Musing Mystical

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Author Archives: Rachel McConnell

About Rachel McConnell

Rachel Christina McConnell is a witch, tarot reader, intuitive astrologer, and writing spider. She holds an MFA in Fiction from Columbia University in the City of New York. Her short stories have appeared in Dark Moon Lilith Press and Minerva Rising Press’s The Keeping Room. Links to her publications are available here: https://rachelchristinamcconnell.wordpress.com

Jim Morrison, Secret Teacher of the Occult, by Paul Wyld

Jim Morrison, Secret Teacher of the Occult: A Journey to the Other Side, by Paul Wyld
Inner Traditions, 979-8888500804, 256 pages, September 2024

Lizard King and shaman-poet Jim Morrison (1943-1971), a fork-tongued prophet of the Age of Aquarius, slithered out of the depths of the 1960s counterculture as the iconic frontman of the psychedelic rock band The Doors. His raucous Dionysian incantations conjured otherworldly forces and awakened dormant powers within the souls of the masses. Paul Wyld’s Jim Morrison, Secret Teacher of the Occult: A Journey to the Other Side offers a fresh perspective on this legendary rock star, revealing Morrison to be a disciple of ancient wisdom, tapped into cosmic consciousness, channeling its energy into his music and poetry.

Wyld, himself a singer-songwriter and poet, writes about Morrison’s creative process with the intimate understanding of a kindred spirit. Delving into his fascination with the occult and its influence on his work, Wyld challenges the conventional portrayal of Morrison as a drug-addled rebellious rocker. Instead, he paints a portrait of Morrison as a spiritual guide, drawing parallels between the singer’s life and the teachings of ancient mystics. By illuminating Morrison’s exploration of the occult, Wyld provides a deeper understanding of this complex and multifaceted artist.

“This book focuses on Jim Morrison’s role as a secret teacher through his music and writings,” Wyld says in the introduction. “It’s my hope that this new vision of Jim Morrison’s life will further magnify the beauty and strangeness that’s to be discovered in the living quality of Jim Morrison’s art.”1

Through the sonic labyrinth of psychedelic rock music and lyrics, The Doors channeled echoes of primitive rituals. Morrison’s potent incantations were delivered through a wide range of emotive vocal expressions, from a seductive, silky smooth baritone to a raspy whisky voice, accompanied by guttural grunts and primal screams. In the velvet darkness of closed eyes, their music is an immersive sensual experience, a journey into the abyss of the soul.

As keyboardist Ray Manzarek once said in an interview, “If you’re in harmony with the planet–and that’s what opening the doors of perception are all about–if you had the courage to open the doors of perception, you’re gonna find a whole new world inside of you, man.”2 The band’s name was derived from the title of Aldous Huxley’s book The Doors of Perception, which in turn drew inspiration from the following line in William Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell: “If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, Infinite.”3

By closing the curtains of our eyes, cutting off external stimulation and distractions, and immersing ourselves in their music, we can experience the theater of cosmic consciousness within. The robust sensory overload is a crucial part of the visceral, Dionysian ecstasy, demanding our full bodily presence. From carnivalesque rock ballads to the blues and beyond, few bands have ever been capable of such experimental genre-bending versatility. Describing the unique sound of The Doors to someone who hasn’t heard them is like a person with synesthesia trying to describe how a color tastes. You really have to experience it for yourself.

Wyld taps into astrological insights to explore the mystical synergy between the band members. “The strong winds of Ray’s Aquarius air sign and carnival organ sound complemented Jim’s Sagittarius fire sign and strange, avante-garde surrealist/Symbolist lyrics,”4 Wyld says. “Jim went into shamanic trances and ecstasies onstage, making all kinds of wild animal sounds while drummer John Densmore thrashed away on his drums to aid Jim in summoning the healing magic of the spirit world.”5 According to Wyld, Morrison followed the calling of his Leo North Node to bring his secret teachings out into the spotlight with his larger-than-life persona. 

“Jim’s timeless appeal partly lay in his capacity to put us in touch with very distant times, very old places, and the intense longing to go back and connect with its primitive magic, for among all primitive and ancient peoples there existed an ever-present reverence for the Great Mystery,”6 Wyld says.

Wyld deep dives into Morrison’s occult odyssey, tracing his journey from teen magus to psychedelic prophet. A copy of Seligmann’s The History of Magic & the Occult, checked out from the library and never returned, exerted a profound influence on his adolescent psyche. Additionally, Wyld traces Morrison’s literary lineage, highlighting his astral travels through the psychic landscapes of the Beat poets and the Symbolists.

“Jim lived on the fringes to remain in touch with the ‘new, alien and other,’ both within and around him just as his heroes Jack Kerouac, Charles Baudelaire, Arthur Rimbaud, Friedrich Nietzsche, and Antonin Artaud did before him,”7 Wyld says. Morrison’s work was also inspired by his favorite artist, Hieronymous Bosch, who “viewed the world as a hell in which we pass through the devil’s digestive system.”8

According to Wyld, “Creating concert venue chaos that felt like being in a sinful, beautiful, terrifying, and ecstatic Bosch painting was one of Jim’s original visions he’d once dreamed of achieving as a filmmaker.”9 That surreal cosmic vision is eloquently expressed in his poetry, such as in the following excerpt Wyld shares from Morrison’s collected works: “The Universe, one line, is a/ long snake, & we each are/ facets on its jeweled skin.”10

Drawing on insights from Jean Bolen’s Gods in Everyman, Wyld delves into how Jim Morrison’s life and music were deeply intertwined with the Dionysian archetype. This ancient Greek god, associated with wine, ecstasy, and chaos, embodies the primal, irrational forces of the human psyche. Morrison’s wild stage performances, drug-fueled lifestyle, and poetic explorations of the darker aspects of human nature mirrored this Dionysian spirit.

By embracing the Dionysian, Morrison sought to transcend the boundaries of conventional reality and connect with a deeper, more primal level of existence. His music served as a conduit for this Dionysian energy, inviting listeners to embark on a journey of spiritual exploration and sensory overload. As Bolen notes, individuals embodying the Dionysian archetype are prone to internal conflict and psychological turmoil, struggling to reconcile opposing forces within themselves. This constant tension, akin to “dismemberment or crucifixion”11 by conflicting desires and impulses, is a hallmark of the Dionysian experience.

Morrison’s high voltage channeling of primeval cosmic forces was destabilizing and dangerous for him. “To feel the destructive sword of spiritual awakening upon ordinary consciousness, to share this with so many waking up, was to both participate in and witness nothing less than a spiritual apocalypse,”12 Wyld says. The intense pressure of being a spiritual leader for a massive new age movement may have exacerbated Morrison’s substance abuse, and his drunken alter ego, “Jimbo,”13 often took over.

He also drank to silence the voices of “indwelling spirits”14 that had haunted him ever since he witnessed a horrific car accident at the tender age of four years old. Scarred by this traumatic encounter with death, he believed that the spirits of Indians dying on the roadside had entered his body and merged with his own soul. He referenced this experience in the song “Peace Frog” with the following lyrics: “Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding./Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile eggshell mind.”

Perhaps consumed by the intense cosmic forces he was channeling, he met a sudden and mysterious death, succumbing to apparent heart failure, at the age of 27. Despite his incredible rock legacy, Wyld notes that “Jim’s greatest desire was to be known and remembered as a poet,”15 and he lamented his hyper-sexualized public persona, even regretting posing for pictures. I wonder if he was referring to those famous Christ-like shirtless photos that are still to this day plastered on all kinds of Doors paraphernalia, from t-shirts and posters to books and greatest hits album covers. This inner conflict, perhaps rooted in his Dionysian archetype, highlights the complexity of the man behind the myth.

The Christ-like images of Jim Morrison were the first ones I saw as a teenager in the nineties, when I was immersed in the alternative rock scene, which was heavily influenced by the resurgence of 60s counterculture, popularized by films like The Doors (1991), starring Val Kilmer. I was introduced to the band through one of my pothead friends, who fell in love with Jim Morrison after watching the movie. We would get high and play Super Mario on her old school Nintendo with The Doors album Waiting for the Sun (1968) softly playing in the background as a psychedelic soundtrack to the game.

The song “Strange Days” off their second album was my favorite song, and, while listening to it on repeat after smoking a joint laced with Dionysus knows what, the doors of perception opened wide enough for me to hear Jim mumbling alternate lyrics to the song, which I dutifully transcribed in poetry form. Even as a sober adult, the song’s sonic landscape and Morrison’s distorted vocals continue to mesmerize and inspire. This experience taught me that writing poetry can be a mediumistic act, a channeling of spirit voices.

Morrison still exerts a profound influence on me, and The Doors remain one of my all-time favorite bands. After earning my bachelor’s degree in English, I delved deeper into Morrison’s work, studying his first book of poetry, The Lords & the New Creatures (1970), and his poetry album An American Prayer (1978). Wyld’s book has inspired me to revisit the band’s discography with fresh ears, uncovering new depths in their music. 

Jim Morrison remains an enigmatic figure, a cultural icon whose influence continues to shape our collective consciousness. Wyld’s book offers a compelling exploration of Morrison’s mystical side, shedding light on the spiritual and intellectual underpinnings of his art. Diving into the depths of Morrison’s legacy, we are reminded of his enduring power to inspire and provoke. Jim Morrison, Secret Teacher of the Occult is a must-read for fans of The Doors and anyone interested in the intersection of music, mysticism, and the Universal Mind.

Oracle of Heaven and Hell, by Travis McHenry

Oracle of Heaven and Hell: Harness the power of the angels and demons, by Travis McHenry
Rockpool Publishing, 1922785334, 168 pages, 72 cards, April 2024

Few oracle decks have dared readers to plumb the depths of the abyss, to dance on the razor’s edge between good and evil, as boldly as Travis McHenry’s Oracle of Heaven and Hell. In the tradition of grimoire magic, this unique deck conjures up Kabbalistic angels and their rival Goetic demons. Each card presents a dual-sided portrait: a divine messenger on one side, a primordial agent of chaos on the other. These celestial and infernal beings, bound by their opposing sigils, clash and coalesce in a cosmic dance of light and shadow, their wings and claws creating a maelstrom of energy that mirrors the profound duality inherent in the human soul. The cards’ edges, gilted in metallic blood-red, scintillate while shuffling, and the backs bear the sigil of Asmoday, the King of Demons, a potent symbol of forbidden knowledge.

Travis McHenry, a former intelligence analyst for the United States Navy and ordained Baptist deacon, traded his military uniform for the robes of a ritual magician. With a university background in anthropology and a Nile baptism initiating him into the priesthood of Anubis in 2021, he continues to explore the depths of the mysteries.

McHenry is the creator of a variety of tarot and oracle decks, including the Vlad Dracula Tarot, Hieronymus Bosch Tarot, and Egyptian Star Oracle. I’ve been using his Angel Tarot and Occult Tarot to learn the Kabbalistic angels and Goetic demons, so I was thrilled to discover that he has released Oracle of Heaven and Hell, a deck that combines the monochrome artwork from the previous ones, presenting each angel and corresponding demon on the same card, with their sigils popping in a rich sanguine red. This comprehensive deck is a wonderful resource for occultists who want to deepen their understanding of the interplay between these opposing spiritual forces.

As McHenry notes in the introduction, “There can be no light without darkness and no darkness without light.” [1] The accompanying guidebook delves into the origins of the 144 spirits featured in this deck. The 72 Kabbalistic angels, also known as the angels of the Shem HaMephorash, or secret name of God, are divine emanations whose names are derived from the 72-letter sequence found in verses 19-21 of the Book of Exodus, chapter 14, which describes Moses pronouncing the divine name and God parting the Red Sea for the Israelites.

These angels have dominion over the 72 Goetic demons, who come from the medieval grimoire The Ars Goetia, or The Lesser Key of Solomon. These spirits are believed to be derived from pagan gods, fallen angels, and other infernal spirits. According to legend, they were first summoned and enslaved by King Solomon, who forced them to build his temple. After the work was completed, Solomon imprisoned them in a brass vessel sealed with a magical sigil and cast them into a Babylonian lake. When some treasure hunters discovered it and broke the seal, the demons were released into the world. 

According to the occult writings of Cornelius Agrippa, every human is protected by a trio of guardian angels. In McHenry’s guidebook to Oracle of Heaven and Hell, each entry includes the dates and times over which each spirit holds regency so readers can discover their three guardian angels based on their birth date and time. Each demon is also said to be a servant to those born during certain date ranges.

A potential drawback for those who don’t own McHenry’s previous decks, the Angel Tarot and Occult Tarot, is that the guidebook for Oracle of Heaven and Hell does not provide pronunciations of the spirits’ names, which were included in the other guidebooks. This could present a minor challenge for those unfamiliar with Kabbalistic angels and Goetic demons. However, each card offers simplified oracular meanings in the form of one or two keywords, making it accessible to a wider audience.

I regrettably found a spelling error on one of the cards: the name of the first angel, Vehuiah, is misspelled Vehuaih. While this is a minor oversight, it’s worth noting for those who appreciate accuracy and attention to detail. Hopefully, future printings will remedy this mistake. 

When I first opened Oracle of Heaven and Hell and held the cards, I felt intense power emanating from them. It was like the angelic and demonic energies were wrestling with each other in the cards. The more I work with this deck, the more I see the angels and demons as complementary opposites, the angel representing a higher state of consciousness and the demon being a primal, instinctual response. 

To quote William Blake’s Marriage of Heaven and Hell: “Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence. From these contraries spring what the religious call Good and Evil. Good is the passive that obeys reason; Evil is the active springing from Energy. Good is heaven. Evil is hell.”7 Blake eloquently illustrates how the primal tug of war between heaven and hell sparks the Promethean fire of inspiration, the creative tension that fuels all artistic endeavors. The angels and demons represent a delicate balance between rational consciousness and primal instincts. 

The Oracle of Heaven and Hell has challenged me to develop a more nuanced approach to interpretation. When I draw a card, regardless of whether the angelic or demonic side is upright, I consider both perspectives, viewing them as complementary aspects of the message. This allows me to explore the light and shadow sides of the information I’m seeking. 

For example, card 4, which features the angel Elemiah, with the key phrase “Divine Power,”16 and the demon Samigina, with the keyword “Delay,”17 could be interpreted in the following way. Since Elemiah is associated with protection, guidance, and divine intervention, this angel’s presence indicates that the querent is being supported by a higher power and that there is a spiritual purpose for whatever challenges they are facing in their current situation.

The delays and obstacles in their path, signified by the opposing demon, might be frustrating, but may be necessary for personal growth or to help realign the querent’s path with their divine purpose. The overall message would be that a larger, divine plan is at work that involves temporary setbacks or delays, and one must have patience and trust in divine timing, as the delays may be necessary to prepare one for something greater. Even in the face of these challenges, the querent is being protected and guided by a higher power. 

One of my daily draws was particularly interesting. After drawing the “Spiritual Communication”18 card, featuring the angel Nanael and the opposing demon of “Ignorance,”19 Camio, I was startled to receive a telepathic message from Asmoday, the demon king, later that day, even though I wasn’t handling the deck or anywhere near it.

Given his sigil’s prominence on the back of every card, it’s not surprising that he reached out to me after I’d been working with this oracle. I was completely relaxed, watching TV at the time, and his communication came in like a jarring intrusive thought. He let me know that he was displeased that I was ignoring him and was demanding my attention by startling me into recognition of his presence. Remembering that the reversed keyword on the “Spiritual Communication”20 card is “Ignorance,”21 this incident brought to my attention how I can be willfully ignorant of spirit contact, either out of fear or distrust.

Be aware that engaging with this deck can open channels of communication with these entities, and I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone who feels uncomfortable with the idea of interacting with demons. When I initially started establishing contact with these spirits (before using this deck), they informed me that calling upon one of them summons them all. The Underworld resides within us.

Oracle of Heaven and Hell is more than just a deck of cards; it’s a portal to the depths of the human soul. By confronting the duality within, you’ll embark on a transformative journey of self-discovery. This powerful tool offers an alchemical transformation, but it demands courage and a willingness to face your inner demons. Approach it with respect and reverence, and be prepared to emerge transformed.

Invisible Fire, by Nicholaj de Mattos Frisvold

Invisible Fire: Traditional Themes in Western Mysticism and Sethian Gnosticism, by Nicholaj de Mattos Frisvold
Crossed Crow Books, 220 pages, 1959883607, August 2024

Nicholaj de Mattos Frisvold’s Invisible Fire: Traditional Themes in Western Mysticism and Sethian Gnosticism offers a profound exploration of the starlit river of ancient wisdom that connects the diverse tributaries of Western spirituality. Drawing from a wellspring of Gnostic and Apocryphal texts, Frisvold illuminates the Primordial Tradition, turning our gaze to the heavenly realms of pure Platonic ideas where all mystical paths converge into a slipstream of cosmic consciousness.

Frisvold, a behavioral psychologist, anthropologist, and consecrated Bishop of Gnostic, Catholic, and Orthodox lineages, has spent decades studying a wide range of spiritual practices, from African-based traditions to European witchcraft. His scholarly analysis of ancient texts, combined with his poetic prose and engaging writing style, make these complex concepts more accessible to readers. Frisvold’s meticulous citations also provide a valuable resource for those seeking to dive deeper into the obscure texts discussed, providing a springboard for further exploration and independent research.

Divided into two parts, titled “Gnosis” and “Praxis,” this book offers both theoretical insights and practical guidance. The first section consists of essays on the Primordial Tradition, while the second provides a collection of rituals for personal spiritual growth. At the heart of Invisible Fire lies the Biblical figure of Seth, the third son of Adam and Eve, who replaced the slain Abel. From the Gnostic perspective, he is the embodiment of the Primordial Tradition and takes on a Christ-like role. “Due to his perfected state, Seth enters the world as a perfected one, the upright one, and, as such, becomes the symbol of redemption, prophecy, and tradition,”17 Frisvold says.

“Invisible Fire is about this legacy left by Seth and is explored through examining the Primordial Tradition and the Sethian themes found in Western Mysticism.”19 

Frisvold introduces the core principle of the Primordial Tradition as a non-dual cosmology centered on the interconnectedness of all things and the divine. This perspective rejects the dualistic worldview that separates the spiritual from the material, emphasizing the underlying unity of existence. In addition to this non-dual cosmology, the Primordial Tradition places great importance on divine revelation, the direct experience or understanding of spiritual truths. According to Frisvold, “these are paths of prophetic activity that focus on how we can connect to the Empyrean realm in such a way that we become subject to this revelatory fire that gives luminescence to stars and angels.”20

In the Primordial Tradition, God is considered the incandescent source and center of everything, both seen and unseen. Therefore, in our fallen, imperfect state, everything we experience is fragmented like a shattered mirror, the scattered shards reflecting distortions of the Divine Light. To truly understand the divine, we must transcend our material limitations and recognize that the physical world is a reflection of a higher, perfect order. This higher order can be understood through the stars, which represent a tangible manifestation of the divine.

Frisvold’s analysis of the Cain and Abel narrative offers a compelling interpretation that transcends dualistic notions of good and evil. Departing from the canonical portrayal of Cain as a villainous murderer driven by envy and wrath, the Primordial Tradition offers a more nuanced perspective, presenting him and his brother Abel as archetypal figures representing opposing forces within the human soul.

The story of Cain and Abel is not merely a tale of fratricide but a profound allegory of the dual nature of humanity, the clash of the divine and the profane. Cain, the hylic man, embodies the material and sensual aspects of existence, while Abel, the psychic man, represents the spiritual and intuitive nature. Their sibling rivalry represents the internal battle between the material and spiritual, waged within the heart of every human being.

Cain’s murder of Abel is not merely a senseless crime of passion but a symbolic sacrifice, a dark ritual that unwittingly sets the stage for a greater redemption. It is a catalyst for the emergence of Seth, the divine mediator, who bridges the chasm between the earthly and the celestial.

“When Cain murdered Abel, he sacrificed the flesh and released the spirit,” Frisvold says. “He did what needed to be done in order to become perfected.”21

Seth, the pneumatic man, embodies the divine spark that unites the material and spiritual realms. Through this act, Cain inadvertently paved the way for Seth’s revelation, demonstrating that even the darkest aspects of human nature can serve a higher purpose.

Frisvold explains that Cain’s murder of Abel was redemptive, much in the same way that Judas’s betrayal of Jesus paved the way for salvation. “It is the redemption of the soul from its material state that is enabled through the betrayer and the betrayed, the murderer and the murdered, dissolving the dyadic illusion and becoming one,”22 he says.

According to Frisvold, the white and black pillars standing sentinel at the entrance to the Temple of Solomon, Jachin and Boaz, symbolize the dual nature of humanity, manifested in the right and left-hand paths of Seth and Cain. Jachin, the pillar of understanding, reveals the mystery of Seth and the divine spark within us. Boaz, the pillar of confusion, represents the material world and the illusions that obscure our spiritual vision.

As Frisvold explains, “Ultimately, the pillar of confusion carries the secrets of Cain’s legacy as the pillar of Jachin reveals the mystery of Seth, which Cain made possible.”23 As the pillars of Jachin and Boaz stand before the Temple of Solomon, so too do Cain and Seth represent the twin forces of darkness and light. The profane and the sacred, the abyss and the empyrean, are not opposites but complementary aspects of the Great Work.

Frisvold’s insightful interpretation of the pillars aligns with the following passage from the Gnostic Gospel of Phillip: “Light and Darkness, life and death, right and left, are brothers of one another. They are inseparable. Because of this neither are the good good, nor evil evil, nor is life life, nor death death. For this reason each one will dissolve into its original nature. But those who are exalted above the world are indissoluble, eternal.”24

Frisvold’s analysis of the Cain and Abel narrative exemplifies the non-dualistic cosmology central to the Primordial Tradition, illuminating the interconnectedness of all things, even the seemingly contradictory forces within the human psyche. Cain is not merely a villain but a necessary catalyst for spiritual evolution. His actions, though seemingly dark and destructive, ultimately serve to illuminate the path to divine consciousness.

Seth, the third brother, emerges as a symbol of hope and renewal. He embodies the divine spark within humanity, the potential for spiritual enlightenment. Seth’s legacy is a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit, capable of overcoming even the darkest of sins. Thus, the tale of Cain and Abel is a timeless parable that teaches us the importance of balancing the material and spiritual aspects of our nature. By recognizing the divine spark within us and striving to overcome the limitations of our material existence, we can achieve spiritual enlightenment and liberation.

Frisvold also presents a non-dualistic perspective on the fraternal rivalry between Archangel Michael and Satan. “Bogomil doctrine teaches that Satanael, Michael’s brother, was forgiven for his mistake, and, as such, redemption already happened by the intervention of God, which made it unnecessary for Jesus Christ to die for a sin already forgiven,” Frisvold says. “Rather, Jesus came as an example and to light the fire of gnosis and wisdom. Saint Michael took care of the spiritual domain as the ‘Golden Tzar,’ and Satanael was given the material realm and to rule over as its ‘Silver Tzar,’ clearly referencing the two main luminaries of the heavens.”25

One of the most intriguing aspects of Invisible Fire is its emphasis on astral magic, the celestial wisdom Adam received from the angel Raziel and passed down to Seth.

“One who knows their star will know themselves, and from this, an ability of discernment that recognises the divine mirror upon the Earth will be born,”26 Frisvold says.

This passage really jumped out at me, because, a few years ago, one of my spirit guides told me in my sleep that my star is Aldebaran. The next day, I plugged fixed stars into my natal chart and was startled to discover that Aldebaran is exactly conjunct with my Sun at 9 degrees Gemini. I’ve been hooked on studying fixed stars in astrology ever since. 

In an essay titled “The Regent of the Milky Way,” Frisvold paints a vivid picture of the Milky Way as a celestial river of liquid silver flowing through the heavens. This astral stream of immortalizing milk is the Pleroma, a transcendent realm beyond the traditional seven planets, ruled by Seth. This evocative imagery reminded me of an enigmatic message on one of the Orphic gold tablets: “A god you have become from a man. A kid you fell into milk.”27 Perhaps the Milky Way represented the transformative journey from human to divine for Orphic mystics as well.

As a Gemini, I was especially intrigued by Frisvold’s association of the Milky Way with my zodiac sign. He explains that the celestial river leads to Gemini, the sign of duality, which nourishes the twins Castor and Pollux, and “challenges our choices by strength and mercy.”28 This house of Mercury holds the caduceus, the symbol of balance and healing, where the snakes of Mercury and Sulphur coexist in perfect harmony, supporting the sacred path. 

One of my favorite essays is titled “Raziel’s Secret.” In this magical work, the Tzohar is described as a literal jewel, a sapphire forged in primordial light. Revealed by the angel Raziel, this sapphire enabled Adam to read the Book of Raziel by holding it to his eye. I was delighted by this enchanting touch of Jewish fairy tale mysticism. 

Raziel, a being of extraordinary power, is both a Seraphim and an Ophanim, and as such, “belongs to the potencies of divine fire guarding and watching the divine throne itself.”29 Frisvold explains that Seraphim are the guardians of “the primordial fire of transcendence, the glowing coals of perfect fire flowing forth in the rivers of wisdom from the divine throne.”30 Being a Seraphim “means that Raziel is not only an angel formed in the likeness of the mystery itself; Raziel is the voice of the Tzohar.”31

The Praxis section of Invisible Fire includes several rituals that utilize the power of the fixed stars, and have that old school feel of the Greek Magical Papyri. One such ritual involves creating a protective talisman using a scorpion. The practitioner is instructed to feed the scorpion wine and herbs while reciting a hymn to Antares, the Royal Star and heart of the Scorpio constellation. While acquiring a scorpion, dead or alive (the ritual doesn’t specify which), might be challenging, I personally own a taxidermy scorpion necklace that I wear to honor my natal Mars and Saturn in Scorpio, which I’m considering incorporating into a modified version of this ritual to imbue it with protective energy.

While the grand scope of this luminous work may be a bit overwhelming for the casual reader, Invisible Fire will serve as a valuable resource for those seeking a deeper understanding of the mysteries of the universe and the human soul. Its esoteric insights, like the stars themselves, illuminate the ancient traceless paths of Gnosis, awakening the divine spark, the invisible fire that flickers within us all.

Song of the Dark Man, by Darragh Mason

Song of the Dark Man: Father of Witches, Lord of the Crossroads, by Darragh Mason
Destiny Books, 1644119099, 208 pages, August 2024

Darragh Mason’s Song of the Dark Man beckons readers down a crooked, thorn-riddled forest path to meet the Devil at the crossroads. Following the haunting melody of his Pan pipes through a captivating blend of folktales, historical records, and contemporary testimonies, Mason seeks the elusive figure of the Dark Man of the Witches’ Sabbath, whose children are “the witches and storytellers.”23

Divided into two parts, this book delves into the historical context of the Dark Man, including the chilling accounts of the Scottish witch trials, and then explores the lived experiences of present-day witches who have encountered the Dark Man. Mason invites readers to sit beside an ancestral campfire, for “this is a work created in the spirit of the sagas and poems sung by our forebears.”24

Darragh Mason is an award-winning photographer, researcher, and author, best known for his work on the Djinn and the Aghori Hindu sect. He also hosts the award-nominated paranormal podcast Spirit Box. Mason doesn’t claim to be a scholar or an authority on witchcraft. “This book is for the curious and the haunted,”29 he says.

Mason asserts that the Dark Man is a spectral figure lurking in the shadows of our collective unconscious.

“Our folktales are remnants of the dreamtime memories of our ancestors, a memory of an age before the veil between the imagined and the material hardened over,” Mason says. “If our folktales are our dream history, then the Dark Man has haunted our dreams since the beginning.”30

He is the shadowy muse behind obsessive artistic expression, inspiring great works of art at a potentially destructive cost to the artist. “The Witchfather is dangerous, ruthless, and may devour you,”31 Mason warns readers. “Those who worked with him in the past were known as cunning folk for a reason, in that they could work with him and not get eaten.”32 Mason claims this book was written at the behest of Lucifer.

In many folktales, the Dark Man “is a composite figure of the Fairy King, Devil, and Lord of the Dead.”33 Mason delves into the paranormal phenomena associated with this dreadful specter, such as the infamous “Devil’s Footprints”34 and the eerie tales of black riders spiriting people away to fairy realms. One account that particularly resonated with me was the phenomenon of the “Hairy Hands.”35 During the 1920s, witnesses in Devon, England claimed that phantom hairy hands had hijacked control of their vehicles, leading to numerous accidents along the B3212 road. 

This account gave me chills because of my own experience of seeing a disembodied hairy hand when I was about three years old. I lived in Florida, not England, and I have never heard of anyone else experiencing this phenomenon before I read this book. One morning, while my dad was getting ready for work and my mom was still asleep, I was sitting at our glass dining room table eating cereal, when I noticed a strange shadow on the chair beside me. I was startled by how much it resembled a werewolf’s hand, with hairy, splayed fingers and long claws. Feeling more curious than afraid, my eyes searched the room, trying to figure out what was casting the shadow, but found nothing. My father seemed oblivious to the phantom hand as he continued his morning ritual, pacing back and forth, gathering his things and adjusting his tie, so I didn’t mention it to him, and wondered if I was imagining it. Later that morning, I told my mother about the strange shadow, and she confessed that she had also seen this hairy hand, only it had appeared to her in the flesh, crawling up the wall.

Another account that struck a chord with me was that of Shullie H. Porter, a hereditary witch, who “was born dead with her umbilical cord around her neck.”36 While I wasn’t born dead, the circumstances surrounding my birth were strikingly similar. My mother described my face as purple, like a grape, due to the umbilical noose strangling my neck. Discovering that I share this rare birth complication with another modern witch, I can’t help but wonder if it might mirror the traumatic death of being hanged, perhaps for witchcraft, in a past life.

Porter was also given the same name for the Dark Man as he once gave me during a telepathic conversation. “I know who he is now,” she says. “I don’t mind saying his name—it’s Samael.”37 This revelation, coupled with our shared birth trauma, has validated and reaffirmed my personal connection to the Dark Man and the chthonic current into which he initiated me.

In Jewish folklore, Samael, the venom of God, was the name of the satanic serpent in the Garden of Eden, who impregnated Eve with Cain. In traditional witchcraft, witches are believed to be descended from the Cainite lineage of serpent seed. This is the source of the so-called witch blood, which Mason prefers to call a “fire in the blood,”38 and I love this poetic description, because I like to think of it as a bright etheric venom burning in the veins. In the foreword to this book, Peter Mark Adams, author of The Game of Saturn,  further defines witch blood as “the inherited imprints of initiations and devotions undertaken within an ancestral line”39

After revealing his name to me, the Dark Man visited me in a vivid dream, clad in black and wearing a deer skull mask, bestowing upon me a pair of antlers that I felt physically fusing to my skull. Upon waking, my crown was still tingling with the sensation of the astral antlers, and I immediately recorded this experience in my dream journal. Through subsequent research, I discovered that horns are sometimes associated with the biblical Mark of Cain. This oneiric vision served as a profound confirmation of my initiation into the mysteries of the Dark Man and the witch’s Cainite inheritance of the mark of the crooked path of exile.

The magical significance and sacred power of horns and antlers is explored in an interview with Orion Foxwood, a traditional witch and Appalachian Conjure man. Foxwood says that horns “pierce the veil between seen and unseen,” and “the deer in the faery tradition is the psychopomp between the worlds.”40 With this in mind, it makes perfect sense that one of the Dark Man’s epiphanies is the deer. Mason also notes that, in the confessions of the seventeenth-century Scottish witch Isobel Gowdie, sometimes the Dark Man “would copulate with the witches in the form of a deer or other forms, and they would never refuse him.”41 

The sexual initiation of the Dark Man in the guise of a lusty horned beast is significant when one considers the historical demonization of sexuality by monotheism.

“Christianity’s virgin birth to a celibate God severed copulation from female sexuality in particular, removing it from its rightful place of veneration to a place of revulsion and fear,” Mason says. “This tragedy led to the desacralization of the earth which, combined with monotheism and the demonization of the Dark Man, is catastrophic.”42

“Thus,” Mason further observes, “the vulva cave became the hellmouth, changing from a source of wonder and the threshold of creation to a place of corruption and spiritual danger.”43 The Dark Man is a wild god who reclaims the kingdom of the earth and restores the sacredness of the flesh. His sexual initiation is a primal act, a defiance of the puritanical chains that bind us. His carnal embrace offers liberation to the untamed beast within.

I was intrigued to learn that this ancient ritual union of humanity with the wilderness is still preserved in the symbolic marriage of a girl to a feral goat during the annual Irish Puck Fair, which takes place from the 10th to 12th of August, in close proximity to the pagan festival of Lughnasadh, suggesting pre-Christian roots. “The Puck Fair’s main event is the capture of a wild billy goat that is then crowned King Puck,” Mason says. “King Puck has a bride, traditionally a schoolgirl from one of the local primary schools.”44 Queen Puck, the Goat Bride, brings to mind mythical brides of the Devil, such as Lilith and Persephone.

By transcending boundaries and limitations, often in shocking or taboo ways that invert monotheistic beliefs, the Dark Man and his witches challenge a dualistic worldview, which tends to separate humanity from nature and the divine. This rejection of separation can lead to a deeper connection with the natural world and a sense of unity with all beings. “The composite nature of the Dark Man and the shape-shifting of the witches all point to nondualism and a rejection of our separation,”45 Mason says.

The primal experience of encountering the Dark Man can make it difficult to interface with modern technology. Many devotees of the Dark Man, including the author himself, have felt guided to disengage from the trappings of social media. As Mason puts it, “the Dark Man experience pushes us to protect our imaginal spaces, to maintain their integrity from the encroachment of invasive technologies and their wake.”46 This resonated deeply with me because I also feel he has urged me to limit my use of technology and abandon social media platforms. The incoherent, distracting white noise of social media fragments consciousness and interferes with our ability to hear the Dark Man’s song. His palpable presence demands that we turn within instead, realign with our intuition and creativity, and follow our soul’s purpose. As a deity of Fate, that purpose also serves his own mysterious agenda.  

Whether the Dark Man appears as an eldritch black figure with a phantom hand upon the wheel of fate, or as a spectral stag, his cloven footprints leaving the devil’s mark upon virgin snow, he is an eternal symbol of the primal forces that shape our destinies. He is the embodiment of the void that lies beyond the veil of consciousness, the dark matter of the soul. Through the eyes of modern witches, we witness his presence, feel his power, and experience the profound initiation he offers. 

Song of the Dark Man is more than just a collection of tales; it is a ritual, a summoning of the Dark Man into our collective consciousness. It challenges us to confront our deepest fears and embrace the unknown.

Becoming Baba Yaga, by Kris Spisak

Becoming Baba Yaga: Trickster, Feminist, and Witch of the Woods, by Kris Spisak
Hampton Roads Publishing, 1642970514, 224 pages, September 2024

In Becoming Baba Yaga: Trickster, Feminist, and Witch of the Woods, Kris Spisak seeks the elusive roots of the Slavic crone goddess Baba Yaga in the dark forest of history. Following the trail of her iconic chicken-legged hut, Spisak tracks her transformation from ancient folklore to the present day, exploring her dual nature as both trickster and protector, and her evolution from a fearsome hag to a complex symbol of female empowerment. 

Kris Spisak’s award-winning debut novel, The Baba Yaga Mask, was woven from the ancestral red thread of her family’s Ukrainian diaspora experiences following World War II. Her other works, such as Get a Grip on Your Grammar and The Novel Editing Workbook, are geared towards helping writers perfect their craft. Spisak holds a B.A. in English from the College of William and Mary and an M.L.A. from the University of Richmond. Becoming Baba Yaga is her fifth book.

A talented wordsmith with an impressive literary background and an intimate knowledge of Slavic folklore, Spisak spins lush, captivating prose that will leave readers spellbound by the magic of Baba Yaga. Interspersed throughout the book are retellings of traditional stories featuring the enigmatic hag, followed by insightful critical analyses that unravel the rich symbolism and hidden meanings woven into these folktales.

One of my personal favorites was “The Birth of Baba Yaga,” also known as “The Tale of the Twelve Nasty Women,” which recounts how the Devil collected a bag full of difficult, shrewish women and boiled them in a cauldron, inhaled a lungful of the garlicy steam, and spat out Baba Yaga.30 This folktale was no doubt the misogynistic attempt of a Christian author to demonize and oppress her, but I can’t help but be delighted by the idea of Baba Yaga being a distillation of the nastiest feminist women the Devil has ever met.

Like any good fairy tale collection, Becoming Baba Yaga is decorated with beautiful, whimsical illustrations. The work of Davezilla, the creator of the Tarot of the Unexplained, graces these pages. His distinctive black and white artwork, reminiscent of silhouette portraits in an Art Nouveau style, are a lovely complement to the book’s exploration of Slavic folklore.

From Baba Yaga’s lolling tongue and iron teeth to her chicken-legged hut, encircled by fence posts of bones topped with skull lanterns, Spisak explores the symbolic significance of her character and attributes. For example, Spisak offers the intriguing theory that the strange image of the chicken-legged hut may have originated in an ancient Russian burial practice reserved for shamans.

“After death, a wooden coffin was constructed and raised up on stilts, allowing the deceased individual to exist between the sky and the earth, between the planes of life and death, not returning the body to the dirt from whence it came,”31 explains Spisak.

Spisak suggests that Baba Yaga may have originally been an earth goddess, perhaps an elderly Mokosh, the Slavic mother goddess and weaver of fate, who has lost her fertility but retains her wise blood. “Different scholars have linked many figures to Baba Yaga’s origin over time, but each one is rooted in nature and the earth, its potential and its duality,”32 Spisak says. Just as nature is two-faced, both nurturing and destructive, so too is Baba Yaga. Her complex personality, with its blend of kindness and cruelty, is so compelling because it mirrors the multifaceted nature of humanity.  

Baba Yaga echoes the behavior of my own grandmothers, who were both loving and cruel in their own ways. Their deep-seated beliefs about what was right and just could sometimes lead to harsh judgments and criticism, just as Baba Yaga rewards well-behaved children who meet her standards, and threatens to cannibalize those who don’t. This reminds me of how elders often demand that we conform to their expectations, and if we fail to do so, they may seek to control or even destroy the parts of us they perceive as rebellious. This metaphorical act of cannibalism can be seen as an attempt to absorb us back into themselves, rather than allowing us to grow and develop as independent individuals.

My paternal grandmother is a hypercritical Virgo with a sharp tongue. In retrospect, I realize that with her iron gnashing, she was trying to eat the parts of me she didn’t like, which seemed to be pretty much everything about me. In her presence, I felt pressured to conform to her expectations by wearing a mask, and stuffed the real me deep into my shadow, until I reached a breaking point and realized that, no matter how hard I tried to please her, nothing I did would ever satisfy her, and I cut ties with her altogether.

However, Baba Yaga is a goddess, not a fallible and judgmental human being. Although her methods may seem cruel, they are intended to awaken the hero within. Spisak points out that Baba Yaga never follows through with her cannibalistic threats. She just has a way of “scaring people into being a better version of themselves.”40 

It’s often overlooked that, as a grandmother, Baba Yaga’s role is inherently maternal, albeit as a dark mother, or an evil fairy godmother. All the children that come to her are fed and given shelter, and, in exchange, they are expected to work for her and prove their worth by doing impossible tasks.

“She challenges them to ensure arrogance and entitlement are never pieces of their personality,” Spisak says. “She gives them the freedom to discover themselves and their own abilities.”44

This frightening initiation process serves as a catalyst for personal growth and awakens their latent potential for greatness. According to Spisak, “a good villain makes us reexamine who we are, who we’ve been, and who we could be.”47 

One of my favorite chapters, titled “Horror & Escapism,” explores how Baba Yaga continues to captivate our imaginations due to humanity’s enduring fascination with horror and the terror of nightfall in the untamed wilderness. By vicariously meeting the cannibal witch in the woods through folktales, false fear can provide cathartic release.

Spisak says that the horror genre “can evoke an emotional catharsis and establish greater bonds in our own relationships or between characters we empathize with as we consume their stories.”48 This is why date nights often involve cuddling while watching scary movies, and it’s no coincidence that so many horror flicks take place in a creepy cabin in the woods. “Where the darkness stretches out its claws, there we find the essence of Baba Yaga,”49 Spisak writes, emphasizing the enduring power and primeval allure of this sinister goddess.

Spisak’s Becoming Baba Yaga is a masterful exploration of the Slavic crone. Through her insightful analysis and vivid storytelling, Spisak paints a compelling portrait of Baba Yaga as a symbol of both female empowerment and the embodiment of the dark side of nature that continues to horrify and fascinate humanity on the primal level. The book’s vibrant blend of scholarly research and imaginative retellings of traditional folktales make it a fresh and valuable contribution to the study of Slavic mythology and a fascinating read for anyone interested in folklore, feminism, and the enduring power of storytelling.

Witchcraft, by Raven Grimassi

Witchcraft: A Mystery Tradition, by Raven Grimassi
Crossed Crow Books, 978-1-959883-59-3, 270 pages, July 2024

Neo-Pagan scholar and witch Raven Grimassi (1951-2019) was the prolific author of several books on the Old Religion. Initiated into Wicca in 1970, he founded the Aridian tradition a decade later, which blended Wicca and Italian witchcraft. In 2006, he established the Ash, Birch and Willow tradition with his wife Stephanie, which emphasizes the primal roots of European witchcraft. 

Crossed Crow Books, dedicated to preserving Grimassi’s legacy by republishing his out-of-print works, has rereleased Witchcraft: A Mystery Tradition. In this comprehensive work, Grimassi explores the myths and universal deity archetypes at the core of the Mysteries, which he says are “applicable to any system or tradition of Witchcraft.”50. This book was inspired by the Goddess of the Mysteries, Ceres, who Grimassi honored as his patroness because he was born on her festival day, April 12th. Before writing each chapter, Grimassi asked Ceres for her guidance.

For me, witchcraft is an ecstatic religious experience rooted in ancient practices, and Grimassi’s writings support that school of thought with meticulous research.

“It is my personal belief and experience that Witchcraft is a religion that has evolved over countless centuries (as opposed to a modern construction),”51 Grimassi says. “Historians and archaeologists spend a great deal of time and energy trying to separate magick and sorcery from Witchcraft as well as other things that the Witch as a practitioner knows to be inseparable.”52

Grimassi’s traditional perspective is so validating and refreshing to read, and I wholeheartedly agree with him. It’s become trendy for witches on social media to deny that witchcraft is a religion, and I can’t help but feel that they are serving their egos instead of the Goddess and the God.

Grimassi provides supporting historical evidence of Wiccan concepts and practices that have supposedly been debunked by historians like Ronald Hutton as modern inventions. He traces the ancient origins of ritual nudity, also known as being “skyclad,”53 citing seventeenth-century woodcuts and classical works, such as Ovid’s Fasti, as proof. He also validates the threefold nature of the goddess of witches, who is mentioned in classical sources like Lucan’s Pharsalia and Ovid’s Metamorphoses, as well as in “the ancient concept of the Three Fates,” in which “we see the classic Maiden, Mother, and Crone vision.”54 

One of the greatest strengths of this book is that Grimassi helps readers see the Mystery Tradition from the perspective of our prehistoric ancestors. For example, he suggests that the ancient belief in an afterlife may have stemmed from the observation that sleeping people resemble the dead and visit the spirit realm in dreams. He also notes that “the Sun and Moon appeared to arise from beneath the ground and return each day or night,”55 suggesting the presence of an Underworld beneath the earth.

“It is the work of a Witch, as a practitioner of Earth Religion, to be a steward of nature,”56 Grimassi says.

Witches align with nature through the seasonal rites of the Sabbats, which Grimassi explores in detail. He explains how the waxing and waning halves of the years are personified by the Holly King and Oak King, whose animal forms are the stag and the wolf, and he analyzes the symbolism associated with the myths and legends of each Sabbat. 

“The Mystery Teachings are designed to bring humankind back to its original relationship with nature,”57 Grimassi says. By studying these teachings, he believes we can reactivate dormant ancestral knowledge, which he refers to as “memory-chain associations.”58 Memory-chain associations are energetic currents that Grimassi likens to quantum threads in a spider’s web of non-linear time, weaving together the simultaneously existing past, present, and future.

By aligning with a “core concept” that is received upon initiation into the Mysteries, “one can interface with the memory-chain associations.”59 Once the memory-chain has been activated, the initiate can draw from the Underworld cauldron of ancestral memory hidden within the labyrinthine tangle of roots beneath the Tree of Knowledge. The wisdom that lies therein is meant to be shared, for the enlightenment of humanity, and “the cauldron will not offer its essence to those who serve only themselves.”60

I believe Grimassi wrote this book in such a way that it activates those memory chains in the reader, stimulating initiatory insights, and this book is such a wellspring of information that it would take multiple readings to fully integrate what it has to offer. By shifting my mindset to the primal perspective of this work, I had a profound epiphany that deepened my understanding of the Horned God and my personal relationship with him. 

I took the holy sacrament of psilocybin cubensis for the first time while reading Chapter Three, “The God of the Witches,” and it was a truly initiatory experience. Although Grimassi does not mention the use of psychedelic sacraments in this book, I felt guided to do so by my guardian spirits because the mushroom, with its phallic shape and ecstatic properties, is a sacred plant medicine of the Horned God. It was a fortuitous synchronicity that I received the sacrament from a church the day after I started reading this book. I was also given signs to take it by the presence of two large mushroom fairy rings at the local park.

After waiting several hours for something to happen, I was disappointed because I thought the sacrament wasn’t working. I gave up and watched an episode of the X-Files, in which Agent Scully was kidnapped and almost lobotomized by a serial killer who wanted to trepan out her demons. Before Mulder rescued her, I had an intense craving for Doritos. That’s when the magic mushrooms finally started to kick in.

I heard a spirit voice tell me that I was protected and it was safe for me to let my guard down and surrender to the experience. She told me I have a very strong mind, like barbed wire, and it took a long time for me to feel the effects of the sacrament because of my psychic barriers. I realized she was right. I was curious to see what would happen, but I was also afraid of being mind-raped by the mushroom, so I had a lot of subconscious resistance. Up until that point, I had been worried that I wasn’t feeling anything because I didn’t take enough, but she told me that the Universe had provided me with the exact dosage that was right for me to consume at that time. Left to my own devices, I could easily have overdosed and become Madame Psychosis. My guardian spirits know me all too well.

At the peak of my trip, Dionysos appeared to me in the form of a serpent crawling along the tiles of my floor. The serpent told me he knows me better than I know myself, and gave me a lot of insight into my own behavior. He revealed to me that he is like a chameleon, and if I try too hard to see him, I won’t find him at all. “Surprise!” he said. I am the Mushroom King. He was very playful and teased me for overlooking him when he’s all around me, giving me obvious signs of his presence.

On the eve of Lughnassadh, a few days prior to me consuming the sacrament, a catalpa tree fell in the backyard during a thunderstorm. Thankfully, no one was injured and there was minimal damage, but it was a really startling encroachment of nature. A forked stang was gifted to me from that fallen tree, and I learned from an internet search that catalpa wood encourages creative self-expression, embracing one’s uniqueness, and facilitates communication with spirits, including angels, fairies, and ancestors.

The garden has also been strangely wild and overgrown with monstrous weeds this summer, despite all my diligent efforts to tame them. The corn was mysteriously knocked over by some unseen force, which was a frustrating disappointment, but the berry bushes have been thriving. All of this excessive weedy vegetation has been the Horned God’s way of trying to get my attention. He confirmed that I am a maenad by giving me a vision of myself with green skin and wearing a flower crown, which aligned with me being born in May and the emerald being my birthstone. I reveled in this Dionysian ecstasy without worrying about whether or not these insights were real or a form of spiritual psychosis, and once it was over, I felt heightened creativity and wrote down everything I could remember and transformed my experience into a poem.

Dionysos taking the form of a serpent in my vision was significant because Grimassi writes that, according to Plutarch, during the waning half of the year, “Dionysos is lord of Delphi,”61 while Apollo reigns during the waxing year. He likens Apollo and Dionysos to the Oak and Holly Kings of the waxing and waning and waning year who annually battle for regency. After re-reading this passage, I realized I had seen Dionysos in the form of the sacred python of the Delphic Oracle. This information was important for me to integrate because I’ve been wanting to incorporate Apollo into my practice as a complement to Dionysos, and seeing him as the king of the waxing year adds more depth to how I perceive his relationship with the Dionysian shadow.

I now see Apollo as the rational conscious mind, the Luciferian prince of dawn who wakes us in the morning and helps us remember and interpret the dreams and visions gifted to us in the Dionysian underworld of the subconscious mind. Light-bringing Apollo helps us make sense of it all and gives our visions deeper meaning by translating them into poetry, music, and other art forms. Apollo, the embodiment of reason, bestows the gift of discernment, enabling the mind to parse out delusions and fantasies from genuine prophecies and mystical experiences.

According to Grimassi, when the conscious mind attempts to digest illogical dream symbolism, “it discards what cannot be understood and retains what can be deciphered through logic and rational reasoning.”62 “The discarded information falls back into the subconscious mind where it later reappears in another dream state,”63 Grimassi says. This subconscious stew of dreams is symbolized in mythology as a magical cauldron, and as I read Grimassi’s words, I had a sudden epiphany that these dream fragments are reflected in the myth of the dismemberment of Dionysos, who was cooked in a cauldron and eaten by the Titans.

“The mystical theme of consuming is at the core of the Mystery Teaching associated with the Sacred King or Slain God,” Grimassi says. “The seed must go into the earth and the God must go into the soul. In essence, burial takes place in the soil and the stomach.”64 Grimassi also points out that the hearth was seen “as an entrance to the Underworld.”65 “The cauldron,” he says, “is not only a cooking pot but also a womb symbol from which metaphorical children are born.”66 

Taking the sacrament while reading this chapter gave me a whole new perspective of the Horned God’s manifestation as the sacred serpent. The correlation between the Horned God and digestion got me thinking about how the human digestive tract is just one long snake.

“The serpent is a very old symbol of the forces of the Underworld and of transformation itself,”67 Grimassi says.

Part of the Biblical serpent’s wisdom must have been instinctual discernment of what is safe and not safe to eat. Practicing Grimassi’s prehistoric way of thinking, I imagined the process of trial and error for hunters and gatherers learning which plants were safe for consumption and which ones were poisonous. To consume the sacrament is to metabolize plant wisdom. Perhaps being cursed to crawl on one’s belly metaphorically means that the will to survive is driven by the pangs of hunger. In order to stay alive, we are slaves to the dietary needs of our bodies.

Perhaps this is why so many Christian ascetics used fasting as a method of resisting the Devil. I have come to the conclusion that the Tree of Knowledge is the human body, and the serpent is the digestive system. The serpent rules the literal bowels of the Underworld, the digestive system that alchemizes food into energy. By honoring the wisdom of the serpent, we treat all food as sacred and become more mindful of what we consume.

Witchcraft: A Mystery Tradition has blessed me with initiatory revelations and I can’t praise this book enough. I came to this work seeking to know the God of Witches better, but of course, Grimassi devotes the same amount of attention to the Triple Goddess. In the past, my practice has been primarily goddess-centric, so this book initiated me into an aspect of the Horned God’s mysteries because that’s what I needed most for my personal spiritual journey. I have no doubt that multiple readings will take me in new directions, and every reader’s initiatory experience will be different, depending on where they are on their spiritual path.

Living Conjure, by Mama Starr Casas

Living Conjure: The Practice of Southern Folk Magic, by Starr Casas
Weiser Books, 1578638240, 208 pages, August 2024

Living Conjure: The Practice of Southern Folk Magic by Mama Starr Casas, a Conjure woman with over forty years of experience, is a comprehensive guide to traditional Southern Conjure that’s accessible to all skill levels, from beginner to seasoned practitioner. A native Kentuckian, Mama Starr’s voice is like a warm hearth fire crackling with wisdom and laced with the sweet smoke of magic. Her writing style emulates the way she was taught: through word of mouth, from her elders. This enchanting prose, delivered with the down-to-earth charm of a beloved granny, immerses readers in a legacy of time-honored Southern secrets. It’s clear that Mama Starr poured her heart and soul into preserving and sharing this invaluable knowledge.

“Don’t forget your roots,”1 Appalachian Conjure man Jake Richards says in the foreword, and those words lingered with me like the whisper of a ghost. I’ve tried running from the South, where I was born, and I’ve rejected the Christian faith in which I was raised. When I lived in New York, some people projected negative Southern stereotypes onto me and wrongly assumed that I voted in a certain way, so I came to realize that I couldn’t run from the South. Wherever I go, she follows me, a phantom belle perfumed with magnolias, and when fate forced me to come back, she reclaimed me. Trying to escape my roots just buried them deep in my shadow. Studying Conjure and incorporating some elements of Southern folk magic into my personal practice has been a therapeutic way for me to reconcile with my roots by digging them up and putting them to good use.

Mama Starr honors the tradition of her elders by teaching Conjure through the lens of children’s folktales, like “Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby,”52 and the rhythms of old spirituals. These weathered yarns weave a rich tapestry of magic. “The ancestors of this work learned to hide the work in plain sight—that is why this work is called tricks,”53 she explains. This emphasis on subtlety and clever disguise is a core principle of Conjure.

“Conjure, Hoodoo, and Rootwork are all the same thing,” Mama Starr explains. “When I was growing up, I never heard Hoodoo being used as the name for this work. Hoodoo was a question: “Hoodoo you?” Meaning, “Who put roots on you?”54

These terms have evolved over time and their usage can vary depending on the region and the practitioner. However, they all refer to the same tradition of folk magic that has been passed down through generations in the Southern United States.

“Sometimes folks get upset with me because I share so much,” Mama Starr says. “I share it because if I don’t, when I’m gone what’s in my head is going to be gone.”56 She hopes to keep the work alive and honor the memory of the ancestors through her writing.

One chapter explores the use of “The Arms of the Cross”58 in Conjure, associating each arm with a cardinal direction and element. Mama Starr counsels caution when doing this type of work, because one could accidently nail themselves down with a crossed condition if performed incorrectly. In the sample workings she provides, a candle or a petition is placed on one of the cross arms.

“I’m what folks call a two-headed worker, which means that I will do what folks call ‘light’ or ‘dark’ work just as long as the work is justified,”59 Mama Starr says. She emphasizes the importance of performing divination before a working to ensure it is warranted and to take responsibility for your actions. 

Most of the workings are very simple and require few tools. Mama Starr teaches how to work Conjure with objects most people already have lying around the house, such as scissors, keys, bottles, and jars. The use of blue bottles in Conjure held the most fascination for me because I’ve always loved decorating with cobalt blue glass bottles and I used to keep them in my kitchen window. It turns out they can be magically charged to keep ghosts away.

“Haunts can’t cross over water,” Mama Starr says, “and it is believed they don’t know the difference between the blue in the paint or bottles and the blue of the water, so they stay away from the homes that have the ceiling of the porch painted blue or have blue bottles hanging in the trees.”63

Before reading this book, I had no idea that blue bottles were used in Southern folk magic to ward off spirits, so I must have had an intuitive instinct to decorate my window with them. 

Mama Starr teaches how to honor one’s personal ancestors by tending graves, creating an ancestor altar, and making offerings. However, ancestors need not be limited to blood kin. She also emphasizes the importance of honoring the ancestors of Conjure, “the folks who were brought over here during the time of slavery.”64 “Conjure was born out of slavery, from folks trying to survive during a time when white folks felt they had the right to own another person like they were cattle,”67 Mama Starr says. She admires their courage, wisdom, and cunning intelligence in the face of oppression and hardship.

The shadow of slavery looms large over the South, and it was one of the reasons why I tried to escape my Southern roots. Instead of being ashamed of being a white Southerner and trying to push the horrors of slavery out of my mind, Living Conjure has shifted my perspective to thinking about how I can honor the ancestors of Conjure in my personal practice. Mama Starr writes about them and keeps them in her prayers.

Mama Starr talks about the magical properties of animal curios, such as bird feet and alligator paws, and explains that the use of animal parts in magic can be discerned by observing the animal’s natural behavior. I have a flock of egg-laying hens, so her insights into using eggs and chicken feet in Conjure were especially significant for me. She points out that chickens are resourceful and scratch around in the dirt all day looking for food, so their claws can symbolically rake in money. Their feet are also protective because their claws are sharp enough to draw blood. She gives detailed instructions for multiple workings with the feet, as well as how to perform an egg cleansing.

The chapter on “Dirts and Powders” was also very insightful. Mama Starr points out that the virtues of various dirts can be like a double-edged sword. For example, bank dirt can bring prosperity, but one should keep in mind that banks also repossess property, and so the energy of loss and poverty may be mingling in that dirt. I recently started working with bank dirt this year, and this passage enriched my understanding of how to use it.

Mama Starr’s website claims that “she has tried to keep the work as pure as possible,”68 and for her, that means you can’t take the Bible out of Conjure. If you do, it’s not Conjure. However, in this book, she adopts a more lenient approach, teaching the role the Bible plays in Conjure and leaving it up to readers to decide whether or not they want to use it.

I’ve had a complicated relationship with the Bible. Being raised in a conservative Christian household, I had a little pink Bible that I used to read in bed as a child. When my mother disciplined me, one of her favorite punishments was for me to hand copy Proverbs three times each. As an adolescent, I lost faith, read more critically, and became jaded with the misogyny I found in the scriptures. I’m against burning books, so I’ve done my best to make peace with the Bible. College taught me to read it as a work of literature, and Living Conjure is helping me reconnect with it as a powerful grimoire, rather than a source of judgment and condemnation.

“Since the ancestors were forced to become Christian, they put the Bible to good use,”69 Mama Starr says. This passage spoke to my soul because my mother put the fear of God into me when I was a small child, and like it or not, that indoctrination is a major theme in the first chapter of my origin story, and a part of who I am. If you try to take the Bible out of Conjure, Mama Starr says it’s like throwing the baby out with the bathwater, and “you are weakening the foundation that the ancestors built through their blood, sweat, and tears.”70

Mama Starr emphasizes that Conjure is a magical practice, not a religion. The Bible is a religious text, but it is also a spellbook. It can be used for divination in a practice called bibliomancy, and Mama Starr teaches how to receive messages from Spirit using this method. While many Christians believe that divination is a sin, Mama Starr cites biblical passages to the contrary, which describe divinatory practices and claim that the gift of prophecy comes from God. “Men of the churches have tried to remove God’s gift out of the churches, but you can’t take away what God has given,”71 Mama Starr says.

About five years ago, I had a dream that I was in an underground chapel with my mom, and a big black goat of the Witches’ Sabbath was standing on its hind legs in front of her, holding the Bible open like a living lectern. She was so spellbound by the Word that she didn’t even realize the Devil was the one holding the book. I woke up from that dream thinking of the Bible as the Devil’s Black Book, and from then on I recognized it as a powerful tool for witchcraft. Living Conjure has given me deeper insight into putting it to good use. 

I may not like some of my roots, but I’ve chosen to own them. After all, if you want to find your power, it’s in your shadow. It’s in those potent roots you keep buried deep, the ones that don’t ever want to see the light of day. If Southern folk magic is part of your heritage, then Living Conjure is a valuable guide that can help you reclaim your roots and tap into that subterranean current of power.

Spirit Marriage, by Megan Rose, Ph.D.

Spirit Marriage: Intimate Relationships with Otherworldly Beings, by Megan Rose, Ph.D.
Bear & Company, 1591434157, 448 pages, April 2022

In Spirit Marriage: Intimate Relationships with Otherworldly Beings, transformational psychologist Dr. Megan Rose explores the cross-cultural phenomenon of mystical union with a spirit spouse. Dr. Rose defines spirit marriage as “the bonded or intimate relationship between a human and a subtle or discarnate entity such as a deity, spirit, or extraordinary intelligence.”72 Through case studies, historical accounts, and her own experiences, Rose explores how these relationships manifest in a wide variety of traditions, from the God Spouses of Norse Heathenry to the ceremonial magician’s union with the Holy Guardian Angel. As the first comprehensive survey of its kind, Spirit Marriage is a fascinating exploration of a complex and often taboo topic. 

Dr. Megan Rose holds a Ph.D. in Psychology and an M.A. in Religion. She also identifies as an ecosexual priestess, erotic mystic, and faery seer. These diverse areas of expertise inform her approach to spirit marriage, which emphasizes the spiritual, emotional, and erotic aspects of these relationships, which she perceives as a “cocreative consciousness”73 formed between the mortal and the spirit to whom they are wedded.

The foreword is written by Orion Foxwood, author of The Tree of Enchantment: Ancient Wisdom and Magic Practices of the Faery Tradition (2008), who has been married to a faery queen named Brigh for over twenty years. In the foreword, Foxwood points out that spirit lovers are often demonized, but reminds readers that the word demon is “derived from the Greek word daemon, which originally denoted a divine being, not an infernal one.”74 

I was excited to come across this book because there is a relative dearth of reliable information on the subject. I’ve Googled spirit marriage in the past, and search results were dominated by Christian fearmongering, with a deluge of warnings about spirit spouses being demons that ruin lives and require deliverance through Jesus Christ. Wikipedia is the most reliable, identifying spirit spouses as helping spirits in shamanism, but there isn’t any practical information on how to form these alliances. Fortunately, Spirit Marriage offers a much more balanced and nuanced perspective, exploring the concept of spirit spouses across cultures and traditions.

In Spirit Marriage, Rose describes her journey to connecting with her spirit lover and discovering his identity, which culminated in union with a human partner whose spiritual essence (referred to by Rose as the Divine Self) is a vibrational match to her Faery Beloved. Rose describes her journey as one of “reconciliation with the Dark Goddess and Dark God,”75 which was initiated through a descent into her personal underworld, where she encountered the “archetypal devil”76 through two abusive relationships.

Dr. Rose’s personal story in the chapter titled “The Erotic Mystic: Encounters with My Faery Beloved”77 resonated deeply with me as a fellow Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) who has also navigated childhood bullying and abusive relationships. Her journey of overcoming these challenges to embrace the Divine Masculine mirrored my own realizations in recent years. Dr. Rose’s insights about the impact of religious upbringing and past trauma on our relationships with the Divine Masculine are particularly valuable. They validate the experiences of many women, who, like myself, struggle with connecting to the Divine Masculine due to religious trauma and partner abuse. Sharing these experiences highlights the importance of healing past wounds to cultivate a healthy connection with one’s Divine counterpart, a central theme explored throughout Spirit Marriage. 

Dr. Rose’s memoir exemplifies the transformative potential of spirit marriages. While I resonated with her experiences the most, I enjoyed reading all ten interviews. Each account offers fascinating insights, showcasing how spirit marriages transcend race, gender, and sexual orientation. A common thread emerges: a sense of surrender to a predestined union.

Dr. Rose’s interviews with individuals like Orion Foxwood, a gay Traditional Witch and Conjure Man wed to a faery queen, and Kama Devi, a heterosexual white woman who married the Hindu goddess Kali Ma, effectively demonstrate the vast spectrum of spirit marriages. They can even manifest as a union with nature itself, as evidenced in “The West African Shrine Keeper,”78 which features a shaman wed to a deity embodied as a tree.

There are no cut and dry rules about spirit marriage, and the unions are as unique as the people who enter them. While many traditions insist that divorcing a spirit-spouse is impossible, Caroline, a witchdoctor from Washington, DC, has married multiple spirits from a variety of pantheons, and claims that she has divorced a spirit-spouse. 

Throughout the book, Rose addresses safety precautions regarding the importance of establishing trust and maintaining healthy boundaries with spirit lovers, which can sometimes be challenging due to shared consciousness. For instance, she emphasizes the importance of discernment to ensure spirit communication is genuine. Each account addresses how the practitioner balances their spirit marriage with the mundane concerns of everyday life, including how they navigate integrating a spirit spouse with romantic relationships on the physical plane.

Given the unconventional nature of these spirit marriages, my main takeaway from this book is that a practitioner’s preconceived notions about who or what a spirit spouse is supposed to be could possibly get in the way of achieving union. A practitioner seeking a spirit spouse should be open-minded and need not limit themselves based on gender, sexual preference, or ethnicity. The right spirit spouse is the one best aligned with the practitioner’s life purpose, and it may defy expectations. Spirit marriage is a lifelong journey, and every experience is tailored to the individual.

Ultimately, spirit marriage is a co-creative union. Like the concept of twin flames, spirit and mortal unite to achieve a higher purpose.

“In the spirit marriage, an indwelling happens, a symbiosis, the grafting of the two into one,” Dr. Rose writes. “From this union a third entity arises: a love child.”79

For Rose, her love child is this book. 

Spirit Marriage is riveting and I didn’t want to put it down. Each interview, beautifully rendered, showcases a distinct spirit spouse with a palpable presence—I swear I could smell cigar smoke while reading about “The New Orleans Voodoo Mambo”80 married to Baron Samedi.

Dr. Rose approaches the various cultures and traditions with the utmost respect, demonstrating how everyone’s path is different and there is no right way or any strict set of rules regarding spirit marriage. While some readers might remain skeptical or wary of entering these unions, Spirit Marriage offers a thought-provoking exploration that will validate and transform the intimate relationships of practitioners who seek congress with the spirit realm.

The Chinese Five Elements Oracle, by Vicki Iskandar

The Chinese Five Elements Oracle: A 60-Card Deck and Guidebook, by Vicki Iskandar and illustrated by Candice Soon
Hay House LLC, 140197063X, 192 pages, 60 cards, October 2023

In Taoism, the five elements of Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water are the building blocks of the universe. The elements present at birth shape our personalities and desires. Through Chinese astrology, we can attune to our own personal elemental compositions, promoting deeper self-awareness, growth, and healing. 

The Chinese Five Elements Oracle combines the five elements with the twelve zodiac animals to create all sixty possible pairings. This deck was created by Indonesian-born Chinese Feng Shui consultant and astrologer Vicki Iskandar, and illustrated by Candice Soon, a self-taught artist from Singapore. It consists of sixty cards and a 185-page guidebook, representing Iskandar’s unique vision of the sixty Pillars, brought to life through Soon’s gorgeous illustrations. In her personal practice, Iskandar blends Chinese and Western astrology. Since 2012, she has shared daily astrological guidance on Twitter under the handle @5elementsoracle.

This deck is beginner-friendly, with the accompanying guidebook offering a comprehensive introduction to Chinese metaphysics, Taoism, and astrology. According to Chinese mythology, the ordering of the animal signs was established based on the outcome of a Great Race. The Rat hitched a ride on the Ox and leaped across the finish line first, winning the race and being awarded the position of first sign in the Chinese zodiac by the Jade Emperor, the Taoist ruler of the Universe. 

The sixty cards, or Pillars, are divided into six cycles of ten Heavenly Stems, and the opening cycle explores the themes of Wisdom and Communication, beginning with the Wood Rat, the deck’s inaugural card and leader of the first cycle. I was born in the year of the Wood Rat, so I was thrilled to discover it was the first card in the deck when I opened the box. 

Iskandar explains that the sixty cards are organized into a cyclical pattern known as the “great sexagenary cycle.”1 Each ten-card cycle begins with Yang Wood and concludes with Yin Water, while the twelve animal signs follow their traditional order: “The Rat, the Ox, the Tiger, the Rabbit, the Dragon, the Snake, the Horse, the Sheep (also called Goat or Ram), the Monkey, the Bird (or Rooster), the Dog, and the Pig (or Boar).”2

Iskandar substitutes the more familiar Rooster with the Bird, often depicted as a phoenix, due to the sign’s Yin Metal elemental energy. The Rooster, with its masculine connotations, doesn’t accurately reflect the sign’s feminine nature. Iskandar emphasizes the importance of understanding the elemental composition of each animal sign rather than relying on superficial characteristics. 

Intrigued by the potential insights offered by this oracle, I immediately began exploring the Pillars associated with my family, friends, and pets. I wanted to familiarize myself with the individual qualities of each sign before delving into divinatory use of the cards. 

2024 is the year of the Wood Dragon, and I examined the corresponding card in this deck to contemplate how this energy might be influencing the collective. The wise Wood Dragon is the first of the “Power and Authority Cards,” and according to Iskandar, it “represents tremendous strength and faith in a positive outcome, even in the midst of adversity.”73 This card advises us to lead authentic lives, act with integrity, and use our personal power and influence for the greater good. 

Feeling prepared to delve into the oracle’s divinatory potential, I turned my attention to the suggested practices outlined in the guidebook. Iskandar emphasizes the importance of a clear and receptive mindset, recommending a brief meditation before each reading. She also advises against using the cards during the energetically potent periods of the New and Full Moons, which are either too Yin or too Yang, as well as during stormy weather. 

Iskandar offers a variety of oracle spreads, and I decided to start with the one card draw, which is called “One with the Tao.”74

“Taoism is about simplicity, and the simplest way to ask for guidance is to draw a card from the deck, especially when you’re seeking a quick answer, an insight into a specific matter, or an affirmation from your guides,” Iskandar says. “If a card jumps out before you pick one, it’s the Tao picking a card for you.”81

Turning the cards facedown to shuffle, I was dazzled by the beauty of the card backs, which depict the yin-yang dalliance of a phoenix and a dragon, the ultimate power couple in Feng Shui. They swirl in a galaxy of color, before a backdrop of stars. The phoenix has a rainbow of tail feathers with peacock eyes, while the dragon coils around her with sea green hair and a blur of pastel scales. 

I didn’t have a specific question in mind, so I just asked for general guidance from the Tao. While I was shuffling, I saw a dragon’s head appear before my mind’s eye, signifying Yang energy. After I spent some time thoroughly shuffling the deck, the Tao flipped over a card for me: “Wood Horse: Live and Love Joyfully,” which depicts a horse galloping through a forest with sunlight streaming down through the canopy of branches and leaves.

This energetic card carries the elemental energy of Yang Wood, symbolizing expansion and growth, and the Horse is a harbinger of “unbridled joy.”

“Heaven is there to guide you to a bright future, while Earth stands ready to bring you opportunities,”82 Iskandar says.

What a beautiful and reassuring message!

This versatile deck is a wonderful tool for exploring Chinese astrology, delving into natal charts, and seeking oracular wisdom from the Tao. For those eager to dive deeper into Chinese astrology beyond their year Pillar, Iskandar’s website offers a BaZi chart calculator to reveal your Four Pillars of Destiny and more.

The Chinese Five Elements Oracle is a treasure trove of wisdom and beauty. This is the first deck of its kind that I’ve seen, and it will be a valuable tool for both beginners and experienced practitioners of Chinese astrology.

The Occult Sylvia Plath, by Julia Gordon-Bramer

The Occult Sylvia Plath: The Hidden Spiritual Life of the Visionary Poet, by Julia Gordon-Bramer
Destiny Books, 1644118629, 416 pages, May 2024

Poetry is a form of spellcasting, and Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) continues to captivate readers as her following grows through BookTok. Plath was best known for her confessional poetry and her semi-autobiographical novel, The Bell Jar, which she published just before her suicide under the pen name Victoria Lucas. Beyond her iconic status as a tragic heroine, Plath was fascinated with the occult. Biographers have often overlooked this aspect, but Plath scholar Julia Gordon-Bramer delves into this profound influence in her book The Occult Sylvia Plath: The Hidden Spiritual Life of the Visionary Poet. A poet and tarot reader herself, Gordon-Bramer unveils Plath’s fascination with Qabalah, Jungian alchemy, astrology, tarot, and even the Ouija board, revealing the sorcery woven into her writing. 

I first encountered Sylvia Plath in an undergrad poetry class. The lecture focused on lurid biographical details, reducing her to a tortured poet with daddy issues, who was driven to suicide by her husband’s infidelity. Dissecting poems like “Daddy” and “Lady Lazarus,” which were laced with disturbing holocaust symbolism, made my skin crawl. Reading her poetry was like eating wild honey straight from a swarming hive. The honeycomb was blackened with dust and mold spores, and dead bees were trapped in dark, viscous amber. There was a vague sense of danger, as if internalizing her words might infect me with the same madness that drove her to end her own life.

She instantly became one of my favorite poets. Plath gave me permission to harvest radioactive material from the dregs of my soul, to be raw and unfiltered in my writing. Nothing was off limits. While this provocative introduction to her poetry inspired me and granted me greater creative freedom, I now realize that I was so spellbound by her mythical image that I lost sight of the transcendent nature of her work. 

In The Occult Sylvia Plath, Plath scholar Julia Gordon-Bramer dismantles the oversimplification of Plath’s poetry as confessional, arguing that previous biographers have overlooked the influence of world events, Plath’s social circle, and most importantly, her fascination with the occult. Informed by over fifteen years of research, Gordon-Bramer deep dives into letters, journals, and even marginalia in Plath’s personal library, weaving together a web of occult connections that resonated throughout Plath’s oeuvre. Gordon-Bramer’s compelling insights have enriched my own appreciation of Plath’s poetry, as viewed through the kaleidoscopic lens of her spiritual journey. 

“For over fifty years, Sylvia Plath’s story was controlled and severely restricted by the estates of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes,” says Gordon-Bramer. “Until recently, editors of Plath’s and Hughes’s published letters downplayed their interests in the occult.”1 It turns out that the tortured poet facade I had idolized as an undergrad creative writing student was carefully curated for mass appeal. “Even many of Plath’s better photos were not published, possibly in an effort to cast her as a dowdier, more depressive poet,”83 Gordon-Bramer says. In this book, she hopes “to break the world from the habit of reading Plath’s work solely through the lens of autobiography.”84

Each chapter is named after the title of a Plath poem. In “April Aubade,” Gordon-Bramer humanizes Sylvia’s father, Otto Plath, a German immigrant who, during World War I, was flagged by the FBI as “an ‘alien enemy’ for having pro-German sympathies and expressing a desire to return to his homeland one day.”85 Otto was in fact a pacifist and a victim of the persecution that many German Americans faced during those troubled times. “Becoming a young man, alone with no family and few friends in a foreign country, Otto Plath endured it all, probably not without significant emotional damage,”86 Gordon-Bramer says.

Knowing these details about Otto Plath casts “Daddy” in a new light. The poem feels both intensely personal and transcendent. As Plath exorcizes the ghost of her German father and identifies with the Jews, she also seems to be grappling with a shared sense of horror for the atrocities of the Holocaust. The pain in this poem is visceral, and with the added context of her father’s struggles as an immigrant, the final stanza stings with deeper resonance:

“There’s a stake in your fat black heart/And the villagers never liked you./They are dancing and stamping on you./They always knew it was you./Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.”87

Plath’s rage transcends the personal, becoming a powerful voice for collective trauma.

Bees are prevalent in Sylvia Plath’s poetry, and she inherited her fascination with them from her father, who earned the childhood nickname “Bee King” because he had a talent for “charming bees to steal their honey.”88 This passion continued into adulthood, as he studied and cared for bee colonies at the Arnold Arboretum in Boston, Massachusetts from 1922 to 1928. Gordon-Bramer highlights the occult significance of bees, revealing that Otto was initiated into Freemasonry in 1928 and bees are a potent Freemason symbol, representing the alchemical transformation of pollen into honey through the hive’s collective efforts. Gordon-Bramer also notes that Sylvia’s mother, whose name, Aurelia, means “golden”89 in Latin, wrote her master’s thesis on the famed alchemist Paracelsus, which Otto read and admired.

Sylvia Plath was a Scorpio, born on October 27, 1932, under the looming shadow of the Great Depression. Gordon-Bramer explores how Sylvia’s early life was shaped by both environmental influences and her parents’ personalities. Her father Otto, an authoritarian Aries, exhibited a demanding and emotionally distant parenting style, while her mother Aurelia, a possessive Taurus, could be both smothering and invasive. The cross-pollination of Sylvia’s parents produced a precocious child who sought love and approval through academic achievement and perfectionism.  

“Because of his ill health, Otto never hugged or kissed his family for fear that he might spread disease,” Gordon-Bramer says. “Perhaps, for reasons he thought were kind and sensible in those times before antibiotics, he kept his distance, rarely talked to or played with his children, and quietly stayed in his room, already existing like a ghost.”90

Otto’s death could have been averted if he had sought medical treatment sooner. In a vain desire to preserve an image of masculine strength and independence, he stubbornly soldiered through the pain, refusing to see a doctor until it was too late. He was suffering from pneumonia and advanced diabetes, and his left leg had to be amputated due to a gruesome gangrene infection that horrified his daughter, plaguing her with nightmares even towards the end of her own life. Otto died of a lung embolism on November 5th, 1940, during World War II. Sylvia was only eight years old.

The name Otto means “wealthy,” but he failed to leave behind an inheritance that would sustain his family after his premature death.91] However, he bequeathed a Plutonian wealth of emotions to Sylvia, which she excavated at great length to fuel her artistic creativity. She mined a wide variety of emotional ores, from gilded veins of pride in his accomplishments as a “self-made man,” to the ancestral iron of blood and war she so eloquently smelted into poetry.92

In the summer following Otto’s death, the precocious eight-year-old Sylvia published her first poem in the Boston Traveler. Her father’s passing was a catalyst for her pursuit of literary fame, and the lingering influence of his high standards had conditioned her to seek external validation through artistic achievement and academic excellence. 

Otto’s death also initiated a profound spiritual crisis for Sylvia. Feeling abandoned by her father and resentful towards God, she declared, “I’ll never speak to God again.”93 Despite flirting with atheism, Sylvia was fascinated with religion and spirituality, and her personal beliefs were influenced by a blend of Unitarianism and paganism, leading her to identify as a “pagan sunworshiper”94 in her college years.

In 1953, after a month in New York City working as a guest editor at the magazine Mademoiselle, Plath had a “nervous breakdown” and attempted suicide with sleeping pills. Plath was institutionalized afterwards, and her doctor used tarot as part of her therapy. After her release, Plath continued reading tarot “for creative and personal growth”95 rather than fortune-telling. The arrangement of poems in her manuscript Ariel was based on tarot, and her nervous breakdown inspired her novel The Bell Jar.

After delving into Plath’s life story, The Occult Sylvia Plath offers an intriguing exploration of her complicated relationship with her husband, the British poet laureate Ted Hughes, through the lens of the occult. Gordon-Bramer weaves in vignettes of the couple using a homemade Ouija board to commune with a spirit named Pan, giving an intimate glimpse of how their shared creative process was influenced by the supernatural. Plath modeled her first poetry collection, The Colossus, after Hughes’s Qabalistic structure, which he used in his own poetry. “The title, The Colossus, and the inspiration for the title poem, probably should have been credited to Pan, the Ouija board spirit,”96 Gordon-Bramer says.

While it’s tempting to demonize Hughes as a monster who drove Plath to suicide with his philandering and alleged abuse, Gordon-Bramer paints a more nuanced picture, depicting him as a flawed but remorseful man. The pain and guilt he must have felt are palpable in Gordon-Bramer’s portrayal, and I was surprised to find myself moved to tears by the end of the book. Gordon-Bramer describes the lengths to which he went to preserve Plath’s legacy, leading one to believe he “had fallen more in love and under Plath’s spell than he ever had in her lifetime.”97 Thanks to his diligent work, so have we.  

The Occult Sylvia Plath is a spellbinding biography documenting the volatile alchemical marriage of two literary titans. By the end of the book, I felt a sense of catharsis, as if I had vicariously experienced Plath’s struggles and emerged with a deeper understanding. This is a must-read for fans of both Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.