Musing Mystical

✨ A Gathering Place for Magical Readers and Writers ✨

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

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.”1 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”2 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.”3 

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,”4 which was initiated through a descent into her personal underworld, where she encountered the “archetypal devil”5 through two abusive relationships.

Dr. Rose’s personal story in the chapter titled “The Erotic Mystic: Encounters with My Faery Beloved”6 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,”7 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.”8

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”9 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.”3 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.”4

“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.”5

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,”6 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,”2 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.”3

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.”4 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,”5 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.”6

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.”7 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”8 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.”9

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.10] 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.11

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.”12 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”13 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”14 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,”15 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.”16 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.

Shamanic Teachings of the Condor, by Martha Winona Travers, Ph.D.

Shamanic Teachings of the Condor: Encounters with the Mystical Traditions of the Andes, by Martha Winona Travers, Ph.D.
Bear & Company, 1591435064, 192 pages, April 2024

In Shamanic Teachings of the Condor: Encounters with the Mystical Traditions of the Andes, Michigan-based author Martha Winona Travers, Ph.D., who holds a doctorate in English literature, writes about her twenty-two year apprenticeship to the Ecuadorian Kichwa healer Taita Alberto Taxo, who passed away in February 2022. This spiritual memoir is both a glowing eulogy honoring Taita Alberto’s life work and a guide to reconnecting with nature that shares his legacy with the world. Taita Alberto comes alive in these pages, imparting gentle, heart-centered wisdom. Through Travers’s recollections, we too can receive his teachings.

Taita Alberto (1954-2022) authored several books, including Friendship with the Elements: Opening the Channels of Communication (2010). Travers is also the creator of The Waycard Oracle: A Guide to the Inner Journey (2016), which includes 33 oracle cards and a guidebook.

Taita Alberto was a iachak, which is the Kichwa word for shaman. (The i in iachak is pronounced like a y.) Taita is an honorific title meaning “father,” indicating his role as a spiritual leader and teacher in his community.1 In 2007, he gave Travers the title of Mama Iachak, giving her the authority to carry on his tradition and transmit his teachings.

Iachaks, also known as “bird people,”2 identify with Condors. The Condor represents the Andean way of life, of “living from the heart,”3 in harmony with nature. The Eagle, the national bird of the United States, symbolizes “the people of the North,”4 who value technology and rationality, and live from the mind. “The Condor’s gift—the power of the heart—and the Eagle’s gift—the power of the mind—are two halves of a whole,”5 Travers says, and Taita Alberto taught that the time has come for the two to work together in harmony.

The iachak must bridge the cultural gap between the traditional way of life and the colonial one, retaining the native language while speaking the colonial tongue, and preserving the ancestral customs when most people in their community have converted to the colonial religion and adopted modern values. The power of flight enables the iachak to move freely between these cultural realms without being trapped in either one. 

While many natives felt threatened by outsiders visiting Ecuador to study with the iachak due to the harm caused by colonialism, Taita Alberto claimed that it had been prophesied that the forces of mind and heart, the rational Eagle and the intuitive Condor, were now destined to unite.

“The Condor needs help with technology and science,” Taita Alberto said. “The Eagle needs help listening to the heart. We need both gifts—both the mind and the heart—for balance.”6

Travers met Taita Alberto (also known as Taita Haskusht, his Kichwa name) in 1999. In “Part One: The Eagle Visits the Condor,” Travers recounts her first journey to Quito, Ecuador, a part of the Andes Mountain range that includes multiple active volcanoes. She and a group of visitors were welcomed into the ancestral home of Taita Haskusht, near the base of the volcano Cotopaxi, which is itself a powerful spiritual guide. With vivid and immersive prose, this beautiful memoir floods the mind’s eye with the sights and sensations of her pilgrimage along the serpentine paths circling Cotopaxi.

Each chapter in this section revolves around communion with one of the five elements. In the iachak worldview, the physical realm is made up of the four elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, plus the fifth element of Spirit, which is called Ushai in Kichwa. “The Ushai is the animating force of the universe; it is the energy that moves Earth, Air, Water, and Fire,”7 says Travers.“We experience the Ushai when we have the awareness that we are not separate from the elements.”8 All of the elements have feminine names in Kichwa: Fire is Nina, Water is Yaku, Air is Waira, Earth is Ashpamama, and Pachamama is the all-encompassing Great Cosmic Mother.

Chapter Three, “The Loving Earth,” is a moving account of a healing ritual in which the author recalls the experience of giving her pain to Mother Earth so it could be transformed by her. Prior to the ritual, Taita Haskusht encouraged the group to pick plants they felt drawn to for healing, following the wisdom of the heart to select the right one. When Travers attempted to ask Taita Haskusht to identify the plant she had chosen, he covered her mouth and turned away, triggering a deep wound within her. This was her first time attempting to speak to him, and she was hurt that he had silenced her.

Travers saw a migraine aura and feared a headache coming on, but she felt guided by an inner voice to follow the light instead of resisting it. While Taita Haskusht chanted, tears watered the earth as Travers and a grieving woman beside her relinquished their pain to the Mother. After the ritual, Taita Haskusht revealed to Travers that the plant she had selected “heals the voice.”9 I was dewy-eyed while reading this chapter, as I could feel the healing power of the Earth Mother through Travers’s vivid description of her experience.

In Chapter Four, “The Sacred River,” Travers describes the group’s experience of being purified in a volcanic hot spring, then dipping in a cold shallow stream, and the remainder of the day was spent resting and fasting. In the middle of the night, Travers woke several times, feeling afraid, and she glimpsed a ghostlike presence in the room. The next day, Taita Haskusht revealed that there had been “a great battle”10 during the night, as the impurities the group had released the previous day were manifesting as they were leaving. He blessed everyone by smudging them with the sweet-smelling woodsmoke of palo santo, a plant he said “loves us very much.”11

While reading, it felt beneficial to follow along by mimicking some of the actions described or by visualizing myself performing them with the narrator. For example, after reading about the smoke cleansing with palo santo, I burned some myself, asking the plant’s spirit to purify me. 

Chapter Five, “The Speaking Wind,” invigorates readers with the breath of Andean air as Travers communes with the volcano Cotopaxi. When Travers first beheld the face of Cotopaxi, peeking through a veil of clouds, she thought it seemed sinister, and the words “grim” and “cruel” came to mind, but she realized this was how she was “dreaming up” the volcano, and she proceeded to listen with her heart instead.12 I found her commentary on humanity’s tendency to project their personal experiences onto the world to be very insightful. 

“Listening is an open condition devoid of human projection,” Travers writes. “The iachak learns to separate from human fear and desire—those aspects of ego that create projection—and, instead, enters into a condition of receptivity to the many voices, the many languages of the many beings who share our world.”13

As Travers and her group embraced the presence of Cotopaxi, listening with their hearts and absorbing the mountain’s powerful essence, “Madre Waira,” or “Mother Wind,”14 lifted their spirits, cleansing them of negativity.

Part Two is titled “Becoming a Runa: Purification and Sacred Communion.” “In Kichwa, the word runa describes a person who is walking the path of life in a sacred way,”15 Travers writes. A runa lives in intimate harmony with the natural world, as our ancestors once did. Taita Alberto taught that we can reestablish this ancient connection with nature through communion with the elements. 

In the second part of this book, Travers provides exercises for revitalizing our relationship with the elemental powers. By recognizing the elements within and honoring the sacredness of our bodies, we become more conscious of what we consume, and are reminded not to pollute our inner rivers. According to Taita Alberto, “everything is food,”16 from the air we breathe to the books and other forms of media we ingest, which is important to keep in mind, especially for those of us living in the Eagle’s consumer culture. Regardless of what we are eating, whether it is healthy or not, we express gratitude to Mother Earth when we savor and enjoy our food.

In the section on working with the Earth element, I found the dietary advice to be insightful. Travers suggests eating foods individually to gauge how they make us feel, allowing enough time to digest in between meals so the foods don’t mix. She provides general guidelines for how long to wait, such as half an hour for fruits, which digest quickly, and four hours for meat.

Taita Alberto did not eat meat and neither did his apprentice iachaks. As part of his own iachak training, he was instructed to consume a small portion of animal flesh, and was distressed to discover that it cut off his intuition for six months. “A person who eats animals is eating the animal’s fear,”17 he said. He saw animals as his “helpers” and did not want to harm them.

To eat or not eat meat has been a lifelong moral quandary for me. I went through a vegetarian phase as a teenager, which frustrated some members of my family, who treated me like I was just being a difficult child and a picky eater rather than recognizing it was a choice based on my personal morals and spirituality (I was strongly influenced by Buddhism at the time and didn’t want to hurt animals). It angered my dad so much he stopped cooking for me altogether, claiming he didn’t know what to make since I wouldn’t eat meat, so I had to fend for myself. I started eating meat again in my early 20s when I was pregnant with my second child. I decided that since I was craving meat, the baby needed it. I received positive feedback when I started eating meat again, as people would tell me I looked healthier and had more color in my cheeks. Whether or not this was true, I don’t know, but I was verbally rewarded for conforming to my culture’s dietary preferences. To this day, I’m still troubled by factory farming, even though I eat meat purchased from the grocery store. I currently get my eggs from my own flock of hens, so those are at least guilt-free and not tainted with sadness because I know my girls are treated well.

Reflecting on the negativity I experienced when I chose to be a vegetarian as a teenager reminds me that our Eagle culture conditions us to consume meat without question. Those who deviate from this cultural norm are perceived as picky eaters who inconvenience others, and perhaps even troublemakers if they speak out against cruelty to animals. I think part of the problem is the fact that we get our meat pre-packaged in grocery stores and we are completely disconnected from the source of these products, which cuts off any empathy we might otherwise feel for the animals being slaughtered in factory farms. In contrast, Taita Alberto was raised as a vegetarian in the iachak tradition, and since he had a heart-based connection with the animal realm and saw animals as his helpers, eating meat was taboo for him, and doing so disconnected him from his spiritual Source.

Taita Alberto did not pass judgement on those who eat meat and his guidelines are not meant to be strictly followed as rigid rules. The ultimate teacher is experience, and he encouraged his pupils to see for themselves how following his suggestions makes them feel and shifts their perceptions.

Taita Alberto did not teach his students to ingest psychoactive plants because “all of nature is entheogenic,”18 or “god-filled,”19 including ourselves. We do not need mind-altering substances to experience the awe of “sacred communion with nature.”20 Instead, he taught simple daily practices that “initiate us into primal identification with all of Nature.”21 Many of these exercises focus on simply being present in the physical body and communing with nature through mindful sensory experience.

For example, when you feel the wind whispering on your skin, recognize it as a salutation from the Air element. Allow it to cleanse you of your anxieties and negative thoughts. This type of feeling is intuitive, not emotional, as our emotions are generated in response to our thoughts. Instead, it involves putting “emotion aside in order to enter an expansive condition of full, sensory awareness, present-moment consciousness, and intuitive sensing of energy beyond the material.”22 

Taita Alberto’s teachings can be put into practice through three simple steps: “greeting, feeling, and expressing gratitude.”23 Taita Alberto began his mornings by greeting the newborn day and the shining sun that brightens our lives. “Greet everything that appears before your eyes,”24 he said. Greet the six directions, north, south, east, west, sky above, and earth below.

These teachings may seem too simple for those craving a powerful transcendent experience, but Travers says that “true power is a quiet, internal state,” not “a dominating energy,”25 as our industrialized culture has programmed us to believe. The potency of these practices lies in their simplicity, for they are about creating inner transformation through how we perceive and engage with nature. 

Shamanic Teachings of the Condor offers a heart-centered approach to communing with the four elements of nature and the fifth element of Spirit that unites them. Rather than just being mindful, the Shamanic Teachings of the Condor encourage readers to cultivate heart-centered awareness. This book has reminded me to drop my Eagle consciousness down into my Condor heart space, to be present with my intuitive feelings while deepening my communion with the natural world. By attuning with the wisdom of the heart, we can all reconcile with nature.

Dance of the Sun Goddess, by Kenneth Johnson

Dance of the Sun Goddess: Pagan Folkways of the Baltic Coast, by Kenneth Johnson
Crossed Crow Books, 1959883240, 220 pages, March 2024

The eastern shores of the Baltic Sea glitter with amber, the golden tears of petrified resin shed by prehistoric pines. Nicknamed the Amber Coast, this magical region was the last part of Europe to be converted to Christianity, and forgotten pagan traditions, preserved in the lullabies of folk songs, rock its gilded cradle.

In Dance of the Sun Goddess: Pagan Folkways of the Baltic Coast, author Kenneth Johnson introduces readers to a vivacious pantheon of Baltic deities whose powers can be invoked with sacred trees and beautiful sigils that may be painted or carved on wood. Johnson draws pagan lore from Baltic folk songs to reconstruct the pre-Christian beliefs of the Latvians and Lithuanians. 

Johnson is a professional astrologer who has a B.A. in Comparative Religions and an M.A. in Eastern Studies, and he has written several books paganism, astrology, and magic, including Jaguar Wisdom: An Introduction to the Mayan Calendar, Witchcraft and the Shamanic Journey, and Flight of the Firebird: Slavic Magical Wisdom and Lore.

While Johnson is not of Baltic descent, he is passionate about sharing the mythology and folk practices of the Amber Coast with the world because of what they reveal to us about authentic European paganism. In the “Author’s Note” at the beginning of the book, he explains that the Lithuanian language is the closest living relative to the ancient Proto-Indo-European language. 

“This original language had its own religion, and this vanished faith has been the origin of all our Pagan mythologies—Greek, Latin, Norse, Celtic, Slavic, and Baltic,”1 Johnson says. Like a prehistoric insect fossilized in an amber coffin, these root pagan beliefs have been preserved in the living language and active folk practices of the Baltic lands, giving us a rare glimpse into the past. 

In “Part I: The World Tree,” Johnson introduces readers to the Baltic vision of the cosmos. Heathen readers will be delighted to learn that Baltic paganism bears many striking similarities to Norse mythology, beginning with the Latvian World Tree, called the “Tree of Dawn,” which resembles the Nordic Yggdrasil.2 The Tree of Dawn is invisible to mortal eyes. It is a bridge between heaven and earth, and only the gods and Baltic shamans can see it. In a Latvian folk song Johnson shares, the Tree of Dawn is poetically described as an iridescent rose that lifts one to heaven upon its ascending petals. This multi-colored rose may remind readers of Bifröst, the shimmering Rainbow Bridge that leads to Asgard, the realm of the gods, in Norse mythology.

Parts II and III introduce readers to the Baltic pantheon of deities, nature spirits, and folk heroes. As indicated by the book’s title, Dance of the Sun Goddess, the Baltic deity of the sun is the life-giving goddess named Saulė, while Mėnuo is the god of the moon. Saulė is one of the most important deities in the Baltic pantheon, since she sustains all life on this planet. The magical amber that sparkles on the Baltic shores is a gift of the sun goddess, and in the Bronze Age, it was the Baltic equivalent of gold, bringing prosperity through trade. Other prominent deities include Dievas, the Sky Father; Perkūnas, the god of thunder, who resembles the Norse god Thor; Velnias, the Lord of the Underworld; Žemyna, the earth goddess; and Laima, the goddess of Fate. 

In the Baltic worldview, the gods are intimately associated with trees.

“Too often, we walk past a magnificent tree without even looking up from our cell phones, unaware that we are in the presence of Laima, whose sacred tree is a linden, or Perkūnas, whose tree is the stately oak,” says Johnson.3

Throughout the book, Johnson includes several magical workings that help keep readers mindful of the divinity in nature. For example, as a magical working for honoring Milda, the goddess of love and indolence, in the month of May, Johnson suggests readers “take a vacation from work and relax among the flowers and the trees as her contemporary devotees do.”4

An appendix at the end of the book provides nineteen Baltic sigils and guidance on how to use them to invoke the blessings of the gods. One of these beautiful sigils is Perkūnas’s “Cross of Thunder,”5 which protects one’s home and family, and may be carved or painted on the door of a house or barn.

Most of these deities were unfamiliar to me, so it was a real treat to learn a new pantheon. One of my favorite Baltic goddesses is now Medeina, a beautiful forest maiden with green hair who is the Lithuanian version of Artemis/Diana. Like her Greco-Roman counterpart, she is a chaste huntress who haunts the wilderness, accompanied by an entourage of hares and wolves, her most sacred animals. Even though she is a huntress, it is the animals she protects, not human hunters, and sometimes she shapeshifts into a wolf to defend her pack. Her Latvian name is Meža Māte,”the Mother of the Forest.”6

I have a preference for chthonic deities, so I found the Baltic Underworld to be particularly fascinating. It is ruled by the Lithuanian deity Velnias, whose name is etymologically derived from the word vele, meaning “the dead,”7 and “his world is the world which lies in the tangled roots of the great tree, the world of darkness and the dead.”8 According to Johnson, the Underworld mirrors our realm. “It even has its own World Mountain, Mt. Anapils, and this is where Velnias dwells, just as Dievas dwells upon Sky Mountain in the world above the great tree,”9 Johnson says.

Although the Christians associated Velnias with the Devil, his role in Baltic mythology was far more complex. “Velnias is a world maker,”10 Johnson says. The creation of the world was a joint effort by the Sky Father Dievas and the Underworld Lord Velnias, “the two opposite polarities of life and death working together.”11 However, Dievas plays a passive role, and his will is carried out by his son Perkūnas, the temperamental Thunder God, who sometimes lashes out at Velnias when they don’t see eye to eye. Velnias escapes the wrath of Perkūnas by slinking in the shadows and hiding beneath stones or in the hollows of trees.

Being a shapeshifter, Velnias is a master of beasts, and since humans may reincarnate as animals, he is also lord of the dead who have been reborn in bestial form. I was particularly fascinated by this aspect of his character because it reminds me of the Devil card in tarot, and the bestial nature of both the Devil and Adam and Eve, who are depicted with tails. I was aware that shapeshifting can be a metaphor for dying in fairy tales, but it didn’t occur to me to link the Devil with humans reincarnating as beasts until I read about Velnias.

Ragana, the goddess of witches, is the Baltic Baba Yaga. Just as Velnias diametrically opposes the Sky Father, the winter goddess Ragana is the counterbalance to the celestial fire of Saulė, who must be banished on the summer solstice so that her life-giving powers do not overwhelm the earth with greenery and sweltering heat. Likewise, Saulė must regain her strength to break the dark spell of winter that binds the earth in chains of ice. At the winter solstice, Velnias leads an army of the dead and conquers the forces of darkness so that Saulė can return to thaw the frozen land. This divine tug of war between the forces of light and darkness spins the wheel of the year.

In the chapter on “Nature Spirits,” one of the most intriguing Lithuanian fairies is the aitvaras, a house spirit that looks like a rooster with a fiery tail when it is inside the house, and takes the form of a dragon or a meteorite when it streaks the countryside, stealing grain and gold for its master.12 While the aitvaras is a source of prosperity for the household, it can also bring misfortune if the theft is exposed. 

In “Part IV: The Wheel of Life,” Johnson guides readers through the Baltic wheel of the year, the seasonal festivals, and the Old Prussian zodiac. I was fascinated to learn that Cancer, the sign of the Crab in Western astrology, is called Azē, meaning “The Goat” in Prussian, and takes on the qualities of Capricorn, the Sea-goat, the opposite sign of Cancer, because “this is the time when Saulė has reached her fullness and is turned back upon her course by Ragana the Witch Goddess.”13

According to Lithuanian folklore, every person has a star in the heavens that appears when they are born and watches over them like a guardian angel. When they die, that star guides them through the Otherworld. In other star lore, the Big Dipper is “The Wagon of Perkūnas”14 and Polaris is his goat.

The deities and spirits I have shared here are just a sampling of the rich and vibrant pantheon of the Amber Coast, and any lover of mythology will relish in the pages of this book. The detailed descriptions of festivals and sigils will also enable readers to incorporate Baltic traditions and magical workings into their personal pagan practices as they celebrate the eternal Dance of the Sun Goddess.

The Way of the Will, by David Shoemaker

The Way of the Will: Thelema in Action, by David Shoemaker
Weiser Books, 1578638267, 240 pages, May 2024

The vicissitudes of life can strip away everything that grants mortals an illusory sense of identity and stability, but hidden within the core of every human being is a microcosmic star, an immortal spark of divinity, which is the immutable true self. The mystical tradition of Thelema, founded by Aleister Crowley (1875-1947), is a philosophical path for magicians seeking to discover their true selves and align with their life purpose, or True Will, through the alchemical Great Work of personal transformation. (Thelema is a Greek word meaning “will,” specifically the will of a divine being.1) In The Way of the Will: Thelema in Action, author Dr. David Shoemaker provides Thelemic exercises for spiritual growth, utilizing Qabalistic psychology, the Tree of Life, astrology, and excerpts from Crowley’s writings.

Dr. Shoemaker is a Jungian clinical psychologist, magician, musician, and composer. He is the chancellor and prolocutor of the Temple of the Silver Star, and has been a member of O.T.O. (Ordo Templi Orientis, which is Latin for the Order of Oriental Templars, or Order of the Temple of the East) and A∴A∴ (Astreum Argenteum, or Silver Star) for over thirty years. He is also the author of The Winds of Wisdom: Visions from the Thirty Enochian Aethyrs (2016) and Living Thelema: A Practical Guide to Attainment in Aleister Crowley’s System of Magick (2022), which is a companion text to this present work.

Part One of The Way of the Will focuses on working with the Qabalistic Tree of Life and how the sephiroth relate to the various initiatory grades of Thelema. The exercise provided in Chapter 1 helps the reader balance their internal Tree of Life by identifying how each sephirah is manifesting in their daily life and consciousness. For example, if one is being swept away by a tsunami of chaotic emotions and behaving irrationally, then Netzach may be out of whack, and that emotional energy needs to be sublimated in more constructive ways.

In Chapter 2, titled “Qabalistic Psychology in the New Aeon,” Dr. Shoemaker explains how parts of the soul correspond to the Tree of Life. Malkuth, the earthly sphere, is related to guph, the “physical body.”2 Nephesh, the “animal soul,”3 which is the seat of our primal instincts and procreative drive, corresponds to the lunar sphere of Yesod. Dr. Shoemaker likens the nephesh to one’s inner child, which must be guided by the parental figure of ruach, the “breath”4 soul and conscious mind.

“The ruach needs to parent the nephesh in a compassionate and nonjudgmental way—a way that clearly conveys to the nephesh that its instincts, its drives, its sexuality, its life force, are all divine and perfect,”5 says Dr. Shoemaker.

Part of Thelemic initiation involves cleansing the nephesh of the shame, guilt, and body negativity of the Old Aeon, which Dr. Shoemaker compares to “child abuse”6 perpetuated by oppressive aspects of Christian ideology. In the New Aeon, the inner child, or nephesh, must learn to trust in the wisdom of the inner parent, the ruach, instead of seeking external validation from a spiritual savior or someone else’s ruach.

The ruach encompasses several sephiroth on the Tree of Life, including Yesod (intuition) and the five spheres of Jungian ego: Chesed (memory), Geburah (will), Tiphareth (the spiritual hub of consciousness), Netzach (emotion), and Hod (intellect).

The neshamah is the transpersonal aspect of the soul, or superconsciousness, and corresponds to the supernal triad of Kether, Chokmah, and Binah, with an emphasis on Binah in particular. “This supernal consciousness transcends our everyday egoic strivings, wants, and desires and contains archetypes, spiritual ideals, and symbolic material in its highest forms,” writes Dr. Shoemaker. [40] It is through contact with neshamah (superconsciousness) that the ruach (ego/conscious mind) discerns one’s True Will, and aligns with the immortal true self, which resides in the khabs, or star-self aspect of the soul in the center of our being. 

In terms of human evolution, humanity learned during the Old Aeon that we could transcend our animal drives (nephesh) and temper them by developing and identifying with our egoic higher consciousness (ruach). The downside of this process was the tendency to reject the animal aspect of the soul and feel ashamed of our bodies and primal urges, but the mind-body connection can be healed by recognizing the innate sacredness of both. As we transition into the New Aeon, human consciousness is evolving to transcend our over-identification with the ego and align with the superconsciousness (neshamah).

Reading this chapter was an incredible spiritual download for me and enhanced my personal relationship with the Tree of Life. Lately, I find myself drawn to working with the lunar sphere of Yesod in particular, and learning from this book that Yesod is associated with nepesh, the animal soul, aligns with my conscious spiritual work to heal the mind/body disconnect by honoring the sacredness of the animal kingdom and rewilding myself. Over the past few years, my personal healing work has involved nourishing my animal soul by caring for cats, growing more of my own food, and raising chickens for eggs. I daydream about working with goats and bees in the future.

I think Dr. Shoemaker’s parent/child analogy for ruach/nepesh is easily adaptable to humanity’s relationship with animals as their caretakers. I’m deeply disturbed by humanity’s disconnect from nature and the decline of traditional animal husbandry in favor of the unceremonious and inhumane slaughtering practices of industrial farming. We don’t value animal life or see animals as sacred, and that’s clear in how we treat them. We also shame our own animal souls, our physical bodies, and seek to transcend them, either through repressing and denying them via unbalanced spirituality or by trying to control or alter natural biological processes through pharmaceutical and medical interventions.

In Chapter 4, “Saturn and Jupiter in the Life of a Thelemite,” Dr. Shoemaker explores the magician’s juggling act of balancing the universal energies of expansion and contraction, represented by Jupiter and Saturn in astrology. The life challenges and constraints imposed by Saturn can sometimes serve as redirections that steer us back on the path of True Will rather than egoic will. I appreciate Dr. Shoemaker’s approach to the astrological taskmaster Saturn, as he encourages readers “to think inside the box, consciously striving to accept and learn from the restrictions that appear to bind us.”7

Saturn is associated with Binah on the Tree of Life, the archetypal womb of the Great Mother, and the Grail, or cup of Babalon. Dr. Shoemaker explains that the Saturnian Grail gives shape and form to creative energy in the same way that a chalice contains and restricts the flow of liquid. For an artist, limitations can stimulate creativity. By adhering to a certain structure or form, creative breakthroughs can occur.

Embracing the fated restraints of Saturn brings us into ecstatic union with the Great Mother. In Thelema, the Egyptian sky goddess Nuit, whose infinite body is spangled with stars, is “the goddess of all possibilities and realities.”8 One way to worship her is through acceptance of our current circumstances and surrendering to all of our experiences, regardless of how unpleasant they may be, rather than resisting, repressing, or denying them, which is an ego-based response. Dr. Shoemaker compares this to softening and surrendering to the sensation of physical pain, such as stubbing a toe, rather than clenching the muscles in resistance. Surrender as an act of worship enhances our intuitive receptivity to the superconscious wisdom of neshamah, which can help us navigate life’s challenges more effectively.

One devotional practice of surrender he suggests involves mindful and radical acceptance of everything one encounters by taking “regular walks through both attractive and unattractive surroundings,” and accepting “all of these things as perfect manifestations of Nuit.”9 This holistic approach should also be applied inward, through radical acceptance of one’s strengths and weaknesses and recognizing that all aspects of the soul are in service to one’s True Will. 

Reading about radical acceptance was synchronous for me because lately I’ve been thinking about how certain negative experiences aligned with my soul purpose but were painful and traumatic for my ego to endure, yet I had no choice but to surrender to them, and seek a higher purpose through them. I personally believe that the Western concept of free will is more ego-based and illusory, while the Thelemic concept of True Will aligns with the Divine and the mysterious workings of fate.

“Part Two: Thelemic Practice in Detail” provides exercises for shifting from ego-centered consciousness to cosmic consciousness, as well as advice on how to craft potent invocations and achieve “a ‘talismanic’ state of consciousness”10 for divine embodiment in ecstatic ritual. This section also devotes chapters to exploring the magical symbolism of Crowley’s Gnostic Mass and the influence of the Golden Dawn on Thelema, as well as giving guidance on seeking out a Thelemic teacher or organization to join, if one so desires.

Part Two opens with a chapter on “Advanced Thelemic Meditations” that assist with “disidentification with the ego and its thoughts.”11 For example, one exercise from Crowley’s Liber Iod involves breathing through the nose while imagining sending breath to the Ajna chakra (the third eye, or brow chakra, in the center of the forehead) instead of the lungs. With practice, other sensations, such as pain, can also be transferred to Ajna.

Attainment of the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel is the ultimate magical invocation, which involves the integration of one’s Holy Guardian Angel, or HGA, who is the angelic personification of their True Will, with their consciousness. The final chapter of this book is Dr. Shoemaker’s memoir of his personal epiphany of his Holy Guardian Angel, which he experienced in December 2004. This chapter is one of the most valuable in the book because so few magicians talk about this experience, and it will be inspiring for readers considering attempting the ritual because it gives them an idea of what to expect.

Dr. Shoemaker reveals that all the unique life experiences of the magician, both good and bad, are utilized by the HGA to make them a proper vessel for enacting their True Will, and the HGA will unite with the magician at the right kairos (the Greek concept of sacred time).

“Everything you think of as yourself has been there to enable you to be a better talisman of your HGA—an attractor and vessel for the indwelling force of the HGA,”12 Dr. Shoemaker says.

I love that he likens the cleansing and refinement of the initiate’s soul to the consecration of a “talisman,”13 which empowers the initiate to live in accordance with their True Will. It’s such a beautiful analogy that emphasizes the sacredness of all aspects of the soul.

In my personal exploration of the Tree of Life, I’ve been working from the ground up, and after spending a lot of time contemplating the lunar sphere of Yesod, I feel like I’m about ready to enter the solar sphere of Tiphareth. When working with Yesod, I often have visions of a spider, which I think of as my shadow totem, and I recently learned that Crowley considered the spider to be sacred to Tiphareth, which is a startling confirmation of the significance of my spider spirit in relation to the Tree of Life. The sephiroth surrounding Tiphareth do visually resemble a spider’s web, and Yesod and Malkuth could be imagined as a spider descending upon a silk thread. I believe the spider of Tiphareth corresponds to the Native American Grandmother Spider, who carries the sun on her back, and I imagine she could also be a symbol of Nuit, whose starry body is the night sky, bearing infinite suns.

In Dr. Shoemaker’s memoir, he shares an insight regarding Tiphareth that makes me excited to move forward with that sephirah:

“The way I think of it, the HGA ‘lives’ in Kether, but you first encounter it with full conscious awareness in Tiphareth. This is your point of contact—the marriage bed where the balanced and awakened human ruach is joined with the descending power of the path of Gimel from Kether.”14

The Way of the Will offers a holistic approach to spiritual development, which embraces all aspects of the soul, from the lower animal self to the divine star-self. As someone who is not initiated into Thelema and has limited knowledge of Crowley’s teachings, I found this work to be accessible and enlightening, and it’s been a wonderful complement to my own personal exploration of the Qabalistic Tree of Life.

However, this is not an introductory text, as it assumes that the reader has some basic knowledge of Qabalah and other Thelemic concepts. Throughout the book, Dr. Shoemaker recommends that the reader refer back to his previous work, Living Thelema, which I haven’t had the opportunity to read yet, but I managed to follow along without much difficulty. I’m grateful that Dr. Shoemaker is making his insights available to the public, and I’m adding Living Thelema to my reading list so I can reference the two works together in the future.

The Secret Language of Color Cards, by Inna Segal

The Secret Language of Color Cards, by Inna Segal
Blue Angel Publishing, 0980740606, 45 cards, January 2010

Color is all around us, spilling from the overturned bowl of the lazuline sky, bleeding rich green chlorophyll stains from the emerald grass crushed beneath our feet, and rustling in the rust and gold of autumn leaves, but we often take for granted the power of nature’s vibrant palette to affect our moods and energy levels. The Secret Language of Color Cards is a prismatic oracle for helping readers consciously integrate the healing power of color into their daily lives. 

This deck was created by Inna Segal, the author of The Secret Language of Your Body: The Essential Guide to Health and Wellness. She is an intuitive healer with an inspirational story. As a teenager, Segal suffered from chronic back pain that was so intense, she could barely walk by the time she reached her early twenties, despite seeking the medical intervention of doctors and chiropractors. Through meditation, she awakened the ability to miraculously heal herself and release the pain, and she discovered that she could also perceive illnesses and energetic blockages in other people and assist them in the process of self-healing. Using her intuitive gifts, she has infused each card with a healing vibration.

There are only seven colors in the rainbow, but there are 45 cards in The Secret Language of Color oracle, which delves into the nuances of various shades, and the box includes an 84-page guidebook. When I opened the box, I was surprised by how ginormous the cards are. Their dimensions are approximately 3.8 inches wide by 5.5 inches long and they are roughly the size of my hand. Some readers may find them to be cumbersome while shuffling, but I don’t mind because I have another oracle deck with similar dimensions and I think the larger size is excellent for scrying or meditating with the images. 

The cards are glossy, with rainbow splashes of color on the back, and vivid photographs of flowers, fruits, and trees on the front. Some of the images have mouthwatering depictions of food and refreshments, such as a tantalizing stream of liquid Chocolate for a nourishing shade of brown, succulent citrus segments on the spontaneous Tangerine card, and an elegant glass of wine for passionate Burgundy. 

What I love most about these cards is that they speak to me on so many levels. Some of them have the names of fruits, such as Watermelon, Cherry, Peach, Orange, Apricot, Tangerine, and Lemon, so they inspire a gustatory response. Others are named after gemstones, such as Pearl, Emerald, Jade, Turquoise, Ruby, and Sapphire, which broadens the interpretations to include the healing properties of minerals. Gazing at the cards helps me tap into my intuition and creativity by triggering memories associated with each color, fruit, or crystal. 

In the introduction of the guidebook, Segal briefly discusses the power of color to influence our energy levels and moods and gives creative suggestions for how to use the cards to incorporate more color therapy into your life. For example, you can draw a card for guidance and invite the healing power of that color into your energy field by wearing it, drinking out of a colored glass, or consuming a food or beverage with that pigment. She also says that the cards can be placed on the body to ease tension or clear the chakras. 

I’ve been interested in color therapy since I was a teenager, when I first learned about the power of color while meditating on my chakras. I still put a lot of thought into my color choices when decorating and buying new clothes, and when I wear makeup I like experimenting with vibrant eye shadow palettes and lipstick shades, but I’m still guilty of wearing a lot of black, which Segal says can “create stagnation and drain energy.”1 I realized when I read this passage that I do often feel fatigued, but I blame it on caffeine withdrawals or chronic depression.

Segal suggests asking the cards, “What color do I need now?”2 I drew Apricot, the color of joy. The primary message of this card is to “Rejoice & Laugh.”3 According to the guidebook:

“Apricot lightens any heavy or burdensome energy you may be carrying to bring enormous vitality, joy, and zest into your life. Apricot also releases irrational fears and anxieties; it is a color of creativity, fun, and intuition. Meditate on the color Apricot to bring more joy and lightness into your life.”4

The image featured on the Apricot card is not the fruit, as one might expect, but instead looks like a close-up of a pale orange chrysanthemum. As I gazed at the flower on the card, I realized that my mind was making all sorts of surprising connections to the word apricot. It reminded me that I used that word as a color descriptor in a short story I’m currently revising, and I’m realizing how that particular color is characterizing the person it describes. The character is a grieving person trying to recapture their childlike sense of wonder, which fits well with the healing properties of the color apricot.

This insight is inspiring me to consciously work on incorporating more color therapy into my creative writing. I also remembered that my favorite skin care product when I was younger was St. Ives Apricot Scrub, which I haven’t used in several years, so I’m taking this as a cue to start using it again. Lately I’ve been nostalgic for a lot of things from my youth (must have something to do with turning forty). I’ve been trying to eat more fruit lately, so I’m thinking about incorporating apricots into my diet as well. Finally, connecting to the joy aspect of the card, I have two whimsical orange cats with apricot-colored toe pads, and kitty cat toe beans are one of the cutest things in the world! My pets are powerhouses of joy for me. 

I decided to dig deeper and googled the etymology of the word apricot, and I learned that it shares the same root as the word precocious, which is derived from the Latin praecocia, meaning “early ripening,” because apricots ripen before their peach cousins. Considering the etymological connections, I feel that this color could be stimulating intellectually, giving one the curiosity and wonder of a precocious child, and inspire a joy for learning new things. [https://www.bonappetit.com/test-kitchen/ingredients/article/on-the-etymology-of-the-word-apricot]

In a second reading, I asked what color(s) can help me to achieve my career aspirations. Three cards jumped out of the deck while I was shuffling, and I think this message is good advice for anyone chasing rainbows. The cards I drew were Lilac (Strengthen Your Faith) + Green (Revitalize Your Nervous System) + Cherry (Live an Extraordinary Life). Basically, the overall message is that I need to have faith in myself (Lilac), release the anxiety I feel about achieving my goals (Green), and have the courage and self-confidence to manifest my extraordinary dreams (Cherry).

The Secret Language of Color is such a beautiful and soul-nourishing oracle that I plan on working with it on a regular basis. It has already stimulated my creativity so much and encouraged me to be more conscious of how color can be used for personal empowerment and revitalizing my energy levels. This is a wonderful deck for healers and anyone interested in color therapy.

Seiðr Magic, by Dean Kirkland, Ph.D.

Seiðr Magic: The Norse Tradition of Divination and Trance, by Dean Kirkland, Ph.D.
Destiny Books, 1644119447, 256 pages, April 2024

Seiðr (pronounced “SAY-ther”) is a form of tribal shamanism unique to medieval Norse culture. Since there is very little historical documentation of this ancient practice, it’s not clear exactly what was involved, and in the modern revival of Germanic heathenry, seiðr is often inaccurately glossed over as a type of Norse witchcraft and used as an umbrella term for contemporary witchery, such as spellcasting and reading runes and tarot cards.

In his debut work, Seiðr Magic: The Norse Tradition of Divination and Trance, heathen reconstructionist and woodland conservationist Dean Kirkland, who holds a Ph.D. in ecology, argues that there is indeed enough archeological evidence to revitalize the practice of seiðr, using literature, artifacts, and the unverified personal gnosis of modern practitioners. The primary literary source Kirkland refers to is Eirik the Red’s Saga, which vividly depicts the ritual garb and practice of a völva and prophetess named Thorbjorg (völva means “staff-bearer” and is a female seiðr-worker1). He supplies a pronunciation guide for Old Norse words at the beginning of the book, and a glossary of terms in the back, which makes the foreign terminology easier to comprehend and digest.

By comparing the ancient tools of seiðr-workers to those used by Indigenous shamans, Kirkland believes we can make educated guesses about Norse shamanism based on similarities. He has devoted several years to researching and engaging in shamanic practices, and has studied Andean shamanism with an indigenous paco. He currently resides in Lincolnshire, UK, where he is dedicated to woodland conservation and restoration.

Since seiðr was considered a form of magic, it was not a common practice among Norse heathens. Seiðr-workers were viewed with suspicion by the general populace and lived on the fringes of society. Contrary to modern neo-pagan faiths like Wicca, which integrates witchcraft with religious rites, there was a social stigma surrounding practicing magic among ancient heathens. Perhaps with good reason, because Kirkland warns that seiðr can be perilous for both the practitioner and their community, since it involves contact with mighty and potentially very dangerous wights, or spirits. However, he assures readers that the introductory exercises presented in this book are designed to make the practice as safe as possible for beginners. That being said, seiðr is not for everyone; it is a shamanic path of service to both the spirits and humanity as a whole, destined for a chosen few.

“Seiðr-workers are chosen by Wyrd, which is to say fate or destiny, and made by the gods,”2 Kirkland says.

Seiðr-workers are mediums for wights, the spiritual beings they serve, and the greater community at large. The wights that are friendly towards humans are interested in collective spiritual growth and advancement, not individual progress. According to Kirkland, “the effect of shamanic work must be shared with others—if you focus solely on yourself and your own spiritual development, you are coming at this from an ego-based approach, and ego is the implacable enemy of all shamans.”3

Attempting to practice seiðr for selfish gain and to satisfy an egoic craving for increased personal power is disrespectful to the wights and may incur their wrath. Furthermore, one should not assume the role of seiðr-worker unless they are recognized as such by the community. “Titles should never be taken for oneself, but only bestowed by others,”4 Kirkland says. He sees community validation as a sign of authenticity. I found this to be an interesting perspective, because this line of thinking could be used to insinuate that an accused witch, whether they personally identify as one or not, is serving that role for the community because it has been projected upon them. 

Kirkland dispels the common misconception that only women and homosexual men can practice seiðr, and provides historical context as to why it has been perceived as a feminine art. In the warrior dominated society of the Vikings, covertly practicing magic on the battlefield instead of confronting an opponent directly would have been viewed as cowardly. The shamanic practice of channeling spirits was also seen as an intimate form of receptivity comparable to sexual penetration. Kirkland argues that, despite these stereotypes, straight men are just as capable of practicing seiðr as a woman or a gay man. It is the spiritual calling to do so that matters, not one’s sexual orientation or gender identity.

Kirkland clarifies the role of fate in relation to seiðr and I was intrigued by his discussion of hamingja in particular. Hamingja is often simplified as the Norse version of luck, and Kirkland explains that everyone has a limited amount of hamingja allotted to them by the Norns at birth. For those who believe in reincarnation, he suggests that this allotment may be higher for new souls who have less experience in the physical realm, so they can have an easier time adjusting to the material plane, whereas old souls are presented with more challenges in life in order to facilitate spiritual growth. Seiðr-workers would therefore have very little hamingja, forcing them to rely on their supernatural relationships with the wights to get them through life instead of materialism. This makes sense to me, because shamans tend to be initiated by traumatic experiences, which detach their spirits from their physical bodies so they can traverse the unseen realms during trance and communicate with the entities that reside there.

Hamingja is closely intertwined with megin, which means “might” or “honor,”5 and is accrued through doing good deeds for living beings and wights and keeping one’s promises to them, which builds trust with the spirit realm. Helping the Norns apply clay to the roots of the World Tree Yggdrasil during shamanic trance is given as an example of a way to build megin.

Kirkland details the ritual clothing (referred to endearingly as “shaman’s armor”) and the shamanic tools unique to seiðr-workers, the most important one being a seiðstafr, or “seiðr-staff,” which, instead of a drum, is rhythmically tapped to induce a trance.6 Archaeologists have found staves of this nature in the graves of seiðr-workers. Most of them were wooden, but iron ones have also been discovered, buried with an elite few. Kirkland provides instructions on how to obtain, craft, and awaken one’s own sacred seiðstafr. He also includes photos of his personal staff for reference. 

The seiðstafr reminds me of the stang, or forked staff, of traditional witchcraft, which serves as an axis mundi, or World Tree, for traversing the shamanic realms. During trance work, Kirkland emphasizes the importance of having some sort of focal point that exists in the physical plane and functions as an axis mundi, to serve as a gateway through which one can enter and leave the spirit realm. He warns that not having this anchor to the physical world can cause parts of the soul to get lost during shamanic journeys.

Understanding the various components of the soul is a crucial part of practicing seiðr, since it includes spiritual healing techniques that involve the extraction of energetic blockages and the retrieval and reintegration of lost soul parts. Kirkland explains that the Germanic soul complex is composed of four major parts: the lík, or lich, which encompasses the physical body, and is animated by the önd, the “sacred breath”7 of life, bestowed by the Allfather Óðinn; the hamr, meaning “shape” or “skin,”8 which is the etheric body that takes flight during shamanic journeys, and has the ability to shift shape; the fylgja, or “follower,”9 which can take the form of an animal and acts as a psychopomp upon death; and the hugr, or “mind,”10 which continues on in the afterlife.

For protection during rituals and shamanic travels, Kirkland considers casting a magic circle to be ineffective, since the circle is physically present in a fixed location while the shaman’s spirit wanders. The primary means of protection is merging with a spirit ally, in a type of “low-level” possession, in which the practitioner remains in complete control. Seiðr-workers use magical chants called varðlokur, meaning “ward songs” or “guardian songs,”11 to summon spirits and raise protective energies. Coupled with the rhythmic beating of the seiðr staff, these cantillations induce shamanic trance. Kirkland does not provide any of these chants because there are no surviving authentic examples. Besides, the most powerful ones are given to the seiðr-worker by the wights themselves, and he offers shamanic techniques for acquiring them, including a ritual invocation using lyrics from a modern song by the Norwegian folk band Wardruna, which is brilliant, since anyone can listen to the song for the correct pronunciation of the words. In addition, he suggests using galdr, or runic chanting, to raise vibrations, and recommends intoning the runes laguz and algiz to spiritually clear the air. He also supports the use of mugwort as a purification incense, as opposed to the more popular white sage, which is not native to Germanic lands.

This book has been so illuminating for me because it explains the reasoning behind some shamanic practices that I have intuitively discovered through trial and error on my own. I abandoned circle casting several years ago, and I appreciated Kirkland’s explanation of why circles are ineffective for self-protection, because I couldn’t articulate why I stopped; I just felt that I didn’t need to cast them anymore. Now I purify my sacred space with incense and use deity epithets like ward songs. 

I once had a dream in which a hag spirit merged with me. She told me telepathically that she enters my body and sees through my eyes to help me. It wasn’t creepy, or anything at all like a horror movie possession. It felt more like being in the driver’s seat of a car and having a guardian spirit riding shotgun. She was observing through the windshield of my eyes and whispering in my mind, but not interfering or controlling my actions. I’m not sure who she is, but I know she is some sort of guardian spirit and she has appeared to me in multiple dreams as a witchy old woman with long silver hair. She felt so familiar she could be an ancestor or an elderly version of myself, and I’ve felt blessed by every interaction with her.

I’ve always sensed that I have mediumship abilities, but fear of possession has been a barrier to developing them further, and that dream made me realize that merging isn’t invasive and makes spirit communication easier. Learning from Seiðr Magic that wights merge with seiðr-workers really clarified the significance of this dream for me. I identify as a witch, and I don’t feel a calling to be a seiðr-worker, but traditional witchcraft is heavily influenced by Norse practices, and shamanism is universal, so I’m seeing a lot of overlap between both traditions.  

An important class of wights Kirkland writes about is the dísir, or lesser Norns. The dísir are female ancestral spirits that watch over and guide their descendants. According to Kirkland, it’s possible to have a nonhuman dís/lesser Norn. He claims to have met people who have lesser Norns that are elves, dwarves, and even giants! I now suspect that my hag spirit might be my lesser Norn.

Kirkland also discusses the often overlooked wights of place, such as landvættir, or land spirits, and the cofgodas (pronounced “COAF-goadas”), or “household gods,”12 which are the spirits of hearth and home. Although working with these entities falls under the domain of “folk conjuring”13 or trolldómr (“witchcraft”), he believes land spirits and house wights should be part of general heathen practice. He gives instructions on how to communicate with local wights, as well as how to detect whether or not you have cofgodas living in your home, and if not, how to attract them and create a hearth altar and a spirit house for them. 

The multiverse has always been my favorite feature of Norse cosmology, and I was captivated by Kirkland’s detailed exploration of the nine realms on the cosmic World Tree of Yggdrasil. For shamanic journeying, the fiery hellscape of Muspelheim and the icy wastelands of Niflheim are no doubt the least hospitable, but I was surprised to learn that one of the most dangerous realms to traverse in spirit is Midgard, our physical realm. Kirkland claims that this is because Midgard is the crossroads of the nine realms, and entities that do not belong here in Middle Earth sometimes get trapped and lash out at humans. The World Serpent Jörmungandr is the guardian of Midgard, and keeps many entities out, but earthbound spirits may stay trapped within. Kirkland therefore recommends that beginners avoid traversing the middle realms in spirit, which also include Ljósálfheim, the domain of the light elves, and Svartálfheim, the realm of dwarves and dark elves, until they have gained more shamanic experience. 

While it may be dangerous for beginners, guiding earthbound spirits out of Midgard is part of the job description of a seiðr-worker, and Kirkland gives detailed guidance on how to handle the dead. “Unfinished business” is the stereotypical reason why ghosts are believed to linger, and I was surprised that Kirkland says this is “relatively rare,” since it requires a lot of willpower on the part of the deceased.14 More common reasons for a spirit remaining in Midgard are confusion about being dead or addiction to substances only found here in Middle Earth, requiring the hungry ghost to attempt temporary possession of the living in order to get their fix. In haunted pubs, for example, restless spirits may lurk in bathrooms, waiting to hitch rides with drunks relieving themselves in the stalls, which is a creepy thought, especially if one is prone to blackouts. It definitely makes one think twice about engaging in mind-altering substance abuse, for the sake of spiritual hygiene. While entheogens have their place in shamanism, Kirkland does not suggest using them to achieve shamanic states. 

Western society’s denial of death and Christianity’s suppression of spirit workers has exacerbated the problem of earthbound spirits. Since there are few spirit workers, Kirkland warns readers that Midgard is overpopulated with wandering ghosts, and practitioners will be in high demand for the role of psychopomp, guiding trapped spirits to their proper afterlife destination. He gives instructions on how to do so with the assistance of a valkyrie, a female psychopomp who works for Óðinn. In the rare case that a seiðr-worker comes across a draugr (a restless spirit attached to a corpse, which is the Nordic equivalent of a zombie), there are instructions for dealing with that problem as well. 

Seiðr Magic is a wonderful blend of rigorous scholarship and creative heathen reconstruction. Kirkland’s lucid, honest prose always clarifies which practices are based on historical evidence and which insights have come from the unverified personal gnosis of modern practitioners. This book is a boon for those looking to recreate a traditional Norse magical practice that is as authentic as possible given the archaeological evidence currently available to us. Whether one feels a calling to practice seiðr or not, this is a fascinating read for anyone interested in Norse shamanism, spirit work, and heathen spirituality.

Runes for the Green Witch, by Nicolette Miele

Runes for the Green Witch: An Herbal Grimoire, by Nicolette Miele
Destiny Books, 1644118661, 288 pages, January 2024

Runes embody the cosmic forces that created the universe and their mystical vibrations permeate all of nature. The word rune, derived from the Gothic runa, means “mystery,”1 and in Nicolette Miele’s debut book Runes for the Green Witch: An Herbal Grimoire, the twenty-four Elder Futhark runes become energetic keys that unlock the secrets of herbal medicine and magic.

Miele is a rune worker and herbalist based in Pennsylvania, and she is also the proprietor of Handfuls of Dust Apothecary. In her online shop, she offers rune readings and handmade products, such as rune sets and ritual oils. Her line of Rune Wisdom ritual fragrance oils supplements this book well, as each blend is infused with runic energy and corresponding crystals and herbs.

“Through runes and plants, which complement each other beautifully, we will honor the wild spirit that resides in each and every one of us,” Miele writes.2

Just as the title suggests, Runes for the Green Witch combines runic mysticism with herbal witchcraft. Like most runic reference books, this work is separated into three parts, dedicated to each Aett, or group of eight runes. There are twenty-four chapters, one for each Elder Futhark rune.

Each chapter begins with an introduction to the individual rune, giving its historical and divinatory context, as well as some of the author’s personal insights into its magical uses, followed by a list of herbal correspondences for the rune, along with their magical and medicinal applications. Miele also provides lists of additional correspondences, including tarot cards, zodiac signs, planets, moon phases, crystals, chakras, and cross-cultural deities that she associates with the runes on an archetypal level. 

While I like the idea of having a long list of magical correspondences for each rune, many of the author’s miscellaneous associations did not resonate with me. For example, Miele identifies the zodiac sign of Aries with Uruz, the mighty aurochs, and I feel that Taurus the Bull would be a better fit. I also found the Queen of Swords, traditionally the widow or divorcée in tarot, to be a strange association for Berkana, the mother rune, while the Empress made perfect sense.

The deity associations felt tenuous to me as well. I see gods from different pantheons that share similar characteristics as being part of the same archetypal current, but being unique personalities in their own right, so I am hesitant to conflate them unless there is historical precedence for doing so. In my personal practice, I prefer to just let the runes be runes, whose verdant powers are nourished by the rich soil of their native Norse mythology, without imposing foreign spiritual systems on them or conflating them with tarot, astrology, or chakras. However, I think these correspondences might be useful to someone new to rune work who finds cross-cultural comparisons helpful.

In keeping with the title of this book, the plant correspondences are where Miele’s runic wisdom and wise woman herbalism truly shines. “The subtle communication between humans and plants relies on primal intuition—something many humans today have to work harder to access,” 3 Miele says. She recommends building intimate relationships with individual plant spirits by consuming their essences in teas, soaking in bath water infusions, or burning them as incense, and keeping a journal of the emotional and psychic impressions received. Ansuz, the rune of communication, can help us learn to listen with our hearts to the subtle voices of plants. 

Reading this book encouraged me to incorporate runes into my tea-drinking rituals. Miele associates raspberry leaf with Perthro, the rune of the womb, which reminded me of when I found out I was pregnant with my first child. I drank raspberry leaf tea sweetened with honey to strengthen my womb. Perthro is a rune of mystery and initiation, and giving birth for the first time was an intense rite of passage and an initiation into the mysteries of the mother goddess.

Miele praises raspberry leaf as a nurturing and protective plant ally for women and children. “This lunar herb exudes compassion and seeks to comfort those who are working through traumas, especially traumas from childhood,”4 Miele says.

Inspired by Miele’s insights, I decided to include both raspberry leaf and the rune Perthro in the ritual honoring my most sacred time of the month. I drank raspberry leaf tea as a tonic to relieve menstrual cramps and infused the brew with the spirit of Perthro. With my index finger, I traced the Perthro rune in the air over my steaming cup of raspberry leaf tea and intoned the name of the rune, then imbibed the gentle, soothing potion. 

Rewilding is a common thread that runs throughout Runes for the Green Witch, which Miele defines as “the restoration of land to its natural state.”5] The rune Uruz embodies this concept the most, as it is a rune of instinctual urges and primal energy. Uruz represents the aurochs, a species of wild cattle that was hunted into extinction, and the last aurochs bull died in 1621.

So how can rune workers rewild themselves with the atavistic energy of Uruz? On a psychological level, human rewilding involves unraveling our societal conditioning and reconnecting with the nakedness of our authentic selves. As Miele says, Uruz “takes us back to factory settings.”6 By meditating on Uruz, taking breaks from technology, and spending more time in nature, we can foster a deeper connection with the green realm and reconnect with our primal instincts. Uruz is also a rune of physical strength and healing, and Miele associates it with medicinal herbs like eucalyptus and echinacea, which support the immune system. 

After reading Miele’s chapter on Uruz, I felt guided by this runic spirit to do more research online, and I was astounded to come across an article stating that scientists are working to resurrect the extinct aurochs through rewilding! Since some European cattle breeds are descended from aurochs that were domesticated in ancient times, their genetic coding has survived, and can theoretically be reactivated through back-breeding. By resurrecting the aurochs and other extinct species through rewilding, scientists might be able to restore some of the biodiversity lost through the irresponsible hunting practices that have compromised earth’s precious ecosystems. Rewilding is also less risky than attempting to clone extinct animals, since it involves selective breeding of living populations. 

My practice is very animistic, and I love that Miele treats the runes as living spirits to whom offerings should be made. “Offerings are immensely important within magickal practice as it shows we’re not just in it for the taking,”7 Miele writes. I wholeheartedly agree with this statement, and I noticed that my connection to the spirit world was enhanced when I committed to a consistent practice of providing offerings on a regular basis. In a shadow work ritual involving the torch rune Kenaz, Miele advises the reader to light a candle as an offering, then “call out to the spirit of Kenaz and request its guidance and protection while you journey to the abandoned depths of your soul.”8

Prompted by Miele’s advice regarding offerings, I decided to make offerings to runic spirits when I drew daily runes. The second day of reading this book, I drew Othala reversed, or murkstave, as my daily rune. Reversed, Othala represents “displacement, lack of security, loss of possessions, enduring family trauma, family conflict, or homelessness.”9 Estrangement, poverty, alcoholism, and domestic violence have been manifestations of a generational curse that I have experienced, and I asked the spirit of Othala to help me heal my ancestral trauma.

As I lit a candle and made an offering of milk and incense, I felt compelled to sing the rune’s name, which reminded me of the magical Norse practice of galdr, a shamanic form of cantillation. While I meditated on the rune, I felt that the spirit of Othala was telling me not to dwell too much on what has been lost. Instead of concentrating my energy on a legacy of generational trauma, she told me to shift my attention to focusing on breaking ties with that cursed inheritance and creating my own legacy. She asked me, What do you want your legacy to be?

During this meditative conversation, I realized that the spirit of Othala felt distinctly feminine to me. Then I remembered that I was working with an Anglo-Saxon rune set and Othala’s Old English name is Ethel. It dawned on me that Othala is a female spirit named Ethel, which means “ancestral land” and “noble” in Old English. I imagined her to be a noble ancestral spirit, or a faery queen. This may have been a flight of fancy, but I like envisioning Othala as a faery queen named Ethel, and I think I’m going to work with her under that name from now on.

Today, Ethel is a feminine name, but in Old English, it was used as a prefix for both male and female names to indicate noble birth.10] As a spirit of noble ancestry, I felt that she was communicating to me that ancestry transcends bloodline. The earth is our mother, and we are all related. The seemingly isolated family problems we experience are actually human problems that concern a lot of people in the collective. I feel this rune can help you get in touch with your innate nobility, and your divine birthright. We all have a divine spark within, and Othala/Ethel can help you to recognize your nobility and more authentically embody your Divine Self. 

What does it mean to be noble? The Latin word nobilis means “well-known,” so to be noble means you are worthy of being known, recognized and acknowledged for your deeds, and remembered.11 This all ties in with legacy, and being worthy of remembrance is a form of immortality. Reversed, Othala reminds me of a burial mound. It looks like a buried diamond, marked by an X. Othala asks, What do you want to be known for in this life? How do you want to be remembered when you die? 

After meditating on Othala/Ethel and channeling these messages, I finished reading the chapter on Othala in Runes for the Green Witch. Miele associates the following plant allies with Othala: “Avens, Babyberry, Blackberry, Coriander, Vervain, Vetiver, Witch Hazel.”12

“The plants of Othala represent ancestral connection and the energies that we wish to invite into our homes and families,” Miele says. “These plants aid in magickal workings regarding our heritage, protection of home and family, tradition, and the breaking of generational traumas.”13

I planted some berry bushes last year, so I already have blackberries growing in my garden that I can use to work with the spirit of Othala this summer. Witch hazel is an ingredient in one of my face washes, so I’m thinking about possibly incorporating Othala into my skin care routine. 

Runes for the Green Witch: An Herbal Grimoire has enlivened the runes for me in ways I never before imagined, and it will help you deepen your connection with the twenty-four runic spirits and their herbal allies too, if you’re willing to get your hands dirty. With spring just around the corner, this book will be a great inspiration for a runic garden theme! I will definitely be referring back to this herbal grimoire while I’m buying seeds and planting intentions.

Witchcraft and the Shamanic Journey, by Kenneth Johnson

Witchcraft and the Shamanic Journey, by Kenneth Johnson
Crossed Crow Books, 979-8985628173, 212 pages, January 2023

From accusations of shapeshifting and spirit flight to keeping the company of bestial familiar spirits, the testimonies recorded during the European witch trials bear an uncanny resemblance to ancient and universal shamanistic practices. In his classic work Witchcraft and the Shamanic Journey, author Kenneth Johnson posits that European witches were indeed practicing a form of shamanism, “the world’s oldest spiritual path.”1 This view has already been well articulated in Eliade Mircea’s Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy (1951), and the scholarly works of Italian historian Carlo Ginzburg, such as Night Battles: Witchcraft & Agrarian Cults in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (1966) and Ecstasies: Deciphering the Witches’ Sabbath (1989), but Johnson builds upon historical evidence for the purpose of reconstructing ancient shamanic practices for modern witches.

Johnson is a professional astrologer and the author of several books, including Mythic Astrology (1993), which he co-authored with Arielle Guttman, and Jaguar Wisdom: An Introduction to the Mayan Calendar (1997). Johnson is originally from California, but currently resides in Mexico. He also spent a decade in Guatemala, where “he was initiated into the indigenous Mayan priesthood as an aj q’ij (keeper of days) in November of 2017.”2 Witchcraft and the Shamanic Journey is his personal favorite among his published works.

I read a previous edition of this book, published by Llewellyn under the title of North Star Road (1996), and I didn’t realize this was the same book until I started reading it. It was nonetheless a pleasure to revisit this superb work, as it contains a wealth of information and was one of the most influential texts in my transition from mainstream Wicca to the more shamanic practices of Traditional Witchcraft. This new edition, published by Crossed Crow Books, includes spiritual exercises inspired by Johnson’s tutelage under Russian shamans. It also has a foreword written by Nicholaj de Mattos Frisvold, author of Craft of the Untamed (2014) and Seven Crossroads at Night (2023), and a preface by Robin Artisson, the author of An Carow Gwyn: Sorcery and the Ancient Fayerie Faith (2018) and several other works on Traditional Witchcraft.

Witchcraft and the Shamanic Journey is interspersed with beautifully written fictional vignettes that capture glimpses of shamanic witchcraft practices throughout Europe, such as “Greenland, AD 1000,”3 which features a priestess of the Norse goddess Freya practicing seidr; “Northern Italy, 1600,”4 which dramatizes the spirit flight of an Italian benandante, or “good walker,”5 who protects the harvest by fending off evil spirits with a fennel stalk; and “Scotland, 1662,”6 which glimpses the trial of Scottish witch Isobel Gowdie.

In the introduction, Johnson provides a brief historical survey of the environmental and cultural factors that led to the witchcraft trials, “a holocaust that, we should remember, took place not during the so-called Dark Ages, but during the more ‘enlightened’ age of the Italian Renaissance and the early years of the scientific revolution.”7 In the tumultuous 1300s, the Black Death, crop failures, peasant revolts, and the uprising of radical religious movements, such as the Cathars and Waldensians, contributed to a widespread fear of “an epidemic of witchcraft.”8 Inquisitors believed heretics were members of a diabolical cult, “formed about 1375, which called upon demons who often bore the names and attributes of old pagan divinities, and which met by night in ceremonies called Sabbats.”9

These so-called witches anointed themselves with flying ointments made of hallucinogenic herbs and took flight in spirit, either astride animals or riding broomsticks, riding the night winds to the Sabbat where they danced in orgiastic rites with a horned devil. Johnson suspects that there could have indeed been a witchcraft crisis cult, which arose in response to the drastic decline of medieval society. By returning to traditional shamanic beliefs and blending them with folk Christianity, members of this hypothetical cult may have been attempting to end “aristocratic dominance through magical social revolution.”10 One of the most fascinating theories Johnson presents is that the medieval dancing plague was the shamanic dance of a crisis cult.11

The ancient spiritual practice of shamanism involves the practitioner entering trance states and traversing the spirit realm, from the heavenly heights of the gods to the Underworld of the dead, in order to bring back knowledge and healing wisdom to the benefit of their community. Although the word “shaman” originated in Siberia, Johnson claims that shamanic practices are the spiritual foundation upon which many world religions were built.

In “Part 1: Otherworlds,” Johnson explores the shamanic view of the cosmos.

“According to the cosmovision of the shaman, the North Star is the axis around which all things revolve,” Johnson says.12 “When shamans depart upon their spirit journeys, they often take the road to the North Star.”13

According to the Buryat people of Siberia, the sky is a great tent punctured with stars, and the North Star is the central pole which holds up the heavens. The stars themselves are a herd of galloping horses tethered to the polestar. In various cultures, the axis mundi, or world axis, is envisioned as the central pillar of the cosmos, embodied in the World Mountain, the World Tree, or even the Maypole. Using this axis, the shaman can navigate the three realms of Heaven, Earth, and Underworld. When depicted as a tree, the branches are imagined to reach up to the abode of the Sky Father, and the souls of unborn children roost in the boughs, as well as an eagle, the primary totem of shamans, and the “Bird of Prey Mother,” who lays the eggs from which shamans are born. The roots of the tree burrow deep into the Underworld, where a great serpent dwells.

Through comparative mythology, Johnson provides compelling evidence of similar shamanic beliefs throughout the world, citing examples of several World Trees, such as Yggdrasil, the World Tree of the Vikings; the great ceiba tree of the Mayans, which grew from the back of a crocodile; the Kabbalistic Tree of Life; and the Underworld cypress tree of the Orphic mysteries. The World Tree even appears in the witch trial of Joan of Arc (1412-1431), as she was accused of dancing around a “fairy tree”14 when she was a child, suggesting the survival of ancient shamanic practices in early fifteenth century Europe.

Variations of the World Mountain also appear in many cultures, from megalithic monuments, volcanoes, and Mayan pyramids to the abode of the Greek gods on Mt. Olympus. In the witch trials, the World Mountain appears as the home of the witch goddess. In the early 1500s, an Italian peasant accused of witchcraft named Zuan delle Piatte confessed that Venus had whisked him away to the Sabbath upon black horses, and he had visited Herodias in the mount of Venus. In 1630, a German witch confessed to traveling in spirit to visit the goddess Holda in a mountain called the Venusberg.

“All our images of the Goddess in the Mountain or Tree are ultimately metaphors for the kundalini or ‘serpent power,’ a feminine energy both sexual and spiritual that has its origins at the base of the spine and, during spiritual practice, travels up our own internal World Tree or Mountain to the crown of the head—at which point we experience enlightenment,” Johnson says.15

Just as the shaman’s tent is mobile, so is the center of the universe. The moveable axis mundi, or World Tree, corresponds to the upright spinal column unique to human bipedalism. The skull, which is the spirit house of human consciousness, is elevated to the heavens, and the earth goddess or Fairy Queen slumbering at the base of the spine is the kundalini serpent.16

According to Buryat mythology, the first shaman was born from the union of an eagle and a human woman, “which, symbolically, tells us that shamanism is ‘born’ from the union of the enlightened consciousness which dwells at the top of our own internal World Tree with the feminine potency that sleeps at its base.” 17

“Though one may be born to a shamanic vocation, one attains power and mastery only through initiation,”18 Johnson says. Shamanic initiation may manifest as being called by spirit voices and having a vision of death and dismemberment, followed by a rebirth experienced during a physical illness or a bout of madness, which we would perceive in modern times as a psychotic break. In European mythology, the Norse god Odin is the most obvious shamanic figure, as he was wounded by a spear and sacrificed himself to himself on the World Tree. There are also Welsh legends of Merlin in which he was once a warrior who went mad and lived in the woods like a wild animal after a traumatic experience on the battlefield. The Orphic myth of the death and dismemberment of the Greek god Dionysus is another striking example of shamanic initiation. As a child, the Titans murdered him and cooked him in a cauldron, which echoes the inquisitors’ grotesque fantasies of witches have cannibalistic feasts, involving the boiling of unbaptized babies in cauldrons and the use of their fat in flying ointments. 

“The Old Bone Goddess,”19 with her cauldron of death and rebirth, is the one who resurrects the shaman. She is the “Bird of Prey Mother”20 of the Siberian Yakut shamans. When the shaman’s magical powers have ripened and are ready to be activated through initiation, she dismembers him and feeds his body parts to demons. Then she reassembles his bones and resuscitates him.

I wonder if modern society’s disassociation from traditional shamanic practices can cause such initiations to manifest through traumatic life experiences, rather than just dream visions. After I performed a formal self-initiation ritual, I had initiatory dreams and visions, but my waking life also catastrophically fell apart, and it coincided with my Saturn Return. I lost everything, from material possessions to family members, and experienced frequent psychic attacks by a shadowy demonic entity that appeared to be attached to an abusive boyfriend. When it finally withdrew, several months after I escaped that toxic relationship, I heard it tell me that it was sorry for what it had put me through, and I never felt its presence again. It wasn’t until I read this book that I realized that the ordeals I experienced were part of an initiatory dismemberment and I came to terms with the fact that the Dark Mother to whom I was devoted had allowed those horrors to happen to me as part of the process.

Wicca, with its sugar-coated love and light Mother Goddess, did not adequately prepare me for the brutality of my shamanic witchcraft initiation, and reading the previous edition of this book, North Star Road, revealed the harsh truths of my spiritual path. I share what happened to me as a cautionary tale, because I initiated myself not fully understanding what I was getting myself into. I thought I was adequately prepared after studying Wicca for over a decade, rather than the customary year and a day, but the witch’s path is riddled with rose thorns, and true wisdom comes through suffering.

Witchcraft and the Shamanic Journey fills in the gaps of knowledge that are missing in mainstream pop culture witchcraft. Johnson elucidates how ancient shamanic practices infuse the folkloric witchcraft of medieval and Renaissance Europe, and are the backbone of witchcraft today. This is an essential text for any serious practitioner who has been called by the spirits and seeks to reclaim their shamanic roots.