#witch flight

Dancing with the Old One is so important to me I wanted to make a devotional post about it. Here's beautiful artworks by many different artists found on Pinterest.

Each rather large segment of the massive forest holds some kind of purpose, altar, or function. I continue to seek new places to hike towards while I am there. I hope to discover a pattern or moment of clarity about them.

There's a birch (?) tree in the graveyard that pinged me when I tranced there a few days back. Seems like a good place to start. People talk about doors in trees, yes? Graveyards are thresholds and make any sort of crossing easier, yes?

The result:

There is not a door in the tree. I cannot pass through the tree. I cannot talk to the tree.

I can, however, flow into the tree.

I can entangle with the tree.

I can not disentangle from the tree.

When I try to (politely) pull away from the tree (not straight away, but after I decide I have maybe experienced tree entanglement enough for the day), I am no longer inside the tree, but the tree is still inside of me.

Somewhere deep inside of me is a sense of fear, of violation; equally strong, or maybe stronger, is a sense of obligation/reciprocity. What right have I to deny the tree my (body), after I was in its? This is a fair and equal arrangement. I experience the tree, and the tree experiences me.

The small, scared, violated part of me wants to remove the tree and be myself again. To defend a boundary I hadn't thought to establish. But that would be incredibly rude.

It takes me a full half hour to come out of trance, to be able to move my body again. Even if I am happy to let the tree experience sight/movement with me, my muscles do not respond.

There isn't a clear break. Eventually, bit by bit, and with considerable effort, I can move again, and I feel less entangled, and I can thank the tree and move on and while I no longer feel entangled with it I have no idea if there's a root still in me.

There is not regret, but there is a greater appreciation for fucking around meaning finding out.

Lessons learned:

Maybe basic precautions are a good idea. Your basic ward, maybe. Boundaries should be established in advance.

A connection will almost certainly go both ways.

Night Ride bandana by Adrienne Rozzi // Poison Apple Printshop

Flying, hag riding or soul flight: the process of leaving one’s body and walking as a shadow, a whisp or ghost, climbing through keyholes and flying within all manners of beasts. In Polish and Slavic culture the Zmora and sometimes Kikimora were sometimes described as the soul of a living witch flying through the countryside as a piece of straw or strand of hair. How a witch goes about this is as personal as how they like their tea or ritual sacrifice. Flying ointments though are often mentioned in the same breath as witch flight, in the same paragraphs and sentences. 

These rich, herbed salves are applied to the insides of the wrists, the base of the throat and often the third eye to help the witch leave her physical or First Body behind. Sometimes they were spread of brooms, and other instruments of flight. While belladonna, henbane or mandrake are often used in British formulas, the herbs described in the Polish tradition were very different:

Rozchodnik/Stonecrops - Sedum

Boże Drzewko/Lad’s Love - Artemisia abrotanum

Piołun/Common wormwood - Artemisia absinthium

Bez Czarny/Elder - Sambucus nigra

These plants were cooked in lard and fats, patiently and reverently watched until ready for use. Careful measurements, careful storage and careful application were needed, respect and gravity always demanded.