Looking towards the next month I know that the days will continue to shorten.  Luckily, December is a month filled with merriment and joy for Christians and Pagans alike.  As the days get colder, we decorate our homes and make time for dinner with friends and family.  The city too reflects our cheer as red bows, pine garlands, and bright lights cloak the city in merriment.

For me, the festivities culminate at the winter solstice.  A joyful time as we can welcome the growth of the sun and take comfort in knowing that the daylight hours will extend.  If I can manage, I like to wake up to see the sunrise on solstice morning.  I take a mug of coffee out to the lake, find a good bench, and watch the sun illuminate the city.  Our winter season in Chicago is long, but I take comfort through the months knowing that after the solstice each day becomes just a little bit longer than the day before.  

As I walked home from work the other day I stopped to pick up a few items to make a certain winter brew.  Something that will surely warm me and my friends through these upcoming winter months.  

This jar of spiced deliciousness takes 5 weeks to fully infuse so I recommend making it as soon as possible.  I confess that I should have planned it a bit better.  I was hoping to have the brew ready for drinking by the solstice.  Though of course, life tends to get in the way at times so I will need to wait till the very end of December to taste my first sip.  

WINTER BREW

This recipe is from the lifestyle blog Sidewalk Shoes

Ingredients

- 4 cups brandy
- 1 piece cinnamon stick
- 2 star anise
- 1 vanilla bean, sliced lengthwise
- 24 black peppercorns
- 4 navel oranges, chopped into large pieces

Instructions

1. Combine all ingredients in a large mason jar.  Cap it tightly and store in a cool dark place for two weeks.  Shake the jar daily.

2. After the two weeks strain the brew through a fine mesh strainer or coffee filter.  Return the liquid to the jar and let it mellow for three weeks in a cool and dark place.

3. Enjoy with friends throughout the winter.

The steel rails of the El Train roar as they screech, bright sparks illuminating red against frosty wheels.  The wooden train platform is high and narrow, the wind whipping through the splintered slats and rusted rivets.  I pull my scarf close and try to find the gloves inside my bag.  It’s an inhuman kind of cold in the city today.  Only late November, I know that the winds will only become stronger as they howl endlessly through the empty branches and brick alleyways.  

Photo from artist Daniel Vazquez

As the last of November is swept away along with the remaining leaves, it’s hard to look towards the cold months ahead and think warmly.   But as witches, we know we must do so. For we are the stewards of the seasons; guardians of the subtle natural changes that others ignore.  And it is up to us to find beauty in all aspects of the wheel of the year.  

For me that means respecting the bitter cold of Chicago, something difficult to do as the temperatures free fall and the daylight hours seem to slip through my fingers.  But then again, I remember the previous years and I know that beneath the bitter cold and darkness there will be much beauty and power to be found.  

I know that when the snows begin to fall they will cover the grey dirt and grime of the streets, making our roads glimmer diamond in the morning light.  Along with the cold winds, the air becomes clear and the moonlight shines brighter.  I remember times last winter as I walked towards the lake and saw the wild waters crash against sandy shores.  The winds formed sand dunes into great monolithic structures of ice and frost.  Standing nearby I could feel the wild uncontrollable power of the waves.  A feeling that reminded me that we individuals are only minor players among the greater powers.  For in winter, we are reminded that we are beholden to nature and such knowledge gives us a greater appreciation and connection to the spirits of the wild.    

As witches, we are the ones that take notice and tap into this power.  To feel the rush of those winter winds run through our veins.  To stand beneath the moon and have its light bathe our skin.  Such feelings are available to all, yet only us witches aim to understand them.  Only us witches take the time to harness and use these powerful forces. Our winter walks become a subversive act against the complacency of those that shut themselves in and ignore the power and beauty to behold.

Remembering all this I am comforted as stand upon the wooden platform waiting for my train.  I watch a solitary leaf fall and dance between bare branches before meeting the ground.  I smile as I observe the empty trees swaying in the wind.  For as the last of the leaves fall and crumble against the frost, I know the great wilds of winter are storming in.  A power and energy I look forward to seeing and working with again.

We drove down County Road X through the woods of Alabama.  The county had never bothered to pave anywhere this remote so the journey was rough and the rocks cracked under the tires as we headed along the shaded path.  Reaching the crest of a hill we followed a fork in the road to reach our lodge.  The path stopped before a set of large black gates.  The top of the gate was detailed in the shape of a deer head fitted with large red glass eyes and reminded me of something you might see at Malfoy manor.  It was strange to think that just hours before I had been moving through the city of Chicago, rushing past hundreds of people going about their business.  And now, here I was in the middle of nowhere in a state most Chicagoans look on with fear and disdain.  And to be fair, some of the stereotypes were true.  As we moved through the gate and into the large cabin we would be staying, we found countless indication that this was a place for hunters and that we, us city folk, were clearly out of place.

While I was there to visit some distant relatives, I made sure to find time to escape and venture on my own through the many acres of woods that made up the property.   For someone used to the incessant racket of city noise, the absence of it was unsettling at first.  Though the ability to be completely surrounded by nature was refreshing and much needed.  At home in the city I often can only look at the moon through a window, or perhaps in a city park.  It is rare that I get to experience nature alone.  But here, in the woods of Alabama it seemed that everything was different.  

As the sun set I made my way to a small pond deep in a valley.  The trees down by the river were magnificent, and the riotous colors shone bright through the waters reflection.  As I walked towards the water's edge it became clear that this was a place not owned by people, but by the animals and spirits of the woods.

An October song of leaves scattered about my boots as I snaked between the trees.  The trees swayed as the wind whipped through the leaves, the cracking branches forming an uncanny rhythm.  As the sky began to darken I turned on my Coleman lantern and that was when the sensation of being truly alone at night in an unfamiliar place hit me.  The fear began to settle in as my hair twirled and whipped in the wind, framing my face.  My eyes were wide and stared intently as I looked ahead into the darkness.  My heart beat fast beneath my skin.  My ears were sensitive to every crunch of leaf and snap of twig.  While the breeze was warm, I felt like a bag of bones, chattering against the wind.   I found a small clearing where I could sit and I stayed there among the trees for several minutes till my heart began to calm down enough where I could begin to sense the energy of the woods.

As I shut my eyes and surrendered to the darkness, I could feel what I’ve been missing.  In the city I work with the frenetic energy and magic of the hive.  The great swarm of people, industry, and memory.  This, however, was a deeper, darker, and more profound energy.  And just as a horse can sense your nervous inexperience, the guardians of the woods could tell that I was out of place and out of practice.  To tell the truth I felt guilty.  Why was I feeling fear?  Shouldn’t all witches feel comfort in the darkness of the woods?  I couldn't remember the last time I entered the woods alone.  How could I claim to be a witch without regularly working with this dark energy of the wild?   

After a few minutes of meditative silence I preformed a simple ritual thanking the God and Goddess and then headed back up to the main trail.  

This experience was somehow much more personal and deep than other experiences I’ve had with nature in the city.  When I go to various parks in the city the knowledge that civilization nearby is comforting, but it is also limiting.  Maybe the fear I felt in the woods was a necessary part of reaching through the veil and building a relationship with the other world.

I understand that not everyone can live in the countryside.  Though this trip was short it gave me an aching to make more effort to go to the wild places.  The places untamed by people.  It was bittersweet to leave the woods and return to Chicago.  Though, I will maintain the memory of the wild energy I felt in those Alabama woods and I will work tirelessly to find ways to reconnect with it again. 

Simple Ritual to Thank to Spirits of the Woods

Inspired from a ritual in Living Wicca by Scott Cunningham

As you walk alone towards a body of water collect autumn leaves that have fallen to the ground.  Upon reaching the water’s edge find a seat and cast a circle if you would like.  As you float the leaves one by one upon the water visualize your reason for the ritual.  Remember why you are thanking the God and Goddess.  As the leaves float away say the following words:

Lady of the moon, of the stars, and the earth;
Lord of the sun, of the forests, and the wild;
I perform a ritual of thanks.
My love shines like the flame of a candle;
And floats like the leaves of autumn.

Lady of the waters, of flowers, and the sea;
Lord of the air, of horns, and of fire;
I perform a ritual of thanks.
My love shines like the flame of a candle;
And floats like the leaves of autumn.

Lady of the caves, of cats, and snakes;
Lord of the plains, of falcons, and stags;
I perform a ritual of thanks.
My love shines like the flame of a candle;
And floats like the leaves of autumn.

Do you have a ritual you like to perform alone in the woods?  Let me know in the comments below. 

A friend said something the other day that really struck a chord with me.  We were riding the L train in Chicago and I mentioned how much I love the fresh feeling of fall, and how the season always feels like starting a new chapter in my life.  She said that I was probably feeling that way because for the majority of our lives the feelings of fall were associated with starting a new school year.  That certainly made sense to me.  I always loved school growing up and come August I would eagerly look forward to the first day of a new school year.  I loved picking out fresh notebooks and pencils at the office supply store and I definitely enjoyed agonizing over what I would wear on that first day back. 

I was hit with a flash of melancholy as I realized that those feelings were never going to fully return.  They were a memory of childhood and not easily found in adulthood.  As a child, your year is dictated by the school schedule and anticipating those long breaks.  I paid attention to the changing seasons as each one had its own excitement and promise of things to come.  Fall was associated with sadness about the end of summer, but also filled with excitement for the new adventures that would come next.  Winter was all about looking forward to that big break in December, a time of family, presents, and playing outside in the snow.  In spring, you eagerly anticipated the long spring break where you could almost feel the beginnings of warmth and sun start to sweep in.  And finally Summer, a time of freedom and days that seemed to last forever.  

In a way, my life was never more attuned to the wheel of the year than as a child.

Now as an adult my work schedule is almost completely devoid of seasonal change.  Work culture is driven by profit and only grudging tolerates seasonal holidays, and would gladly eradicate them if allowed.  The lens through which work culture lives is one of quarterly earnings, not seasonal rhythm.  

I think one of the things I really enjoy about Paganism is that it forces you to once again recognize the seasons.  It encourages you to appreciate the unique changes as the wheel turns.  Maybe that’s why when I started practicing, it felt in a way like coming home.  It allowed me to feel all those excitements about the changing seasons that I once felt as a child.  

As the leaves change and begin to fall, one of the best ways to reconnect yourself with this season is by going apple picking.  I used to go apple picking with my family every year growing up.  Though as I got older and moved away, it often became “too difficult” or “too far away” to fit in my busy schedule.  This year when I finally made it to an orchard I was able to reconnect with all those amazing autumnal feelings I had as a child.  As we left the city and ventured to the countryside it felt like I was able to momentarily leave my cares behind in the city and venture forth towards fresh air and mental clarity.  

In the orchard I made a conscious effort to notice the colors of the trees, the smell of cider brewing, and the crunch of discarded apples beneath my feet.  Taking time to notice the small details forced me to slow down and left me feeling refreshed and more connected to nature.  

This little momentary escape from my daily city routine helped me remember that the seasons are here for us to enjoy and respect.  And as I walked between the trees, each breath was a lovely memory of what it used to feel like being more connected to the changing seasons.  

I hope this is just the beginning of my reconnection to the seasons and I look forward to the many new seasonal memories and connections I will create.

I don’t usually read manga but I often make an exception for the horror genre.  Some of the best horror comes out of Japan, so I did not hesitate to purchase one such manga titled Uzumaki by Junji Ito.  Junji Ito is a horror manga master and this work could be considered his magnum opus. This manga is a large tome dedicated to a single story of a town plagued by a symbol, giving this book a truly unique premise.  Uzumaki means spiral in Japanese and it is this symbol that becomes the focus and main terror in this work.

I love that Ito chose the spiral to base this work upon.  Not only does the spiral shape have a profound mathematical significance, spirals also hold a prominent place in many pagan beliefs. Artwork with spirals begin to appear as early as 4000 BCE in Europe and in 3200 BCE the Celts covered the prehistoric site of Newgrange in triple spiral imagery.  Beyond Europe, the spiral appears in many other ancient cultures from early pre-columbian art in Mexico to architectural details from the Tang Dynasty in China.  It is truly one of the most familiar and profound early symbols.

In Uzumaki, the spirals begin to appear throughout the town in various ways, among blades of grass, in the swirl of an eye, and floating among the clouds.  The spirals are calm and beautiful at first.  Though as certain individuals begin to become obsessed with the spirals, the horror aspect begins to take shape.  I don’t want to give away spoilers, but safe to say things don’t go well for those that see the spirals in this small seaside town.  As you read, you might even become paranoid and begin noticing spirals in your life.  This manga is such a beautiful trippy narrative to get sucked into.  And as you get sucked in and spiral downward, I hope you enjoy the ride..

Christine McConnell is a baker and artist who brings expertly realized visions of occult oddities to life.  I found out about her on Reddit a few months ago in reference to one of her beautiful pin up recreations.  I was linked to her Instagram channel and was hooked immediately by her many beautiful artworks.  As an artist, she spans many mediums: photography, costume design, sculpture, and food art creations.  What makes her work relevant to us lovers of the arcane is the twinge of darkness, sometimes subtle, sometimes not so much, that inspires her work.  

Take, for example, one of her pin-up self-portraits where she appears as a black widow spider.  The image is beautifully unsettling.  I appreciate how she turns the idea of a pin-up (an artistic rendering for male pleasure) into something dangerous and uncanny for the viewer.  A beautiful danger like the Sirens of Greek lore.

References to famous horror movies run throughout her pieces.  This includes a pin-up take on the twins from The Shining as well as odes to 50's style cheesy alien films.  Her edible sculptures also celebrate famous horror figures, such as Frankenstein and the “baby” monster from Alien.

Last, but not certainly not least, I must reference what I consider to be one of the best “Haunted Houses” I’ve seen.  For this piece, Christine decorated her parent’s lovely home into a monstrous creature for Halloween.

I recommend checking out her instagram to view all her amazing works.  Let me know in the comments below what you think and if you have any artists that you are currently obsessing over.

The morning commute to work can be a dreadful thing.  Living in the city I take the L train from the north all the way to downtown.  It takes about an hour of screeching tracks and shuffling passengers.  For me, I like to retreat into my own world by listening to podcasts.  There’s something that’s incredibly intimate and meaningful about listening to person’s voice as the narrate a story.  Below is a list of some of my favorites.

Lore

Stories explaining the history of various folklore traditions.

Best listened to with a glass of wine in hand watching the rain storm against your window.

The Black Tapes

A serialized docudrama that investigates proof of the paranormal. It’s up to you if you choose to believe the story or not.

Lovers of the X-files and Ghost Hunters will enjoy this one.

Welcome to the Nightvale

A Lovecraftian fiction story that envelops you in a mysterious desert town filled with oddities and conspiracies.

Best for those that love a little dose of crazy mixed in with their magical realism.

Down at the Crossroads

Chris Orapello is a pagan podcaster that discusses various Pagan and Witchy topics. He also interviews other prominent Pagans and features various Pagan music.

Excellent for those wanting an educational look into various Pagan traditions and thoughts.

New World Witchery

Witches Cory and Laine go over what traditional North American Witchcraft means to them and how to incorporate magic and spellwork in your daily life.

Great for beginner and experienced practitioners alike.

Mysterious Universe 

This riotous Australian duo will have you laughing in no time as they go through the latest mysterious happenings and conspiracies with a healthy dose of skepticism.

If you love hearing about UFO phenomenon, ghosts, hauntings, and cryptozoology than this is for you.

On this evening, like all evenings before it, the lights of Chicago shown with an aura of great promise. The kind of confident capability only a great American metropolis could have. While the recession was still felt throughout the midwest, the city of broad shoulders stood tall and resilient against the dilapidation. Chicago appeared as a bold hammer of progress standing upright against the crumbling facades of infrastructure that plagued the nearby cities of Detroit and Columbus. The infection of foreclosure and poverty rose all around, yet the Chicago skyline stood strong and eternal.  

My city acted as as a beehive of forward motion.  It breathed and exhaled as the commuters came and went.  As the people moved up and down the avenues, the streets, and the alleys.  The current view of the skyscrapers was foreboding, yet I understood that I would somehow be forever connected to this great hive of life.  I was miles away but I could still feel the frenetic energy emanating from the city center.

The traffic rushed on and I stood apart, digging my feet into the sandy shore of the lake.  I turned away from the city lights to face the great empty blue of the waves.  And as I walked along the edge of Lake Michigan, grey waves frothed and crashed against the stone walkway in welcome.  For here by the lake, I was momentarily disconnected from it all.  Staring out into the great big grey expanse, I was given a chance to feel the movement of the water within and relax into the wind as it spun around me.   

For me, Lake Michigan has always offered a respite from the harsh masculine lines of the architecture.  A soft song of waves calming the roar of the L train.

I stood for several minutes by the lake watching the waves chaotically ungulate and crash against the shoreline.  Off in the distance the outline of the city skyscrapers blurred dark against the monochromatic horizon, a reminder that I must soon return back to my hive.  Yet now, here in this place I am a leaf floating on the wind, smiling towards the Goddess.  A reminder that even us city witches are forever connected to her beauty.

The robin's egg blue paint and neon orange sign sticks out like a sore thumb on the street; the shock of color a premonition of what's to come. As you enter the shoebox-sized curio store called, Wooly Mammoth you are greeted with a menagerie of extreme oddities. Like the animal it's named after, the store is from another time and place. It's the taxidermy that raises your attention first: a large boa curled up on the floor,, a two-headed calf staring at you with four large black eyes. Smaller rodents and mammals hang from the walls in a contortion of postures that seem uncomfortably anthropomorphic, and at times, morbidly hilarious.

A deeper delve into the store will reveal a large variety of the strange and unusual. Old surgical equipment will have you thanking the gods that you grew up after anesthetic was invented. Bones are scattered about: there are full skeletons sure, but also collections of animal skulls laid on plush velvet, femurs laid between a crocodile's jaw, and a small jar of teeth from Civil War soldiers.

As you watch a shrunken head named Lenny slowly spinning in its glass case, you might pause to question why we collect such unusual and often unsettling objects. A little research will tell you that the cabinet of curiosities goes back centuries, all the way to Renaissance Europe where items that could not e categorized were placed together and displayed.

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The primary purpose of these collections was to inspire wonder at our world. Such collections were seen as a tribute to the unknowable, grotesque, and sidelined artifacts seldom seen but often quietly spoken of. These items were put in a collective space as a form of "memory theater". The owner of the collection was able to feel as though they owned a cross section of the natural (or perhaps unnatural) world--a curator of the curious and mystical, having the power to inflict a spectrum of reactions from spectators.

Historically, these wonder-cabinets were used as a social device to establish and present one's rank in society. Interestingly, those who collect and own curiosities today often view their collection as a proud departure from the norms of society--a testament to the power unusual artifacts still have on those who view them.

Contemporary collections range from academic studies of the natural world, to displays of trompe l'oeil interpretations of such nature. The Museum of Jurassic Technology is one such institution where the collections reveal unreal oddities that masquerade as true natural objects within a museum setting: an amazing clash of museum etiquette meeting magical realism.

The House on the Rock, located in Spring Green, Wisconsin, takes a different approach with a series of rooms and buildings showcasing the eclectically mesmerizing collections of Alex Jordan. One could call Jordan's collection a hoarder's dream. But, truly, the collections are diverse, massive, and awe-inspiring. As one moves through the house from room to room, one might feel themselves descending ever so slightly into a pleasant surreal state.

I find our continued interest in such collections inspiring. While I might not tend to purchase anything from Wolly Mammoth or similar stores anytime soon, I'm glad these stores and collections exist in our modern world. Sure, it certainly isn't everyone's cup of tea, and might cause some to cringe in disgust. But, I personally find the homogeneity and commercialization of suburbia and its endless chain stores much more disturbing.