Don’t Let There Be Blood

It started as I was some other woman who was married with a baby. She was actually schizophrenic or something, as she was hearing voices that were telling her that her family was dead. So she started running out of the bedroom she was in, down the hallway, into the dining room, to the bathroom that was next to the back sliding door. As she was running I could hear a loud, echoing clock ticking at a slowed pace. She/me expected to find the husband and baby in the dining room in front of the bathroom door next to the buffet. But they were not there, only a closed bathroom door.

Continue reading

Quick & Dirty: This is why you don’t fuck with a witch.

A storm brews overhead.  I play music that removes obstacles and call to the spirits who protect and guide me.  I smudge the room with rosemary.  By candlelight, I trace the ægishjálmr in cascarilla powder within a copper vessel.  On torn parchment I scribe my spell with the blood of a dragon.  On one side I place a second ægishjálmr, on the reverse I cross my name over his four times.  I anoint the sigil and fold it deiseal and charge it to protect.  I add agrimony, rue, bay leaves, mint, red pepper flakes, and his hair and blood.  I fold all this together in aluminum foil and form a small sachet.

The storm picks up. It is pouring rain. Lightning flashes outside the window and thunder shakes the house.  I spit on a white candle and carve the word ‘PROTECTION’ on it’s side.  I anoint it with oil.  I set the candle in a silver holder and place it on top of the sachet in the center of the copper vessel.  I light the flame.  I feed it smoke and burn more rosemary.  I call to my spirits.  I cry.  I release.  I beg for their help.

The storm rages violently directly over me traveling towards him.  Two black cats circle me.  Spirits come.  Energy flows.  Kundalini rises.  My spine tingles.  My chakras spin and my aura glows.  Then the storm calms and the candle burns out.