent and imagination, vision and love, not to be tarred with the same brush, the future of our Island, the future of the world.
Staring into the flames of despair, the shattered lives of those who would choose to make an honest living, there is still great hope and we must not lose sight of that, for to do so would be a betrayal of our own dreams, and those children of hope.

Far from those fires of hate and vitriol, my dear brother and his beautiful family join with my own beloved around a gentler fire, in our peaceful garden, John Barleycorn felled here too, yet much enjoyed and in the form of a fermented grain, welcome talk and a heavy head the next morning, a feast before the fast that precedes the rite of the harvest moon, shared with one who accompanies me upon the same journey, together with those who would share his hopes and concerns, a happy gathering with love, light and futures bright.

My Sibling's departure was sadly marked with warnings and sadness, aside from our own separation there was news of another who has departed this earthly realm, a cousin of mine, found cold within the walls of his own dwelling, his own passion lay with the golden brown mistress, she who would turn a good soul into an hedonistic creature, one who would live for her company and no other, deceiver she is, an honest man turns liar and thief when within her grasp. A sad end to a sorry tale of not yet thirty summers long, a trail of destruction lies in the wake of his life, a grieving mother and a fatherless child, a lone brother and a wife without an husband, where to he departs I do not know, I hear "I am sorry" upon the wind that blows from his direction, to late a dire warning of what comes from a life of hedonism and excess, though my own relatives thought that at one time they would find me in such a manner, my life and indulgence are well tempered, need and not desire is my own mistress.

The harvest moon grows fat within the sky, bright blessed Luna reflects a great virtue upon the land, I meet her at the crossroads every night this week, as lover, as warrior, as wise man and fool, each dusk we greet and her bright torches do become as guides upon my return, hopes and dreams are granted, through love and devotion. My body craves that which I would deny it yet my soul begins to soar skyward as those connections, those earthly bonds which are unneeded are severed in favour of those which bring me closer to her.

Blessed Hekate, Enodia of the three ways.
Torch bearer, mother and guide.
How this one has come to love,
how this one has come to live.
Covered within the cloak of night,
There holds no fear, beneath your light.
Show unto me the path,
guide me well through the thorn covered land.
Sweet protector and cunning council,
teach me the ways of the wise.
Underworld Queen and mistress of fate,
pray, bring me strength in difficult times,
Show unto me the jewel that lies within the shadow,
Bestow unto me the key that will open the door.
I who would demand nothing,
I who would ask in hope and love,
I who would give all unto you.
Blessed Hekate, Enodia of the crossroads.
I am yours.


Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.

A green loaf and a thorn among the roses.

By the dictates of the modern calendar the rites of the Loaf mass are now upon us, if we were to consider this a truth then we would be saddened and starving, as Old Puss still has haven within the ripening grain, for a week or two to come as well, coal black the watchers anticipate the coming feast, as do those of us who patiently await the true time of plenty dictated not by time, but by She alone.
Still the cloak and dagger are bought out to play, firelight and celebrations across the land, the cutting of the corn, the baking of the bread, in ritual if not in life, this mirror that allows us to gaze at the coming bounty, to once more take joy, not in the timing, but in the fact that they celebrate at all. Acknowledgement of the gods and the ancestors, wild voices that cry with great intent toward waiting skies, the multitude of skin clad drums that announce to the world " we are here, hear our devotion, reckon with us".
The serpent stirs at this cacophony of sound and soon will once more waken with quiet intent and great wisdom, out into the light where we shall stand with her in awe and inspiration and feed from the harvest he will grant to us. a feast fit for the Queen of hell herself.

This Cunning man and his dear beloved, met with good souls on clifftop hill not far from our own simple home, a festival of Lammas celebration, and the joining of two of good spirits who would be betrothed to one and other within the company of like mind and Divine presence.
This loving couple, let down in a small way by the weather and those who failed to make good on promise, almost to feel that the fates were conspiring against them, still the oath to be taken needs no human witness, wet or dry the bond will be made, love will always win through and the rite of hand fasting took place as it should.
A ceremony beautiful in its simplicity, few words yet those that were spoken were uttered with true meaning and fine intent, the love of friends, family and fiends to bring virtue to the rite and a hearty welcome of the late arrivals as shadows distant within the mist become solid and familiar to the entwined couple.
A pleasure it was for this one and his better half to be witness to this joining, to allow ones own barriers to burn to the ground brings great reward, there are good folk out there among the morons and to hide behind a self imposed wall is no way to find them, I no longer need to hide and will face the world head on in the future, I am protected and at long last capable of rising above the detritus, to soar upon the thermal currents gazing with unconcern at that of which I would wish not to be offended by.

So, much gratitude goes to Dave and Karen for asking us to be a part of your celebration, and to Mike for facilitating a ritual executed with great feeling and consummate ability. although many people failed to show, all organisers put in so much effort that disappointment should be as dust on the breeze, as human nature is at fault here and not any ability to host an event, so well done Ben, Mel and team.

So to close with thoughts of good company, as my dear brother and his family join us here in the days to come, and plans for our own travel are underway once again as there is another place that calls to this one, what glorious family I have found or perhaps have found me and what company I keep, blessed beyond my wildest expectation.

No longer the lonely fool, just one thorn of many among the roses.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

The Crossroads, the cave and Elder wisdom.

There comes a time in everyone's journey when choices have to be made, along the crooked path of life we are often faced with decisions and dilemmas, forks within the road and crossroads after crossroads.
A time such as this is approaching within the threads and weave of this ones own life, I have climbed the tree and now to ponder which of the branches will ultimately serve my own purposes, which ones will take the strain, give me a foothold that is both steady and secure, which branches are strong enough to enable this seeker of the truth to ascend yet further into the mists of wisdom. The way forward is clearer now than ever before, a bright star illuminates the way, yet within its blinding light there are deeper shadows that in many ways are harder now to see.
All is well for the time being, change lurks below the horizon and I have the wit to see it coming. The path of this soul is solid and tangible, yet that which facilitates the voyage is uncertain, to live as a priest of the Arte would of course be the Ideal, but that time is not yet upon me, the concerns of the mundane world, of Flags, Flax and Fodder themselves are what would vex this one in times to come, Irons lie in fires and coin is quick to disappear, a difficult time fraught with uncertainty, in truth though, tis but a small cloud in what is turning out to be a most beautiful sky, Faith will secure the future and she will provide. She always does in the end, despite any concerns bought about by time relaxing and a corrupted view of the lives of others.

A few days away from the mill, among the blessed company of dearest family and the dark Serpentine of our most southerly reach, The swiftest of birds did accompany us all with whistle and grace on our exploration of this rugged coastal land, to secluded cove and rich heather moor, from high wind (not to mention rain) to magical caverns that stand with Majesty upon the grey shore, Green black rock veined as if it were the very flesh of the land on which we walk, these caves beckon to the traveller to enter and take joy in the mysteries within, to sing the song of the land, to join in tone and verse as we all become that which is the same through resonance, "you made the rock sing to you dad" were the words that sprung from the mouth of my youngest, as other visitors along the way smiled at this strange and unlikely occurance, need overtakes modesty at such times and that gift is gladly recieved.

The Rain did pour for a day, drumming its rhythm upon the tin shell that was our home for this time, yet from fair to foul and back to fair is the nature of this windswept land, so off across the fields I go, to encounter the Elder tree (pictured above) with arms outstretched to welcome me home, a specimen that bought sheer delight, old and wise was she that has stood for an age, far longer that the broken chapel that cast its shadow among her radiant leaves and growing fruit, although that too was a vision to behold.
Biting insects from flower to flesh, a grave yard long forgotten, reclaimed by nature yet standing as a monument to a simple faith that now lies forgotten, peace among the ivy clad stones that once held the celebrant's passion, those people from the past, those who once held this place sacred, now covered by thorn and grass, the words In loving memory" emblazoned on slate and stone, still none remember.

I am counseled in this place by one stone, the sound of my mentors voice echos with the engraved name, one forgotten lady who whispers advise into the Cunning man's ears,"Prudence", and there is the guiding light in an uncertain time.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Sweet blooms, clashing steel and knowing oneself.

The delicate aroma of the Meadowsweet flower brings pleasure to the mind as it passes through the senses, plentiful along the abundant hedgerows of my home, this gentle bloom a gem among the effulgent green and scarlet, an awakening amongst the sleepy Valerian herb and the tall fairy glove that mark this sleepy county in shades of red.
Black rock and golden gorse, perhaps the colours of this once Celtic land, overlooked the broom that glows within the partial shadow of the majestic oak, ingredients for love of a very different nature, at least to the magicians that walked the land in a time that lies forgotten to most.

It comes to pass that this would be wise man realises the importance of that well known council that once stood above the Oracle of Delphi, always acknowledged, yet perhaps not fully understood.
In truth aspects of the self, of who we truly are may still be discovered, perceptions and ideas brought about by social pressure may not be truths, growth can only take place at those times when we are prepared to open our hearts and minds, take a leap and to trust in fate once more and see what she throws at us.
What we think we are will often prove to be a misconception if we actually stop and pay attention to what we actually are, those subtleties in our own character's that we shy away from or bury beneath whatever mask may serve the purpose, if we allow them to surface there may be a pleasant surprise that awakens.
For this one there was a fear, a fight or flight reflex which has always become apparent at those testing times, a fear of failure, to be at that point when great change is afoot but to turn and run, to not even try, deluded by the fact that "I would have achieved but it wasn't really what I wanted", failure in itself but not one that is seen by the mundane world, as I would only allow success to be viewed.
In no small way, this very act is to cheat fate, to ignore the gifts or trials she has given, to remove or try to remove yourself from her influence is a witches heresy, yet it is only in Knowing oneself that we come to realise our worst traits, likewise, strengths we might never of known we had might blossom and bloom alike to the flowers that bring delight to our summer days, it takes another view to spot these, more often than not.

Friends and family met amongst the clashing of steel upon steel at Teweksbury medieval festival this past weekend, an absolute pleasure to catch up with so many that we rarely see, together with those who we see more often, fortunate indeed to be blessed with such company, not to mention a certain corvid who was unable to come yet sent a precious gem by way of a wren which was most welcome to boot, many thanks Bran if you should happen upon this witter.

This Cunning man makes preparation for what is possibly one of the greatest steps and commitment he has ever taken, the fight and flight instinct has well and truly been blown away by the wind of change, as doors open and gnosis lies like a veritable banquet before my eyes. When the call went out many moons ago, my own green fire sent skyward to the heavens, I would have known no Idea that my own path would end up at the place it has, not to mention the pleasure at meeting the souls who's company I have enjoyed along the way, my own among them and one I am just beginning to enjoy.

Flags,Flax and Fodder... Tony

A candle For Roy.

Thoughts both fair and foul dance among the shadows of my mind, a reflection upon the soul of the candle's flickering light and to the purpose of that for which it was set to flight. From within hollow eyes I see fire and flame, radiant wisdom that more than forty years ago departed for another land.
Yet, to walk within his shadow, to glimpse the beauty he has seen, one man with such perfect vision, is privilege beyond recognition, to know and to love a soul that I am knowingly yet to encounter within this life, brings strength, family and knowledge far greater than I could have dreamed possible.
The hand that stretched forth to draw this lost soul from those dark places, realms that once walked no spirit would ever wish to return to, the words upon the page that say little save to those who can hear the whisper "you know me, we are blood you and I, patterns cut from the same cloth, her cloth, woven upon the loom by the three", to those who would hear those precious words he is everything, those simple works contain far more to one who would have the sight to see and the ear to listen, there are no secrets to such as these.

In the bright light of day, the candle's light appears far more subdued, yet it's purpose is still far brighter, mixed emotions, joy and sadness are played with brush and colour upon canvas white, a meditation that manifests itself seemingly in but two dimensions, the others hidden from plain sight, yet perfectly visible to another of the blood, this merry dance, this funeral march, the silent echo of one mans mark that paints the soul all shades of light, bringing illumination within chthonic thoughts, gnosis from chaos and wisdom out of confusion.

The table is set for honoured guest, although four places within the square, one can only hear the beat of three hearts, a toast to our absent friend, a meal is shared with beloved kin and absent heart. The silent supper of the witches, far more than the petty stories of lust and betrothal that persist within the realm of folklore, a perfect way to reach beyond the veil and honour those that have passed through the same.

I stare intently at the scene, over the shoulder of one who would acquire knowledge by the light of a candle, black hoods obscure the congregation and the pace of the mill is slow, resplendent he enters, white bone gleaming from within this darkness a hand of fealty and friendship is offered to all, united in purpose beneath horns of wood and horns born of bone, joined in blood and vision, the family is together again, past, present and future, this world I see does not obey the petty restrictions of time as we see it, it stretches far beyond that which we can perceive within the here and now, there is pain and joy, heart and thorn, all is as it was meant to be.

The sky is clear, I stand beneath the ploughman and his plough, words as yet unknown to many I read to the sky, upon the wind they shall travel far, reaching the minds of others who would perform this vigil upon this night, as time within our own world would sound twelve bells, the candle is extinguished, its light to forever burn within the green fire of my own soul.
To know and remember, all blessings to you Roy, and to all those who carry your flame that we may all bath within its light, and thank you.
Dedicated to Roy Bowers 1931-1966

Flags ,Flax and Fodder. Tony Macleod.

Thoughts from Roy's own hearth as it has grown and blossomed- Clan of Tubal Cain blog