Has someone ever said something to you and suddenly you were transported back to a time before a loved one died?
Suddenly you’re a kid again being brushed aside because other, more important things, needed their attention. You’re a teenager again and wondering why you try to relate anymore, because all they do is crack jokes or snicker with your older brother about you. You’re a young twenty-something ignoring the under breath mutter that they thought you didn’t hear.
I forget that all it takes is one thing; a sentence, a misplaced sigh, a roll of the eyes to send me back to that place.
I’m sittin on a Victorian replica sofa, high camel back and made of dark wood with intricate flowers carved around it. It was made in the 1960s and is probably my favorite piece of furniture in my Mah-ma’s house, despite the upholstery’s odd color combination of cream, gold, red, brown, and baby blue in an antique floral pattern.
My mother is across the room puttin together flower arrangements to take out to the cemeteries where our family are buried. It’s kind of an annual tradition at this point, but it’s the first time I’ve participated. Ever since Pah-pa passed away last summer, I’ve been more included in these rituals, ceremonies I was never privy to as a child because they were “for the girls.”
As we piece the arrangements together, my grandmother clicks on the antique radio to play recordings of old Southern gospel choirs singin Sunday standards, the sounds of their voices warped by time. There’s a haunting quality to it and my mind drifts to Pah-pa. It’s been almost a year now since he was taken by fire. I’ll never forget the the phone call or the tremor in my grandmother’s voice as the sounds of sirens grew closer in the background.
But today, I seem to be the only one deep in that mindset, despite the task at hand. It’s a natural state of being for me; I’ve always been the one most seemingly connected to Death.
My aunt drops by unnanouced, which she tends to do on her lunch break from the local bank when she knows we’re in town. As she and my mom chat about my cousin’s upcoming wedding at the other end of the room, I can’t help but notice that I’m sittin under photos of my daddy uncle on their wedding days, both dressed in white suits then, but forever wearing black now. No one else notices my silence until I suggest my cousin add a small photo of her daddy to her wedding bouquet so that he can “walk her down the aisle.” And now we’re all in tears. Maybe they weren’t as unaware as I thought.
The air conditionin went out last night and it’s suddenly become glaringly apparent. I’ve moved the fan into the livin room now to circulate the air, but it’s still thick; this is former swampland, after all. Suddenly the fan begins to make a strange noise as it oscillates, but it takes a minute to place it because I’m not sitting in the ancestral home I was in a moment ago. I’m in the hospital in my own hometown 150 miles away where Pah-pa has been air lifted after the accident. It was the only time his feet ever left the ground, as far as I know. I hear the sound of the ventilator. whhoooOOOSH. WHEeeew. whhoooOOOSH. WHEeeew. That’s the sound I think of in his last moments. Not the sound of his voice, but the sound of the machine that kept him here the last 24 hours.
I snap to as my aunt says goodbye and only as I give her a hug do I realize it was the fan all along. The fan he fixed 100 times. Maybe that is a piece of his voice. If so, the blanket made from his shirts might be his hug, though it can never replicate the coarseness of his cheek on mine. And I know it’ll never be the same, but as I stare out over the “ditch” in the backyard, fan whooshin, Southern gospel cracklin, breeze blowin, I have to accept that this is the new normal. The heavy gray clouds overhead reflect my mood and I hear him say, “looks like rain, don’t it?”
You are not obligated to share all of your craft with anyone. If you just want to share photos of your altars (with no context) that’s okay. You don’t owe anyone anything. You’re allowed to keep your craft private. You’re allowed to share only what you want to share. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you have to explain your magick.
✦ Right-Hand Path, collaboration with @coeykuhn ✦ Second in a pair of occult-y illustrations I’ve collaborated on with Coey ♥ I did the drawing, Coey painted, we both did touchup, as usual Matching Left-Hand Path piece is here
Hello! I have no idea if this has been done yet, but I thought I could make a post with some ideas and see what you all think! Feel free to add on to this if you reblog or something.
Take a cleansing bath. Sometimes working with death energy can take a toll on your energy levels, as well as potentially attract death into your life (especially if it is surrounding you on a daily basis). Every two weeks or so, it’s a good idea to clean up your aura and spirit using a ritual shower or bath. For a bath, toss in 1 cup of epsom salt, and ½ cup of baking soda, and then use any safe essential oils to add a little magical boost. This combination will cleanse you physically of any toxins, and also spiritually. Do not soak for longer than 20 minutes, and it is generally said that every 2 weeks is the best timeframe between this ritual. I use lavender oil and mint leaves to really clean and protect myself. Be sure to research the affects of herbs, especially in regards to your physical state and taking into account medications you consume. For a shower, let the water run over your whole body. Then, soak a loofa or hand towel in a mixture of epsom salt, baking soda, and essential oils or herbs (again, do this safely). Softly scrub your body, and rinse yourself off again.
Take naps. This is a very important tip, especially for those of you who work primarily at night. Find a good time for you, and try to consistently get enough sleep. It’s important to stay well rested to keep your energy up and your physical body healthy.
Spend time doing what you love. Don’t neglect things you enjoy to focus your whole being on death witchcraft. If you like to sew, paint, write, solve equations, cook, or whatever else, make time for it. Doing something mundane is very essential to keeping you from getting burnt out on your practice.
Eat. I mean it. I find myself forgetting to eat an awful lot when I immerse myself in death witchcraft and necromancy. I don’t know if it’s just because I am super busy or because I am focusing too much on spiritual needs instead of physical ones, but it isn’t good for you. Eat at least 3 meals, and drink lots of water!
Listen to your body. If it’s telling you it’s tired, hungry, thirsty, or in pain, you shouldn’t ignore it. This is something I really need to remember. Sometimes I think practicing death witchcraft is more important than focusing on my physical needs, but it isn’t black and white like that. Both are important, and I should really realize that if I don’t take care of myself now, I won’t be able to practice later.
Relax. Take a moment and meditate, or just sit with crystals, candles, water, or whatever calms you. Recharge your batteries. This is really vital for those of you who use a lot of your own energy for spells, spirit communication, and more. I like to listen to music that makes me feel like a death witch (playlist is on its way to a blog near you).
Spend time in places you find fulfilling. I like graveyards, I like hospitals. I like places where death is prevalent because it helps me get acquainted with the thought of death. If this is you, too, then go to those places.
everytime I hear about children of the corn I think about the guy I met at comic con who actually lived in the town they filmed that movie at, and on the farm where they filmed in the corn.
he was a teenager at the time and him and his friends would get drunk on moonshine and rustle the corn and let the air out of the tires of the production team’s trailers and shit.
and now there’s Wikipedia pages about how the children of the corn set was haunted and they thought they angered god but it was really just drunk hillbillies
I don’t like adding to posts but I also have a funny story like this, so I was watching the movie the Blair witch which takes place in burkettsville maryland, which to me is so funny because that is were my grandfather lives and the town is literally just old people and cows with their main street consisting of a post office. Well anyway he told me that after it came out people were coming in like bus loads to the town to find the witch and my grandfather lives up in the Mountain area and people were up in his property trying to find the witch and it made him angry so he went out and hung up stick people and stacked rocks and it freaked the people out so they started thinking something was out there when really it was my 80 year old Italian grandpa who wanted people out of his woods.
We had ghost hunters come to a historic house in my town to film and if you think every high school kid in town respectfully stayed at home that night instead of going to fuck up that filming you’re dead wrong.
this is comforting, actually, sometimes paranormal things are just a bunch of bored people dicking around in the woods.
New favorite cryptid: locals
I have learned that when sadness comes to visit me, all I can do is say “I see you.” I spend some time with it, get up, and say goodbye. I don’t push it away. I own it. And because I own it, I let it go.
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