The Alchemical Lion

Respect is a funny thing, especially in occult circles.  People crave it.  People demand it.  People give it way too freely when it isn’t owed nor deserved.

Too often people walk around feeling as if respect is something they are entitled to, that should be automatically given them.  Funny thing about that.  It takes more than titles, or pretty altars or flowery prayers written on Facebook, or who you know, or what you write.  It’s about what you do.  It’s about how you do it.  Whenever I hear someone cry about being offended, about not being granted respect, I wonder more about the person doing the bitching than who they are actually bitching at.  People who genuinely deserve respect don’t need to stomp their feet and squall like injured babies.  They work hard, for their spirits, for their magic, for their community. Work hard, and the respect comes.  Give respect (and give it the right way, to the right people), and respect will be given in return.

It’s all about the spiritual umwelt of the magus or spirit-worker.  I am not a product of my environment, the environment is a product of me.  Now granted, there are a great many things--and people--that one simply cannot control in one’s environment.  The trick here is this: how do you choose to act?  Or, how do you choose to REact?  Time is precious.  So is energy.  It’s also valuable.  The village dog will bark and lunge at the passing lion, and to his brethren he may seem absolutely fearless, and the lion cowardly for not engaging.  And in the tiny world of the village dog, the lion is a coward.  But in the world of the lion, the little dog is not worth even a passing thought.  He has cubs to protect, and hyenas to kill.  He will not waste his precious time on a skinny, flea-ridden village dog.  He is entirely above that petty nonsense.

Too many people spend so much energy worrying about respect, when they should be worrying about the spirits and the community of people they’re in service to.  They should be worrying about themselves.  Otherwise, it really makes me question what the hell their motives are in the first place.  Where do you choose to channel that energy?  Arguing over who’s wrong on social media?  Worrying over your public image and whether or not you’re being respected as the big, bad magus/shaman/spirit-worker/tata/yayi/whatever?  Then I begin to wonder when a fervent prayer on social media becomes just a string of hollow words, and a pretty altar just that--pretty, with no actual substance.

Then again, there’s always what my dad used to say: Don’t write checks with your mouth that your ass can’t cash.  Conduct yourself accordingly.  Don’t call yourself a priest if the only altar you worship at is the one you built for yourself, using whatever god or gods or spirits as props for your swollen ego.  As a Leo, I’ve always said that having an ego is a good thing, if you didn’t you’d might as well be a reptile.  However--having an ego is much like having a penis.  It’s fun to play with and stroke on occasion, but you shouldn’t force it on someone else, and there are certain times and places where you should not be taking it out and playing with it.

We are everywhere. We are in your homes, your workplaces, your churches, covens, iles and yes, your munansos. We have been beaten, robbed, stabbed, and shot. We have been snuffed, silenced and mocked. Our blood is on the walls and floors of the only safe spaces we have. We risk everything–literally everything–just to love our partners and live our truths, and we continue to do so despite the awful violence being visited upon us. Ask yourselves: is this not what warriors do?

I am a transgender queer man who is in a relationship with another man. And, I am a Palero. I am unashamed of who I am and what I am. I am strong in myself and in my ancestors. I (along with so many others like me) have fought and endured a lot to live and love my truth. Contrary to popular images of hexing, blood and violence, my elders taught me that to be a Palero is to be a healer; to minister to the living and to the dead. Now more than ever we as spirit-workers need to step up to the plate, light our fires and raise our voices. We need to be as lions roaring in the night, broadcasting our truths, amplifying the voices of the living and the dead who have been silenced by violence and prejudice, in whichever hideous form it takes (racism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, etc).

Part of what makes a warrior is one's ability to step outside of one's comfort zone. People all too often fear what they don't understand, and Yoda was very correct that this line of thinking only leads to violence and suffering. So much suffering could be avoided if we spent more time trying to understand one another. The tragedy in Orlando should not be further dividing us along lines of religion or gender or skin color, it should unite us. It's so much easier to harm than it is to heal. But this is the duty that has been left us. We cannot let fear, cowardice and the actions of the broken and corrupted control us.

So yes, light candles and say prayers, but go one step further.  Take to the streets, extend a hand, be there for someone.  To all of my queer sisters and brothers: You are not alone.  You matter.  Your life has meaning and value.  Stand strong in your ancestors and spirits, keep the faith, and reach out.  And know that you are not alone, because we are everywhere.

I rarely have anything serious to complain about in my life, but today was a rough day.  The hearing for my cousin’s murderer was today.  Long story short, he’ll essentially walk.  To add insult to injury, I’m sick with some sort of crud I likely picked up at work, so I’m off for a couple days (thankfully I have a massive amount of sick leave accrued).  On top of it all, my bank is late depositing my check in my account.  It’s one of ‘those’ days.  Times like this it’s easy to sit around and stew in impotent rage, mope, or feel sorry for yourself.  I think I transited all those phases today.  Then I turn on the news or look online, and it’s a long slew of political posts and bathroom bill rants and generally humans being awful to each other.  It’s hard to feel positive or upbeat.  I question my faith, and feel like the whole world has gone mad around me.  So I need to fix this somehow.  I’ve decided to tell a story.  It’s a true story, and I hope in the telling it may bring someone else who’s having a bad day a smile, or some sort of kernel of hope.  I summon up this memory when I’m feeling down, and it never ceases to bring me a smile.

First, a bit of background: I live on the east coast, just a little bit inland from the Chesapeake Bay.  The bay is like a second home to me.  I’ve been speaking to the bay since I was a small child, playing in her waters, eating her bounty.  I called her Mother, and thinking back on it, after initiating into Palo, how ironic that would all come be.  My family had a wooden boat, an Owens Cabin Cruiser, and I’d spend many weekends at the marina with my father working long hours on the boat, playing along the docks, or cruising the bay.  I’d sit at the bow of the boat with my feet dangling in the porthole, because there it felt like I was a shorebird, skimming the water.  I was both flying, and at the same time one with Her. 

One day while we were out cruising the bay, we encountered an enormous ship cruising into port.  It was a merchant freighter, one of the largest of its kind.  A floating city; each one of its propellers the size of our house (a 2-story).  To this day it was the largest machine I’d ever seen up close.  I was awestruck.  My father gradually guided our craft closer, but it was a dangerous gamble, as our little toy boat could get dragged by the wake of this great leviathan.  We drew up to the port side of the ship, and looking straight up, the hull looked like an enormous wall shooting straight up into the sky.  But at the very top of this wall I could perceive dark faces and people moving about.  This ship had come from the African continent, and who knows how long it had been since the crew had seen other human faces other than their own, after being out in the open sea for so long.  For my young self, it was like seeing people from another world.  But see....that was the magic of the Chesapeake.  That was our Mother.  She was a liminal space where people from all over the world could meet.  I remember standing up on the bow of the boat and waving and waving.  To my surprise and delight, the crew looking over the side broke into smiles and waved back. 

I wonder how I must have looked to them, perhaps like some tiny monkey clinging to the front of a little toy boat.  But I wanted more.  I thrust my tiny hand in the air, making a fist at them, then pulled it down, gesturing someone pulling on a lever.  I wanted them to blow their ship’s horn.  For awhile I gestured, until one by one they left the port side of the ship, disappearing into it’s fast depths, presumably to return to their duties.  Several minutes passed.  Alright, I recall my father saying.  Show’s over.  For a ship of that size, blowing the horn on a whim was something that wasn’t done.  My heart sank, but I understood.  My dad started the engine, and made to angle the boat back out and away from the ship.

Then it happened.

The sound slammed down on us like a hammer, vibrating throughout the bay and bellowing through the air, drowning out the sound of other boat engines, the calling of the birds, our own voices.  It made a long blast and several shorter ones.  What I recall is a feeling that I can only express as utter joy and ecstasy.  I was laughing and crying at the same time, I threw my arms wide, looking like the character Jack from that “I’m king of the world!” scene from the Titanic.  And then there they were--smiling faces, laughing, dancing and jumping up and down and waving.  I waved back.  I bounced, I cried, I shouted.  And it was there, that singular moment, where people from across the world connected.  For them to break protocol in order to bring joy to a strange kid on a boat whom they’d never met and would never see again, it was at once paradoxically such a small and yet such an immense gesture. 

To this day I’ve not forgotten their kindness or their smiling faces.  But now that I’m much older I think about this and compare it to a darker time hundreds of years ago, when Africans sailed into the Chesapeake Bay not as merchants, but as chattel.  I compare that time to what happened when I was a child, and what a strange dichotomy it is.  But it’s one that gives me hope.  I think about the magic that is the Chesapeake, and I think about how strangers from another part of the world performed an act of kindness for a kid they would only ever see in passing.  I think about it over twenty years later, and I still smile.  It’s a precious memory, one of many such gems I keep tucked away in my heart.  But it’s also a learning experience.  When I find myself becoming too bitter, I summon up that memory, and I smile.

I’m fortunate to know quite a few folk out there who have radio shows and so on.  Usually, due to my crazy work schedule and other rhythms of the day, I tend to miss these shows live.  I’m usually playing catch-up in the 1-2 hour daily commutes to and from work, in which I’m spending long periods of time behind the wheel.  One of the shows I frequently listen to is Candelo’s Corner.  Candelo has no problem bringing up controversial topics and cultivating much-needed discussion.  In his latest show, he invited the folks from Crescent City Conjure over to discuss a variety of important and interesting topics related to conjure and Palo.  One of these was homosexuality and the role of women in Palo.  This is a topic that’s been brought up more than once both on this blog as well as on Candelo’s show.  It’s an important topic.  Deeply important.  It needs to be talked about more.  It needs to be written about more.

As a transgender man I’ve faced the slings and barbs of both misogyny, homophobia and transphobia.  As the rights of same-sex couples come more into the spotlight, us transgender folk still have a long haul when it comes to acceptance in various places, as the latest ‘bathroom bills’ in various states have come to show.  Some people out there may denounce me, may call me invalid, or imply (or outwardly state) that I’m not a ‘real’ man and that nowhere else would I be taken seriously.  Their words mean nothing to me, and they won’t change who I am or how I view myself. I am strong in my ancestors, many of which were men and women who went to battle together for a common cause.  The true measure of a warrior is not what sits on their chest or between their legs, or who they love, but in the strength they possess and the skill with which they wield their weapon.  Ultimately, the ones that have the problem are the ones who point their fingers.  They have no effect on me, and it would be a waste of my time to address them.  I have places to go, and Work to do.

I’ve temporarily removed listings for bone reading sets while I replenish my stock.  This to ensure that those ordering sets aren’t waiting any longer than necessary--typical wait time for completed assembly of sets, depending on price and complexity, is 6-8 weeks.  Typically I’ve been able to stay well ahead of schedule, but I want to continue this trend, so temporarily I’ve removed the listings while I restock and get myself ready for the next batch.  All prior extant set orders have been shipped.

So I went to see ‘The Witch’ today. For those wondering, it was one of the best movies I'd ever seen.  I encourage everyone to go see it.  It was very well done and well executed.  The atmospherics and soundtrack alone were fantastic.  I hope to write more on this later when I’m less busy and distracted. But I will say this--I’m definitely voting for Black Phillip for president.

Speaking of witchcraft, a feather from the Sacred Ibis, the holy bird of Thoth/Djehuty and Hermes. Recently received a huge batch of these that I will be working with. Ironic, as right now I'm rocking House of Orpheus Thoth perfume--a scent I received quite a lot of compliments on. More than one person has said this perfume fits me perfectly. I can't help but fluff my own feathers at that.  This batch of feathers, although extremely rare, are 100% legal to own.  Unlike most bird feathers, the Sacred Ibis is NOT covered under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act (given it’s not a native bird).  I’m deeply moved to be able to have and work with them--I had goosebumps as I was running them through my hands.  The black on them actually isn’t completely black, but contains a beautiful, almost oily iridescence that flares up when light hits them in just the right way.  Beautiful.  And very Hermetic.

Pictured: A Eurasian Cave Lion (Panthera spelea) lower carnassial, and a bottle of Leo Oil from Midtown Mojo Manufacturers)

Some animal teeth can be a bit troublesome to keep and work with at times.  When a tooth lacks the natural lipids found in the mouth, they split, crack or break.  This is especially common with teeth that have come from juvenile or young adult animals, where the teeth may still have hollow areas or undeveloped dentin layers.  Even fossil teeth, depending on age, wear and degree of mineralization, have been known to crack and break.  Usually if I need to store teeth before use I’ll wrap them in paper towels soaked with baby oil.  I’ve even used Dentene mouthwash.  However, there is one method I use frequently that not only helps to preserve your animal teeth, but also can turn them into powerful amulets and talismans.  If you plan on incorporating a special animal tooth in your spiritual work, use a condition oil.  Hold the tooth in your hand while praying or focusing on your intent, and vigorously rub some of the oil into the tooth as you’re doing so.  The oil should absorb through the dentin layers, leaving the tooth with a nice glossy finish and, depending on the oil, a nice scent.  I will periodically reapply oil as needed; over time the tooth will develop a very handsome aged patina.  For extra “oomph”, leave the anointed tooth with a candle (specific, dressed or no depending on what you’re doing; YMMV) to incubate overnight, or time your anointing to fall on a specific day or hour.

I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions, but one of the things I told myself I’d be doing is writing a little more on what I do.  People have been on my case about that for quite awhile now.  I must admit I am at times shocked by people who come to me seeking advice about a certain animal or “totem”, or to obtain a certain relic for their own uses, but they couldn’t tell me one true fact about that animal that they didn’t learn in some New Age animal totem dictionary put out by Llewellyn.  But you know, pounding words out on a blog post, that’s not always easy for me--my spirituality isn’t up for public consumption.  There is Work I do for community and individuals outside of family (not counting the Work I do inside that circle), but that’s on a ‘need to know’ basis, and normally done offline.  I’ve always been an in-person (some would say in your face) kinda guy.  Some of the pacts I’ve made with the spirits I work with involve not doing things like taking photographs of workings, sacred vessels, and the like.  Not in every case.  But in most.  Enough that I don’t do it often.  But I’ll try to do what I can, when I can, and when I feel like it.  Or, put simply--when I’m able.

Point being, I’m not an Internet Mage.  Time spent blogging and talking about what I do is time spent away from WHAT I’m doing.  I see so many internet personalities online blogging about their workings, rituals, spells, hoodoo and so on, I begin to wonder when they find the time to do any actual Work.  Everyone seems so concerned about what other people are doing online that they’re not focusing on themselves and what they should be doing.  But then again--and I say this myself all the time--try not to judge people by a thing they post on Facebook, or something they make on a blog post.  Not always easy advice for me to follow, as I tend to be a rather judgmental person.  I’m far from perfect, I’m a work in progress like anyone else.  But I suppose this leads into another “resolution” that I have for the new year: Do the Work, worry about your own ass and the hell with others.  At least, the others that don’t matter.  I’m normally pretty consistent with that, but I do trip up every so often.  As one does.

Right now it’s morning, and I’m thinking about what I need to do for the day, so I suppose I should get on with it.  I’d like to wish everyone following this blog a very happy and prosperous New Year, and thanks for jumping aboard.  Us folk here at Bones to Pick have learned and grown a lot from our journey so far this year, and we look forward to more of it in 2016. 

As of today, I’ve performed my last post office run before the holidays.  Due to holiday family functions, unforseen work and holiday gift delivery times, plus numerous other factors up to and including sheer exhaustion, I will not be making any more post office runs until after the holidays (after New Year’s and such have passed).  Any orders from BtP or any trades that need going out will be done after that time.  Any orders made prior to today (Friday, December 18, 2015) have been processed and shipped.  Any orders made today and onwards will ship after 1/2/2016.

A few more of the lion claws from the batch have been posted.  These will likely be the only ones we’ll be posting for awhile, so get them while you can.  The others will be posted if and when they are ready.  Instead of testing the limits of my growing headache further by giving a detailed explanation as to why, I’m going to quote a friend and customer of BtP:

“To borrow from my Husband’s nomenclature for a moment, the “Average Cadaver” cannot understand that to some , not all items from our fellow creatures that walk among us are easily acquired. They must be cared for, Honored, prayed over and given much love prior to parting with them in any way.”

This rather explains the primary drive behind our philosophies here at Bones to Pick.