#death work

Welcome! It's good to see you!

I do have some book recommendations.

For people who are new and just getting into necromancy, I highly encourage "Do I Have To Wear Black?" And "The Bones Fall In A Spiral" in particular. I would say that they are rather decent and rounded in ways that help open to other traditions within necromancy.

Different cultures will have different death traditions. So it's important to bear that in mind. These books would be excellent starter books.

Previously: Blood Marmalade.

To summon shadows, one must become a shadow. That is to say, one must be embraced by a shadow and veiled in its garments unto the loss of self. The “garments” of the shadow are the sensory, emotional, and mental textures of that dissolution: the feeling of weighty silence, the visual tapestry of velvety darkness, the kinesthetic sensation of sinking, merging, and becoming indistinct from the environment. One does not put on the shadow like a cloak, one is woven into its fabric. The ultimate shadow, the final veil that falls upon the eyes, is Death. Death is a sentient and responsive shadow. Therefore, to attempt to summon Him, one must be a willing empath and call to Him by opening oneself to be totally immersed in His essence. This is not a summoning of command, coercion, or belligerent evocation within a protective circle. It is a summoning of invitation, seduction, and loving surrender. The protective circle is a tool of fear and separation, this rite is an act of fearless union. It is performed solely on the subtle level.

It is preferable to perform this in a place where the Death current is strong, preferably in a cemetery overnight. Graveyards are unique liminal zones, physical territories consecrated to death, memory, and transition. It is a garden of stones where the veil between worlds is, by collective human intention and centuries of grief, worn thin. The Death current here is not a single, monolithic force, but a psychic braid of energies: the cold decay of organic matter, the granite-quiet stillness of time stopped, the ghostly residue of mourners’ passions, and the watchful consciousness of the interred dead themselves. This rite is simple and obvious enough: sleep in a graveyard/cemetery overnight in order to lose your fear of death and familiarize yourself with death energy. Most cemeteries and graveyards close during the night in order to prevent graverobbing and vandalism. You'd have to get permission from the cemetery caretakers to be able to sleep there overnight. Otherwise, this could potentially be illegal.

This ritual is also open to all, regardless of their starting point. While I have mentioned that it can be helpful for necrophobes and thanatophobes, people with no obvious fear may still seek deeper gnosis. Their motivation is love and wonder. For them, the rite is a meeting with the beloved dead. Those who feel dead and decomposing from the inside out but still lack peace and the kingdom of the dead to house it, cemeteries are the most logical, comfortable places in the world. For them, this is a therapeutic act of re-contextualization. By placing the body in the literal ground of the dead, they are validated, given a home, and thus can find peace in its liminal state. But remember: cemeteries at night attract a variety of the living. Some, like yourself, are spiritual seekers, and a respectful, quiet co-existence or mutual avoidance may be possible. Others may be youths seeking a thrill for vandalism, individuals using the space for criminal transactions, or those with more predatory intentions. The danger here is physical assault, robbery, or simply the disruption of the trance. Tread carefully.

Participants:

Any. The rite is solitary by design but there can be witnesses.

Materials:

Sleeping Bag. This is not just for warmth, it is a synthetic chrysalis and a mobile sarcophagus, a cocoon of insulation that mimics the first embrace of the soil, sealing in the body’s fading warmth and creating a microclimate of solitude. It replaces the coffin.

Incense. Incense that has been made specifically for necromantic purposes works best. Certain resins (myrrh, copal, wormwood, cypress, dried yew berry, etc.) are a delicacy to chthonic spirits. The smoke is an offering of sweetness that placates the bitter dead and draws the attention of the deeper shadows.

Sunken Grave. The selection of the specific sleeping spot is an act of dowsing. Often a yew, cypress, or weeping willow — ancient death-trees whose roots drink from the caskets below and whose branches sweep the sky — is the conductor of the current. It would act as an overarching veil and be the first shadow to embrace you under which you will await the deeper garment of Death.

Weapon. Whether a fixed-blade knife, a sturdy walking staff, or another legal means of self-defense, its function is psychological as much as physical. By placing it next to your sleeping bag, you acknowledge the reality of the living world’s threat and then consciously choose to place it outside the circle of your trance. It allows the surrender to be total by providing a de facto, subconscious safety net just in case you need to fight off people (which seems highly unlikely, but still).

Lantern. Preferably the type of lantern that Ecco and Jeremiah used in Pena Dura.

Drinks and Food. I have a lot of recipes on here, I would also recommend eating pomegranates or apples. Pomegranates are the fruit of Persephone whose consumption bound her to Hades. Each jewel-like aril is an oath of belonging to the underworld. To eat a pomegranate in the cemetery is to recapitulate the myth, you are binding yourself to this realm and making its substance part of your body. Meanwhile, apples are the forbidden fruit and also the fruit of the Celtic Otherworld. A dark bread of rye and molasses or water drawn from a deep well also works.

Lighter.

Directions:

Set Up Camp. Make doubly sure that you’re sleeping there on a dry clear night. This is a non-negotiable command. Rain is a hostile intrusion. It extinguishes the incense and lantern, turns the hollowed grave into a cold bath of mud, and forces the mind to focus on physical misery rather than subtle immersion. It should be a clear night with the potential for starlight. When it is dark, and when you feel that it is the perfect time, take the lantern with you and go to the cemetery. Let its small, bobbing sphere of light be your guide. The walk from your entry point to your chosen grave is a funeral procession for your fear. Walk with deliberate, measured steps. Feel the shift in atmosphere as you leave the road and enter the territory of the dead. Let your eyes adjust. See the silhouettes of angels and obelisks, the slumped shoulders of older stones. Place everything on the ground.

Perforn Aerial Purification. Once there, place four incenses around the spot, and purify the air of any negativity and fear by lighting them. Place them at the cardinal points — North, East, South, West — or, more effectively, at the cross-quarters of your own body’s position, framing the space of your imminent dissolution. As you light each one, see its smoke not as a physical emission but as a pillar of cleansing vibration. Intone internally or in a whisper, an intention for each: “I cleanse this air of the fear of dying.” “I cleanse this ground of the fear of the dead.” “I cleanse my mind of the terror of Hell.” “I cleanse my heart of the grief of loss.” Breathe in the first plumes of the smoke and let it sting your nostrils slightly, an astringent baptism. The rhythmic act of lighting the four points physically establishes the circle not as a barrier but as a beacon.

Go Skyclad. The removal of clothing is a powerful and ancient magical act, to go skyclad in a cemetery at night is a supreme act of vulnerability that broadcasts your sincerity to the spirit world. “I come before you with no mask, no armor, no symbol of the living world that shuns you. I am just a creature, a mammal, a breathing piece of meat upon the earth, just as you were, just as you are now.” Stand upright in the hollow. Let the night wind, no matter how cold, be an uninvited lover. Feel it caress, prickle, and awaken every follicle of hair. Stretch your arms out and death rattle deeply, exhaling slowly. Inhale the night, the dark air purified by incense, deep into your belly. Imagine that you are rattling in the subtle essence of the cemetery, the molecules of shadow. Hold it. Exhale, slowly, audibly. Expel the bright, buzzing anxiety of your daylight self, the social chatter, the to-do lists, etc. Repeat this until a subtle shift occurs — a feeling of being hollow, calm, and slightly dizzy.

Lie Down. This is the moment of ultimate trust. Lower your naked body into the hollow. Feel the cool, uneven ground mold itself against your back, buttocks, and thighs. The earth is no longer a concept, it is a physical pressure. Your eyes, adjusted to the lantern, will now see the immense, textured darkness of the tree canopy above, and beyond it, the fainter darkness of the sky. See it not as empty space but as a sentient substance gently lowering itself onto you. Stretch your arms and legs out in a pentacle fashion and let the breeze touch every part of your body. Close your eyes and pay careful attention to what you feel. Let your spirit call out to the shadow that you seek to summon and allow every part of your body to express this in its own way. Have no inhibitions, no fears, and have your mind as receptive as an empty canvas. Listen to the voice of the wind and feel the shadows envelope you until you are nothing more than the darkness within them.

Feel the Death Current. The earth, which your mind knows is still, will feel as if it is rocking or slowly sinking. This is the motion of the Death current, the slow tectonic pulse of the underworld. Do not resist it. Sink into it. Let your own subtle body rock in unison. The call is now a mutual oscillation. The feeling of being embraced may manifest physically — a distinct sensation of pressure, like a heavy, cool blanket settling over you, or a ghostly touch on your forehead or heart. An overwhelming feeling of being watched, not with hostility, but with infinite, ancient tenderness, may fill your being. Return the embrace. Send back a wave of the pure love that you are feeling. This is the sacred marriage. You and the Death force are intertwined. At this point, you may feel the urge to do many things. You may fall asleep in ecstasy, or you may get the urge to get up and dance or sing. Follow all urges. For now you are at one with the shadow that you have summoned. Just remember to blow out the lantern so it doesn't cause a hazard.

Additional Notes:

The effects of success are transformative, often manifesting as a cascade of psychic and perceptual openings. The primal terror of annihilation, which quietly fuels most human neuroses, is simply no longer there. It has been replaced by the memory of the embrace, a certainty that what awaits is not a cold nothingness but a sentient and loving return. This infinite love pervades the practitioner’s existence with a deep, unshakeable peace and a heightened capacity for compassion, for they have seen the gentle, loving face of that which takes all things. Not only the mind but also the ears have been calibrated to the dead frequency. This can manifest as subtle sounds (phantom footsteps, a gentle rapping, etc.), voices (an internal voice of guidance, a clear whisper of a name, or the sound of someone speaking just as you fall asleep), and static (a background hum of white noise, which is the sound of the veil itself, the carrier wave of Hell, the “voice of the wind” the dead listened to in the grave).

You'll also develop a “dark-sight” or a “second-sight” as your visual cortex has been unshackled from the tyranny of bright light. Yes, this means that you'll be able to see shadow people, the classic sighting of dark and humanoid forms in peripheral vision which vanish when looked at directly. These are not threats but denizens of the shadow realm that you have now been attuned to, often simple observers or passers-by. And the sleep that follows the rite (and often continuing long afterward) will be filled with vivid, detailed, and archetypally rich dreams. They are not nightmares because the emotional fuel of nightmares — terror, helplessness, etc. — has been alchemically resolved. The dead, known and unknown, may appear in dreams, not to frighten, but to offer teaching, comfort, or simply to share space in a new form of community.

TW: Death

Things are still really, really difficult right now. They say there's no "right way" to grieve, but I still feel like I'm doing it very wrong. My Mother and Brother are both absolute messes, barely functional. And here I am, being the deep connection to the Earth. I've been watering the garden, planting basil seeds, and trying desperately to keep my life on track. I'm eating fresh, nourishing food even when the last thing that I want to do is plan what to eat. I'm taking myself for stupid walks for my stupid mental health.

I'm focusing on living because I'm not the one who's dead.

I'm very deeply not okay, but I've also lived most of my life in a state of not-okayness. Living while sad (heartbroken even) was my default for a very long time.

I'm slowly trying to put the broken pieces of my world back together (...again). We finally moved the Fabrikor cabinet into what I think will be its final position - it sat in my living room for nearly three weeks because we brought it home the night before my dad died. Now that I've acquired a key to open it, I need to take the time to do a good cleaning (and cleansing). I bought grow lights (1-ft Barrina T5s) and am researching the best fans and other accessories for a plant cabinet.

My goal is to have it done by January, which is generally when our humidity levels really start to tank.

My gardens (cottage and container) are looking quite good. I'm going to get a first tomato harvest soon, with another couple later in the Summer (probably August). The first flush of spring flowers has faded, but my summer perennials are quickly working to take their place. We're forcast to have a "wet" summer, which we desperately need after two years of drought.

I still need to switch over my seasonal altar. It's going to do double duty - represent the summer season and hold the memory of my Dad until the hollows. His favorite place was the beach, so it feels appropriate.

I need to be where I am right now; I can't rush this.

This is my first time grieving in opposition to the Earth; every other time I've lost someone, it's been in the Fall, where I've cried in time with the trees.

The suddenness of this is really hard on my family right now, and I empathize with them, but feel completely differently. I am so grateful that he didn't suffer for months, wasting away in illness.

And he died doing his favorite thing in the world. We should all be so lucky.

It's hard to know how to be with people who only see loss where I see transcendence.

The next time I set foot in a cemetery (that's not my cemetery, which doesn't count), it will be to lay him to rest. And it's a forest; his plot is a tree.

Where did June go? It went down the river.

And as I learned half a lifetime ago: when you step into the river of life, you have three choices: you can sink, you can swim, or you can float along.

It's always been this river running through my veins. He gave me that.

There's a lot I have been thinking about and want to write about. But I am raw, bare to the bone. As fragile as I can ever remember being.

I used stores that I didn't know I had.

To me, being a death witch is working through my grief.

It is mourning loss, both tangible and intangible.

It is learning to approach change with grace instead of irrational fear.

It is slowing down and appreciating the small things.

It is accepting the beauty of imperfection.

It is noting life's transitions and cyclical nature.

It is a way to come to terms with my own immortality.

It is living, even if tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

Uncovered these dog food cans in my trunk that were part of the emergency go bag I made in California when I lived there with Laddie. They were, in fact, the only things still in the bag, whereas everything else had spilled out and was rolling around the trunk for months, because it was important for me to put his food in first before mine.

A few pages from another commonplace book I started a couple of years ago, this one focused on death practices and beliefs across cultures