Allowing Magik

My wife and I live in a tiny cabin in the mountains of Tennessee. Most days I am up well before dawn to heat up water for showers, make coffee and say a few prayers before waking Susan up. Last week (just around Mabon 2022 when this was written) I stepped out into a clear dark morning. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a bright twinkle of light through the thinning tree line. This was my first sighting of Sirius since it disappeared into the sunset last spring.

Sirius is a binary star just over 8 and a half light years from earth. It is the brightest star in the sky and is visible almost everywhere on the planet. When I started trying to learn the names of the stars about 10 years ago, serious was the first one I could reliably identify. After a while I came to understand its movement, appearance and disappearance. Because of the topography where I live, I usually see it low in the South-East by mid September. By the Winter solstice it is overhead around midnight. By late April or early May it is low in the West at Sunset and eventually disappears for the summer. I’m always a little startled when I first spot it in the Autumn. Then I am filled with joy – for that sure sign of cool autumn weather and the witchy seasons to come, for clear winters skies with SO many stars and, finally, because this twinkling point of light so far away has become something like a friend.

Being the brightest star in the sky, Sirius has played a prominent role in the lore and mythology of many cultures from Ancient Egypt to pre-Columbian North America. A lot of this lore has to do with dogs. Sirius is in the constellation Canis Major (the Big dog). A lot with the hunt (the Greeks held that the Big Dog belonged to Orion the Hunter). Here in North America, the Cherokee had the that Sirius was one of two dogs who guarded the “Path of Souls” (The Milky Way).

As I mentioned, part of my early morning routine is to say prayers. One of the recipients of these prayers is the Goddess Hekate. After offering this prayer I usually spend some time casually conversing with her about my practice and the things that weigh on my heart and mind. On the day I first sighted Sirius I was celebrating the return of the Big Dog with her and thinking about some of the lore associated with him. Now in the mountains, hearing the barking of dogs in the early morning is nothing unusual. None the less, per tradition, if I am conversing with Hekate and happen to hear a dog barking, I take it as a sign that she is near. With my head full of stars and stories and the presence of my beloved “Auntie Kate” (as I affectionately address Hekate when she feels especially close) it occurred to me that the Great Dog might just as well be hers. Like Orion, Hekate is associated with the hunt. She is sometimes known as Hekate Astrodia (Star Walker or Star Courser). That Starry Road of the Milky Way Became Her “Path of Souls”. In this way, the seeds of a new story took root in my mind from the blended pollens of many peoples, many times.

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The resemblance between the symbolism and stories from widely disparate spiritual traditions is known as syncretism. Syncretic approaches to understanding what different cultures hold in common has become somewhat controversial. Many feel that emphasis on common values and spiritual insights across different cultures devalues the distinct historical character of each. Such criticisms have a lot of value as we begin to recognize the corrosive effect of colonialism, extractive capitalism and cultural appropriation. Still, why should we be surprised to see a strong family resemblance between so many of the stories told by different people around the world and across the span of time. We all see the waxing and waning of the moon and the seasons, we all know birth, growth and death, should we wonder at the analogy between waxing and waning with growth and decline is found in many different cultures? Why else would so many cultures celebrate the dead along with the harvest. Why does the Reaper carry a scythe. We all know know about the spark of life the waits within the seed. It sleeps beneath the winter cold earth returning again with the Spring. Persephone and Hades are here as well as the death and ressurection of Christ.

Here is where we come to the crux of what I want to talk about this week; how can our spiritual paths, what ever we call them, go from being a life style to a way of life? For as long as I can remember I have been drawn to the wyrd. I spell wyrd with the “y” because of the “blank rune” which bares its’ name. This rune indicates something like chaos, or, yet to be determined. I have followed many threads through this territory. Learned about divination and Esoteric Christianity, the Tibetan Book of the Dead and psychoanalytic theory, psychedelics and meditation, mythology and chaos magik. All of these threads weave a veil around the dancing nothing of chaos. They make it visible while also providing a path back to shore/sure (well mostly, most of the time). But its isn’t merely the cloth we weave, the colors and textures we choose to reveal the shape of the unnameable to our senses and intellect. Perhaps the biggest difference between magik and art is that magik doesn’t simply suggest the existence of what lies just beyond our awareness, it counts on it. This is the reason that magik always requires an offering or sacrifice. We have to put something valuable on the line to prove ourselves worthy to have our petitions granted. Ultimately it is a someone to whom our offerings are made and from whom we ask assistance with our workings

But is is difficult to experience the visceral presence of the spirit world by simply collecting and comparing stories. You have to allow yourself to be open to the influence of the spirit world. Developing a relationship with your ancestors, experimenting with divination or carrying stones or other talismatic objects creates an opening through which the light and breath of the spirit world can enter your life. Joseph Campbell once said that “A myth is something that never happened but is always happening”. By allowing yourself to inhabit the stories that touch you, a myth is something that can happen to you. It may sound like something you have already heard, but it will feel like something just for you. The Gods, the Ancestors, the spirits of place become real when they become real to you.

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I have been writing about Sirius and how, over many years, I have made friends with the Big Dog. I could just as easily have written about the trees with whom Susan and I have formed a friendship. There is the tall elm we call the “Blessing Tree” because it shaded our tent when we first arrived on this piece of land. We place a new ornament upon this tree each sabot to thank and honor it for the shelter it gave to us. It also bares an African mask given to me 40 years ago which gives the tree a face to whom I can speak, a face that knows me from hanging in every place I have lived for nearly four decades. Susan and I hope to have our ashes spread beneath this tree when we one day leave this blessed place. I could talk about the twin tulip poplars we found growing our of an old burn pile that was never burned. We didn’t want to kill these trees so instead, I disassembled the tangle of old plywood and lumber (some of which forms the shelves in my house). We raked the ground these skinny little trees clean and spread a layer of compost. Now they are probably 30 feet tall and contribute more much needed shade to the yard. They shade our alter with their big leaves which remind me of the hamsa hand that wards off the evil eye. I learned later that poplar trees are associated with exorcism. We “rescued” these trees and now they protect us. The enormous oak we call Grandfather Tree which provided my with bark and wood for charms and incense. There are black locusts and wild black berries that provide not only fruit but thorny wood and leaves for protection spells. The apple, pear and fig trees, the berries we have planted and hope will provide fruit and pleasure to our descendants when we are gone.

Then there is the gate that leads to our neighbors beautifully managed cattle pasture. I greet the sunrise here nearly every day and greet the new year each Winter Solstice. The field stone hearth on which the fire has kept us through the Winter Solstice night. There is the little grove of pine trees where we told the kids that the hedge witch dwells. We call this grove grandma’s place and its one of the kids favorite places to hang out. I found the remains of a turtle that had been mangled by a bush hog and burred it beneath one of those pines, Samhain two years back.

All these living things, these places made sacred by the regard we grant them, become presences in our lives, real in the way that things like this are real, in the way that our ancestors are real when we serve them their Samhain feast. To call this awareness animist is true but misses the point. When we see our lives unfold within these places, a stage on which is played the mythic themes of love and work, trial and rebirth, the stories of the ancients become the stories of our lives. When we love these places and the gifts they bestow upon us, we can call upon them for inspiration, strength and guidance. Then we can do real magic.