How To Write Powerful Poetry Spells

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

Poetry is magic. And poems are spells. The spirituality of poetry is clear — but it’s not always obvious; like many paths and practices (especially witchcraft, folk magic, or other spiritual paths), poetry is a way toward self-reclamation, finding autonomy, understanding yourself and the world, and getting in touch with the divine, mysterious force within us — creativity.

And like a spell, a poem is born of intent and uses specific ingredients. Poetry is shadow work, a way of mining the depths. And through that act, it is a torch of illumination.

If we are the soil, the poetry is the rose that blooms. And the magic — that’s what brings it to the surface.

But why poetry? Poetry moves and slides and breaks rules; in fact, we make the rules as we write it. It defies structure, as it is a living art form, ever-changing. Its power lies in what it contains, what it doesn’t, what it gives, and what it hides in its white spaces — and it thrives in liminal spaces. It’s witchcraft.

It says, “I won’t tell you the truth, but I’ll tell you a part of it.” Poetry gives you clues. It asks you to think. It reveals according to its own rules. That’s why we always ask, “But what is it about?”

And that mystery makes it so beautiful — both to read and to write. It helps us stretch our imaginations, get out of our comfort zones, and offers a glimpse of something that one might never see or realize or pay attention to.As a poet and teacher of poetry, I think that is magical. In fact, I wrote a whole book about it: The Magical Writing Grimoire.

Like one’s magical craft, poetry asks us to return to the process. It asks us to spend time with it, nurture it, and go deeper. You are never done with learning as a practitioner of any sort. There are always more questions and always more epiphanies — and there are always more poems to download, to meditate over, and to write.

Poets are the alchemists of the page.

As witches, we carry — and work with — the great energy within us. We are always aware of, directing, or manipulating energy and emotion. This is such an incredible thing — it allows us to make the choices that enable us to be free, find relief, find purpose, find power, find clarity. To divine. To grow. Poets do this too, even if unconsciously; we bring energy and emotion to the page. We manipulate that energy and emotion — deeply aware of its powers and its meaning. How we are changing with every line we write.

We create our altars on the page, pulling together our tools and objects — words and sounds and space — to cast our spells. And just like witches, poets love our rituals: wine, a cigarette, a cleansed space to work, a quieting.

Each word is meticulously selected as an ingredient or power object. Each stanza is a breath of purpose, a standing in the crossroads. Each turn of phrase, a candle lit by the wick of another. And when read aloud, all at once, a spell cast.

How to write poetry spells & practice wordcraft

Image by Lisa Marie Basile

There are many ways to write poetry spells. The poem itself can work as a spell through its language (calling on what you want or releasing something), or through its structure and pacing (emphasizing breath work and musicality can create a prayer-like experience).

You can also create poetry spells by focusing each line or section on a specific intention, color, archetype, or goal.

By the way, don’t feel constrained or pressured by ideas of “good poetry,” or popular poetry. These are poems for you; they’re magic. They’re your essence. They’re not meant to be published or shared with the world. Write the poetry that speaks to you. In your voice. In whatever language you want to write in.

Here are some of my favorite techniques.

Writing consciously

Whether we realize it or not, when we write poetry, we are programming our creation with our intention. Like drawing a sigil, a poem is the shape and sound of our intent. Is it a poem of personal power? Is it a poem of memory? Is it a poem that recalls love? Is it a poem of reclamation? Being conscious of what you’re feeling — and programming your poem to achieve a certain goal when it’s read aloud or finished — you imbue your poem with power. It is a spell cast.

And like an incantation or a mantra, we can read a poem anytime to evoke the energy we programmed to it. It will always be there, encapsulated at the moment we created it. It can transport us, infuse us, remind us. 

Write a poetry spell with a certain number of lines or stanzas

You’ll dedicate each line or stanza to a specific idea or feeling you’d like to conjure, let go of, or release. Each line, in effect, will give you the opportunity to focus your intention and energy. This is where poetry spells really get powerful since you can focus stanzas or lines on archetypes, gods, goddesses, guides, ancestral symbols, power colors, sacred sounds, or goals and conjurings.

Want to try one? This 11-line poetry spell for healing is accessible and potent.

Write automatically

On the other end of writing with conscious intention, automatic writing is a way of writing — freely, without censorship or goal — in a sort of trance state. Think of yourself as a vessel, downloading the information and translating it to the page. Writing a poem this way means writing anything that comes to mind — and then deciphering that when you’re in a more conscious state.

Write the liminal

Write a poem that speaks of the in-between, the crossroads, the liminal. What does it look at dusk? What does it feel like to be almost touched, almost loved, almost lost? How you capture what feels to straddle the liminal — in a poem?

Word Worship

A book of poetic spells, The Lost Words, aimed to reclaim and celebrate natural words that were taken out of the Oxford Junior Dictionary. These words, acorn, adder, bluebell, dandelion, fern, heron, otter, and willow were replaced with words like blog, broadband, bullet-point, cut-and-paste, and voice-mail.  

What words mean something to you? What words speak to your memories and personal power? Are there words that speak to your identity, your resistance, your body, your journey? Choose five of these words and write a 5-stanza poem using each of them, or write five poems (as a set to be read aloud together) utilizing each. When you speak them aloud, you can call on these qualities.

Dream poetry

When we wake up, our minds are loose and fluid, capable of magic — still tethered to other conscious states. Once away, tap into that dream space and write a poem about your dream. Let its contradictions and messiness and weirdness soak into your poetry.

What is the dream’s message? Write that message into your poem. In this way, you are divining from the subconscious mind, mining the dreamscape, and channeling it from the ether into a physical thing to be explored and tapped into. Dedicate a whole section of your grimoire to dream poetry and you’ll watch the themes and messages unravel — allowing you to swim in a literary sea of the self.

Herbal poetics

Are you a fan of cannabis or mugwort? Both are used for spiritual purposes, opening a sort of mental portal. In a high state, write what comes to mind. Don’t bother making sense or trying to define meaning right away; just let the feelings guide you. Ride the wave of the self, and let your words slip onto paper, unregulated. Light your joint with the flame from a candle lit in your sacred space.

These poems capture the experience of liminality, highness, and the dream state. As you write, you are channeling, translating, and creating a space of sacred connection. A spell is an active, dynamic thing — one that is created as it is cast. Every time you read the poem aloud afterward, it can call on that same energy.

You can read more about weed witchcraft right here — Weed Witchcraft: A Ritual With The High Priestess of Smoke by Moxie McMurder, who writes, “Smoking the holy herb is a spiritual act, one that puts you in touch with the four elements and when practiced correctly can lift the veil reveal and nature's secrets.” Just remember to stay safe, be legal, and talk to a doctor before using any psychoactive substance. 

Parts of this article were excerpted from The Magical Writing Grimoire.

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Lisa Marie Basile (she/her) is a poet, essayist, editor, and chronic illness awareness advocate living in New York City. She's the founder and creative director of Luna Luna Magazine and its online community, and the creator of Ritual Poetica, a curiosity project dedicated to exploring the intersection of writing, creativity, healing, & sacredness.

She is the author of THE MAGICAL WRITING GRIMOIRE, LIGHT MAGIC FOR DARK TIMES, and a few poetry collections, including the recent NYMPHOLEPSY, which is excerpted in Best American Experimental Writing 2020. Her essays and other work can be found in The New York Times, Narratively, Sabat Magazine, We Are Grimoire, Witch Craft Magazine, Refinery 29, Self, Healthline, Entropy, On Loan From The Cosmos, Chakrubs, Catapult, Bust, Bustle, and more. She is also a chronic illness advocate, keeping columns at several chronic illness patient websites. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University. You can follow her at lisamariebasile.

Here Is Your Scorpio Homework This Season

 BY LISA MARIE BASILE

It’s your Scorpio-in-chief here to take you on a subterranean journey, cradled in the arms of the sign of death, rebirth, and transformation.

Once Scorpio season hits, we tend to gather ‘round to talk intensity and sexuality and darkness and the occult. We may ask ourselves, What is this darkness? What is this silent creeping feeling blooming out of my belly like a black tulip? What is this intense desire? What are these fears? Why do I want to fuck or meditate or go inward so hard? Why do I want to dance until morning? What shall I do to survive this intensity? Do I run or lean in-in-in, into that dark mansion of Scorpio? Must I make space for that intensity and regeneration? Can I rent a bunker?

I want to tell you this: Be not afraid. Yes, this is a heavy season, but it is also a season that permits you to feel it. It wants to comfort you through it, even if it at first it may feel painful. You may be thinking about your place in the world, how to move through grief, what you want to let go of, and how to heal your childhood self. Scorpio, in its shadowy mystery, is beckoning you to go deep. To stop looking away from the abyss.

To that end, below is your Scorpio full moon homework. Go with one or two of the ideas below, and know that any momentary discomfort will yield rewards. Just be sure to ground yourself and seek comfort or support from a therapist or a friend if things get too heavy.

Drop the bullshit, seek rebirth, and stare into the abyss

Scorpio doesn’t have time for bullshit, for the superficial, or for the useless things that serve no purpose and only hold you down. Stare your problems in the eye. Begin making plans to walk away from something that hurts you. It may not be immediate, but you can use this full moon to begin taking stock of ways to make a move and give blood to your desires. Start recognizing bad patterns. Take stock of friends who constantly let you down, of the job that hurts your soul, of the project that isn’t inspiring you—and make an out plan. Taurus asks to perhaps save money or put something aside for yourself, when possible.

Delete those toxic texts, ideas, and people — and be rid of it. In endings, scorpio finds rebirth; you’ll grow wings where a wound was once.

Decide what makes your life better and richer and move toward it. It’s not easy, but when you decide what doesn’t serve you...an opportunity happens. 

If it feels scary, that means you are exercising a demon or confronting the shadow self. Lean into it.

That said, not all situations are currently changeable—that’s okay. Take this opportunity to reframe your needs; you may not have full control over everything, but where can you find autonomy? Where can you plant seeds of change? Is the change you’re seeking internal? Perhaps that inner growth will transform your physical reality? If you need to lean on others (Scorpio asks us to be vulnerable) to make all of this happen, do so. This may mean seeking community resources, medical care, or the love of a friend. You are safe in your need and your vulnerability. Any actualized Scorpio will tell you this, despite their proclivities toward the secretive or seemingly stoic. In short, rebirth is a process, and it doesn’t always happen in a vacuum.

Scorpio is the sign of death and rebirth, so lean into its dark ways and part with whatever is dragging you down. Any depths you go into, you want to go into willingly—not because someone or something is pulling you into the abyss.

Embrace the sensual in all of its forms

Find a way to tap into your sexuality—that could be through sex magic (setting intentions and focusing on them during the act of masturbating or having sex), dancing or lying around in your finest lingerie, or honoring your sensuality by reading some beautiful poetry — Neruda, Sappho. Pick flowers. Eat honey and cinnamon. Listen to sexy music (I recommend Sevdaliza, FKA Twigs, and Banks, or this Scorpio playlist). Dance in your underwear. Light a candle and apply oils to the skin. 

Set a goal and use the full moon to power up

Don’t just set any old goal (I mean, you totally can), but this is the time to go deep. Is there something you’re deeply pining for on an existential level — something that you need to birth, to pull from the watery depths of the self? Is there something you’re trying to conjure on a big level, something life-altering? Do it. Say it. Meditate on it. Write a list of ways you can make it happen. Envision shimmering light surrounding your body and infusing it with drive. Envision swimming in a vast black ocean where you and the dark are alone together; what do you feel? What do you see? When you swim to shore, what do you see? Make it yours.

Write a letter to your dead

Grief is a beautiful, complicated, overwhelming, and natural thing; it lets us peer into the truth of life and it mirrors back to us the deepest, most sincere parts of our ourselves. If you spend your time actively avoiding grief, you may have to spend some time letting it in eventually, right?

This is the time. Write a letter to your dead (perhaps, in this case, your grief is metaphorical). Visit a loved ones’ grave. Eat lunch in a graveyard. Thank the dead for welcoming you. Light a candle in honor of someone who passed or set up a small altar in their name. Go there. Feel it. Scorpio will cradle you in her arms and fill you with rejuvenation and comfort when you’re in pain. You just have to be willing to move through that murky threshold. Make like Hecate; go forth into the crossroads. 

Yes, Scorpio is cthonic and intense—but she is fiercely loyal and wants the best for those who embark into the liminal. Trust me.

*This is an updated piece from 2018.

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Lisa Marie Basile (she/her) is a poet, essayist, editor, and chronic illness awareness advocate living in New York City. She's the founder and creative director of Luna Luna Magazine and its online community, and the creator of Ritual Poetica, a curiosity project dedicated to exploring the intersection of writing, creativity, healing, & sacredness. She regularly creates dialogue and writes about intentionality and ritual, accessibility, creativity, poetry, foster care, mental health, family trauma, healing, and chronic illness. She is the author of THE MAGICAL WRITING GRIMOIRE, LIGHT MAGIC FOR DARK TIMES, and a few poetry collections, including the recent NYMPHOLEPSY. She is also a chronic illness advocate, keeping columns at several chronic illness patient websites. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University. You can follow her at @lisamariebasile.

3 Transformative Life Lessons Scorpio Teaches Us

BY LISA MARIE BASILE (A SCORPIO)

People often reduce Scorpio to a sex-hungry, death-obsessed, sting machine — and they’re not entirely wrong to do so. Scorpio can be nasty (or are they just too real for the rest of us?). They feed off of the transformative power of sex, the earth-shattering power of transformation, death, and rebirth, and offer up a sometimes-tiring intensity. All of this is true.

But in this obsessive prowling for authenticity and power and pleasure you’ll also find loyalty, passion, relentless curiosity, hard work, and an ability to think outside of the box. They are hungry for everything. Here’s what they teach us:

Embracing authenticity & the hard stuff makes your life more beautiful.

To be human is to bleed and cry and change, so why present yourself as static and safe? Scorpio balks at bullshit, and that’s no exaggeration. If Scorpio walks into a party and finds themselves cornered by the person whose inauthenticity simply wafts from their person, Scorpio is not likely to politely excuse themselves. They will likely utter a too-harsh retort or simply walk away. Harsh? Perhaps. Rude? Depends on how you look it.

If you aren’t here to present your deepest, most authentic, vulnerable self (but don’t be straight-up insecure, since the line between weakness and vulnerability is drawn deep in the sand for Scorpio), Scorpio becomes the physical embodiment of a yawn. Seriously, give us the entire ocean or go bother someone else — maybe, who knows, a stoic, grounded Earth sign who can’t be bothered with the messy beauty of humanity?

The lesson: Find the power in revealing yourself, being vulnerable, and going deep. Step out onto the plank and reveal your shining wholeness to the wide and wild seas. Get consumed in arresting, honest conversation. Don’t shy from real people who want to connect. There are places and times for reservation and balance, but life is too short to hide from the depths. Welcome it in yourself and others. You will find intimacy, love, and beauty in realness. Take a risk and show your real self.

Power can be used for good or for bad. Use it for good.

The Greek myth of Scorpius and Orion is pretty dark. One myth says that Orion bragged about his desire — and ability — to kill every creature on earth. In response, Artemis and Leto sent a scorpion to murder Orion. Zeus then hung Scorpio into the celestial fabric after it battled the evil Orion. It makes sense now that Scorpio is ruled by Pluto (the underworld) and Mars (war).

But it’s not just about murderous battle, is it? It’s about using your power wisely, and embracing the long game, the battle against evil — and sometimes that means cozying up with darkness in order to understand and dismantle it.

If this myth teaches us anything, it’s that the Scorpio reputation walks that often blurry line of loyal protector and dangerous destroyer. When Scorpio uses their power for good, they embrace their ambitious intensity and obsessive strategy to make way for good and for change (which they live and die by).

The lesson: When angry, use that energy. When afraid, seek wisdom in that fear and redirect it. Instead of hurting earth’s creatures, protect them (that’s a metaphor). Help them. Help those who can’t help themselves. Take all that intensity of emotion you feel after reading the news, and when you can, help someone on the street or fight for change on a larger scale. When tested, find your inner strength. Pick your battles. May they be ones that transform yourself and the world around you.

And when your own spiteful, mean urges arise, follow them to their point of origin and sooth the crying beast that aches to be understood. When dark thoughts occur, ask them what they can teach you.

Don’t be afraid of your own power. Harness and manage it. Scorpio tells us that this is better than being diplomatic or neutral to the point of static or unhelpful. Better than being afraid. Better than being grounded. Sometimes you need a torch and bolt and a matchstick. Sometimes you need to sting for the right reasons. 

Let your freak flag fly & embrace differences.

If Scorpio is anything, it’s misunderstood — and if you ask any of us, we’ll tell you that we’re proud of that. So what, we think? We don’t want to conform or come off as digestible or obvious. Our freak flags are at full-mast, and though we often try to be a secretive bunch (no one gets us anyway, #angst), we’re okay with that. We clamor to investigate everything and everyone and we want you to do the work, too. Look at everyone for who they really, truly are deep down — past the mask. Past nonsense social constructions.

The lesson: The Scorpio is proud to be different, but they’re not cocky about it (well, sometimes they’re cocky about it), and they want you to be proud too. When we embrace radical pride in our own uniqueness, we show the world that differences can be our collective strength. We un-other ourselves. In this act, we demand that the world respect every race, gender, sex, and identity.

Scorpio Affirmations

Don’t punish yourself for your differences.

Speak up for others who are being oppressed and erased.

Have a tough conversation with someone.

Ask tough questions and give real answers.

Don’t make others feel bad for being vulnerable or open.

Find the weirdest person at the party and trade secrets.

Realize that everyone has many layers, and seek to understand them.

Seek wisdom in darkness.

Raise your freak flag.

Use your power to change the world for the better.

Realize that everything changes — and learn from that change.

Question tradition, order, and authority.

Be proud of the things that make you different; afford others the same right.

Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine, a popular magazine & digital community focused on literature, magical living, and identity. She is the author of several books of poetry, as well as Light Magic for Dark Times, a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices, as well as The Magical Writing Grimoire: Use the Word as Your Wand for Magic, Manifestation & Ritual. Her work focuses heavily on trauma recovery, writing as a healing tool, chronic illness, everyday magic, and poetry. She's written for or been featured in The New York Times, Refinery 29, Self, Chakrubs, Marie Claire, Narratively, Catapult, Sabat Magazine, Bust, HelloGiggles, Best American Experimental Writing, Best American Poetry, Grimoire Magazine, and more. She's an editor at the poetry site Little Infinite as well as the co-host of Astrolushes, a podcast that conversationally explores astrology, ritual, pop culture, and literature. Lisa Marie has taught writing and ritual workshops at HausWitch in Salem, MA, Manhattanville College, and Pace University. She is also a chronic illness advocate, keeping columns at several chronic illness patient websites. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University. You can follow her at @lisamariebasile and @Ritual_Poetica.

Restorative Grief: Letters To The Dead

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

I’ve been thinking about how we, as a species, are collectively and individually grieving for our fellow humans — perhaps they are strangers or maybe they are our family members or friends — during this COVID-19 crisis. In the midst of the terror, it’s hard to slow down and say goodbye, especially on the global, collective level. It is a prolonged state of waiting to grieve because the turmoil rolls on and on. For me, that’s very difficult. I feel an urge to mourn for those lost, even if I didn’t know them.

For many families, a proper goodbye wasn’t or won’t be possible. And for others, the heaviness of worldwide grief (and the chronic anticipatory loss) accumulates within our cells, changing us from the inside, as a species.

A friend of mine said she’d lost her beloved grandmother to COVID-19. It was sudden and horrifying. She hadn’t been able to process it and feels she didn’t have a way to say goodbye. I felt utterly helpless and told her so, but offered her my shoulder and my phone line for whenever she needed a friend.

Prior to COVID-19, I’d been dealing with the aftershocks of a year of death (2017) that forever changed me. It pushed me to explore and meditate on grief and loss, and I’ve deeply integrated that into my writing. I still have fewer answers and more questions. I still hurt. In my poetry and in my nonfiction books, including Light Magic for Dark Times and The Magical Writing Grimoire, I offer grief rituals.

There is no way to skip over or lessen the impact of grief. Truly. The only way out is through, I believe now. More so, both ritual and journaling aren’t solutions or cures or magic elixirs for the sludge of grief. The sting of loss is part of the condition of being alive, and you may mourn hard for a lifetime. But there are small things we can do that can help us navigate our pain, find clarity, and work toward a semblance of closure or a space of finality — and science tells us that writing about grief works for many people (although it’s not a replacement for therapy).

For this reason, I’ve included a ritual — Restorative Grief: Letters to the Dead — from my book, The Magical Writing Grimoire below. Maybe you’ll use it for someone you’ve lost in the past, or perhaps you’ll write a letter to the collective dead, to the many who have lost their lives in your city or community. Whatever you use it for, I hope it helps you find some stability and insight.

Below, I’ve included the original text for the ritual, along with the final pages from my book. Feel free to share and copy/download them.

Restorative Grief: Letters to the Dead

InThe Art of Death: Writing the Final Story, Edwidge Danticat writes with profound openness about her mother’s death. The book explores writings about death in some effort to explain how to write it, diving right into the heart of the matter. Danticat mentions Mary Gordon’s memoir, Circling My Mother, in which Gordon states that writing was the only way she could mourn her mother. Gordon described her writing about her month as an active grief.

And this rings true. Some grief is inert. Some grief is an engine. Sometimes actively participating in grief is one small way that we can learn to escape its riptide. In a way, when we mourn and when we write, we are weaving an indelible memory. We do something with the grief. We actively move through it. 

Three years ago, I lost two family members who were very close to me. The grief was tidal, and I was at sea. Nights were underscored by anxiety around what I could have or should have done, obsession on mortality and meaning, and nostalgia like a drunken swirl. My days were hazy, weary, long. At work, I was distracted. At home, I was restless. I was caught between trying to live and trying to let go.

Grief is a sickness that grows without a cure. It affects more than the body, more than the mind. It affects the essence of us, our starstuff, our souls, our hearts, our energy. It metastasizes over a lifetime, and with each new death, it takes a new organ. 

So I started writing letters to the dead. You may want to write them and keep them or write them and then burn or bury them, be pulling the wound out of your body, and putting it onto paper.

I like to look to Seshat, an Egyptian funerary goddess (also, of course, a goddess of writing and books). Seshat, described in texts as being pregnant with the deceased, was responsible for keeping the memory of the dead alive by writing down accounts of their life. We can tap into the ancient, beautiful archetype of Seshat, letting her dedication to the dead inspire the eulogies we write.

The very act of embracing your feelings around death, summoning the memories of your dead, and inviting them into your space through the page is powerful; it is a conjuring on many levels. And it is an essential way of embracing the death positive philosophy, which encourages people to speak openly about death, dying, and corpses. While no philosophy can remove the eternal sting of grief, this philosophy helps to lessen the shame, fear, confusion, and stigma attached to death and grief.

Choose who to write to, and what you want to say. Do you have a photograph of them? If so, place it before you. Create an altar dedicated to them, if that feels right to you. It might include things they owned, or anything that represents them. Light a black candle (black is a powerful healer) and look into the flame. Think of this flame as illuminating a way for the dead to come home, to you, to your room, to your side.

Sit with them for a while. 

What was it about them that stands out to you? What was it you never said? What do you wish you knew about them? What was it you wish you did with them? What are their quirks? What fabric did they love? What perfume? How did they look when they entered the room? What did they sing to themselves? What’s your loveliest memory of them? If they did anything to inspire you, what was it? What did they love? What mark did they leave when they left this earth? 

Some grief is even more complex. Perhaps the person who passed away was someone who hurt you but whom you still mourn. If so, acknowledge this. What did they do to hurt you? What have they done that has never been resolved? How has it hurt you? Can you forgive them? Can you work on forgiveness? There is no shame in not reaching forgiveness; this is a personal act. 

Open the letter, “Dear [NAME],” and then continue naturally. You can remain in the positive, or tell them everything you miss about them. You may want to tell them the hard truth; you may want to let the rage out of its tiny, silenced box. Or maybe you want to tell them it’s okay to go. Perhaps they felt they had to stay? Perhaps they suffered? Maybe you simply want to know what it’s like to be dead. The letter can be structured or wild. This is up to you.

The important thing is that you’re honest and that you say everything you want to say. Maybe you make it a point to write to them with each new moon, or on their birthday.

On staying afloat in the ocean of grief: If you are afraid of the darkness and grief involved here, keep your environment comfortable and comforting. Have objects of happiness and safety around you. Make sure you have a support system on speed dial. Take care of yourself afterward. Because part of diving into the abyss is knowing your way out.

A prompt

Write a spell that calls for closure. Perhaps your spell invokes the elements or archetypes, or perhaps it’s a spell-poem that is simply a goodbye. When we write our own spells for healing, we begin an important process—that which gives us control over the situation and the narrative, and that which enables us to embody who we want to become after trauma. What would your closure spell look like? Will it explore forgiveness? Binding? Saying goodbye? Will it honor your pain?

Feel free to download the keep the following pages:

Witches, Here Are The New Books You Need

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

I am fortunate to receive tons of wonderful books on a wide range of topics, but some of my favorites include those by talented witches and magical beings whose books approach magic in accessible, inclusive, radical, and fresh ways.

I am always on the lookout for books which a) present an updated look at magic and witchcraft to a modern audience, b) frame witchcraft in a way that is inclusive and holistic — meaning it addresses systemic issues in society, and c) blend and blur genres — books of narrative non-fiction alongside research, poetry entwined with spellcraft, or divination techniques alongside storytelling.

Personally, I love books that can be read through an open-ended and intuitive lense, and approaches that permit those of us from even an eclectic or secular background to take part. I think all of the below books make space for the witch, the feminist, the curious, and anyone in between. So, for witches and non-witches alike, these are the books I’ve been reading as of late:

THE GLAM WITCH

I LOVE this book. Michael Herkes’ voice is a dream. His passion is palpable, lifting out of the pages and into your hands and heart. It looks at how the goddess/archetype Lilith has for so long been worshipped and feared, and walks readers through how they can create a relationship with Lilith, as well. In fact, it’s called The GLAM Witch because Herkes explores the Great Lilithian Arcane Mysteries (GLAM). Through luminous text, you’ll find astrology, ritual, and a magic that is steeped in power.

INITIATED: Memoir of a witch

Amanda Yates Garcia — known as the Oracle of LA — writes a potent story of becoming and reclamation in Initiated, which shows how she became a High Priestess, and how she tapped into her inner power. With her shedding light on feminism, culture, earth, sex work and poverty, the underlying message here is one that matters most in today’s world.

Also read: 7 magical & inclusive new books witches must read

TAROT FOR TROUBLED TIMES: CONFRONT YOUR SHADOW, HEAL YOURSELF, TRANSFORM THE WORLD

In Theresa Reed and Shaheen Miro’s Tarot for Troubled Times, we see a radical and transformational text that uses shadow work (a throughline of the book), archetypes, reflections, and prompts to reframe the power of tarot. I can’t get enough of this one. And I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Theresa (The Tarot Lady) for quite some time. Her generosity, support, wisdom, and love for magic is a continual inspiration to me.

HONORING YOUR ANCESTORS: A Guide to Ancestral Veneration

As someone who has always been interested in ancestor veneration in a specific sense — more in my writing practices than anything else — I have not read a book on the topic that has so deeply and beautifully spoken to my needs. Mallorie Vaudoise’s book does not go into the topic lightly, addressing plenty of the big issues — like not knowing who your ancestors are, for one. The book explores everything from making ancestral altars and spell-work to mediumship. It’s splendid and healing.

Read also: 4 witchy podcasts you need in your life

REVOLUTIONARY WITCHCRAFT: A GUIDE TO MAGICAL ACTIVISM

In Sara Lyon’s work, we find a potent and necessary look at how we can make magic in a world that is too often broken by hatred, fear. It is a world that needs transformation, and witches have that very power. I have always thought that the witch was a political figure, whether or not one intends or feels that way. Witches have long stood for the marginalized, the forgotten, the invisible. And power, as Lyons says, is political. With topics ranging from history, magic (ancestral magic, sigil creation, and spells), ally-ship and the natural world, this book is a must-have for today’s practicing witch. I also love its inclusion of the Trans Right of Ancestor Elevation, which is a ritual for trans and GNC witches to honor their ancestors of spirit killed by murder.

CAT CALL: RECLAIMING THE FERAL FEMININE

I have long been a fan of Kristen Sollée’s work (and her person) and I am indebted to her for the knowledge and support she has given me, and the magic she has brought to my life (and all of ours!) through her words. As an intersectional feminist and a witch, her books (do yourself a favor and also read Witches, Sluts Feminists) speak power into my world. In Cat Call, she brings the histories, superstitions, stories, and mythos of the feline to life, and weaves all of that into how we understand (and can better understand) sex and femininity and taboo. Fuck yes.

TAROT FOR SELF CARE: HOW TO USE TAROT TO MANIFEST YOUR BEST SELF

I love Minerva Siegel’s book for its simplicity and care. It walks readers through the tarot with care and ease, feels inclusive and avoids culturally appropriative terms, and addresses some of the big obstacles to our self-care practices. It frames the book so that it covers mental, physical and spiritual self-care, while walking you through each card and its magic.

OTHER BOOKS I’VE BEEN READING OR LOOKING FORWARD TO READING:

Pam Grossman’s Waking The Witch, Theresa Reed’s Astrology for Real Life, Astrea Taylor’s Intuitive Witchcraft, Apocalyptic Witchcraft by Peter Grey, Gabriela Herstik’s Bewitching The Elements, Juliet Diaz’ Witchery, Working Conjure by Hoodoo Sen Moise, The Door to Witchcraft by Tonya A Brown, The Astrology of Sex & Love by Anabel Gat, Weaving The Liminal by Laura Tempest Zakroff,

IAlso recommended: Catland Book’s Monthly Reader’s Coven (which I subscribe to, and which delivers gorgeous books to my door, monthly).

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Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine--a popular magazine focused on literature, magical living, and identity. She is the author of "Light Magic for Dark Times," a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices, as well as "The Magical Writing Grimoire: Use the Word as Your Wand for Magic, Manifestation & Ritual." She can be found writing about trauma recovery, writing as a healing tool, chronic illness, everyday magic, and poetry. She's written for The New York Times, Refinery 29, Self, Chakrubs, Marie Claire, Narratively, Catapult, Sabat Magazine, Healthline, Bust, Hello Giggles, Grimoire Magazine, and more. Lisa Marie has taught writing and ritual workshops at HausWitch in Salem, MA, Manhattanville College, and Pace University. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University.

3 Dream Magic Rituals And Practices

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

"In sleep, I become a garden of roses blooming in the dark."

Sleep is a kind of medicine. It rejuvenates the body, but it also expands our minds, lets us play in other realms, and invites us to listen in on our subconscious. In dreaming, we receive messages and insights — which we can question and reflect on. We are our own oracles, in a sense.

The ancient Greeks believed that pre-sleeping rituals — bathing or refraining from eating fish or meat — would lead to specific kinds of dreams. Hypnos, the Greek god of sleep (the actual personification of sleep) was the son of darkness (Erebus) and night (Nyx). Hypnos lived in the underworld, full of poppies and plants capable of lulling you into a soft, dark slumber. 

Through the underworld ran the river Lethe (which means 'forgetfulness,’ ‘oblivion,’ ‘concealment’, ‘unmindfulness’), an interesting intersection invoking that liminal state between awake and asleep, where we store our intuitions and risk forever forgetting what we’d just dreamt or learned. But more so, it’s easy to forget that which is and is not real, that which sinks into the depths of otherworldy waters, swept into a current that leads away from our waking state. And I find that so beautiful.

Keeping A Dream Diary

So, when we journal our dreams, we call on that place, that river, those memories. And we train our minds to live not only here — in the waking state — but down under, where messages and ancestors and our Selves live. Doing this can also help us begin to lucid dream, although that is a story another time!

Upon waking, immediately write down or record your dreams or dream fragments, noticing:

• colors

• weather, foliage, atmospheres & cosmos

• themes (rushing, being lost, exploring, abandonment, dancing)

• moods and senses

• rooms or places, unknown spaces

• emotions within the dream

• people, archetypes or obscure or out-of-picture figures

• dreams within dreams or memories, or the collapsing of reality and dream-space

• powers or lack thereof

• how you feel upon waking up

• magical influences and abilities

• desires, vices, hunger, needs

• recurrent dreams (are they the same, or slightly different?)

• words (spoken or read or even felt) that recur or that stand out

• time in which the dream occurred (night, day, during a moon phase or when the moon is a certain sign or during an astrological season)

Creating A Pre-Slumber Ritual

When we take part in ritual, we are celebrating, honoring, and calling on the richness of being alive. In ritual, we make choices, cast intentions, connect with our bodies, archetypes, and power objects, and we recognize our one-ness with the great unknown. We build a sacredness into our lives.

Whether we are taking a secular approach, or calling on ancestors, angels, or gods, we are tapping into big magic. How beautiful, how autonomous, how sacred — to visualize and conjure and cast, to create a space and fill it with energy and light and shadow?

And in a sense, sleep rituals allow us to bookend our days with magic. But they also can help us get some control over our sleep problems, like sleep paralysis (which I have, and which is often triggered by poor sleeping patterns and extreme stress), nightmares and terrors, or insomnia. If these are bad enough, we may begin to dread sleep or the sleeping environment. I know because I’ve been there!

To create a sleep ritual, one of poetry and beauty, of intentional and safety, follow these steps:

• First, create a space that feels soft, comfortable and safe for yourself. Use color magic to invoke sleep: Blue has been shown to reduce heart rates and blood pressure, while purples and silvers call on a liminal, otherworldly place. This should be your bedroom, but perhaps it’s a space you go before sleep – a nook, a little loft space, a room with a fireplace or a window looking toward the moon.

• Create an air spritz to use before bed — perhaps it's moon-water (water charged by the moon) with rose petals or lavender. Perhaps you charged water with an amethyst? The purpose is to set a tone, to prepare the space for sleep. You want to associate this spritz with positivity, safety, and softness. Create a sigil (a magical symbol made up of words and letters) that you can tape or draw onto the bottle that represents joyous and nourishing sleep.

• You might choose to bathe, stretch, dance for a few moments to get your body loose and soft, or simply listen to music while you quiet your mind. No bright lights or electronics. Dab a bit of valerian root oil onto the back of your neck or the bottom of your feet.

• Light a single candle and stare into its flame, asking to be lulled into a gentle sleep. Decide that you will remember and learn from your dreams. Simply opening your mind to this desire opens the gates.

• Write a pre-sleep poem that invokes Hypnos or any other images or ideas or messages that you are seeking. Maybe it invokes a night of sleep without nightmares or distractions? Training yourself to call on these guides or images will help your mind remember that you intentionally entering the sleep state. That you have the control.

Shadow Work & Nightmares

Healing your shadow self requires as much a commitment to self-care (sleep, nutrition, movement, kind self-thoughts) as it does mining the abyss (asking the hard questions, doing the hard work of paying attention to your real desires and fears, and excavating childhood trauma). The dark well within us is a keeper of our pain, but it is also the space where we bloom.

When we take proper care of ourselves (which can be hard when we feel undeserving or exhausted), we can peer into our guilt and shame or fear and trauma — without losing ourselves to it. We can learn from it and learn to better manage it.  Paying attention to our nightmares is a huge part of shadow work — but we must be willing to take notice of what we’re feeling, seeing, and remembering.

Use the prompts above to examine the facets of your nightmare after your wake — but use your intuition to question your dreams' core meaning. Journaling, stream-of-conscious, without questioning, editing, or censorship, usually helps us get down all of the details, even the weird ones. Don’t worry if it makes sense. Your slumber language, a sort of nightmare dialect, will begin forming in time.

What about the nightmare made you feel empty, scared, jarred, and just plain off. It’s probably best to keep a separate journal just for nightmares, as these dark dreams are ripe with very specific information and ideas about ourselves and the uncomfortable, toxic, or dark influences in our lives.

When you dream of running through a dark alleyway, who and what are you running from?

When you dream of forever missing the train, why are you missing it? 

What is the dream about on the surface? But what is it really about?

Are your dreams telling you something you’re not willing to hear?

When we settle in and get ready for truth — however harsh, cold, or intense it may be — we give ourselves a chance to get the truth out, to stop hiding from it, to start learning to manage it.

But it’s important to journal through these feelings while maintaining proper self-care. It is all a heavy process — imperfect, challenging and often lonely — that yields healing over time and with patience and self-compassion. And it doesn’t have to be done overnight.

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Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine--a popular magazine focused on literature, magical living, and identity. She is the author of "Light Magic for Dark Times," a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices, as well as "The Magical Writing Grimoire: Use the Word as Your Wand for Magic, Manifestation & Ritual." She can be found writing about trauma recovery, writing as a healing tool, chronic illness, everyday magic, and poetry. She's written for The New York Times, Refinery 29, Self, Chakrubs, Marie Claire, Narratively, Catapult, Sabat Magazine, Healthline, Bust, Hello Giggles, Grimoire Magazine, and more. Lisa Marie has taught writing and ritual workshops at HausWitch in Salem, MA, Manhattanville College, and Pace University. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University.

Nimue, The Deity, Came To Me In A Dream

BY BERE PARRA

It might be surprising given the fact that I am a witch but let me begin with a confession: I am not a spiritual person. Not in the traditional way, at least. My brain is a perpetual motion machine. The closest thing I can do to meditating is journaling. Elaborate ceremonial rituals? I get so caught up in the details that it’s impossible for me to settle down and focus on the intentions. My conversations with Satan take the shape of inner dialogs and monologs, and I address him as a close relative or friend, and only rarely with the solemnity described in countless volumes of dark ceremonial literature. Standing still is a nearly impossible feat. And so on.

For me to be able to engage into a relationship or dialog with a deity or a spirit, I must enter a long creative process. My hands must be able to get a feel of it, whether it’s through the typing of the keys, or crocheting or knitting a piece of thread as I visualize a specific goal, or planting flower seeds in a pot. Magick and witchcraft are thus made tangible to me in a way that is more immediate and, in my personal experience, more powerful.

Imagine the shock when a deity entered my life unsummoned and without any effort on my part. I had not been reading about her or thinking about petitioning her at all. I didn’t even know her. Not consciously, at least.

She came to me in a dream. I didn’t know who she was at first, this huge, beautiful being, her body similar to that of a snail or a slug but devoid of many of the traits that make these creatures repulsive in the eyes of so many. Her skin was translucent, its shade a musty yellow. She had no visible extremities, but she had this gorgeous, benevolent face. Her green, almond-shaped eyes reminded me of those of a friend I haven’t seen in over a decade. Her mere hint of a smile put me at ease. She didn’t speak to me, she communicated only through energy. Once I woke up I couldn’t remember what she had ‘said’ to me. Only vague sketches of what I had witnessed, and the feeling of absolute bliss and comfort, remained in mind, along with one single word: Nimue. I kept whispering it like a mantra, again and again, afraid that if I didn’t preserve it through spoken language it would vanish, as most of the dream had by then. The name felt familiar, like I had heard it or said it before, only many years ago.

As it often happens with old deities, Nimue has had several names and representations throughout the centuries: the Lady of the Lake, Vivien(ne), Niman(ne), etc. She’s even been linked to the Welsh mythical figure of Rhiannon. Her most culturally impactful appearance is in the Matter of Britain (that corpus of legends of which the most outstanding and popular one is the Arthurian cycle). As I was reading all this, I remembered when I had first heard the name: “Merlin”, the 1998 NBC miniseries. However, none of the stories featuring these names, myths, and legends coincided with the gentle, immense being that had appeared in my dream. In all the manufactured literature and imagery of Nimue, she is either a sorceress, or some type of water fairy. Her temper seems rather changeable, or she’s downright evil.

She also seemed to have a relevance only depending on her role in the Arthurian legends: in many cases she is said to have been the keeper of Excalibur, the powerful sword that decided so many fates of heroes and villains alike; whereas in other versions of the stories she is either an apprentice-turned-enemy of Merlin, or Merlin’s lover/life companion. I couldn’t find any rituals, prayers, or ceremonies in honor of Nimue, either. The lack of conclusiveness of my research endeavors frustrated me and I decided to let the topic rest for a couple of days. Maybe something would come up.

For a few years now, in a most random and not at all frequent manner, I have dreamed of unnatural bodies of water: think of huge fountains with pillars and statues, shallow enough for you to be able to see the tiles at the bottom; located in the center of a thick forest, all clouded in green. The water looked a bit yellow here and there. Sometimes they look almost haunted and yet I have never felt fear when I have dreamed these places. On another occasion I dreamt about a huge bathroom-house located beneath a huge tree.

It looked like a combination of the bath house in Hayao Miyazaki’s “Spirited Away” and the prefects’ bathroom in Harry Potter, with the aura of “The wind in the willows”. Several small rooms, some of them with beautiful glasswork windows, through which I could see the light cascade in. The water smelled of candy and roses, herbs and fruits, all fresh and clean and alive. When Nimue visited my dreams, it happened in one of these wilderness fountains. There seemed to be a group of them, one after another, all connected by what looked like tunnels.

The morning right after I dreamed of Nimue I tweeted about it, explaining some of my initial impressions about Nimue: her appearance, her energy, and so on. I shared the results of my first online research, feeling excited at my discoveries and trying to understand why she had chosen to appear. What was her message? Why didn’t I remember it? Did she even have any message at all? Maybe she was just trying to introduce herself and my later research on her had been the message. And then, I remembered my complicated story with water.

When I was five we went on vacation to Cancún. Even though my mother kept a watchful eye on me, I managed to sneak out of the kids’ pool and jumped into another one not far off, where there were several people, mostly adults, swimming. It was one of those rectangular pools that gets deeper as you approach one of the sides and I didn’t realize this until was too late. The little lifesaver I was wearing wasn’t enough. I started panicking and flapping up and down and I had this certainty that I was going to die. At one point I sank to the bottom of the pool…I still remember how it felt to be swallowed by the depth of the water. Then, bam: somebody grabbed my arms and pulled me up. I don’t remember exactly what happened after that, I think it was some man who fished me out and he said something to me.

Even though sunlight was blinding my sight, I can still experience the huge relief it was to be out of the water. Maybe I cried a little, I don’t know. I think I walked back to where my mother was and told her about what had happened, but all those memories have almost faded by now. The only clear memory of that experience is that feeling of drowning, sinking, and then being pulled up. My relationship with the water element has been complex ever since; even though my sun and rising signs are both water and I love to look at the sea, and to take long relaxing baths whenever there’s a bathtub in sight, I’ve never felt at ease in water: there’s an intense attraction but also an impending and haunting sense of danger. I took swimming lessons as a child, a few years after that incident, but I was too afraid and dropped out after a couple of weeks.

The day after I had the dream I grabbed my magick journal and wrote a few lines about my dream encounter with Nimue. I also did a little drawing of her which came out better than I expected. As I was coloring it I kept asking her: “What is it that you want or need me to do? Are you inviting me to get re-acquainted with water?” Oddly enough, and despite my fear, the only physical activity that has ever appealed to me is swimming – mainly because sweat isn’t a factor when you’re immersed in water. But my trauma has always pulled me back, kept me away from trying again. “Maybe you’re just telling me I need to drink more water,” I told her.

To this moment, I keep wondering.

My mother has told me the story of my birth hundreds of times and I always enjoy it the same way: it always feels thrilling and new. Part of the reason why it’s so exciting is that I was one of those babies who moved a lot when I was in the womb, which caused my umbilical cord to get tangled around my neck. From my mother’s recollection of events, the interns who were assisting during my delivery hadn’t noticed this issue until it was almost too late.

There was quite a great deal of obstetric violence involved, of which I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say I am rather fortunate to be alive and typing this. The reason I bring this up is because when we’re in the womb we’re essentially enveloped by water. It’s our crib, our safe space, our first home. A few years ago, during my time managing a holistic center, a couple of practitioners offered something called ‘rebirth therapy’. I didn’t trust those practitioners enough to undergo such a delicate process, but I did read the literature and, indeed, it sounded a lot like something I should consider: the facilitators create a safe, sacred, and intimate space within or near a body of water, which can be natural or artificial, and then they lead the participant(s) through a

recreation of the moment of their birth. Rebirth therapy borrows from Jodorowsky’s psychomagic theory, and it also incorporates shamanic approaches and Jungian undertones. You can understand now why I didn’t feel comfortable doing this with people I hardly knew.

Before reading about rebirth therapy I’d never considered myself a trauma survivor but, coming to think of it, birth is trauma.

As we grow up, that experience gets buried under hundreds of layers, aided by memory, experience, societal conventions, and many other distractions. Those fortunate enough to have been born naturally and without complications might not need therapy or any other form of healing as they grow up, but for many of us the trauma will always sit there, unacknowledged and untreated, in the depths of our consciousness. We may even find its echoes in later experiences we go through.

Who hasn’t had the feeling that there is ‘something’ not quite in place, not quite alright, in the back of our minds? I have the privilege and fortune of having a close relationship with my mother, with whom I get to have conversations every day. We talk about these things: words are tools to fish for trauma in the depths of our subconscious: talk to your parents and grandparents if you’re able to. If they’re not around, become the detective of your past and research your own life as much as possible. The depths of the past can be scary, but I promise you that you will find the answers to many questions, and you will then be able to know what hurts and how to heal it.

After several years sitting with this knowledge in my mind, it has dawned on me that any type of reinvention or renaissance we consciously go through in adult life, which are in fact different types of rebirth, is often triggered or preceded by some form of crisis or trauma. When Nimue appeared to me in my dream, surrounded by bodies of water, her skin glistening with moisture, her face radiating kindness and peace, it made me engage in a cycle of self-analysis. I started asking myself questions I didn’t even know I had before dreaming of the Lady of the Lake:

What is missing from my life now?

What hurts?

Is there something in my past I wished I could ‘go back and fix’?

How can I reprise and heal my relationship with water?

Water: that was the key for me. Tears I’ve shed throughout the last decade or so, product of disappointments, betrayals, and bad experiences. A pain that dwells in the empty places in my heart. Acceptance and gratitude for the past, even if it brought me pain. Most of all: I concluded I need to make peace with my element (I am a Pisces sun with Scorpio rising, no less). Even biology backs me up on this:

our bodies are mostly made of water. At my age, my head hurts when I start to get dehydrated. About a year before Nimue came to me in dreams, I began to long for a vacation at sea level, which is odd because I’ve always felt more at ease in cold, urban settings. All signs pointed to a reconciliation: I need water in my life. I need to be more like water: relentless, shapeshifting, powerful, flow with ease, cleanse everything in my way, allow myself to adapt and to constantly transform. This was Nimue’s message to me: “Befriend me, come back, return to the water from which you came, realize it has always been your safe space…”.

I moved to Guanajuato City a little over a year ago. It has been one of the best decisions I’ve made. There is a state-of-the-art public pool nearby, it would take me a 10-minute bus ride to get there, and the admission fee is extremely accessible. I can’t wait to see it for myself, and who knows? Maybe I will enroll for swimming lessons or aqua-aerobics. I don’t care if I only waddle in it or if I stay behind when they do laps, I don’t even mind if I don’t learn to do laps at all. I just want to say hello to an old friend, to make amends for taking so long to get back in touch. I want to feel myself float, and to recognize Nimue’s skin in water’s surface.

No doubt her skin will look bluer than in my dream, but I know she will be there. She is already waiting for me.

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Bere Parra is a Mexican theistic satanic witch residing in Guanajuato, Mexico. She majored in Hispanic Literature and has had many occupations: teacher, executive assistant, holistic center manager, translator, and social media pro. She has innate strong connection and interest in the occult practices, which led to her 'coming out of the broom closet' in 2018. She mainly works with Satan, whom she considers her father figure and main guiding light, but she often works with the ad and blessing of Lilith and the lady Moon. Her life mission is to shine a light on the 'uncomfortable' truths most people like to ignore. The shadows are her second home and greatest teachers. Website. Twitter. Instagram.

Astrological Shadow Work: Healing Writing Prompts

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

Astrology helps us look at the many luminous (and perhaps limiting) narratives that impact and define humanity. Hanging above us in the stars in an illustrated fabric of what it means to be human: To want, to hurt, to self-destruct, to transform, to find justice, to intuit, to survive. You don’t need to ‘believe’ in astrology, though (although of course, if you’re here, you probably do turn to it from time to time).

Like tarot, these narratives offer a system by which to reflect. And let’s be honest — it’s fascinating.

And because each and every sign offers lessons and ideas on our potential (and perhaps our limitations), you can use these prompts in several ways: You can work with them for your sun, moon, or rising signs, or you can use every single one, as the moon enters each sign almost every two and a half days. 

An example: If you don’t have any Scorpio in your chart, for example, you can still use its prompt; just wait for the moon to enter Scorpio. Use the Scorpio energy to reflect on its prompt. Each sign offers valuable lessons and insights.

Below, prompts around the deeper, heavier, murkier aspects of the sun signs. Want more like this? The Magical Writing Grimoire (it’s out in 2020 and the cover/title isn’t finalized, but any of you witchy writers you can add it to your list!) includes magical and ritual writing prompts, practices and guided meditations.

Aries

What, in your triumphant, hard blaze, are you hiding from? Is there a softness you can grant yourself? What would it look like if you could undress in the light of flexibility? Does it pay to hold tight and remain stoic, or are you limiting yourself? 

Taurus

What happens when ugliness seeps in? What will you do to honor it without losing yourself? Can you handle the lack? What happens when there’s nothing around to beautify the void? What can you bring out of yourself, organically?

Gemini

When you silence or suppress one part of yourself, how does it feel? How can you worship at the feet of your multitudes? How can you become a chameleon without losing yourself? What does your foundation look like?

Cancer

When you are unsafe, can you find an anchor? If the sea keeps rocking, how can you find your strength without capsizing? How can you learn to let nostalgia bloom without its vines suffocating you? What does safety feel like inside your body?

Leo

Sometimes, you are so busy roaring you don’t hear the small sounds of morning and night. Meditate on this. What’s in front of you? What happens when the radiance machine stops working? Can there be power in the darkness? How can you be proud of yourself even when your crown falls off?

Virgo

In the chaos, there is a song. What does it sound like? Outside of the lines, you find yourself. When you are shapeless, what are you free to become? Can you find worth in the wildness, or hold space for the imperfect self? What happens when you dismantle the cliché?

Libra

What can you learn about yourself when you feel imbalanced? Is there authenticity to be found when you’re not busy balancing and performing seeking and connecting? What is found beneath the robe — and then beneath even that? Who are you when everyone goes home?

Scorpio

You feel the hum of power in the dark, but are you the architect of your own misery? Do you stay guarded in the shadows because it’s safer than letting the light in? Part the curtains. What can grow when you learn to differentiate the well from the water? What happens when you stop being jealous of the sky? 

Sagittarius

How can you learn what it feels like stay — with others, with yourself — when you always want to keep moving? Are you running?  What happens when the ideas and the wanderlust leave you empty? What happens when you stop wearing the mask? Who are you when you take the wings off and stand still?

Capricorn

Imagine the wild, wide desert. You are lost. You are thirsty. You are rescued. What happens when you learn to drink from someone else’s palm? Can you find peace in needing someone or something other than yourself? Can you lean into the softness, the slowness? Who are you when you aren’t in control?

Aquarius

Can you operate deep underground? Can you burrow into the murky waters of fear and love and want? What happens when you get naked and sit in the garden of your dark? When you don’t have a bird’s-eye view, when you comeinrealcloselikethis can you feel the granules? What do they feel like?

Pisces

What does it look like when you step out of the dream world? Can you remain here, and now, when fantasy and reality fail to merge? Can you intuit yourself? Are you able to hold space for your hopes — without crumbling under their impossible beauty? When you look your self-destruction in the face, what do you say to it? 

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Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine--a digital diary of literature, magical living and idea. She is the author of "Light Magic for Dark Times," a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices and the forthcoming "The Magical Writing Grimoire: Use The Word As Your Wand for Ritual, Magic, and Manifesation." She's also the author of a few poetry collections, including 2018's "Nympholepsy." Her work encounters the intersection of ritual, wellness, chronic illness, overcoming trauma, and creativity, and she has written for The New York Times, Chakrubs, Narratively, Catapult, Sabat Magazine, Healthline, The Establishment, Refinery 29, Bust, Hello Giggles, and more. Her work can be seen in Best Small Fictions, Best American Experimental Writing, and several other anthologies. Lisa Marie earned a Masters degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University.

The Witches of Bushwick: On Cult Party, Connection, and Magic

BY CALLIE HITCHCOCK        

Every time I walk into Cult Party, an all women-run intersectional feminist witch shop in Bushwick which opened in 2017, there are new magical objects bursting from each fold and corner. Every item is held in a delicate, seemingly impossible, possibly magical, balance. They have dangle earrings depicting Venus of Willendorf — the plump, breasty figure who dots the pages of every anthropology and art history textbook ever printed, and is a symbol of fertility said to date back to 25,000 BCE; a gold plastic trophy plated with “Raging Pansexual” at the bottom; dragon’s blood artisan incense; spell candles; a vest with a print of the tarot card queen of cups; energy crystals; and honey laced with CBD, a chemical found in marijuana that is legal to sell.

These are a few of the things I notice when I attend Cult Party’s reading for Kristen Sollée’s Witches, Sluts, Feminists : Conjuring The Sex Positive, where other writers read from their work as well. The air in this small corridor space is heavily perfumed and the murmur of women conversing feels hypnotic, warm, ancient.

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I have no extensive experience with witchcraft, but I do have a previous interest in astrology and tarot cards. My nature has always been inclined toward narrativization, introspection, analyzation, pinning things down. As a neurotic, organizing my experiences, fears, and hopes with astrology and tarot was always a relaxing and practical illusion. 

Kristen Sollée stands at the front as she hugs Jacqueline Frances, a woman in a black latex catsuit who I recognize as the admin for a popular Instagram account called Jaq the Stripper which chronicles their life as a stripper and works to create solidarity for sex-workers. Kristen is wearing a long hot pink jacket and matching lipstick with pink glitter. Something feels odd about her but I can’t tell what– until I realize she has no eyebrows.

Kristen begins to speak. The crowd quiets down, without her having to ask. Kristen knows her stuff — her articles on witches are published widely and she is co-founder of the Occult Humanities Conference, a lecturer at The New School, and founding editor of Slutist, a sex positive feminist website. She commands the room, with the breadth of knowledge and immersion into witch culture, while maintaining an open, approachable mien. From her book she reads about the mythos of women as witches throughout history and what the female witch represents:

“The witch is a shapeshifter. She transforms from vixen to hag, healer to hellion, adversary to advocate based on who seeks her,” she says. It reminds me of Kali Ma, the Hindu goddess of birth and destruction and of the enormous power that human society has long seemed to both worship and fear in women. The burning of witches is a manifestation of this contradiction and it is the same contradiction that informs why women are shamed and policed for their sexuality today. That women have reclaimed the image of the witch as a symbol of autonomy, comes as no surprise. 

When the last reader of the night says, “The power and the energy in the room with everyone reading was tangible to me,” I agree with her. I feel lighter, on a higher plane of solace and joy with all the women in the room and the readers who shared their stories. I walk to the back to buy some CBD oil and I meet Cult Party’s owner Debbie Allen. As Debbie rings up my receipt, I chat with her about the space and she tells me that she is so happy that she has been able to create a store dedicated to “holding space for women.” I’m happy too.

~~

Cult Party demonstrates an increased cultural interest in the occult over the past few years. Today, witchcraft maintains an emphasis on ritual, community, spirituality, and healing, while focusing on feminist undertones and eschewing dogmatic religious ties. 

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🔥Welcum to Hell 🔥

A post shared by Kristen J. Sollée (@kristenkorvette) on Jun 28, 2019 at 11:04am PDT

In her book, Sollée writes that she was drawn to the character of Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty because “she was the witch I wanted to be: a woman in control… like many millennial women, I see a reclamation of female power in the witch, slut, and feminist identities.”

Witch practice is experiencing new vogue among millennials. Laurie Penny, a journalist and self-described “former spooky girl” muses that “a general sense of powerlessness in a chaotic and competitive society, along with a revived interest in forms of feminism that don’t care who they frighten, may explain the growing appeal of hedge magic as a cultural aesthetic as much as a practice.” Witchcraft transverses many axes — female empowerment, community, belonging, and a system of beliefs and values. 

The competition and chaos Penny describes also correlates with the increasing reliance on the growing gig economy of contract or freelance work. Many millennials are left without health insurance, a salary, or retirement benefits.

The workplace has become decentralized, and a large chunk of interpersonal interactions have been siloed into social media. An isolation forged from aimlessness, and lack of structure have taken the place of older forms of social belonging. Millennials are all looking for a way to scrape up some softness and humanity where they can.

~~

Back at Cult Party, the source of the magic, I see the owner Debbie Allen carrying a glass from home with iced coffee in it. It is a sunny afternoon and she’s holding the leash of a hearty squish of a dog that she is looking after for a friend. His name is Lear. “I call him a chicken nugget. If he was left in the wild he would be a snack,” says Debbie as we huddle together in the back by the register and the wall with a rainbow painted on it.

Debbie is in her thirties, has long brown hair and bangs that softly curve around her face. Her kind smile and unhurried gait match the warm spring day and she seems so relaxed and happy that my imagination will keep reconfiguring this memory of her as also barefoot on the pavement. Lear whines constantly, possibly from being away from his true momma, and giving him attention doesn’t salve his unsoothable pout for long. I feel an uncomfortable kinship with Lear in this but choose to focus on the task at hand. 

Cult Party, Debbie tells me, started as a seven person collective in July of 2017 and the remaining members are Debbie and Al Benkin, a short-haired blonde artist, also in her thirties, who joins Debbie and I. Now the store runs as a co-op where vendors rent space to sell their wares and take turns manning the shop. Debbie and Al met while vending around town. Debbie was selling her brand of clothes, pins, stickers and patches called Hissy Fit, and Al was selling her art. The conversation moves towards the occult and Debbie tells me about her first inklings of her witch identity.

“I was always the kid playing with ouija boards, trances, seances, always getting in trouble at Christian camp,” she says, recalling that as she got older she would take her friends to the roof of her house to write down intentions and burn them. I ask Al if she identifies as a witch and she says, “I'm not against witchy things, I do believe we have more energy in the matter. I think different stones carry different energy but I'm not super woo-y about it. I'm a lot more science based than anything.”

We chew on the merits of a witchcraft practice for a few moments before Al suggests why feminism and witchcraft have historically gone hand in hand. “People manifest their own reality in their beliefs and people want to feel like they have some power in their decisions.” Witchcraft fosters a sense of power of self-determination, and feminism aims to create self-determination against perennial sexism and misogyny.

“I think it really helps people set the course for their quality of life in some way. It gives them a moral code and standards to abide by that makes them feel like they're being a good person and I don't think theres anything wrong with that,” continues Al. Moral code, ritual, symbolism — the touchstones of any meaningful religious practice. 

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Come in and peruse all this cute shit✨🕯🖤🕯✨open everyday except Monday 12-8⚡️

A post shared by Cult Party (@cultpartynyc) on Jun 20, 2019 at 1:26pm PDT

Debbie adds: “When I dropped Christianity I went through a phase where I wasn't into anything.” She’s not alone.

According to a 2017 study by Pew Research center, 27 percent of millennials ages 18-29 attend religious services weekly compared to 38 percent of baby boomers and 51 percent of the parents of baby boomers. With a lack of trust in old belief systems, and a lack of trust in political leaders (Donald Trump only got 37% of the millennial vote), where do the non-religious go to find guidance?

Without social trust of politicians or structured belief systems, it can be hard to know where to look for a system of values or a narrative to turn to for meaning. Debbie explains that she started practicing witchcraft more heavily when she had been in her T-shirt company job for ten years and credits witchcraft with helping her set a new course for her life. She started to do more witch ceremonies with her friends to set intentions like she did on her roof as a teenager. 

“I don't know how much of the magic part of it I believe, but I do see when I put things out there, they come back. So in a real world way if you put out there what you want, you'll start to see opportunities present themselves,” says Debbie.  

“You have to tell the universe what you want,” Al concurs.   

For Debbie, rituals served as a kind of therapy — a way to check in with herself and set personal goals. A witch ceremony is a way to really immerse herself in paying attention to what her inner self wants to say. “When you're living your authentic life, instead of hiding or lying to yourself, things start appearing. Since I started, things just start happening weirdly. Synchronicity. Things start fitting into place.” 

Al’s face has been slowly illuminating. 

“You know what, I'll try that. I'm not anti, I will try it.” 

Debbie’s calm yet vital aura is infectious. When she talks about witchcraft as a place of healing and ceremony, something in the core of my humanity lights up– a need basking in its articulation.

I decide to attend my first full moon ceremony at the shop.

~~

Callie Hitchcock

On a dark March evening I bike to the little Bushwick store, unaware of the impending rainstorm. Debbie, the house witch Staci Ivori, two other ladies, Lear the dog, and I huddle into the cold little shop.

A few of us shuffle our feet and awkwardly try to find a space to sit or stand that is out of the way of Staci readying the altar. I start talking to Alayna, who has come in from Long Island. She wears a pink dress with a moon scene on it and sparkly square toed boots. Within minutes we are already discussing bad boyfriends. An old boyfriend of hers didn’t like her witch dealings or aesthetic, and wanted her to cut her hair.

We laugh and exchange more stories of personal feminist heroics and rebellions. The inimitable female intimacy of the encounter warms up my bones; I revel in the ease with which I can connect with most women so quickly and deeply. No shame, no one-upmanship, no hiding. 

Debbie had told me about the purpose of full moon circles: “It's really important to have a safe place where you can speak and not feel judged or shut down.” A full moon circle is meant to be a space where women get a reprieve from quotidian interruptions, disrespect, or feeling like their ideas and interiority are ignored because of their gender. 

To begin the full moon ceremony we sit down in a circle around a square bandana with a blue and red geometric pattern. This is our altar — the bandana is decorated with crystals, geodes, sage, candles, a beaded necklace, and seashells. We are instructed by Staci to put on the altar an object that we want to be charged. Some women have brought their own crystals, some put in their jewelry, and I put in my pen for lack of an object, but feel chuffed realizing that it has symbolic significance for my nascent writing career. My pen needs all the energy it can get. 

After making salutations to the north, west, east, south, sky and ground, we go around the circle and each woman gets a chance to do an emotional check-in on our head and our heart. We each go around and say what’s on our minds in life right now and how we are feeling emotionally. I share about writing projects I’m worried about and how I’m feeling about a new guy I’m dating.

As the night wears on, I slowly steep in the warm sharing energy of the group. Everyone is open, honest, and taking great care to foster a kind of sacred space opening up between all the women in the circle. Later on we do a self breast massage which might have initially seemed silly, but by that point in the evening I am in a relaxed meditative state and it all makes sense. We have to release negative energy and demonstrate physical care toward ourselves among other women.

At the end Staci asks us to write down some introspective questions. What are some areas in life that have meaning to me? What makes me feel nurtured? We share our answers and make promises to ourselves in the form of a mantra. Mine is, “remember my power.” Afterward, I feel closer to these women and everyone seems relaxed, happy, and caring. Everyone is very concerned about me riding home in the rain but I roll away into the night, the glow of the little shop fading behind me. 

~~

The next time I’m at Cult Party, they are hosting a clothing drive for a women’s shelter. As I walk into the store I hear someone say “I wish I could live here,” as they study some of the colorful bits and bobs of the shop. I see Debbie, and we talk with her friend about the full moon ceremony Debbie and I attended. Lear is puttering around the shop, still without his mom but remarkably less whiny and more relaxed with his surroundings this time around.

I am eventually drawn to the tarot card reader in the corner. Her name is Claire. She looks like a young Professor Trelawney– long blonde hair, big stone earrings, matching necklace, and large wire rim glasses. I put ten dollars in her donation jar and we begin. She starts by holding my hand while I hold the tarot card deck in the other. I moved to New York a few months ago and haven’t had much physical human contact, so her hand holding mine is a little startling but really nice. As I tell her about my question for the cards and we begin to pull them, I get this spine tingling feeling in my lower back.

This happens every time I get my cards read or when I’m being “seen” somehow by the divine– coffee ground readers in Istanbul, palm readers at a fair. It’s not the same as the excited, but mostly depthless feeling of astrology– where it is fun to find characteristic matches like, say, a crossword puzzle, but it never calls up my core. The tingly feeling is a manifestation of a few things — having someone dedicate such directed care and energy toward me, plus a sense that with our interpretation of the cards we are channeling something higher, sacred, divine. For a brief moment we are calling up something written in this shared moment of curiosity and discovery– the humanity in a desire to learn the truth. 

And in the end it is an act of care. Getting my tarot cards read feels like when someone unexpectedly gives me a shoulder massage. I hold very still, in an effort to not spook them, and so that it might continue forever. But the feeling of wanting it to last as long as possible clouds the pure goodness of the feeling. It nags me out of the moment– always keeping one eye on the inevitable end while wishing it away instead of enjoying and appreciating the moment of care. 

A 2017 study in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine showed that for people aged 19-32, hours of internet and social media usage heavily correlates with feelings of isolation and loneliness. That this is the same age group of women taking up witchcraft, does not feel like a mistake.

Alex Mar, author of Witches of America, wrote after her long investigation of witch groups across America that “We don’t need a consensus on what does or does not have meaning.” We merely need “strategies for staying alive.” She concluded, “When you have that feeling, of an encounter with something greater than yourself– however subtle, whatever form it takes, trust it. It is evidence enough.”

Rolling away from Cult Party on my bike again I think she’s right. Something like religion is really just a way to feel a solace of the human spirit with others. Reaching out for a cosmology, a social space, and a sense of power over our own destinies– this can take any form. 

The last two cards I pulled with Claire were Temperance, signifying a balance and two forces coming together to change each other; and Six of Pentacles, signifying an exchange between two people for a give and take. The cards have spoken. 

---

Callie Hitchcock is a journalism Master's student at NYU in the Cultural Reporting and Criticism program. Callie has written on gender, sexuality, and culture for Slate, LA Review of Books, Slutever, Bust Magazine, and The Believer.

7 Magical & Inclusive New Books Witches Must Read

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

I’m swimming in magic right now — thanks to a few beautiful books I’m either reading or anxiously waiting to read. It is safe to say that the Witch is having a moment — but she’s always been here. She may look different culture to culture, and perhaps the language we use when we discuss her is different (magic is personal, after all), but her mainstream popularity doesn’t erase the fact that the witch, as archetype and practitioner, has always been a force for autonomy, growth, wisdom and wildness.

I’m so glad we get to live in a time when more and more of us are connecting with the otherness, wildness, and power of the witch. Luna Luna has been exploring the witch since we were born in 2013, and it’s a beautiful thing to see conversations, books, podcasts, movies, and general culture remain captivated by witchery.

And while there is a lot to be done to promote a deeper understanding of witchcraft and magical practices in general (you know, like speaking out against the co-opting capitalist agendas that reduce magic to a tee-shirt or a thoughtless starter witch kit) — there are SO many books adding to the conversation by bringing inclusivity and context and accessibility to the craft. Here are a few I’m reading or looking the fuck forward to:

Pam Grossman’s Waking the Witch: Reflections on Women, Magic, and Power

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Exciting news! Pam’s book WAKING THE WITCH is coming out from @gallerybooks on June 4, 2019. It’s available for pre-order now at all the usual places. Link in our Stories. ⚡️📚🌙🔺

A post shared by The Witch Wave (@witchwavepod) on Oct 15, 2018 at 8:01am PDT

If you’ve been following me or Luna Luna for anytime, you know I’m a huge fan of Pam Grossman and her incredible work toward unpacking and exploring the witch. Whether it’s through her own writing or via her not-to-be-missed podcast, The Witch Wave, Pam (and her guests) explores the story of the rich fabric of magic both ancient and modern. I’m looking forward to reading her book’s examination of the witch as an enduring figure in culture, while learning more about how Pam came to the practice. Yes, please. Preorder here.

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Shewolfe and Beatrix Gravesguard The Astrological Grimoire: Timeless Horoscopes, Modern Rituals, and Creative Altars for Self-Discovery

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our book, THE ASTROLOGICAL GRIMOIRE, is officially entering the world next Tuesday, April 9 🔮📖✨ to celebrate, we will be doing a special pub day broadcast on @bffdotfm, and we are giving away pairs of copies for you and your witchy bestie 👯‍♀️✨👯‍♂️ TO ENTER: comment with a question about the #astrogrimoire you’d like answered on air next week, and tag a witchy pal who would love a grimoire too 🌬✨

A post shared by Astral Projection Radio Hour (@witchradio) on Apr 4, 2019 at 11:52am PDT

I got my hands on this gorgeous book a few weeks ago and I’m totally in love with it. Instead of tackling astrology by describing only the sun signs, this book (by the creators of Witch Radio!) explores the intersection of one’s whole chart, along with providing altar decoration ideas, moon phase meditations, and affirmations for each sign. I’ve been using the book as a way to connect with my Big 3 (sun, moon, and rising signs) during particular moon phases, in addition to deepening my relationship with my Scorpio sun. It’s accessible, beautifully designed, and refreshing. Order it here.

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Colin Bedell’s Queer Cosmos: The Astrology of Queer Identities & Relationships

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I’m thrilled to share my book “Queer Cosmos: The Astrology of Queer Identities & Relationships” by Cleis Press debuts this November 12th!✨ Marianne Williamson is writing the foreword on Pluto in Scorpio. Reflecting on spirituality’s role in the AIDS Crisis to situate the reader in a legacy of spiritual seeking in queer activist spaces. ⚡️ Responding to loneliness as a public health crisis, I wrote “Queer Cosmos” to operationalize Astrology as an antidote for shame and tool for authenticity in queer lives. Since our level of self-acceptance qualifies our relationship health. For compatibility, I summarized key findings on learnable skill-based romantic proficiency and outlined all 144 sign combinations as 144 invitations for relational success. ✨ I’m no soloist so I’ve interviewed Astrologers and enthusiasts across the identity spectrum who will share how Astrology informs their intersectional self-inquiry and relationships for both visibility and representation. ⚡️ So the book begins with history from my (she)ro. I wrote why the queer zodiac is loved inspired by the people I fell in love with. And it concludes with the courage of those I admire deeply. “Queer Cosmos” is my life’s work and with love on every page, it’s my hope that it could be more than a resource but medicine for loneliness as it explores the giving and receiving of love. You can preorder in my bio link! 🏳️‍🌈

A post shared by ♅ QUEER ASTROLOGY ♅ (@queercosmos) on Apr 3, 2019 at 5:36am PDT

I’m no expert on astrology by any stretch. Rather, I am a dedicated enthusiast who places a lot of importance on the important lessons the archetypes of the zodiac can teach us about ourselves. For this reason, I’ve been a big fan of Colin Bedell.

His Instagram account, @queercosmos, is a true treasure, as he shares beautiful, empowering, and inclusive insights around the cosmos and astrology. (He’s also hilarious). I found his book, A Little Bit of Astrology, a necessarily updated look at the zodiac. Instead of leaning into tropes and reductions around the zodiac, he reframes astrology in ways that make you think about your worth and self and truth. I can’t wait for Queer Cosmos: The Astrology of Queer Identities & Relationships, not only because we need more texts that approach the queer identity as it relates to magic and the cosmos, but because Bedell brings Midas’ touch to everything. Preorder here.

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Theresa Reed and Shaheen Miro’s Tarot for Troubled Times: Confront Your Shadow, Heal Your Self & Transform the World

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Super pumped about my upcoming book with coauthor @shaheenthedream !!! #Repost @shaheenthedream with @get_repost ・・・ New Book Alert! . @thetarotlady and I have a new book coming out called: Tarot for Troubled Times. We’re excited to share this amazing guide to Confront Your Shadow, Heal Yourself and Transform the World with Tarot!! . You can check out a preview of the book by following the link in my bio. And, preorder the book at your favorite bookseller.

A post shared by The Tarot Lady (@thetarotlady) on Feb 16, 2019 at 4:40pm PST

I literally can’t say just how excited I am about this book. I’ve been a long-time fan of Theresa Reed and use her Tarot Coloring Book a lot as a way to reflect and enter a meditative state. This book, which you can preorder, approaches the tarot in a new light: It approaches tarot as a tool for meditation on illness, depression, addiction and oppression — real issues that we must confront. I believe that anything that gets us to safely confront our shadow selves is a useful tool in our wellness arsenals, allowing us to have more autonomy over our healing — especially in a world where that autonomy is stripped from us on the regular. Preorder here.

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Amanda Yates Garcia’s Initiated: Memoir of a Witch

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INITIATED IS NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-SALE. . INITIATED is a love letter, a magical incantation dedicated to the wild people of the world. . I wrote it for the witches, the weirdos and wanderers. . I wrote it for those who are lost in the underworld and those who’ve returned still licking their wounds. . I wrote this book for anyone who wants to rise up in collective action to re-enchant the world. . To each of you, I offer this book in love. . Pre-order sales make a huge difference to first time authors. Sometimes it means the difference between being able to publish another book or not. . If you like my work and want to support it, pre-ordering is the way to go. Grab your own copy via the lynk en byo. Xo ❤️❤️❤️ . #firsttimeauthor #bookstagram #memoir #witchcraft #magic

A post shared by Amanda Yates Garcia (@oracleofla) on Mar 28, 2019 at 9:39am PDT

I haven’t finished this book yet, but I am so enjoying it as I read it. This feels like a crucially important work, as the book reflects on not only the deep and personal experience of initiation, but also on sex work, ancestry, poverty, and the body reclaimed. Its message is clear: “Initiated is both memoir and manifesto calling the magical people of the world to take up their wands: stand up, be brave, describe the world they want, then create it like a witch.” I’m loving the language in this book, the message it conveys, and the fact that a book like this is being shared with the world at this time. Preorder here.

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Mya Spalter’s Enchantments: A Modern Witch's Guide to Self-Possession 

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@grrrrlafraid asked me some truly excellent questions in this EXCLUSIVE interview. Check us out! Link in bio 🔗 #nerddreamscometrue #magic #witchesofinstagram ・・・ This spooky season has us counting down to Halloween 🎃. The first book on our #HalloweenCountdown reading list is Mya Spalter’s ENCHANTMENTS. . “Written with wisdom, humor, and compassion, Spalter’s book is the perfect companion for those seeking ‘meaning, peace, and self-possession.’” ✨🔮 . Check out the link in our bio for an exclusive interview with Mya! • • • • • #bookstagram #booklover #bookworm #bookrec #instabook #amreading #lovereading #halloween #spookyseason #enchantments #spells #nonfiction #witchy #octoberreads

A post shared by Mya Spalter (@mya.spalter) on Oct 24, 2018 at 4:55pm PDT

I think what I loved the most about this gem of a book is that Mya’s voice is so welcoming, colorful, and lively. Of course, I’m a bit biased here. As a New Yorker, I’ve shopped at Enchantments, where Mya has worked for years selling occult goods. This book is a modern overview of magic, but it makes space for the reader to get involved. Not every book makes room for one’s personal magical style, but this book does. This book is full of magic, introductory and advanced knowledge, personality, poetry, and empowerment. Order here.

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Kristen Sollée’s Cat Call: Reclaiming the Feral Feminine (An Untamed History of the Cat Archetype in Myth and Magic)

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Hey sluts, I’m back on my book-promoting bullshit! And by that I mean: MEET MY NEW BB! She delves into all the eldritch corners of history, from feline goddesses and early modern familiars to cats, kink & #kittenplay, posthuman ethics, Catwoman, queer cat ladies, sex workers and cats in art, wildcat prints in fashion, cat iconography in political action, ailuromancy...and all the ways the feline and the feminine intersect in myth, magic, and pop culture...Amazon pre-orders make a *huge* difference in the life of a book so consider clicking that link in my bio if you dug #witchesslutsfeminists or anything I ever wrote or maybe just feel like being a sweetheart to this April Fool. (This is not a joke tho, in case you’re wondering.) #catcallbook is officially out SEPTEMBER 1st on @weiserbooks!!! 📖✨ #bookslut #catsofinstagram #catbook #sexpositive #witchesofinstagram #meowmotherfucker🐱💋

A post shared by kristenkorvette (@kristenkorvette) on Apr 1, 2019 at 6:16am PDT

If you read Sollée’s Witches, Sluts, Feminists: Conjuring The Sex Positive, chances are you’re gearing up for her newest, Cat Call: Reclaiming the Feral Feminine (An Untamed History of the Cat Archetype in Myth and Magic). I sure am. Now, there’s a long-standing connection between the cat and the witch — don’t we all have a familiar of our own? — and it’s about time someone dedicates a closer look to the enduring power of the cat. I’m such a fan of everything Kristen does — and I know you will be too, if you haven’t read her important, inclusive, and thoughtful work. Preorder here.

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Lisa Marie Basile is the author of Light Magic for Dark Times, Wordcraft Witchery (forthcoming, 2020) and a recent poetry collection, Nympholepsy. Her work encounters self-care, trauma recovery, ritualized living and the arts. More of her writing can be found in The New York Times, Refinery 29, The Fix, Catapult, Narratively, Good Housekeeping, Bustle, Sabat Magazine and more. She is the editor-in-chief of Luna Luna Magazine. Find her @lisamariebasile.

Working Out As Magic & Ritual: A Witch's Comprehensive Guide

BY MAGDA KNIGHT

I never used to go to the gym. Now, somehow, I do. I’m happy to call myself a health-goth, but as I’ve eased into what the gym means to me, I’ve discovered great joy in seeing it as a blend of physical and deeply internal progression… and I’ve incorporated so much magical practice into my physical self-training, too. 

Physical activity (in whatever way your body can accomplish, given that we all have different mobilities and abilities and some of us manage a disability or chronic illness) is a celebration. When we carry out magical acts, don’t we do it to flourish — rather than to shrink and feel small? We can pour ritual into how we use our bodies, and we can use our bodies to add a deeply physical element to connect us with our spirit, too. 

Going to the gym can be a way for magic positivity and body positivity to dance together to a shared rhythm. I’m not going to the gym in order to watch numbers on a scale go down, but to acknowledge and love the body I’m in — and to work it in the same way that I work my spirit when I carry out any magical practice. 

In this piece I’m going to look at ways in which some elements of going to the gym might be incorporated into magical work. And I have to share a revelation that’s very dear and important to me – that I’m not alone in this thinking (nor am I an expert).

I’m on a journey, as are we all.

When I first mentioned I wanted to write something like this, a sort of love letter to physical exercise and magic, I was amazed and gratified to discover how many people had already made the connection. So many people related, and they shared their own wonderful perspectives on how they flow magic into their physical activity. So this piece is a celebration of all the transformational ways in which physical and magical work can be made as one, and a testament to all the wonderful people who are finding their own paths to make it work. Some of what’s written here may echo with you, but there is so much more to say and discover, and your own personal journey is so, so important. 

My personal journey is only important to me. As it should be. 

Dear heart, if you are reading this, do it your way. Your personal journey is everything.

Ritual attire

When does the ritual begin? When going to the gym (or using some household items while watching a YouTube fitness video, for example), you don’t need to set out your magical space. That’s already done for you. You’re perhaps more likely to start getting your magic on when you don your ritual attire. 

Clothes that make you feel comfortable in your body and like you don’t have to think about them? Check. 

Anything else you need to wear for ritual purposes?

No.

Unless you wish it.

Gym-wear can be viewed as ritual attire because it may be something you don’t wear on a regular basis. You wear it for the gym. If desired, you can select clothes that match or enhance your gym persona. I feel good about myself and my physical practice if I wear specific colours to the gym – black and red are the colours I’m drawn to. You may feel like light, bright colours inspire you more. Colours and designs are important if you think they are. If you don’t, they’re not. 

At the moment, the gym is the one place where I feel safe wearing tight clothes. It’s almost as if I’m naked, fully in my own aspect, with nothing to hide. Regardless of my physical appearance and what normative society might think about that, in my tight clothes in the gym I feel empowered to walk tall. And this is just my own deeply personal viewpoint – the only truly important thing about your ritual gym attire is that it makes you feel right in yourself!

As you progress in your personal development, you may choose to add to your ritual kit. I’ve recently added sportswear gloves for lifting weights, to avoid blisters. When I put those gloves on, I’m ready to go. But I didn’t get them straight away. And I still don’t wear any special sportswear on my feet – just some average sneakers that do the job and feel fine to wear. Another practitioner might feel that specific gym footwear is essential. They may feel they need the swoosh emblem of Nike, winged goddess of victory, or they may feel that sportswear earbuds mean business and the use of sound helps them immerse themselves more deeply in their practice.

As I write this, it is cooooold outside. Winter weather. So, to negate the metaphorical demon of inertia sitting on my shoulder, I put on my gym attire every morning beneath my clothes. That way I’m already halfway there, and can go to the gym as an impulse, with even fewer barriers to stop me. The clothes still feel magically infused because I don’t think about them with other clothes on top. They only become ritual attire when I strip down to attend a session and they’re all I’m wearing.

Choosing and putting on your attire can make you feel like you’re energised and ready to begin the work. Your attire might be gym kit, or a swimsuit, or anything else. It’s charged with energy, and each time you engage in physical practice, it’s charged even further.

Pre-gym ritual preparation

One thing you’re very likely to bring to the gym is water. You may drink more than one bottle, but your first bottle can be charged before you leave the house. I love to cup the water, surround myself with golden light that builds with my breath, and pour energy and gratitude and intent into the water.

I give thanks to the water that will nourish me later, and each sweet sip will taste like nectar.

Entering and leaving the sacred space

In my gym, you have to walk through pods controlled by a key fob or access code if you wish to enter or leave. The door slides open, you enter the pod, then wait for the next door to slide open again to enter the centre proper. In my heart these doors represent the opening and closing of the ritual. The action that defines the transition between the mundane and sacred space. The signal that magical practice is about to take place, and the definitive moment when it ceases.

With the aid of these pods one enters the gym activated, and leaves the gym grounded.

Not all gyms have such obvious portals or gates for magical working. Entering and leaving through a simple door (or designing a space for working out in, say, your living room) can also open and close a sacred space, when done with intent. 

I don’t use changing rooms myself, but a practitioner can incorporate elements like changing or showering to begin and end their magical working in the gym.

Magic or mindfulness?

Is going to the gym a sweetly internal and holistic act of mindfulness, or a powerful magical rite? Perhaps it comes down to your practice and preference. Mindfulness certainly plays a key part in attaining a magic state in the gym. There might be a moment where you’re flooded with reverence for your body as you explore the liminal space within or just outside your comfortable limits, feeling the effects of air and blood move around your system, considering whether to spread sensation around your body to relieve a tired area, or pour your focus into those parts of the body which are working the hardest. 

You may have a million thoughts, or none, yet physical activity helps a person connect to the moment and respect how mind, spirit and body are all part of a whole.

Ritual practice

There are numerous ways to explore the gym as a magical working, too. You can use the endeavour as an offering: “I will do this next rep, or this session, as a gift or sacrifice.” One friend, Genevieve, tucks a cloth into her bra as she trains, with the intention of using that cloth in a later specific working. I love this. As she incorporates running into her practice, while running she also internally repeats a mantra aligned with the working for which she will use her cloth. You can imbue paper with your effort in this way too, and use it later for statements of intention or other written magical work. If you don’t wear a bra, you can stuff cloth or paper into your sock or footwear.

If you’re in a wheelchair or doing seated work, you may wish to place personal items like paper, cloth or threads beneath you as you sit. Some might see this as somehow disrespectful of your work, since you’re placing it beneath your area of elimination. Me, I’m always minded how Cloacina, beloved Roman goddess of the sewers, was acknowledged as the goddess of transformation and purification.

If I’m wearing my stalwart gym gloves for a whole session, I can slip a sigil in there. It’s being activated, charged and released through doing the gym session. I can seed it with intention then forget about it, because I can’t feel it in my glove. And if it gets sweaty or smudged? Well, that’s wonderful! Its outer form is becoming increasingly distanced from the conscious effort of creating it, working its way even further into the subconscious. Physical activity is such an aid in getting that balance between intent and no-mind, helping the conscious and subconscious work together.

I’ve been known to paint sigils on my body where they won’t be seen and let the physical activity sweat them out. Charge and release.

I also use thin-coloured ribbons in many of my workings, so there are times when I might charge a length of ribbon by wearing it wrapped round my ankle out of sight, or in my hair if it’s tied up.

If you work with entities or the Tarot, you can use reps or time on a treadmill to focus on a cherished entity or card in your mind, considering it from new angles. I am personally of the feeling that gym work creates space for new thoughts to flow, along with the increase in oxygen and blood movement. New thoughts may arise during the work itself, or — if your mind doesn’t work that way — you can zone out with the repetition of movement and create space for creativity and new ideas to flow into afterwards.

Meditation, contemplation, visualization and path-working

Meditation is a means to increase awareness of your body and still the monkey-mind, often using your breathing or your body. To me, any form of physical activity can get close to being a movement-based meditation. I’d be more likely to find a private gym bathroom cubicle on a non-busy day to meditate in a sitting position. I love using the rowing machine as a meditation tool because you’re nicely and safely strapped in with no chance of falling over, and no-one’s going to care if you close your eyes while you do it.

Pathworking is your chance to go on a journey through an inner landscape. I find the treadmills and rowing machines quite conducive to this. With a treadmill, you already have the forward movement, either walking or running. You have the chase, the hunt. You have yourself as a protagonist on an inner journey. It’s amazing what the mind can throw up when you seek to explore internal terrains while on the move.

Sometimes I use the treadmill and my timings on it (“for x seconds/minutes I’ll walk, or run, or rest” as an exploration of Tarot or the Tree of Life. Placing a focus on first one destination on the path, then the next. Allowing free reign to what comes up. Allowing the body to take charge, and the subconscious to seep into conscious workings.

Contemplation is ideal for the gym, as so much of the practice enables you to focus on specific images, qualities or deities. On the treadmill I might focus on the face of a cherished entity, holding it, loving it, exploring it, conversing with it, offering my thoughts to it, sometimes watching it shimmer with disco sparks in time to the tinny universal music (unless I’ve brought my own music along, which can take things to the next level. Diamanda Galas, anyone?)

Visualisation is my absolute favourite activity for the rowing machine. Maybe the ‘rowing’ nature of it leads my thoughts to water, but more than anything else, I love to strap in, set no timer, close my eyes and just row, row, row. Slipping into the stream of things. Heading with Charon down the river Styx, or swimming with mermaids in the Mariana trench, or letting the thoughts and images flow. Such release! And what comes to the fore can surprise me, or, be used at a later time in my creative work, or remind me that the divine is just around the corner, waiting for us to reach out and welcome it.

Building witch energy

Most importantly, I think physical training of any kind is such a concrete way of acknowledging and building intent, discipline and work. I see intent and discipline as being like muscles. To intend to go to the gym, then to indeed go to the gym, then to exert effort in line with your true will… each time you do this, you’re building witch energy. 

“I can do this. I will do this. I am doing this. I did this.” 

That’s so powerful, loves. 

And if we’re talking about results magic, you get rewarded for your effort at the end of every session. A delicious feeling in your body that’s one part endorphins, two parts sense of personal achievement. Immediate rewards from magical practice is such a boon when it comes to placing a focus on connecting with your will and your environment, mundane or otherwise.

Another friend, Katrin, puts it like this:

“Back when I had a weekly yoga class to attend, this was a big motivator for me - just proving to myself that I could get through this hour+ of forced concentration on nothing but my physical activity. I'd tell myself at the beginning of every session that I was going to be a Good Witch. That is, a witch who is reliable, keeps promises, does what she says she'll do. It did help my mindset in general - I'd kept my promise to do the exercise, so I'd proved to myself that I could be reliable in other ways too. And to me that's always been a huge part of what magic is about - the commitment and self-discipline and consistency.”

And what about grounding in a ritual? The minute you stop and your body thanks you is, to me, a moving and grounding experience. The drink of water, the quick towel-down. Taking that moment to connect my feet to the earth, the floor of the gym, the world. And then heading back through the gym portals to fully close the sacred space.

Ritual and symbolism

Perhaps everyone who goes to the gym has their own versions of symbolism and ritual, whether or not they choose to view it in these terms. As mentioned earlier, the doors to a gym can gain ritual significance. The opening and closing of a padlock on a gym locker can act as a charged seal. If one works with the magical meaning of numbers, one can incorporate this into personal practice, with reference to equipment settings and time spent on them. Or one can go round the equipment widdershins. When you go to the gym, you can seek and find your own symbolism, your own magical moments.

A friend I was discussing this with mentioned how Ramsey Dukes/Lionel Snell turned washing a car or washing dishes into a magical act by breaking it down into tiny magical moments (turn on the tap, sense how the water feels on your hands, consider how it feels when washing up liquid is added, and when the dishes are place in the sink).

To break one large activity down into tiny magical acts gives intent and full participation to each moment. It both activates the soul to the magic of the ritual, and shuts consciousness down so that the subconscious can get to work on the overall intent.

Your time at the gym is filled with tiny magical moments; time and activity broken down into small acts of meaning and beauty. “Just another ten seconds,” you say as you hold a plank, or work a treadmill. “Just four more reps.” It’s just you and the moment, and the pact you have made with yourself to do the work.

Grimoires and books of shadows are free to all

There are so many articles on the internet. So many how-to videos and shared conversations. Navigating the wealth of information and opinion to find something that helps rather than hinders your personal work can be a challenge, but it is there. 

As there is an increasing degree of diversity among people going to the gym, more diverse forms of support and encouragement are seeping onto the internet, and our online Akashic records are heaving with information from people offering the kind of support they wish they’d had access to themselves when they were first starting out. Workouts for trans women and femmes. Wheelchair exercises. Body positivity at the gym. The support available is so much more broad, deep and inclusive than it used to be.

Self-initiation and initiation by others.

What I most love about going to the gym is how personal it is. How true-to-thee-and-thee-alone your goals are. How internal your journey to growth is. There is, perhaps, a sense of initiation and levels of achievement through dedicated practice (and, dear one, you are obviously the only one who can define what ‘dedication’ will look like in your personal practice. No-one else has the right).

So much of gym practice relates in my mind to self-initiation. When you turn up, you do the work. There is no-one who can tell you otherwise. When you achieve personal goals, whether they are beautiful yet tiny in-the-moment goals like “I will do this for another 30 seconds” or greater goals that made you state your intent to go to the gym in the first place (like “I will go caving this year”), it is possible to view such achievements as levels of initiation.

You have your own internal gym compass. You know in your heart when you’re acting in such a way that it’s pointing north, and you know deep within when you’ve reached a destination on your journey.

There is also, potentially, the idea of being initiated by another. That’s where personal trainers come in. You’ll see a number of them in the gym, all initiates who are ready and willing to share their knowledge with the community. Their ritual insignia is the branded T-shirt. They have done the work. They are there for you.

I take the path of the solo practitioner, but I have a statement of intent (“I will get strong enough to go caving”) and to achieve that goal I may save up money so that I can pay for an initiate’s guidance on practice and personal development. Any path is valid if you feel like it is the right path for you.

A sacred space must be a safe space. Not an easy space, for there is work to be done. But a safe space.

When you conduct a magical working in a sacred space, it’s your time to channel your intention in a positive way. You’ve got no time or need or desire for negative thoughts pulling your spirit in directions it doesn’t want to go.

My thoughts on the gym as a safe sacred space are deeply subjective. They are limited by my personal experience as an abled cis white woman conducting physical activity in public. My only areas of potential concern are my lack of physical practice, and my age (I’m in my mid-forties, which has its own challenges, but woohoo to being past my Saturn Return). However, I want to take a moment to talk about other initiates in the gym, and my own highly subjective view of the gym as, yes, ultimately a safe space.

I know others will have deep and valid concerns about being judged by others in the gym. I cannot and must not disregard that. I can only share my own perception of doing my own personal practice surrounded by extremely regular and well-practised gym-goers. In my heart, these initiates - who are doing their own work and not there to mentor me - hold no threat. In fact, they come across as utterly neutral towards anyone but themselves (as it should be) and I also see it as a generous gift that they are carrying out their practice in public so that I can learn from it. If someone cannot afford a personal trainer, they can look to the practice of those who are more experienced, or those who can and do utilise a personal trainer, and learn from their techniques in things like floorwork or free weights. 

Again, it is so subjective. But when I walk into the gym, I feel such a powerful sense of neutrality. The space feels clean. A blank slate to write on. Initiates have no time to judge me – they’ve got their own business to attend to. They are doing their own work; all their intent is going into that. If anything, I tell myself that they already see me as a ‘winner’, regardless of my physical aspect and how I present myself, because I have shown up. And showing up is, I believe, something they understand and respect, having been through those early days of beginner self-initiation themselves. 

Of course, it shouldn’t matter if they respect me or not. I’m not there to win the respect of other gym-goers or anyone else. In going to the gym I’ve made a personal pact with myself, and I have my own business to get on with. And yet… if there is fear in going to a gym, it may be useful to explore ways to negate that fear, if it is stopping you from doing something you really want.

If I ask an initiate for brief advice (for I do not wish to unnecessarily interrupt their work), I see very little judgement in their eyes. If anything, they are informative and supportive, recognising I wish to learn and improve. One of us, I imagine them saying. One of us, one of us…

All around me, I am surrounded by people of all shapes and sizes and backgrounds and ages. We are people. We are humanity. To go to the gym may require privilege in certain areas including ability, time and money. But there are no definites. Someone who is struggling with poverty may be considered by society to be ‘too poor to afford the gym’, or ‘too poor to afford the added expense of a pet’, or ‘too poor to afford visits to the nail bar’. But every time society deems something a ‘luxury’, an actual breathing person – not a number or statistic, a person – may consider that ‘luxury’ to be essential to functioning on an everyday basis. They may equate gym or pet companions or getting their nails done with feeling truly like themselves in tough times. There’s no room for judgement in the gym. When I walk in, I feel like everyone is there. And like I have just as much right as anyone else to enter.  And we have one thing in common: we have a personal intent, and we are doing our best to realise it.

Coming back to my friend Genevieve again, she mentioned once reading an article about viewing the gym as a liminal space where you do not need to conduct physical practice. You might find it easier to view the gym as a space where you can shower, read, check your phone, meditate… and not feel obliged to do any physical activity at all. This wouldn’t suit my own practice as defining the gym as ‘a place to get physical’ helps to shape and build my ritual work.

However, someone else might breathe a sigh of relief in hearing that ‘going to the gym’ could be treated quite loosely if desired. Perhaps those who have chronic pain or find lengthy focus on one activity a challenge might love the idea that they can go to the gym and do what they want there. In a nice big gym, you’ll see people doing the most random things anyway. You won’t stand out. There are people already looking at their mobile phones, perhaps checking their fitness app or looking for health advice or video exercises. There are people chatting to their friends. There are people staring into space, either considering their practice or having a rest and not thinking anything at all, especially with the rise of interval training where you do a bit of activity then stop.

If you want to go to a gym and just chill, I don’t think anyone will stare at you. They’ll be too busy staring into themselves.

But: If you have had negative experiences in the gym, I am so sorry. It is vital that gyms must evolve as safe spaces, as awareness of body and identity positivity grows. It’s important.

Drawing out the toxicity of gym culture

I honestly didn’t know where best to discuss this. First or last? Wherever it’s placed, it matters.

If you’re planning to use the gym or any other physical activity for any self-healing, the last thing you need is toxicity. That poison needs to be addressed. To this day, medical practice has the wand of Caduceus as its symbol – two snakes coiled around the winged staff of Hermes. Without getting too deeply into snake mythology, so many of us think of the snake as a symbol of transformation and healing, its venom used as medical treatment. The snake can also be viewed as responsibility. The snake represents freedom and choice, and with that comes the responsibility to own your choices. Just as the medical profession owns its responsibility to take care of others.

When you work magic, you have such freedom. And you are making a choice. And you are taking responsibility for your practice.  And there need be no toxicity with any physical exercise you conduct on your own, whether it’s swimming or going to the gym or walking in the woods or streets.

My friend Ken has, in his own practice, recently been exploring how the Homeric tradition of competition was toxic at its core, as someone had to lose in order for another to be declared the winner.

When you exercise on your own, there is no-one to vanquish. You are already winning. But negative thoughts can creep in, and how can they best be dissipated? I don’t like to think of it as vanquishing negative thoughts – the very word ‘vanquish’ suggests there is a battle involved, and someone might lose. My subjective approach is to avoid self-talk of vanquishing or banishing negative thoughts around my practice – like, say, punishing myself mentally because I didn’t go to the gym when you said I would, or not going because I didn’t want to be ‘seen’ in a public space, then feeling ‘ashamed’ of ‘letting negative thoughts get the better of me’. 

Wow. Look at all this self-punishment. 

This talk of losing.

This pain. 

The kind that doesn’t make me stronger. 

When I think like this, I stop. Listen. I consider how I’m using language and doubt to retreat into the idea of treating exercise as punishment, not celebration. I’m putting myself in the frame of mind where the gym is a battle and I could lose.

Naturally, ‘winning’ is by no means the only form of toxicity that can seep through gym culture. Sexism, sizeism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, racism… it’s all a potential issue, and a valid concern. Yes, increased gym attendance means there’s far more diversity in gym-goers, which can help. But the way in which culture views physical exercises and is prone to judging people who do it is still far from ideal. 

Whatever you fear most… please know that you are not alone. There are others out there that feel the same way you do. However, there is a chance you are more likely to find people in the gym you can immediately relate to, who make you feel safe and part of a greater whole. And you can find information online written by people who share your experience, and can offer support that relates directly to your concerns and needs.

You are not alone. Together, people are working to draw the poison out.

It’s going to take time. And energy. And courage. And if you choose not to go to the gym, because you need to feel safe, that is important. You need to feel safe.

Perhaps there are other forms of physical practice you can explore. Give yourself the right to seek ways to freely and safely love your body and do the work.

Attaining a magical state of mind.

What a magical state means to you is such a personal thing. You may be seeking a release from the burdens of the world, or a connection with your body and all the elements of the beautiful creature that is you. You may be seeking a moment to charge and release and intention, or a conversation with the divine. You may be seeking a specific goal, that defined line between not being able to do a pull-up or half marathon, then one day being able to do one.

There is no set rule as to whether you have or haven’t achieved a magical state when you go to the gym. But you know what? When you feel it, you feel it. You might feel it for a moment, or it might carry you for days. All those magical moments add up. They remind you that your work and your intentions are important, and that you can work towards them, and that you can achieve a state where you and your intentions are one, not separate things held apart by doubt.

Ritual physical activity doesn’t need to occur in a gym.

Pool sessions, caressed by water. Chair-based exercises, acknowledging what your body needs to be safe as well as worked. Whatever your practice, you can choose to perceive and shape it as a magical act. The gym can be a sacred space, but it’s just one option for ritualising your physical activity. 

If you attend hula hoop classes, grasping that hoop is a magical act, as you feel the energy coursing through you – you’ve put some of your soul into that hoop, so that when you grasp it, it gives you soul energy right back. 

When you climb into the familiar saddle of your beloved bike, the one you love so much you may have named it, you know it’s your steed, your companion, helping you progress to where you want to go.

You have your body. You have your spirit. Your body and spirit have such great beauty. They are the very embodiment of raw and nuanced power.

Physical/magical work is an opportunity to acknowledge your body and seek to make it an extension of your spirit. It is a beautiful act, filled with love. And all acts of beauty hold magic at their core.

If you can move, you can explore a way to exercise. 

If you can feel your spirit, you can work magic.

If any part of this made you think “yes, this is useful to me”, I am so glad. If it didn’t, I have much to learn. We must never cease to learn, try, test, explore. 

You have your own, valuable, truth and perspective.

In the absolutely fucking immortal words of Wesley Snipes in Blade Trinity…

“Use it.”

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@MagdaKnight is the Co-Founding Editor of Mookychick. Her YA fiction and other writings for adults, children and changelings have been published in anthologies and in 2000AD. She thinks you're great.

Letters to the Dead: Shadow Writing for Grief & Release

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

In the book, The Art of Death: Writing The Final Story, Edwidge Danticat writes with profound openness about her mother’s death. The book explores writing on death, in some effort to explain how to write it, and it get rights to the heart of the matter. Danticat mentions Mary Gordon’s memoir, Circling My Mother, in which Gordon states that writing was the only way that she could mourn her mother.

It was described as an active grief. That made sense to me; some grief is inert. Some grief is an engine. Sometimes actively participating in grief, I’ve learned, is one small way we can learn to escape its riptide.

In a way, when we mourn and when we write, we are weaving an indelible memory. We can do something with the grief.

Two years ago, I lost two people who were close to me. The grief was tidal, and I was at sea. Nights were underscored by anxiety around what I could have or should have done, obsession on mortality and meaning, and nostalgia like a drunken swirl. My days were hazy, weary, long. At work, I was distracted. At home, I was restless. I was caught between trying to live and trying to let go.

Grief if a sickness that grows without cure. It affects more than the body, more than the mind. It affects the essence of us, our starstuff, our souls, our hearts, our energy. It metastasizes over a lifetime, and with each new death it takes a new organ. I’m only 33. I’ve got a way to go. You may be further.

My aunt, just before she died, asked me over the phone what I’d be doing that night. Her voice was so small, so sick, so tired, but I could tell she was trying to sound enthusiastic. She was one of those rare beings who emanated an effortless and natural light; she was full of the beauty of this life, and you couldn’t help but feel it. I wish I spent more time with her when she was alive. I wish she knew that.

“I’m going out to listen to some music,” I told her. I was going to see a symphony. 

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🕯🖤 Although it may be “morbid” to spend your time in a cemetery—which, whatever!!— I think there’s something beautiful about spending your day in a place of silence, connection, and reflection, which is untouched by the masses and completely sacred, filled with relics and memories and ghosts of times gone bye and today. It is a place that allows you to think on what it means to be alive right now in this moment, lets you understand just how small you are in the vast story of everything. I have never been shy about graveyards or cemeteries, & I think it’s because I’ve always had 1 foot in and 1 foot out, splayed over the veil. I would like to do this more often, spend more time here. Living in New York City, I could spend my time at jam packed Central Park, or I could spend my time in a sprawling and powerful place — of many acres, and of many stories. 🖤🕯Thank you @historicgreenwood for creating an inclusive and friendly and beautiful environment #deathpositive

A post shared by Lisa Marie Basile (@lisamariebasile) on Nov 18, 2018 at 5:30pm PST

“Well, dance...for me, honey!” she said in her thick Virginia accent. My aunt loved to dance. She danced every week until she couldn’t. In that way, she worked her way into my DNA.

“I will, Aunt Ruthy, I promise,” I told her. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her it was a symphony; I wouldn’t be dancing. The point is, I would dance for her. And I would remember to dance forever.

After she died I swung between regret and anger. Why did she have to suffer? Why do bodies simply expire after living and giving birth and making art and making love? How could that be the end for each of us? I regretted not dancing more. I regretted not calling her more before she passed.

And so when she died, I took to the journal to write a letter. Journaling was one of the only things that made sense; I was able to say everything out loud, rather than keep it boxed up, throat-less. Without shame, and without censorship. 

When I finished the letter, I placed it in a wooden bowl and burned it. You may want to burn it, bury it, or store it in a box. There is magic in transforming your memories into words and then your words into foreverness by casting it out. No matter your religion or belief, you’ll be pulling the wound out of your body and onto paper. 

The very act of embracing your feelings around death, summoning the memories of your dead, and inviting them into your space through the page is powerful'; it is a conjuring on many levels. And it is a great way to embrace the death positive philosophy, which encourages people to speak openly about death, dying, and corpses. While no philosophy can remove the eternal sting of death’s pain, this philosophy helps to lessen the shame, fear, confusion, and stigma attached to death and grief.

The Ritual: Writing Letters to Your Dead

Choose who you’ll write to, and what you want to say. Your letter can be written on paper or electronically. You may speak it into a audio recorder, type it out, or write it by hand. What feels right?

Do you have a photograph of them? If so, place it before you. Light a candle and look into the flame. Think of this flame as illuminating a way for them to come home, to you, to your room, to your side.

Sit here for a bit. 

What was it about them that stood out to you? What was it you never said? What do you wish you knew about them? What was it you wish you did with them? What are their quirks? What fabric did they love? What perfume? How did they look when they entered the room? What did they sing to themselves? What’s your loveliest memory of them? If they did anything to inspire you, what was it? What did they love? Children? Plants? Books? Art? Travel? Poetry? What mark did they leave when they left this earth? 

Some grief is extra complex. Perhaps the person who passed away was someone who hurt you but whom you still mourn. If so, acknowledge this. What did they do to hurt you? What have they done that has never been resolved? How has it hurt you? Can you forgive them? Can you work on forgiveness? There is no shame in not reaching forgiveness; this is a personal act. 

Open the letter, “Dear [NAME],” and then go as naturally as you’d like. You can remain in the positive, or tell them everything you miss about them. You may want to tell them the hard truth; you may to let the rage out of its tiny, silenced box. Or, maybe you want to tell them it’s okay to go. Perhaps they felt they had to stay? Perhaps they suffered? Maybe you simply want to know what it’s like to be dead. The letter can be structured or wild. This is up to you.

The important thing is that you’re honest and that you say everything you want to say, no holds barred. 

When you are finished, you may want to put the letter away, or let it go. You may want to leave it near their grave. You may want to burn it. Or, you may want to keep it. 

You may do this whenever you feel the urge rising up. Maybe you make it a point to do write to them with each new moon, or on their birthday.

Whatever feels right to you is what is right for you.

An ending note: If you are afraid of the darkness (this is shadow work) involved here, keep your environment comfortable and comforting. Have objects of happiness and light around you. Make sure you have a support system on speed dial. Be sure to take care of yourself afterward. Part of diving into the abyss is knowing your way out.

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💕 This glorious photo was taken by @slavwitch, and it’s accompanied by a detailing of why objects—the things we choose to surround ourselves with— can be so powerful. As @slavwitch says, it’s not about *having stuff* but about painting our lives with the energy and power that the objects hold. Really lovely to see @lightmagic_darktimes as part of someone’s magical space. Thank you! 💕

A post shared by Lisa Marie Basile (@lisamariebasile) on Jan 10, 2019 at 12:24pm PST

Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine—a digital diary of literature, magical living and idea. She is the author of "Light Magic for Dark Times," a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices. She's also the author of a few poetry collections, including 2018's "Nympholepsy." Her work encounters the intersection of ritual, wellness, chronic illness, overcoming trauma, and creativity, and she has written for The New York Times, Narratively, Sabat Magazine, Healthline, The Establishment, Refinery 29, Bust, Hello Giggles, and more. Her work can be seen in Best Small Fictions, Best American Experimental Writing, and several other anthologies. Lisa Marie earned a Masters degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University.

Ritual: Writing Letters To Your Self — On Anais Nin, Journaling, and Healing

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

During my mid-20s, I first delved deeply into the work of the writer Anaïs Nin. Before then, I’d read bits and pieces of her work—always knowing that I would, when ready, return to it. As it is with most of the great works of our lives, she found me when the time was right, when I could incubate her emotion and resuscitate myself through her abundance. I was always too guarded, too busy, too scattered to sit down and let the velvety intensity of her work move through me.

This is because Nin’s work is audaciously honest. It is at once shadowy and nude. Erotic. Wild. Feverishly introspective. Showy. Always vulnerable.

You may have read her diaries or her letters to Henry Miller. Within these works lives a whole entire world of expression and bravery (and ego and mania and trauma and desire and more). In the 1940s, she was writing explicitly about topics such as sexual desire and abortion—words that were kept silent, for they were unthinkable, punishable. She was widely mocked, often deplored by critics for both her personal life (she—gasp!—had two husbands) and her literary works—and yet she has earned her place as the literary patron saint we adore now. (She would be so pleased). Over time (and largely posthumously), as time is wont to do, she has become both a feminist icon and a literary muse. She’s certainly my literary witch archetype.

Anais Nin writes to Henry Miller in A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin Henry Miller, 1932-1953,

“It is true that I create over and over again the same difficulties for myself in order to struggle over and over again to master them [but] to continually struggle against the same problem and to continually fail to dominate it brings a feeling of frustration and a kind of paralysis. What is necessary to life, to livingness, is to move on, in other words to move from one kind of problem to another.”

Reading her works, I have always wondered: How did writing her feelings and desires and fears in letter or diary form change her relationship to those feelings? Without writing all of this down, would she have realized her tendencies toward creating difficulties for herself?

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🖤 I talked with the wonderful @ragqueenperiodical + @kaileytedesco about how light and darkness is the throughline in all of my work, including my forthcoming book and my poetry and other work: “The grimoire is concerned with the same things as my work as a poet and essayist: death, forgiveness, the self as something to be worshipped, sex, creating beauty and honoring the shadow.” LINK IN BIO.🖤 #LightMagicDarkTimes

A post shared by Lisa Marie Basile (@lisamariebasile) on May 19, 2018 at 10:20am PDT

Is there a certain quality to letter writing or diary keeping that inspires the confessional? I believe so. Our words are our magic. Once the words are thought, intent exists.

Once the words are spoken, they become an incantation. And once the words are written down, the spell is cast.

The truth is staring back at you—asking you to make a change or bury it or let it go. Whatever it is, the garden has begun to grow, and it must be tended to in some way or other.

That’s the silent promise you make to the page and to yourself; when you write, your mind floods and you become a vessel for the truth (or whatever version of the truth needs to exist at that moment).

The mind is the translator, the page is the vehicle, and something more intangible — something divine, the self everlasting, perhaps the soul — is the ultimate recipient. That something changes you and upends your reality.

When we write specifically for the page, or for one reader, we wield a massive responsibility to uphold a deep truth.

We stop writing for success or Instagram likes or money. We start to write for ourselves, or for the intimacy between ourselves and the reader. This is the case even if the letter will never be delivered (that’s not to say Nin wasn’t ecstatic when her personal journals became a best seller de rigeuer).

Only after reading your own words do you discover patterns and themes that perhaps you would have missed in your everyday life. In letter writing, there is a vulnerability that takes place necessarily; why write a letter if you won’t show up for it?

Why express anything at all—in such a delicate, deliberate, and painstaking manner? After all, a letter is not a passing thought or a forgettable text message; it’s a statement, a declaration, a confession. It’s a storm.

Ritualizing your words

For this ritual and writing prompt, you will be examining the inherent power of letter writing—as a tool for reconciliation, healing, closure, acceptance, and honor. But you can also write letters to express rage, jealousy, and fear.

It can feel as though we’ve lived many lifetimes. To prep, think on your childhood, your teen years, and who you are now. What was lost? What remains? Who we are now has changed so much from who we were. At the same time, there are things that having a lasting impact, good and bad. Ghosts linger. Sometimes that ghost is you.

Our traumas, our growth, our pain, our losses, our loves, our whimsies, our accomplishments—these are the things we’ll be writing to in this practice.

I have written letters to the girl I was at 15. She was so lost, so sad. She moved from homeless shelter to shelter, to a foster home and then another — always looking for an anchor. Within her heart lived thousand hopes and goals. She was excited to write, to study, to live—and yet always felt held back by a need to survive her trauma. She couldn’t simply be, as she was struggling. In her, a darkness grew.

That darkness was her fuel, but it also hurt her. She had self-esteem issues, felt alone often, felt unworthy. In my letters to her, I tell her what she’s accomplished—what her steadfast determination did for her. I tell her what her pain gave her—art! Empathy! A softness. An ability to adapt. A leaning-into the malleable, the liminal. Through her pain she found magic and ritual and poetry, and all of this carved a life she’d love today.

Writing these letters to her allowed me to heal her, and as a ripple in space-time, I largely healed myself today. I am not perfect, but I am better.

The Ritual: writing a letter to your younger self

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🌻I included a few peeks inside my book Light Magic for Dark Times over at @lunalunamag - lunalunamagazine.com. It’s full of rituals, practices and writing exercises and it’s all about resilience, self-care, trauma recovery, accountability and magic. 🌻

A post shared by Lisa Marie Basile (@lisamariebasile) on Jan 29, 2019 at 1:22pm PST

Light a candle. Look into the flame and take note of what thoughts arise when you think upon your younger self.

As you look at the flame, conjure the person you were. Quietly welcome them into the room; sit with them. What are they wearing? What are they feeling?

Choose a memory or a era in your life and write a letter to yourself. What’s the goal? Is it to remind your younger self of the love they have but never felt? Is it to congratulate them on their resilience? Is it to say that their weakness and struggles were beautiful? Perhaps you will pull a tarot card to find illumination or specificity in this process. Perhaps you will think on how your birth chart influenced the person you were.

Life goes by so quickly. We are so busy existing in the middle of it that we rarely look back and study what happened:

What went right?

What went wrong?

What just was?

What would you tell your younger self?

What does the room look like?

What were you wearing?

What do you want them to know?

What do you want them to let go of?

Write all of this down.

Honor it.

Keep it in a place where you can let it go, or return to it.

If you want to work more with journaling magic, I include lots of it in my book, Light Magic for Dark Times. & follow me on Instagram for more prompts and literary goodness.

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Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine—a digital diary of literature, magical living and idea. She is the author of "Light Magic for Dark Times," a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices. She's also the author of a few poetry collections, including 2018's "Nympholepsy." Her work encounters the intersection of ritual, wellness, chronic illness, overcoming trauma, and creativity, and she has written for The New York Times, Narratively, Sabat Magazine, Healthline, The Establishment, Refinery 29, Bust, Hello Giggles, and more. Her work can be seen in Best Small Fictions, Best American Experimental Writing, and several other anthologies. Lisa Marie earned a Masters degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University.