A Witch's Cauldron

Art, crafting, Crafting, shrines & altars, Shiny Object Fixation, & opinions. It's worth reading my Author page, and feel free to ask me questions if you have them.

[damazcuz]

Are you doing okay? We missed you at the devil's sacrament. He mentioned you by name. Everyone was looking around and cheering until we realized you weren't there. If you need to talk I'm always here. At the aforementioned devil's sacrament.

[morgandria]

Finished up my latest batch of homemade liqueur this week, a lusciously purple blackberry whiskey concoction. It feels a little melancholy, but also has plenty of fire.

[morgandria]

It's too hot. I'm living on popsicles and protein shakes and whatever bits of solid food I can manage thanks to some antibiotic nonsense again. (Third time since March, so my gut is well and truly dead.) All the chronic illness streams are crossing quite badly at the moment, creating some truly unpleasant experiences. so I'm just an unhappy soul in a malfunctioning meat suit, trying not to move or melt.

As a consequence, my red bedroom altar is coming down way sooner than planned. I can’t handle that energy right now. I think I’m moving into some green instead. Just need to calm it all down. Might as well be green in here - it’s not like I can spend any time outside.

I say green. Chances are it'll mostly be black except for the candles.

I had hoped for a better summer than last. But I need to resign myself to 40 C. summers and 5 meters of snow every winter. That's what passes for normal, I guess.

[ginandjack]

[prodomius]

[morgandria]

Tom the tree is thriving, both in spite of those who tried to cut him down, and in spite of the absolute balls-melting heat this week. I love his fantastic halo/crown of leaves. He is my very own shambling mount, even if he's still rooted to this place.

[morgandria]

Facts and Vibes

Tagged by no-one - Inspired by @ginandjack

Stats

Morg, Mara, occasionally my actual name.

Gen X. Enby. Pan. Goth. Chronic illness gnaws my bones. Increasingly aware of just how neurodivergent I am. Childfree. Minding my own business. Eat the Rich.

Virgo Sun, Cancer Moon, Libra Rising.

Witch. Wiccan. Walker in both worlds. Therian. (Or maybe a beastie in a human suit.) Theistic Luciferian. As Above, So Below.

Too many hobbies to list. Creating things with my own hands. Fuck AI.

Motifs

Crows. Ravens. Bees. Dragons. Hounds. Snakes. Goats. Owls.

Horns. Antlers. Spirals. Wings. Halos. The waning moon.

WHEAT. Blackthorn. Buckthorn. Nasturtiums and cornflowers and poppies. Honey and beeswax. Blackberries and apples and pears.

Oakmoss and vetiver and cedar. Amber and myrrh and red musk.

Dark cathedrals. Skulls. Pentacles. Velvet. Silver jewelry. Floor length skirts. Cloaks.

Altars and shrines of varying sizes and degree.

Bowls, esp. pottery. Goblets. Cauldrons. Ritual blades. Hand-carved wands. Loose incense.

Gemstones and minerals, for beauty and for magic and for science. Garnet (esp. lab-grown UV) and tourmaline and labradorite and all the quartz. Picking up water-polished rocks anywhere.

Beaded jewelry and silly hats.

Colours

Black. All the shades of black. Green - deep and earthy or acidic poisonous bright. Rich warm shades of red. The shade of blue in the November twilight between cerulean and indigo. Violet, not purple. Orange. But primarily black.

Not tagging anyone, but give it a go if you're inspired.

[morgandria]

(What no-one tells you about migraines is how goddamn -boring- it is to be stuck doing sweet-fuck-all for long stretches of time. It hurts like hell to think, but if you're not asleep you have nothing else to do. It's been a week with lots of thinking.)

When I was younger and solitary in my practice, I used to yearn for connection and community. Now that I have had those things for some time, I’m feeling the pull to walk alone again.

While I will always be thankful for the experience of being a BTW initiate and having the chance to work in a coven, I’ve reached the conclusion that I am unlikely to progress much farther in that paradigm. I'm happy where I am within it. My coven will always be family, and I will enjoy when I gather with them. I can slip in and out of this mode of working without much effort, and I have many oaths and responsibilities to uphold still.

But other mysteries call me onwards.

(Honestly, the years from 2020 onwards have generally not been kind to us as a group. A 20+ year run with the same core group is amazing for the lifespan of a coven in general. But all things must wane. We are not immune to entropy.)

I’ve come to understand that having a foot in both worlds isn’t so common. It’s not something everyone can do. And it doesn’t mean I can’t swing farther to one side or the other, as needed. I reject the binary. It's never all or nothing. It’s all about the flow. And so I will have one foot in the coven, but very much be treading new ground for myself by myself. I don't feel conflicted about this anymore. I can navigate this sea change.

Eclipses, both lunar and solar, usually spur me towards contraction. I tighten up my core self, and release what isn’t fit for purpose anymore. I think such will happen again, with the solar eclipse in August, but I get the feeling what I release will surprise me even though I know it’s coming.

Forgive me for getting all existential, please. I think it’s the season. The Sun doesn’t spare much from the light these days. The shadows are short, and there’s few places to hide.

[morgandria]

I never make it to the end of June with a Pride-themed shrine. It always feels like A Lot, and I inevitably end up done with that energy before the month is finished. If I make it to Solstice I'm doing well, but after that my desire to keep tasting the rainbow falls off sharply.

This feels easier to carry on with.

[morgandria]

It seems that I am going to keep dreaming meaningfully while I’m migraining. Always fun trying to hold it long enough to remember and interpret. Throw some spirit work into the mix and…yeah. I can’t tell if I'm still mid-attack or hungover but I gotta process, even if it hurts.

A bizarre scene. Someone has tried resurrecting our first cat Zathras as a gift. His mummified skin is sewn over a small dog, and his spirit is bound to it. But the thing is clearly not him, and the thing is the walking dead. I unbind him from the body, disgusted someone thought I’d ever want that. The small dog seems thankful and darts away into the shadows.

Transitions. Childhood space becomes adult space. Nominally mine, but I am just holding space for others. A bedroom becomes a grove of flowers and trees, used by many others. I stand on the edges, watching. Guarding. Those who abuse or take advantage are swiftly dealt with. A large black dog lunging forth out of shadow. Not savaging, not bloodlust. Correction. One offender bursts into tears and make amends. Others simply scatter in the wind, ash and dust.

Scene moves. An encounter with an older man, who feels oily and repulsive. He is lewd, trying to exert power and influence to force a sexual encounter. He holds a wad of sweaty, rumpled money in his hand, shoves it into mine. It is cash. It is condoms. One hides the other. He is warned what I am wearing is not an invitation. The wad of filth in my hand begins to burn. He does not remove himself. Instead he licks my elbow (Wtaf) and tries to continue. I watch in satisfaction as his tongue smokes and blackens, eventually withering to ash. The blackness spreads like veins across his face and neck as he flees. It is only then I become aware of the small children sheltered behind me. Appalled. Angry. Anguished.

I find a corner to curl up in. The world is too bright for my eyes. There is still something in my hand - a sprig of flowering catnip. I have the fleeting impression of an older woman moving past me. She says I should keep it, if I have need. I close my hand around it, and wake.

Dreams of made of shadow and fire, smoke and bones. Wolf and hound. Always between. And I hate that there’s need for me to stand over me as shelter, as guardian, or as rebuke because the predators have grown bold.

[morgandria]

This solstice was quiet. Just a few of us at the covenstead, without any kind of urgency. The weather was pleasant - usually it is stinking hot at this time of yesterday but our moderate days continue. I had a migraine Saturday, but I slept for a few hours in the afternoon and felt better. I wouldn’t have let myself do that if I was at home.

I don't think I interact with the summer solstice like most people. It might nominally be the start of summer, but for me I just feel relieved that the Sun is moving to wane again. I have such a love-hate relationship with the Sun. It makes the world gloriously green, nourishes and sustains life, but it also feels like it’s out to get me. A little goes a long way. I honour all that it does for us, but I also recognize and accept that it and I are never going to be good friends. I love it best in August when it is fading into a deeper gold and burns less fiercely. Right now it’s too intense, but the fields of wheat are verdant and thriving thanks to that intensity. It is always a pleasure to see.

I'd like the human paradigm wane a little less scorching, too, to find a way out of the end-stage capitalist kleptocratic nightmare we've built. (If for no other reason that so The Morrigan will stop singing in my head.) I don't know if we'll find her prophesied “peace to the skies”. Maybe some other timeline will. This one just seems so stupid - too stupid to right its course.

I had some… interesting dreams Solstice Eve. Glimpses of future evolution of the self is the closest I can get to describing them. I think the journey from here to there will be oddly satisfying, but not comfortable. It seems it is indeed better to reign in hell (if I am reading the entrails correctly).

I'd muse more but currently the text on the screen is pulsing, expanding, and contracting, and that means I did not catch this migraine early enough to avert it. I will be kind to myself again today, and rest.

[heartnosekid]

high quality rainbow labradorites 🌈 | _angelauracrystals on ig

[redlipstickresurrected]

Cameron Bailey (American, b. 1990, New York, NY, USA) - Daybreak, 2025, Woodblock Print with 14 color layers

[morgandria]

I don't always break out the ROYGBIV this early in June (and sometimes not at all, depending on how distasteful and hypocritical I find that year's corporate rainbow-washing). But I guess one doesn’t assemble an army of brightly coloured Baphomets without some purpose or intent.

Happy Pride, folx. Don't let the bastards keep you down.

[morgandria]

The end of last week was muted. I felt off. I wanted to withdraw. I felt numb. Beyond tired. Thursday, Friday. Disengage.

Saturday was a good day, out of nowhere. But it devoured my limited energy.

Sunday? Nothing left. Drained. Wobbled my way through the hours.

(The blue moon, btw, has been firing manic effusive dreams into my skull. Sleep is a tangled nest of places and things and people dripping Significance without context or even meaning. Not helpful.)

Today?

A migraine, one significantly NOT triggered by weather. I would happily vanish from human sight forever. Whatever this non-mood is, it’s clingy and persistent.

Makes me so glad that this is the week that's packed with several solid days of busy social interactions, that also require me to actually Get The Housework Done Properly. I'm never more fun than when I’d happily crawl into a hole and die, after all, bursting with all the lack of vitality that entails.

Not enough sleep in the world right now. But I'm staying in bed.

[morgandria]

The lilacs are starting to bloom here, marking the very end of my emerald-blue-violet synaethesia vibe I get for May. That transitions to a gold-green-sky blue thing for me at the start of June, but. Lucifer has declared “hot wet Satanic summer”, and I honestly do not know what to do with that. The altar in the bedroom will need to shift shortly, but I’m not at all sure I know where I'm going to start (or end up). I sometimes get more guidance through dreams, but last night was about trying to find the perfect pen, elaborate board game set up, and stealing holy spoons from the Pope, sooo… I won't hold my breath.

Hot. Wet. Satanic. Summer. I can't even.

[morgandria]

Still trying to figure out a ritual expression to honour Lilith and Lucifer. Haven’t found the right language, or construction - but the altar itself is pleasing. Indigo twilight, violet dawn - treading the edges of night.