How to Protect Oneself From Psychic Attacks

How to Protect Oneself From Psychic Attacks

By an eHow Contributor
There are several ways to recognize when you are under psychic attack. If you suddenly feel drained of energy or unaccountably depressed, then there’s a good chance that you are under psychic attack. However, it is a good idea to visit a medical doctor first to rule out any medical problems, like anxiety or schizophrenia. There are several things you can do to protect yourself. Read on to find out.

Know When You Are Under Psychic Attack

1  Check your energy level. One of the common symptoms of psychic attacks is the feeling of being drained of energy.

2  Assess your emotional state. Do you feel fearful or anxious for no reason? Do you feel danger? These are also common signs of attack.

3  Take note of any headaches you may be having, as well as the frequency with which they occur.

4  Watch for other symptoms of attack. Other symptoms of psychic attacks include feelings of depression, suicidal thoughts, a cold or tense feeling in the stomach and more.

5  Notice how you feel when you leave the company of people you talk to. If you feel extremely fatigued when you depart, there is a good chance that you were just under attack.

6  Be aware that psychic attacks could come from one person or a group of people. If it is from a group of people you will need help from a professional healer. Visit the “International Association of Reiki Professionals” to find a Reiki energy healer (see Resources below).

Protect Oneself From Psychic Attacks

7  Say a prayer. Address your request for protection to the entity you believe in and believe that you have been heard.

8  Ask for protection from your spirit guides and angels. These light beings help to protect you from negativity.

9  Place a triple layer of cling film over your solar plexus, under your clothes. Your solar plexus is your most volatile area. Cling film helps to repel unwanted energies.

10  Place a protective gemstone on your solar plexus. Several gemstones are said to promote good vibrations, such as black tourmaline. This gemstone is believed to cause energies directed at you to bounce off. Other gemstones include agate, turquoise and jasper.

11  Use natural essences from flowers. The scent from the flowers is said to help promote positive emotions around you.

12  Free oneself from fear. When you are fearful you are more susceptible to psychic attacks. Try meditation, yoga or visualization exercises to help you balance and strengthen your mental and emotional states.

13  Read “Psychic Shield: The Personal Handbook of Psychic Protection” by Caitlin Matthews to learn more about how to protect yourself from psychic attacks.

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Calendar of the Sun for February 11th

Calendar of the Sun

11 Solmonath

Tiresias’s Day

Colors: Black and White
Element: Air
Altar: On cloth of black and white, lay a conch shell cut so that it can be blown through, a cup of water, and symbols of the hermaphroditic union.
Offerings: All should come to the ritual dressed in clothing of the opposite sex. Those who are of the third gender should wear black and white and be chosen to do the work of the ritual.
Daily Meal: Cakes and breads shaped like double genitalia.

Invocation to Tiresias

Tiresias, great seer,
You who traded sight
For foresight,
You who traded male
For female
And female
For the union of both,
Teach us that such boundaries
Are merely illusion,
To be dismantled
And walked right through.
Teach us that there are
New ways of seeing
That look past the blinders
Of culture and roles.
Teach us that our assumptions
Can often be done without
And that our lives will be
The better for it.

(There is no specific chant for this ritual; all should chant wordlessly while the water is poured into the conch shell and it is passed around. Each should either drink from it or blow into it like a trumpet, depending on whether they need to invoke female or male energy respectively into themselves. Then the rest is poured as a libation.)

[Pagan Book of Hours]

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The Witches Magick for January 20th – Jinx Removal Mojo Bag

Witchy Comments & Graphics
The Witches Magick for January 20th

Jinx Removal Mojo Bag

Red flannel bag
Broken chain
Skull charm or image
Bone charm or image
Cat’s Eye shell
Pinch of Five Finger Grass

This jinx removal bag is to be carried on your body to remove jinxes or crossed conditions and to prevent any new ones.

In addition to the items listed you may add a few strands of your hair, a few strands of your mother’s hair (for a mother’s protection) or a pinch of dirt from your front yard. Use the dirt from your yard only if you own or a family member owns the home where you live.

To fix the bag, breathe onto it several times, you may add a personal prayer for protection and safety.

Feed the bag with Cleanse Negativity Oil:

¼  ounce Carrier oil
3 drops Orange
2 drops Lemongrass
2 drops Lemon
2 drops Lime
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Praises to the Snow Queen


Praises to the Snow Queen

The lightness of Your touch may not be noticed
The brightness of Your presence may not be seen
The coolness of Your body may not be felt
Until You, Goddess of Snow, fall heavy
Until You, White Lady of the Forest, reflect sunshine
Until You, Ice Queen, want to be felt

Praises to the White Goddess
Praises to the Lady of the Ice Forest
Praises to the Snow Queen

Blessed Be

A Blessed Wednesday Morning, My Dear Family! Brrr, It’s Going To Get Cold!

Winter Comments & Graphics
If you are not already in the grips of the wonder of Winter, I am sure you will soon be. I was watching this morning’s weather and it looks like we are going to be an icy mess. The last icy mess we were forecasted, our power was out for 11 long days and nights. The army came through providing “Ready To Eat” meals for everyone. We had ice everywhere. You could listen in the silence of winter and hear trees and their limbs fall. It would sound like shotguns going off. Due to this wonderful memories and a little voice eating at me ( I don’t ignore this little voice), we are going to cut today’s publication short. We have LP tanks to fill and kerosene together. The LP tanks provide us with heat and a way to cook. The kerosene provides us with light during the darkness. Since it is so warm today, (70 degrees) now is the perfect time to prepare.

Also in case the unthinkable happens and you don’t hear from us for several days, don’t worry we have just became Winter Witches. In other words, the power lines have snapped and we will be back as soon as they restore our lines. Keep us in your prayers that we don’t have to relive our past.

I hope you have a wonderful day. If you are in Winter’s fury, stay inside, stay warm and stay safe. If not, count your blessings!

Love & Hugs,

Lady A

Your Ancient Symbol Card for November 9th is The Ancestors

Your Ancient Symbol Card for Today

Ancestors

Ancestors represents the ongoing influence and remarkable contributions those who came before us have made to our state of being. Ancestors also reminds us that sometimes old wisdom is the best wisdom–especially when events are moving in ways we do not understand. Ancestors can bring comfort to a shaken spirit. It is a card of warmth in the sense that it reminds us that the spirit of past generations remains with us and can be called upon for guidance at any time.

As a daily card, Ancestors suggests that you may be well served to by exploring your family tree to find solutions to current dilemmas. When searching for solutions to conflicts in your life, you might do well by asking yourself what a grandparent or great grandparent would do in your current situation.

Current Moon Phase for Nov. 6th – Waxing Crescent

Crescent Moon

(waxing/14% of Full)

During this Moon phase, there is a slight slowing down of enthusiasm due to an emerging desire to produce tangible results from the energy being expended. The issue of values enters into the equation and an urge to tie together the data available so that you can utilize current opportunities. There is still plenty of forward motion, and this is a great time to continue initiating and progressing forward. This Moon phase favors gaining more information and the input of others to further your plans.

Laugh-A-Day for Oct. 12th – Elevator Magic

Elevator Magic

A redneck family took a vacation to New York City. One day, the father took his son into a large building. They were amazed by everything they saw, especially the elevator at one end of the lobby. The boy asked, “What’s this, Paw?”

The father responded, “Son, I have never seen anything like this in my life. I don’t know what it is!”

While the boy and his father were watching in wide-eyed astonishment, an old lady in a wheelchair rolled up to the moving walls and pressed a button. The walls opened and the lady rolled between them into a small room. The walls closed and the boy and his father watched small circles of lights above the walls light up. They continued to watch the circles light up in the reverse direction. The walls opened again, and a voluptuous twenty-four-year old woman stepped out.

The father turned to his son and said, “Go get your maw!”

Your Ancient Symbols Card for October 2nd is Strength

Your Ancient Symbols Card for Today

Strength

Strength denotes an inner power, mastery of will, development of inner might, and the ability to lead effectively. Through mastering one’s emotions and learning from both success and failure the person Strength represents has reached a place where they are influential without applying physical force, able to weather the roughest of storms, and not likely to abandon the less fortunate. Strength also denotes a large capacity for forgiveness and compassion. Strength is not as much about winning as it is about overcoming hardship, and using well crafted persuasion to ease others to your side.

As a daily card, Strength indicates a period in which your psychological powers are extremely strong. Your mental endurance may well astound even you at this time. Possibly it is time for you to stand up and take command of any loosely run situations in your life. If you take the lead others will follow.

I Want To Be 6 Again…..

I Want To Be 6 Again…..

 

To Whom It May Concern:

I hereby officially tender my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of a 6 year old again. I want to go to McDonald’s and think that it’s a four star restaurant. I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make ripples with rocks. I want to think M&Ms are better than money, because you can eat them. I want to play kickball during recess and paint with watercolors in art. I want to lie under a big Oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summers’ day.

I want to return to a time when life was simple. When all you knew were colors, addition tables and simple nursery rhymes, but that didn’t bother you, because you didn’t know what you didn’t know and you didn’t care. When all you knew was to be happy because you didn’t know all the things that should make you worried and upset.

I want to think that the world is in my youth… I matured and I learned too much. I learned of nuclear weapons, war, prejudice, starvation and abused children. I learned of lies, unhappy marriages, suffering, illness, pain and death I learned of a world where men left their families to go and fight for our country, and returned only to end up living on the streets…begging for their next meal. I learned of a world where children knew how to kill … and did!!

What happened to the time when we thought that everyone would live forever, because we didn’t grasp the concept of death, when we thought the worst thing in the world was if someone took the jump rope from you or picked you last for kickball?

I want to be oblivious to the complexity of life and be overly excited by little things once again. I want to return to the days when reading was fun and music was clean. When television was used to report the news or for family entertainment and not to promote sex, violence and deceit. I remember being naive and thinking that everyone was happy because I was. I would walk on the beach and only think of the sand between my toes and the prettiest seashell I could find. I would spend my afternoons climbing trees and riding my bike. I didn’t worry about time, bills or where I was going to find the money to fix my car. I used to wonder what I was going to do or be when I grew up, not worry about what I’ll do i this doesn’t work out. I want to live simple again I don’t want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness and loss of loved ones. I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind and making angels in the snow.

I want to be 6 again.

 

Author Unknown

Witches Magick for August 22 – Holding The Perfect Seance

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How To Hold a Seance

By Patti Wigingon, About. com Guide

 

A séance is an event that can either be fantastic, or a real mess. Which one it is will depend on how much preparation goes into it. With a little bit of planning and thought ahead of time, you can pave the way for your séance to go smoothly. Certainly, it’s a good idea to expect the unexpected — after all, the dead are hardly predictable — but by setting yourself a few guidelines in advance, you can make sure that everyone has the best experience possible.

Difficulty: Average

Time Required: Varied

Here’s How:

Plan your guest list: Figure out how many people you’re going to have — and make sure the space you’re using will allow them all. If your living room only seats eight people comfortably, don’t invite fifteen! Also, be sure that everyone attending is open-minded to the spirit world. People who are adamantly “non-believers” bring a certain amount of negative energy, and this can be disruptive. You may also find that it adversely effects your communication with the spirits during your séance.

Create a Spirit-Friendly Atmosphere: Most people like to conduct a séance at a round or oval table, but if neither is available, don’t worry. Drape the table with fabric or sheets — some people prefer light colors to attract “friendly” spirits, but it’s a matter or personal preference. If you use incense, be sure that no one in your group is allergic to it. Place incense somewhere away from the table, rather than on the table itself. Candles are a nice addition as well — not only do they provide some visibility, but there’s a school of thought that believes spirits are attracted to heat and light sources.

Common Sense: Help everyone get comfortable by offering refreshments before you begin. Make sure that guests will be respectful of the spirits, and of other guests. Turn off all cell phones. If anyone needs to go to the bathroom or have a smoke, do so before you begin. Set the thermostat at a comfortable temperature — remember that spirit activity can cause some fluctuation in levels of cold or heat. Once everyone is seated, you can help everyone relax by doing a short guided mediation, offering a prayer, or casting a protective circle, if your tradition requires you to do so.

During the Seance: Although many people like to do this, you don’t have to hold hands to raise energy. In fact, if a séance goes on too long, it can get downright uncomfortable. Whoever is acting as the leader of the séance — the medium — should ask the spirits to join the group. If there is a specific spirit you are trying to contact, ask for them by name. For example, now would be the time to say, “Dear Auntie Gertrude, we respectfully ask that you honor us with your presence this evening.” In some séances, spirits are summoned by chanting — this will be up to your medium to decide on.

As long as the spirits seem willing to reply, you can carry on a question and answer session with them. Bear in mind that spirits respond in many different ways. Sometimes there will be a tangible reaction — a tap, a thump, a soft breeze. Other times — particularly if you have a room full of very psychically gifted people — the spirit may choose to respond through another person. This may be the medium, or any other guest. The individual may simply “get a message” to pass along, which they would then share, such as, “Your Auntie Gertrude wants you to know she isn’t in pain any more.”

Party Time: Sometimes, particularly if you have a group of psychically gifted individuals as guests, you may get several spirits arriving all at once, chattering away. This is not cause for alarm, but it does take some managing, because they’ve all got something to say. Treat it like you would any other conversation with a large group of people — let each spirit get their turn to deliver the message they came with, and then move on to the next one. Also, bear in mind that not all spirits are from departed humans — deceased pets may also have a message to pass along.

Unwanted Entities: Just like at any other party, sometimes a séance will bring an uninvited guest. In this case, when you have a spirit that seems malevolent or mischievous, someone needs to let them know they’re unwelcome. Typically, this will be the medium who is leading the séance, who will usually say something like, “You are not wanted here, but we thank you for your presence. Now it is time for you to move on.”

If an entity arrives that seems angry or hostile and will not leave, no matter what you do, end the séance. Chances are good that it’s been attracted to someone in your group who is dysfunctional.

Closing the Door: When you’re done with the séance, it’s important that guests thank the spirits for coming to visit. After all, you would do so if you had living guests drop in!

If one of your attendees seems to have slipped into a trance or a sleep-like state during the séance, allow them to return gradually, on their own. Do NOT shake them awake. Chances are they’ll have a message for someone once they’re back among the group.

Close the séance by telling the spirits farewell, thanking them, and asking them to move along. You may want to offer a small blessing or prayer as a way of ending the formal séance, but bear in mind that some spirits like to hang around after the séance has officially finished. If they do, it’s okay. They’re probably just curious, and they may return to visit you later in the evening during a dream sequence.

Tips:

Before you begin your seance, smudge the area with sage or sweetgrass for ritual cleansing.

Make sure you’ve eliminated potential distractions, such as children or ringing telephones. Interestingly, many pets seem to come and go through spirit activity without causing any disruption. Cats in particular tend to be very curious about what’s going on.

Your guests may wish to bring an object that belonged to a deceased person, as a way of strengthening the connection. Photographs are also good links to the dead.

Laugh Of The Day: Elevator Magick

Elevator Magic

A redneckfamily took a vacation to New York City. One day, the father took his son into a large building. They were amazed by everything they saw, especially the elevator at one end of the lobby. The boy asked, “What’s this, Paw?”
The father responded, “Son, I have never seen anything like this in my life. I don’t know what it is!”
While the boy and his father were watching in wide-eyed astonishment, an old lady in a wheelchair rolled up to the moving walls and pressed a button. The walls opened and the lady rolled between them into a small room. The walls closed and the boy and his father watched small circles of lights above the walls light up. They continued to watch the circles light up in the reverse direction. The walls opened again, and a voluptuous twenty-four-year old woman stepped out.
The father turned to his son and said, “Go get your maw!”

Feng Shui Tip for February 13th – ‘Eve of Valentine’s Day’

On this eve of Valentine’s Day it’s only appropriate that tonight’s energies center around dreaming of your sweetie. So here’s a time-tested way of finding out exactly who that sweetie might be. Pick a sprig of fresh rosemary and infuse it with the intention of finding out the name of your intended. Place the herb under your pillow and before slipping off to sleep think about seeing your love in your dreams. Whenever you wake be sure to recall the players who pepper your dream state and know that one of them is getting ready to spice up your love life. That name will come to you if you relax and let it. And then remember that a rose(mary) by any other name will smell just as sweet!

By Ellen Whitehurst for Astrology.com

Forests I Have Known, Forests I Have Lost

Forests I Have Known, Forests I Have Lost

by Bestia Mortale

New Jersey

I remember the wet air indoors heavy as a hot towel, the cool gray stone on the terrace outside, the lawn not yet browned by the summer heat stretching out past a pair of tall wild cherry trees to the back field. On the left were low shrubs; on the right were roses. Beyond the lawn, the field fell gently down a long hill past the woods to a fence far in the distance. It was dusk, and deer had come out of the woods into the field, as usual.

It was quiet, if you didn’t count the crickets. Something winked down by the trees – the first firefly. A moment later, there were two more. Twenty minutes later, it was almost dark, except for thousands of tiny lights as far as the eye could see, flashing and disappearing, flashing again.

We had caught the lightning bugs a hundred times, watched their thoraxes glow. It was still magic to a child when the field danced with their fire. Down at the edge of the woods, honey locust trees were in flower. Their scent mingled with the smell of the honeysuckle that choked them and drifted on the still air while the moon hung heavy in the sky. Along the hedgerows, normal locust trees sprang up like weeds, with heavy thorns like briars. The honey locusts, by contrast, had beautiful spines three or four inches long, deep black at the base and lighter at the tips, needle sharp. They grew out in bristles of fifteen or twenty spikes, eight or ten inches tall – these weren’t climbing trees.

New Jersey is the Garden State. If you drive out of New York City through the Lincoln Tunnel onto the Jersey Turnpike, you pass the wetlands, a vast area of marsh covered with cattails. For many years when I was a child, the industries would dump their chemicals in it openly, cheerful bright red, orange, yellow and green piles surrounded by colored water and death. Now the piles are hidden. In the center of the wetlands rises a new mountain, literally. You only see how big it is when you realize that the tiny dots moving up its slope are garbage trucks.

Next, you drive past Newark, a vast city of slums. You hear about the tenements and street violence of New York, but from Newark, which is uniformly worse, comes silence. I remember riding the train past mile upon mile of decrepit brick buildings, windows open in the brutal summer heat of midday, in the booming ’60s. On the fire escapes facing the tracks sat listless crowds of men and women with empty faces, not talking, not drinking, just watching the trains go by. I still remember their faces. The Garden State.

South of Newark, in the neighborhood of Elizabeth, you pass one of the great industrial gardens of the world. Oil refineries sprout like mechanical cancers on the flat plain, twisted, intricate and beautiful. Their stacks still throw out lurid jets of fire against the night sky as they flame off volatile gases. Things have gotten more sophisticated since I was a child. You can drive by now without gagging at a smell of burning tires mixed with rot from the slaughterhouses, but Elizabeth still has one of the highest cancer rates in the country. And you should see the sunsets.

How can I describe New Brunswick, farther south? It makes Tacoma seem cheerful and prosperous. And in the middle of the state, not far from Philadelphia, there is Trenton, the old industrial center of New Jersey. In Trenton, a famous railroad bridge proclaims the motto of this city of discouragement: “Trenton Makes, the World Takes.”

The cities were imposed on the land a generation or two before my time. They seem so old and ruined, I never realized how recently they took their present form, until I spoke to a neighbor of mine in the Hudson Valley. Her father had owned a dairy farm in the Bronx, and she showed me pictures of her childhood. She remembered riding into Manhattan with her dad on a horse-drawn milk truck at 4 in the morning to make the rounds with him. The old photographs showed wooden fences, fields, cows, in the Bronx, within living memory.

I grew up out in the country about 15 miles north of Trenton. When my parents bought the place just after World War II, no one else wanted a house four whole miles south of Princeton, deep in the countryside. Nobody but farmers lived that far out in the sticks. It was, in fact, an old farm.

Central New Jersey is a delta, a flat plain built up from millions of years of Delaware River silt. The soil is incredibly fertile. The water table runs close to the surface, readily accessible for use or poison. The climate is cold in winter, unbearably hot and humid in the summer. It’s perfect growing land. New Jersey is called the Garden State because for a couple of hundred years, its truck farms grew some of the best fruit and vegetables in the nation, for the big cities of New York and Philadelphia.

When I was a child, there were nothing but working farms for miles around. When my brother and I wanted to go fishing as little kids, we would store up our energy and slog across the humid fields with our poles. We’d push endlessly through dense alfalfa, cross under the barbed wire into the neighbor’s corn field beyond, negotiate the shady alleys in the corn for perhaps half a mile until we came to the cow pasture on the other side. Avoiding the herd, we’d make our way across to a little creek and follow it along, fishing the deep pools, occasionally bringing home a catfish or two with a couple of perch. All we could see in every direction was fields. There were no roads.

All that has changed, of course. By the time I went away to college in the late ’60s, the last working farm had given out. A few years later, a mall arose where unbearably succulent strawberries had grown. All across the fields of central New Jersey, tens of thousands of cookie cutter houses sprang up, along with roads and parking lots, air conditioners and the perennial summer power brown-outs.

You can find plenty of ugly housing developments around Seattle, but nothing compares to the horrors of New Jersey. Along the Jersey Turnpike, developers built miles of hideous boxes so precisely identical that their owners had to paint them garish colors simply in order to find the right house.

These were changes brought about by humans, by human culture, politics and economics, but they took place in the context of the land. From what I remember from my childhood, the land of central New Jersey has power that seemed to shape its very desecration.

I’ve never encountered land so powerfully fertile, and sad at the same time. There was something melancholy even about the fields, but especially about the woods. The woods near us were all recent second growth, and the trees were stunted at around 25 feet by the riot of competing vegetation. Honeysuckle and poison ivy vines climbed every trunk. The soil was so rich, I even remember the poison ivy vines growing up in hairy free-standing trees, thick as my leg and six or eight feet tall. Luckily, I could touch them without effect.

At ground level, thickets of briars rose to heights of 10 or 15 feet and covered acres. These briars made the blackberries in the Northwest seem benign. Their thorns were large curved shiny claws that slid into you and broke off, leaving what looked like a scab on your leg or arm. When you picked at the pain, the claw would slip out of your flesh on your fingernail, releasing blood. The thickets sheltered rabbits and foxes and every kind of small animal. If children were careful, they could find their way deep into the thickets on narrow trails leading to countless dens where deer slept during the day.

I loved our woods. They were mysterious, keeping more secrets in an acre than the great forests have in a hundred. Between the wars, a farmer had run hogs in one part of them, and there was a den deep in a thicket where we found their bones, thick, long, heavy and gray, covered with patches of bright green moss. Another time we found the skull of a buck, its antlers tangled in the branches of a tree.

There were marshy areas, with swamp cabbage and sickly smells. At the edges of the fields, milkweed waved its inviting fleshy stems and delectable poisonous purple berries. Young soldiers with wooden swords sometimes marched against the milkweed armies, leaving carnage in their wake that dripped pasty white blood.

The land was friendly to us, but it was sad. Its frantic fertility had a feeling of alienation, of stillbirth. Nothing ever reached full growth.

Gradually, I realized that this had not always been so. Every once in a while, in the middle of New Jersey fields, you would come on a great old oak tree that had been spared when the land was cleared in the eighteenth century. These trees had trunks six feet across, and giant branches. They were old, full of a different life. A very few patches of old-growth forest also remained, with trees of unimaginable size and age, larger than the great old elms that lined the Princeton streets. The floor of the old-growth forests was relatively bare, covered with delicate ground-cover rather than the embattled jungle I was used to.

When this land was cleared a century or two ago, an older order must have died. Its remnants in the great old trees hint to me its power. No one remembers it, no one recorded it, no one mourns it, but its loss changed everything. Without it, the fecundity of the land wells up in a riot of growth that lacks balance and gives me a feeling of melancholy impotence.

Most people are not affected by such feelings, of course. Or are they? The growth of so-called civilization in New Jersey has exactly that same tone of formless, febrile melancholy. The industrial sickness, the poisoning of the land, the housing jungle are all different expressions of the feeling my woods had. In New Jersey it is as if we humans, having killed something we didn’t understand, became caught in the cycle of decay we unknowingly began. We may have started the disruption, but it now infects us. Yes, we poisoned the air and water, but we go on breathing and drinking. Are we in control here? I doubt it.

The Adirondack Mountains

When you think of New York State, you probably think of New York City, Long Island, maybe Albany, Buffalo or even Ithaca. You probably don’t think offhand of wilderness. But the Adirondack mountain range in northeastern New York covers half a billion acres of what used to be called the Great North Woods, still a vast tract of unspoiled forest.

From a Western perspective, these are strange mountains. In the Northwest, we’re used to the Cascades, formed 2 or 3 million years ago, like the Alps. The Rockies rose earlier, maybe 50 million years ago, twice as long ago as the Himalayas. The Adirondacks, on the other hand, are ruins of the Laurentian Shield, the primal crust of the continent. Instead of dramatic peaks thrust up recently, the Adirondacks are the worn foundations of a range far taller a billion years ago than the Himalayas are today.

Adirondack country typically looks more like rolling foothills than mountains. Broad-hipped, contemplative peaks 4000 to 5000 feet high are scattered sparsely among long ridges uniformly clothed in unbroken forest.

The land is not untouched by man. Loggers rolled through 150 years ago and cut most of the old softwoods, the spruce and pine, leaving the hardwoods standing, maple and birch. As a result, the forests are now mostly deciduous, except in the high places. Generations of hunters, trappers, fisherman, boaters and every other kind of tourist have also wandered by, killing wildlife, enjoying the natural peace and beauty. Acid rain now threatens to exterminate fish in thousands of lakes and ponds across the area.

It isn’t easy land for humans. Aside from taking care of tourists and summer folk, there’s very little work for the people who live there. In winter, the snow is seldom less than three feet deep, and often twice that. Subzero winds cut across flawless skies. Although the land harbors no poisonous plants or reptiles, in late spring clouds of small black flies rise from the woods and fall on unprotected skin. People or dogs not coated with thick layers of insect repellent swell up and even fall sick from hundreds upon hundreds of bites. All through the summer, one wave of hungry insects succeeds another: black flies, no-see-ums, mosquitoes, blue-bottles, deer flies.

All the same, the land is strong, gentle, deep; benign in its indifference. I have never felt so embraced by the spirits of the place as I have in the Adirondack woods. It’s like standing in a grove of old-growth fir and cedar in the Northwest where the trees rise almost endlessly above you, and at their feet, tiny, you sense centuries of sunlight and rain in their memories. In the Adirondacks, the feeling is less dramatic and more pervasive, like something breathing so quietly that you can’t quite hear it, a subtle, unidentifiable fragrance that places your life and death in a context of beauty.

It doesn’t seem ancient, or even old. It is as specific as a single tiny flower, a chipmunk’s life, a small cloud that passes over the sun and moves on. Only when you listen to it for a time, walking in silence among the trees, do you realize that the song of the land has a shifting changeless quality, like eternity or the gaps between galaxies.

Even if you fear the fey, don’t you yearn for their music? In the Great North Woods, whether you live or die, waste or prosper, thrive or sicken, the land embraces you and fills your dance, if you listen, with subtle, ancient songs.

Above the Snoqualmie Valley

We blight the countryside, we humans, for diverse and wonderful reasons. All across the Pacific Northwest these days, you can see vast clearcuts posted with signs that read, “This Devastation Supported by Timber Dollars.” Our proud and patriotic lumberjacks are happily selling our forests’ hearts to the Far East, to buy more beer from Milwaukee. It’s a positive balance of trade.

No one is much upset, including the environmentalists, because forests are a renewable resource. As long as we can put some limits on the current frenzy, lumberjacks will become extinct before many other species. There will simply be no more trees to cut. Timber prices will go through the ceiling, people will learn to build with other materials, and then, after 40 or 50 years, new forests will be ready to harvest on the once-naked hills. Big timber companies won’t go out of business; they’re looking forward to skyrocketing prices. In the meantime, they’re making plenty of money selling huge old trees to Japan, and our boys with chainsaws can still buy beer.

That’s not quite the whole story, of course. A timber crop is renewable, but trees 1000 years old are not. I live on land that Weyerhaeuser clear-cut in 1979. The woods have definitely come back. Some of the fast-growing firs are now over 20 feet tall. The deer don’t seem to mind. The mountain beaver thrive, and there’s a bear that still lives down the hill. Recovery is happening.

But how about the fey, the spirits of the land? I bought the place five years ago for the acres of woods and the sense of magick they gave me. At first, though, particularly at the top of our hill, I kept getting a feeling of anger and brooding. The big old stumps had a bitter air of reproach. I wondered if our promontory, with its panoramic view of the south Snoqualmie Valley, hadn’t once been a place sacred to native people. Sometimes in the dark night, I heard songs in my dreams, chanting grief and protection.

The new-growth trees crowding each other at the brink of the hill seemed to have an almost ominous look in places. The edge of the yard felt like a border between hostile territories. The forest was beginning to hem us in.

I went out and walked in the trees and spoke with them, I suppose, or tried to. I bought a chainsaw and cut them back, opening up the view again, leaving one tree in 20 standing near the top. I promised that tall firs would line the ridge as they used to, with room to breathe between them. The trees listened and missed me when they fell.

It was a beginning, but not enough. With the help of friends, we laid a small stone terrace out at the very end of our promontory beside a holly tree, planted roses and grapes, sage, echinacea, thyme, wormwood and motherwort, lilac and foxglove. We made a stone bench for humans and a small altar for the fey, and in the yard laid a circle of stones. We gave our respect there, alone, together, and in coven.

With each ritual gesture, each genuine effort to align ourselves with the land, the feeling of the place changed. Ferns grew up where the earth had been bare before. Native foxglove joined the foxglove we had planted. A madrona tree rooted by our fence. The breeze that whispered through the trees was no longer angry, though it still seems sad to me at times.

I am just a sentimentalist, of course. Who cares what devastation man creates? We’re just another natural disaster, like fire, flood or molten rock. Still, it seems to me we can hear the music if we listen. Perhaps we need to be a little more sentimental, a little less pragmatic, and listen to what we hear so clearly, even if we think it isn’t there.

We’re not alone here, for good or ill.

A Mirror Cipher For Revenge

A Mirror Cipher For Revenge

By Migene Gonazles-Wippler

Items Needed:

Wax doll

Pot

Piece of paper

Mirror

Instructions:

An evil self
May lie within
The mirror’s skin,
Let your darkest
Work be done
By hands that hides
From sight and sun

Make of wax an image small to bind the man who serves, you ill. Cast it now.