PLW : Sacred Magic

Jacob’s Nightingale
after Jacob van Eyck’s “Engels Nachtegaeltje”

In the small church concert hall, I sit in the back pew,
close my eyes as the recorder wails and falls,
a bird song into the courtyard with the tolling bells.
I barely hear you breathing between notes, each one
dropping to the stones below to bounce back deeper,
fuller to your ears between the bodies moving, passing
by beneath you, obliviously through the music.
Behind your blind eyes, nothing beats but the pulse
of that little bird singing in your mind, as you perch,
feeling yourself breathless and light, on the parapets
above rooftops, as below you, business continues,
always clattering with horseshoes and cart wheels
through the cobblestone courtyard. Nothing to you—
feathers fall from your flute, float down to tangle
themselves in the feet of the walkers who, worried,
look up towards your tower deafly and wander
home. Suddenly running for shelter, covering
their heads from the downpour, beating the stones,
a hundred hands in praise, that breaks the spell.

-- Ali

How to begin? It often seems to me that there is only a thin line between what we call “ritual” and what we call “magic”—so thin, in fact, that often we perform a kind of magic within ritual itself. If we conceive of ritual as above all a religious act, then we might turn to Frazer’s classic distinction between religion and magic: that while in magic a practitioner relies on systematic laws of “imitative” and “contagious” sympathies to control nature, in religion a worshipper prays and pleads to God (or gods) to exercise that control, a request that may for no obvious reason be denied. Although here we begin to work out the difference between ritual and magic, I find myself hesitant to agree whole-heartedly with Frazer, if only because his definitions reduce all magic to an obsolete and falsely-guided attempt at science, and all religion to mere sniveling before a fickle deity. I believe that matters are more complex than that.

If we were to characterize the difference between ritual and magic very broadly, we might say that ritual is an act of worship, and magic an act of creation. In ritual, as I have alluded to in my earlier discussions, one separates in order to unite; that is, we set aside sacred space, sacred tools and sacred acts, all for the express purpose of communion with the Divine. Seeking intimacy and conversation with God in this way is essentially an act of worship and praise—we enter humbly and gratefully into His Presence, opening our hearts to love and hope. Praise and gratitude may indeed be the fundamental response of the human soul when it enters fully into a relationship with Divinity which is all-loving and infinitely hopeful. In placing unity with the Divine as its main goal, ritual is at a basic level, then, an act of praise and gratitude, an act of worship. Magic, on the other hand, is an act of creation—it is the epitome of the creative act. Just as we perform ritual in order to make manifest our love, gratitude and praise, we practice magic in order to manifest the truth of our being made in the “image and likeness” of our Creator—that is, the truth of being creators, as well. In this sense magic, too, is a kind of worship. We imitate and thus bear witness to God by embodying love, by reaffirming hope, and finally, by acting creatively.

I have included poetry and art as a kind of magic on these pages for this very reason. In my life, I have known magic best through the creative act of writing poetry. Although much of New Age and Neopagan/Wiccan writings touch on incorporating dance, music, poetry, arts and crafts into one’s ritual and magical workings, rarely (if ever) have I seen such art referred to directly as a kind of magic. I think, however, that it is perhaps one of the best examples in many respects. Firstly, few Christians have a natural aversion to art and poetry (which do not carry the connotations of the control, egotism or trickery that the term “magic” often implies); secondly, artists exist in all cultures and all religions. Such an example, therefore, is not only at the very least neutral to most, but also wide-spread and widely known. We have many examples of how great artists and poets have influenced their cultures, shaped their worlds. This is essentially the role of magic.

Magic is a creative act—whether it be writing a poem, cooking a meal, or mixing a perfume or bath infusion—and when we act creatively, we are accepting and putting into use that divine gift of free will. Where there is free will, of course, there is always the chance of doing something “wrong,” something not in harmony with the ongoing process of Divine Creation. Magic, like art, can be destructive as well as constructive. It can be undertaken with love and hope in an effort to explore the complex world with honesty and openness; or it can be performed with anger, egotism, fear or any number of hurtful motivations. Magic, in its most ideal use, can be quite literally miraculous—it can heal, it can nurturer and support, it can reveal the wonder and beauty of the Divine which flows through each of us. But it can also hurt and undermine, it can serve to reinforce prejudices and harmful assumptions about the world. Magic in itself is not an evil tool; it is the mage, the practitioner, who determines its use and what ends it will serve.

Magic, thus, takes an astounding amount of courage and humility. It requires us to be child-like, to be both humble in appreciating how vast and complicated the universe actually is, and to be brave enough, bold enough, to ask questions anyway, to seek answers and even to have confidence in our ability to shape and influence the universe. When we act creatively, we move beyond familiar territory, beyond our assumed roles, and into a space where anything is possible, where we can explore and move in ways usually denied to us by society. What we find, what we create, may challenge us to grow. The process of writing good poetry demands this of us: to bring together new associations, striking juxtapositions and even contradictions, in an effort to make something new, something which nonetheless speaks Truth. In the same way, when practicing magic, we bring together objects, actions and words that strike us, that challenge us to see situations differently and reevaluate our assumptions about the world. There is risk in all creative acts, in all magic, so we must also be humble. We must not abuse our roles as co-creators with God by committing arbitrary or careless acts. We pray, “Not my will, but Yours be done,” because we remember that we are fallible human beings, and our goal should be to serve Divine Creation in its beauty and goodness, rather than our own ends, which may be selfish or simply short-sighted. This is what makes magic sacred, the whole-hearted dedication of our natural gifts and abilities to the service of Love and Truth, the Will of the Divine.

It might seem silly to believe in magic. After all, we can understand the cultural and psychological effects which arise from a great work of art; that process of shaping the world is more visible to us. Think of it this way: As ritual separates in order to unite, magic unites in order to create—that is, magic is founded on the idea that we as free beings have access to an interconnected and transformative energy (the imminent divine Presence, if you will), which we can “tap into” in order to shape ourselves and our world. As an example, often I find my best poetry comes from letting go of my self and allowing the Divine to speak through me—as a result of this openness, my self actually changes in the process, incorporating new revelations and truths made possible through and realized in the poem. In magic, we open ourselves to become vessels for the animating, sustaining divine energy and life, and we participate in its direction towards new creative acts. It is important to listen and to pay attention when practicing magic. The Wiccan Rule of Return (that all magic rebounds on the mage three-fold) is only common sense—magic works not simply by changing the external world, but also and perhaps most importantly by transforming ourselves. That said, remember that magic is an art (or, rather, a Craft) that takes practice and discipline. We must learn how to open ourselves to and work with these energies appropriately in order to be effective. When starting out, just like with any other new art form, be safe, steady, and keep your practice enjoyable.

Knowing our story, understanding our psyche,
and seeing the patterns take us only so far.
When we can actually make the model, create the artifact,
invent the wheel--write the story in its complexity--
we find ourselves in an evolutionary place.

-- Deena Metzger, from Writing for Youur Life

Make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
It is in dying to desire that we are born to eternal life.

Below are a few select aspects of the Craft which I practice regularly (or have only just begun to practice and hope to develop further) and with which I am, thus, most experienced. They have been divided according to the five elements of earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. The first four of these elements were thought in ancient times to be the most basic pieces from which the physical world was built—objects were believed to be made up of various combinations of one or more, and human beings to embody all four of the elements. Since we now know that earth, air, fire and water are not literally simple substances, but are made up of elements themselves (with the exception of fire, which is in fact a chemical reaction), many of us have taken to understanding the elements as metaphors for those various aspects and characteristics of objects, actions and life in general. Recent approaches have also added the fifth element—spirit—as the vitalizing energy or life force behind and within the world.

In classifying the Craft’s practices according to the five elements, I hope to give us a simple way of remembering and relating to the main aspects of each practice. There are many skills which might fall under several different elements. For example, aromatherapy (which I have associated with Air because it is through the air that the chemical particles of scent reach us) could also be associated with Earth, due to the role that herbs and other plants play in creating essential oils, or even with Fire, if you choose to use incense. Another example is scrying, which can be done using water, or crystal, which could then also be associated with Earth. I have classified each practice according to the aspect which speaks strongest to me. When practicing and meditating upon each, I find that certain connections seem to arise more readily in my mind. Music speaks to me of that strange quality of air to carry something as intangible as sound which nevertheless has the power to physically move in us; cooking calls to mind the relationship we have with the growing things of the land; dreams remind me of the mystery that lies just beneath our conscious minds. Perhaps these practices will grow to mean different things for you, and lead you to contemplate new ideas than the ones I mention here. In fact, I sincerely hope that they do, since there is so much more out there to learn (and many more practices to explore). For now, I hope you find the following words helpful and illuminating.

phoenix incomplete

She will not die.

She will
be fire; she will burn,
like passion, to ash
and rise again. She will be
earth (a gray dust,
windswept cinders).
She will be wind
itself and divide
into nothing, the impossible,
spread her wings
and dissipate,
lose herself
and return,
all flame and feathers.

But she will not be water,
she will not die.

—Ali

Water is the element to which I often find myself most drawn. Indeed, it was the first of the four physical elements that I began to meditate on and incorporate into my poetry. Through paying attention to how water behaves and interacts with the rest of the world, I came to understand much of how we as human beings behave—in water, I found almost every metaphor imaginable, and many times I wrote of the absence of water as the very absence of comfort, fulfillment, even life itself. In truth, water is just this important. Earth, misnamed, is mostly ocean. Our bodies, too, are seventy percent water. Water makes life possible. It has the unique ability to be in all three forms (gas, liquid and solid) at the same temperature. As I write this, it is 36 degrees outside—snow layers the ground, water which had melted during the afternoon remains soaked in mud, and my breath, moist with water vapor, rises and drifts away in the breeze.

The crystalline structure of ice which decreases its density and allows it to float in water is also what protected the conception of life itself, which may never have survived if ice was instead heavy enough to sink and line the muddy bellies of oceans and lakes, the dwelling place of early lifeforms. There is even some scientific research currently being pursued which suggests that water crystals have the ability to imprint information—music, spoken words, even thoughts and emotions. It might indeed be true that our words and thoughts have a physical affect on water, and that by being more aware of the patterns in water as it cycles through our environment and our own bodies, we can enter more consciously and creatively into a relationship with the interconnected divinity of the world. It is for this reason that I include scrying (both in crystals and, especially, in water) and bathing/purification as two practices to bring us into a more intimate dance with the element of water.

Teahouse Practice

No one has ever fallen in love
with me because I write poetry.

You don't know why you always come
back to that same teahouse on the edge
of town, where the old woman smiles
without saying a word. She pours boiling
water into teacups as if she's in love
with the red-stained steam that will rise
from the steeping. She wipes counters
and stacks paper napkins as if she's in love
with the hands that will stir a spoon and set
it down without noticing the soggy brown ripple
that will spread away from the contact, soaking
through the tissue-thin whiteness and leaving
the table sticky. She serves tea as if she's in love
with the lips that it will pass without being savored.
You were never in love with this old woman
and her steady passions; her silence doesn't sweeten
her teas like sugar. But you always come back
to that same teahouse, if only to sit in a silence
of your own, listening to a winter rain fall outside
where, in the spring, flowers will open.

No one has ever fallen in love with me
because I write poetry.
You are living proof.

-- Ali

Many have noted that, in the Judeo-Christian tradition, spirit has been described using metaphors from each of the other elements: the “breath of life” which animated the first human beings, the “living waters” promised by Jesus, the “tongues as of fire” and other manifestations of the Holy Spirit and the presence of God, and even the references to the fruitful, sustaining earth and the garden of paradise. Spirit is understood in many ways and remains essentially a mystery—indeed, another way of thinking about the element of spirit is as Mystery itself, the hidden processes which give rise to revelation and evolution. This is why I have included visualization, dreams and art (that is, specifically what we call "fine art") as associated with Spirit. Each of these practices help to remind us of the vastness of our inner lives, and the mystery and unexplored darkness which lies within as well beyond us. Darkness and mystery are not things to fear; indeed, they are vital aspects of ourselves. We each have "shadows"—those subconscious urges and directions—which are often quite frightening, but which we must inevitably confront and incorporate into our waking lives if we seek to be Whole and to relate to others as Whole Beings, as well.