Looking for some October magic? Below I’ve included two rituals — one a Santa Muerte rebirth ritual dreamed up by Leza Cantoral (witch, author, and editor of Clash Books) and published in Light Magic for Dark Times and one a tarot writing practice from The Magical Writing Grimoire.
Over the past several years as Doughty, has continued to travel the world to give talks and educate folks on the wonders of death, she found that her favorite part of these talks came in the Q&A portion. It was not just the opportunity to get to hear what she calls “people’s deep fascination with decaying bodies, head wounds, bones, embalming, funeral pyres—the works”—that the most direct and provocative questions about death came from young children.
Stephanie Valente lives in Brooklyn, NY. She has published Hotel Ghost (Bottlecap Press, 2015) and waiting for the end of the world (Bottlecap Press, 2017) and has work included in Susan, TL;DR, and Cosmonauts Avenue. Sometimes, she feels human. http://stephanievalente.com
PHOTO CREDIT: Team Fisticuffs
To me, there are such things is an nod to the imagination, the occult, belief in the unexplainable. I am fascinated in the pull of mystery.
Why not have a beautiful piece of art to carry a bit of mystery with you throughout your life?
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This photo is wrongfully attributed everywhere, but we believe it is by Daniel Vazquez. His work is at @AmericanGhoul
Decided the full arsenal was required. Witchcraft. A black magick banishment spell. I would protect my land and bodily autotomy. Even if that meant I made an unholy deal with the Gods, Goddesses and ghosts. I would be as scorched earth forever alone if that would permit me to me survive. When I turned 40 I resolved to be a celibate recluse to preserve sobriety and avoid further rape. Sacrifice was familiar company. I had to salt the earth so no weeds could grow.
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via The D-Photo
When I was nineteen, a therapist told me she thought I had post-traumatic stress disorder.
"Like a soldier?" I asked, halfway laughing.
She pointed out that I was extremely anxious in our meetings, that I couldn’t sit still, but bit my nails to the quick and glanced around the room and at the closed door. I couldn’t sit with my back to an open window, and I talked as if I had to get the words out quickly, quietly, before someone else heard. That I often looked as if my heart was beating too fast. (It often was.) Hypervigilance, she said.
Read MoreThis "return of the repressed" continues, as Deanie self-destructs in more and more glamorous ways, eventually wading into a pond decked out in a gorgeous red flapper dress and swimming towards the edge of a waterfall.
Read MoreIn my mid-30s, my initial confidence level with attractive men didn’t match my perception of enduring relationship success; I felt doomed to fail on a protracted timeline. In this instance, and others, I chose to pursue someone based on the short-term nature of the possibilities. I knew I had Jack that first night. Boys like me; that doesn’t mean they stick around, so I was now choosing men who wouldn’t.
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