Mad Satyr Wormwood Infusion

a Henri Privat-Livemont poster advertising Abs...
a Henri Privat-Livemont poster advertising Absinthe Robette. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My primary flying potion is absinthe.  Although a touch unconventional (not having any deadly poisonous hallucinogens or rendered baby fat or any of that), I find it highly effective, particularly when combined with drumming and occasionally marijuana.   The major problem is that it’s fucking expensive, and it flies a little in the face of my DIY ethic.  So I’m trying to make my own.

The First Experiments:  Bacardi 151 Rum (151 proof) vs. 360 Vodka (40 proof)

Herbs – ground together and sifted into repurposed  glass bottles.

3/4 oz. wormwood (~1/2 cup)

2 Tbs. star anise

1 Tbs. fennel

1 Tbs. mint

1 tsp. hyssop

1 tsp. angelica

1/2 tsp. coriander

1/4 tsp. caraway

Infusion – liquor poured over the herbs.  Then the waiting.

One batch of herbs is being infused into 151 proof rum, the other into vodka.  While my recipes call for high-proof rum, or even pure grain alcohol, I have some serious doubts as to how that’s going to work with the flavor profile.  I’m also a little skeptical that the high proof is actually necessary for thujone extraction.  Finally, in the backassward states I live in, high proof alcohol is taxed to the point where it is actually more expensive than alcohol fit for human consumption (and, living in the United States, there’s always the issue of denaturing).  My research recommends three to ten days for thujone extraction, and basically the same time frame (at least three days, or until you run out of patience) for other herbal infusions. These, my first experiments, were infused for four days.

Results

Neither infusion took on the characteristic green color of absinth: both are rather brownish.  If I recall correctly though, the green comes from a second variety of wormwood and from the mint, which I may add more of.

Both varieties have a strong bitter undertone, which I had hoped to avoid with the short infusion period.  The rum infusion tastes much more like absinthe than the vodka, and the native flavor of the rum covers the bitterness a little.  Mixing the vodka infusion with sugar and water opens up the flavor and dials back the bitterness; I believe that a second lump of sugar will perfect the cocktail.  (I will report on the rum infusion when I deliver it to the friend who paid for the experiment.)

Visionary results from the wormwood infused vodka were well within expected parameters.  I suspect the same will be true of the rum infusion.

Conclusions and Sources

One of my two primary sources for this experiment recommended infusing the alcohol with the wormwood first, then the other herbs.  I will do this for my next experiment, tasting it as it steeps so as to better gauge the efficacy and bitterness over time.  I may also steep each of the herbs individually so as to best understand their flavor elements, as well.

Each 750 ml experiment lost about 20% of its volume to the herbs, which I had infused loose.  I will tie the next batch in cheesecloth or cotton, which satchel I will be able to better extract the finished potion.  Larger batches may also help solve this problem, as the herbs can only absorb so much liquid.

The above experiment was cobbled together from two recipes:

Dangerous Minds DIY Absinth – Originally intended for use with a still.

Ingredients: Alcohol 80% and herbs (the most common bought in the chemist’s, in grams per 1 liter of alcohol):

Herbs:
Wormwood: 100 g
Fennel (fruit): 50 g
Anise: 50 g
Mint: 15 g
Melissa: 8 g
Chamomile: 3 g
Cumin: 10 g
Angelica: 10 g

Original “Classic” Formula

750 ml. 151 rum

One ounce dried chopped wormwood

One tablespoon fennel or anise seeds
One tablespoon dried angelica root
One teaspoon dried hyssop leaves
One half teaspoon coriander seeds
One quarter teaspoon caraway seeds
One pinch cardomon pods
750 ml. 151 rum

And for future reference: another Homemade Absinthe Recipe.

Red Beans and Rice

IMG_5509Ingredients

3 cups dark red kidney beans (~1.5 lbs)

4 cups rice

1.5 lbs Cajun sausage

3 lbs small onions

4 sticks celery

1 clove elephant garlic

IMG_55104 medium carrots

1 bell peppers

1 jalapeño

3 bay leaves

2 tbs paprika

1 tsp pepper

1 tsp sea salt

IMG_5513sprig of fresh basil

1 tsp worcestershire sauce

1 tsp habanero hot sauce

Directions

(Grossly oversimplified, use your favorite search engine as needed)

Soak and cook beans.  Finely dice all vegetables.  When ready and add the sausage, vegetables, IMG_5514herbs, spices, and sauce.  Cook for one hour while you prepare the rice.

Serve with beer and corn bread at a 1.5:1 rice to bean goo ratio.

Devour.

IMG_5517

HPF 2012: Bonfire Dancing—Riding Fire and Ridden By a God

Please allow me to preface this story with another.  For a few years now, I have been working with a set of three masks I made over the course of a couple months at the end of 2009.  Perhaps the crown jewel of the three is the Sun God Mask.

IMG_4813

Originally intended to be the focal point of Solstice rituals, it has been calling for more attention lately.  In particular, it took an unexpectedly prominent role in my Beltane festivities, and since then it has been much more aware.  As an experiment, I took the mask with me to Heartland.

For those who haven’t been to Heartland Pagan Festival, one of the major attractions are the nightly bonfires, surrounded by drumming and dancing.  The last couple years I ended up spending so much energy on the radically healing and transformative workshops and rituals that I didn’t actually have any left for dancing.  This year was different, for better AND worse, and I think I spent more time around the bonfire than the previous two (and maybe three) years combined.  I know I spent more time dancing than the last several years put together.

For me, this year, there were three modes of dancing.  I danced by myself.  I danced with the mask: letting it experience the mortal pleasures that incorporeal creatures seem to find either intoxicating or abhorrent.  I danced with the fire, treating it as an idol of the Elemental Powers of Fire.

Dancing alone was an exercise in the pure, hedonist pleasure of my body.  Reveling in the feeling of muscle and sinew moving against bone, of the heat of the fire contrasted with the cool night air, of the thundering drumbeats moving through me, the rough sand under my bare feet. Gods, I’ve missed it.  Even if I could stand the music they play at dance clubs, it wouldn’t be the same.  The drum circle produces an aIchemy of earth, air, and fire that, in my experience at least, is absolutely unique.

Although, to the best of knowledge, I’ve done more mask-work than anyone I know personally, I can hardly call myself an expert.  I’ve worked with exactly three ritual masks, only two of which have personalities.  Dancing with the mask was an experience unlike any I have had yet.  Although Phil Hine tells me that half-masks are difficult to keep quiet[1], I actually find it incredibly difficult to speak while wearing it.  I don’t know if my dancing was perceptibly different to anyone who is not me, but I definitely felt like a back-seat driver in my own body as the mask and I moved around the fire Friday and Sunday nights.  One person complimented me on the mask while we were dancing, and it was all I could do to say “thank you.”  I don’t even remember what she looked like, even though we were close enough that I could see her without my glasses.

Dancing with the fire itself, this year, was perhaps the most powerful experience of the three.  My plan, going in to the festival, had included a lot of visionary and ritual work aimed at pursuing elemental and planetary initiations.  None of it happened.  After the concert and its coincidental epiphanies, however, I was ready to try.  I had already danced by myself.  I was dancing with the mask when the sudden calling came to me to put it back down and dance with the fire.  I rode the drums into the fire and rode the heat and light back into myself, bringing Fire with me.  I haven’t really talked about it here on the blog—I should, but I haven’t; it’s easier to talk about how I was an idiot back in the day than how I’ve fucked up lately—but I’ve been having some trouble with Fire.  My elemental journey to Fire, taken as part of my work through Penczak’s Outer and High Temples, left an open portal to the Elemental Realm of Fire in my Inner Temple that would draw me in against my will if I wasn’t extremely careful.  Dancing with the fire, becoming One with Fire, I asked it for it’s Elemental Initiation.  The fire told me it was already mine.  When I returned to my Inner Temple for Monday’s journeywork, the portal was tamed: mine to enter or exit at need, no longer a sucking maw.


1- Phil Hine, Condensed Chaos, (Tempe, AZ: New Falcon, 1995), 153.  Maybe he just hasn’t “learn[ed] to speak” yet.

HPF 2012: All Hail Camp WTF!

For most of my career as a Heartland Pagan Festival attendee, I had camped either alone or as an attaché to a larger encampment.  I partied with the Big Damn Heroes (a now-defunct band from Oklahoma and the various friends and lovers they brought with them) and with Camp Taco (several women from St.Louis, who I would party with when I moved there in 2k6), but otherwise kept to myself.  When Aradia and I started attending together in 2k9, we continued the pattern except as a couple.

This year, as the most experienced festival attendees with the most supplies to share,  we found ourselves as the heads of an encampment.  Though Pasiphae ended up working closely with Aradia on the shopping and packing lists, she and Aidan had formally appointed us “Camp Mom” as early as Beltane.  We were also joined by Camp Taco’s Aurora, a couple of her close friends, and Alopex, and old friend of mine from the early KU Cauldron days, as well as a couple refugees from the Big Damn Heroes.  There were eight of us, officially, and three or four more “satellite” characters camped with us.  Between this (unofficial) leadership role and my work exchange arrangement—20 hours of time to helping run the festival in order to get in for free—contributed to the very different tenor this festival had for me.

The transformation from a pile of Satyr’s and Aradia’s friends into a coherent encampment of festival family was an impressive one.  Unfortunately, on account of the work exchange, I wasn’t there for several key portions of it.  The credit, if such a thing is due, must go to Aradia and her meticulous diplomacy, and to the fact that we just have really, really awesome friends.

We dubbed ourselves Camp WTF, in part an acknowledgement of our diverse backgrounds and arrangements on the one hand, and the utter disaster state the camp was in at the time we were having the discussion.  They took the Rogue Potato as our mascot, and a Blanket Fire[2] as part of our heraldry.

The symbols and rituals we developed were all Great Moments In You Had To Be There, and they were all beautiful.  I’m working on drawing up our heraldic crest and designing our flag.  I can’t wait to see the madness that will grow out of this.  Everyone in camp was family by the end of the festival.

HPF 2012: The Blessings of Dionysus Upon you All

 

"Bacchus" by Caravaggio.
“Bacchus” by Caravaggio. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Flannigan’s Right Hook was playing their cover of Paint it Black as Aradia and I stumbled back from one of the furthest-flung encampments at Gaea, still high from our first shamanic journey.  That was Friday night of HPF 2009, our first year together; they played again the following year on the Sunday night main-stage, to which they returned  this year.  I missed the first part of this show, too, eventually abandoning half of my encampment to their face-painting shenanigans.

After the quiet of rest of the festival, walking up to the stage was like running face-first into a cacophonic wall of neon light and raucous sound.  A beautiful, much-needed wall, the impact with which brought me back to 2k9 and ‘10, returning to those moments in cyclical time.  The guitars, the cello, the electric fiddle … it was catharsis, pure and powerful.

I needed it desperately.  The festival, to that point, had had its ups and downs.  The main ritual, the day before, had been an utter disaster from which we were all—despite the passage of twenty-four hours, multiple cleansing rituals, and the completion of the public closing ritual just hours before—still recovering.  Even the land was stained.

So I stood there, vibrating with the music, and trying to let go.  To let go of my frustration with the Sacred Experience Committee.  To let go of my frustration with my camp-mates, most of whom had not yet made it to the pavilion[1].  To let go of my desire for the festival—which I have been attending since I was eighteen years old, to which I have introduced probably a dozen people at this point, and to which I had brought three “virgins” this very year—to be perfect, and just enjoy it as it was in the then and the now.  Perfection doesn’t exist in this world.  I’m skeptical that it exists anywhere.  …. So why, then, do I get so upset when things turn out to be less than perfect?

The music was amazing, the light show was a blast, and I was drinking thoroughly-blessed wine.  And yet, I was still struggling to find the fun.  My ambivalence must have been clear.  When Aradia asked me if I was alright, I didn’t lie.

Aradia and Aurora had been to one of the workshops I’d missed on account of my work exchange obligations.  The workshop was on aura cleansing and chakra balancing.  Together, as I stood there listening to the music, they worked over my energetic bodies until I was almost in tears.  Finally, something inside me broke loose, the tears came, my aura opened up, and I was able to let go and find the fun.  Power filled me, and a few sudden insights.

The band was clearly having the time of their lives, too.  Somehow, bottles of mead kept finding their way on stage.  At one point, the band stopped to toast the audience.  I raised my glass and toasted them back: “The blessings of Dionysus upon you all.”

My wine, as I said, was well-blessed.  Recognizing that I was not the only one in my encampment stained by the miasma of the previous night’s ritual, I took the box of wine Aurora had offered for the purposes, and called upon Dionysus to bless it so that all who drank of it would be purged of the stain and incited to sacred revelry.  I wish I’d thought to wright down the specifics, but I kinda got lost in the moment.  I completed the blessing by pouring a libation in a circle around the box; suddenly, it was “hot” to the touch.

“Holy shit,” said Aradia.  “What did you just do?”

When I toasted the band, my blessing spread to their bottles.  But one of the things about working with gods and spirits, I guess, is that once you start talking to them, they’re listening more than you realize.   And I had said “upon you all.”  Little lights started going off in the audience as the blessing spread to those bottles.  And then little bells started ringing in my head as other bottles throughout camp were lighted with the same blessing, too.

It was about that time that the rest of our encampment showed up, beaming and with faces painted.  The wine flowed liberally and, when the concert was over, we found a secluded place to load a bowl while they lit the bonfire.

The tenor of the evening was changed, radically, and for the better.


1 – I love you guys, but you can’t spend five days camped with anyone and not end up a bit frustrated at some point.

Packing for the Hedge: A Prelude to HPF 2012

Sometime today I will disappear into the woods for Heartland Pagan Festival.  This will be my tenth festival or so.  I’ve been going since 1998 or 1999, but I missed a few years toward the beginning on account of poor money management and mad life drama.  This will be my fifth consecutive year attending since I missed 2007 on account of being unemployed in St. Louis; it will be my fourth year going with Aradia.

This will, however, be my first year going as work exchange—20 hours of my weekend promised to the Heartland Spirit Alliance to help keep the festival running.  It will also be my first year as a head of an encampment.

Aradia and I are bringing three friends who’ve never been before, and hosting two more who have attended before but are coming without their usual retinue.  I’m going out today, a day before the festival opens officially, to be trained in (and hopefully to begin) my work exchange duties.  I’ll also use the opportunity to pick out a camp site for us all.

I can’t begin to describe how excited I am.

Christopher Penczak and Kerr Cuhulain will both be speaking.  Seriously, click the image link and check out the list of speakers and performers.  Then there’s that whole Lunar Election (9am-9:40 CDT Friday for any of my compatriots who are thinking about making a Lunar Talisman for themselves out there).

So I’ll be back in about eight days with a shit ton of stories.

Have fun here in the blogosphere without me.  And if any of my dear readers think they might be at festival, look for the encampment with this tent and flag:

IMG_3631

We’ll be camped somewhere around Dava Wood if all goes according to plan.  Look for the big guy with the beard and tattoos under his collar bone that match the flag; sun on one shoulder, moon on the other, and a astrological mandala between the shoulder blades.

Continuing Experiments: Sigils, Talismans, and the Stele of Jeu

While I haven’t had much time to write clever blog posts since finals week started gearing up (then ended, with all the unanticipated post-semester and graduation-related madness), I have managed to make time to actually do the magic.  I have performed the Stele of Jeu twice, fired off a shoal of sexy sigils, and made two new talismans based on what I learned of talisman-making from the Jupiter Election.

the Stele of Jeu

The Stele of Jeu the Hieroglyphist  is becoming an increasingly integral part of my practice.  Interestingly, though, the more often I perform it the more subtle the effects seem to be.  I performed the rite at the last Dark Moon, on the Day and Hour of the Sun, and as a part of my Beltane celebrations in the woods behind my school.

In the first case—as seems to often happen—I was struck by the sense that something was watching me as I performed my rite.  That sensation faded, though, as I performed the ritual.  By half way through, actually, it had faded to the point where I decided to try out something I’d read somewhere and repeated the central portion of the ritual until I got the feeling of rising power:

Holy Headless One, deliver him, NN, from the daimon which restrains him, / ῥουρβριαω μαρι ὠδαμ βααβναβαωθ ασς ἀδωναι ἀφνιαω ἰθωληθ ἀβρασαξ ἀηωωυ / mighty Headless One, deliver him, NN, from the daimon which restrains him. / μαβαρραιω ἰοηλ κοθα ἀθορηβαλω ἀβραωθ / deliver him, NN ἀωθ ἀβραωθ βασυμ ἰσακ σαβαωθ ιαω

That definitely had an effect, though I would be hard pressed to actually describe what it was.  I sat in the salt circle and meditated for a while, basking in the magical afterglow.

I performed the ritual again at Beltane, under the nearly-full moon.  My outdoor festivities with Sannafrid were actually a couple days late, on account of the rain on the 1st and 2nd.  Being in the woods, I skipped the salt circle—salting the earth is not my idea of a good time.  On the one hand, the effects were much less profound than I had hoped/feared/anticipated; on the other hand, they were very interesting.  The woods suddenly felt more alive.  Sannafrid and I could sense spirits everywhere—not like I had conjured them, but more as if I had suddenly tuned in to the layer of reality where they already lived.

I think they were just the spirits of the wood, and while they may or may not have been aware of our presence, I honestly don’t think they could have cared less.  It was a very powerful experience, if just a little surreal.  I think that’s an important lesson for all magicians, but for witches and nature-worshipers in particular: to keep in mind that most of the spirit world, like most of the natural world, doesn’t care one way or the other about humans.  We’re doing our thing; they’re doing theirs.

a Sigil Shoal for More and Better Sex

The way I count the Moons, the third day of the Dark Moon is also the first day of the waxing phase.  After performing the stele of Jeu, once the hour had passed from Sun to Venus, I fired off a shoal of sigils for more and better sex.  The effects of this shoal were even more awesome—and, importantly, longer lasting—than the first one.  The shoal included five sigils (the specific phrasing of which is apparently in the stack of notes that didn’t make it back to Kansas City with me), all aimed at improving my sex life.  The majority of the sigils were aimed helping my body keep up with my libido—and, more importantly, with Sannafrid’s.

The results were fucking spectacular.  (Yeah, I went there.  How could I resist?)  At risk of crossing into the realm of Way Too Much Information: not only was I able to manage 2-3 times in a day (a little difficult at 31 on a mediocre diet), I was able to keep that up almost every day for a ten day stretch of the two-and-a-half weeks between when I fired the sigils and when they faded about a week ago.

So … waxing Moon, day of the Sun, hour of Venus is damn good astrological timing for sex magic.  I would have thought the Full Moon, day and hour of Venus would have been as good … but it was also the 3rd day of the Full, so technically a waning Moon, which may have had an impact.  Further confounding factors here include the sigils themselves, the way they were phrased, single versus shoal, and the fact that I was still tingling from the Stele of Jeu.

a Talisman of Venus

IMG_5237

Anticipating Venus’ recent retrograde movement, I made a talisman of Venus based on the Jupiter Talisman I made at the recent election.  I used Christopher Warnock’s Venus image on one side (I really need to buy his Picatrix translation and star producing my own images based on the descriptions); the Agrippan characters of Venus, my Glyph of the Moon, and a pair of sigils (empowering myself with the Favor of Kings) on the other.  I performed the rite at the Day and Hour of Venus, using a slightly altered version of the Orphic Hymn to Venus—I added a line at the end asking to be endowed with the Favor of Kings—burning incense of my own making, and anointing the talisman with Abramelin oil—and using the various Venusian symbols I keep on my altar rather than a formal Triangle of Art.  For a more general Venusian boost, I also took a bit of my Venusian incense and started an infusion like I do for my essential oil production.  I left both projects on my altar to marinade essentially until I packed everything up for the trip.

My understanding is that, so close to the retrograde, even the otherwise auspicious arrangement of planetary forces on that Day and Hour of Venus with a waxing Moon was less than ideal.  Still, I felt that it would be a good idea to shore up Venusian in my sphere given the complexity of my love life at the moment (that’s a post in and of itself, and one which is particularly delicate since all parties involved read the blog.  I’m glad that I did: the talisman and the infusion-in-the-making are both radiating good, clean, Venusian power.

Safe-Travel Talismans

My final magical project in the Sunrise Temple, before leaving for the summer, was to produce safe-travel talismans for Sannafrid and myself.  She is spending the month in China as part of an ethnography program through our school—a sort of “victory lap”, as they call it here.  I was going to be making a drive across three states with a number of the things most dear to me in my back seat.

Using essentially the same methodology as I did for my Jupiter and Venus talismans, I made a pair of Mercury talismans for Sannafrid and myself.  The most interesting differences between the rites was that these were made at the day and hour of Mercury, outside in the woods during our Beltane celebrations, and that I used a lock of her hair mixed in with the Mercury blend between the two sheets of cardstock and had her write her own Names to create the link to her, where I used my Glyph of the Moon for my own talisman.

The results were again spectacular.  If I do say so, myself, I’m getting pretty good at making paper talismans.  I’m looking forward to teaching myself some metal-etching skills so that I can use similar techniques in more permanent mediums.

A Personal Manifesto of Sacred Sexuality (v1.0)

scan0001

FIRST PRINCIPLES

I cannot speak for anyone but myself.(This is part of what I mean when I talk about feminist witchcraft.) Your mileage may vary.

This manifesto is a work in progress.I have practiced this lifestyle for years, but I have never attempted to articulate these positions before. Revision will inevitably be needed, even just to fully account for the experiences I have already had. As I continue to live a strange and interesting life, I will acquire new perspectives that will transform the ideas of which this document is a reflection – perhaps radically.

Pleasure, in and of itself, is not shameful or even neutral: it is an inherent good.Does this mean that no harm can come from pursuing pleasure? Of course not. What it does mean is that abstinence from pleasure is, at best, morally neutral, and that the condemnation of pleasure is fundamentally immoral.

Healthy sexual relationships are founded on a model of enthusiastic consent (1). Not just “okay, whatever”, but “fuck yes, do me now”. “I like it when you touch me this way.” “No, put your hand there.” That said: I have a very liberal definition of sex. It is entirely possible that some people on my “List” might be surprised to find themselves there, as they do not consider what we did to be “sex”. That’s fine: it’s not my place to define other people’s experiences for them, but neither is it their place to define mine. We were there, good times were had. I have no interest in legalistic definitions of what counts and what doesn’t. This ambiguity makes the principle of enthusiastic consent even more critical: one does not simply agree to “sex”, and thereby agree to whatever happens thereafter. Communication, then, is also absolutely essential. What “counts” as sex is irrelevant if everyone involved is excited about what they’re doing. Being certain that everyone is not just “consenting” but “enthusiastic” requires communication: honest, explicit, and even graphic discussions of what you like, what you want, what you don’t want to do right now, and what you will never, ever do. Don’t like the sound of that? Piss off: go back to masturbating in the closet with the lights out. If you’re not mature or confident enough to talk about it, you’re not ready to do it.

Communication and enthusiastic consent—and, by extension, good sex—are founded on respect. It is impossible to respect either yourself or your partner “in the morning” if you did not respect both yourself and your partner when you began.

WHAT IS SACRED?

Sacred things are those things which have been touched by the divine. Those things which bring us closer to the divine. Those things which help us realize and understand and manifest the divine.

Which, of course, begs the question: “What is the Divine?”

As a witch and an animist, I believe that the divine is inherent and immanent in all things. The divine is that which exists between the warp and the woof of reality—the very space between the twisted fibers of the threads. Divinity manifests in mortals and in gods, in that which is animate and that which is other. But while the divine is omnipresent, it is not readily apparent. The toil of daily life hides it even from those few whose eyes are not veiled. Although the language I use to describe it is often different, in practical terms this looks a lot like pantheism.

Thus, we must seek the divine through the medium of the sacred: rites and spaces, rituals and tools. We practice ways of life which cultivate a recognition of the divine so that we are awake and watchingfor those moments when the veil parts and the divine is revealed.

This is religion.  This is worship.  This is meditation.  This is the Great Work.

You are the serpent that bites its tail.

WHAT IS SEX?

Sex is that which arouses and and fulfills. Sex is the consummation of desire—by oneself or with another. Sex is mutual and consensual. It is more than “just” kissing, but doesn’t have to end in orgasm. Sex—done right—is adoration, even when it doesn’t look that way to people who aren’t involved.

If you ever have to ask, “was that sex?”, the answer is probably yes. Oral sex. Cyber sex. Anal sex. Fucking. Sucking. Licking. Touching. Teasing. PiV. Pegging. Tribadism. Silk feathers and rose petals. Leather corsets and vinyl pants.  Whips, and chains. In the road. On the roof. In the woods. Even in bed, just for the sake of variety.

With two or three or four or more.  By yourself.  With a stranger. With a friend, or even a spouse.

Making love. Sexual intercourse.

Whatever your style is. Whatever you want to call it.

WHAT IS SACRED SEX?

Sacred sex begins with the recognition of the divine spark within oneself and within all others, and the recognition that while that spark may be easier to perceive in some individuals, each and every one of us share the same potential. We are all Gods.  We are all Goddesses.

Sacred sex proceeds with the recognition that the body is not just a vehicle, or even a vessel for or temple to the divine (though it is these things, too): it is, itself, part of the immanent and omnipresent divinity.  As such, it must be honored and maintained: by proper feeding and exercise, by cleansing and purification—yes, occasionally even by austerities—and by libations and festivities.  By pleasure.

In a solitary practice, sacred sex serves to unite the divinities of the self—the soul, the flesh, and the divine spark in each that unites the individual with the rest of creation—through the medium of pleasure. By honoring that spark, the inner flame of divinity is stoked and grows brighter.

With partners, sacred sex serves the same purposes and more. Recognizing the spark of divinity in another, devoting ourselves for the duration of the act(s) to stoking the divine flame(s) of our partner(s), we open ourselves to the experience of true unity. Unity with our partner(s) individually and with Creation as a whole. This does not mean pretending that you or your partner are a particular divinity—Apollon or Aphrodite—but recognizing yourself and your partners for the divinities you already are.

Sacred sex, at least for the duration of the act, breaks down the illusory barriers between self and other, between mortal and divine. Sacred sex teaches us that the mortal, material world is not, and cannot be, “profane”; that “profanity”, if it even exists, comes from degradingthe mortal world and its denizens.

Done right, all sex is sacred.

Done right, sacred sex does not leave the practitioner wasted or reduced. Spent, perhaps—as one feels at the end of any vigorous exercise, or powerful ritual—but revitalized, glowing, and more whole.

But this is all too theoretical. “O Satyr,” you ask me (probably more than half sarcastically), “how does one go about all this?” (Or perhaps you’re not being sarcastic. Perhaps we’re sitting at the bar or by the bonfire, and you’re hoping for a personal demonstration: please, make sure I can tell the difference.)

The path is yours to find, but I started with magical healing massage.  Massage is an excellent metaphor for sex, anyway: explicitly negotiated boundaries of skin and touch and oil and pleasure.  (Obviously this is much less true in a professional setting.)  I reached into the Earth for power, and poured my aura into the shoulders under my hands—transmuting pain through warmth of touch, kneading, and Light.  With sex it’s the same, except I use my whole body and it comes more naturally.  And, yes, if your partner is not giving equally, it can be just as exhausting as you imagine.  It’s worth it though.  I promise.

SACRED SEX AND RITUAL SEX AND SEX MAGIC

One of the interesting things about the taboos surrounding both sex and magic is how similarly they function. The subjects of sex and the occult are so toxic to large stretches of our society that even asking the most academic questions about them is seen as suspect. At the same time, there is an assumption that any soul who strays off the approved path will throw themselves whole-heartedly into the practice of either or both. We cannot provide sex education for our children: that might lead them to having sex (Ugh … folks? They’re gonna fuck anyway. Hormonal minds will find a way.) or figuring out that they’re queer. We cannot allow our children to play Dungeons and Dragons or read Harry Potter, lest they succumb to the inevitable temptation of the occult. (Sorry, y’all. Some folks can’t ever be trained not to see the fairies.)  Thus, discussions of sacred sex seem inevitably tied to discussions of sex magic: one leads to the other. It makes sense in a certain light. Both subjects are often deeply taboo. So, too, ritual sex.

Let us take a moment to define them, as I understand them at least, relative to one another.

Sacred sex, as described above, is the pursuit of the divine within oneself, one’s lovers, and the world as a whole, through the act of making love.

Ritual sex is the incorporation of sex into formal religious ritual. Historically, there is the well-known (and possibly mythical) hieros gamosof the kings of Sumer to the Goddess Ishtar through her priestesses. In the modern world, of course, we have the Wiccan Great Rite (which may or may not be as mythic as the first).

Sex magic is the use of sexual arousal and/or the act of sex as an engine for achieving magical effect. I am most familiar with this in terms of Chaos Magic and charging sigils, though I am aware of other systems such as that of Donald Michael Kraig and Donald Tyson, and am in the process of learning about them. I am led to understand that there are sexual elements to many other traditions, as well.

Beyond this, I can speak very little to these subjects. While I have had partners who were theoretically interested in ritual sex, it never quite happened, and I don’t know enough about sex magic to even ask someone to try it with me.

 

1—The link provided was the best 101 resource I could find.  Here are a couple more relevant links.

Mead-Making: the Process

People talk about the old Grimoires and books of magic having “blinds”–instructions left out, or added, to botch attempts by the uninitiated. This may or may not be true, but I have become convinced that many mead-making recipes DO include such blinds, and I think it’s fucking bullshit.  Below is my method.  If your recipe calls for something more complex, think twice.  If something looks stupid, it probably is.  If someone tells you that it’s too hard, or too expensive, or too messy to do yourself … they want into your wallet, or into your pants.  Maybe both.

I’ve been meaning to write this up anyway, to streamline the recipes I post.  It has been made critical by an unfortunate accident in a good friend’s first attempt at mead-brewing.  I don’t know where she got it, honestly I don’t want to: I’d have to flame the shit out of their comments section, and maybe even put in a bad word for them with Him Who Watches Over My Homebrew.

I’ll update this with pictures the next time I start a batch.  In the meantime: knowing is half the battle.*

Satyr Magos’ Process For Turning Honey, Water, Yeast, and Misclanea Into Damn Fine Mead

My process is mind-bogglingly simple.  In fact, most of the time I skip half these steps.  This process has thus far worked for every recipe I’ve tried in my almost three years of homebrewing.

1. (Optional) Start with my honey, and mix it 1:2 with water in a big pot on the stove.  Don’t boil it, just get it hot enough that a light foam begins to rise to the surface.  That foam is wax and other impurities–skim it off.  In addition to purifying the honey, this step offers an opportunity get the most out of ingredients that will benefit from the heat+water combination (herbs &c.).  Put a lid on your pot and let it cool to the point where it’s safe to either either suck-start your siphon or pick up the pot with your hands.  Move on to step 2 while you wait.

2.  Pour your yeast into a container of orange juice (whatever quantity is appropriate for the recipie you are using).  Let this sit to the side while you work.  By the time you’re ready to add this to the mix, it should be happy and frothy.

3.  Pour your honey+water mixture into your carboy in whatever way is most convenient.  (If you skipped step 1, start by putting about 2x your volume of honey in the carboy first.  Use warm water, and mix the honey in as you add it.)  I like to use my racking hose and/or a funnel.

4.  Add your initial flavoring elements (any that did not get added in step 1.)–that is, all the ingredients other than the water, honey, and yeast.  Mix this up well.  For a one gallon batch, I cap the bottle and shake it vigorously.  For a five gallon batch, I grab the bottle by the top and rock it in circles along the circumference of the base (this is less complicated than it sounds: wobble it in a circular fashion).

5.  (Optional)  Add enough water to bring the carboy up to 2/3 full.  Mix well.

6.  Add the yeast.  Mix welll.

7.  Add enough water to almost fill the carboy, but leave an inch or two of space at the top for the must to get frothy.  You can top it off the rest of the way when the initial fermentation (the frothing) is finished.  Mix well.

8.  Apply air-lock.  Leave in warm (60-80 deg. F, depending on your yeast) dark place.

9.  (Optional, but gets better results) Mix daily for the first week.  Rack at 1-3 weeks, at 6 weeks, at 13 weeks, and as needed thereafter.  Add flavoring elements as needed, as whim takes you, or as recipe directs.

10.  (Optional for 1-gallon batches) Bottle any time after 6 months (3 months for fast-brewing Small Mead recipes), or as recipe directs.

12.  Toast Dionysus.

13.  Drink Copiously.

* Why, yes, I am a child of the 1980s.  Why do you ask?

Fuck Yeah Try This At Home

Reading an article on sacred homoeroticism/third-gender sex for one of my classes, I came across this gem:

Arboleda’s survey of Moche erotic art also included analysis of what he names “mythic-religious” figures … The series begins with a group of three male anthropomorphic figures preparing a liquid substance, which in the following scene is poured over the gintal area of two copulating figures.  Arboleda speculates that the substance was a hallucinogen … To [the side of the scene] there is also a winged figure, possibly symbolizing shamanic dream flight. *

Entering a shamanic trance state with the aid of a lover and hallucinogenic lube?  Sign me up!

Sadly, I cannot find a photo of the piece in question.  And whether or not this is an accurate interpretation of the piece is, of course, debatable.  That’s not what I’m here for.  I’m just here to say that it sounds like a damn good idea.


* Horswell, Michael J.  “An Andean Theory of Same-Sex Sexuality and Third-Gender Subjectivity” in Infamous Desire: Male Homosexuality in Colonial Latin America.  Ed. Pete Sigal.  Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003.  pp.25-69