Everything New is Old Again

“To everything there is a season and purpose under heaven”

St.Francis of the Winos

The first time I met St. Francis, I was procuring obtanium along the railroad tracks. Giant rusty spikes used for all sorts of folk magic, flow performers, and pyrotechnics. I know people who do all of those things and I happen to like train tracks. In the parts of the world I have lived the tracks occupy a liminal, mythic space. They are a boundary and space, like the old fairy roads. I walk them whenever I can.

In Houston there was a railyard just outside of the Central Business District near a freeway overpass and over Buffalo Bayou, if you knew where to look you could find a Hobo Jungle. That’s where I first met St. Francis. Back in those days I would go to the jungle to buy odd items the people living there had found. They knew me as Buddha Bill and they knew I loved bones. The bigger the better. Funny enough I got a Lisa Simpson mask there once.

So one evening as I was collecting spikes, and going to buy bones, I heard a wonderful baritone singing “How Great Thou Art”. It was my grandfather’s favorite hymn, he was the one who taught me to love all things train related. A chill ran up my spine and goose bumps covered my flesh, so great was the passion of this singer. I was surprised to find a spry lean man barely five foot two.

His name was Reggie and he was from a town just outside of Detroit, Michigan. He was a Franciscan monk. Twice a month, out of his own pocket he made sandwiches and bought wine. He found more people from the camp would listen to his sermon and let him bless them if he had food and communion. He had been raised Catholic and St.Francis was his hero as Merlin was mine. These people of the jungle were the birds of his flock. This was how I learned St. Francis was still alive and like all saints wears many masks. He is the reason I still honor St. Francis to this day.

Don Pedro and the Carnie

My first experience with psychedelics was the direct result of a summer at my conservative father’s house. Yes you read that right, well it is actually my even more conservative stepmother to whom I owe a debt of gratitude. In 1983, I had barely turned 15 and I was bored beyond belief, so my stepmother suggests I read some of her books from college. The first tome she placed in my hands was a queer little book called The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge by Carlos Castaneda. I had been raised with German folktales learned at my Grandmother’s knee and at the urging of my high school Wiccan friends read Buckland’s big blue book, but nothing had prepared me for this. This was before I had found out about TOPY or read anything by Mc Kenna, Wasson, Burroughs,or Leary. I was out of my depths, off the map. I subsequently tore through A Seperate Reality, Journey to Ixtlan, the Power of Silence; this was all she had in her library.

I spent as much the rest of that summer sleeping outside as I could. I learned what both peyote and datura looked like and began searching in vain for them. I paid special attention to crows and vultures. Little did I know but my iniation had begun. Summer ended and I had to return home to Houston. I joined a coven of teen age wiccans, mostly we hung out in cemeteries at dusk and smoked cloves. Something was missing, the vitality of Summer was gone. School started and Autumn equinox loomed.

As it so happened that year, the Comal County fair opened on Autumn Equinox 9/23/1983. Two of my uncles were living with and working for my father at the time; a third uncle had brought my brother and me for our regular visitation. That Friday it rained buckets, but that did not deter the good German Citizenry of New Braunfels,TX, from turning out on Saturday for beer and wurst. This was a warm up for Oktoberfest. A true Harvest festival in the grand old style. The pigs were weighed, calves, lambs, vegetables,pies, quilts, and jams judged. The Bier Garten was packed and my siblings and I were encouraged to disappear into the fairgrounds, as long we showed up once an hour, we were released again.

Somewhere between the freakshow (mostly b/w photos of days long gone by) and the haunted house, I smelled Mother Ganja on the wind. (I am a second generation hippy, among other things.) I was tired of being harassed and hoping to find some bikers or hippies to hang with, Gothic Cowpunk had not quite caught on in rural Texas in those days. Next to the haunted house I stopped to beat the mud off my boots when I heard a raspy voice behind me, “Hey kid.” I turned around and met the Devil for the first time. There he was disguised as a carnie with a penchant for biker wear.

“Yes”, says I.

“Want to get high?” He queries

“Do I ever.” I respond. So he leads to the carnie camp which were travel trailers arranged in a square with a fire in the middle. They were drinking and smoking and eating bar b que between shifts. I was introduced and invited to join the smoke circle. After 3o minutes the Devil shows up again and ask me if I want to get real fucked up. I am hesitant as he reaches into a bag made out of faded denim and pulls out a peyote cactus about an inch and a half across and two inches long with it’s tapering root. I recognized it from the previous summer’s research. He tells me that normally he would charge $30 for this size, but he likes me so he’ll let me have it for $15. I had $17 and some change so the deal went down. Instead slicing off little pieces as he suggested, I quartered it and ate two immediately. They tasted like dirt. It was time for me to check in.

I arrived at the Bier Garten just in time to be naseous. My family was incredibly drunk and  having a joyous time; I vomited. Right into a trash can. They all laughed and asked how many had I had. Then they offered me beer and sausage which made me purge some more. More laughter.

I went out and  roamed the carnival. So a Harvest festival  turned  County Fair in an  area settled by Germans with a freakshow is what imprinted on my brain the first time I  did psychedelics. If you know me, I  think this is very illuminating. If  not keep reading this blog, it will become apparent.

I went  back home after that weekend, dropped out of the Wiccan Circle and a month later at All  Hallows Eve entered a graveyard and iniated myself  into Witchcraft. I have  never looked  back.

Oma’s Advice

That night that Halloween  night 33 years ago is when I  met Oma. I am  not going to say much about  her as she is my spirit guide. I  know now where she is buried in that German cemetery and why she urged me constantly  to listen to my own German  Grandmother’s stories, which I  sorely neglected to do enough.

She appeared shortly  after  my declaration and asked  why I  had done such a thing and did I  realize what I was giving up? As she speaks German and I very little our conversations  have been very humorous and  frustrating  over the years. I have actually  learned  a lot of German  from her over time and I  am taking semi-formal lessons  now.

The gist of  her argument  was that if one wants knowledge  they should be a librarian or an occultist. If they  seek power go into politics  or be a sorcerer. A healer? Become an herbalist or physician. Witchcraft was for hermits who could live without blind faith. One could live in the middle  of a city, but their eccentricity  would mark them so that they ended up living a hermits life even if they married and  had children. I am only beginning  to  understand  this. A witch only has faith in that which they know, this makes for a hard life at times.

She taught me that being a witch is not as glorious as portrayed in books. I told her that I did not know of any books where it is portrayed as glorious. Exactly she said.

Pickled Okra

Every now and  again  someone around me discovers Pickled Okra. This is something I take for granted as it has always been a part of my life, in fact it is perfect analogy for my praxis, more on that in a minute. This query by social aquaintenances inevitably sends me through a nostalgia spiral. Lateley this spiral has been amplified  by several factors. One I am in the middle of acquiring a more permanent housing situation, which may include a move to New Braunfels, TX where in many ways my journey began. I have also found myself hanging around  Walmart parking lots, talking to RV’ers because I am  very close to being able to achieve my goal of living in an RV. This has put me back in contact with Nomads, homeless, and carnival folk. St. Francis and St. Jude keep showing up over and over again. Then a few days ago at a potluck with my people from  that thing in the desert someone said the magic words, “I just tried Pickled Okra for the first time. How did I  not know about this?”

There also seems to be a Witchcraft craze going on right now. I am not  sure what spurred it or why, but these things happen and they seem to happen in waves. The older I get the more I understand  the first question  Oma put to me, “Child, what are you that you desire to be a Witch?” (Kind, was bist du, dass du eine Hexe sein willst?), not Why do you want to be a witch or even Why do you wish to study Witchcraft, but What are you? I have come to believe one must have an outlaw soul to be a witch. Many who believe they  want this path are better suited to be yoga instructors or substance abuse counselors. Not that there is anything wrong  with  that. Takes a while to find oneself. I  am happy  wicca exists to provide many with the oppurtunity to worship witches without having to get their hands dirty. I want say much more, Silence prevents me. The knowledge is easily gained, even Consumer Zombies are willful  enough, a few posses the daring, but very few can simmer in silence gathering the sardonic wisdom like jewels to be used only when appropriate. At this point accusations of elitism arise, to which I  ask one simple question. Have you tried pickled okra?

See that question is about an experience. How would I describe pickled okra to someone  who has never tried it? Simple, I give them a piece.There is no description of the experience  that will adequately  substitute for the experience. It really is that simple. Now for an analogy that relies on Pickled Okra that may make sense. I said my praxis is like Pickled Okra and indeed it is.

My praxis like the aforementioned delicacy could only be born in Texas. First one starts with a Germanic practice; pickling or in reference to my practice Teutonic folkways and hexenkraft.  Add something southern that actually originated in Africa; okra or hoodoo materia as I do. Lastly something local or indigenous like jalapeños, or in the instance of my praxis some saints borrowed from Mexican catholicism not necessarily recognized by Rome. There you have it Pickled Okra, which like America is a crossroad in time as much as space where multiple cultures and techniques come together to create something new. A place where everything new is old again.



Rocket Surgery and the Black Star

The sun is setting and the sky has taken on the hue of a perfectly ripe cantaloupe. A cold north wind blows the sky clean. To my right murmurations of starlings play in the dwindling light and Bowie croons on the car speakers. I have stopped here in a bank parking lot on the edge of a small Central Texas town to eat my dinner, a fried alligator po- boy. Soon the voice will come, I can feel the potency in the air. Meanwhile I sit in my private epiphany waiting for the Omen to come, as it always does in times such as these. I think back on how I learned to identify these moments, to feel the fluctuations in the force that let me know that spirit was moving towards me. The times when I must be silent and listen.

Bus Stop Epiphanies

I moved to Austin, Texas on April Fool’s day 1993, because the cards and the angels of Chaos told me too. I had previously died on whiskey and rootbeer and been resurrected by the Virgen de Guadalupe and San Martin de Porres in a garage apartment bath tub. My first marriage was over. My family was utterly confused by me and my desire for body modification. The dark yogas I practiced as a result of reading Peter Carroll, Phil Hine, and Georges Bataille were taking a toll upon my soul. Not even enchiladas eaten in the shadow of the Alamo could save me. After my death and subsequent resurrection it was clear that my path lead away from San Antonio to Austin. From Breckenridge to the Congress Avenue Bridge I followed the Mexican free-tailed bats.

When I first moved to Austin, I lived with my high school friend Mr Winters. He introduced me to Johnny Vagabond although he wasn’t using that name yet, no he was still Mr. Nations. Johnny became my mentor of all things green. Whereas Granny Jones had taught me how to grow, Johnny taught me what to grow. It was the time of Crash Collusion, Johnny’s zine about UFO’s, entheogens, conspiracies, TAZ, shifting paradigms, cryptozoology, and the OTO. It is said when the student is ready, the teacher will arrive. I was ready and Johnny gave me a job working on the graveyard shift at Kinkos. I rode the bus to work.

I had already taken the affectation of wearing black all the time, but to this I had added a cheap halloween witch hat and a backpack covered with rubber skeletons and brass bells. An urban wizard is what I fancied myself. Divine fool was probably closer to the truth.

One fine summer evening as I headed out to work I met St. Serendipitous. I was exploring strange music at the recommendation of MACUMBA zine out of Dallas, TX, so either I was listening to Exotica by Martin Denny or Tabula Rasa by Einsturzende Neubauten. My first bus stop was next to Toy Joy, Austin’s version of  Seattle’s Archie Mc Phee. There upon the box that housed all the electrics for the signals someone had wheatpasted a three headed being with Robert Anton Wilson, Dr. Timothy Leary, and Terrence Mc Kenna on the body of the dancing Shiva. In the background was the Sri Yantra with the Illuminati all seeing eye super imposed. Beneath this was a tattoo style banner that read The Three Stooges. I felt as if a door had opened. When I got to my transfer point, I found a book on the bus bench; The Transmigration of Timothy Archer by Phillip K Dick. Something about the light of the sunset, the cover art on the book, the music I was listening to, and the bats leaving their roosts just as we crossed the Congress Avenue Bridge, told me to pay attention; this was important. When I arrived at work Johnny asked me I ever read any Phillip K Dick. After I told him the strange tale of coincidence, he says matter of factly, “You’ve had an epiphany and that book is an omen.” Right he was and I have paid attention to shifts in energy every since.

The Black Star

I have been listening Bowie incessantly and reading  Gordon White’s Star Ships, which I highly recommend. Something about the origins of the Western Tradition considered from literally an entirely different angle and Bowie’s personal requiem dove tail nicely with my considerations over another failed marriage and the desire to travel. Star lore; I always come back to the stars. Whether I am recieving messages from the twelve as mentioned before, reading about our mythemes shifting to UFO’s, looking for Black Knight or the Space Station, or discovering new ideas from the field of archeoastronomy, I am still looking out into the Cosmic Ocean pondering the meaning of it all.

Here I am between the Epiphany and the anniversary of Bowie’s death talking about energies manifesting in my own life as Universe floods my awareness with little coincidences and synchronicities. Once again I am being drawn in by the deire to modify my body as a reflection of my inner processes. I still don’t know what a Black star is.

Rocket Surgery

I have come to realize how much I complicate my life. I create blockages before attempting to seek solutions. Take learning a new task as an example, before even considering how to make it happen, I have a ready litany of why it can’t happen. Lately when that happens, I call that impulse Rocket Surgery. Something that on the surface seems quite complicated but upon reflection is actually nonsense. So 2017 is the Year of Rocket Surgery. A year for defeating bogey men, false assumptions, and actual nonsense.

Back to the example of learning something new; instead of seeking reasons why I can’t, I look to creating strategies for how I can. Thank you, Jason Miller. Lets start with learning. Make yourself some flash cards, 3″ x 5″ index cards with a topic on one side and information on the other. You can learn tarot this way, herbs, aspects of ritual etc. Small, and compact, they travel anywhere. Make some when you have time, review while riding the bus, waiting at the doctor, or the pharmacy, etc. Read blog articles and listen to podcasts on the topic. Both can easily be digested during an average commute. All easy, doable, and conviently portable.

You can even cultivate more ritual into your life using this idea.Listen to music you find inspirational. Make mantras, for instance any time I use a bridge I say to myself, “Crossing water, crossing water, all hail the River Goddesses daughter.” If I’m walking I leave a penny or something on the bridge. You could practice “first fruits” when the weather is better. At lunchtime, before you eat take bits of your lunch and make small offering to your Matron, your Patron, or the Spirits of the land. Leave under a tree.

Meaningful Coincidences

A large part of magic as a practice is to create the conditions that increase synchronicity. This is what every sigil scribbled, every ritual enacted, and every prayer whispered is aiming at, to create conditions that the mage may manipulate to their personal advantage. There are many methods and techniques for accomplishing this, but only two directions by which this happens; internally directed or externally constructed. Only half of being a sage worker of magic is knowing how create meaningful coincidences, the other half is being open to messages coming from outside. Omens, oracles, serendipity, and all other synchronous messages. When Crow wants your attention, crow will appear everywhere, pay attention. When your magic is very potent these inner and outer machinations begin to feed each other and truly amazing things happen.

I have recently been blessed both by inwardly directed and outwardly noticed synchronicity. Whenever these types of events happen in my life I am always in awe at the strange and wondrous ways reality manifests around me. It is these liminal spaces that really open me up to a magical comprehension of what makes the structure of Universe possible. My conclusion based upon observation and experience is animistic and mystic. What I mean by this is that everything is “alive” in a spiritual sense, thus animistic, and ultimately interconnected into a whole, therefore mystic. This is what lies behind the veil, this is why magic is possible, and why universe communicates through potent symbols. This is why I pull into parking lots to watch murmurations of starlings and become mesmerised by their beauty. Here in the fading January light in my car the Omen comes and I realize that despite the tension of the coming days; a Great Awakening is also happening. I am a Black Star.


The Year of the Sacred Heart Pt 2


What can I say about this year that has not already been said? Quite a bit actually. In part one of my review of the year, I discussed briefly my personal alchemical transformation, in this part I want delve more into the poetry and mythology. I will also discuss where this journey has lead and is leading.

The Vision

I first had a vision of the Sacred Heart when I was about 8 or 9. I had seen the image before, but the vision came when I was sick with a high fever. A cloaked woman came to me and told me I would be okay and one day my words would help others to heal. She held up a flaming heart in her hands, and it grew until I couldn’t see anything else. Then I became one with it; my fever had broken.

This is the first vision of the Sacred Heart I remember and even though I was not raised a Catholic; I was raised in an environment permeated by Catholicism, both orthodox and folk style. In East Texas it has a decidedly French aesthetic, but Central, South, and West Texas belong to Mexican and Spanish Catholicism. So the imagery of Catholicism has surrounded me my whole life and although some of my relatives are Catholic, I was not raised in the church. I learned back alley Folk Catholicism, mostly from Hispanic Neighbors, definitely more Santeria/Curandera than Orthodox. Despite all that I was not aware of the meaning of the Sacred Heart as a symbol of mystical union with the divine until religous studies as an adult. I had always interpreted it as a symbol of the poetic capacity. This where I was at when I adopted it as the symbol for 2016.

The Poets Heart

To make art, to write poetry, to be a sacred artist, to craft magic, these are acts that require one to be in communion with one’s soul. This is a mystical connection that is brought about by union with the divine. The heart of a poet is the heart of a warrior. As Alejandro Jodoworsky says,  “I am an artist, you understand? For me, a picture is like poetry. When you make art, this is not coming from an intellectual place. It’s coming from the deep side of unconscious, your soul.”

The year, 2016, tested everyone. Many celebrities and artists crossed over, among them several influential musician/poets. In the circles I travel the two most important were probably David Bowie and Leonard Cohen. They were living embodiments of the spirit of the Sacred Heart as a metaphor for union with the divine. Bowie was the Star Man who invited us to be more than the little boxes into which our daily lives tried to squeeze us. Cohen was a man of the earth who reminded us that anywhere we stood was Holy Ground. That is the ultimate secret of the Sacred Heart in my mind; once you have made mystical union with the divine every and everything is Holy even the profane. The example set by the lives of Cohen and Bowie is one of( taking on life by your own terms even when dangerous. To be open hearted and compassionate during  difficult times means one must be comfortable with being vulnerable. Vulnerability requires a strength that only a union with the divine can sustaìn and nurture. To cleave oneself open for all the world to see. This is magic and art on the edge.

Bleeding Out

Exposure. Risk. Identity. We have come a long way in our collective battle to be free from prejudice and hatred, only to have the Presidential election in the US and Brexit remind us that we still have a way to go. After my alchemical transformation through the Sacred Heart I have come to believe that these threats are just Phantom Menaces, more fear of the Big Bad Wolf than lupine maximus himself. As Young the Giant says in “Somethingto Believe In”

“I’ll give you something to believe in
Burn up a basement full of demons
Realize you’re a slave to your mind, break free
Now give me something to believe in”

Here I am stripped down naked before the Lord and I find that which really motivates me is not fear, but LOVE. Love Divine. Love of body modification, love of monsters, love of the black, and these are the things that will carry me forward.

I have spent the last few years reaquainting myself with occult philosphy, folk magic techniques, and doers and shakers of all types. I have discovered a few things, strengthened some very old vows and uncovered my essential core. As the new year approaches, I have decided to stop bleeding out. To heal old festering wounds. Take responsibility for myself and my actions both on exoteric and esoteric levels. To become my own Dr. Frankenstein.

Rocket Surgery

So 2017 will be the year of Rocket Surgery. I will go into this more thoroughly later, but for now suffice it to say that this will entail using my most time tested techniques, combined with new technology to reach heights of magical reality previously unattainable. Not because I have achieved godlike abilities, but because I am cultivating monk like humility. I have become filled with a renewed sense of wonder much like a child but tempered with the wisdom of nearly 50 years of life. I will be introducing a divination system based on the Five Crowns deck and travelling about to discover new spirits of place. All the while this blog will be my magical travelogue chronicling my adventures. Rocket Surgery, healing through technology, travel, and absurdity.

Plant your feet in the mycorrhozia, spread your astral wings, engage the Sacred Heart and blast off into the Outer Realms, Mutant Mage.


The Year of the Sacred Heart: A Review Pt 1

2016. What a year. Definitely a life study in Saturnal influences. This was the year I chose to explore the Sacred Heart. A year of living more passionately, of living from the heart, to take on the role of Poet-Warrior, but more on that later. A year that for many was very dark and challenging, a year that almost took me down. A time of challenge that has left me stronger emotionally, more compassionate, more reflective, and less materialistic.


My year was fraught with breakdowns. There were the losses of people I admire. My marriage fell apart. I lost several jobs and two places to live. I lost my car. During this process  I almost lost my mind. Then I almost gave up on life. Breakdown after breakdown. I felt as if everything I had come to identify as “self” was dissolving before my very eyes.

I was losing my sense of being. To be open hearted and compassionate under these circumstances was igniting a flame deep inside, but I still had more work ahead. Little did I realize the breakdowns were preparing me for the challenges ahead.


Taking inventory of my life required a brutal honesty that only meditation on the Sacred Heart as Divine Love could guide me through. No longer confining myself, I was able to take responsibility for all the self inflicted black magic I insisted were compromises, but more truthfully were martyr points that wielded like weapons when I felt necessary. I began to own my shadow and its abusive ways of protecting itself.

The repeated shocks of this year enhanced by a Saturn Retrograde going full direct took me deeper than I have ever gone; deeper still than even shamanic journeys. At the bottom of it all, I almost gave up and crossed over. Instead, I reached out and found others willing to hold on and not let me fall. I put out the call and they answered. A one eyed witch with no tradition save her own. Cedar Woman and a Mare who walks into fires. I am grateful to know such strong women. They have encouraged me to keep listeningto the Sacred Heart and its wisdom. The time had come to accept and love someone I had been long neglecting; myself.


After losing so much it was fairly easy to pick up the pieces that I wanted to carry forward, what surprised me most, was what had been long neglected and left behind. I found a poets heart still beating in the ashes; shriveled, atrophied, and distrustful, but still beating. I found unbound love of and fascination with humanity and its quirky ways. Here was wanderlust and intellectual curiosity. At the heart of it all self discovery through Body Play. I saw myself again, not reborn, older, wiser, spiritually maturing.

Able to discern what tools I already possessed to move forward and what burdens to leave behind, I knew I must follow the Sacred Heart once more to Conjunction Junction.


Much like the Crossroads, Conjunction Junction is a place where different paths meet, but unlike the crossroads the Junction is about connections. Not simple connections like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; more like the magical melange of Gumbo or Coq au Vin. A place where essential ingredients simmer together to transcend their disparate natures.

This is where I learn how Body Play informs my magical identity. Where my poets heart fuels the wanderlust and the Sacred Heart unites them all into the mad scientist magician persona I call the Mutant Mage. This is where the authentic self emerges; although time is still required for the curing process. Just like prime rib must “rest” in an oven for several hours to come out right or a beer wort must ferment in order to render the desired results.


This not just a finishing stage; this a transformative stage and a test. This is Chapel Perilous. It is here that I truly learn to trust in the Sacred Heart and cast away the last remains of self doubt and fear. In this time and place I find a job that I am comfortable with and can build a budget around. Here I realize less is more; for me. I accept that the sedan and the one room rental space because it is all I truly need and desire. This where I  come to terms with the fact that I prefer travel, tattoos, and a pet toad to long term relationships. This is a time of spirit growth. Here I conquer depression and self sabotage. Now once more into the flames of the Sacred Heart to refine, and purify; to distill my spirit born self.


The final refinement, where the lessons all come together and process of continual renewal emerges. For me this has happened through a daily ritual of silence. A time for quiet contemplation and to reset. This happened to come right as th elections were happening. Without all of my previous trials and tribulations the results could have been devastating and I freely admit, my first reaction was anger. I own that and do not feel ashamed of it because it was honest.

I have learned not to hide myself for the sake of getting along. Being authentic has become my path, to live openly and freely. The Way of the Sacred Heart has shown me how to be a Spirit Warrior with the heart of a poet. Living open hearted and compassionate under these dark and challenging times has allowed me to coagulate into a new being without losing my authentic self.


This is the path forward and what I will discuss in part two. Coagulation is the art of living a nondualistic existence. This where we are Sacred Artists, not just tapping into the spirit of the Sacred Artist. This is where we are Animystic not considering things from an Animystic point of view, where we live magical lives on addition to magically enhancing our lives. The Sacred Heart has taught me much and with out its lessons, I might not have survived this year.





This Place

Previous | Master | Next


This is actually a reprint from my old blog which can be found at Sasquatch Jones. I am sharing here to participate in the Strategic Sorcery Blog Hop about magic of place. I no longer live here, but the lessons learned will stay with me a lifetime and have established a template for further work with the spirits of place. Enjoy.

This place.
I ask again, the answer is the same.
This place.

I have lived on this land for eight years now, but it only began to speak to me about two and a half years ago. This place, is only my interpretation of the vibratory sensation that pulses through me from the ground. The first time it spoke to me I was naïve enough to believe that I understood. Days later I went to talk to the land again, but at first I thought I misunderstood.
This time the tone was different, yet still familiar. At last I thought I understood, I was in a different place so that would account for the difference. I could have not been more wrong. The next weekend I returned to my original spot and began again to speak with this place, again it was different but somehow the same . Over a period of months I came to realize some very special things about this place.
First lesson I learned was about temporal relationships. This came to light after conversations at different times of day. Time is as intrinsic as space to this place, time and space are not separate. This place was as much a time specific event as it was a space specific event. This wisdom has lead to major shifts in all of my relationships. Just as this place and all that inhabit it, including me, are corporeal and spiritual in nature, so too is all of Creation.
I began to discern two distinct vibratory sensations; like a sound that you hear with your bones. The low background drone that is always there I have come to call the spirit of the land. The tonal variations and differing energy frequencies I have begun to think of as the spirit of place. This place is both two distinct aspects, each unique in itself, yet completely inseparable. This undifferentiated duality encompassing the whole relates directly to the shamanic and Taoist worldview, there is no true “other”. We are all here together. This profound truth continues to reshape my vision of Universe.


“Yes, the long memory is the most radical idea in this country. It is the loss of that long memory which deprives our people of that connective flow of thoughts and events that clarifies our vision, not of where we’re going, but where we want to go.” Bruce “Utah” Phillips 1935 – 2008

There are things that have been long forgotten, and they live on, in the land . The land does not forget, it remembers all that is, and how that shapes all that is becoming. The land has a long memory. Learning to speak to the land and more importantly to listen to the land will give one access to that long memory. This knowledge will open more doors than all the libraries in the world. I personally believe this due to the physical nature of this practice. You must actually go out into the world and interact with it to gain entry to this vault of knowledge.
There are places that sing with power and crowds flock to them. This is all well and good, but I know secret places, places that only those who know This Place can enter. There are many such places, but to find them one must develop a relationship with the land they belong to. When This Place first opened up and let me enter the imaginal realms, I was immediately cognizant of the similarities and differences between this realm and descriptions I had read of Fey realms.
Geography affects relation to spirit as much as time, whereas the Realm of Fey is universal it’s manifestation is definitely local. My wife has told me several times about the Sasquatch that live here. I will not go into a lengthy discussion about the physicality of these guardian spirits, I will simply say they are real in the same sense that all Faerie are. The first one I met resembled a bear in build, but its face was clearly Sasquatch, and it had horns like a goat. There are others here, hobs and gobs, but not quite like the ones you find in European lore. More earthy, and bony, like armadillos.Buffalo, and Bear, long gone are remembered and live on. Many of the people who once lived here, are still represented by their spirit, the land, like the body, never forgets.
There are others here too, angels, for lack of a better term. The form that appears to me most often, and seems to be THE Guardian Angel of this place, resembles a black-jaguar headed man, with enormous wings of rainbow colored flame. His presence is fiery and fierce like midsummer sun. He likes meat, and rainwater. This is a wild spirit, we never meet indoors. He belongs to the land. Others come and go, like Shadow Rabbit, and the Sun Sprites. None of this will make sense unless you have been to This Place, but the place you find will be different because it is not This Place.
The majority of my work over the last few years has been with the spirits of This Place and the land itself. When I said that I had spent a year and a day in the Earth, in many ways that was quite literal. My work could not happen and would be incomplete without this relationship. Everything is connected from the most mundane to the most fantastic. Here there are realms within realms all overlap and informing one  another Holoarchically. This Place exists in many times and spaces and they are all This Place. This Place has a very long memory.


I have been lazy in the most productive way. My garden has lain fallow for two years now, I only garden in containers. My yard is a garden in the most magical of ways, wild edible, useful and magical plants have sprung up all over my yard. I have entered into a relationship with the land. I have studied its micro-biomes and it has given me instruction on how to be a better steward. A forest garden is my next major project with this land. I will mimic the natural processes at work at This Place and restore the land and garden it at the same time.
This land was once cleared for cattle grazing, for the last 30 years there has been a community here and people have reintroduced trees to the environment. This lead me to idea of working with land to create an environment that was managed and yet followed the natural variations and rhythms of This Place.The initial step involves letting the high side of the property return to woodland. The squirrels have been remarkably helpful, I now have a small forest of oaks, mesquite, and pecan, covering the front of the property. This transitions into grassland as the land slope towards an arroyo seco. It is important to keep this open because of flash floods.
More long range projects include improving the drainage in arroyo to minimize erosion. Farther down the line, a retention pond is in the works. The retention pond would be unnecessary if my neighbors had not filled the arroyo’s course through their property. It has created  a far worse flooding problem. No worries, studying the lay of the land form my roof in winter I have discerned the natural water course and how to counteract my neighbors stupidity. Added bonus, more biodiversity, more complexity to This Place. We evolve together This Place. Much as the Basque is identified by his etxe, so to does This Place inform who I am. This Place and I work towards the same goals, and we both benefit from the relationship. This did not happen because I asked the land to bend to my will, no this happened because I asked the land what it willed and how I could help.
This Place.
It is where I call home, and where home calls me.
This Place.

Stones, Roots, and Bones

I do not subscribe to the Neo-platonic ideal of essences, however I do believe certain natural objects contain a more concentrated form of power than others. These objects of power, hint at an eternal aspect, but truly only speak to a longevity of form that is ultimately betrayed by ephemerality. Despite their hardiness and consistency of form, these objects like all others eventually break down and give way. Only the atoms and electro-magnetic energy they encompass are eternal. All other aspects are but vectors in the time-space continuum, more on that some other day.


bandera_2008-0920_050As a child I collected rocks and stones. Not crystals or mineral specimen, but seemingly ordinary stones. They were not ordinary though, due to my good fortune, my family owned property in the Texas Hill Country. The predominant geologic feature of this region is limestone. This meant that as a child I collected many rocks that either contained fossils or holes. Yes my childhood rock collection was made of hagstones and fossils. Either keys for viewing the realms of fey, or bits of a past so distant as to hint at eternity itself. My two favorites were “Donut Rock” and “Big Heart”, everyone of my rocks had a name.  Donut rock was roughly the size and shape of a donut with a hole right through the middle, he was my favorite. Yes I said “he”, like most children I was a natural animist, as I mentioned above everyone of my rocks had a name. These names were based on shape, size and personality, because yes, I talked to my rocks. They were my friends.

Big heart like the majority of my fossils was a bivalve known as a deer heart clam. I also had bits of ancient oyster beds, brachiopods, some snails, and a few sea urchins. These rock dinosaurs as I called them spoke to me of ancient oceans and fantastic landscapes that only my dreams could fully recognize. These frozen snapshots of a prehistoric world first taught me about the magic of stones. This leads me to the hagstones, long before I had ever read about hagstones or their uses among my Pre-Anglo Cyrmy (Welsh) ancestors, I knew that they were lenses to other realms. Combine the natural magic of a hagstone with the imagination of a child and ancestral magical memory, and the limits of what I viewed was boundless.  These stones honed my  visualization skills in a way that no other technique has.  These stones were my teachers even before I realized such a thing was possible.

Today I own many stones, fossils, crystals, and minerals. I have spent many years studying 45d100a28390c3cee98ee49f0a1b2bcbtheir physical, geological, and esoteric properties. None of this subsequent education can compare to the initial lessons of my childhood earth angels. I am still a rock whisperer, a skill I learned before formal education. When I visit someplace new my first endeavor is to meet the natural geology of the area. I talk to the stones, the ancient stores of knowledge that know more, have seen more, and record more information than our species will ever comprehend. I feel blessed to have been instructed by these old wise ones. These earth angels at the base of all things, the literal base of all things.


In my grandmothers garden I first learned about the importance of roots. When we transplanted the seedlings in spring, I was reminded to be tender and gentle with the article-0-0f324bb600000578-46_634x838roots, because that’s from where the plants grew. Later the lesson was to always remember to include root vegetables in my diet to stay healthy and strong. It was the last lesson she taught me that intrigued me the most. As devout a Methodist as any that came, she was a repository of old German lore. When we picked carrots, then ones with two roots, i.e. the ones that resembled legs, were set aside and only eaten raw. These were special and could not be cooked. It was not until many years later when reading Jacob Boehme’s  Signature of all Things, that I began to suss out my Grandmother’s treatment of these carrots. For her it may have just been tradition, but the origins of that tradition probably had similar connotations as the human shaped mandrake, and other people shaped roots.

At the family cabin, where we spent every hunting season and chunks of summer, there were multiple cedar stumps that had been unearthed so that the root structure was exposed. These inverted stumps were like a cross between driftwood and abstract sculpture. Their form, texture, and color fascinated me. These twisted, hard bits of wood spoke to me of the trees need to wrap around and push between rocks to find nutrient rich soil. This was a life lesson, despite the twists and turns these hardy souls continued to dig in searching for that which sustained them. I was completely in awe of these masters of reality. Thanks to these wonderful grotesqueries, I developed a lifelong love of root structures and the esoteric meaning contained within their shapes.

Now a days, I collect roots for medicine, for culinary purposes, for their esoteric largeassociations, but mostly for their beauty. I resonate with the shape and color of roots, the smells they contain from the soil, their resins, and from molds and fungi. On my path I have learned to associate the roots with the dwelling of the plants souls. No matter how much a plant can teach me, its roots teach me more, these are residents of the underworld after all. The first residents of the underworld that I ever encountered and I still learn something new with every root I encounter. Roots are crossroads of sorts, an intersection between the world of plants, the world of minerals, and the previously mentioned underworld. To explore roots is to explore magic itself.



Bones. Every witch and sorcerer I know collects bones. Why? What is the allure? Is it simply that this is the most resilient parts of otherwise temporary beings or is there more to the story? In many traditions, skulls are used like spirit pots, as a place of residence for familiar spirits. Sometimes bones are used as points of contact for the grand spirit of the species they came from; wolf bones for wolf spirit, dog for dog, cat for cat, that sort of thing. Perhaps it is an ancient knowing that we possess, the reason behind statements like, “I feel it in my bones”or “to know something deep in down in one’s bones.” Maybe it has to do with the fact that bones, our own bones, are 60-70% mineral and this gives us a connection to the earth in the same way rock or stones do.

My personal fascination with bones, much like rocks, and roots, began quite early in my life. I was raised in a family of hunters and fishers, bones were just part of reality, leftovers after the flesh was consumed. In addition to stones and roots, I collected bones, still do. In my youth I was most fascinated with jawbones and teeth. The majority of my collection was either the molars or complete jawbones of white tail deer and feral hogs. How the teeth fit into the sockets was utterly amazing, I literally spent hours removing and reinserting teeth, especially after my “baby” teeth fell out. It was like a jigsaw puzzle from nature.

Bones and objects made of bone litter my altars and shrines. I have complete animalk11867405 skeletons, skulls, whistles and trumpets, and even random teeth scattered about. I cannot eat an animal without keeping its bones for a while. I try to connect with it and thank it for nourishing me, then I “smoke” the bones and bury them. I keep bones to mix with my personal incense blends, sometimes I grind bones into fine powder to add to soups and stews. I make bone broth both for nutritional and ritual purposes. I even have a recipe for beer brewed with bones. Like stones and roots, bones have become an integral part of my path and practice.

Animistic Devices

Over the years, I have studied many different magical traditions and even dabbled in a few, eventually I have come to develop my own path and practice. Just as Blues Rock claims its lineage from both Blues, and Rock and Roll, yet is not quite either, so too is my way an amalgamation. Somewhere between Witchcraft, and Chaos Magic, I have forged the path of the Mutant Mage. Despite many techniques and much spell craft practiced, I find myself returning to certain basic materials over and over. Experimenting with Tibetan Chod rituals or communing with Hekate in Midnight Graveyard Sessions, I have come to rely on three allies more than any other. These three companions keep me connected to this world and aid me in transcending it. Semi-permanent as they are even they give way to impermanence and thus teach the way of all things. It is safe to say my path, my practice would not exist as it does without Stones, Roots, and Bones.


Lost Maples 1

Practical Magic


I have been watching Johnathan Strange & Mr Norell, and I am struck by how much it reminds me of the state of modern magic. There are many content to study without desire to actually produce results. There are others who present themselves as authorities when all they have managed is to rise within the ranks of lodges and societies that scarcely function as more than social clubs for bored suburbanites. Too often those who choose to be viewed as magicians in modern times, hide those things which would reveal them to be human. It is almost as though being well rounded is anathema to being a magician, as if revealing ones whole self-will somehow weaken their power. I have come to believe this is a fallacy which needs rectifying, magic does not exist in a vacuum.

Holy Sacraments

When I started this blog, it took me some time to come up with a title. I wanted something that reflected who I was, not necessarily what my blog was about. Primarily I write about magic, but I try to write about it from the perspective of how it touches my everyday life. This is not a how to do magic type of journey, I believe that is an individual pursuit. This more about how MY magical journey enriches my life. I share experiences and folklore, the how to is up to the reader to suss out. So that is how the name of my blog came about, Tacos and Tequila are my Holy Sacraments.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              fat_tire_tacosTacos are pure magic in my opinion. Start with a tortilla, another variant of the ubiquitous round flat bread found in every culture, ever. Next add whatever you have, eggs, beans, rice, or all three it doesn’t matter. That is the magic, a simple tortilla wrapped around anything transforms it into something delicious and heavenly, may all my magic be so effective. The tortilla itself is nothing more than flour, water, yeast, and fat (usually lard), and yet through a wondrous alchemical transformation these simple ingredients form the portable, edible food wrapper of the gods. Tacos are poor people food, but you do not need to be poor to appreciate them, they transcend socio-economic boundaries. May all my magic be so flexible. Whereas I have to be in the mood for $100 a plate chef prepared meals, and yes the mood does strike me, tacos are always an option, without question. I aspire for my magic to be like tacos, simple, ubiquitous, versatile, and delicious.

Tequila is my Soma. A holy elixir that opens gateways, but one that must be used with caution. I am not a heavy drinker, in fact, I am entirely a social drinker and being an introverted recluse that makes me a very light drinker. Usually I drink beer in most social settings, but there are those special occasions where something more is required. On campout, long weekends, rainy days, and winter retreats, nothing beats the golden warmth of tequila. In a drop of tequila I taste the earth, the summer sun, and the highlands of Jalisco. When shared with others the tequila_hires_550conversation flows as the warmth penetrates deep into the bones, deep thoughts and precious intimacies are shared. May my magic be so inspirational. When shared with my spirit allies a bond of friendship and loyalty is forged that rewards us both. May my magic always be reciprocal. Tequila like tacos is made from simple ingredients, blue agave cacti, water, and yeast. Like the tacos a bit of alchemy transforms these ingredients into something spectacular. A word of caution, Tequila like all potions must be treated with respect, too much will hurt with a vengeance not soon  forgotten. May my magic be like tequila, strong, lucid, intoxicating, and a little bit dangerous.

I try to model my magic a bit like Tacos and Tequila. In addition to the references I have made above, it my desire that my magic be made of simple ingredients, mundane one might say, that are transformed through the agency of spirit, alchemy, transcendent power, or even fermentation, into something more spectacular. Made into an essence, a power, a force that far exceeds the sum of its parts. Something that can only exist because of a combination that must be executed precisiely to yield proper results. Something that exemplifies “solve et coagula”. This is how I model my magic and why Tacos and Tequila are sacraments to me.

Daily Inspirations

I love the word “inspiration”, it simultaneously means being mentally stimulated towards creative ends and inhalation. This dovetails with both the ancient greek “pneuma” and the hindu concept of “prana”. With pneuma we have a word that both means breath and spirit, or the vital, creative force of a person. Prana is a concept of spirit and creative lifeforce found in all things needed to live. This is usually illustrated in the following way; food, water, and breath all have prana. One can go weeks without food, days without water, but only minutes without breath, therefore breath has the greatest amount of prana. Very different cultures, same concept, spirit, that is the creative force that gives us life is found in the breath.

The idea that life is in the breath along with the force we consider creativity leads to some very interesting considerations for magic. Most important is the realization that both life and creativity are forces that exist externally to one’s being. Through inhalation these forces are brought to dwell within oneself. To my mind this settles the entire debate about whether spirit is external or a fabrication of the mind. This also explains why creativity is not necessarily an indwelling quality. I could at this point get into very long winded (see what I did there) explanation about the metaphysics involved with the chemical reactions in the brain that are a result of this interaction, but that is really a book in itself. Instead I will say with each breath the holy creative fire is stoked within our cranial organ and thus life is maintained as well as creativity.

This all leads to the topic of meditation. If one wants to be more effective with magic there is nothing more powerful or efficacious than meditation. Many balk at this idea because it seems to simple, if I have learned anything in my 30 plus years as a mage, it is that simplicity is the hallmeditation31mark of the greatest magics known. Meditation quite simply is sitting still, quieting the mind, and breathing. That’s it. Breathing however is the process of ingesting life force, spirit, and creativity. Want more effective magic? What could aid one more than building up stores of spirit, life force, and creativity? Not to mention the added benefits of being able to focus concentration, control of one’s own mind, and knowing how to take a deep breath to clear distracting thoughts. Just like Tacos and Tequila, a little bit of alchemical transformation turns breath into something spectacular. Breath is the greatest ally a mage can have.


Astrologically speaking we are in a very interesting time, Saturn moved into a partie square with Neptune which means liars will be exposed and deceptions uncovered. It is very hard in this day and age of virtual interactions to determine who is authentic and who is creating a character. It is my sincere hope that during this astrological time the veil will drop and those who are authentic will be able to move forward. This is perhaps a far-fetched dream, but it is true to who I am. Authenticity however can determined by one single factor, simplicity that transforms into the spectacular. That wonderful alchemy that helps one find gold in the compost.

My personal gauge for determining authenticity is not lineage or membership in any association, no it is much simpler than that. I can tell when someone is authentic because they are willing to go all in. What I mean by this is when you read an herbal witches blog and she shares the wonder and joy of introducing her child to the forest. Cartomancers who share how much they love their siblings and their pets. Sorcerers who specialize in helping others to be better sorcerers themselves and yet share family vacation stories or tales of plastic toy chasing cats. Brave souls unafraid to be themselves in a public space. I’m not suggesting that to be authentic one must share every aspect of their life, but rather that one is true enough to themselves that they lack fear over being open. When one is well rooted in themselves the need to play a role or present one side of one self as the totality drops away.

Whether one specializes in cartomancy, astrology, herbalism, or scrying, that is not all one does, nor should it be. I believe that all too often that when one works to be a well rounded magician an erroneous state of mind takes hold that convinces the individual that they must excel at all schools of magic. Rather than live a fulfilling life filled with variety and adventure, these poor souls become consumed pursuing the next new thing. Pursuing dilettantism rather than developing their super power. There is nothing wrong with a herbalist studying cartomancy, in fact, one may excel at both, but not all herbalists must study cartomancy and vice versa. A great astrologer may find more inspiration in physics or the poetry of Sandra Cisneros than in divination by dice or dominoes. A herbalist might be inspired more by zymurgy than alchemy, then again perhaps both. The point being that truly informed magic comes about from engaging with the world rather than withdrawing from it. This engagement when coupled with inhaled spirit and creative force awakens one to the strange alchemy that transforms ordinary things into spectacular sacraments, much like Tacos and Tequila. The ability to find magic within the mundane is authentic and practical magic. Very practical magic indeed.





Every night this week it has been at least Ninety Five degrees Fahrenheit at Nine p.m. I grew up in Texas so I have always dealt with heat, nothing new there, but the part of Central Texas where I live now is slowly changing. Not just the desertification of the environment, but even the spirits are changing. The local spirits and the spirits of the overall culture. I have been witness to and participant in this transformation. I suspect what I am experiencing is just the beginning and that an acceleration of the process is about to happen. Fire has a way of changing all that it touches, and these flames are growing higher by the minute.



Today is July 22nd the Feast day of St. Mary Magdalene, she has just been elevated by Pope Francis. Before today this was just a memorial, most importantly to my mind is the fact that he did this with a Papal Decree titled “Apostolorum Apostola” or Apostle of the Apostles. He did not just elevate St. Mary Magdalene, he elevated the status of women everywhere.Archbishop Arthur Roche, secretary of the congregation, wrote St. Mary Magdalene’s feast day is a call for all Christians to “reflect more deeply on the dignity of women, the new evangelization and the greatness of the mystery of divine mercy.”

In the days to come it will be very important to remember that regardless of your path. Ill winds are blowing and the dignity of women, of people of color, and those who speak for Non-Human People will be tested. The greatness of the mystery of divine mercy might be hard to see as we enter a period of seeming darkness and destruction. That is how Saturn likes to present itself as it transits through Sagittarius, but we must be cautious, with Saturn, a desire to gain control is present, through our belief systems, by imposing our ideas on others. Look around there are plenty of examples of this in the world. What we are really called on to do is define structures and commit to them. In a world of instant gratification and Amazon prime and wine, we often feel confined by structure, definitions, and commitment. There is a shift happening and right now it looks as though we are left with nothing but blackened earth and hot ash.

These new structures will be born out of those of us who have eyes to see to share our visions, to help define the new structures and be committed to the process. For many long centuries the world has held up Eve as a symbol of purity and grace, of Virginal Sacristy, when in fact she spread Death where once there was life. Now that flames have come and blackened the world with anger and stupidity, those of us who have always seen through the lies about Lillitu and St Mary Magdalene have an opportunity to correct those mistakes. Being the first to witness the resurrection Mary proclaims life from the place of death; the Tomb. Where I live this can be seen in the stark symbolism of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe merging with and being eclipsed in some places by Santisima Muerte. My belief is that this is not an accident but points to greater currents at work in the world. St Mary Magdalene the Whore has been elevated to same status as the rest of the Apostles, actually she has been called no less than the Apostle of Apostles. We live in interesting times.



We have come to a cultural crossroads where every one of us has become a Monster. Every thing each individual does makes them a suspect, their diet, their politics, their gender and sexuality, and even their brand preferences. So many trivial things have been utilized by the media, politicians, and corporations to separate individuals from one another. divide and conquer is just good business these days. This makes community, true community, free from triviality, a revolutionary act.

As the Mayans predicted, our tools have turned against us. The phone spies on you. Your television knows more about you than your family does. Multiple devices keep us separated even when we are in the same room. That which we love has been perverted to cause us pain, and in the end feel alienated from the world itself. We are all creatures of the underworld now and such we are not allowed to love, only to lust after the next great thing. Learning to be content and to sit still in the moment is  an act of rebellion.

Individualism is heralded as the great achievement of our time. To be successful, one must be strong and isolated; an island. Despite the push for greater individual freedom, more  people find themselves depressed and unhappy. I believe we are missing an important part of life that has been with us for millennia; we are social beings. Constantly being reminded of how we fall short others by our lack of material possessions or consumer goods, pushes into competition that only serves the elite. Eschewing predetermined social norms in favor of humanity is a revolutionary act.

We have entered a time where we must seek the tabula rasa. A place where all possibilities exist simultaneously, an empty space waiting to be filled with the best we have to offer. The bone laid bare. A destination free from the hubris and dross of a system that was never designed for you and me. In this place we reconnect with our mythopoetic reality. Here we will find the Roots that our rootless society needs. We need dreamers, mystics, and poets; sorcerers, witches, and wizards; Reality Engineers, Mutant Mages, creators of culture to craft new myths to carry us forward. Forward into the great cosmic ocean. To have hope for the future is the greatest revolutionary act of them all.



 There is a secret to magic that most witches and sorcerers hide from, it is all illusion. I don’t mean this in the sense of magic being imaginary, although it certainly, or to say that it it is unreal, although by it’s very nature it must be. What I am driving at is something closer to the Hindu concept of Maya. All of reality is comprised of illusion. No matter what you think something”is”, you have only begun to scratch the surface of it’s totality. As we outgrow this planet we must embrace this illusion and open our minds further. The Cosmic must become local.

Whether one believes a creator made the cosmos from dust or that life exists because of cosmic panspermia, one thing is certain we sprang forth from the void. This void is what awaits us on the other side of the veil when we call forth to spirits in the dark of night. Out there is in here. Our Cosmic Mother awaits us, as much as we long to embrace her. This realm of Sacred Fire comes with a caveat though, where we must go is off the map and there be monsters.

As many who have worked with spirits has attested in the past some spirits have teeth. I believe that every first encounter leaves one shaken and disturbed, this is natural. One cannot simply have an experience that challenges all that has been taught over a lifetime and not be disturbed. That perhaps is part of the process, an initiation so to speak. The time has come for a system wide shock to the consciousness. Many factions and forces have resisted this for quite some time, namely from fear, but evolution will not be hampered. We must return to the stars.

The time for Cosmic Witchcraft is upon us, a melding of mad science, psychedelic shamanism, and culture baggage free sorcery. The past is a guidepost, the present a prop, but the future is where our incantations are always aimed. Daemonic entities, the Good Neighbors, Zeti Reticulans, no matter the name they have been pointing to the same conclusion, we are more than we understand. If we simply begin to accept that Universe is far more complicated and magical than anything imagined, perhaps our imaginations will grow right along with our intellect.The dawn of the Mutant mage is upon us, seawater can be converted to energy and our blood is basically seawater. Just as ancient institutions gain new perspectives, and the myths of the industrial age crumble, we must feel the ocean in our soul.

The Cosmic Ocean that stretches above us and beneath us, for  the heavens are the Underworld. We who seek to merge with the darkness must accept our place among the stars. To truly understand the Other and its place in our lives we will become reborn as Other. As above so below.



“In the Beginning We Were Twelve”

Disclosure: I have not read Gordon White’s Star Ships, although I have ordered it. I have listened to his interview on the Higher Side Chats, which I highly recommend. Any similarities between this post and his work is not only coincidental, but also highly synchronous.


The first thing I notice about the Mezcal is that I can taste its life. The dirt of the desert, the sun, and even the sparse rain. This then is its spirit, so many thoughts rush in. Last night, here in Boquillas, Mexico, under the influence of Hongos and Peyote, Mescalito introduced me to the Twelve. I was there with them and they are returning to us. Not sure what that means, but I know it’s important. Now for tacos and tequila.

FERIA MEZCAL by Emiliano Lopez

The year was 1995, the same year Klaus Schmidt began to uncover Göbeckli Tepe, a synchronicity that has not been lost on me. The above paragraph is from one of my journals. I was in Mexico, in a town along the border called Boquillas. I was staying at a very friendly Bed and Breakfast, recommended to by my mentor at the time, Wes Nations. In order to protect the innocent I will simply call this humble establishment, Casa de Hongos. At Casa de Hongos, in addition to tacos on home made tortillas, and local Mezcal, I was provided with Hongos (which I believe were Psilocybe Aztecorum) and Peyote. My journey into the desert that night was a journey to the Heart of Infinity. It was exactly as María Sabina describes it;

“The more you go inside the world of teonanácatl, the more things are seen. And you also see our past and our future, which are there as a single thing already achieved, already happened…. Millions of things I saw and knew. I knew and saw God: an immense clock that ticks, the spheres that go slowly around, and inside the stars, the earth, the entire universe, the day and the night, the cry and the smile, the happiness and the pain. He who knows to the end the secret of teonanácatl can even see that infinite clockwork.”

Teonanácatl is an Aztec word that means, “Flesh of God”, and I believe it. We do not need to travel to stars to communicate with Alien Intelligence, we only have to eat its flesh. That night in Boquillas, I did just that.

I don’t know if it was the combination of the Hongos and Peyote, or the desert air, or a steady diet of tacos and tequila, perhaps all of the above, but this was one of the few psychedelic experiences of my life where I entered an “Alternate Reality.” Not really a big fan of that term as I believe we simultaneously exist in several realities concurrently, but that is another blog post entirely. That night was the second time I encountered Mescalito, the spirit of the Peyote plant, and beings I refer to as “the Others”, more on that in a moment, but more significantly it was the first time I met “The Twelve.”

The Twelve


After ingestion of the peyote and hongos, I began to hike into the desert a little ways. I had scouted the area during the day so as to not completely lose my way at night. I first felt Mescalito’s presence to my left, a buzzing like metallic insects and increased heat signaled his arrival. As I turned to greet him, I noticed “the Others”, they always make me apprehensive, not sure why, something about their Mantid presence unsettles me. This was when I knew it would be no ordinary journey.

Mescalito lets me know we have a long journey ahead of us, I express concern about becoming lost in the desert. He laughs and says that I will be “returned.” This does not comfort me. So I climb up onto a boulder as he suggests, That is when the first flash of light hits me. I say hit because it felt very physical, like something rippled through me. Suddenly I was very warm despite the chill of the desert air. When the second light hit, I was no longer looking at the desert, it was more like one of those Google Deep Dream images. When the third and final light hit, I felt as if I had been lifted up into some sort of sphere. That is when I met them.

I was in the center of a space that I cannot accurately describe, it felt vast and suffocating simultaneously. They were all around me in a circle, my impression was of robed figures with animal masks. The masks were animated, shifting, the “floor” crawled with snakes. I recognized the animals, they looked old depictions of Witch’s Sabbaths. Fox, Boar, Bull, Bear, Ram, Crow, and Vulture are all I remember. I tried to make them fit into Egyptian mythology for a while, but realized they were older somehow.

They had a message for me, and this is it in its entirety, as well as I was able to remember for my notes the next day.

“In the beginning we were Twelve. We were all there. You are all our Descendants. We were the First. We will be the Last. We are returning. Everything will change as You remember. Everything awakens. We are the Twelve.”

It seemed much longer, and I am still unpacking everything that transmitted to me on that night twenty some odd years ago. There was much, much more, but this the part that is relevant to this tale. I awoke in an alleyway three blocks from Casa de Hongos. The Nineties began to get even weirder.

Crash Collusion

I have mentioned my mentor Wes Nations before, but never fully explained what an amazing impact he has had on my life. Wes was my manager at a print shop where I worked the graveyard shift. He was the reason I got the job. Wes, printed a zine called Crash Collusion, it was as close to Gordon White’s Rune Soup, as anything else I have encountered in my life.

CRASH COLLUSION from Anomaly Archives

Wes and I met in 1993, when I moved to Austin, Texas. He was publishing a zine that covered the Fringe Culture of the time. Conspiracy theories, magic, the OTO, psychedelics and UFO’s were featured in every edition. I gained a better understanding on all these topics thanks to Wes’ research and the contribution of others to his zine. This is when I first made the connection between, magic, entheogens, and Alien Encounters. Then one day Wes gave me a copy of Passport to Magonia by Jacques Vallée. My life has quite literally never been the same. All of this was six months before the X-Files. 93’s all the way down.

Wes taught me about alternate realities, entheogen cultivation and preparation, and ritual magic. I am forever in his debt. He was the first Mutant Mage I knew. He told me where to find the Casa de Hongos in Boquillas. He was the first person to tell me about Burning Man and Çatalhöyük, the precursor to Göbeckli Tepe.

Göbeckli Tepe

Klaus Schmidt began excavating Göbeckli Tepe in 1995, the same year that I met “the Twelve.” There are many hypotheses that attempt to explain the function and importance of this complex. I believe along with many others that it was a temple complex. I also believe that it was constructed as an homage to encounters with “alien” i.e., non-human intelligence. However that is where I make a departure from most hypotheses.

A description from Wikipedia

“At this early stage of the site’s history, circular compounds or temene first appear. They range from 10 to 30 metres in diameter. Their most notable feature is the presence of T-shaped limestone pillars evenly set within thick interior walls composed of unworked stone. Four such circular structures have been unearthed so far. Geophysical surveys indicate that there are 16 more, enclosing up to eight pillars each, amounting to nearly 200 pillars in all. The slabs were transported from bedrock pits located approximately 100 metres (330 ft) from the hilltop, with workers using flint points to cut through the limestone bedrock.[17]

Two taller pillars stand facing one another at the centre of each circle. Whether the circles were provided with a roof is uncertain. Stone benches designed for sitting are found in the interior.[18] Many of the pillars are decorated with abstract, enigmatic pictograms and carved animal reliefs. The pictograms may represent commonly understood sacred symbols, as known from Neolithic cave paintings elsewhere. The reliefs depict mammals such as lions, bulls, boars, foxes, gazelles and donkeys; snakes and other reptiles, arthropods such as insects and arachnids; and birds, particularly vultures. At the time the edifice was constructed, the surrounding country was likely to have been forested and capable of sustaining this variety of wildlife, before millennia of settlement and cultivation led to the near–Dust Bowl conditions prevalent today.[7] Vultures also feature prominently in the iconography of Çatalhöyük and Jericho. Professor of Archaeology Steven Mithen, suggests that in the early Neolithic culture of Anatolia and the Near East the deceased were deliberately exposed in order to be excarnated by vultures and other carrion birds. (The head of the deceased was sometimes removed and preserved — possibly a sign of ancestor worship.)[19] This, then, would represent an early form of sky burial, as still practiced by Tibetan Buddhists and by Zoroastrians in Iran and India.”

First, I cannot ignore that the majority of the structures uncovered contain T-shaped pillars that have animal “totems” carved onto them. The base of most of these have snakes on them. Each pillar has a different animal that seems to be dominant. The animals in question? Foxes, Boars, Bulls, Rams, Vultures, Bears, Geese, and others. The number of pillars in the outer rings? TWELVE. Yep, first time I read that I experienced vertigo and had a minor panic attack. The message of the Twelve echoed in my head like a bad dream.

Many long nights have been spent discussing the importance of this find and what it represents, with friends and acquaintances from many different academic disciplines. Many believe the pillars may be representations of God-figures. In his paper “Megalithic Totemism of the Individual: A New Analysis of Göbekli Tepe’s Monumental Pillars” by Nate Ramsayer, which can be read in its entirety at Academia, Mr Ramsayer, puts forth the following hypotheses;

“It seems to me, in the light of the obvious anthropomorphic symbolism found in the very design of these T-shaped pillars, that they were intended to represent humans. Yet, if this is the case, how do the numerous and varied animal depictions figure into human representation? I would suggest that these animals are similar to what Schmidt describes as totems, i.e.emblems of family/clan that are used symbolically to represent that family/clan.Yet my interpretation varies from Schmidt in that it seems the only way to explain the wide variance in animal taxon and type and size of imagery is that each enclosure represents 12 individuals.”

“Each enclosure represents 12 individuals.” Please do tell me more Mr. Ramsay.

Whereas Schmidt would view the animal totems as a collection of symbols for the whole group, I would argue that they are specific to singular people, rather than a whole tribe.”

This is akin to my own personal Roswell Incident. I can hear both Mescalito and Wes laughing at me. The only part of these hypotheses that fails to satisfy me is the “T” shape of the pillars. Why this shape for people? Perhaps these people had contact with an “alien” intelligence that has been a fellow traveler on Spaceship Earth all along.

Blessed Mycelium

It is no secret that I am a fan of the Blessed Mycelium. Much like Terrence Mc Kenna, I tumblr_ni2f8rJra81u46p9fo1_1280believe that fungus has contributed to the evolution of our species. I am a “Stoned Ape Theory” proselytizer and devotee. On that night in Boquillas so many years ago, Hongos introduced me to the Twelve. Think about the shape of the fruiting body of fungus mycelium. That’s right in profile it resembles a “T”.

Now I am going to travel the realms of pure conjecture. Perhaps these Twelve figures that Ramsay believes to be individuals, and I believe I have been contacted by, are the first twelve humans to be actively aware of what we call consciousness. Magic, imagination, consciousness, religion, and communication with “alien” intelligence are most likely all the same thing. What if Göbeckli Tepe is a monument to the First Twelve fully aware humans? The moment we left Eden and became thinkers, instead of purely instinctual? Perhaps the “T” shape is an acknowledgment of this fact? A combination of the Blessed Mycelium and expanded consciousness. This is just supposition on my behalf, but I cannot shake the feeling that I am on to something.

The Twelve still intrude into my life from time to time and I cannot forget what they told me in the desert that night. That transmission is like a fractal, the deeper I go down the Rabbit Hole the more that is revealed. No matter how far I go down my spiral path, I keep returning to Home, which is in the Desert, with fresh tacos and tequila on the table, a bowl of Hongos and room for Twelve.




Abre Camino

The Garden Gate


“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.” – Mathew 7:13


What does it mean to “Open a Way”? As compared to “Removing Obstacles”, are these two individual acts, or somehow intrinsically contained within each other? Opener of Ways and Remover of Obstacles, called by the names, Ganesha, Papa Legba, St. Peter, Mercury, St. Expedite, Hermekate, Mother Mary, Santisima Muerte, and Hecate, lead in some way through the darkness and help us to find Our path. So again I ask, what does it mean to “Open a Way”? I believe for most it is a very simple operation that is completely functional, but I have found a deeper wisdom. It’s down here in the mycelium, and I suspect I am not the only one.

In the garden, right beneath our feet is a great mystery revealed. There in the Mycelium, the answer, and no I do not refer to ingestion, at least not directly. The forest floor is alive, as are desert soils, more on that later. Everything that dies and  falls to the ground in a forest breaks down into nutrients that end up distributed through out the entire ecosystem because of Mycelium. That’s right Mycelium Networks function like the neural network of the plant world. We can communicate with Non-Human intelligence, right now, on this planet. In a natural setting, plants and animals breaking down is the beginning of building soil and distributing nutrients. At some point everything passes through the mycelium. If you die in the woods, or any where else for the matter, except extreme cold, mushrooms will eat you, as it should be. In Death We Are United.

I know not much of a revelation, but think about how humanity is corrupting the process.1656076-The-witches-market-Mexico-City-0 When my time comes, I want to be left in the woods, but I will probably get one of those Mycology-suits so that I can return to the cycle of Life, Death, and Rebirth, and become reunited once more. About now you should be asking yourself one thing, what does this have to do with Opening Ways? Can’t slip anything past the astute observer. Death opens a way, actually many ways. My friend Ellen says, Death is when your soul leaves corporeal form almost like how a mirror shatters. At first every thing is there, some pieces may be saved for sentimental reasons. Most will get lost over time and as each piece leaves so too a part of our soul, until it fades away. I love the beauty and poetry expressed here. Death is an Opener of Ways and Remover of Obstacles. I can see where this will be helpful later on. Thank you Blessed Mycelium, I find peace in knowing that we will be united in death.

Down on the Corner

“You don’t need a penny just to hang around,
But if you’ve got a nickel, won’t you lay your money down?
Over on the corner there’s a happy noise.
People come from all around to watch the magic boy.” – Down on the Corner- Creedence Clearwater Revival

Back at the Crossroads one can see nothing but Possibility, that initial rush of inspiration tumblr_inline_nfrlkc45kA1t5infnalways seems to get exaggerated. This is the Seven of Cups. This moment when you have chosen to move, this is when the Way is Opened. How far depends on how fully we commit to the process. You can not progress without work. And when you are doing your enchantments, reciting your prayers, and asking the spirits for their aid, remember to ask for discernment, motivation, and the removal of procrastination, St. Expedite is especially helpful here.

Here in the flux we imagine our grandest moments to come, pulling upon all we have known. This journey is infinite, yet familiar. So we make a bargain in the Goblin’s Market, and wait to see if our offer has been accepted. When it has, we head off like so many hapless RPG parties on an adventure to who knows where. That’s all we have, an inkling, a possibility, and a map of where the treasure lay hidden. Down the Opened Way we traipse, full of hope and wonder. Somehow inevitably the treasure is never what we imagine it to be, almost always the real treasure is found in the journey.


A wide range of goods is on sale at Lagunilla Market. Image by Katja Gaskell / Lonely Planet

When we seek to Open a Way, or Remove Obstacles, we are asking to be made aware of what we possess to overcome challenges. In this way we also become aware of what we lack, 428450often making our overall path a spiral. We find ourselves visiting the same places over and over until we learn to break the vessel. What I mean by this is that some lessons we learn over and over, as if we are too blind to see that a gallon jug will not hold five gallons no matter how many times one attempts to make it all fit. At some point we need a bigger vessel. These are the blessed AHA! moments, illumination, inspiration, a Way Opened. At the Crossroads we come to find a way forward. This often leads us to unfamiliar territory, or at least it seems so at first.

Coming Home

“He was born in the summer of his 27th year, coming home to a place he’d never been before.
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again,
you might say he found a key for every door” – John Denver Rocky Mountain High

The first time I did psychedelics with intent, i.e. ritualistically, I had just finished readinganthony High Priest by Dr. Leary. Blessed Mycelium, took me home to a place I had never been before, a Way Opened. There in the Hill Country of Texas, I was simultaneously in a place familiar and completely foreign. The Sacred Hunting Grounds had merged with my Mytho-Poetic inner landscape and my journey would never be the same again. In that moment I was born again. The Spiral Path had just begun to reveal itself.

There are many symbols that seem to have grave import to my journey, that I am both surprised and comforted when I come across them. Among these are keys, torches, stars, skulls, and the Twelve (more on this in a later post.) At the tender age of nineteen, I really had no idea what I was asking for or what direction my path would take. The spirits had already been busy at the task of Opening My Way, first among them to reveal himself was the Master of the Crossroads. He has worn many names over the years, Legba, Ganesha, and St. Peter are just a few. Always my companion, this spirits presence has never let me forget it is always about choice and compromise.

Every pact, every ritual, every decision, comes with an understanding that I have chosen which way NOT to go. Whereas I like to believe that asking a spirit to Open a Way increases my possibilities, the reality is that it narrows them down. Opening a Way is choosing one Reality Tunnel over the others. As the song says there’s always time to change the road your on, but this involves visiting the Crossroads again. Upon my most recent visit to Crossroads I met new friends, or so I thought.

atocha4As I have mentioned before, I have a habit of falling backwards and landing upright, like a clumsy cat. I always seem to meet my spirits on back roads, forgotten paths, and sideways alleys. The last time I worked with La Santisima, I did an Abre Camino ritual, and I have been blessed a continual parade of Rebel Saints, Shape-shifting Tricksters, and Blessed Misfits. The perfect Companions for a Mutant Mage. Into this picture San Antonio de Padua and El Niño de Atocha, kept making regular appearances. Intrigued by their repeated presence, I finally yielded and met them formally. Unsurprisingly, I discovered their connection to Ellegua, that is Papa Legba. All these years later, no matter how many Ways are Opened, I keep Coming Home. I suppose that was all I was seeking all along, the road to that place where the Ordinary and Extra-Ordinary are ONE.