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Song of the Dark Man, by Darragh Mason

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

Darragh Mason’s Song of the Dark Man beckons readers down a crooked, thorn-riddled forest path to meet the Devil at the crossroads. Following the haunting melody of his Pan pipes through a captivating blend of folktales, historical records, and contemporary testimonies, Mason seeks the elusive figure of the Dark Man of the Witches’ Sabbath, whose children are “the witches and storytellers.”1

Divided into two parts, this book delves into the historical context of the Dark Man, including the chilling accounts of the Scottish witch trials, and then explores the lived experiences of present-day witches who have encountered the Dark Man. Mason invites readers to sit beside an ancestral campfire, for “this is a work created in the spirit of the sagas and poems sung by our forebears.”2

Darragh Mason is an award-winning photographer, researcher, and author, best known for his work on the Djinn and the Aghori Hindu sect. He also hosts the award-nominated paranormal podcast Spirit Box. Mason doesn’t claim to be a scholar or an authority on witchcraft. “This book is for the curious and the haunted,”3 he says.

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

“Our folktales are remnants of the dreamtime memories of our ancestors, a memory of an age before the veil between the imagined and the material hardened over,” Mason says. “If our folktales are our dream history, then the Dark Man has haunted our dreams since the beginning.”4

He is the shadowy muse behind obsessive artistic expression, inspiring great works of art at a potentially destructive cost to the artist. “The Witchfather is dangerous, ruthless, and may devour you,”5 Mason warns readers. “Those who worked with him in the past were known as cunning folk for a reason, in that they could work with him and not get eaten.”6 Mason claims this book was written at the behest of Lucifer.

In many folktales, the Dark Man “is a composite figure of the Fairy King, Devil, and Lord of the Dead.”7 Mason delves into the paranormal phenomena associated with this dreadful specter, such as the infamous “Devil’s Footprints”8 and the eerie tales of black riders spiriting people away to fairy realms. One account that particularly resonated with me was the phenomenon of the “Hairy Hands.”9 During the 1920s, witnesses in Devon, England claimed that phantom hairy hands had hijacked control of their vehicles, leading to numerous accidents along the B3212 road. 

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

Another account that struck a chord with me was that of Shullie H. Porter, a hereditary witch, who “was born dead with her umbilical cord around her neck.”10 While I wasn’t born dead, the circumstances surrounding my birth were strikingly similar. My mother described my face as purple, like a grape, due to the umbilical noose strangling my neck. Discovering that I share this rare birth complication with another modern witch, I can’t help but wonder if it might mirror the traumatic death of being hanged, perhaps for witchcraft, in a past life.

Porter was also given the same name for the Dark Man as he once gave me during a telepathic conversation. “I know who he is now,” she says. “I don’t mind saying his name—it’s Samael.”11 This revelation, coupled with our shared birth trauma, has validated and reaffirmed my personal connection to the Dark Man and the chthonic current into which he initiated me.

In Jewish folklore, Samael, the venom of God, was the name of the satanic serpent in the Garden of Eden, who impregnated Eve with Cain. In traditional witchcraft, witches are believed to be descended from the Cainite lineage of serpent seed. This is the source of the so-called witch blood, which Mason prefers to call a “fire in the blood,”12 and I love this poetic description, because I like to think of it as a bright etheric venom burning in the veins. In the foreword to this book, Peter Mark Adams, author of The Game of Saturn,  further defines witch blood as “the inherited imprints of initiations and devotions undertaken within an ancestral line”13

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

The magical significance and sacred power of horns and antlers is explored in an interview with Orion Foxwood, a traditional witch and Appalachian Conjure man. Foxwood says that horns “pierce the veil between seen and unseen,” and “the deer in the faery tradition is the psychopomp between the worlds.”14 With this in mind, it makes perfect sense that one of the Dark Man’s epiphanies is the deer. Mason also notes that, in the confessions of the seventeenth-century Scottish witch Isobel Gowdie, sometimes the Dark Man “would copulate with the witches in the form of a deer or other forms, and they would never refuse him.”15 

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

“Christianity’s virgin birth to a celibate God severed copulation from female sexuality in particular, removing it from its rightful place of veneration to a place of revulsion and fear,” Mason says. “This tragedy led to the desacralization of the earth which, combined with monotheism and the demonization of the Dark Man, is catastrophic.”16

“Thus,” Mason further observes, “the vulva cave became the hellmouth, changing from a source of wonder and the threshold of creation to a place of corruption and spiritual danger.”17 The Dark Man is a wild god who reclaims the kingdom of the earth and restores the sacredness of the flesh. His sexual initiation is a primal act, a defiance of the puritanical chains that bind us. His carnal embrace offers liberation to the untamed beast within.

I was intrigued to learn that this ancient ritual union of humanity with the wilderness is still preserved in the symbolic marriage of a girl to a feral goat during the annual Irish Puck Fair, which takes place from the 10th to 12th of August, in close proximity to the pagan festival of Lughnasadh, suggesting pre-Christian roots. “The Puck Fair’s main event is the capture of a wild billy goat that is then crowned King Puck,” Mason says. “King Puck has a bride, traditionally a schoolgirl from one of the local primary schools.”18 Queen Puck, the Goat Bride, brings to mind mythical brides of the Devil, such as Lilith and Persephone.

By transcending boundaries and limitations, often in shocking or taboo ways that invert monotheistic beliefs, the Dark Man and his witches challenge a dualistic worldview, which tends to separate humanity from nature and the divine. This rejection of separation can lead to a deeper connection with the natural world and a sense of unity with all beings. “The composite nature of the Dark Man and the shape-shifting of the witches all point to nondualism and a rejection of our separation,”19 Mason says.

The primal experience of encountering the Dark Man can make it difficult to interface with modern technology. Many devotees of the Dark Man, including the author himself, have felt guided to disengage from the trappings of social media. As Mason puts it, “the Dark Man experience pushes us to protect our imaginal spaces, to maintain their integrity from the encroachment of invasive technologies and their wake.”20 This resonated deeply with me because I also feel he has urged me to limit my use of technology and abandon social media platforms. The incoherent, distracting white noise of social media fragments consciousness and interferes with our ability to hear the Dark Man’s song. His palpable presence demands that we turn within instead, realign with our intuition and creativity, and follow our soul’s purpose. As a deity of Fate, that purpose also serves his own mysterious agenda.  

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

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

Becoming Baba Yaga, by Kris Spisak

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

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

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

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

One of my personal favorites was “The Birth of Baba Yaga,” also known as “The Tale of the Twelve Nasty Women,” which recounts how the Devil collected a bag full of difficult, shrewish women and boiled them in a cauldron, inhaled a lungful of the garlicy steam, and spat out Baba Yaga.1 This folktale was no doubt the misogynistic attempt of a Christian author to demonize and oppress her, but I can’t help but be delighted by the idea of Baba Yaga being a distillation of the nastiest feminist women the Devil has ever met.

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

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

“After death, a wooden coffin was constructed and raised up on stilts, allowing the deceased individual to exist between the sky and the earth, between the planes of life and death, not returning the body to the dirt from whence it came,”2 explains Spisak.

Spisak suggests that Baba Yaga may have originally been an earth goddess, perhaps an elderly Mokosh, the Slavic mother goddess and weaver of fate, who has lost her fertility but retains her wise blood. “Different scholars have linked many figures to Baba Yaga’s origin over time, but each one is rooted in nature and the earth, its potential and its duality,”3 Spisak says. Just as nature is two-faced, both nurturing and destructive, so too is Baba Yaga. Her complex personality, with its blend of kindness and cruelty, is so compelling because it mirrors the multifaceted nature of humanity.  

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

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

However, Baba Yaga is a goddess, not a fallible and judgmental human being. Although her methods may seem cruel, they are intended to awaken the hero within. Spisak points out that Baba Yaga never follows through with her cannibalistic threats. She just has a way of “scaring people into being a better version of themselves.”4 

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

“She challenges them to ensure arrogance and entitlement are never pieces of their personality,” Spisak says. “She gives them the freedom to discover themselves and their own abilities.”5

This frightening initiation process serves as a catalyst for personal growth and awakens their latent potential for greatness. According to Spisak, “a good villain makes us reexamine who we are, who we’ve been, and who we could be.”6 

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

Spisak says that the horror genre “can evoke an emotional catharsis and establish greater bonds in our own relationships or between characters we empathize with as we consume their stories.”7 This is why date nights often involve cuddling while watching scary movies, and it’s no coincidence that so many horror flicks take place in a creepy cabin in the woods. “Where the darkness stretches out its claws, there we find the essence of Baba Yaga,”8 Spisak writes, emphasizing the enduring power and primeval allure of this sinister goddess.

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

Secrets of Santa Muerte, by Cressida Stone

Secrets of Santa Muerte: A Guide to the Prayers, Spells, Rituals, and Hexes, by Cressida Stone
Weiser Books, 1578637724, 256 pages, August 2022

The inevitability of death haunts the living. Ancient Roman philosophers valued daily contemplation of their mortality as a source of inspiration, a motivation to live with integrity, and an incentive to prioritize what truly matters with the Latin motto memento mori: remember that you must die. Motivational speakers today still use this phrase to inspire their audiences to follow their dreams and lead authentic lives.

While mortality motivation honors death in a philosophical and abstract sense, there are those in the contemporary occult community who personify and worship death as a powerful spiritual ally who blesses them with love, prosperity, and good health. This vibrant and alluring modern day personification of death is Santa Muerte, the Mexican folk saint who takes the form of a female Grim Reaper. Her name means “Holy Death”1 in Spanish, and a vast underground cult is dedicated to her honor. She holds a scythe in her right hand and a globe or the scales of justice in her left, and an owl sits at her feet. Her iconography was no doubt derived from the saturnine skeletal figure of the more popular Grim Reaper, who emerged in fourteenth century Europe during the Black Death, and blended with the Aztec goddess of death, Mictecacihuatl, the Queen of Mictlan, the Aztec underworld.

Secrets of Santa Muerte: A Guide to the Prayers, Spells, Rituals, and Hexes by Cressida Stone is a comprehensive guide to working with the skeleton saint. In lucid prose, with simple yet potent rituals and prayers, this work focuses on authentic Mexican praxis, and includes several orisons Stone collected from native practitioners while conducting research in Mexico. A doctor of religious studies and a devotee of Holy Death herself, Stone spent six years in Mexico studying with Santa Muerte curanderos and compiling this work.

Stone had a close encounter with death that initiated her into the mysteries of Santa Muerte:

“I was living in Mexico when one night, on a full moon, I had a near-death experience,” she writes in the preface. “I literally stared death in the face when my car crashed off a ridge. I survived miraculously with zero injuries. As I walked away from the wreck, I realized that my accident had taken place right by a shrine to Santa Muerte.”2 

When Stone entered the chapel, a bruja (witch) approached her, saying that she had been expecting her, as Santa Muerte had foretold her arrival in a dream. The bruja introduced Stone to an underground community of Holy Death devotees across the country. Stone’s informants wanted her to record and share their tradition for posterity and to spread true knowledge of the cult of Death beyond Mexico. Nine months later, on the night of a full moon, Santa Muerte herself visited Stone in a dream and gave her the task of writing a book devoted to her mysteries. Secrets of Santa Muerte is the fruition of Stone’s dedicated research and spiritual devotion.

I have felt drawn to Santa Muerte for years but resisted the call because I am not of Mexican descent, and I was also wary of her due to her reputation for being venerated by drug lords. However, Stone reveals that the cult of Santa Muerte is not a closed tradition, and people from all walks of life honor her.

“Death does not judge, as she comes to us all,”3 Stone writes. “It does not matter your color, your age, your origins, your class status, your sexuality, your lifestyle choices, or your nationality.”4

A few months ago, as I reflected upon my hesitation to work with her, Santa Muerte communicated a similar message to me in spirit, which inspired me to learn more about her by reading this book. I realized that my primary concern was that people might shame me for cultural appropriation if I followed my calling to work with her, and she made it clear to me that race and ethnicity do not matter to her. When her scythe rends our garments of flesh, we are all bare bones underneath. She will strip us clean of our illusions, and reveal the truth of who we really are. Since she was reaching out to me and communicating with me telepathically, I felt I was being given a direct invitation to begin building a relationship with her.

When this book came into my possession, I had a vision of a ghostly female figure floating in the air, dressed in white, and when I asked her who she was, she turned to face me and revealed she had a skull for a face beneath her long white veil. That’s when I realized that the white aspect of Santa Muerte was communicating with me. I picked up the book and flipped through the pages to the following passage: “In her white gown, Santa Muerte is caring and maternal, and she gifts great blessings of health, cleansing, and well-being.”5 In this guise, she “is known as la Niña Blanca (the White Girl).”6

Santa Muerte has three primary manifestations: white, black, and red. “This book instructs you on how to work with all three of these key attributes of Santa Muerte,” Stone says. “It also teaches you how to use other colors, such as amber, yellow, green, silver, gold, bone, brown, pink, and purple; to combine colors; and to use specific Mexican candles to reap financial, spiritual, and intellectual success.”7

Setting up a sacred devotional space dedicated to Santa Muerte is a crucial first step in working with her, and Stone offers detailed guidance on how to create an altar. She tells readers everything they need to know about selecting a statue, and details what all the different colors mean, as well as the symbolism and various postures of the statues. Ideally, the devotee will invest in a statue for Holy Death to embody, but a picture will suffice. For those who can’t afford anything more than a simple candle and a heartfelt prayer, Santa Muerte will understand and one can begin working with her anyway. 

“The folk saint needs to have items representing the four elements on her altar,”8 Stone says. One of the simplest and most important offerings is water, and “daily refreshment allows energies to flow through your shrine.”9 Fire will enliven the altar in the form of candle flames, air is represented by tobacco smoke or incense, and earth is symbolized by flowers, stones, and items made from wood or clay. “She advised me that wooden statues and those made of stone, such as obsidian, are among the most powerful, because although Saint Death is celestial, she also is deeply chthonic,”10 Stone writes.

Another reason I hesitated to work with Santa Muerte is because she enjoys offerings of tobacco, marijuana, and alcohol. I quit drinking and smoking a few years ago, and avoid being around it because of my addictive personality. However, Stone points out that, while Santa Muerte does not judge those who engage in these practices and will party right along with them, she also helps people overcome their bad habits if they so desire. For those who wish to break addictions to tobacco or alcohol, these may be offered up to her as something belonging only to her, and thus off limits to the devotee. By sacrificing your vices to her, she can alchemize them into positive energy.

I love this advice, as I was intuitively guided to do this in my own practice after I quit drinking. Once a few months had passed and my cravings had subsided, I made offerings of my favorite whiskey to the Devil for this very reason. I think this approach is effective because instead of repressing and denying the addiction, which was once used to escape life and avoid dealing with painful emotions, it is made sacred and set apart for Spirit. Substance abuse profanes entheogens that should be held sacred, and victims of soul loss are most likely to abuse them to escape their pain. I know in my case this was certainly the reason, and once I engaged in deep shadow work and addressed the underlying reasons for my substance abuse, I was able to release it. 

Daily devotion is essential when working with the skeleton saint. “Holy Death does not like to be ignored,” Stone says. “You must be willing to stop by and speak to her daily, as well as pray to her frequently, for her to take care of your petitions and miracles.”11 Stone also shares a few cautionary tales, in which devotees are punished for offending the Grim Reaperess. The moral of these tales is quite simple: don’t make a promise to Santa Muerte that you can’t keep. Finally, Stone shares an unbonding ritual to “break up with Death,”12 in the event that one decides this spiritual path is not right for them.

I believe that when we start thinking about a spirit and imagining what it will be like to work with them, we are already bonding with them by sending them that psychic energy. I realized that in my fear of initiating a working relationship with her, I was ignoring the fact that she was already reaching out to me and communicating with me in spirit, so I decided it was time to plunge right in and officially begin my Santa Muerte practice. While I had already acquired a framed picture of Holy Death a few months ago, I had decided to read this book first, and I was reluctant to begin working with her because I didn’t have any free space to devote an altar solely to her (the top of my chest of drawers is cluttered with statuary devoted to several other spirits already).

However, while I was reading, I felt guided to make space for her. My current altar is on a small night stand beside my bed that I cleared for her and it’s very simple, with a framed picture of the skeleton saint and four elemental representations, including a glass for water (and an occasional shot glass of tequila), a candle for fire, a tumbled piece of Mexican crazy lace agate for earth, and a stick of palo santo and copal resin incense for air. 

In the “Ritual to Awaken Your Statues and Cleansing Ritual,” Stone recommends using the “three sisters of cleansing: rosemary, rue, and basil,” which “can be boiled together for cleansing and awakening any statue and for cleansing yourself.”13 Garlic boiled in water is another potent cleanser. While Stone believes homemade herbal waters are the most powerful, devotees may also use store bought flower waters and colognes, such as rose water, orange blossom water, and Florida water. She also recommends bathing statues in moonlight because “Santa Muerte is deeply connected to the moon, which is her planet.”14

I always have fresh garlic cloves on hand, so to consecrate her image, I made a garlic wash and cleansed the black and white framed picture I have, which depicts Santa Muerte as a bride. Then I fumigated the image with white copal incense while reciting one of the prayers given in the book. As the silky veil of smoke wrapped around the frame, her skeletal face appeared to glow with an inner light. I visualized her inhaling the smoke through her nose cavity and being enlivened by it.

I appreciated the sections Stone wrote on divinatory practices with Santa Muerte, which include “Insect and Animal Omens,”15 the meaning of various candle flame movements during spell work, and ceromancy, which is the art of interpreting symbols formed by drippings of candle wax. This inspired me to incorporate Santa Muerte into my tarot practice, and I put a tarot deck called The Bones Arcana on her altar so I can channel messages from her using it. This particular deck has skeletal figures on each card and the color scheme is monochromatic with splashes of red, so it’s perfect because it honors her primary colors of black, white, and red.

The first message I received from her was the King of Wands. She was telling me to take the lead, be confident, have faith in my abilities, and trust my intuition. This message was quite fitting because I delayed beginning a relationship with her due to self-doubt and questioning my worthiness to approach her.

Before beginning spell work with Santa Muerte, Stone advises readers to light a candle and pray to the skeleton saint for nine consecutive days, which is a devotional practice called a novena. Over the course of my novena, I experienced moments of severe depression, and I realized that by asking her to “rid me of my sorrows,”16 as the daily prayer beseeches, she was bringing deep pain to the surface for me to release. One night, about midway through the novena, I couldn’t sleep and sat up in bed crying. I felt her holding me in her bony embrace as tears streamed down my face, as if she was urging me to let it all out. 

The nine days of devotion got me into the habit of reciting a prayer to her each day, and I think of my daily devotion to Holy Death as a form of memento mori: remember that you must die. Facing the inevitability of my death each time I look at her skeletal visage reminds me that I fear mediocrity. I want my life to be sacred and meaningful, and Holy Death’s ethereal presence is a daily reminder to stay aligned with my soul’s true purpose.

Secrets of Santa Muerte is an excellent guide for those who want to work with the skeleton saint, but don’t know where to start, and experienced devotees may learn something new as well. This book is filled with practical information that can be applied to spirit work in general. Even if the reader doesn’t feel called to devote themselves to the folk saint, all the advice Stone gives on providing regular offerings and keeping the altar clean are good practices to follow when working with any spirit. There are also spells and prayers for pretty much any need or desire you can imagine.

This book is so detailed that one could probably build their whole Santa Muerte practice around it without needing to read any other book. Stone has done a great service to Santa Muerte and her followers, and as a neophyte of Holy Death, I am grateful for all the hard work and dedication she invested in this guide. This is one book I will be keeping on Santa Muerte’s altar for daily reference.