"You still play music?"

I just saw a wonderful YouTube clip that illustrates perfectly the quest for spiritual power and connection.



For me – and, I know, for some other spiritual workers – acting in the spirit world, outside the familiar five senses, is just like a deaf girl playing great music. You don't get the same feedback the angels and ancestors get. You must learn to value signs and omens to find your road to miracles and wonders.

That is all.

(Thanks to Anne Naylor at the Huffington Post.)

Preaching to the Soloist: Get in the tub!

Friends, I'm here, again, to testify to the power and value of spiritual baths. It's something that I keep putting off, because it does require some "trouble."

• You need to get up early so as to leave some of the bathwater at the crossroads around oh-dark-thirty, or anyway right before sunrise (especially true for cleansing baths, not so much for other kinds).
  
• You have to air-dry, which means you can't use a towel, so as not to wash off the blessing or dilute the cleansing.
• You have to put on clean clothes, not yesterday's, so you have to plan ahead.

Friends, do it anyway, and do it right.

See, a couple of days ago, probably because of some enemy/justice work I was doing, I had one of the worst poverty tantrums I've had in years. Even an invitation to apply for AIRR membership didn't turn me loose. Friends, I was sure that not only would I starve, but I would never do any effective altar work again, and never had. It was bad.

So I resolved to bathe in ... I was out of hyssop, so I settled for a little Cast Off Evil oil in warm water ... and took it to the funny-shaped crossroads a few minutes' walk away from my house, along with the remains of the enemy candle I burned.

Peace returned as soon as I stepped out of the tub.

By the end of the following day - yesterday - optimism returned in full flood. I returned to my altar work with zest and eagerness. I'm building a new justice altar, as a glance at my tweetstream will show you.

So, I'm telling myself as much as I'm telling you: never, ever hesitate to take a spiritual bath. Do it right, or as close to right as you can. Attention to detail is the better way, of course, but sloppy is probably better than not at all.

Here's something I've been meaning to do for a long, long time

Today I fulfilled a promise I made long ago: I placed an apple spell in the bottom of a planter.

This is a traditional conjure spell; it serves the same purpose as a honey jar. It is based around the name papers and candle wax from a spell I did for President Obama during the presidential debates last year. I also added patchouli, yarrow, borage, thyme and other herbs for protection, courage, attraction and wisdom.

While I was praying over it, I remembered an old English rhyme, which I improvised on:

Remember, remember, the fourth of November,
the end of treason and plot.
I see no reason why return to reason
should ever be forgot.

Here is the loaded apple at the bottom of the planter,













and here is the basil resting comfortably on top.

"Evil can't be where basil has been," so I have been taught. I will plant a little sage and yarrow in there later.

Taking negative cards seriously

I'm learning to take negative cards seriously in love readings. Just turned down a case on the basis of the following:

• Ace of Cups Reversed
  
• Queen of Swords Reversed
  
• King of Cups Reversed
  
• Four of Cups
  
• Magician Reversed
  

Now, this wasn't the whole spread – I pulled about a dozen cards – but every layout contained at least one nasty card like this. She begged me to bring him to her, but that would have been like voting for Bush. Twice.

Yes, I believe this stuff. I trust these cards.

Ever since the day when a card fell out of the deck while I was shuffling, indicating my next client had some kind of love problem. "Why, no," he said, but twenty minutes later he told me how he'd been having trouble dreaming lucky numbers ever since his ex-girlfriend replanted everything in his yard. (Underneath a plant is one of the best places to hide spellwork.)

I just finished a case like the first one I described here. And again, in every spread, I got at least one card indicating the man was a no-account trifler, one who could only be kept at home by main force. A classic, time-tested spell to bring him back to her brought nothing but a couple of phone calls from him.

Reconciliation work is hard, often – but not always – because people start too late. And often – perhaps more often – because people are trying to keep someone who isn't good enough for them.

How to tell mojos apart when you have more than one

Nowadays mojo bags are often color coded: yellow for court case, red for love, purple for success or mastery, green for money. Red was the most traditional color, though, because it is powerful and because red flannel was commonly available, back in the day. I prefer red for all purposes, but I may rethink this.

Like many conjures, I put charms & symbols on mojo bags to tell them apart. I have metal dollar signs, crowns, hearts, and little blue "evil eye" beads. But today I was putting together two protective mojos: one "Leave Me Alone or Die" and one "Protect My Car." And no skulls or cars in my charm collection. No embroidery thread either.

But my daughter is an artist, so...

I just asked her to draw the skull for this "Leave Me Alone or Die" mojo bag.

Naturally, this Protect My Car mojo was even easier. (It'll get an Evil Eye bead, too, as soon as the last remaining ingredient arrives.)

And here's a honey jar for someone else who needs the Housing Authority to treat them right.

Thank you, O.L.K.

(Twitter, my shiny new tech toy, is down at the moment; it is to laugh! So I'll just post here about today's adventure.)

I have two mojo bags almost assembled and ready to go, except they need graveyard dirt; this person needs strong protection, and there's no stronger spiritual protection than a spirit who has passed on. So I went to the graveyard, to where the military graves are. Plain white stones with clear black lettering, so that no matter how old the grave is, the stone is absolutely legible. As I stood at the foot of that section - sort of like reviewing the troops, I thought - I saw several promising names: FARMER, RICH, BULLIVANT (for protective work, maybe?). And I was about to introduce myself to Mr. Bullivant when someone else - O.L.K.- caught my eye. I won't reveal his name here, because people deserve their privacy. But his seriousness, interest (and, I confess, the fact that he was a World War I veteran) commanded my respect. So I introduced myself, explained the situation, and paid him for the two spoonfuls of earth I took from his grave.

It's been raining since last night, so that earth is drying in a very slow oven right now.

I don't post nearly often enough, I know.

Would you like to be able to look over my shoulder, kind of, in something approaching real time?

Well, I'm on Twitter.

And this is for comments that are longer than the 140 characters Twitter allows. But they're automattically linked to Twitter as soon as I post them anyway.

So, yeah, I guess this blog is mostly for philosophical and historical ruminations now; and for posts that really need more than one illustration; TwitWall will only allow you to post 1 per entry.

I haven't quite figured out how to link Twitter to this blog yet.