A bonus post for the start of 2017, a tale of winter workings.
The night is cold; cold and biting like the anger within me. Over many years the little insults and petty jibes have flowed, ebbing and flowing like a tide; but with the icy tide in full spate it can no longer be borne. They have built up an anger within me which will never be a raging inferno but as cold as the winter and as keen as the knife in my hand.
The moon sits low on the horizon, intermittently visible from behind scudding clouds, as I raise my face towards her pale face to announce my rage to the Gods.
“I come this night as petitioner and destroyer; though I do so unwillingly, forced by the actions of thieves and liars.”
Unwilling but with a heart as hard as winter for they have brought this upon their own head. Ten years of lies and deceit; stealing not only the well wrought words of others but but the hard earned coin of the unsuspecting and trusting. Any social media platform was an attack vector to be exploited, the New Age and spiritual communities their preferred target. They may not own their actions to themselves and those around them but the God’s see all.
In the Crossroad dirt I inscribe the sigil with my knife, invoking my Goddess and the denizens of the Underworld.
“I register and hand over my petition to you Pluto, to the Fates and the Furies and every harmful bring of the Underworld. To Hekate, eater of what has been demanded by the gods, and to Hermes the helper I transfer those who have used deceit to enrich themselves.”
The cold wind tears at my cloths and the little bundle in my hand freezes in my hand. The spirits hear me, hungring for my words and offering. I place the bloody bundle in the centre of the sigil, giving name to my target, even as one of the local curs howls at the briefly illuminated sky.
“To you I hand over this person and all those who know and aid their deeds.”
A liturgy of plagiarism, confidence tricks, threats and attacks pour from my lips. Ten years of stalking, lies and abuse which must end.
That one person alone could do this seems impossible and I know they are aided in their acts, even if it only through the inaction of those around them. Someone to provide them the means to maintain a lifestyle in which they can continue to feed all of their delusions and fantasies, providing validation to a person so unstable it seems unlikely they could function alone. Are they a victim themselves, guilty only by association, or are they a knowing enabler and benificiary of these deeds? Too long has this situation lingered for such fine distinction and to the Gods I surrender judgment.
“Lady Hekate of the Heavens, Hekate of the Crossroads, Hekate of the triple-face, Hekate of the single-face, cut out the heart, liver and mind of the thief named in this deposition.”
The easy road to mediumship; a talent they can only find at the bottom of a bottle and on a pathway littered with broken glass. Alcohol addiction is a sad and destructive state from which the strong either set upon a road to recovery and stay there. The weak can only reap the whirlwind in their body mind and soul. I know they are not that strong.
“Let the earth be unwalkable nor the sea sailable, removing any enjoyment of life, but may utter destruction visit them. As inspector of the God’s and judge of the restless dead, you will wield upon them the bronze sickle, and you will cut them out.”
I turn my back to the crossroads and with head held high and a chorus of hounds ringing in my ears, my final words whispered to the bitter winds;
“But exempt from this is the petitioner and destroyer, for unwillingly driven to this act was I.”
Words adapted from a Roman defixio cursing thieves – trans. John G. Gager, Curse Tablets and Binding Spells from the Ancient World, Oxford, 1999. p. 182-3.
Image from Pixabay