Beware of the worlds behind you

In late January of 2025, I joined a group of witches online to conduct a ritual for the protection and healing of our communities and for hope to sustain us though the weeks and months to come. Many wonderfully talented people contributed to this working, and I was honored to present an invocation of Brighid and to lead the portion of the ritual where we created the Web of Light.

With the permission of the rest of the circle from that evening, I want to share my portion of the ritual with all of you. (I'm not looking for notes or feedback - this was purpose-built and it exists as it was written.) The more strands in the web, the more lights in the dark, the more love and energy we can give this spell and others like it, the better.

If you feel comfortable doing so, I'd like to invite anyone who is willing to help to join in this working, either by yourself or with your circle. You can do the full blessing, invocation, and casting if you feel comfortable doing so, or just the casting alone. Feel free to invite any helpful spirits, ancestors, deities (especially fire-related), and so forth that you work with to lend their aid.

All you need for this spell is a quiet place to sit and a candle. (Live flame or LED, either is fine, and if you can't find either one, a flashlight will do.)

Perform whatever opening steps you usually do to begin a ritual (preparing the space, casting a circle, grounding and centering, etc) and when you're ready, begin.

Chelseanacht 2024.

Six chaotes camping in a jungle on the threshold to the darkside. Venturing. Getting our shit together.

If I were young as once I was,          and dreams and death more distant then, I wouldn’t split my soul in two,          and keep half in the world of men, So half of me would stay at home,          and strive for Faërie in vain, While all the while my soul would stroll          up narrow path, down crooked lane, And there would meet a fairy lass          and smile and bow with kisses three, She’d pluck wild eagles from the air          and nail me to a lightning tree And if my heart would run from her          or flee from her, be gone from her, She’d wrap it in a nest of stars          and then she’d take it on with her Until one day she’d tire of it,          all bored with it and done with it. She’d leave it by a burning brook,          and off brown boys would run with it. They’d take it and have fun with it          and stretch it long and cruel and thin, They’d slice it into four and then          they’d string with it a violin. And every day and every night          they’d play upon my heart a song So plaintive and so wild and strange          that all who heard it danced along And sang and whirled and sank and trod          and skipped and slipped and reeled and rolled Until, with eyes as bright as coals,          they’d crumble into wheels of gold.

But I am young no longer now,          for sixty years my heart’s been gone To play its dreadful music there,          beyond the valley of the sun. I watch with envious eyes and mind,          the single–souled, who dare not feel The wind that blows beyond the moon,          who do not hear the Fairy Reel. If you don’t hear the Fairy Reel,          they will not pause to steal your breath. When I was young I was a fool. So wrap me          up in dreams and death.

It was none o'clock in the morning When the dreaming’s bright and gold And the world of flesh was calling But the air outside was cold.

So I wandered the rooms that are neither there nor here That’s where I saw them dance I was young and wild and I’d never had to fear Those who hide in the hidden lands.

And the stories said, Don’t follow where they lead But the music was so good And the stories said, if they offer, don’t you eat Though they hadn’t brought no food.

And the flowery frocks they wore (for the dance) Were so pretty as they swirled around There were three or two or four (of them) And I felt like I’d been found.

So I rushed on dreaming feet back my room As the dream began to tire And I found my own pretty flowery gown Tangled in a belt of iron wire.

This video has triggered a sequence of events.

A musician+chaos mage friend saw it, decided i shouldn’t be left there singing unaccompained like an old-timey laundess, and instigated the acquisition of a guitar (a HUGE acoustic thing - when i saw it in the store i didn’t know the term “Dreadnought” - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dreadnought_(guitar_type) ). My birthday was three days away, so my family all chipped in.

After a few week of timid attempts at figuring out how the thing worked - the day after @theprismaticdreamer ‘s ritual - i got my first lesson.

To my own surprise, i found out i’m the kind of beginner that won’t postpone the first attempts at songwriting after the “too bad to make a dime on the sub” phase. Like, at all. Performance anxiety and perfectionism induced procrastination don’t seem to affect this area, so far. Feels like i’m too busy climbing Mount Stupid atm.

I dunno if this thing will survive the “valley of despair”, and if i’ll look back at those first steps with endearment or embarassment, but here’s what’s going on so far.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJgpdLDixeQ&feature=youtu.be

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80gQTBfEzaU&feature=youtu.be

This is one last info-dump for everyone participating on the May 15th mass spell which will utilize the astrological events:

The new moon in Taurus.

The planet Uranus (the revolutionary lightning bolt of change) enters the sign of Taurus (material reality, resources, and wealth) for the next seven years.

To plant the seeds of a new, more sustainable, and tangibly magical world.

For those of you out there who are still confused as to why May 15th is so important, I’m going to explain it to you via my perspective. I’m no master of astrology but I believe that on May 15th, during the new moon/Uranus enters Taurus event, we all have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to plant the seeds of a new world into the heart of the Earth and the mind of Source/The Universe. While Uranus moves into a new sign every seven years, I believe this particular movement is CRUCIAL to saving the planet/all life because this revolutionary planet is entering the sign of material reality. What does that mean? It means that we all have a chance, on May 15th, to completely restructure and change physical reality. We have a chance on May 15th to change the rules of our planet Earth simulation and give birth to a new kind of world.

Now I’m not going to tell you what kind of world to dream of. I’m not even going to say that you need to do my suggested ritual. That’s not my place in your journey nor is it my place pretty much at all. That’s for Source and that which is truly mysterious to decide the endgame. But what I am going to say is that on May 15th, we should put our energetic ballots in however we’re gonna do it, and plant the seeds of a new future for this world. Dream a new world up for Earth to be…because any physical structure built on this world was once a dream in the mind of a person/people.

But if you’d like to hear my suggestion for May 15th, I propose we all remember we are a part of Source, and dream a new dream for this world.

Take five minutes even out of your schedule to sit down in a comfortable position, proclaim/remember that YOU ARE SOURCE/an expression of Source (which is called God or is many deities by many names), and that by virtue of this you have the power to change the entire world by simply envisioning it inside your mind or believing in the possibility of it on May 15th. There’s no tools needed. No items. No regalia. Just you and your power to create reality with your imagination, your belief, and your magic.

Those who are driving this world to ruin are certainly doing the same every moment that we breathe!

Here are the times for the new moon. Keep in mind that Uranus enters Taurus a couple of hours after the new moon.

Los Angeles, May 15 at 4:47 am

New York, May 15 at 7:47 am

London, May 15 at 12:47 pm

Delhi, May 15 at 5:17 pm

Sydney, May 15 at  9:47 pm

Some of you might have noticed that I did not suggest an exact time. This is because I want as many people to participate as possible. I believe that keeping the time semi-loose (within a 24 hour period of the event either the night before on the 14th through the evening of the 15th) will be more beneficial to this cause than having only a small band of people willing to do it because their mundane schedules allowed them. Some people have work. Some people have class. Some people are sick. Some people have obligations that I can not anticipate but I think everyone can take five minutes out of their day on the 15th to do one small meditation to themselves and with their own ideas of Source of magic.

Another observation about May 15th that seems relevant is that Uranus enters Taurus quickly after a new moon in Taurus. So in my mind, we will be planting seeds (our dreams for the future) in fertile soil and then harnessing/directing/utilizing that Uranian lightning to strike that fertile soil so our seeds can grow. The implication here is that once the lightning has struck the ground, we can’t wait around for the seeds to sprout. You can expect seeds to instantly yield fruit. These seeds we’ve planted must be tended to. So tend to your energetic seeds in this metaphorical garden scenario after May 15th. Dare to live your seed dreams.

You wanna start a business? Do it.

You keep wanting to leave a relationship that makes you cry? Do it.

You want to explore who you really are and what you identify as without anyone else trying to control that? DO IT.

You believe in sustainable farming? Be the sustainable farming you want to see in the world and make it happen.

You have an invention you’ve been putting off? Don’t put it off anymore.

You have a dream your parents don’t believe in? As long as it doesn’t hurt yourself or others, fuck them-just do it.

You want to just be able to smile or get out of bed? Please, just give one more day or week a chance after May 15th.

Because this May 15th stuff is only setting us up for Nov 7th, when Uranus will retrograde back into the sign it is presently: Aries. During that time, we will have to tend to our seeds again, and I will be doing another thing much like this one. And another one again once Uranus goes direct again in Taurus for the next seven years in 2019. You can imagine that all three rituals done during these Uranus movements are like notching the arrow of a bow, drawing it back, and firing it off. May 15th is special because we are manifesting the arrow, which in this example, is a metaphor for the new world we wanna manifest.

Some of you might be wondering how all of our wildly different visions for the world could all become true. I don’t think it matters much. I’d rather spin the wheel on any one of your dreams, Tumblr magicians and believers, than I would risk doing nothing at all. Or letting those fucking up this world decide. Besides, in my perception, all sorts of conflicting realities live right next to each other perfectly fine every day. However, and I may be naive in believing this, but…I think every dream for the future planted on that day fits into the grand design in ways that I cannot and will not claim to understand. And that all these wildly different visions are needed for the turbulence of what’s to come. Let the Universe decide the pattern of the weaving but let’s provide the Universe with our threads to weave with.

And finally:

For those of you who were particularly interested in the knife idea and connecting the world tangibly with the worlds of magic once more…May 15th is the perfect time to begin building a bridge. Please message me for more info about this if that’s your goal. Because ultimately, that’s my goal on May 15th.

In order to save Earth’s future, I believe we must reconnect it to the worlds of magic once again, and bring about a new age of understanding reality. A revelation, you could say. I am just one of many standing amongst the magic community who believe this. I know there are more people out there who believe this in their truest hearts and I’m calling out now-I’m calling out to everyone of you who believes in that-to do something on May 15th to call that reconnection back into being! I’m calling you to act now! Believe now! Do whatever you can to dream that bridge into being on May 15th!

Anyways, there you go. That’s my rant. Feel free to message me, pick my mind, fire off questions… Send them to my mailbox. Ask me on my blog. I will do my best to answer each one to the best of my abilities.

So before tonight ends and we all prepare to change the world, from one dreamer to another, let’s give May 15th our best shot. No matter what the Cosmos grand design makes of our individual shots. Together, let’s dare to believe, and dream in a new world.

The arrow I am manifesting is all forms of self love and value.

I’m taking my inspiration from Daenerys Targaryen- I am a Queen , I am important, and what I want is what I’ll get.

I have leadership qualities and I am worthy of respect.

I will not let anyone walk over me any further.

I am a Queen

It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.

It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.

As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.

Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.

“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”

She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.

The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.

That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.

“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.

It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.

Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.

The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.

“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”

The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.

“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”

When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.  

“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”

demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?

anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.

demon: then why?

anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.

demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.

anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!

Let me tell you what I know about this after living here for nearly thirty years.

This is a modern European country, the home of hot net startups, of Internet giants and (in some places, some very few places) the fastest broadband on Earth. People here live in this century, HARD.

Yet they get nervous about walking up that one hill close to their home after dark, because, you know… stuff happens there.

I know this because Peter and I live next to One Of Those Hills. There are people in our locality who wouldn’t go up our tiny country road on a dark night for love or money. What they make of us being so close to it for so long without harm coming to us, I have no idea. For all I know, it’s ascribed to us being writers (i.e. sort of bards) or mad folk (also in some kind of positive relationship with the Dangerous Side: don’t forget that the root word of “silly”, which used to be English for “crazy”, is the Old English _saelig_, “holy”…) or otherwise somehow weirdly exempt.

And you know what? I’m never going to ask. Because one does not discuss such things. Lest people from outside get the wrong idea about us, about normal modern Irish people living in normal modern Ireland.

You hear about this in whispers, though, in the pub, late at night, when all the tourists have gone to bed or gone away and no one but the locals are around. That hill. That curve in the road. That cold feeling you get in that one place. There is a deep understanding that there is something here older than us, that doesn’t care about us particularly, that (when we obtrude on it) is as willing to kick us in the slats as to let us pass by unmolested.

So you greet the magpies, singly or otherwise. You let stones in the middle of fields be. You apologize to the hawthorn bush when you’re pruning it. If you see something peculiar that cannot be otherwise explained, you are polite to it and pass onward about your business without further comment. And you don’t go on about it afterwards. Because it’s… unwise. Not that you personally know any examples of people who’ve screwed it up, of course. But you don’t meddle, and you learn when to look the other way, not to see, not to hear. Some things have just been here (for various values of “here” and various values of “been”) a lot longer than you have, and will be here still after you’re gone. That’s the way of it. When you hear the story about the idiots who for a prank chainsawed the centuries-old fairy tree a couple of counties over, you say – if asked by a neighbor – exactly what they’re probably thinking: “Poor fuckers. They’re doomed.” And if asked by anybody else you shake your head and say something anodyne about Kids These Days. (While thinking DOOMED all over again, because there are some particularly self-destructive ways to increase entropy.)

Meanwhile, in Iceland: the county council that carelessly knocked a known elf rock off a hillside when repairing a road has had to go dig the rock up from where it got buried during construction, because that road has had the most impossible damn stuff happen to it since that you ever heard of. Doubtless some nice person (maybe they’ll send out for the Priest of Thor or some such) will come along and do a little propitiatory sacrifice of some kind to the alfar, belatedly begging their pardon for the inconvenience.

They’re building the alfar a new temple, too.