Haunting, beautiful, uplifting. His art is truly a spiritual experience for those of us in the Occult fields or faiths, and a candid look into our spirituality for those who are not. Take a Tour of this Artist’s fascinating and inspiring works, his professional life through freelance, music and finding his calling with this great article from The Wild Hunt :
The pinch of sulfur stings my nose as the spark catches the wick.
I’ve lost my bearings, let my mind wander too far: I need to see, just for a bit, to reorient myself before I find it and then I can retreat from the tunnels.
I’ve hidden it all here, tucked away in the darkness, as if the darkness could smother it. I swore I left that life behind, but can you truly leave such a thing behind? When times are tough, it is an easy habit to fall back on.
It has been three years since the tensions first began to rise within the Offices. Since then, the Arcanologists and Mystics have become a suspicious breed. But, I guess there has always been a bit of that amongst the Offices, course none of that mattered so long as we fulfilled our part – made ourselves useful.
But now, now they are considering the option that we may be far more dangerous than we let on. I can’t keep doing this – just this last time, then I will seal them away for good.
I reach the cache I’ve hidden, fumbling through the olde withered pages. It is too risky to take the whole thing, so I skim until I find the page I need, rip it out and tuck it away safely amongst my pockets. The pages call to me: Ancient wisdoms, olde rituals. I thumb across the broken and cracked leather of olde tomes and journals. I’ve been here too long. I can’t go back that path.
I snuff out the wick as if that will hide the temptation, and turn to make my way back down the tunnels. I trail a finger across the cooled, dampened stone of the cellar walls to keep my balance, hold my mind’s orientation through darkness, but it is only a comfort, I don’t truly need it; I know these halls far too well, I’ve walked them an innumerable amount of times in my life.
I crack the hatch of the olde cellar door, slowly and steadily as not to make a sound. Katovjin would be furious if she knew I had snuck back in the tombs. The tombs, we call them, because that is where the past lies – dead and forgotten. Although neither of those things are true, even though we pretend they are. The darkness lingers over the floor above, only the crackle of the dying fire spill
out a warm glow around the hearth.
I crawl carefully out, silently shuffling across the wood as I latch the door, and cover it with the slate stone that rims the hearth-floor, and cover it still with a reed woven mat and olde skin. If someone didn’t know any better, it was nothing more than a quaint sitting room. Good that the tombs weren’t originally constructed with the house, or else we’d been searched long ago.
I am knelt by the soft glow of the embers, just finishing straightening the hide into the long-time faded silhouette into the floor – a good cover – when I feel the presence beside me. I freeze. My veins stiffen as the shadow looms in the doorway. I twitch an eye sidelong at it, careful not to move. They lie just beyond the light, hidden in the threshold of the doorway to the shoppe-front, now bathed in darkness in the midnight hours; I can see nothing of them save for the glint of eyes flashing against the warm glow. They hang low, barely more than waste high.
“Ada!” She cries in her whimpering tone, startling me right out of my skin.
“Ai, Córra!” I gasp back at her, falling forward from he jolt she shot right threw me, my heart still hammering as I chuckled under my breath at myself. “You can’t do that to your father!” I grasp at my chest, only half play-acting.
She grins weakly at my start as she shuffles forward, all lank socks and mismatched pigtails ruffled from tossled sleep. Her olde, moth-eaten and ragged bear dangles from an elbow as she climbs into my lap – now sitting against the floor.
“Can’t sleep again?” I ask as I cradle her.
She shakes her head angrily, as she curls in a tight little ball in my lap, her heels digging into my thigh. I try to reposition myself so my tingling leg doesn’t go completely numb, but she’s stubbornly made her bed. I give up, letting her have her victory. She presses a knuckle to her lips – she is far too olde to suck her thumb, but the small action is an equal comfort when the night-terrors come again.
I sigh heavily, resting my chin on her hair. I know I did this to her; filled her head with tales of wonders and magic I should have let die – but she is so special. She has the gift, it is in her blood. I can feel it seething from her and it strikes me with such pride and awe and fear that I have let myself slip. And she eats it up.
I love all of my children – they all have their most skilled talents that fill my heart, but she, this little one; Ai, she would have been my apprentice if I had stayed with the Offices. She is my Little Spark. Now she dreams too much, wanders too far, and falls into Shadows I should have shielded her from. Nights are the hardest – and I know what she is seeking.
“Please, Ada?” She stares up at me, those wide silvery-blue eyes glinting with unshed tears, pouty-mouth. She blinks at me, a silent beg for good measure, knowing she’s already snagged me under her spell.
“We can’t, Little Spark.” I sigh, but it’s a feint – and she knows it. I’m saying what I need to say to put up a good fight, but she can taste her victory.
“They are my favorite! They chase away the Shadows, and no one will know. We’re all alone, and we’re safe in our own home.”
If only we were safe in our own home. But I can’t tell her that. She actually looks scared tonight. I settle her down in my lap, wiggling the toes of my numb leg. She grins emphatically, eyes devious little slits that crinkle under her delighted cheeks, knowing she’s won. I’ll have to watch her, this one. She knows what she’s doing, and she learns people well.
She snuggles down, tucking herself into my arms, her cheek flat against my chest, still hugging her pitiful little bear. I hum, as I warm my hands, rubbing the palms briskly. I close my eyes, I see what I need, I call to it…
Sleep, Lovely, Sleep.
Fear no Shadows,
As they reap
The Spark touches
And lights the deep
A beacon in the Slumber’s Keep
She hums along with me as I pluck an ember from the grate. I fold it between both palms, I feel the spirit stir inside, I only have to waken it and coax it out. She waits eagerly, still humming the song she knows so well.
Here, Lovely, Here
See no troubles
Bring no fear
The Flame warms us
And dries the tears
A warden to a Heart so dear
I cup her hands inside mine, around the glowing ember. She is not frightened – she never is – but takes it gladly as I squeeze them firmly over the coal. It does not burn or blister one made of Fire like her.
I pinch my eyes closed tight as I concentrate the last prayer in my head, under my breath. She continues to hum. And as I open my palms, her eyes sparkle hungrily as she opens hers, mimicking my movements.
Her hands lay cupped in mine, as the coal glows red and hot in her hands – and then gently it stirs. The tiny little creature, like a glowing piece of slag, uncurls from within its tail and climbs from the ember’s heart. It raises a smoldering little head, flat and oval, up to her, taking her in as she beams back down at it. It must feel the Spark inside her, it always loves her so. It flicks a tiny little flaming tongue, as it begins to wind itself between her fingers and around her hand, down her wrist, over her knuckles.
Her heart spills over herself, beaming at her tiny little salamander.
“Calcinaer!” she breaths, so excited, so comforted. “I’ve missed him, Ada. He keeps all the Shadows away…”
“I know, Little Spark. He seems to have missed you too.” Guilt aches inside me as she dotes on the little fire daemon. But it is soon swallowed up by fear – a fear the Spark of Calcinaer can’t chase away, a fear not caused by Shadows and darkness. But she needs him this night. He will protect her. I can’t keep doing this…
He raises his glittering little eyes at me as if in answer to my thoughts. He looks at me sadly, but he seems to understand. Soft snores rise up from my lap. She can sleep now.
I scoop her up and head up the stairs and down the hall to the quaint little room in the corner. The twins sleep face-to-foot, crammed into each other in the upper bunk beneath the alcove ceiling, even though they each have their own. I tuck Córra into Kensey’s empty bunk below. She’ll sleep safer here than alone
in the room she usually shares with Izzy.
I slip what is now her Fire Stone under her pillow, as Calcinaer waddles warmly up her arm, curling up in the crook of her neck.
“I’m sorry, Cal.” I say. It’s all I know to say. He raises his little head, crooked to one side, as if to ask what I could be sorry for – trying to relieve me of my guilt.
“Keep her safe?” I ask of him, “Chase away the Shadows.” He rests his head on his stubby little feet, tail tucked over his nose, he smolders bold and warm and bright. Of course he’ll keep her safe.
snippets from Strays
an excerpt from latest revisions – Chapter 17
The tension in the room was suffocating. Ambrogue and Kai stood defensively in the corner, on guard. Balahir shrunk away in the doorframe, but couldn’t stop watching. Archabiya had dried her tears in the corner. Everyone was at attention, but couldn’t move.
Gryph made for the door, but Merryck and Balahir stood in the way.
“Wait!” Merryck pleaded. Gryph didn’t want to look at him.
“Please,” Dahgmar bent to pick up the medallion, “This is a horrid misunderst –”
“Stop!” Gryph cut, his grip on everything beginning to slip, “I won’t be a part of this!” He turned back to Avior, “This is what the Order has become? You disgrace it; you disgrace everything we fought for. I won’t help you – and I won’t let you take her.” Angry tears welled in his eyes, and he stormed away.
Archabiya stood, horrified, but Avior stopped her in her tracks.
“Don’t. Let him go – give him time. We’ll straighten this all out in time, just, let him have some time…”
I am but a gleaming end
An epilogue in ice and frost
to lay in slumber upon branch and bend
I am but a passer by
my time checked by waning day
Limited though I rule this sky
I am but the last farewell
the closing line to the wheele
the clocks turning, I hear my bell
I am but a moment’s thrill
Though my touch can bring such glee
The spring, it comes, to thaw my chill
And though the warmth draws a tear
I pay it no mind
My time will come, again, next year.
The obligatory Beltane / May-Day post.
Well wishes, happy harvests, and bountiful blessings for everyone this season – as it should be (or hoped to be) every season.
But, I can’t say that it is a warmly welcomed season so far. Every holiday / harvest day / celebration that comes around – I am bombarded with article after article and post after post from pagan communities, blogs and centers from all over blaring out, and sharing, and reposting on histories and traditions…….that just aren’t true. Or misconstrued, greatly. And it’s disheartening.
Now, if you are a Neo-Pagan, and you follow these modernized traditions – then you go for it. BUT, when we are discussing histories and traditional ideology of where the celebration is rooted – that’s a much different discussion than simply talking about personal practices or customs.
I’m sure you’ve all heard all the discussion of the sexual prowess of Beltane, and the Great Rite, and the copulation of the God and Goddess and the marrying of the Land and great orgies by bonfires for the sake of fertility.
And frankly, in my own opinion – that is all blasphemy. And insulting.
Beltane is a harvest festival. That is all. It is the celebration of the bounty of Spring, and welcomes Summer. Traditionally, it marked the “beginning of summer” and was a time that they would reap harvest, turn fields, begin the breeding season of certain livestock, and send the cattle out to pasture, and hope / pray for the fertility and ripeness of the land.
As a celebration of summer, and the over-turning of the seasons, it was thought to be one of the pinnacle points of the year when the spirits were most active, and the veils between worlds was the thinnest – allowing the influence of the gods / spirits to be at a peak. They would make offerings to the gods for their blessings for the upcoming season, and they would perform special rites to purify and protect their livestock, land, and even the people themselves.
It’s basis was centered around a sense of renewal, blessings, optimism and hope. Not a sex fest as modernism seems to have turned it into. And yes, arguably – you can say that the idea of the rebirth of the land, and it’s heavy focus on fertility *could* be interpreted in a sexual and symbolic manner. Yes. That could be argued – but that interpretation and ideology has developed over the modern era, and was not *traditionally* what Beltane was about at all.
Beltane is rooted in Celtic Ireland, and can be read about in some of the oldest, most influential Irish mythos – and has been well documented throughout the medieval era all over Celtic Europe.
We, of course, don’t know everything, in every detail about the very first traditions and customs of those first Beltane rites – but the fact that they had survived for so many centuries, and had been documented by many different cultures throughout the region leads us to a pretty clear picture of what exactly this Season, and celebration, meant to them. And to imply otherwise, or to perpetuate wrong-information as fact – or to state that modern interpretations and rituals as “traditional” is ignorant, and doing a disservice to the culture – regardless of if you try to walk a traditional path, or modern one.
There is a reason why we are often looked at in society today as being little more than a bunch of free-lovin-hippy-cult-revival of over-sexualized debauchery – or why certain circumstances of criminal acts seem to be so scrutinized, and impactful to our community – because the community continues to influence the idea that our culture, and history, is rooted in nothing more than a prominent sexual overtone. Which is a very shallow, cut-and-dry image to paint to a culture that has so many depths and histories within it.
We are much more than a Sex-cult. So on these days, lets try to share some of the proud, deep rooted histories of our people and customs so that others may see a different, and hopefully insightful, side to the people we really are.
I’ve read a whole lot the past couple days all about the turmoil that is hitting the pagan community.
I don’t know, maybe I am just way too disconnected from the ‘pagan community’ as a whole. – Something I do not like to refer to anyway, as I don’t believe there is one so called, all encompassing pagan community, because there are just way too man pagans to umbrella into one fucking community – but whatever.
Especially when ‘pagan community’ really means wiccan community – or vague pagan beliefs that are wicca-related.
BUT. that is not my rant for the day. Today’s rant is about the tragedy of Kenny Klein.
I’ll be honest – I had to google who the hell he even was. Which is pretty sad, because for such a pronounced member of the community – so everyone is saying – I should have at least heard of him before now. I hadn’t. Not even through HuffPost, which I read……way too much. Still, have -never- heard of him.
My question is. WHY. Why is this a tragedy to the pagan community? Why does this have to involve the pagan community at all? A sick man was arrested, a sick man was arrested who also happened to be a photographer- which his hobby / indy career as a photographer was far more relevant to the arrest than his pagan association. So why, at the most, was it not a tragedy to the photography community if anything ?? Or why not to the Huff? OR Llewellyn?? Why does it have to be a pagan issue? anything could have made sense, but that’s not what everyone is going on and on about. Nope. It’s alllllll about how he’s a pagan. And then the explosive back-lash of “how to be safe in the community”. Article after article detailing predators in pagan circles or covens, and how to protect yourself.
WHY
dear gods above why.
what the fuck.
Why does it have to be specifically categorized out as a special threat to the pagan community? Why is it an ‘extra’ precaution being taken to pagans? Everyone blasting that boundaries are important and that abuse is not ok no matter where the setting – if that is true, then why do we need to come outright and say that blatantly? If abuse is not ok, then we shouldn’t have to tell people that it’s not ok.
Why can it not simply be “there are fucked up people out there – be careful no matter where you are”
There could be a predator at your child’s school. There could be one living down the street form you. There could be one at the grocery store, at the mall, on the fucking bus. ANYWHERE. Why do we have to target ourselves as being singled out? This is NOT an issue of the pagan community, this is an issue no matter what your creed, religion, practices, background, what have you.
There have been dozens of serial killers, serial rapists, pedophiles and then some of all sorts of creeds – Especially christianity (just by statistical basis that christianity is still a majority) so every time one of these things happens is there an outcry in the christian society about the travesty that has affected their community??? No. Why? because people don’t view it as a “christian” issue that one person is demented. It’s a simple cut-and-dry issue of X man is fucking demented, end of story. So why is it different for us? why does this have to be turned into a pagan issue?
It is not.
There was a person, who had a hidden life, who turned out to have some serious mental issues. Who, on a side note, also happened to be pagan…..That is where it stops.
You are only making us look worse by turning it into an issue that it does not have to be.
If someone robs a store, are we going to turn to the fact that “gang violence” has become a community issue? No. You are purposely and unnecessarily associating yourself with something horrid. You keep on making a huge deal out of it, or making a point to raise awareness, then people WILL start to believe that this is something that is prevalent in our society, or stems from our beliefs, or that somewhere in some circle this is condoned.
Stop it.
This is the time of year I get most offended…..by everyone….from all sides. And it seems to be coming full-force, a hell of a lot early this year (or at least, a more steady – constant stream of it this year)
Before I go on, I feel like I need to explain some things so I don’t sound like a complete ass, although it’s inevitable.
I am a pagan. I’m not your run-o-the-mill umbrella term pagan, I am a very educated, self-aware, specific type of pagan.
I am an Irish Celt (the pre-christian kind celt that is). I consider myself a traditionalist, in truth and sincere honesty. No – I am absolutely NOT a witch, and nothing related to. No – I am absolutely NOT a wiccan, and nothing whatsoever related to. No, I am not a Druid, because a druid is much more than just a believer. I am exactly what I said I am, and nothing different than that. And no, this is not open to your personal interpretation of semantics.
Why am I so specific about what *exact* type of pagan I am, and why do I follow a traditional path?
Because I am a pagan who hates pagans.
In the sense that – I hate *neo* pagans, modern pagans, and the hodge-podge crap that has spewn forth from their ignorant creations.
I am sick to death of giant umbrealla Pagan “denominations”, organizations or “covens” that think that if you happen to not be a christian, or happen to be some type of animist, or happen to believe in magick, that somehow that means you’re automatically a “pagan” and that somehow that means all pagans are the same, and interchangeable, and that ALSO means it’s synonimous with the words “wiccan” and “witch”.
I hate them for the same reason I hate these Decaturite busy bodies and moms. You’ll only get that if you live in Atlanta……..but if you live in Atlanta, and have ever made an expedition to Decatur and Buckhead to observe the horrible upper-middle class monstrousity of women (and sometimes men, but sadly mostly the women) then you know *exactly* what that means.
I hate ignorance, stupidity, lies and self-righteousness, no matter what form it comes in or from whom. I just. hate. them.
Unfortunately, it’s been a growing trend -as far as I’ve been witnessing – over the past several years that the Pagan community is slowly becoming less sheepish, and secretive……and as part of their coming out, apparently, is breeding a thriving community of exactly all the things I hate. And it is frustrating, embarrassing, disappointing, and purely angering.
I’ve grown up my whole life having to learn how to cope, dodge, and overcome these exact same things – only from the outside. I was never a ‘normal’ child, as far as religious teachings go. My family is Irish – and country. Religion plays a -huge- factor in family, and life in general.
We were forced to go to church, and bible school. Even though I was too young to get it, really, even then I knew this wasn’t the place i was supposed to be. Of course, if you ask my mom – that’s not true. Children don’t think that way, I was too young to know what I was doing, or what I wanted.
Yes – partly – but there’s also that part of children that is just pure instincts, that people should absolutely listen to instead of just ignore it or shrug it off as ‘they’re just kids’. Children have more intuition than adults. And I just knew something wasn’t meshing right for me. Not in general – but for me.
My mother’s disbelief of that, and disapproval, is just one more stepping stone of life. I’ve been kicked out of places, called endless amounts of names, forced to remove jewelry or items of clothing, oppressed into not celebrating holidays, or singing certain songs, even was fired from a job. Religious discrimination ! you shout and scream, which yes. It is. But fighting it is a very different story. For those who are unfamiliar, the legal clause that protects religious freedoms and liberties are only applicable to those religions *federally recognized* as religious organizations. And guess whose religion is not federally recognized?
yup.
So, legally – it’s not religious discrimination at all, when what they are discriminating against *isn’t* a religion.
Bet ya didn’t know that. I didn’t either. Lots of what you think are you’re natural rights actually come with stipulations.
Even so recent as last holiday season, I was yelled at by one of my customers at work to turn off the music that was playing because it was “heathen” music and was shameful, offensive and inappropriate for the “Spirit and sanctity of the season”. The music that, just so happened to be playing on a random compilation played on ‘shuffle’ that she was referring to was celtic music. Not even celtic pagan music. Just regular ol’ – completely instrumental – celtic flutes, harp, fiddle and drums.
She refused to pay until I turned it off.
So after growing up, learning many hard life lessons of the world and how unequal it truely is; having to deal with all of this from the outside world, I sure as fuck don’t need to take it from my own people.
Or who *think* they’re my people.
It is hard living a life as I do, because I have learned over the years a very hard truth:
The Pagan Community is more hateful, judgmental, ignorant, and alienating than any outside source.
Because for people like me – not only are you generally looked over from the outside world because of the simple fact that you don’t fall into the 3 majorly accepted religions (or really, 2 accepted religions after 9/11) but you are also shunned from your fellows because you’re not the *right* kind of pagan.
Because, apparently, there are extremely strict guidelines of what it means to be a pagan these days – and if you happen to disagree with one of these “Facts” or do not support a widely praised, or followed networks – you are a fake. Or a pretender.
This is a lonely path. I knew that when I first fought my mom one Sunday morning, when I yelled at her that I didn’t want to go to church with Gramma anymore. I knew that when I started learning more and more of what actually *did* make sense to me. I knew that when I made the decission officially, and when I went behind my mom’s back to learn from my brothers – who supposedly didn’t exsist. It was ground into me even more when they had to leave, and I continued on my own – and opened even more doors that were even more guarded.
I knew what it meant.
I guess I just never thought it would be *completely* alone. I thought there would be someone to bump into somewhere down the road, and exchange scraps here and there and pass on to someone, or to receive from someone else, tid bits here and there of what they learned and what they knew, and could each take that back with us on our own way.
But no – it’s not like that at all, and not because it *has* to be like that, it’s like that just purely because of the complete utter closed-mindedness of the community…..that they are completely oblivious too, because of course, ask any pagan – they’ll slather you with how open, and enlightened they are towards all people…..
Sadly, it’s just a lie.