I am a corvid like practitioner, an opportunistic scavenger taking a bit from this tradition, cobbled together with a bit from that. Its the American in me I suspect, melting pot and all of that.
Sometime early on in my studies I discovered the inherent power in the bones of the dead. Animals, insects, even trees if you get down to it are just the remains of a living thing, once inhabited by a spirit that forever lingers in that entangled way that particles and energy do.
Bones have been used as sacred objects since the very beginning of mankind. In the oldest of neolithic sites we find the ritual use of bones, both animal and human, central to the practice of magic.
There is an obvious fascination that mankind has, that cuts across all cultures, for the naked bone. It is a symbol of the structure that underpins life, and a sigil for the potential death in all living things. Its sacredness, especially those of the human dead, is so profound that the desecration of the graveyard is a crime in almost all parts of the world.
(The irony being of course that it is merely the memorial dead, those who have living relatives, that we generally care about. Not the millennia old dead who were buried at sacred sites only to be dug up and put on display at some museum or another. Or worse locked in a storage container in the basement of some university holding facility.)
Bones hold a special power, culturally and spiritually. They work in many ways in magic, both practically and ritually. Beyond being ingredients they are particularly good as containers for those things that need binding.
The ritual of washing bones is one that is accompanied by a rhythmic tune, one that evokes a tone of appeasement and cooperation. This cleansing is both practical and ritual, cleansing both the physical object and giving us an intimate familiarity with its details and shape.
A leg bone cut in two parts and emptied of its marrow (used to make an ink) makes a perfect receptacle for the ashes of a pact written on virgin parchment or a sigil described. With maybe some herbal accompaniment, sealed in wax and bound in leather, cord, or hair.
A bone is a useful place to keep a spirit bound, or even the shade of some ill intended persons that need straightening out. It is a living container, a perfect lure for those more pesky spirits that crave the form of flesh.
A shoulder bone of a fox, inscribed with the sigil of the first created, and sealed with words and symbols in the hour and day of Saturn, makes a particularly good warding tool. Its effect is considerable among those land spirits that tend to ignore admonishments and orisons to Semitic deities.
A sheep or deerâs jaw, complete with teeth, can be utilized to give voice to air spirits who linger over certain fields and quarries. It must be bathed in river water for the whole of a moon cycle, removed under the new moon and rubbed with beeswax taken in the autumn. Afterward it should be hung by a cord from a tree branch or high fence post so that it can catch the wind.
For the more musically inclined a length of lamb or sheepâs leg bone can be fashioned into a short flute with a beeswax fipple, or even just a single note whistle, for playing ritual music and clearing ritual spaces.
Bone binding isnât a difficult practice to master, though it is particularly important that one use quality materials and source their bones from farmers and fields in which animals have been given room to wander. The bones of a factory raised animal are not something that will lead to good in any undertaking.
As well the other components of the binding, the sealing wax and cord, etc should be able to withstand changes in humidity and weather. If the wax cracks and the seal breaks the binding is broken. And generally whatever you put in there wonât have been pleased by the sudden dismissal.
Bones and bone working remain a taboo in modern society, and the discomfort many people have with bones is never more evident than in the food industry, where every effort is made to conceal the fact that meat was once a living animal from the consumer. Perfectly packaged boneless skinless pink shapes wrapped in plastic. A sterile death of an animal likely kept from the earth most of its brief and miserable life.
Those who would work in bones would do well to have themselves some very private spot or container in which to wrap and store the various fetishes that they have created. I prefer a solid wooden box, or a half dozen as the case may be.
While it may be one of the more gruesome tasks a practitioner may undertake the de-fleshing of an animal, roadkill or otherwise, isnât as impossible as it sounds. If one has the time, merely wrapping it is some mesh weatherproof cloth and leaving it exposed to the elements will do the job, though it will take as much as a year. In just a month or two a bucket of light water, bio active detergent and the occasional stirring with the stick will speed the job nicely. Not a very welcome smell in any case.
The bone worker is not repulsed by the same things as others. Unafraid of the rot and decay of the world, embracing the insect helpers that break down the flesh and reveal the bones. The smell of putrescence and filth in the wind, summoning the weather to speed the decay along. The bone worker, be they hedge witch or necromancer, knows that to get the job done it means getting oneâs hands dirty.
