5

Exploring the Liminal
and Luminous Numina

At the Loom: The sound of threads brushing up against each other in the process of making something larger than themselves. The weight and feel of the fabric against our hands. We sense with more than just our eyes.

Liminally Minded: When we step outside the confines of labels and expectations, if we do not respect and honor ourselves, who can we serve or honor? Our understanding of the numina must begin with us.

Now we shall travel from the metaphysical to some even more invisible or incorporeal things. Yes, it’s time to talk about deities, spirits, the dead, and possibly other things that go bump in your head. We will explore the liminal realms as well as look at core concepts within the spiritual matrix of the Modern Tradition. In discussing the divine, remember that these are ideas to mull over and form your own opinion of, because your own personal belief system is exactly that. No one can tell you what you should believe. You need to find what works best for you and discover your own mysteries and answers.

Witches and Liminal Exploration

Ask two Witches what the liminal is, and you’ll probably get at least five explanations. The liminal is a state of mind that happens in dream and trance states, the sensation of having a foot in this world and a foot in the Other, a place where one can travel to interact with gods, spirits, ancestors, and other beings, a folded pocket of space and time accessible in the waking world if you know how to look for it, a gateway between worlds opened up through ritual. The liminal can certainly be different things to different Witches. For each of us, the liminal is a means to give form and words to something that is intuitive, personal, and nearly indescribable.

In this chapter you will read about how I experience and work with the unseen world. You may have noticed that we are quite far along in this book and only now am I going to really talk about gods and spirits. There are many books where the first thing you encounter are the gods and how to worship them. As I will soon explain, I don’t worship deities, I work with them. They are part of my path, but not the sole reason for it. I’m also not going to wax poetic about flying ointments and traveling outside of my body—most of the work I do requires me to be present in my physical body. Again I stress that these are my experiences and views and what has worked for me for decades. Other people believe and see things differently, which is totally cool. I think trying to poke holes in other people’s interpretations of the invisible can get rather silly, although there are some ideas out there that, through their propagation, can be harmful to both the practitioner and students, so you may find some underlying levels of snark ahead. I encourage you to think for yourself and draw your own conclusions.

What Is the Liminal?

I spent every summer of my childhood at the shore. One of my earliest memories is getting up with the sun, standing on the dune in front of the house, and marveling at the way the sun sparkled off the waves, like the water was made of diamonds. Minus the occasional early bird out for a walk, the beach was deserted, so it felt like only the seagulls and I bore witness to this dazzling display. The waves pulled back to reveal treasures of shells and creatures, wet and fresh. The morning ocean was full of promise, before the world woke up and invaded the beach.

Equally amazing were the occasions when the moon was full and the night was clear. The sunbathers had all gone home, so the only sound was the surf breaking on the cool sand. The moon shone down like a glittering path on the water, beckoning like a siren to come into the water and see where the light would lead you. The ocean at night sang its lullaby while the waves and wind swallowed up the footprints, erasing the evidence of those who had been there during the day.

This pair of events marks a special in-between time, one holding a sense of “before” and the other “after.” However, my favorite in-between time at the beach is the gloaming, when the sun has begun to set. An aura of dusk takes over at the place where the land and the water meet. Both the water and the wet sand take on a luminescence that is unearthly.

As you walk along the bubbling breakers and foam, feet sinking into the sand, you get the sense that you are treading inside a giant shell made of mother-of-pearl. The edges of the sky, the ocean, and the beach disappear, and the world becomes a little quieter, hushed even. You become transported to a place that is not a place, outside of time, where earth, water, and air all blur into one. To me, that is the essence of the liminal.

How does the rest of the world define liminal? Merriam-Webster gives us this beautiful tidbit:

The noun limen refers to the point at which a physiological or psychological effect begins to be produced, and liminal is the adjective used to describe things associated with that point, or threshold, as it is also called. Likewise, the closely related word subliminal means “below a threshold”; it can describe something inadequate to produce a sensation or something operating below a threshold of consciousness. Because the sensory threshold is a transitional point where sensations are just beginning to be perceptible, liminal acquired two extended meanings. It can mean “barely perceptible” and is now often used to mean “transitional” or “intermediate,” as in “the liminal zone between sleep and wakefulness.”

So much of the experience of being a Witch and practicing Witchcraft is hard to put into words. However, liminal is one of those words that gets pretty close to describing much of what we sense. It is a good adjective that captures that sense of there-but-not-quite as a sensation. Applied as a noun, it gives a name to the in-between places we traverse as spirits still connected to the physical realm—while we work with spirits of other realms. What we call those realms has a lot to do with what culture we belong to, what myths we subscribe to, and how we view the invisible and the unknown. But they all find a home in the word liminal.

Modern society tends to view itself as the only reality—unless it wants to get scared and tell ghost stories. But for thousands of years our ancestors have been very much of the mind that there is more to the world than what we can see. In Catholic mythology, there are Heaven, Purgatory, Limbo, and Hell to describe the various places and states a soul could wander through. In Greek mythology, not only is there an underworld but it has at least five sections: Tartarus, the Asphodel Meadows, the Mourning Fields, Elysium, and the Isles of the Blessed. In Vodou practices, Guinee is the spirit world where the souls of the dead live after passing through seven gates. In the Japanese Shinto religion, the land of the dead (or world of darkness) is called Yomi-no-kuni, believed to be physically separate from this reality. In Hebrew scripture, the land where all of the dead go is called She’ol. It is said to be a place of stillness and darkness cut off from life and from God. In Norse mythology, there is Yggdrasil, the World Tree, which holds all of the nine realms of existence within its branches and roots. Hindus see the world as divided into three parts: Svarga (the upper regions), Prithvi (Earth) and Patala (the underworld). In Aboriginal beliefs, the Dreaming (or the Dreamtime) encompasses all aspects of life, sacred and secular, physical and spiritual—permeating this reality at times. The Navajo creation story has three underworlds, and it said that we live in the Fourth World, also known as the Glittering World.

Again and again, we see that our ancestors believed in different realms of existence beyond the obvious physical world that we interact with daily. In addition, not only are there separate layers or locations of existence but there are also countless stories and names for the beings that inhabit them: angels, demons, ghosts, djinn, fey, elves, nymphs, Fates, pixies, gnomes, and so on.

From the undead to otherkin, every culture has names, myths, lore, and protocols for beings that are similar to us but aren’t us—and aren’t quite of our world.

Obviously humanity has given a lot of thought to worlds beyond what we can see.

Sure, we could dismiss some things we have explained through science, such as the myths used to explain natural phenomena in the world around us. We know that the seasons are caused by the tilted axis of our round planet spinning in its elliptical orbit around the sun, and not by the goddess Demeter mourning the loss of her daughter Persephone and reviving the world when she returns every spring. But there is much that science has yet to explain, and the scientific method is not necessarily up to the challenge of measuring liminal occurrences. The scientific method is designed for testing things that can happen in controlled, physically bound environments. Any good scientist will tell you there are many things that simply cannot be measured or tested using the method because the conditions surrounding the phenomena are nearly impossible to control consistently. You try getting a deity or spirit to do anything on command. (Okay, ceremonial magicians, you guys hush—and what are you doing reading this book anyway?) There is much we can prove in this world, and then there are the unseen things where the evidence is manifested through generations of human fascination. Sometimes we must put down the beakers and books, close our eyes, and see the divine within. Furthermore, there is something to be said for the emotional and poetic depth of myth that is lost in reducing everything to science. The beauty of imagination, intuition, and art is that through them we can experience the world at a much deeper, more profound level.

The Spiral Overlay: The Shape of Everything
and Gateway to the Divine

I can’t say I’ve ever really sat down and wondered where gods and spirits exist in relation to where we are. Rather, I’ve always felt that they are part of this world and we are a part of theirs. So while there are many fascinating models out there, with levels and hierarchies of beings trying to map everything out, I haven’t felt a connection to any particular one. If I was going to choose a shape to describe how I feel the universe is made, I would have to select the spiral. From the double helix of DNA, to the numbers of Fibonacci and fractals, to the shape of ferns, flowers, and snail shells, to the looping swirl of a galaxy, the spiral seems to be infinitely present in the makeup of the universe. The spiral moves inward and outward at the same time, connecting points while allowing space in between.

I think the realm of the Other, where deities, spirits, and ancestors reside, is inherently part of this realm, not separate from us and the world we know. Together all the levels of awareness form everything we know. You could picture a chambered nautilus shell, with its successive chambers spiraling inward and outward, interconnected and supporting each other in a carefully balanced system. Perhaps you could imagine a model of the universe where each level of existence or awareness is a different colored spiral, looping around a unifying pole or axis, colors blending as each spiral runs into its neighbor. Or instead of a singular pole like Yggdrasil, the World Tree, consider the structure of DNA: a flexible spiral staircase. Visualize each reality as a ladder rail strung across a pair of spiraling backbones—allowing time and space to be flexible, curving in on itself on occasion, able to be oriented in any direction yet held together by the main frame. If I were going to bet on which design expresses the nature of things, I’d go for this last one. If you unwind and lay out a DNA chain, suddenly there is the structure of a loom before you, containing the information of all of the patterns of the world. Everything in the world—humans, plants, animals, mountains, molecules, gods, ancestors, toasters—simultaneously are the threads of the pattern and the weavers making the pattern.

Matters of Spirit

So who or what is spirit? If we look at the world through pantheistic and animistic glasses, everything has a spirit to it. But physical form as we know it is not a requirement. I have always liked the saying “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” Within that statement is the suggestion that we are spirits that temporarily spend time on the physical plane. Once we become separated from our bodies by death, we very likely continue on. Which means there are spirits that aren’t currently encased in amazing meat suits. If we believe that plants and animals and places all have a unique spiritual energy, then there are many kinds of spirits. Not only that, but there are probably many more kinds than those currently connected to the physical realm that we understand and see.

Suddenly we can see explanations for ghosts, ancestral visitations, gods, angels, demons, fey, and other beings of spirit.

I’m going to share with you some of the kinds of spirits I work with and recognize the most: deities, the self divine, and deceased human beings in terms of the Mighty Dead, ancestors, and ghosts. I’ll explain them to the best of my current knowledge and experience, and talk about some of the ways I work with them.

Luminous Numina: Gods

A numen is a divine power, spirit, or deity, particularly one that is considered local, immanent, or presiding nearby. (Numina is the plural of numen.) There are many ways of viewing the forms that divine power can take and how the numina can relate to us, just under the Pagan umbrella.

Polytheists generally believe that the deities are specific, whole entities, each with their own personality, revealed through myths and personal interaction. Those who are more animistic and pantheistic view gods to be the spirits of ancestors, elemental entities, or the animation of a place or object. Monotheists may recognize a singular numen, with deities seen as archetypes, representations of divinity that we can relate to, or the mythic come to life. Some believe that deities are given sustenance by those who worship them. Others believe the gods to be a facet of the divine source itself in whatever form it chooses to take, impartial to or outside of worship and acknowledgment. People can get really particular to the point of argumentative about their reality of the gods. I believe it’s such a personal viewpoint and revelation that the best we can do is share how we see the gods and respect others’ perspectives, regardless of whether they agree with us or not.

In my personal practice, I recognize the divine as an energy that pulses through the universe, present in the world around me, including myself. Additionally I have personal and very tactile experiences with deities, so my belief is they can and do have distinct personalities and forms. I also acknowledge that archetypes are an extremely useful way to help the human mind connect with myth and spirit. A god can fit an archetype, yet that doesn’t mean that they are two-dimensional, like a cardboard cutout, or that all gods that fall under that archetype are the same. For example, you can classify me as an artist, but that doesn’t mean I do the same kind of art as other artists or do only art.

The Gods Made Us/ We Made the Gods

So what are gods and where did they come from? Well, the gods may have created us, but also we created them. Both are true. It’s my favorite chicken-or-the-egg example. Some sort of energy pushed us all into being, and perhaps some of the gods were the earliest weavers, working that energy into patterns that made the world. They have revealed themselves to us in various ways, and we continually interpret those visions to understand the shape of the divine.

When we look back at history, we start to see parallel myths, with gods emerging, merging, and disappearing. The popularity of certain deities has ebbed and flowed, gods rising and falling with civilizations and religions. A singular divine force may explain how everything came into existence somehow (including the gods), but humans have played and continue to play a large role in what the face of deity looks like.

The gods help me connect to the world and understand it better, and guide me on my path. But it’s also clearly apparent that they need me (us) as well, whether it’s through us feeding them energy through rites, rituals, and other devotional acts, or it’s because they require us to do things in the physical world for a variety of reasons. It’s a symbiotic relationship, one of give and take and working together. We are responsible for the evolution of the gods through our own hands and minds.

If you pay close attention to Abrahamic mythology, you may have noticed something interesting about the First Commandment: “Thou shalt have no other gods before Me.” Somehow over time this has come to mean “there is but one god.” But no, Yahweh’s commandment acknowledges that there are indeed other gods, because he specifically has to say “before Me.” He doesn’t mention having another god after him. Also, the Ten Commandments are said to have come about when the Jews formed a covenant with Yahweh. Basically, they made a contract with that deity. Mythology is filled with people making contracts and agreements with deities. Why would it matter to a god if people gave them specific attention? It matters if the deity gets something out of the exchange—definitely something to think about!

Another thing to consider is that the concept of a singular, all-powerful, all-knowing deity could be compared to a genetic mutation or anomaly. It’s not a deeply prevalent or logical idea. Most creation myths involve a cast of many deities stemming from a parental-like being who in turn gives life to other deities and completes their own life cycle. When we compare myths across the world, we see a recurring theme that deities are not all-knowing or powerful. Instead, a deity typically is assigned an area (or areas) of expertise, may collaborate with other deities to solve problems they can’t tackle alone, and often exhibit very human-like behaviors. These familiar traits could be because we are made in their image—or that they are made in ours.

Journal Reflection: If you come to Witchcraft from some other religion, with the intention to exchange that one out for something that fits you better, you’re probably carrying around some baggage about what God is. Now is a great time to explore what you think and feel the divine is, without the constraints of dogma.

The Evolution of Gods

It wasn’t religious ideas that separated us first but simply survival. When a group of people thrived in a given area (despite or in the face of the weather or illness), eventually there would come a point where the balance between people and resources was in jeopardy, and part of the group would need to splinter off and go to a new area. Being nomadic (migrating with the seasons and animals) was one way to prolong the inevitable, but as we learned to farm and domesticate, more room and resources were needed. In fact, all animals that naturally live in communal organizations—from horses, wolves, and lions to bees, meerkats, and dolphins—hive off to protect resources and stimulate genetic diversity.

This natural development leads to a crucial fundamental change in how a group experiences the world around them. Imagine that for several generations your people had lived in a certain valley. Over time they became familiar with its landscape, landmarks, flora and fauna, and the natural cycle of its weather patterns. All of these things influence how a person sees the world and how we develop our mythology: where we came from, what is proper protocol, and what we believe.

Then a group heads off over a small mountain ridge in search of more resources. They find a new place to live, but the landscape, the weather, the features, and the animals differ, even if the new location is just a few miles away. Instead of a placid lake for water, they have a mountain spring.

With a higher elevation come different weather cycles, different plants, and different animals, encompassing both new resources as well as new risks. The splintered-off group started with the same mythology as the main group, but there is new protocol to learn and new dangers to fear, and things that were important in the valley aren’t so important when compared to the new things they learn in order to survive. Surviving in snow becomes an important life skill, versus negotiating a boggy marsh. The god of the lake may become or be replaced by the goddess of the spring, and the burial rites may change from burying in the ground to “sky” because the harder, often frozen ground won’t allow it. Instead, the body is left exposed in such a way that birds, other animals, and the elements can break it down.

So with time, while these people may have come from the same source, their mythology and practices change as their living experience changes to adapt to their environment and its related conditions and factors. No matter what religion you look at, the root idea behind deity is to explain how and why we came to be, how we manage, how we interpret the world around us, and how we look at the future—all of which changes depending on the conditions of the environment we live in, morphing to create new mythology and new gods. The gods create us, and we create them in turn, because nothing is static in this world. We take our stories, myths, and folklore with us—across mountains, oceans, cities, and space—and through that the gods morph, change, and evolve. So in turn, how we observe, identify, practice, believe in, and work with those gods changes as well.

If you’re thinking, “Sure, okay, but that was olden times, thousands of years ago, but now that we’ve established this all, it won’t change.” Nope! We may not be making the perilous journey of our ancestors into a new landscape with very little knowledge or supplies, but our environment still continues to change and influence our experience. From refugees fleeing disaster to survive and immigrants seeking new opportunities to thrive to the new sprawling suburbia and urban upheaval in our cities due to gentrification, the world continues to change on us. Any time you move up or down the economic ladder or move to a new neighborhood or move back to an old one, your experience changes and influences how you see the world around you. You evolve and grow—and so do your gods.

Problems arise when we fail to see this natural progression. Of course my idea and experience of a particular deity may be quite different from yours, but that doesn’t make either idea or practice wrong. In fact, that makes them both even more right, and underlines the utmost need for fostering respect and understanding. The only way you can do it wrong is to insist that someone else’s view or relationship with their deity is wrong because it’s not your way. The only solution then is to evolve.

The Gods Must Be Crazy

The eos of eros

La luna, il sol

Harvest’s children wed war

The dead cry below

A gold coin for crossing

With blood comes power

A cherub in arms

Fair youth in flower

Et tu brutality, et tu shame

Et tu humanity bathed in pain

Et tu laughter, et tu escaping hope

Confused cacaphony

Flesh formed startdust motes

A pantheon of properties

For Pandora’s lid ne’er closed

Altruisms pairs atrocities

The world seems indisposed

And so, Unsurprised prophets

read their shifting visions hazy

Uniting in conclusion

The gods, they must be crazy

—Nathaniel Johnstone, “The Gods Must Be Crazy,”
spoken word poem from The Antikythera Mechanism

A popular commentary on deity I often see polytheists making centers on how the gods aren’t nice. The basis of the discussion is in the “realness” of the gods, and that they aren’t all sugar and spice, made of just pretty statues and paper cutouts, waiting to grant our wishes and desires. There tends to be an underlying message that fear and devotion are important, required duties—and that clearly others aren’t seeing or knowing the gods as clearly or correctly as they are.

As someone who spent ten years in Catholic school and whose mother taught religion, while also having a Jewish father, my education included fairly intense theological discussions and a keen interest in the Old Testament. Add to that a lifelong passion for mythology from around the world: Egypt, Babylon, India, Native American cultures, Greece, etc. From the repeated theme of the Bible that “my God is a vengeful/jealous god” to the entire collection of Greek and Roman myths (which I like to dub “gods behaving badly”), we have a long history of recognizing that the gods are beings that invoke fear, awe, and respect, often simultaneously. I think few people who believe in gods would diverge much from that thought process.

Whether you view myths of deities as a means to explain the mysteries of nature and human existence or have a very real, personal relationship with a divine entity, it’s very hard to deceive yourself into ignoring the reality of how the world works. Water gives life but can also flood and drown you. Fire brings warmth but can also burn down homes and ravage the landscape. Earth brings us food but can also yield poison and swallow us whole. Air gives us breath but can also destroy and break us down. Myths from every culture extol the virtues and blessings of the gods, as well as their most foul attributes, which is no surprise when we look at the nature of humanity—our brightest and darkest moments, and everything in between.

If we are modeled after the gods, why would they be different from us in terms of virtues, vices, and personalities? If we all (gods and humans) come from star-stuff, why would we not have other things in common? Whether they exist because of us, we exist because of them, or something in between, we are undeniably linked. There are certainly relationships to be explored, and they will vary from person to person and deity to deity.

I do understand the tendency for a person breaking away from Abrahamic religion to want to embrace an opposite sort of deity, often one that is female, kind, accepting, and understanding. But I think that is a fantasy that is short-lived as we grow to understand our relationship with nature, the divine, and ourselves. We know that a woman isn’t just one thing, and that a mother goddess can be fierce and angry, just as a father god can be nurturing, protective, giving, and supportive.

As you journey along your path, if you happen to forge a personal relationship with a divine entity or spirit (or multiple ones), then you will very quickly grow to understand the nature of it—the give and take of energy, the diversity of personality, the blessings and the curses. If we do come into it naively or mistaken, the gods have a tendency to poke us—some gently and others with a bit more force to get our attention and bring us up to speed. The gods function at a different level than us; they can see more of the pattern than we can. It also means that in our current physical forms, it can be much harder for us to grasp the mysteries they may be trying to show us. Some things are beyond our comprehension simply because of where, when, and how we stand.

Here’s another way to look at it. Imagine two friends and a tall tree. One friend is on the ground, and the other lives high up in the tree. Both friends can touch the tree and talk to each other. The friend up in the tree can toss down apples for the one on the ground (hopefully not hitting the person on the ground, unless they mean to …). The friend on the ground might sing for the one up in the tree to let them know they’re there. They may also take care of the tree so they know their friend is okay. In the end, the friend up in the tree has a different perspective than the one on the ground. They can see farther away in all directions, but they need the friend on the ground to enact changes that they can’t from where they are sitting. The friends are interconnected but not totally dependent on each other.

The gods might not always make sense to us, but there are times when we don’t even make sense to ourselves. Understanding comes through time and experience, and even then, none of us (gods, humans, or otherwise) can know everything. The best—and perhaps the most crazy—thing we can do is seek to communicate and learn from the experience.

Experiencing the Gods

I feel one of the most beautiful things about Witchcraft is having a personal, direct relationship with the divine—in whatever form you envision that. If we want to connect with a deity, we can often reach out directly to connect with them, no matter where we are on our path. There is no need for a middleman. I will openly admit that I have some baggage originating in my Catholic upbringing, despite having some pretty radical/forward-thinking/progressive concepts instilled in me by my parents (and their mixed-religion marriage) and certain Catholic schoolteachers over the years. It mainly involves my hackles getting raised when people insist on dictating about practice and what my relationship to the gods should apparently be.

At a very early age I did not respond well to the idea that only someone else (particularly one endowed with a sacred yet supposedly inactive penis) could talk to God and perform the rites. I got straight As in all of my religion classes and was thoroughly familiar with the entire Bible, but it all still did not make any sort of logical or spiritual sense to me. I felt a deep sense of spiritual longing. For all my appreciation of the rites and stories surrounding Mary, it felt like I was standing in a kiddie pool with barely any water in it trying to cool off while there was a hidden ocean looming nearby.

In my teens, I searched for that ocean, and pretty much fell into it backward—or, perhaps more precisely, it found me. Rather than swallowing me up whole and drowning me, this ocean taught me how to swim in it, showed me how to ebb and flow with it and work with its requests. To clear up the metaphor, that ocean was the gods and spirits I work with, and they instructed me on how to work with them. They continue to reveal, to guide, and to inspire two decades later as I change and the world around me changes.

At the Many Gods West gathering in 2016, I was listening to my friend John Beckett talk about starting community by “putting the gods at the center” of it. In response to what he said, I drew the structure of an atom, with its nucleus and orbiting electrons, in my notebook. I’m not sure if John meant for his idea to be taken so literally. I understood what he was trying to express, but my brain went to another place. In my head, that model put the gods as the nucleus of the atom, and we humans as the electrons circling them. But the more I considered the atom and the gods, I realized that you can’t have a functioning atom without all of the parts; they are all important. What if we are the nucleus and the gods are the electrons keeping us in balance and causing shifts in our awareness? We could argue who is which part, but the end result is that together we make up the atom. How stable it is depends on its orbit and the atoms around it. We must also recognize the divine in others to achieve balance and understanding, and there are many different kinds of atoms out there.

Which brings us to one more parcel of baggage for me: devotion. When I think of “devotion” and “devotional,” the image that comes to mind is of the old Italian women sitting in their solitary pews at my grandparents’ church in Philadelphia, reciting the rosary—all together yet all alone, relying on ritual for comfort and peace in the place of their god/s yet separate from them. If we look at the definition of devotion, it can be “love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity, or cause” as well as “religious worship or observance.” I would have to lean toward the first definition if I am to find a personal connection with it because of one primary fact: I don’t worship the gods. I am devoted to my partner, but I don’t worship him. Similarly, I have an intense and intimate relationship with the gods, but that relationship is not defined by being separate from them or connecting with them only through specific rites. They are ever present, whether I’m in the middle of a ritual or driving to the grocery store. (Talk about backseat drivers!) You can argue semantics, but the meaning in those particular words can’t express the relationship for me. And the spirits and gods are sure to let me know if something is or isn’t working for them—just as I am in the position to inform them of the same.

This is why I feel the best way to describe my relationship with deities and spirits is that I experience them, and they I. The details involved in that experience are defined and set by us mutually. It cannot be judged or determined by anyone else. And as we create the gods, as they create us, each experience is going to be different for every individual. I think that truth is something that everyone should keep in mind as they walk their path.

Choosing Gods—or Not

“How do you know what gods to choose? Which ones should you work with? How do I pick which gods to follow? What if none of them seem to speak to me? Do I even need gods?” These are questions frequently asked by new practitioners. Another related one would be, “I’ve found a god/goddess. Now I need to find a goddess/god to go with them.”

I understand, I really do. It’s a hard thing to figure out if you’re coming from a background that lays it all out there: “Worship this dude and none of these other ones—except, well, sometimes you can talk to these special beings.” Or maybe you have no religious background whatsoever. So you have either an extremely detailed rulebook or the idea that there is no rulebook whatsoever, because WTF are gods? You’re acclimating to a new concept: that there are multiple gods out there, or perhaps the oddity that the gods are real and do exist, or that god/gods are much different from what you thought they were. And to make matters worse, there’s no definitive book to go by to tell you who, how, and why. Awesome, right??

Oh wait, not awesome. It’s confusing and you’re probably terrified that you’re going to make a mistake. You may have picked up a book that has a long list of deities from all over the planet—or maybe a book that suggests only a couple—that don’t really resonate with you.

What’s a Witch to do? (Warning! Warning! Heresy/blasphemy ahead!)

You don’t need or have to do anything where the gods are concerned to get going on your path. Just as you don’t have to be in a romantic relationship to be whole or happy, you don’t need to have or follow gods to be a Witch. Yes, I just said you don’t have to have gods in your practice and I’m applying dating advice to deities.

Businesses make a lot of money off us, marketing the idea to us that we can’t or shouldn’t be alone, that we must be in a relationship—that any relationship (good or bad) is better than none. So an awful lot of people go from relationship to relationship without ever stopping to consider what their needs and wants really are. Most critically, they don’t get the time to figure out who they are on their own. In order to have a truly healthy relationship, most people need that time and focus to be a good partner—and maintain a healthy state for themselves.

Similarly, if you’re bouncing out of a bad relationship with a jerk god,19 you’re going to need some time to figure out what other possibilities are out there. You can explore different myths and concepts, discover there’s an amazing variety of deities out there, and find out what does and doesn’t work for you—without making some sort of serious commitment right away (if ever).

But how do you know which gods are the right gods for you? It may sound flippant and unhelpful, but you’ll know when you find the right match. You’ll notice patterns, the repetition of symbols and signs again and again. They may just even sidle up behind you and make the whole room smell like goat, then be a loud backseat driver in your car until you figure it out. (True story.) If you find yourself drawn to certain myths or images, then explore them more deeply. Don’t worry that you may miss signs. Gods and spirits know we can be pretty dense at times, which is why they repeat things until we catch on.

But won’t I be offending someone? Who are you worried about offending? Other Witches? You’ll do that without even trying or knowing with some people, and, well, why are you worried about their opinions on your practice? Unless it’s a mentor, teacher, or someone you respect, then it’s none of their concern what your path is. Worried about offending the gods (that you didn’t even know existed or were a thing until recently)? Not every god is a petty, jealous, insecure control freak. Most actually aren’t. Again, they know we can be a bit slow on the uptake, and they generally let us know when we’re messing up. Less worry, more witching.

But what if I don’t have a perfect binary example of divinity? What if I just have a god or a goddess? Screw the gender binary. You don’t have to have a matron and a patron deity. You can work with just one. You can work with twenty of varying genders. Nor is it your job to pair up random deities from very different pantheons to work together like a divine game of Barbie and Ken. You can certainly work with deities from diverse pantheons, but you don’t have to pair them up together to do workings based on some sort of gender-balancing act, especially if it’s a deity known to work pretty much by themselves. Hekate doesn’t need Thor to help her with anything.

So if I don’t know who my gods are, what do I do? You can pay your respects to the energies and spirits around you without needing to know specific names. You can honor the divine within yourself and in the world around you. Connecting with yourself and your surroundings is very important—and it can help guide you to where you need to go quicker than anything else. Take the time to contemplate what you know and believe to be true. Try to allow yourself to take in an experience without overthinking everything. Let go of a strict rulebook, and see who comes to dinner. Just be sure to split the check.

If you feel the need to be a devoted priest of a certain goddess and all of your work will center around her, that’s up to you and her. It’s your path. I encourage you to look at deity like family: there’s the grandmother you love and adore, the sibling you avoid at all costs, and the aunt you keep in touch with a couple times a year. You get involved with them to the degree you feel comfortable, and sometimes you want the company. Note: Sometimes the company comes unannounced, whether you want them or not.

I think it’s wise to be open to possibilities, and I think that’s the beauty of polytheism, pantheism, and animism. I might perform a working with a specific deity, but my next working might be with an animal spirit or focus on plants or a genius loci or just myself. We are all beings in the same universe, so just like in our everyday life, we can largely choose what kind of relationships we would like to have and with whom. My relationship with the world is defined by the whole of it, which includes but is not limited to gods, spirits, dirt, blood, myth, and magick. Our magick starts with us and flows out from there.

Huffing the Gods

“So they were essentially huffing the gods?” he said, and I nearly fell off our bed laughing. I had been describing a ritual I had attended to my partner, trying to explain why it didn’t quite work for me. Most of the time other people’s rituals have the same effect. Maybe I’m an incredibly picky Witch. (Okay, there’s no “maybe” about that. I am very particular about certain things.)

Nor am I hating on other people’s rituals, because it’s quite clear to me that they’re getting something from it. (They must be right, because otherwise why would they keep doing it? Actually, it’s best not to ask that.) There’s definitely not just one way to do a thing, especially where the gods are concerned. I can appreciate the effort and intent, but far too often, for me it’s like being on the other side of a lackluster sexual experience. Someone got off, but it wasn’t me. That’s always frustrating and awkward.

But let me back up a bit because you’re probably wondering WTF “huffing the gods” means. It’s derived from a saying that evolved during one of our cross-country tours. I was really missing our cats back at home, particularly after 1.5 weeks of no contact with any cats on our trip. I posted online that I desperately needed to huff some kittens. People who have cats probably know exactly what I mean, but for those of you lacking felines in your life, cats have this amazing warm smell to them, especially around their head. If you’re close to your cats like I am (my cat Sam lays on my chest every night, his face in mine), it’s a very comforting aroma that goes along with the wonder of a purring mass of warm fur. (There are also some great spoof pages on kitten huffing that you should google.)

The thing is, if the cat doesn’t have a relationship with you, it’s not going to be terribly interested in being huffed by you. Many kind people all over this country offered me their cats to huff, and many a cat was not having it (minus a couple of actual kittens who didn’t know better, though they still were squirmy about it). The intent was good, but nobody involved was happy about it.

So huffing the gods in a ritual context is essentially trying to get a high through contact with deities, usually without having an intimate familiarity with them and possibly little purpose besides attending to your own needs. But if you don’t have an active working relationship with the gods, the experience can be quite a mixed bag for everyone involved. (That includes gods as well as humans.)

For me, working with deities and spirits is an everyday experience. One might even apply the word “casual” to it. As I mentioned before, I don’t “worship” gods or consider myself devotional in that context. We work together for our mutual benefit. To call upon them doesn’t take any more effort for me than calling or texting someone on the phone (actually less effort than calling because I’m not a big fan of talking on the phone). So in other rituals, the moment they start to welcome X deity, that deity is right there beside me. BOOM! Then as the ritual continues to call upon X deity, that entity is looking at me going, “So what’s up? I’m already here. What are we doing?” And all I do is shrug and go, “I think this is for you?” Deity answers, “It’s more for them, but that’s okay.”

As noted in the previous chapter, there are numerous kinds of rituals: many are extremely simple, daily activities, and others are extravagant rites with much pomp and circumstance. I rarely do the latter, and when I do, it’s designed to be a multilayered experience—for the gods, for the participants, for whatever purpose it was designed for. It’s not ritual for ritual’s sake or because the lunar or solar calendar says so. There should be a clearly defined goal, beyond making what you might view as a scheduled obligatory phone call into a video conference call.

An essential part of being a Witch (IMHO) is understanding that we mingle with the divine on a daily basis. It can be hard to break out of other religious mindsets that make deity separate from us and accessible only on special days, in certain locations, through a chosen few. It’s also hard to become intimate with deity when you hold them and divine concepts at arm’s length. Again applying the model of dating, it’s pretty high-pressure to go on a first date at a super-fancy restaurant all dressed up—that’s something that’s often more appreciated down the line when there’s a special occasion. Think more of a tea or coffee date or going on a ride together but, you know, with Witchcraft.

Practice consensual huffing.

The Gods Who Come with Us

The following is a snippet of a dream I had. This mix of poetry and prose offers one more insight into the gods that I want to share with you.

It was an indoor-outdoor kind of setting—a large covered atrium with open meeting spaces and big terraced balconies and pathways. It was mainly a college-age crowd, with alumni visiting, doing breakout groups. I was walking through when someone called out, “Hey, let’s ask Tempest!”

Hearing my name, I walked over and sat on the table and asked to hear the question.

I listened. Then I lay back on the table, hair sprawling out, and looked up at the sky/ceiling. Then I answered: “There are the gods of places and the gods of spaces. There are the gods we carry with us and the gods that come with us.”

People nodded.

1. “The gods of places are the gods that have always been there. They are the elements and elementals, the chthonic, that which has always been. The gods of spaces arrive at a place and create a niche, a space of their own among the gods of places. They are nature that lives, breathes, dies, and is reborn again and again—the trees, the groves, the streams, the ponds.”

The gentleman who called me over in the first place looked on expectantly.

2. “The gods we carry with us are the gods we know—the ones whose names we call upon, whose images we see and acknowledge.”

More nodding. “But the last group? How is that different?”

3. I smiled up at the ceiling. “The gods that come with us are the ones that know us but are unknown, unknowable, forgotten. They are the ones whose names we do not know, whose faces and images we do not see. They watch and they wait. They are the ones who call to us.”

The Self Divine

When we view the world as sacred and full of spirit, we acknowledge that we are part of that world, and we too contain spirit. If all things are connected by the divine as the force that binds, then it is a part of all things, including ourselves. This revelation is a major game-changer when it comes to recognizing our place and potential for change in the world.

Many cultures view the human spirit or soul as having three parts: a physical self, an intellectual self, and a spiritual self. The physical self is the part of us that is closely rooted to the earth and concerns itself with all things physical and having to do with survival. I see this energy as residing within the belly and pelvis, nestled like a furry animal dreaming of food and sex. Then there is our intellectual or waking self, who is in command most of the time. The intellectual self is constantly thinking, reasoning, emoting, and talking, centered in our chest. Lastly, from our head sprouts the spiritual self, which is intricately connected to the gods, the ancestors. I believe that this spiritual self not only is connected to the gods but is the god aspect of ourselves, the self divine.

All three parts of our soul communicate with each other, relaying important information while we are awake and while we are dreaming. Each part has a different way of expressing itself, from gut instinct to emotional intuition to inner sight. Each plays a vital role in us connecting to the world around us. There have been times throughout history when one or more of the parts have been vilified by religion or intellect. The story of Adam and Eve condemns both intellect and sexuality, blaming them for being the origin of sin. There are academic movements that have dismissed the importance of spirituality. There are many schools of thought that see the spiritual self as the most important part. But the Witch knows that we are most powerful when we combine body, mind, and spirit.

The lesson of the self divine is that we are not separate from gods or spirits, nor are we imperfect in our design or being. We are not innately impure or unclean if we already contain the divine within us, though we can prepare ourselves better to work with gods if we so wish. Our bodies and brains are all part of a beautiful system that relays spirit. We can train ourselves to listen better to our triplicate soul. Every person is capable of realizing this connection and utilizing it, like free Wi-Fi, if you will. To argue about who is more pure or deserving to engage the gods makes me extremely wary that the matter has a lot more to do with prejudice than piety.

As I mentioned in the previous sections, you don’t need to have, follow, or worship gods to be a Witch. If you are able to acknowledge the divine within you, then you see that you are a part of everything—instead of being separate from or subservient to something. You don’t have to have some profound relationship with a god and/or goddess to be an effective Witch, but you should work on having a solid relationship with yourself and your immediate world. That’s quite a handful right there to be perfectly honest.

Familiar Spirits, Guardians, and Guides

There tends to be several schools of thought when it comes to the word familiar. One interpretation is that a Witch’s familiar is a companion spirit embodied in a physical animal. Another interpretation is that the familiar spirit is the Witch’s spirit itself transformed while traveling, taking the form of an animal in this world. A third concept is that a familiar is a companion spirit, guardian, or guide that may occasionally be viewed in the shape of an animal during waking hours but more specifically is seen in the mind’s eye or during spirit flight. I see room for all three variations to have worth.

First, Witches are known for having close relationships with animals. I actually can’t think of a single Witch I know who isn’t an animal lover—and not just pets, but taking care of wildlife, livestock, and insects, and, well, basically being stewards of the earth. When you pay close attention to animals, they notice, and they treat you a bit differently. I have had several very close relationships with animals in my life that I would say were fairly remarkable bonds. All of my cats have managed to avoid stepping on my artwork, even if it’s laying all over the floor—regardless of whether it’s a painting or a drawing. Now, have any of them aided me specifically in doing Witchcraft? I don’t really think that’s their purpose for being in my life. The relationship itself is.

Much of the lore surrounding Witches is that they can shapeshift into animals. There are fascinating accounts from trial testimonies where a neighbor would recount the story of wounding a hare, cat, or fox, and the next day the Witch would have her arm or leg bandaged, exactly where the animal was wounded. This correlation was seen as proof of Witchcraft. Many practicing Witches do talk of actively changing themselves into animals while traveling on what they call the astral plane. When we think back to the self divine and our animal self within, there’s no reason why that part of ourselves wouldn’t see itself as animal. For thousands of years, humanity has looked to animals for inspiration, with modern-day team mascots being just a vestige of that familiarity. In the liminal places of mind and spirit, anything is possible.

The last theory centers around spirit guides and guardians. When anyone talks of spirit guides, I am reminded of something that happened to me when I moved to California and started doing readings full-time at a large metaphysical shop. During a lull, one of the other readers there (there were usually at least four working at any time) said to me, “Tell me about your spirit guide.” You know that feeling in a bad dream where you’ve forgotten to do homework that you didn’t even know you had to do? That’s what I felt. I didn’t have a spirit guide, nor did I know I was “supposed” to have one. I had never sensed that someone else outside of me was feeding me information when I did readings. I pick up information from other people, particularly that which they are subconsciously hiding or ignoring—not unlike the dentist who knows whether you’ve really been flossing your teeth, despite what you say! The evidence is there for me to perceive, which is how I know it.

Now, I’m not saying that other people’s experience of spirit guides is invalid or wrong—that is their experience. My guess is that other people relate to their own self divine in a way where they give it a separate personality from themselves. The human mind is capable of compartmentalizing things in amazing ways to work around itself. But on the other hand, maybe those folks are getting separate aid from other spirits. All I know is that when I consider who is at the helm of my ship, that person is definitely me. There is no one in between.

I do talk to deities and sometimes get unsolicited advice from them (that is usually right). But I don’t consider them my spirit guides or guardians, and the situations usually involve them specifically, such as ritual or artwork. I do get a sense that some of my ancestors are looking out for me—again, I see the evidence of them being there. With both the deities and the familiar dead, I feel like I’m part of a conversation that involves other people, not unlike the one a family would have around the kitchen table. My grandfather is still talking to and taking care of me the way he did when he was alive. It’s just happening on a different plane of being now. These conversations are not a constant chatter, nor are the participants consistent, so again, I don’t feel like this is the same as a singular, separate spirit guide.

The Dead:
Ancestors, the Mighty Dead, Ghosts, and More

Some people think of the dead when the season calls for it, usually around Samhain. I’m of the mind that the dead are present in various forms all year round. Some traditions believe that the veils (a metaphor describing the separation between this world and the next—or others) become thinner not just at Samhain but at another time as well. This second instance would be in the time frame of Beltane, which is opposite Samhain on the Wheel of the Year (if you follow that model). That may seem odd, but it’s really not if you think about it. Beltane is a time of coupling, fertility, and conception, and a time of birth for many animals. It is a clear sign of the awakening of the earth. Birth and death are mysteries that are deeply intertwined, so entries and exits are essentially linked.

Of course, people aren’t generally exiting life at one time of year specifically. But during the fall we are witnessing the encroaching blanket of death as the days get shorter, the trees change colors and shed their leaves, plants finish their cycles, and wildlife prepare for winter.

The kiss of death around us reminds us of our own mortality. This reality in turn summons the memories of those who have passed on before us. Our ancestors typically thought it was a smart idea to remember and appease the dead—to ensure the living wouldn’t join the dead sooner than expected. Similarly, in remembering the dead, we comfort ourselves in the thought that we too will be remembered when we pass.

There are many ways of viewing the states the spirit goes through after we die. When we think about the people we know who have recently passed on, they are the Familiar Deceased. The ancestors refer to the people who make up my roots; my blood runs in my veins thanks to them. Then there are the people we don’t know but have admired from afar who pass on, as well as the inspiring figures from history. We call these spirits the Mighty Dead to honor their memory and power in our practice. Then there are the spirits of people or other beings we don’t know at all but may encounter—ghosts, hauntings, things on the edge of our radar.

Here are some of the ways I work with each of these kinds of spirits.

The Familiar Deceased

Pictures and items pertaining to recently deceased family members can be found on my altars. These are people I am related to, who had an impact on my life, and who I may continue to communicate with. I may ask them for guidance, but I’m not exactly “doing Witchcraft” with them. Many people wonder how family members may feel about what they’re doing, especially if there’s a difference in faiths/beliefs. I tend to be of the mind that when we die, we get a better grasp on the bigger picture and focus more on what’s important, yet it’s important to be respectful. For example, I know my grandparents always loved me, no matter what I did in life. I’m pretty damn sure they still feel that way, but I’m not going to invite Pan and Grandmom into the same space (Though I think Pan might like getting spanked with a wooden spoon).

The Ancestors

I have a nightly meditation that acknowledges not only the Familiar Deceased but all the people who have come before me whom I do not know. I don’t really know if they’re watching out for me, if they care at all to see what has come out of their family trees, or if they’ve moved on, but I like to give them a nod as a group in my meditation and in group ritual workings.

The Mighty Dead

To me, the Mighty Dead are the relatively recently deceased who may not be related to me or that I didn’t know personally while they were living, but I feel a connection to them. I recognize their contributions to my path—through my work, altars, and meditations. I may call upon them to assist in my work, and sometimes I find they show up to help out when I wasn’t even aware I needed it. Doreen Valiente would be someone I consider among the Mighty Dead—I never met her, but I cherish her work. I did know Margot Adler, author of Drawing Down the Moon, before she passed, and I hold her as well in this category. I didn’t get to know her very well, but I honor her memory and her work.

Other People’s Dead (OPD)

So there’s my collection of dead folks, and then there are other people’s dead folks. Years ago, when I read tarot professionally full-time, I ran into them a lot. Someone would come in for a psychic reading, and little did they know, they brought company—the disembodied, mostly invisible kind. Sometimes this was really helpful and healing and sometimes it was annoying AF, depending on the person. In that setting, it wasn’t like a seance at all because rarely was the client intentionally trying to make contact with that spirit. My job was to read their cards. That’s what they were looking for. But surprise! OPD in the house! I consider them just another source of information in the “clair” family.

Psychopomp

A psychopomp is a guide whose job it is to escort souls to the next world. I believe it was in my early teens when my art was first called upon to be of service to the dead. There may have been earlier instances, but the first one I clearly recognized involved being commissioned to make a piece of art for a deceased classmate. Since then I have made death masks, spirit paintings, and memorial portraits, and performed dances, and much more—to help ease and assist both the living and the dead. I didn’t set out to do it but rather started to notice the pattern after about a decade or so. It definitely is a sacred task that is incredible and humbling to be a part of.

Ghosts and Residual Energy

I have a lot of thoughts about ghosts and believe there are numerous kinds, probably enough to populate another book. But I want to cover at least the basics here. Most of the places where I’ve lived have had some sort of paranormal activity, some of it tied to the land, some to the building, some to objects, and some to people. Much of it has been pretty harmonious, and I’m super-glad I didn’t have to provide food and litter boxes for all of the ghost cats I’ve encountered. SO MANY CATS. But I digress. For now, I will focus on two kinds of ghosts: cognitive ghosts and repeaters (my own terms).

A cognitive ghost is a spirit that is very much aware of its surroundings. It can interact with the space and objects and communicate with people. A cognitive ghost may be highly developed in what it can do, say, and remember, or it could be fixated on one specific issue. It can be seen as a trapped or earthbound spirit—something or someone is holding it to this plane. If we consider the view of a triple-soul, perhaps the cognitive ghost is one part of that soul that’s still trying to take care of business.

Some spirits get really excited when someone with abilities comes by. They love to try to make contact around 2:00–3:00 a.m. especially. Across a variety of cultures, midnight through 3:00 a.m. is referred to as the “witching hour,” marking the time when spirits, ghosts, demons, and other shady beings are thought to be most active. The reasons for this range from the dark cover of night to the lack of prayers said at that time (with everyone being of chaste will and asleep), circadian rhythms, and the lack of electronic interference. Through ritual, spell, and psychic types of work, a cognitive ghost can be aided in its task or released from its fixation, or at least appeased/redirected for a while. Either way, you must be firm and focused.

Repeaters are something different—they’re essentially residual energy. I don’t see them as conscious spirits that are able to interact or communicate, or a wayward piece of soul. Rather, I think they’re simply echoes of past experiences that we sometimes happen to come across. Like a current or a pattern, if someone does a task enough times, there can be a kind of time loop or imprint made. Repeaters can be unsettling if you encounter them unexpectedly, but rarely do they have any sort of physical effect. They can even be of living people who have managed to etch in a pattern somewhere. But a good cleansing of a home or space can help reduce or remove them, just like fingerprints on glass.

So there are some of the ways I view and work with the dead as part of my practice as a Witch. I don’t see the dead as something creepy, spooky, or weird—to me it’s just part of life. Lastly, I don’t think that working with the dead is necessarily a requisite for being a Witch, or will be something that everyone will experience, but I don’t think it’s that uncommon either.

Divine Influences:
Dedication, Devotion, and Free Agency

Now that we’ve looked at a variety of spirits, I want to focus on some other aspects of the divine that relate to Witchcraft and being a Witch. I have mentioned that I don’t worship the gods; I work with them. It may be confusing to some when I use the word priestess to describe myself. I believe there is a difference between doing service and being a servant.

Many, many years ago, I assumed the title of priestess because I had earned the education-based marks for it, achieved the status/position to run a group, produced events, and was a public spokesperson. That’s what being a priestess meant back then, to me and to many others.

In more recent years, I have found a new meaning and identity within the word. In workshops, I lead by encouraging students to incorporate what I teach into their own practice. In performance, I demonstrate my practice and create a kind of experience where the audience is an observer and a passive participant. In ritual, the attendees put the theory into actual practice and become active participants in the rite (which explains why I have long eschewed rituals that delegate the attendees to a passive/watching position—I want them not only to watch or learn but to do as well). Beyond teaching and performing, I am actively guiding and working with the people to connect them with themselves and the divine—within and without. Priestess is not so much a title as it as an action and a state of being. It’s the service and the work that’s done with and for others that defines the word for me. Priestessing can be seen as doing work for the gods, but I believe it’s really for the good of humanity. Perhaps these goals are one and the same.

Again, I remind you, this is me. You may feel called directly to be in service to and with a deity or deities in a different way. You can choose to dedicate yourself to working with a certain pantheon or devote yourself entirely to one deity. You could be a free agent, working with whomever you please, or you could decide you’re just not going to acknowledge deity at all. I want to stress that you don’t have to do anything. You can always say no; you can revisit a relationship later if you feel you’re not ready or unsure about something. Your path and your needs are your own.

Revisiting the Sacred Feminine and Masculine

When I was a young Witchlet, I eagerly embraced everything goddess: all the different archetypes, the powers of procreation and sexuality, the wisdom of the crone. I really didn’t want anything to do with any sort of male god. I was so over and done with the patriarchal jealous guy in the sky. The gentle Green Man and the handsome guy with antlers were just quiet figures standing somewhere behind the powerful goddess icon. My art in college was full of vulvas, big bold yonic imagery, fearless naked women embracing and staring down the viewer, the history of the Burning Times, and a whole lot of anger. They wore the heads of horses and lions, hoofed and clawed in turn, with mature female bodies. Veiled and crowned, goddesses danced with snakes and swords. Then a horned god came knocking, bringing an aroma of goat and musk and a wicked sense of humor, followed by an antlered one with piercing eyes and a solemn mouth. They each made an introduction and we got to talking. I saw myself in them, and them in me. I finally saw that I was not contained or defined by one gender or concept, something I had pushed against my entire childhood.

I think it’s time we get over gender altogether when it comes to gods, expectations, and interpretations. As my friend Misha says, “Gender is a mess.” 20 The thing about masculine and feminine is that they are attributes inherent in all human beings (and gods). We nurture, we protect, we fight, we create, we lead, we follow.

Depending on what you read in regard to traditional Witchcraft, you might assume that the goddess or the Witch can either be nature personified as Gaia tortured or a sacred whore of unbridled sexuality and blood. I want to say on behalf of every woman on this planet, sorry, guys, but nope, that’s not how it works. Women, Witches, and goddesses are not here to be your long-suffering virgin mothers or personifications of your sexual desire, no matter how wild or revolutionary you think that is. We already covered that ground in the ’60s and ’70s in much feminist literature and art, so catch up already. Men, likewise, aren’t either upstanding old wise men with beards or horny goat-dragon boys. I’m not saying these creatures don’t exist. What I’m saying is that every being—deity, human, or otherwise—is deeply multifaceted, and recognizing the power within is the real revolution.

I suggest we look at the divine feminine and masculine as parts of ourselves that we need to acknowledge and explore more deeply, regardless of what parts we may have lurking in our pants or genes. If the idea of the sacred whore is what sets you on fire to go shake up your world, great. But explore beyond that idea and perhaps examine why you are drawn to that archetype and what that expresses about your concepts of sex and sexuality. It’s time to get out that mirror and take a good look. See what you find in the reflection.

The Crossroads: Dreams and Trance States

Everybody dreams. Some people dream in full color, others in black and white. Some people remember their dreams and can even control them while they are happening (lucid dreaming). For others, their dreams vanish upon waking, like dew drops evaporated by the sun.

I find that most Witches tend to dream vividly and likewise pay close attention to their dreams. Not every dream is a prophetic dream, but sometimes they can be. I still remember prophetic dreams that I had as a little girl—that have all come to be. Other snippets of dreams rush out of nowhere while I’m out in the waking world, suddenly recalled because of something I’m seeing, hearing, or doing.

I think that dreams are how our brain processes all of the information it takes in during the day, which is a lot more than we are aware of. I also believe that dreams can act as a communication exchange between the various parts of our spirit—our animal self, talking self, and god self all gathering at the crossroads to catch up and share information.

The crossroads can, of course, be a very physical place, where two or more roads meet. That physical zone can also be overlaid by something more metaphysical or mystical, which is why it’s a favored place for a lot of workings.

Why is the crossroads so special? Think about it—where those roads meet becomes a place that is not set for any one direction. You can decide to go on a new path, continue on the current one, or turn around. The choice and resulting possible opportunities or calamities are strictly yours to make. This liminal quality is what makes the crossroads a nexus of power. For dream and trance states, the crossroads is an ideal meeting ground for different kinds of spirits and entities. It is the place where our past, present, and future meet. It is a place of choosing, a place of leaving, of making sacrifices and uttering words of faith and promise.

Trance is very similar to dreaming in many ways. There are overlaps in brain activity between trance states and the entirety of the dream cycle. 21 The main difference between dreaming and trance is that we are technically awake throughout trance, even if we feel we’ve checked out of our bodies for a bit. There are multiple kinds and levels of trance that can be achieved safely through dance, drumming, meditation, breathwork, hypnosis, and repetitive tasks. Chemically induced trance can be more dangerous, especially since it can be difficult to control the strength and amount of the chemical. The body can react poorly to chemicals, bringing on violent side effects, or it can even shut down completely, causing death. Chemicals may seem like a fast and easy way to achieve trance, but they’re definitely not the only or the safest way.

The brain can be trained to safely enter a certain level of trance over time, with the right stimuli and atmosphere. We can send ourselves into trance or be guided by others. If you’re interested in experimenting with trance, I recommend seeing what activities work best with your brain and body. Start with breath-oriented meditation or guided meditation to see how you react. You may be surprised at how quickly and profoundly you can enter into trance. If your mind needs more help being “quiet,” then try dancing or drumming, focusing on steady, repetitive motion.

Similar to the physical benefits of drumming and dancing, sex can help you achieve a trance state, often producing amazing images and visions. Getting your animal self engaged can be a great way to hush your talking self.

Flying or Immediate Witchcraft

There’s something inspiring and breathtaking about the art and mythology surrounding Witches flying to the sabbat. I have long been fascinated with the lore, history, plants, ointment techniques, and rituals involved. I enjoy reading and hearing about others’ otherworldly travels, spirit flights, hedge riding, and visions. It seems to be a very popular and integral part of what I’m seeing discussed online and in new books concerning traditional Witchcraft.

Yet much of my actual practice happens during normal waking hours, with the only herbal infusion involved being ye old regular Earl Grey or chai tea. Early on I discovered that my reality is bizarre enough as it is without the aid of altering substances. (I suppose you could argue tea and cookies are altering substances.)

Most of the time I’m just going about my day—and I’m receiving, sorting, sifting, and/or sending information in a very mundane (to me) sort of way. I don’t need to travel anywhere special (with or without my body) to talk to gods or spirits. I’m not casting circles or invoking deities to accomplish my daily work. Instead I’m just making artwork or designing or writing, and I get the spiritual equivalent of a text message—that I can either engage with or ignore, depending on my schedule. (Oddly enough, I get more communication this way than I do with my actual cell phone or living human beings.)

In comparing notes with a few other long-practicing Witches who are also artists, I’ve found that this fully present mode of working seems to be typical. Upon reflection, it’s not a haphazard thing. Rather, if you have been making art for most of your life, you have trained yourself to enter a kind of receptive yet controlled and very present trance state. Sitting down to make work, the body and brain recognize the task at hand and switch into “art mode.” Circumstances allowing, the artist taps into various levels of the conscious and unconscious selves. My guide through these places is myself, the self divine: that which is the thread that connects me with everything. Yet I’m still very much contained within my body, processing the rest of the world around me.

It’s hard to call that state sabbatic in terms of recent definitions and trends, nor is it quite ecstatic either, at least to me. For me, the ecstatic state involves body, mind, and spirit working together outside of the normal experience.

There are certainly times when I use music and dance to reach an ecstatic or active physical trance state. However, I feel it’s important to note that I don’t enter a trance state in dance just by dancing. Also, it takes a lot to get me into a state of pure ecstatic abandonment—which is a good thing considering I need to be fully conscious and reactive in my environment when performing or leading ritual. Not only do I need to be watching out for my physical self, but I also have a responsibility for the other people: the band, the audience, and the attendees if it’s a ritual. I have to unlock certain permissions to allow myself to go completely under, but that’s not to say I don’t have incredible experiences in the liminal trance state.

I recently related this experience to a friend with the following metaphor when it comes to full-on ecstatic trance in rituals: It’s just like sex and orgasms. For some people, it takes just the barest touch or suggestion for them to get off, while others require extensive foreplay under just the right conditions.

I’m bringing this up because I want to make it clear that there’s more than one way to “fly.” Your practice doesn’t have to require you to leave your body to get work done or experiment with poisonous plants or humanmade chemicals. In the end, it doesn’t matter which method works best for you, as long as you get the necessary work done safely and effectively.

I have been considering what is the best name for this kind of practice/experience. I like the words incarnate and inhabited, but they both seem more connected by definition to a spirit/deity being present in the body. Which technically is true—our own spirits do inhabit our bodies. But I feel that folks may get too hung up on other spirits being present versus focusing on their own. Embodied is another word that’s almost there. I use it a lot in describing ritual dance experiences because these are the times when our spirit truly becomes both present and aware of being contained within flesh and blood—and transcending it as well. That seems to be a very special relationship that happens under those circumstances.

So for now I think the best word to describe it is Immediate Witchcraft. The definition of immediate is “occurring or done at once; instant.” This seems to fit very well with my creative endeavors as well as the state I tend to be in mentally/physically/spiritually for dance. It also perfectly describes much of the nonphysical spellcraft that I do. There are few to no outside needs, tools, or aids required. But there is a catch! Immediate Witchcraft is achieved mainly through years of nonspecific training that builds trust with yourself—so your immediate work is also instinctual and intuitive, nature and nurtured.

But perhaps the most beautiful thing about Immediate Witchcraft—and about being a Witch—is that it’s not about reaching a pinnacle or some level of expertise. It’s a lifelong journey of growth, learning, and exploring. It’s being conscious of time and what is right before you—and behind you. Everything that is immediate is also a momentary conjunction of the past, present, and future. True power comes in waves of grace, in the embrace of the darkness, illuminated.

Ritual Application: Conversing with the Gods

The following revelation will probably come as a surprise to many folks—but my rituals are largely unplanned in their structure. I’m not just talking about what I do by myself. I have a general idea of what needs to happen, and I leave the rest up to the circumstances.

It’s not that I’m lazy or that I don’t value structure. Rather, it allows me to craft the ritual in the moment—fluidly taking into consideration the people participating and the location and allowing for divine inspiration to happen. You might chalk it up to decades of experience, but even when I was just starting out, I was most comfortable with being able to listen to what the ritual needed versus following a precise and lengthy script.

I consider this approach essential for working with deity and spirits in the way that I do, especially for rituals like “Hekate at the Crossroads: A Meeting of Mind and Movement” and “Dreaming the Raven: A Morrigan Ritual.” These are mostly freeform ritual performances performed at events. My partner, Nathaniel, creates music on the violin (we may have other guest musicians as well), and as a priestess and a dancer, I bring forth the energy of the specific deity we are working with for that presentation. Any attempts at rigid planning are deflected. In fact, the greatest amount of preparation happens just before the ritual as I get ready. In the two to three hours leading up to the event, I prepare my body through applying makeup and costuming, nourishing and cleansing as the energy determines. I don’t have a standard introduction that I print out. Instead, I am inspired to scribble down something new just for that event to be read at some point. Each time we do one of these rituals, the whole of the course of the ritual is similar yet very different.

There are a lot of different names for the phenomenon of having a deity or spirit enter your body: drawing down the moon, invocation, being ridden, aspecting, trance possession, etc. For some it is a symbolic state, something in the realm of theater and play-acting. For others it is a complete and total immersion and a surrender of body and will.

I think that for me personally I would liken it more to a conversation—a kind of divine conference call, if you will, minus the corporate setting. Neither of us is fully in control or dominating, but rather we’re actively working through a partnership of mind, body, spirit, word, and action. As a Witch and a priestess, I am fully aware of my body, the room, and others in it. I do not “check out,” but I’m also not completely in control. I’m reading the situation and relaying information both ways, most often without a filter, but I do have the power to veto and negotiate words and actions. It’s not an act of worship for me but rather the combined intent to use the relationship to manifest shift and change.

The conversation is not rehearsed. The only thing planned about it is that we know when and where it’s going to happen. There is physical preparation involved with cleansing and fortifying the body (inside and out) and the adornment and attire. There is the setting of the ritual—physical and metaphysical space, audio and visual presentation. Then the dancing begins.

I suppose you could call it “dancing with the gods” instead of conversing.

I’m not trained in partner-oriented dances, so that doesn’t quite compute in my brain. It’s also hard to separate when it is the Witch who is dancing and when it is the Goddess who is moving. But more deeply, dance is a form of communication, and I do consider it as much of a conversation as one with words.

Funnily enough, the whole idea for “Hekate at the Crossroads” started with it being a dance and live music experience only—no words except for discussion afterward. But the first time we did it, the words following the dance flowed back into more ritual and more movement. It took it to the next level. Do I speak for Hekate? Do I speak as Hekate? I think it’s more like speaking with Hekate, sharing words together.

That propensity to be able to listen, to understand flow and not be chained to a precise structure, allowed the ritual to be enhanced. It became something even more powerful and effective. Every time the ritual has happened since then, it has continued to shift and grow—fitting the needs of the attendees. Some things may be added, while others don’t happen that evening, which is all for the best. I feel that if I was focused on maintaining a rigid structure, it would be much harder to listen to the conversation—and respond to it.

Human beings are amazing creatures, but we often get in our own way when we overfocus. We can miss opportunities because we’re more worried about following along. Similarly, deities aren’t necessarily all-knowing or all-powerful. They have a form and a perspective that are from ours—they can see time, space, and pattern in a much broader way than we can. But it’s through and with us that change can be enacted. This is where having a conversation becomes powerful magick—an exchange of ideas and actions that is fresh in the moment yet profound.

The last thing I want to say here is that the conversation isn’t exclusive to the Witch and the Goddess. Everyone present at such a ritual is part of the conversation. They have eyes and ears, they have voices, and they have hearts and minds. And we do it all together in shared space, acknowledging our own power and those gathered with us.

The more you listen and consider and quiet the script, the more you are able to receive and be heard yourself—not only in ritual but in spellcraft and your everyday workings as well. Through that conversation your path as a Witch becomes clearer.

Communing with the Dark

The Witches were the first ones
to walk beyond the safety of the fire.

—victor anderson

The Darkness is wildly in love with us.

—sean donahue
(during his lecture at Many Gods West,
Olympia, Washington, 2017)

The darkness starts in the liminal place where the fingers of the light can no longer reach. Most folks want to stay close to the proverbial fire for safety, to stay close to what is known. Witches are the ones who wonder about what happens beyond the light—what mysteries does the dark hold? They slink off into its embrace, becoming part of the darkness. There is nothing evil or wrong about the darkness. It is out of the darkness that light itself was born and defined.

Within the womb of darkness, the secrets of life and death are known. Through dream and trance, through ecstatic ritual and speaking to the gods, we start to see in the darkness. The darkness reveals our wildness and our own divinity. We come to know that life cannot exist without death. Modern culture has come to eschew the processes of birth and death, another layer separating us from the world. We fail to live when we cannot honor birth or death. When we give in to fear, we curse ourselves and confuse our paths. When we embrace love, we bless ourselves and the world we live in.

Take time to commune with the darkness. Become still and listen to the silence that is the velvet voice of the dark. Feel the rhythm of your heart beneath your chest, each beat unraveling like a spool of thread from its spindle. Be enveloped by the darkness, hold the thread in your hands, and remember who you are. You are the Witch.

We are both the lock and the key. We are the illuminated and we are the shadow. We do not fear the dark of the wild or the light of the city.

We know ourselves.

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19. See my blog post “One God, A Multitude of Jerks?” at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/tempest/2017/04/one-god-a-multitude-of-jerks.html.

20. Visit their blog at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/mishamagdalene.

21. For more information on trance, see Chapter 4: Trance Science in Trance Dancing With the Jinn by Yasmin Henkesh (St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn, 2016).