Tag Archives: mask work

Full Moon Musings–November 2012

Over the course of the semester three new magical tools have come into my possession: a pentacle, a staff, and a black-handled knife.  The pentacle I picked up at a swap-meet hosted by the local pagan store.  The staff is hand-made by a fine gentleman in the local community, and was given to me as a gift.  The knife was also a gift, a birthday present from another friend here in IMG_5583Sunrise.  These were my first clues that it was time to get back to my basics.  I didn’t ignore the message, per se; I just couldn’t figure out how to enact it in the context of my current workload.

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Disorder and a Detour Through Nostalgiaville

projectnullSomething about this experiment in Chaos Magick has gotten me thinking about the old days.  Hence the Timeline overhaul and all the post about my teenage years.  I’ll warn you now: there may be more of that coming, though on different subjects.

Aside from continuing my daily banishing, most of my work this week has consisted of the shielding experiments which sent me down memory lane, which I’ll talk about in detail tomorrow.

Friday night, I began another round of mask-making.  In accordance with the season, I was making another Death mask, which I hoped to sell for enough to reup my absinthe supply in time for Samhain.  Sadly, the clay wasn’t quite the right consistency, and shattered as it dried.  Hopefully I will have time to try again sometime this week.

I also fired a shoal of sigils Friday night.  I’m not gonna lie: this was some seriously low-brow shit.  The sort of thing that people get into fights about whether or not it’s beneath a magician’s dignity to do, and which, if approached from the wrong angle, could even be an ethical problem.  Yeah, that’s right: I’m using magic to help me get laid.  Go ahead, judge me.  That’s fair.

Divining before hand, it was almost an unqualified green light.  But … two IMG_5571potential problems came up. In the “coming in” position of the reading was XIII Death, last seen in my monthly reading in the 7th House; a more cautious person might have taken that as a sign not to cast.  Then, 7S “Futility” and I the Magus sat together in the “final outcome” position.  It seems likely that this indicates that, despite my best efforts, success in this arena will constitute a distraction from my school work.

Speaking of distractions from my school work: although the last week has been light enough for me to write this barrage of posts, things are going to get busy again after midterm.  The timeline I established for Project Null was predicated on last semester’s workload.  This semester’s load is much greater, and while I will strive to keep to that original schedule … well, school always has to come first.

Ironically, as I do an increasing amount of magical work every day, my meditation has fallen off completely.  Sadly, time spent staring at people’s auras in the cafeteria or out and about don’t count.

I have been able to remember my dreams upon waking only a few mornings, which is probably largely attributable to the sleeping teas I’ve been relying on for the last two weeks.  The fact that my dream recall has improved since I ran out of valerian tends to confirm this theory.  Most oddly, the night after charging the “get laid” sigil shoal, what do I dream about?  Why, the zombie apocalypse, of course, featuring a number of students from my school that I have never once spoken to.

I live a charmed life, mostly, but a strange one.

My plan for the coming week is to launch another shoal or two of sigils, finish reading Strategic Sorcery, and get back into Liber Null.  I’m also contemplating how to consciously interface my sigil magic with my Web of Influence for improved accuracy and timing.  So far, I’ve begun by tacking my fired sigils up with the maps that have become the visual representation of that web.  I will also continue brainstorming for what, precisely, I want the servitor I’m going to create as a part of this project to do; the general thought right now is bolster my house wards and serve as a guardian/attack dog.

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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.

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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.

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