The Magical Hazel Tree

Followers of my blog will well know my love of trees; the magic and folklore of trees is my big area of study, and I have wood from almost all of the main "faery" trees. I also have quite the wand collection and have them from many different woods for many different purposes. In my old home in Texas, however, it wasn't easy to come by the "best" wands woods of Hazel, Blackthorn, and Elder. In my new home, however, such trees grow all over the place and can be found in backyards, public parks, and even by the side of the road.

You can imagine my joy, then, when during my walk last week I happened across FOUR Hazel trees one street over from my new house. Even better, they had just been pruned and there was a large pile of wood that I helped myself to. Hazel is considered to be the "best" wand wood, but it's not available commercially and is quite hard to come by.

Hazel has a long history of both magical and mundane use. The nuts of the Hazel tree, of course, are edible and are used for food by both man and beast. The wood is both strong AND flexible, and was woven together to make mats that are the framework of the wattle-and-daub homes in England and elsewhere. In olden times, a wand of Hazel was a symbol of power and authority and was wielded by kings and tribal chieftains. The most notable use of Hazel, though, was for its powers of divination and prophecy. Hazel is supposed to be the best wood for dowsing, and it especially useful for finding underground veins of water. In addition, the nuts are used for divination rituals performed on Hallowe'en, where a Hazel nut was placed by the fire and its movements (either shriveling away or popping loudly) were thought to indicate one's future spouse or sweetheart. There is a very old Irish legend concerning a magical well surrounded by Hazel trees, who's nuts grant wisdom to those who eat them. The nuts fall into the well and are eaten by the salmon that live within, and those salmon were thought to give those who ate them the gift of wisdom and insight. Additionally, the famed grimoires such as the Key of Solomon suggest a wand made of Hazel or nut wood. Tradition tells us that nut and fruit trees make the best wood for magical tools, probably because they "create" something on their own.

There won't be any Hazel nuts until next Autumn, but right now the trees are covered in long fuzzy catkins and are highly visible. I'm going to go on a Hazel scouting expedition this weekend and see if I can find more trees. In the meantime, though, I have enough wood to make several wands AND a small Stang, though it will have to dry for many months before use. I'm attaching a few images of the Hazels that I found, and I hope they will make it a bit easier to identify the tree  if you are not familiar with it.

My New Victorian Home

Today I'm moving yet again. I'm staying in the same town, but am leaving the condo I'm sharing with friends and moving to a Queen Anne style Victorian home that's been converted into apartments. I don't think it's any surprise  to my readers that I rather prefer the old-fashioned to the modern, and it's long been a dream of mine to live in a Victorian. On a more practical level, this new place offers me easily 4 times the space I have now. With that comes a level of privacy I  haven't had where I've been staying. The new place is located in the historic downtown area, and there are a lot of attractions within walking distance.

This is also going to be a lot better for my Craft work. My new home has a huge private sitting room, so I'll be able to set up a full altar and do much physically active magical rites without having to worry about running into the closet door or accidentally stabbing the wall with my magical knife. I plan on putting in special shelving to hold my herbs, incenses, and oils and will be able to have an entire bookshelf dedicated solely to my magical books. Atmosphere matters in magic, and I confess that I'll be much more "in the mood" magically in this beautiful (and a bit gothic) old home than I have been in the modern  condo I'm at now.

Now, I hate moving......it's one of my least favourite things. However, I think I shall be much happier at my new place, and I am sure all the work will be well worth it.

 Enjoy a few images. I love the beautiful carved staircase and the wrap-around porch. It's going to be lovely drinking my morning tea out there!

Functional, Old, Or Both: Some Thoughts On Modern Witchcraft

There is so much emphasis in certain factions of the occult world today on being historically accurate that I sometimes think the questions of "Does it make sense now? Does it work?" go unanswered. There's been a lot of backlash against the myths embraced by many of our Pagan revival forefathers; namely, the idea that a purely Pagan line of Witches could trace their lineage back to the Stone Age. We know now that this is not so, but that does not mean that anything less than a thousand years old has no value. We also know that there was never a time when all of Europe worshiped exclusively a female deity (though, interestingly enough, early Christian diatribes against Witches claimed they worshiped not "Satan" but Diana....), but that doesn't mean that Goddess figures don't have importance today. Finally, surviving spells from the past thousand years overwhelmingly demonstrate a Witchcraft that was an odd mix of Christianity and older, Pagan ideas instead of the Pagan practices most of us embrace today. That doesn't mean that modern Pagan spells and rituals are meaningless or ineffective.

I've seen both British Traditional Wicca AND Cochrane-derived practices scoffed at because both seem to be a modern individuals' own spin upon older Witchcraft practices. While this is debatable (both Gardner and Cochrane had contact with "Old Craft" practitioners) it seems to me that if what they offered was consistent, meaningful, and could produce results then how old it was was of lesser importance. It seems strange that so many people embrace modern innovations such as cars, antibiotics, etc and yet only accept Craft practices from ancient history as being valid. Of course, one cannot make claims that are not true; Doreen Valiente, for example, was surprised and bemused to see poems she had written being passed off on talk shows as "ancient family secrets" by others. However, if the Gods are real, as I believe, and continue to communicate with us, why is it so hard to believe that modern practices or new Craft schools of thought might have something to offer?

My own thought is that it's quite possible to draw on tradition and keep the "core" practices of Witchcraft and yet experience them in new and modern ways. Imagine a family recipe from 300 years ago; while the dish might be the same, and the ingredients similar, most of us wouldn't use the old-fashioned measurements or bake in an outdoor woodfire oven (thought here are exceptions!) One keeps the CORE, and the spirit, alive but makes allowances for our own modern tastes and surroundings. Yes, learn your history and yes, draw upon the traditions of long ago, but don't let that make you ignore or condemn today's practices out of hand. There is no one "Traditional Witchcraft" or one right way of doing things, which is something I think tends to be forgotten in some of the online debates I've seen recently.

The Buried Moon

My love of all things English is well known, so imagine my delight when I came across the following resource. Apparently, "The Buried Moon" is rather unique in some ways, and the source of the tale is unclear. However, I recall a very similar tale being told by the evil Mrs. Tuggle in Phyllis Reynolds Naylor's wonderful young adult book "The Witch's Sister." I'm assuming Naylor came across this old story while researching her book. In her tale, however, it was not the Moon but a young child that goes missing in the bog. Naylor's version also lacks the happy ending in the version found here.

Enjoy! You can find the link to the original text after the story.

                          The Buried Moon

"LONG ago, in my grandmother's time, the Carland was all in bogs, great pools of black water, and creeping trickles of green water, and squishy mools which squirted when you stepped on them.

Well, granny used to say how long before her time the Moon herself was once dead and buried in the marshes, and as she used to tell me, I'll tell you all about it.

The Moon up yonder shone and shone, just as she does now, and when she shone she lighted up the bog-pools, so that one could walk about almost as safe as in the day.

But when she didn't shine, out came the Things that dwelt in the darkness and went about seeking to do evil and harm; Bogies and Crawling Horrors, all came out when the Moon didn't shine.

Well, the Moon heard of this, and being kind and good -- as she surely is, shining for us in the night instead of taking her natural rest -- she was main troubled. 'I'll see for myself, I will,' said she, 'maybe it's not so bad as folks make out.'

Sure enough, at the month's end down she stept, wrapped up in a black cloak, and a black hood over her yellow shining hair. Straight she went to the bog edge and looked about her. Water here and water there; waving tussocks and trembling mools, and great black snags all twisted and bent. Before her all was dark -- dark but for the glimmer of the stars in the pools, and the light that came from her own white feet, stealing out of her black cloak.

The Moon drew her cloak faster about and trembled, but she wouldn't go back without seeing all there was to be seen; so on she went, stepping as light as the wind in summer from tuft to tuft between the greedy gurgling water-holes. Just as she came near a big black pool her foot slipped and she was nigh tumbling in. She grabbed with both hands at a snag near by to steady herself with, but as she touched it, it twined itself round her wrists, like a pair of handcuffs, and gript her so that she couldn't move. She pulled and twisted and fought, but it was no good. She was fast, and must stay fast.

Presently as she stood trembling in the dark, wondering if help would come, she heard something calling in the distance, calling, calling, and then dying away with a sob, till the marshes were full of this pitiful crying sound; then she heard steps floundering along, squishing in the mud and slipping on the tufts, and through the darkness she saw a white face with great feared eyes.

'Twas a man strayed in the bogs. Mazed with fear, he struggled on towards the flickering light that looked like help and safety. And when the poor Moon saw that he was coming nigher and nigher to the deep hole, further and further from the path, she was so mad and so sorry that she struggled and fought and pulled harder than ever. And though she couldn't get loose, she twisted and turned, till her black hood fell back off her shining yellow hair, and the beautiful light that came from it drove away the darkness.

Oh, but the man cried with joy to see the light again. And at once all evil things fled back into the dark corners, for they cannot abide the light. So he could see where he was, and where the path was, and how he could get out of the marsh. And he was in such haste to get away from the Quicks, and Bogles, and Things that dwelt there, that he scarce looked at the brave light that came from the beautiful shining yellow hair, streaming out over the black cloak and falling to the water at his feet. And the Moon herself was so taken up with saving him, and with rejoicing that he was back on the right path, that she clean forgot that she needed help herself, and that she was held fast by the Black Snag.

So off he went; spent and gasping, and stumbling and sobbing with joy, flying for his life out of the terrible bogs. Then it came over the Moon she would main like to go with him. So she pulled and fought as if she were mad, till she fell on her knees, spent with tugging, at the foot of the snag. And as she lay there, gasping for breath, the black hood fell forward over her head. So out went the blessed light and back came the darkness, with all its Evil Things, with a screech and a howl. They came crowding round her, mocking and snatching and beating; shrieking with rage and spite, and swearing and snarling, for they knew her for their old enemy, that drove them back into the corners, and kept them from working their wicked wills.

'Drat thee!' yelled the witch-bodies, 'thou'st spoiled our spells this year agone!'

'And us thou sent'st to brood in the corners!' howled the Bogles.

And all the Things joined in with a great 'Ho, ho!' till the very tussocks shook and the water gurgled. And they began again.

'We'll poison her -- poison her!' shrieked the witches.

And 'Ho-ho!' howled the Things again.

'We'll smother her -- smother her!' whispered the Crawling Horrors, and twined themselves round her knees.

And 'Ho, ho!' mocked the rest of them.

And again they all shouted with spite and ill will. And the poor Moon crouched down, and wished she was dead and done with.

And they fought and squabbled what they should do with her, till a pale grey light began to come in the sky; and it drew nigh the dawning. And when they saw that, they were feared lest they shouldn't have time to work their will; and they caught hold of her, with horrid bony fingers, and laid her deep in the water at the foot of the snag. And the Bogles fetched a strange big stone and rolled it on top of her, to keep her from rising. And they told two of the Will-o-the-wykes to take turns in watching on the black snag, to see that she lay safe and still, and couldn't get out to spoil their sport.

And there lay the poor Moon, dead and buried in the bog, till someone would set her loose, and who'd know where to look for her.

Well, the days passed, and 'twas the time for the new moon's coming, and the folk put pennies in their pockets and straws in their caps so as to be ready for her, and looked about, for the Moon was a good friend to the marsh folk, and they were main glad when the dark time was gone, and the paths were safe again, and the Evil Things were driven back by the blessed Light into the darkness and the water-holes.

But days and days passed, and the new Moon never came, and the nights were aye dark, and the Evil Things were worse than ever. And still the days went on, and the new Moon never came. Naturally the poor folk were strangely feared and mazed, and a lot of them went to the Wise Woman who dwelt in the old mill, and asked if so be she could find out where the Moon was gone.

'Well,' said she, after looking in the brewpot, and in the mirror, and in the Book, 'it be main queer, but I can't rightly tell ye what's happened to her. If ye hear of aught, come and tell me.'

So they went their ways; and as days went by, and never a Moon came, naturally they talked -- my word! I reckon they did talk! Their tongues wagged at home, and at the inn, and in the garth. But so came one day, as they sat on the great settle in the inn, a man from the far end of the bog lands was smoking and listening, when all at once he sat up and slapped his knee. 'My faicks!' says he, 'I'd clean forgot, but I reckon I kens where the Moon be!' and he told them of how he was lost in the bogs, and how, when he was nigh dead with fright, the light shone out, and he found the path and got home safe.

So off they all went to the Wise Woman, and told her about it, and she looked long in the pot and the Book again, and then she nodded her head.

'It's dark still, childer, dark!' says she, 'and I can't rightly see, but do as I tell ye, and ye'll find out for yourselves. Go all of ye, just afore the night gathers, put a stone in your mouth, and take a hazel-twig in your hands, and say never a word till you're safe home again. Then walk on and fear not, far into the midst of the marsh, till ye find a coffin, a candle, and a cross. Then ye'll not be far from your Moon; look, and m'appen ye'll find her.'

So came the next night in the darklings, out they went all together, every man with a stone in his mouth, and a hazel-twig in his hand, and feeling, thou may'st reckon, main feared and creepy. And they stumbled and stottered along the paths into the midst of the bogs; they saw naught, though they heard sighings and flutterings in their ears, and felt cold wet fingers touching them; but all at once, looking around for the coffin, the candle, and the cross, while they came nigh to the pool beside the great snag, where the Moon lay buried. And all at once they stopped, quaking and mazed and skeery, for there was the great stone, half in, half out of the water, for all the world like a strange big coffin; and at the head was the black snag, stretching out its two arms in a dark gruesome cross, and on it a tiddy light flickered, like a dying candle. And they all knelt down in the mud, and said, 'Our Lord', first forward, because of the cross, and then backward, to keep off the Bogles; but without speaking out, for they knew that the Evil Things would catch them if they didn't do as the Wise Woman told them.

Then they went nigher, and took hold of the big stone, and shoved it up, and afterwards they said that for one tiddy minute they saw a strange and beautiful face looking up at them glad-like out of the black water; but the Light came so quick and so white and shining, that they stept back mazed with it, and the very next minute, when they could see again, there was the full Moon in the sky, bright and beautiful and kind as ever, shining and smiling down at them, and making the bogs and the paths as clear as day, and stealing into the very corners, as though she'd have driven the darkness and the Bogles clean away if she could."

-Source SurLaLune: The Fairy Tales of Joseph Jacobs

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Merry Christmas!

I hope all of my followers have a merry Christmas, no matter what the day itself means to you on your path.

Last night I attended a contemplative "Winter's Eve" service at our local Unitarian Universalist church. I quite enjoyed it, and it spoke more to the human experience than it did to any one religious view; this mean that Christians, Pagans (like me) or humanists all were able to participate and get something meaningful out of it. I'm spending today cooking up a big meal of Yorkshire pudding, onion gravy, steamed veggies with lemon butter sauce, and chocolate bread pudding for dessert. This is actually my first year EVER away from my friends and family, so it's a little odd, but I've got my new friends here to see so it's not like I'm alone.

Here's a picture of our lovely Christmas tree. I'd better get to cooking, so have a great holiday, everybody!

Winter Witchcraft

Up here in the Pacific Northwest it's finally started to really feel like winter. The trees have been bare of leaves for some weeks now, but there have still been a few sunny days here and there and the temperatures have hovered in the mid 40s. Now, though, we've started to get heavy rains every day and the temperature drops at night into the 30s. Cold, but not freezing (I am too near the coast and at too low of an elevation to get much snow.)

Personally, I always find my magical work becomes a bit more low-key in the winter. Perhaps because so much of what I do involves trees, plants, and the outdoors, it seems a bit harder during the dark winter months to really conjure up much energy. It's easy to sit indoors during the chilly months and pore through old books whilst sipping hot tea. However, the winter has its own magic and is the ideal time to work on the hidden, interior, or "decreasing" aspects of life. The Wild Hunt rides along with the shrieking winter winds, and the spirits of the Dead feel a bit closer during the shorter days and longer nights. I'm personally taking this time indoors and using it to enhance some skills that need work, and to power through a lot of the books I've been meaning to get through.

In other news, a kind new friend has loaned me her copy of "The Psalter Of Cain." I've heard amazing things about this book and have been longing to have a look at it, and now I've got a chance to do so. She and I both have books the other wants, so we're going to be doing our own little lending library system.

In closing, please enjoy this picture of a foggy Oregon mountain. I took this during my drive up here, coming back from my mini-vacation back down South. It was quite unnerving at the time to drive through twisty mountain roads with very poor visibility, but it did make for some interesting pictures.

Misty mountains

There Are No Words

The shooting today at the Connecticut elementary school is beyond tragic; it's of a scale that is literally hard to comprehend. Coming as it does on the heels of the mall shooting in Portland (only a short distance from my home) it raises serious questions about our culture of gun violence in the US. There is something seriously, seriously wrong with us as a society if peoples' reaction to every real or imagined slight is to reach for a gun and start shooting. My every thought and prayer goes out to those who've been affected by this senseless violence, and I feel literally heartbroken when I think of all the families who've been torn apart and will never be the same again.