What better time to set out good intentions than during the New Moon? It is a time of enticing mystery, and a wonderful period to ponder what you wish to change in your life… What you wish to create, and to make new. This is also wonderful for new witches, or witches on a budget // tight schedule! ♡
• Ask yourself one simple question: “What do I really wish to change?” This can be something as deep as, “I am hoping to forget about a certain someone / something and move on,” or as simple as, “an overall better attitude.” Write down your intention on a candle. (If the only candle you have access to is in a glass jar, write your intention on a slip of paper and place it in front of or taped to your candle).
• If you’d like, it is also possible to “boost” your little ritual with small personal items - safely surround your candle with meaningful photos, totems, herbs, crystals, or trinkets that possess your unique, strong energies, or have a correlation to your stated intention (ex: “I want to put more into my art projects;” try adding a colored pencil). :-) You may also consider adding a simple dish of salt for general protection!
• Now, it is time for the ritual itself! It can take place on the night before or the night of the New Moon. Essentially, this is a period of meditation. Light your candle, and sit before it. Why do you feel so strongly about your intention? It’s because it’s something you really want, right? Let this thought sink in… And really concentrate on this change you seek becoming a reality. You are fully capable of pursuing your dreams. Visualize this change as a bright, warm, physical being, encompassing you in new possibilities and positivity. Allow yourself to be flushed of all negative influences; instead, being filled with the strong influence of the New Moon. You, too, can be new.
• Once your candle has gone out, let it sit for as long as you like - a day, a week, until the next New Moon, or when you feel that your intention has been fulfilled. Look to your melted candle in times of stress, or stand before it, centering yourself. Remind yourself of your wishes; that they can indeed come true, and - of course… that you are capable of whatever life decides to throw at you. We are constantly changing, just as the moon is - and she’s always beautiful regardless, isn’t she? ♡🌙
This is just my short take on my own personal experiences in college, as a bio student!! It’s really short, so i might write more someday??
The room smells like bleach.
It always smells like bleach.
You reach for a loop, sterilize it over the flame, let it cool, and plunge it into the broth. Biology is one of those overlooked talents, but it’s close enough to chemistry so you rarely lose anyone.
Marissa disappeared a few years back.
You never liked Marissa.
You swipe the wet iron loop around the petri dish, treating the solidified agar with… you check the label. Acinteobacter baumanii. After setting the plate down, and covering it, you swipe the loop through the flame again.
Iron loops, salted plates, a dish of cream on the doorstep. All preventative measures that help you get through the day. You thumb at your iron necklace, which doubles as a stim toy, and paw at the salt in your pocket. Today feels.
“Good morning,” your lab partner, Delphinus says, coming into the room.
She smells like poppies and incense, so you avoid eye contact.
It takes another ten minutes for your other lab partner, Tulip, to show up, and the three of you continue to silently contaminate agar plates.
“So, any plans for spring break?” Delphinus asks, and you remain silent. You know it’s a probe, you know you never tell them where you’re going. If you tell them, then They will know.
“I’ll be going back to my house with my family,” Tulip says, and she hisses as her skin burns. She knows not to lie, it’s the deal she made first year.
Perfect grades, perfect jobs, perfect houses. Not a single lie.
“What about you?” Delphinus asks, and you remain quiet. If you lie, you will be punished. If you tell the truth, you will be taken.
If you promote silence, you will skate by.
You finish saturating you plates, and clean up your station before silently slipping out.
It takes fifteen minutes to walk from your lab to your dorm.
Well, in reality, it should only be a simple cross of the street. But you know where the sprinklers are. Today feels different, it feels.
You reach your dorm, your boots damp with the sprinkler water. You throw open the window, and smile at the crows. The crows have always taken a liking to you, you give them raw grain and set your computer to play biology lectures out loud every afternoon. Your personal favorite, Exodus, is playing with a younger crow today, her child. You smile at the young crow, and go for the bag of grain. Before sticking your hand out of the window, you make sure to thumb your iron necklace, just in case.
A sprinkling of grain for a feather, one from Exodus and one from her child, whom you name Siobhan. The crows sing their appreciation, and you sit against your wall, the quiet drone of your professor’s recorded voice lulling you away.
The crows have been your only friends for the last three years.
Other students don’t enjoy the idea of being left in the dark, they want to know, more more more.
“You’re too closed off!” “You never tell us about you!” “Come on, we’re friends now, just give me your name!”
Some whisper that you’ve been cursed, your GPA lends to that idea.
Some say you were born like this, and you’re simply too scared to tell anyone.
Other say that you’re one of them, and if you speak, your voice will destroy the minds of all who hear it.
It’s really none of that, it’s just that you’re a legacy child, when your father came here before you, and hopped around from major to major, he never carried himself from one place to another, he left bits and pieces of himself in many different places.
You’ve only ever had the one major, so you can’t have that luxury.
So you simply stay quiet.
The last time you spoke was orientation, day one, hour one.
It was your name.
Marissa, the cruel one that she was, she took you true name, and she twisted it, and tarnished it and burnt it, and you knew you could never speak up to that name, publicly at least.
But you could commit one horrible act, so people would forget your name.
And what the fae did to Marissa was worth every thing you gave, every word and sound you’ve ever uttered.
The only acceptable use for chopped/powdered tea leaves (+bonus)
Q wakes, sore in the most gorgeous way. His ear feels bent from resting on Bond’s shoulder all night; the fingerprint-shaped bruises on his hips call the press of his own against their shape. Bond is snoring, and that in itself is flattering: Bond–James–sprawled like a starfish in the bed, so unconcerned for his own safety. There are weapons within a hand’s range of the bed, he’s sure, but Bond’s palms lay curled where Q’s head had been, draped over the dent left by Q’s hip in the feather coverlet. Q staggers on coltish legs just this side of achy–they burn in the pleasant memory of stretching just a bit past their limit as Bond held him open and–a delicious shiver works its way through him.
Bond’s kitchen is spartan. There’s not a lot beyond the staples in the fridge–a little cream for coffee, cocktail onions–and the cabinets are nearly bare, as well. A sad box of Twinings and sugar, some flour and the usual spices; there’s butter and eggs on the counter, and Q’s not surprised to find takeaway menus in the drawer by the fridge. A thought occurs–grabbing the necessaries, it’s a matter of moments to whip up a treat, and scarcely ten minutes later he’s sneaking back into bed. Cooking can happen later.
4 tea bags or 2T tea, any flavour (Earl Grey is good, as are chais and other strongly-flavoured black teas)
250g or 2 c plain flour
large pinch of salt
60g or 1/3 c sugar
225g or 1 c butter
orange zest, vanilla, or other flavourings to complement your tea, if desired
Mix tea, flour, and salt with a whisk or sift together.
Mix butter, sugar, and flavoring with a whisk or electric mixer until light and airy
Add dry ingredients to wet and fold until just combined
Portion dough into logs and wrap with baking paper or wax paper. Freeze until firm.
Preheat oven to 176 C or 350 F
Slice into disks .5 cm or ¼ in.
Bake until just barely golden at the edges (about 12-15 minutes)
Let cool completely before removing from the pan or they will crumble
The bed is still warm when Bond wakes, for all that he’s alone in it. In the other room–probably the kitchen, Bond presumes–he can hear Q pottering about, humming tunelessly, and yes, the kettle Bond has more because he’s British than out of any particularly keen like for tea is burbling away. There’s a rich, nutty smell in the air, and when he finally manages to get his pants on and wander out, the Waitrose bag on the counter belies the cheeky nymph wearing nothing but an apron. There are tomatoes on the cutting board and sausages waiting patiently for frying, corners of toast standing dripping golden butter, and a veritable mountain of little biscuit coins that smell rich and buttery and sharp with bergamot.
“You’ve been busy this morning,” Bond says, and Q’s laugh is bright.
“Your cabinets looked like a uni student’s. I was surprised not to find curry beanz and cup noodle,” Q scolds with sparkling eyes.
“Are you looking to fatten me up?” Bond grins, snagging a tomato slice and popping it into his mouth before Q can threaten him with his paring knife. Q snorts.
“Who says you’re getting any of it, you lieabed? I’ve already been to the shops and back and you’re only now getting up at the crack of ten!”
Bond’s laugh stirs the curls at the nape of Q’s neck as he wraps himself around him. Q is a lithe furnace against Bond’s front; he goes for another tomato and Q sighs, put upon. “Let me spoil you, then–I’ll take it from here.”
It’s a favourite, something he always has at hand. It’s after-mission food for when he’s looking for familiar, for cozy. He’s never had someone over in the morning to make it for–a frission of something that hasn’t shaped itself yet dances up his spine and Bond coughs, fetching out the saucepan and turning on the hob before he can do something ridiculous like asking Q to stay for breakfast tomorrow, too.
He could do this in his sleep: a knob of butter, chilled from the fridge, and Bond casts a gimlet eye at Q for using the whole dish from the counter, though honestly it doesn’t matter whether it’s soft or not. He drops the butter into the saucepan to melt and checks again the heat is set to low. Then eggs: two for each of them, whole in the pot. He beats them into the butter and when they’re starting to thicken, he pulls the pot from the stove to even out the lumps. Back onto the hob, he stirs until it curdles, lumps of scrambled egg forming beneath his spatula. Off the heat again, then when it’s even and creamy again, back on. He does this again until the egg is cooked through, then just a splash of cream–back on the hob until the chill is off–and salt, pepper. He dishes it up with a flair.
He ends up watching with bated breath as Q takes his first bite, grinning helplessly at the groan that follows. It’s breakfast. Just breakfast: eggs and tomatoes and toast and tea.
It’s still somehow more than breakfast. Bond wipes a stray smear of egg from Q’s lip and Q smiles.
Probably one of the biggest influences on a lot of Wiccans has been Scott Cunningham’s Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner. Scott talks a bit about the ritual tools and gives a suggested altar setup, facing North:
How does this work in practice?
It’s not terrible, but it’s not great - of particular confusion to me is the location of the central placement of the cauldron, although Scott does say that you can put the materials for whatever spell or ritual you’re doing there instead. Assuming you leave the cauldron out then you’ve got an acceptable setup, no obvious fire hazards aside from the Fire candle being in front of the censer, which could be tricky when you add more incense. It’s still better than putting it right at the southern edge, but it’s still not the greatest idea. I am particularly interested that the incense itself is so far away from the censer, but I feel that Scott views the incense itself has having an Airy quality - the censer is centrally placed so as to offer the smoke to both the God and the Goddess.
I am not a fan of putting the crystal ball on the altar for no discernable reason, and I am currently of the opinion that a crystal ball should be used for divination only and as such should be kept in the dark or dim light, but that’s just me. I do not really see the utility of the bell, and have never used one in ritual.
Now, I never actually laid hands on a copy of the Solitary Guide until I was well advanced in learning. No, the very first book on any sort of pagan witchcraft I ever read was D.J. Conway’s Celtic Magic, which is…..ah, not the best book. It’s a very low-quality book, but somehow I managed to develop critical thinking and become well-read. Conway gives the following setup, facing East:
Which gives this result:
So, a few things. First, god damn, why is the sword on the altar itself, and how big is your altar that you can easily do that? Are we looking at tiny swords here (what is this, a sword for ants?)? I do not like the arrangement of chalice, water dish, and salt dish at all, and as you can see this leaves little if any room for the athame and wand. Why is the censer towards the North? Why is the left side so much more crowded than the right? No, I do not like this altar setup at all, and would never use such a layout.
Silver RavenWolf gives an example setup in her book Solitary Witch that I have on my bookshelf for some reason, which suggests the following North-pointing arrangement:
With my tool set we get this result:
Generally okay, although I’m curious about there being only one deity statue. She clearly states that the two candles at the rear are illuminator candles with no special purpose, and I don’t know why the Fire candle is in this weird no-man’s-land in the southeast (why not just move it to the southeastern corner of the altar?) but aside from that it’s inoffensive and is notable in that it’s the first layout we see here with a space for the ritual book as well as the plate of cakes (well, Triscuits in this case, but that’s all I had in the kitchen).
I’m not sure what she suggests in her other works as I was unable to find decent PDFs to see her setup. I read Teen Witch once and I just don’t recall what she says on the subject of altars in that book.
I’m going on a small semi-hiatus on this blog because of different reasons. There won’t be so many posts the next days/weeks (depends on how I will feel) and I will only answer asks and messages sometimes. I’m also thinking about re-making this blog, because I believe there are so many bots, porn blogs and inactive blogs following me, that I only can re-make it.
Also I just don’t feel so good at the moment and try to regain power. School isn’t that horrible more, but other stuff came up that pulls me down. I’m pretty salty about different things too. (I’m so salty that you could salt nearly every dish on the earth) Uhm… but whatever. I just hope that all of you are going to have nice following days/weeks. I’m going to be more active on my other blogs(my nature blog and my negative/dark blog)
@todayintokyo replied to your photoset More eggs?! (^0^) How about some scrambled eggs? Hey, scrambled eggs have rights too!
Scrambled eggs, you say? Not the best pic, but here you go: a hearty cowboy breakfast before Tokyo Bar Show, planned and prepared by the husband. Who seems to think that alcohol is best absorbed by yellow foods? We’ll have to keep testing that theory.
Settembre era un mese pieno di cose da fare. Bisognava pulire le botti per il vino nuovo. bisognava prendere le sarde da Gianni u Pisciaru e farle sotto sale per l’inverno. Bisognava fare le bottiglie di pomodori, e, finalmente, dovevamo fare le olive sotto sale e quelle schiacciate. Io e Ciccio ci mettevamo a schiare olive su olive. La nonna poi, con abilità le cospargeva di aceto e quindi le metteva sotto olio. Sembrava più semplice fare quelle sotto sale, ma occorreva sapere bene cosa fare altrimenti le grandi bocce incominciavano a fermentare e bisognava buttare tutto. Quando le olive schiacciate erano pronte mia nonna tagliava una parte di un pane tondo. Scavava un piccolo cono nel pezzo di pane e lo riempiva di olive. Su di esse schiacciava la mollica levata dal cono e me lo passava. Io andavo in estasi sentendo l’agrodolce delle olive e il sapore dell’olio. Le olive sotto sale erano un elemento importante di ogni piatto di pesce. Io la chiamavo la santa trinità: l’acacia, le olive sotto sale ed i capperi. Nessun piatto di pesce poteva essere fatto senza la santa trinità, che si trattasse di stoccafisso o di totani ripieni o di sarde ripiene, il pesce non era pesce senza il gusto dato dall’acacia, i capperi e le grosse olive salate.
September was a month full of things to do. We had to clean the barrels of the new wine. We had to take the sardines by Gianni u Pisciaru and make them in salt for the winter. We had to make bottles of tomatoes, and, finally, we had to make the olives in salt and the crushed ones. Me and Ciccio we’d crush olives on olives. The grandmother then sprinkled with vinegar skills and then put them in oil. It seemed easier to do the olive in salt, but it was necessary to know what to do otherwise large bowls were beginning to ferment and had to throw everything. When crushed olives were ready my grandmother cut a part of a round bread. She dug a small cone in the piece of bread and filled him with olives. On them she crushed uplifted crumbs from the cone and pass it to me. I went into ecstasy feeling the sweet and sour of the olives and the oil flavor. The salted olives were an important part of any fish dish. I called them the holy trinity: acacia, olives and capers in salt. No fish dish could be done without the Holy Trinity, that it was cod or squid stuffed or stuffed sardines, the fish was not fish without the taste given dall'acacia, capers and large salted olives.
I actually don’t remember who told me this. I don’t know if it was my grandma, my mentor lady, my mom or if I just made it up. Here goes!
What you need:
a key that doesn’t belong to anything (old key, skeleton key, craft key, etc)
A bed preferably with posts or a headboard but no biggie if not
tape/string/cup hook/some sort of attachment thing
Salt and tea light are optional but may be helpful
What to do:
Charge the key with positive energy and the intent to shoo away the nightmares.
If using salt, put key in dish with it with a white candle and let it charge for however long you feel necessary.
Using the tape/string/some sort of attachment device, secure the key to the back of the furthest bedpost of the headboard from where you normally sleep. (If you don’t have a headboard, like me, either smush it between the mattress and box spring or the entire bed at the corner)
This holiday season I made a book of shadows for a young acquaintance who is just starting out in their study of the craft. Rather than provide them with a commercially produced spellbook that covers only the practical aspects of magic and does not provide enough detail on the basics, or an encyclopedia that provides too much, I elected to make and bind a grimoire by hand, and fill it with a brief overview of what I consider to be the most commonly requested information. I have transcribed it below, for those of you who wish to read it. If it is well-received and if I have time, I intend to expound upon it in the future.
Ritus for the continued growth of the Roman polytheist community(particularly those who i interact with most such as tumblr) as well as other things
Top left in the circular cup/dish is salt
Center top is frankincense below that is my oil lamp.
To the right of the oil lamp is my jug of olive oil
In the teacup is my personal blend of tea. Just to the right is a smaller incense burner containing gonesh no 6(i just like the smell and i hate the smell of frankincense) and on the plate of food offerings are cheddar and salt crackers(the first from the package)
And my orchids are just there to make the pictures look pretty
Ignis always wears gloves because his hands are always ice cold.
His mind is really chaotic at times because he’s the one that usually keeps tabs on everything, but he’s really good at keeping a poker face so he always appears very reserved.
Despite his outward appearance he’s probably always internally screaming. Sometimes the other bros are absolutely insufferable and he’d like to drop kick them but he loves them all the same.
Really the only morning person in the group. He wakes up the earliest and shakes off sleep extremely quickly.
“Mum” is the word.
Iggy is the most experienced in the medical field, and so when Ignis was the one who needed stitches, there was a general panic since the other bros can’t suture a wound to save their lives, much less Ignis’. They end up heading to the nearest outpost, crisis averted, and Ignis sits the boys down and quite vehemently insists that they learn to suture wounds, and ends up teaching them himself.