Art and Poetry – Alan Fuller | The Shaman Witch

Slip Your Hands …

This post was originally written on June 26, 2014. I’m in the process of revamping/revising some of my older posts.¬†(Side note: I did not continue this work with Hecate. I felt it was not in my best interest to dive into Her energies at the time.)

If you’ve been around the world of the Occult, Witchcraft, magic(k) and the like for a good amount of time, you’ve probably explored a little bit of what we tend to call “Folkloric Witchcraft.” (Sarah Anne Lawless’ blog is a great place for info on that, if you’re interested.) And because of that time of exploration, you’ve probably heard the term¬†liminal spaces.

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We Are Always Here

 

If you’ve been reading the blog at all, you know that I’ve had all kinds of poetry come flowing out of me. I’ve done this before, but only when depressed or unhappy. Now, it happens regardless of my mood. Some things I publish, some I don’t. But the essential truth here is that “poetry is magic and magic is poetry.” This mystical inspiration thing that has been happening lately is much more tangible than it has been before.

I also hear things as I’m drifting off to sleep. This has happened before and its not at all unusual to me. But that liminal space just before I fall to sleep lets me hear things.

I’ve been doing Robin Artisson’s Hiss technique ~ deep belly-breathing on the inhale, hissing on the exhale, to the count of ten. I do this when I lie down to go to sleep in the mornings around 8-ish a.m. Despite the fact that its daylight out, I take several deep breaths and relax (which is not difficult for me ~ I’ve been doing this for decades as part of self-hypnosis to combat insomnia) and then do the Hiss.

This morning, after the Hiss and in the liminal space of almost-sleep, that “twilight of consciousness,” I heard a voice. It was not a voice I’d heard before. It felt masculine, but was almost a feminine pitch. All it said was, “We are always here.” Prior to that, I’d been praying to Witchfather and Witchmother to feel Their tangible presence, and thinking just a bit about whether to make offering to Spirits of Place (or the Land).

I thought this was pretty significant. I was chanting. Only sort of asked about Their tangible presence (thinking it, not really praying the way most people think of prayer). Only sort of half-thought about making offering to Land. And sort of, kind of, half-thought about Fate.

“We are always here.” I’ve been trying to make contact with Them (Witchfather and Witchmother, Spirits of Place, Ancestors). Because I feel like I need to feel a very real current of power. “We are always here.”

I think this is due to my work within a specific current – within the energetic current that I was specifically trained in way back in the day. I’m no longer putting things aside to accommodate bullshit – I’m diving back into my spiritual practice the way I should’ve been practicing it for a long, long time.

Witchfather, Master

He who dwells in the wind,
Breath of life,
Giver of power,
Master of magic,
Auld Harney,
Pater Satyr,
Witch Father,
Rise from the depths,
Move from the corners,
Writhe from the shadows,
Converge in our souls,
Make us ripe
With the movement of teeming life.

Feyaddynn

I Am That

I am the root that digs the earth;
I am the earth that holds the water;
I am the water that falls from the sky;
I am the sky glistening with stars;
I am the stars shining in darkness;
I am the darkness in which life is born;
I am the birthing of all things;
I am the things that are born and live and die;
I am the death that restores the soul;
I am the soul that is reborn;
I am the reborn that lives again;
I am the living that lies on the earth;
I am the earth that holds the water;
I am the water that falls from the sky;
I am the sky glistening with stars.

Only Darkness Understood

I stand beneath the gates of change
And look upon His face.
I see the light betwixt his horns
And know the spirits of place.

I see the gate swing open wide
And the hedgerow sink beneath,
As I hold the stang in my left hand
And draw the knife from its sheath.

Dead was I, and within the grave,
Dead but alive again.
Dead was I, and within the grave,
The child of Tubal Cain.

Dead was I, and within the grave,
But tonight I am born anew.
Dead was I, and within the grave,
But I gather to me flesh, bone and sinew.

I sought the ways of the otherworld,
The wisdom of ancestors long gone.
I found them out, to my dismay,
And now I am come back home.

I knelt upon the ground,
‘neath the old Musclewood Tree.
“It is I,” said I, to the Fey of the Wood,
“And I am come to Thee.”

Deep below the roots
Of the raw and reddened wood,
I saw the glimmers and shimmers of light,
That only darkness understood.

And when I spoke they silenced me,
And told me to, “Hush … be still.”
And when I listened to their whispers,
My blood I willingly spilled.

I melded with the Land that day,
And the spirits that dwelt below.
Time stood still for me just then,
A timeless, placeless flow.

I sought the ways of the otherworld,
The wisdom of ancestors long gone.
I found them out, to my dismay,
And now I am come back home.

I stand beneath the gates of change
And look upon His face.
I see the light betwixt his horns
And know the spirits of place.

Sigils!!

Sigils
Sigils

Did some sigil creation for a couple of particular workings. So far, they seem to be working out. One of them I need to fire off again to really get it working. You can click the pic to get to the full size image to see details.

Meandering Fury

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it before, but I tend to have fairly regular encounters with the Fey these days. I have for years, but they’ve become more frequent. (I don’t care if you think I’m nuts.) They tend to hang around the Musclewood Tree in the back yard (also called American Hornbeam). Anyhow, I don’t get to write poetry much, save for when I’m really, really inspired with it, and this one came to me about mid-May 2014, when I had my first encounter of this year with my Faery Friends.

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