Herbs for Banishing Spells

Herbs for Banishing Spells

By Ghost Writer

Components:

Angelica

Asafetida

Basil

Bay laurel

Citronella

Cloves

Cumin

Devil’s bit

Dragon’s blood

Elder,

Fleabane

Fumitory

Garlic

Heliotrope

Horehound

Juniper

Lovage

Mistletoe

Mullein

Mugwort

Oleander

Yew

Black pepper

Cayenne pepper

For best results, use a combination of the above.

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Daily Feng Shui Tip for Nov. 12 – ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul Day’

It’s ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul Day’ so let’s serve a bowl of therapy for the body and spirit. This soup is the traditional ‘go to’ when nursing the common cold, but it’s also a protective food that can ward off the evil eye. Legend speculates that chicken soup can protect from negative energies created by angry, irrational people. In fact, even mainstream medical science supports its protective benefits. Chicken soup contains several nutrients that stimulate and strengthen the immune system while cleansing your aura, especially if you’ve been exposed to someone else’s negativity. Eating protein-rich foods like chicken, fish, eggs and dairy can help one feel more grounded and balanced and better connected to our bodies and to the earth around us. So the next time you settle in with a good book, why not have a big bowl of self-nurturing to go with it? But if soup just doesn’t cut it when dealing with negative people, then this recipe might. Write the offending person’s name in green ink on white paper. Fold that paper in four and put it in a glass, lidded jar. Pour enough honey over the paper to cover it and then tightly seal the jar. Place a small white candle either atop or immediately alongside the jar and then each day for nine days straight light the candle while sending healing and forgiveness to that person. On the ninth day allow the candle to burn completely out while disposing of the sealed jar anywhere outside your living space. Sweet and sour, just like Chinese chicken soup for the soul!

By Ellen Whitehurst for Astrology.com

BANISHMENT STIRRING SPELL

BANISHMENT STIRRING SPELL

If you need to banish something from your life, prepare a pot of soup.
Draw a banishing pentagram in the soup, then stir nine times counterclockwise, saying:
“Blessed Lord, gracious Lady, hear my plea.
Remove (insert what needs removal) from me.
For the good of all, with harm to none;
once this is eaten, the spell is done!” Eat the soup.

The Wicca Book of Days for July 26 – Fading Freckles

The Wicca Book of Days for July 26

Fading Freckles

 

If the summer sun has caused a crop of unwanted freckles to spring up on your face, you could try encouraging them to fade by taking the following advice, which was originally published in The Compleat Cook, an English handbook, in 1671: “To take away freckles or the Sun burning. Steep a piece of copper in the juice of Lemon till it be dissolved, and anoint the place with a feather morning and evening, washing it off with white wine.” Alternatively, regularly dab a freshly cut lemon slice on your freckles and then do not wash your face for at least 10 minutes.

 

Chargrill Chef

Not only is this Leonian day governed by the sun, but its element is fire and its polarity is masculine, all of which point to barbecuing! So take advantage of the relaxed summer vibe and warmth of the evening to hold an outdoor feast – just fire up the barbecue and get grilling!

Calendar of the Moon for July 7

Calendar of the Moon

7 Duir/Skirophorion

Day of the Dagda

Color: Brown
Element: Earth
Altar: Upon a brown cloth lay a wand made of an oak branch, a great cup of ale, a bowl of porridge, and four brown candles.
Offerings: Feed the hungry.
Daily Meal: Soup, stew, or porridge, enough to feed more than just the House. Let the rest be given to those who need it.

Invocation to the Dagda

Hail Eochaid Ollathair, Father of All!
Hail Ruad Ro-fhessa, Lord of Perfect Knowledge!
Lord of the Oak Tree,
Phallus of the summer saplings,
Rough as tree bark is your wisdom,
Yet deep as sunken roots.
You who can call the seasons with your harp,
You are called upon by the common people
For your gift of fair weather.
You whose club is so great
That nine men are required to carry it
And even then it plows a great ditch;
Whose terrible end slays hundreds at a blow
And whose other end can restore them to life;
You stake your life on the fertility of the land
That others may survive the cold winters.
You who build great fortresses,
You know what it is to be the sole protection
Of those you love, and to go forth
In battle to save their lives.
You are a king, yet you go among the people
In the rough clothing of a peasant,
Rejecting the trappings of the wealthy.
Your great cauldron is never empty,
Nourisher of your people, and of all people.

(The ale is passed, and then poured out as a libation. The stew is ceremonially carried into the kitchen, and the day’s chant sung over the kitchen table.)

Chant: May you never hunger, may you never thirst.

[Pagan Book of Hours]

Your Magickal Spell for Tuesday, June 12 – Banishment Stirring Spell

BANISHMENT STIRRING SPELL

If you need to banish something from your life, prepare a pot of soup.
Draw a banishing pentagram in the soup, then stir nine times counterclockwise, saying:
“Blessed Lord, gracious Lady, hear my plea.
Remove (insert what needs removal) from me.
For the good of all, with harm to none;
once this is eaten, the spell is done!” Eat the soup.

Special Kitty of the Day for February 22nd

Betty, the Cat of the Day
Name: Betty
Age: Ten years old
Gender: Female
Kind: Cat
Home: Los Angeles, California, USA
Iwould like to introduce my cat, “Betty Crocker, Sweet Talker.” There is no one like Betty, a.k.a. Teeny Weeny Tortellini Butterbeany Weeny Teen! From the minute I got her ten years ago as a tiny foundling at four weeks of age, she has had a personality like no other cat I have ever known. Curiosity is her middle name … there’s no place she won’t explore, no cat tree too high, no door too closed to want to see what is at the other side of it – and no bowl she won’t plop herself into to gaze up lovingly at her Mom.

She is a true scamp who keeps all the other cats young. She is fearless – running to the door to greet whomever is knocking, caroming onto their shoulder for a pat, then flying up the stairs to race around like a maniac, before settling in for a good tussle with poor, beleaguered Peach who tolerates her with his paternal good nature. After a few minutes of that, they both settle down in each other’s arms for a much-needed nap:).

Betty has a million different ways to alert us to her presence: either crawling onto the bed to curl up on one of her sleeping siblings, leaping onto my back as I lean into the refrigerator, or sprawling like a boneless chicken on the back of the couch. Her favorite part of the day is when I put on my face cream in the morning — up leaps Betty onto the dresser to lick my face clean… I look like an old bat, but Betty looks as youthful as the day she was born! LOL! Her other favorite pastime is shrimp… on those special occasions when I decide to treat the family to seafood, Betty is the first one at the food bowls when she hears me call “Shrimp, shrimp…who wants shrimp?”.

She has enriched all of our lives with her incredible personality, there is no one who doesn’t love and adore Betty. I was blessed the day I found her, and she gives me and the family ineffable joy. What a treasure is our Betty, she is one in a billion!

Chicken Soup for the Soul: On Becoming a Grandmother

Chicken Soup for the Soul: On Becoming a Grandmother

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Grandmothers

BY: Terrie Todd

Perfect love sometimes does not come until the first grandchild.
~Welsh Proverb

I thought I was prepared. I was a mother, after all. I already knew what it meant to love someone so much it hurt. I understood the old adage that to be a parent is to walk around forever with your heart outside your body. I had written in my journal, revealing all the emotions I’d discovered tag-teaming in my heart: happiness, melancholy, anxiety, joy, anticipation, worry. I had seen the ultrasound pictures. I’d crocheted a soft, fuzzy blue blanket, patiently undoing all my bungled stitches and doing them over so it would be a perfect square. I had memorized the verses in Psalm 139 that tell how God wonderfully forms us in our mother’s womb. I had prayed for this child and for his parents daily since I learned of his existence. I had written letters to his mom and dad, assuring them how proud I was of them both, how I’d be as supportive as I knew how to be, how they would be excellent parents.

I’d prayed for myself, too. I’d wrestled with the idea that I was going to be a grandmother. Shouldn’t I be wiser first? Or sweeter? Or at the very least, a better cook? How exactly did one cram for this event? I had even admitted to myself that I would soon be sleeping with someone’s grandfather. That idea took a little getting used to, let me tell you! 

I had bragged to my friends. I had celebrated with my mother. I had gifted my daughter-in-law with maternity clothes and bought the most irresistible little stuffed puppy for the baby.

I had done all of that. I thought I was prepared.

The day he was born, I rode along with his other grandparents to the hospital to meet our mutual little descendant for the first time. We were told to wait in the hallway while the nurses finished up whatever they were doing with him and his mother in the room. While I waited, I studied the instructional posters on the walls, filled with advice for new parents. I remembered how challenging those first few days could be. Given the hospital rules, I fully expected that my first sight of my little grandson would be in his plastic baby bed and I was prepared. But when I turned around, I instantly knew that no amount of groundwork could have prepared me for that moment. Instead of the expected baby bed, I was beholding my own firstborn carrying his firstborn in his arms.

I came unglued. Part of me was carried back twenty-six years to the day I first laid eyes on my son. But those twenty-six years had passed in an instant, and here I was looking at the next generation, with the same dark skin and the same head full of thick, dark hair. He was beautiful and I was smitten. I didn’t even try to check the tears running down my cheeks as I held him in my arms and hugged his dad as tight as I could with the baby between us. What a cherished moment!

This little boy is about to turn three years old and now has a baby brother. Every day brings new adventures, new things to learn, new memories to make, and new opportunities to wonder at the marvelous work of our Creator. These little guys have taught me that sometimes stopping to watch ducks is more important than getting in out of the rain. They’ve uncovered my own impatient ways, the ones I thought I had overcome. They’ve reminded me that time spent cuddling a sleeping baby in a rocking chair trumps pretty much anything.

Most of all, I’ve come to realize that no matter how hard I tried, I could not have prepared to love someone so profusely, or to learn so much from someone so small.

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Always At My Back

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Always at My Back

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad

BY: Wendy Walker

What a child doesn’t receive he can seldom later give.
~P.D. James,
Time to Be in Earnest

My relationship with my father is complicated. It always has been. We are alike in many ways and this only adds to the complications. But there was one time when it was simple, when I was just a daughter and he a father, and it is this one time that I remember with great affection.

I was in college, probably my freshman year. I attended school only two hours away from my parents’ house, so I came home every break I got to see friends from high school, or to sleep and eat free groceries. Occasionally, I brought friends with me. It was a great place to escape the many pressures of college and growing up, and to be someone’s child again.

On one break, I came home early to catch up with my best friend from high school. My mother’s sister was visiting, so I camped out in the basement bedroom — which was just fine by me because it made for easy entry in the early morning hours. My friend’s mother took us to a movie and we made it an early night. The house was dark when I came home, but David Letterman was still on. I watched some TV and then went to bed myself.

A few hours later, I woke up with a horrible pain in my gut. I didn’t know this at the time, but it was similar to labor contractions — only it didn’t come and go in waves of torment. The torment was constant. I tried to get comfortable and fall back asleep, but that wasn’t happening. So, clutching the walls as I walked, I made my way up two flights of stairs to the bathroom medicine chest. I scoured the shelves for anything that might help — antacids, Tylenol, Motrin. My aunt, who was sleeping in the next room, heard the commotion and came out to see what was going on. She had been a drug counselor at one time in her life, and had keen hearing for roaming teenagers. By the time she found me, I was doubled over and getting dizzy. She rushed down the hall to my parents’ bedroom, and by the time they arrived, I had passed out on the floor.

I woke up in the nearest bed with all three of them around me. They immediately began questioning me. Where had I been? What had I done? What had I eaten? Did I take any drugs (that one from my aunt)? The answer was, simply, movie and popcorn. They checked for signs of appendicitis and gave me some Motrin. I can’t remember whether I fell asleep again or just waited out the night, but in the morning the pain was still there, full on.

My father was dressed for work, but he called in to say he would be late, then bundled me in the car and drove me to the emergency room at one of the local hospitals. It was the usual scene — crowded, chaotic and filled with the distinctive feeling that comes from being at the mercy of a headless bureaucratic machine. We checked in and sat in the chairs waiting for our turn. The one thing about my father that is easy to understand is that he has never been a patient man, and this is especially true when someone he loves is suffering. I was far too distracted by my own pain to notice it then, but his patience was depleting as the minutes, then hours ticked by.

We made it, finally, to an exam room and that’s where the waiting really began. Seeing that I needed observation, the first doctor came, then quickly left us in a line for admission to a regular room. Only the line was very long. Four hours passed. My father came and went from the room as I lay there in fetal position, breathing through the pain and freezing cold with only a hospital sheet and my father’s coat to cover me. Out of everything that day, the pain in my gut, the eventual needle sticks and IVs, it’s the cold in that room that I remember most vividly. Eventually, I began to shiver and my lips started to turn purple. I needed to be admitted, and soon.

Typically, my father’s lack of patience resulted in, let’s say, fervent advocacy. But not on this day. On this day, there was no arguing with nurses or yelling at desk clerks. Instead, my father asked someone if they were prepared to admit me that moment. When they couldn’t give him an answer, he simply grabbed the bag with my clothing, draped his coat around me, and carried me — out of the room, past the hospital staff that tried to stop him, through the security doors, the room with the chairs, out the front door and into his car.

With me dressed in a hospital gown and his overcoat, he drove to a second hospital, a second emergency room. He carried me again to the admitting desk and within an hour, I had been admitted to the hospital for observation. I stayed there for two days, at which point the pain was gone and written off as a stomach bug. But that’s not why I remember the story.

People who know me well know that I am no shrinking violet. Had I been capable of removing myself to a second hospital that day, there is no doubt that I would have done it and that my father would have encouraged me to do it myself, taking pride in having raised a strong, independent woman. But on that day, I was not a strong, independent woman. I was a child rendered helpless by pain. I was a daughter in need of protection. There was no one in the world I needed more than my father, and he was there.

It’s not often that people are put to a test. Indeed, it is precisely those rare times that make the headlines — heroic firefighters storming a building, pilots landing planes under extreme duress, bystanders pulling a stranger from the train tracks. I can’t imagine any comfort greater than knowing there is someone in your life who will never fail to have your back and do whatever is needed to protect you. I had that in my father.

I am a mother now, and I know what it feels like on the other side of that equation. I can feel it inside me, this likeness I have to my father. Some of it presents an ongoing struggle. Lack of patience probably tops that list. But I gladly take it all to have that one thing of his that I can bestow upon my own children. There are times when I can see it on their faces, this knowledge that I am strong, and that no matter what, I have their backs.