PantheaCon Report ~ 2016 Edition

A lot can be said by an attendee's first and last presentations during the long weekend of PantheaCon; mine were “Willful Bane: the History, Techniques and Ethics of Hexing” and “Rite of Needful Unbinding”. Although the schedule was rather bland, the few exceptional rituals and lectures I attended  really rejuvenated some witchy feelz. I wrote haikus to pass the time, but some were post-Con also. Orange sunburst, leaf

A funk has arisen here.

A room of Pagans.

Appalachian

Wit and humour empower.

Magick of true grit.

Urine in bottle,

Spit over the left shoulder,

Eating of power.

 

Horse-faced one sat close,

You are forever the fucked.

Exorcism, lost.

Crumbling castles,

False One of the Happy Camp,

Surround and keep you.

Brown bird in her nest,

Piety does not protect

Justice in the wind.

Cover your babies,

prepare for the coming storm.

Excrement flies far.

Enemy thine mine,

Look to your mountain and weep,

Rabbit on the run.

Disco, Baba witch

The dark mask of a Mother.

And you shall have none.

Over-rated suites,

Danger is so near

And much cheap liquor.

Man who stands too close,

Violate and desecrate

Holy woman, FIGHT!

No one noticed this?

Masters of Destiny here

Ignore the victim.

Is it Boy or Girl?

Spirit does not care witch one.

Practice magick, now.

Give of your Self child

And know the universe Is.

We are all learning.

Selene, honour.

Chthonic Ones, forgotten.

Hekate, old key.

Absinthe and battle,

Discordian candy flies!

Warrior standing.

Running with scissors,

Mead with the Librarians,

Sweet Asian kisses.

Priestess binding me,

Chains made of my own doing.

Rattle shake, drum bass.

Domina, we cry!

Vulnerable space, bless-ed!

Foot in mouth, pale, raw.

The bullshit, no more!

Release what does not propel!

A blade deconstructs!

While the weather was sunny and warm outside the Doubletree, indoor climates ranged from freezing cold to stifling rainforest in many rooms; most wondered if we really WERE having hot flashes. Surges of power, others might say... and they were. Witch Giants were everywhere, filling the halls and rooms with their subtle energies. Real practitioners of magick came together in corners of the Con, discussed and invoked, banished and destroyed. Several times I was surrounded by a group of powerhouses in the Craft and felt slightly woozy...this concentration of power is overwhelming but also reassuring as I was among them, an equal finally. I also dropped some baggage for more capable hands, for annihilation. Leaving behind those things and people who no longer serve me, who are nothing but asuras... banishing bellicosity and distractions from my Work.

On a disappointing note, it was really too bad all these warriors and holy people did not notice the women being assaulted over the course of the weekend... several violated for simply being intoxicated, and not by just 'men'. Over and over I heard the words “consent”, “safe space”, “proper pronouns” being spoken by presenters, but their words were lost on many. These people are lucky I didn't see it myself...because I am not one to be polite or soft about others hurt and pain. And there was plenty to go around. The overtly sexual environment was sickening sweet: beautiful rituals such as the honeyed-Pomba Gira were replaced with artificial saccharine imitations that didn't come close to satisfying, except for those with vampiric appetites. It's scary to me that we “police ourselves”, I imagine to save public face; abusive leaders are kicked out of organizations without charges being filed, predators escorted out of festivals but not into police custody ...it happens in plain sight and so many choose to ignore. It is my eternal wish that we take off our blinders, use our true witch vision (if you have any at all) and finally learn some compassion, develop empathy and generate loving kindness with equanimity.

It was an added bit of bummer to NOT see the "PantyCon" schedule distributed throughout the hotel; I guess the party-poopers had that removed too. And yes, the community seriously lacks a sense of humour. Between the leather clothes, crystal pyramids, special snowflakes and over priced books there are those less pretentious ones who play Fool to the World. Those easily offended are missing out on the worship of Eris, inviting discord into one's practice is liberation with entertainment.

But honestly, we really are so very lucky to have access to highly qualified and experienced ritualists. I realize after attending some bad rituals, my spiritual path has been really blessed. Groups like the Open Source Order of the Golden Dawn and the Discordians were a breath of fresh air. The genius of sacred space was kept sentinel again in the Coru Cathubodua's Temple of the Morrigan, even though I did not need to visit. Every year I go and make offerings...but I also end up taking folks there who are broken or needing reprieve. As one of the only purely sacred spaces available in the Con, I am glad to see it offered for those who need to experience it.

It was also really awesome to meet and give a sniff to some oils from Rosarium Blends, Catamara is a witch who knows her stuff. Decanting from the mother bottles, the oils were oozing with herbal essences of magickal concentration...it was lovely. I, of course, had been eyeballing some of their Hekate oil online, so was glad to get the chance of smell before purchasing. Together with her partner, they are organizers for the Viridis Genii Symposium held in Oregon... I am already making plans to attend.

30 Days of Hermes: A Composition

Day 23: Your own composition – a piece of writing about or for this deity

Straight to sky thy head is bound,

Over hedge and the underground,

Swift-shifter, mighty strong Polytropos!

Hermes! Oh my Lord Chthonios!

Bless me, this messenger, Angelos desire,

Writer and grifter with words to inspire.

Give bent ear under thy wide-brimmed halo,

Slipper of coin, prophetic dreams to follow.

With golden potency of an alchemical mix,

Please shepherd prosperity without any tricks.

Detail of Hermes with Pegasus. From "Parnassus" by Andrea Mantegna (1497).

Detail of Hermes with Pegasus. From "Parnassus" by Andrea Mantegna (1497).

PBP: “D” is for Detours

This week I shall be immersing my Self in the strange world of public Paganism and will be taking a break from the PBP . Yes, there will be several people I don't like there. Yes, I plan to “hardcore it” as always at Pantheacon 2014; non-stop ritual and workshop for 12 or more hours each day. Yes, I plan to actually have some drinks...a rarity to those who know me. And YES I will return with an epic story, although maybe not in prose as last year. Have a great Lupercalia with DANCING, DRUNKENESS, and DIRTY DEEDS! 

 

PBP: "T" is for Truths (as I know them)

We are all interconnected, I just just cannot explain how.
We are all capable of creating Life and respecting it.
We are not the highest form of Life and should humble ourselves.
Love is not hormones and synapses... it is an ever-full fount which never runs dry.
Everything in the universe is entitled to Love, Live, and Be.
There are divine beings and they engulf everything in the Universe.
There is more to ordinary life than what others choose to see.
I see the sacredness of all Life.
I have inhabited other bodies many times before.
I am a manifestation of my soul; a body to house my Self.
My Mind is an instrument and allowed to make music.
My Soul is constantly evolving, even after mortal Death.

The All-Seeing Eye

 

The PantheaCon Report

Day One: Lost the phone, All alone

Somewhere betwixt parking and lobby.

Con staff ruled, I got schooled

In keeping track of what's on me.

ADF Suite, Things nice and neat,

If ever a pagan group was.

What a pleasure and treat, To finally meet

Those brave enough to keep laws.

Maenads landed, With ivy and grapes branded,

Into the car we stole away.

A gifted poetress, bruja and temptress,

In a far-off hotel we did stay.

Sushi and vodka, champagne will knock ya

Down a peg or few.

Wendy Rule romancing, Pomba Gira dancing,

A smoke then bed at two.

 

Day Two:

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Early workshop failed,

For lack of a better term.

Another was deleted, Partly completed

Hexed enemies did squirm.

Traveled through time, saw a death of mine

With Priest Lon Milo DuQuette.

Suicide, murder or brushed aside

With a train my body had met.

Crossroads of vendors, all a witches' splendor,

Handshakes in alignment.

A grimoire of spirit, a magician so writ

Such art of poetic refinement.

Bone Yard Boogie confusion, rock n' roll infusion

Saved the night for me.

Hekate as sin-eater, teacher, death-greeter,

Hail unto thee!

 

Day Three:

Friends had to leave, time past to grieve,

Reunion is soon at hand.

Wrong workshop, Attacks to stop,

Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram.

Floating around, old friends found,

Vodou people with most integrity.

Thracian Priest, friend of beast

Gimbal the Raven, Pagan celebrity.

Peace of mind, to self be kind

Back to my own room I did go

With head aching, spirit reeling,

To sleep after my favourite show.

 

Day Four:

Time to pack, wearing all black 

With owl on breast, an apple to eat.

Lilith of three faces, asteroid of graces,

Dark and Black Moon, plans to greet.

Last minute shopping, hugs and slogging

On a Monday morning I did goeth

Uncoiled, whorrled, and well oiled.

No witch better primed since MacBeth.