"Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!" The Risks and Rewards of Spirituality

Looking back over recent discussions, I've noticed some debate over the concept of spiritual danger.  There's an idea in some quarters that the spirit world is an entirely benevolent place that can only bring you wisdom and enlightenment. (This often goes hand-in-hand with the idea that the spirit world exists only in the head of the mystic, and hence is no more likely to damage you than any other dream that might be flickering between your ears). They believe that concerns about psychic self-defense, protection, banishing, cleansing, and such are superfluous at best and a holdover from primitive superstitions at worst.  Those pesky demonic entities will become angels of light if only we understand them and accept them with unconditional love rather than prejudiced fear.

This is contrasted by yet another worldview: there are demons lurking around every corner and they all want to eat you.  As spiritworker Silence Maestas says:

For some people, every spirit encounter (or supposed spirit encounter, or mental sockpuppet, or Disney ride animatronic, or whatever) is something to be regarded as a grave indication that Something Is Happening.  Whether it's a "haunting", a "demonic possession", or a "psychic attack", any and all such activity is perceived as a threat that has to be taken down.  Before long the stories these people tell sound more like a season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Sailor Moon. 

When you begin working with magic or spiritualism, it's very easy to stumble into this pitfall.  It's great for one's ego: being the center of a cosmic war between Good and Evil is more exciting than being a cashier at Hot Topic. And, to be fair, the unknown is a scary place. There's a reason our ancestors greeted the spirit world with a great deal of trepidation. Spirits don't seem to be bound by the laws of physics which govern our existence: what walls can keep out ghosts and what weapons can stop demons?

One thing we might do is try to establish clearer ideas of exactly what kind of damage a spirit can do to a human target. The Exorcist and Poltergeist are movies. While demonic possessions and moving furniture can happen, it is an exceedingly rare occurrence.  If you are expecting (or hoping for) spectacular spiritual attacks chances are you will either be relieved or disappointed.

But just because you're not vomiting pea soup or dodging airborne appliances doesn't mean you are in the clear.  Spiritual oppression - a target being attacked from the inside out like a caterpillar being eaten by wasp larvae - is far more common. So too is persistent ill health and bad luck caused by a parasitic entity attaching itself to a free lunch. If you've ever run into people who gave off an unpleasant "vibe" of decay, corruption and just plain wrongness you may have been sensing unwanted spiritual companions. And if you've ever lived near a bridge or precipice which drew an uncommonly high number of suicides, or a swimming hole with a regular history of drownings, you may have been near the home of a troll or a kelpie. Recognizing these dangers and taking basic precautions against them can save you a whole lot of suffering.

Thankfully, this doesn't require an enormous amount of effort. Picking up a few good books and putting their teachings into practice should prepare you for most negative spiritual encounters.  (I like Sophie Reicher's Basic Psychic Hygiene, Jason Miller's Protection & Reversal Magick and Dion Fortune's Psychic Self-Defense. I've also heard good things about Christopher Penczak's The Witch's Shield and Kerr Cuhulain's Magickal Self Defense: A Quantum Approach to Warding). Once you learn how to send negative energy away - and most negativity can be banished without too much effort - you'll become much less excited by its presence.

It is also helpful to remember the old Hermetic axiom, "as above, so below." We don't assume the material world is an entirely benevolent place which exists solely to lead us to enlightenment. (Well, some of us do. A few hard encounters with reality generally cures that notion).  There are spirits which are benevolently disposed toward us; there are spirits which dislike us; there are a far greater number which don't care one way or the other unless we get underfoot.

Another worthwhile axiom is Robert Heinlein's "there ain't no such thing as a free lunch."  Every spirit is communicating with us toward some end. That may be to lead us and the rest of the universe toward a higher enlightenment. It may be to get presents in exchange for services. It may even be to win a bet ("I told you I could get him to walk around Wal*Mart dressed like a Renfaire refugee!")  Figuring out what a spirit wants from your interactions can help you to judge whether you have made a productive contact or are being led down a primrose path.

Because in the end the greatest spiritual trap of all may be the wasting of time. As incarnate beings, we are subject to mortality: we have a finite amount of days and when they are gone so are we. The hours we waste chasing after shadows or listening to a lying spirit fill us with pious platitudes while feeding on our bliss can never be regained.  This is the great danger of Yesod, the first sephirah we counter on the Tree of Life: we can become so enraptured by our dreams or our nightmares that we never awaken.

The Morality of the Gods

On the Yahoo Group One Eye (a Heathen list), we were discussing the morality of the Gods. I made a comment that sometimes the morality expected of Their followers is quite different than that which They live by.  As I put it, "I've known quite a few Hellenic Recon folks who honor Zeus: to the best of my knowledge none of them was a serial rapist." Understandably one Hellenic person took a bit of (polite) umbrage at my comment.  Certainly it seems disrespectful to call the All-Father and King of Olympus a "serial rapist." But if the available legends are any indication, it is not an inaccurate description of His behavior.  And there's no need to hold Zeus up for special scorn: the stories of most pantheons contain equally unpleasant tales of the Gods acting in ways which seem most ungodly indeed.

How do we deal with the less seemly aspects of our Lore: how do we reconcile our worship with the fact that our Gods sometimes do things which appear horrible to our moral codes? Do we gloss over those stories and sanitize our deities into something more palatable to modern tastes? Do we shrug our shoulders and say that might makes right?  Do we turn away from the Divine in terror and seek the comforts of atheism and anti-theism? Or do we engage with our Gods in their darkness as well as their light?

One possible answer might be found in Søren Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling. In that book, the great Danish philosopher examined the Biblical Myth of Abraham.  He pointed out, quite correctly, that by any reasonable standard Abraham was a madman who was ready to kill his only son and burn the corpse because a voice in his head told him to do so. But then he also noted that sometimes the Gods ask for things which go beyond what we consider "reasonable." Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac showed that he was willing to follow God when He asked for that which was absurd, even forbidden.  His journey to the mountaintop was not something to be emulated but a sign of the sheer strength of his faith.

I would not encourage people to commit sexual assault in the name of Zeus, Odin, or any of the other gods who sometimes forced their attention on unwilling maids. Neither would I encourage them to dismiss these gods for their "unworthy" behavior. Rather, I would say that Here There Be Mysteries, and warn that those who would swim here are venturing into very deep water indeed.  The Divine does not always fit into the happy boxes we'd like to squeeze it in. Sometimes when we encounter the Gods we will run into that which is beyond our comprehension, indeed beyond our capability to comprehend.  Turning these Mysteries into comfortable moral lessons is not the point: neither is treating them as a carte blanche to act upon our own failings.

Ansuz

The Gospel of John begins with "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." The Egyptians believed that Ptah dreamed creation in his heart, then spoke it into being. The Hopi believed that Tawa and Spider Woman brought the world into existence by singing their Creation Song. We embody our thoughts when we mold them into words and symbols: our speech, our singing, our communication is a reflection of the Great Shaping which brought order out of chaos and form out of formlessness.

Ansuz governs speech and communications: it holds the key to the relations between the worlds of the Sacred and Profane, and to the forces which enabled us to shape civilization and to transmit our knowledge to our community and our heirs. Ansuz is the rune which allows us to put our wisdom to use: we cannot learn without listening and we cannot teach without speaking. And in its highest form, Ansuz is also the Rune which contains the secret of all the other Runes.

When he hung on Yggdrasil for nine days and nine nights, Odin gained knowledge of the primal forces which shaped the universe.  He also gained a way by which he could create bodies for them and speak with them directly. These bodies were the symbols which we call the Runes: by drawing them and reddening them with blood, we give form to the force. Much as Vodouisants will "tie a paket," a bundle of herbs and sacred objects which contains a spirit, the rune contains a living and sentient force which can allow us both to read the world and to make changes within it.  By his sacrifice Odin established communication between us and the formless forces of the Runes. Our use of language is a reflection in the lower realms of that holy sacrifice.

Ansuz reminds us that our words are sacred: they give life to our ideas and allow us to change the world.  Words can bring down empires and defeat armies: those who doubt this need only consider Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" and "I've Been to the Mountaintop" speeches. But words can also work powerful evil. The politician who deflects honest criticism with convincing lies; the priest raising an Easter pogrom against his congregation's Jewish neighbors; the smooth-talking pimp corrupting an innocent - all these draw upon the power of Ansuz.  Ansuz gives us the power to communicate and persuade: it also gives us the responsibility to choose our speech wisely.

Much as Odin spoke with the Runes, Ansuz allows us to speak with - and for - the Gods.  If Wunjo is the rune of the Mystic, Ansuz is the rune of the Prophet.  It allows us to act as the vessel by which the Divine speaks to mortals. (This is no easy path to follow: history shows that many a seer came to an unpleasant end and many hard prophecies were rejected in favor of soothing lies until they could no longer be ignored). Writers and artists can call on Ansuz for access to the Sacred Wisdom and the truths which elevate work from merely competent into divinely inspired.

On a more mundane level, Ansuz can help us to establish a connection with those we wish to persuade.  It can be called upon to alleviate misunderstandings and to find a diplomatic way to convey difficult information.  Those who work on computers may find it a useful ally in making sure bits and bytes are transmitted clearly: it can help you to find and fix the flaws in your network. And if you are being targeted by slander or gossip, Ansuz can help to ensure that both truth and lies are revealed. 

Hagalaz

For people living in the agrarian communities of pre-Christian Europe, hail in spring could mean a long and hungry winter ahead.  They knew their lives were in the fickle hands of fortune. The tender shoots which rose in their fields could be beaten down by a sudden storm and there was nothing they could do save hope for the best and set down stores in anticipation of the worst.

Today we are a bit more insulated from starvation, but not from the vicissitudes of fate. Our projects can go awry despite our best efforts thanks to a sudden turn of ill luck.  Hagalaz, the Hail-Rune, reminds us that all we do can be ripped asunder by a change in the weather. It reminds us to plan ahead, but also reminds us that there are disasters which are past all our planning. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said "into each life a little rain must fall." Hagalaz goes Longfellow one better: it reminds us that sometimes the rain will actually be fist-sized lumps of ice flung from the sky at high speeds. It is not a comforting rune: many runeworkers consider it the worst one of all when it comes up in a reading.

But Hagalaz nevertheless plays an important role in the functioning - indeed, in the creation - of the universe. When the fire of Muspelheim met the ice of Niflheim in the great abyss of Ginnungagap, the hail and storms of eitr (frozen poison) which arose gave birth to Ymir, the primal frost giant who would sire the entire race of jotuns (giants): later Ymir's bones and blood would be used to form the world of men.  Hagalaz may be one of the most baneful of the runes, but it is also one of the holiest.

Hagalaz teaches us humility: it reminds us of our mortality and our limitations. While we cannot avoid the storm, we can make preparations for the hard times to come.  And if we must be conquered by forces beyond our control, we can at least face defeat with honor, courage and dignity. As Hávamál 75-76 reminds us:

Cattle die and kinsmen die,
thyself too soon must die,
but one thing never, I ween, will die, --
fair fame of one who has earned.

Cattle die and kinsmen die,
thyself too soon must die,
but one thing never, I ween, will die, --
the doom on each one dead.

Used in magic, Hagalaz can cast a terrible curse on opponents, crushing their plans and destroying all their work and all they hold dear. It can also be used to destroy any magic sent against you: its icy hail can quench the fires which might burn you and transform the poison sent against you.  Many runesters use Hagalaz as a gateway to Helheim, land of the dead -- another realm associated with implacable change and destruction.  Others use it for journeys to Niflheim, realm of the Frost Giants. 

Today many who have faced tragedy or crisis are encouraged to "get over it," "forget about it" and "quit holding onto the past." (Of course, most would happily let go of their pain if only they could!)  While it is a destructive rune, Hagalaz can also be useful in healing those wounds it has caused. It can force us to face our loss, then give us the purifying grief which the Greeks called catharsis. It allows us to cast our poison into the void and let it bring forth new life.

Wunjo

In France the orgasm is la petit mort, the Little Death. Indian Yogis spend decades in search of samadhi, the experience of the self dissolving into union with something else. Much as we may crow about our uniqueness and individuality, it seems that our greatest moments of happiness come when we forget ourselves. Wunjo is that blissful moment of forgetting, that instant when we escape the boundaries of our life, our body and our situation and surrender to joy.

One of Wunjo's highest and holiest manifestations is the mystic's ecstatic union with the Divine.  If you are willing to ascend to the heights and offer up all you have as a dowry, you may be found worthy of this mystical marriage. If Chalc is the Holy Grail, Wunjo is the draught contained therein, the wine which heals us so that we are fit to stand before the Gods. Those who have drank of it claim that it brings a bliss beyond any temporal treasures.

But even those who are not ready for a visit to the Castle Perilous can experience Wunjo. In fact, it's difficult to escape pleasure. Poverty, sickness, misfortune: none of these can stop you from finding moments of happiness amidst the gloom. The beauty of a sunrise, the enjoyment of a witty conversation, the pleasure of a good meal or a favorite radio program -- all these are Wunjo shining its light in the darkness.  Modern philosophers have spoken at length of existential angst and dread. They might do well to consider our equally strong tendency toward existential joy. Wunjo reminds us that feasting can be as sacred as asceticism and silk as holy as sackcloth.

Wunjo takes us outside ourselves. The joy we feel in the arms of a lover or the company of friends, the breathless wonder we experience before a magnificent waterfall or a glorious sunset, the happiness a chosen activity brings us - all those point to our relationship with our society and our world. Wunjo reminds us that we do not exist in isolation or a vacuum.It teaches us that we must look outside ourselves to find joy and that we must make ourselves ready to welcome it in.

Another clue to Wunjo's nature comes in its form: it is very similar to Thurisaz. At first glance it would seem that this happy rune shares little in common with the harsh and unforgiving Thorn. But both Wunjo and Thuirsaz represent an irresistible penetrating power that breaks down boundaries. Wunjo burns through all the dross that separates the soul from the Divine. The uplifting feeling of transcendence we experience in the presence of beauty is the recognition that we are in the presence of the Gods, the presence before which all else is absent. When Wunjo is in play there is no room for anything else: past and future melt away into the eternal Here and Now. Do not let its pleasures fool you: Wunjo is a demanding and unforgiving rune.

Those who have let themselves get caught up in pleasure have learned this lesson all too well. Earthly pleasures can devour the Self as surely as divine ones. But where the experience of the Gods can heal the barren land, intoxication and gluttony can only wound the king. Wunjo can provide us with a light that keeps us going when all hope seems futile: it can also become a will-o'-wisp that leads us astray. The slave to pleasure may wear golden fetters, but they are fetters nonetheless. As with all the runes, Wunjo is neither inherently good nor evil. It is the bringer of happiness, and it is up to us to determine whether that happiness leads us to wisdom or folly.

Dagaz

As Rhett Butler walked out of her life, Scarlett O'Hara said "Tara! Home. I'll go home. And I'll think of some way to get him back. After all... tomorrow is another day." Dagaz is the rune of that day. It is the fresh start, the new beginning, the dawn which marks the first day of the rest of your life.

Daybreak has always carried connotations of joy and renewal. (Grieg caught this beautifully in the "Daybreak" movement of his Peer Gynt: so too did Sibelius with his tone poem "Night Ride and Sunrise" and Wagner with his "Siegfried Idyll").  Dagaz is a joyful rune, one which is full of hope and promise. It is the sun which rises after a pitched battle, letting you know that you have made it through the worst of things and lived to fight another day. While it marks the close of a cycle, it is not the final ending of Ear or the eternal return of Jera.  Dagaz leaves you with that which you have already gained, then adds still more to your riches.

The Northern view of the world placed a great emphasis on wyrd,  the fate which you weave for yourself from the situation into which you were born and the hand you were dealt. Dagaz does not free us from our wyrd.  The dawn does not erase the debts we incurred the night before.  While we must still bear the consequences of our mistakes, we need not repeat them.  If you are struggling with addictions or compulsive behavior, Dagaz can help you find the strength to face them and overcome them. It can give you the clarity to recognize your failings and provide you with a way out of the thickets in which you have entangled yourself.  You may have failed a thousand times before: Dagaz tells you that you need not fail again.

If you have been struggling through a spiritual or material crisis, Dagaz can come as the light at the end of the tunnel.  The gloom is about to disperse: the dark night of the soul is giving way. This will typically happen quickly: the change will be less abrupt and shattering than Sowilo's lightning-strike but faster than the gradual developments of Jera. Used in healing magic, Dagaz can provide the strength to finally shake a lingering infection.  It can be an excellent rune for those seeking a new job: it can put you in touch with the employer who will notice your resume when hundreds have ignored it. And if you've been grappling for an answer to a thorny problem or struggling with a creative project, Dagaz can provide you with that moment of illumination when everything falls into place.

But these new beginnings may not be entirely pleasant. Like Sowilo, another rune connected with the sun, Dagaz is a bringer of light. That which was hidden in darkness may stand exposed in the cold light of day.  If you are not ready for the dawn, Dagaz can mark the "morning after" hangover.  For all its promise, Dagaz is implacable. Daybreak comes whether we plan for it or not. We cannot turn back time or stop the sun on its course. If we don't wake up and smell the coffee, we may be caught napping by those who were better prepared. In a reading Dagaz can function as an alarm clock, warning you that the Day of Reckoning is coming and you had best be ready.

The Sacred Responsibility of Cursing: for Noira

Recently one of my fans in the Czech Republic asked for my input on the subject of baneful magic.  This is, of course, one of the great controversies in modern magical thought. Some have claimed in the huffiest of terms that no REAL Witch would EVER cast any kind of curse on an opponent. Others, by contrast, say that the Witch who cannot hex cannot heal.

Whatever the case, few serious magicians will admit to casting a curse. Boast about it beforehand and you give your target time to formulate a defense. If your efforts fail you look like a blithering buffoon: if they succeed the skeptics will claim coincidence and the believers will think you're a sociopath. And if you tell people about the curse after the fact it looks like you are taking advantage of your opponent's misfortune to bolster your reputation as a Mighty Lord of Darkness. Like most magic, curse-work is best done in silence and secrecy. This, of course, means that nobody really knows how many modern magicians are doing baneful magic and what sort of success rate they have achieved.

But a quick look at the historical record suggests that "real Witches" had no problem with casting curses. Archaeologists have found many Greek and Roman curse tablets designed to afflict the troublesome with problems ranging from impotence and boils to slow and painful death.  In Norse legend Egil Skallagrimson used his knowledge of runes to curse the King and Queen of Norway: many Egyptian tombs were guarded by the promise that horrifying fates would befall tomb robbers in this world and the next. European witches used poppets made in the likeness of a target to inflict pain and suffering, while Hoodoo and other African Diaspora traditions have never hesitated to call the wrath of the spirits upon those who tormented their servants.

For those who were dispossessed and powerless (in other words, just about everybody in the pre-modern world and a goodly share of the people in contemporary times), curses offered a chance to level the playing field. In a feudal society the church and lords held absolute sway over the lives of the peasants.  If you were a serf, a noble could steal your crops, rape your wife and daughters, and send you off your lands on a whim. Should you protest too loudly, the instruments of church and state would punish you for your presumption.  Untrained field-hands armed with flails and clubs stood little chance of winning a battle with armored knights and professional soldiers. Those who tried were likely to meet their end by burning at the stake, breaking on the wheel, drawing and quartering  or some other equally gory and creative doom.

But those who could not rise up in arms could call on magic for their vengeance. With a few forbidden imprecations that arrogant lord could be laid low. His fields and his wife could be made barren: he and his family could suffer as you and yours had suffered. The church and state sought to stamp out witchcraft because they feared the great equalizer by which the wicked might be cast down.  Of course, it could also be used for more prosaic ends, such as killing an obnoxious neighbor or a relative who had the temerity to be more successful than you. And so it was feared by rich and poor alike. Those who might have called on their cunning-men and sorcerers for liberation instead joined forces with their oppressors to kill those they suspected of trafficking with spirits.

(French historian Jules Michelet wrote at some length about this in his La Sorcière, a volume which has been translated into English as Satanism and Witchcraft: The Classic Study of Medieval Superstition. While some of his historical contentions are dubious, his thesis is thought-provoking and highly recommended).

I believe that every competent magician should know how to cast a curse on those who truly deserve it. That doesn't mean the girl who stole your boyfriend or the guy who flipped you the bird on the way home. But we all know that there are people who pollute the world by their very presence. Often they have the financial or cultural capital to get away with their misdeeds. We can sit back and wait for the universe to right itself, or we can take matters into our own hands and assist the universe in flushing the cosmic toilet.

If we have the power to neutralize these threats and we fail to do so, then what shame do we incur for our inaction? What role do we play in enabling their future misdeeds?  Does our "forgiveness" and "turning the other cheek" come from our higher evolution or our cowardice? What is more frightening, being powerless or powerful? All these questions must be addressed by those who will work curse magic - and by those who will not.  Cursing is not something to do for boasting or petty reasons. This is the magic we work in darkness and silence, the spells which we do to right the world. This is the responsibility that comes with wisdom.  The ability to cast curse magic gives us the power of Nietzsche's superman - the ability not only to suffer for our beliefs but to make others suffer for them as well.  It takes us down a dark, thorny and terrifying path. Real magic often does that.

(I am indebted to Clifford H. Low for many conversations on this topic. If you get a chance to attend one of his presentations on Black Magic, don't miss it. And keep bitching at him until he gets his notes into manuscript form suitable for publication).