Fridays are big days for two very specific ancestors. A special light is lit during the day for the Saint and later tonight for the Sinner.

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Fridays are big days for two very specific ancestors. A special light is lit during the day for the Saint and later tonight for the Sinner.
Today we light the candles of the Black Altar for the Devil and his wife Maria Padilla.
I swear I do not have a drapo collection addiction!
Come, Mercury, Atlas’ famous grandson, you whom A Pleiad once bore to Jove, among the Arcadian hills, Arbiter of war and peace to gods on high, and those below: You who make your way with winged feet: who delight In the sounding lyre, and the gleaming wrestling: You through whose teaching the tongue learnt eloquence: On the Ides, the Senate founded for you, a temple facing The Circus: since then today has been your festival.
This week we celebrate the birth of the Goddess of Wisdom. Ave Minerva!
Minerva speaks: “When the world was young this land was the cradle of Spring. As she grew her breath gave fragrance and coolness to the air and became the sylphs. Wherever her sandaled feet trod buds uncurled and hills and valleys shone. Whenever she sang birds were born and fluttered over the land; and whenever she spoke the waters unwound their silver tendrils and followed her. When she sat and thought the little people were born, and when she prayed the gods were created. And the flowers and birds, the naiads and sylphs, the little people and the great gods worked together and designed man. And when man stood upright and his eyes were lit with divinity, he gazed at the beauty of this land and the spirit of Poetry inspired him to name it ‘Arcadia.’
“This was the age when man was stately in thought, childlike in desire, and lovely to look upon. His eyes shone clearly and shadowed forth the width of his wisdom, and the gleam of that age still glows within the lambent minds of the poets, and within the fiery hearts of the prophets. This was the Golden Age; the age that flared from music, from poetry, and from the lover.
“Man’s needs were simple, his wishes few. Life did not run on steel legs and roar from brazen throats; the world did not move by the muscle of the machine and fill each minute with the weariness of monotonous labour. When the mornings rose they unfolded joys and not sorrows; when the evenings were born and the dews fell his slumbers were untroubled and deep. Happiness ran through him as a stream runs downhill: leaping, singing, flashing. Love burned like mellow sunlight and thoughts darted as swiftly as leaping hinds. For man honoured a simple creed: that life was given for joyfulness; that he dwelt within the radiance of the heroic light of the gods; and that their protective and strong fingers governed his destiny and understanding.
“Ah! the gods, the gods. The high-born of Arcadia, whose cymbals are the thunders, and bright spears the lightnings; who once ruled man with a gay enchantment. Ah! mighty Jupiter, judge of all things, when will you return to breathe justice into the minds of men? The world needs a new mantle and a new majesty, for her garments are threadbare; her queenliness has been dethroned. The creed that had the note of the faun’s pipe in it and the serenity of a Summer’s dusk has vanished.
“We treasured the music of the winds blown through the locks of the world; we treasured the lyrics of the birds and of the streams. We believed that Beauty was the gem that clasped all things together and that wisdom was the fire that flowed through this precious stone. We held that the blood of the gods enriched and ran through the veins of man. He who played with skillful fingers upon the lyre; he who chiseled marble and drew loveliness from it, and he who shook flame and dreams from words, were the princes of Arcadia. That was a great age; but now only a whisper from it, only a forlorn chord, sighs through the darkness, and the birds and the winds hear, and occasionally the dreamer.
“For Winter withers the petal; the soul becomes silvered as well as the head. Man grew old; but without the hope of Spring. The beauty that lay within marble was no more unsealed; the music that slept in the trembling lyre no more awakened; and the wisdom cradled in the lyric no more spoke. For eyes lacked clear sight, fingers lacked tenderness, and minds lacked depths. Darker and darker grew the years overshadowing the spirit of the people till they felt and thought greyly. Till their backs became bowed and their limbs slow, and their voices quivered thinly as the voices of the old. Their memories grew dim and faltered; and when we wandered amid them they gazed at us without understanding. And sometimes I would strike my shield at the birth of a great one, but they would not hear; and the gifts of the great one would often die with him. And sometimes Mercury would place a wreath about the brow of a favoured one and they would strike and stone him. And when Jupiter placed a sword into the hands of his servant they would mock him and deny his just sentences.
“And Apollo mourned: ‘I wandered among the ruins of Arcadia—the land that held the first fruits of the world—and saw that Spring and the rose had withered. The marble statues had fallen, the lute of Orpheus lay broken upon the temple floor. Alas! the beauty of man shines no more; he has forsaken our temples; dust lies upon our altars. His graciousness has flown, has crumbled as a flower. Fair as the morning on the waters was he, swift as the flash of spears; but now bitterness is within him, and greyness in his heart and hair. Were our temples not beautiful for him? Our groves fruitful? Our world stately?’”
Minerva ceased abruptly: John waited. When she resumed it was in another strain: “As you walked with me through the town you saw the degradation of its inhabitants. Those in whom beauty shimmered were beggars and persecuted; insensitive egotists who knew not the delicate tremors of inspiration were applauded. Men, who were once human, had become automatons, and we, who once ruled them, have been compelled to hide. But when we disappeared the realms of enchantment also disappeared; we wove a veil over the roads to magic. Sorrowfully we closed the doors to Wonder. But when we hid, man created other gods; for man must worship, if not a god, then a dream, a machine, a hero, a woman; for all that he worships is an echo of his lost splendour. And it is this that must be recovered ere we can reveal ourselves again.”
She ceased and held up a warning forefinger as John was about to speak: “Hush, can you hear? There is singing; so elusive and wild, so poignant.”
John barely breathed as he tried to hear. For some seconds there was silence. Then he heard; but it was so remote that he thought he imagined it. Then swiftly rushed upon him and swirled and beat into his ears a music of such forlorn, such despairing sweetness, that he almost wept. It evoked images of mountain peaks, cool, quick winds, and torrents of foaming waters. It was a singing that swept the mind clean and made it spacious; as though the brain had suddenly grown into a vast hall through which lovely oreads swept; and with it came the sense of the beauty of naked things. He was whirled into a storm of pagan freshness and wildness till his body felt clean and splendid. Then the voices dwindled as rapidly as they had rushed upon them, leaving only an echo of melody and an intense regret that he could hear no more.
After some moments’ silence he huskily whispered: “Oh! how beautifully they sang. It hurt. Tell me please. Who are they?”
The goddess replied: “They are the sylphs lamenting over the sorrows of this world.”
A melancholy silence fell upon both, whilst he listened to the fugitive chords that still haunted him with their ghostly sadness.
Again Minerva continued: “They weep because we have hidden ourselves and man has lost his freedom. But when Arcadia is set free and the spirit within man is released like a freshet, beauty will be revealed anew and not mocked; and inspiration will awaken within him like a sunrise. The mornings will unveil things fairer than light; and the evenings more joyful things than love. The forgotten majesties that slumber in the quietness will awaken and enfold man, and bring to his eyes a loftier glow; for he will be as lordly as a forest in Spring. But this will only come when he will be freed from the steel clasp of the machine; from the oppressors of this realm who have manacled his divinity, and will return to the simplicity of Nature. But his new wisdom will be nobler than his past wisdom; for it will be as wise as that wisdom that dwells behind the brows of the gods.”
Her voice rose and its silvery quality became golden: “Then he will enrobe himself in our meditations; tread our halls of crystal, and walk within our gardens of fire. Then Tempests will kneel before him, and he will clasp the quivering lightnings and unshackle the winds and make them carpets for his feet. The pulse of the Universe will shake through his heart and he will know the secret reveries of the star and the flower. This is the promise I make for him when he arises and throws off the rust of the ages and becomes young and clean again.”
— Anonymous
I came across a rather misrepresentitive article on who “owns” hoodoo, and what hoodoo is. Read it here: http://www.luckymojo.com/hoodooandreligion.html And here is my reply to the author:
I think some are very confused as to how hoodoo culture works and how it evolves. Perhaps this...
The War of the Roses
I am a person who is always seeking the origins of things in order to understand them better, specially when it comes to my magical practice. With a better understanding of how things work, I am able to give more power to my workings, thus producing excellent and powerful results.
So recently, during a discussion I was having as to why red roses are used for love in Hoodoo, I was met with objection when I brought up the myth of Aphrodite and Adonis, as according to this person, this Greek story has no place in an American practice, thus, by using it, I was 'disrespecting the tradition'.
Let me start by telling the story, it is said that Ares out of jealousy killed Adonis. Learning of what was done, Aphrodite rushed to his defense and in her haste she ran into a rose-bush and caught herself on its thorns. She pierced the bottom of her foot and the blood changed the the color of the rose to red.
Perhaps people have forgotten as to why we red roses are given during Valentine's Day and why red is the predominant color to honor this event. Although, not every tradition or culture uses red roses to represent love, and while the color of love was the color green in ancient times, it is this Greek story what has propagated the red rose and the modern usage of the color red as a representation of love to many places across the world.
My rebuttal to this person's objections is that if Hoodoo is a predominately African-American Christian practice shouldn't one perhaps adhere to the Christian stories of a rose? Here are a couple of examples where the rose is found in Christian lore:
The Expulsion of Adam and Eve
Saint Ambrose believed that the upon the expulsion of Adam and Eve, God covered Eve's favorite flower with thorns so that she could never touch it again and became a symbol of the original sin.
"Thorns also and thistles shall [the ground] bring forth to thee; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field."
– Genesis, 3:18
The Crown of Thorns
Although nobody can be 100% certain what kind of thorns were used in the the Crown of Thorns at the crucifixion, some say that it could have been made from the Crown of Thorns (Euphorbia Milii), or the Christ's Thorn Jujube (Ziziphus spina Christi), but recently, some have said that perhaps it might have actually been the rose bush that was used since the flower already grew within the walls of Jerusalem and was the favorite of the Romans which they found befitting of a king, thus, the red rose symbolizes the blood and agony of the crucifixion of Jesus.
This beautiful flower is called the Queen of Flowers and in Christianity it has become an image for the Blessed Mother herself as she is sometimes called a 'Rose Without Thorns' in which many cathedrals include a rose window to represent her. Saint Dominic later created the 'Crown of Roses' after a Marian apparition, a praying tool we call the Rosary.
So why is the red rose used to represent love in Hoodoo when it should represent martyrdom and/or sacrifice? Perhaps it was during the Victorian era and the allure of Cupid (Son of Venus and Mars) and the roses they carried that helped maintain the beauty of the story of Aphrodite's love for Adonis as a symbol of love that inducted it into the American culture.
"...because ROSE scent is so sensually stimulating, women bathe with ROSE WATER to draw men close, and witches set it out in altar bowls to honour Venus Aphrodite, the ancient Goddess of Love and Desire."
– Lucky Mojo Curio Co.
In another story, Eros gave a rose to Harpocrates, the Greek God of Silence, to bribe him so that he would not disclose to anyone the god's indiscretions, specially his mother's (Aphrodite). Later, in Roman times, the rose was used in the ceiling of banquet rooms and was understood that anything said under the rose (sub rosa) was meant to be kept within those walls and in secrecy.
We can find this symbolism in today's churches as stated above, but when seen on top of confessionals it denotes that what is said will remain secret.
The power of the red rose is so overwhelming that it has been banned in many places, only to be found on the black markets of Saudi Arabia and being delivered under the cover of night, harkening back to the time where Aphrodite overcame the pain of the thorns to rush to her dying Adonis.
These Greek myths of the rose have maintained their meaning throughout several centuries, and later in Hoodoo. Use a rose to demand silence, create protection, and promote love. But no matter what tradition you practice, remember this:
"Let anyone who cherishes the red rose for its representation of love honor Aphrodite's wound and divine love for Her beloved Adonis."
– Docteur Cæli D'Anto
There are worlds beyond our own. Phantoms of shadow, those who once walked our roads, hallowed ancestors, spectral saints, and those disembodied entities that are the hidden movements of the mundane guide us and seek out those who work roots, those who do not fear to task the hidden hands to affect real change in their lives! The Vodou Store can help by providing full conjure kits for any purpose. Whether for love, money, revenge, health, or hexing, among other things, our kits contain everything you need to gain the favor of those unseen movers. http://www.vodoustore.com/store/index.php?main_page=index&cPath=85
Our hand blended Conjure Rubs are the perfect alternative to oils and focus directly on the hands. Much of our occult power resides in our hands. It is how we direct energy, conduct spirits, and proclaim intent. By anointing your hands with our fragrant Rubs you enhance that power toward your purpose. While they work perfectly on their own, you can also try mixing scents for more specific operation. Add Witch's Hands to Reader's Hands for stronger casting and divination, add Gold Finger to Hand Shake to get a raise, pair Hand of Glory with Sleepy Hollow for necromantic dreams! The combinations are endless! If you need help coming up with a combination just let us know and we will help you! http://www.vodoustore.com/store/index.php?main_page=index&cPath=69
Aqua Mortuum
Thank you St. Expedite! Happy St. Expedite Day!
Hoodoo Lamp
Hoodoo lamp work.
St. Cyprian of Antioch
In the name of Cipriano and his seven candles. On behalf of his black dog and his seven gold coins. In the name of Cipriano and his silver dagger. In the name of Cipriano and his holy mountain. In the name of the tree of the zephyrs and the great oak. I ask and shall be answered. By the 7 churches of Rome, the seven lamps of Jerusalem, the seven golden candles of Egypt. Amen.