Saturday, December 16, 2017

The End of Magical Me Part II Strega Nonna

My journey to Magical Me began with trying to forge a connection of sorts with one of my great grandmothers, my maternal grandfather’s mother. She was an Italian immigrant who had outlived a few husbands and had eight surviving children—seven daughters and a son. Another son, said to be “sensitive,” died in early adulthood in a “sanatorium,” and a few other daughters died in early childhood/infancy during the 1918 flu epidemic. My grandfather claimed—half-jokingly or not, I am not sure—that he was birthed into a “piss pot,” my great grandmother mistaking birth pangs for an urge to urinate, so accustomed to birth-giving was she.

I was about 10 years old when my great grandmother passed away at the age of 82 years. I remember her as a stocky, jolly, white-haired woman whose face was fair and wrinkle-free. Her number one teaching point was to not ever utter a negative thought—and not have a negative thought period. This advice had very little to do with “positive thinking” ideology popular among the then New Thought and now New Age sets. It is a foundational idea within Italian folk magic and superstition. It relates to the cultural obsession with averting the evil eye—not attracting it and not being a source of it. That is, my great grandmother’s advice was less about creating positivity than it was about avoiding negativity.

The concern about avoiding negativity had seemingly rubbed off on my grandfather. My maternal grandparents’ house was chock full of evil-averting and good-luck–attracting charms. A bull’s horn with two small holes in which tiny amber eyes were fixed hung over the entranceway. Horse shoes were wall ornaments and bright red plastic imitation coral horns, fico mano (a thumb-in-fist amulet), and corno mano (an amulet of the “horns” gesture) dangled from door knobs or hooks in the wall. And lucky elephant and pot-bellied “laughing Buddha” Hotep statuettes were more than mere knickknacks on the credenza.

When I moved into my maternal grandparents’ house after they both had passed on, I was ever discovering more talisman in odd and hidden places: bunches of items—blessed palm; felt religious scapulae; cheap metal saint medallions; rosary beads; and cornicelloo, fico mano, and glass eye amulets—strung on spikes driven into concrete pillars in the unfinished basement or strung on nails driven into the wall in the far back recesses of clothes closets . . . . It was quaint, curious, and creepy.
Although I had a familiarity with evil-averting Italian-American talisman and grew up knowing that garlands of chili peppers and garlic cloves hung from hooks festooning kitchen windows were meant to keep bugaboos away, I would not fully appreciate the significance of these affectations and the curios found in my grandparents’ house until several years later when I sought to explore my great grandmother’s culture. Besides information about Italian magical/superstitious ideas about positive thinking and evil-eye lore, it took quite some time to weed out information.

I first read work by Raven Grimassi on stregheria, concluding that my great grandmother did not have a history of skyclad orgies in the moonlight under the grace of the lunar goddess Diana and a lupine lord. I also found web sites that advanced a kind of witchy Estruscan (ancient nnorthern Italian) reconstructionism, and, after some time, found a bilingual chat board portal called Stregoneria Italiana, the members of whom—mostly Italian practitioners, autodidacts, and academics—were in alignment with academic research of Italian folk magic: that stregheria—as described by Grimassi—was an anomaly at best or else (his)  late Modern-era invention  and that Italian folk magic, referred to by a number of names, including stregoneria (sorcery/witchery) or beneficario (good magic)  was a syncretic mix of sympathetic and apotropaic (evil-averting) magic and superstition, shamanism/hedge witchery, and folk Christianity, with significant emphasis on that last item.

I can’t say that much of what I read up on appealed to me as a practice, especially after I got through reading Ernesto De Martino’s Magic A Theory of the South, which describes a rather primitive and impoverished, fear-based culture of low magic and superstition in Lucania, a region adjacent to the one my Barese great grandmother was from. And none of the information gathered really clarified for me what exactly my great grandmother was “into.” All I knew is that she threatened my mother into behaving when she was child by chasing her while wielding a chicken head and that she read palms and cards, had a vocabulary about the malocchio and how to avert it, and, as mentioned, she had a strict code about maintaining positive thoughts and words. The family—her offspring—also (proudly) referred to her as a “strega”—a witch.

I would eventually learn that the term strega was originally meant to refer to the mythical bugaboo witch—specifically, a strix, an evil, vampiric, baby-killing birdlike monster and harbinger of doom originating in ancient Roman lore. The term strega is derived from striga, the Italian word for strix.
A strega, therefore, was the personification of the malocchio, a cognate of the liltu and Lilith, the Semitic personification of crib-death, maternal death, and male emasculation (at least until some late 20th century feminist neopagans and Satanists romanticized and reframed her as a champion of female empowerment). Much of European folk magic had to do with averting the mythical maleficent powers of witchcraft and the evil eye, not identifying with the mythical source of those powers.

In all accuracy, therefore, my great grandmother was not a strega. She was just an ordinary, provincial Italian woman who was enculturated into regional magical folk beliefs and practices. 

Sunday, December 3, 2017

The End of Magical Me Part 1 A Blog and Vlog on Magic and Mysticism

How It all Began

I once read—I don’t recall where, but it was in the context of my life as a medical editor/writer—that women tend to take an interest in magic in their 40’s.  The research backing up that statement must’ve predated the era when droves of teenaged girls decided that they were Wiccans, witches, Thelemites, or Chaos magicians. Maybe the finding that women turn on to magic in early middle age was some psychoanalytic brain fart in relation to the tenor of women’s consciousness in the latter half of the 20th century: feminism, feminist history, and women’s spirituality. I’m sure that the source tied his point in with neurosis, but I could understand, from my own perspective, how interest in magic in early midlife among women from a certain generation had to do with seeking empowerment in the face of the sense of lack thereof. Also in the mix would be boredom with the bourgeois and mundane and the want to return to a mythic ancestral condition. Atavism—a return to a more dynamically primitive wisdom of “the grandmothers,” who, like cronish Hekates, would guild a woman through the winter of her life to sprout fruit unique to her own appetite instead of that of spouses, lovers, offspring, parents, employers, associates, and society in general.

I “got it.” I did it. I fell into the predicted mold for reasons as stated. I had a peripheral interest in folk magic, occultism, and supernaturalism from an early age, but my immersive journey began at about age 43 and lasted until the latter years of my 50s.

At the outset, I, in part, wanted to connect with a maternal great grandmother who was said to have been witchy—a practitioner of Italian folk magic. I also wanted to explore something that felt more empowering, immanent, and life-affirming than the Eastern spirituality that I had been immersed in for decades and that had become an exercise in self-effacement and resignation rather than “enlightenment” or even contentment, frankly.

At the time that immediately preceded my segue from Eastern mysticism to Magical Me, I had concluded that a person was an automaton inexorably driven by habits and conditioning. She was a phantasm, a dream body, “a poor player who struts and frets [her] hour upon the stage and is heard no more” and whose personal drama is “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Something impersonal and quiescent called Consciousness underlie all this and was the real Reality.  It paradoxically was and wasn’t me, as all I knew of myself was my karmic momentum—the habits, conditioning, and circumstances of not only me but everyone and everything that made the trajectory of this unconscious bundle of “stuff happening.” I still believe this is what I am and everyone else is—interdependently arising stuff happening in Consciousness, like foam sloshing around on the top of the sea. The idea is just not such an existential burden as it seemed when it first dawned on me.

I decided that I needed a new angle. I began to ask myself “What is the potential of Consciousness?” The statement was like a koan, but it was meant to spur an idea of limitlessness and potentialities. If Consciousness was Everything, then anything could happen through the power of consciousness—or that was, at least, how I saw it back then. That was more of a type of Tantric orientation than the Vedantic one that I had long embraced. It was about reveling in what the World could be like with the right perspective rather than transcending “The World” to abide in luminous self-possessed quiescence. Reveling in the potentialities of Consciousness was Magic, too: “To cause change in accordance with Will.” 

This is the copy on which part I of the vlog The End of Magical Me is based. 

Friday, November 3, 2017

How I Work with the Olympic Spirits

After years of working on and off with the Olympic Spirits and studying the first book that speaks about them--The Arbatel--I've adopted a more contemplative approach. This shift was bolstered to a large degree by further study into Neoplatonic philosophy and magic. I'd like to give a shout out to Jason Youngman, the voice behind the YouTube channel Metaphysical Reflections for his mentorship and engagement in Dialect in that regard.

I also happen to be 3 days away from completing another month-long working with the Olympic Spirits that was originally supposed to be a group project that reenacted the group project described in my book The Seal of Secrets of the World. After having been invited to facilitate the new project, I quickly found myself in a situation in which the other female participants in the group only communicated through the male group leader and in which the group leader and one sole other active participant in the group freaked themselves out and discontinued before 10 days of the month-long working had elapsed. They ironically immediately went on to form their own goetia-based enclaves about Olympic Magic.

In any case, the dream-work portion of the Working, which was supposed to be the main activity of the group work, was, for me, filled with pleasant imagery into which relevant metaphors could be read. Because group members insisted on doing standard evocation work as well, I did so, too. Rather than being entertained by profuse visionary content, as was the experience years ago, I had more of an integrative experience in which I rested in the grandeur of the energy signature of the Olympic Spirit evoked. A powerful, comforting, and empowering experience, and seemingly in accord with the aims of Ficino, Diacetto, and other medieval Neoplatonic mages who regarded the planetary intelligences as steps to spiritual refinement and ascendancy in a path of return toward The One.

Friday, April 14, 2017

Fairies in my Visions of Magic and Mysticism

As an artist, I seek to create imagery that draws the viewer into an ineffable sense of mystery and spiritual revelation. Some of my work may be considered obscure, but here’s samples of light imagery from my fairy series.

 Learn more about my work at

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Sofia La Maga: Nothing but a bedraggled kitchen witch--Illustrated excerpt from La Maga

I am scheduled to speak at a Crowley Con conference this fall about my fiction writing--my Sorcerers and Magi series triology. It is metaphysical fiction that is meant to begin as a play on classic children's magical fantasy fiction but moves on to address concepts about the nature of self, will, transformation, and enlightenment. Political metaphor and issues related to the "Immanentization of the Eschaton" build as the series progresses. What is it to wake up from the idea of yourself? That is the koan-like question. My work is for adult fiction readers with authentic interest and literacy in the magical and mystical. Explore insights from the Western Mystery Tradition, Vedanta, and Buddhism through creative expression.

This short video is a character study of the heroine of the series, Sofia La Maga. Images are original art work. More of my art work can be viewed at 


Leonard (Junior) and his buddies, Anil, Cary, and Bertrand, had gotten a glimpse of Sofia La Maga the day before. They gloated like the spoiled-brat junior elitist patricians they were that the hype about the professor was nonsense. It was just as Leonard’s father had insisted. Professor La Maga was nothing but a bedraggled kitchen witch.

She didn’t seem at all like the stories told about her. In fact, she roamed through the secondary school’s second-floor corridor as if she were roller-skating with three left feet and had the mental disposition of a hedgehog. 

She was a tall, slender but robust woman with the rough-and-tumble appearance of someone who had weathered hard climbs in exotic lands. Her clothes were rustic, quaintly worn, and embellished with savage jewelry: jangling bells and sashes of bone and fur, claws, shells, and spike-studded pods. Her Medusa-like mane was haphazardly plaited here and there and cluttered her face, blinding her as she toddled along.  She was gripping a mass of overstuffed folders, and from her arms dangled plastic bags filled with items that were heavy. The bags swung like pendulums in the wake of her clumsy pace. The heels of her worn leather lace-up boots alternately caught on the frayed hem of an ankle-length skirt. It caused her to wobble pathetically as the heavy bags alternately beat against her ribs.  
No one offered assistance. They were busy gawking at her and probably thinking the same as Leonard and his pals were. This was the prodigy who had been gallivanting across exotic lands and speed-reading through mentorships with wild wizards, shamans, and hermits?

Leonard reported the observation to his father who smirked and lectured him about how the Inner Plane was going to the dogs. He blamed immigration and student exchange laws and especially the prohibition against the caste system—even though it had been nearly a century since the prohibition had been in effect.

As far as de Lux senior was concerned, the discontinuation of the system undercut the privilege of the privileged. It made for circumstances whereby the child of the lowliest peasant spell-caster (that is, Sofia La Maga) could become a prestigious mage—all because she had spent 12 years spelunking through some caves on the Inner Plane of Katmandu or Machu Picchu or . . . some place.

Leonard’s father repeated that Sofia La Maga was a fake. He said that the heroic tales about her were hoaxes. He stressed that she was the bastard spawn of a wayward woman who had died under suspicious circumstances. He reminded Leonard and his friends that this one Sofia La Maga also had been kicked out of the H. Trismegistus Mystical Arts Academy School of Graduate Studies in her junior year of college. She was a trouble-maker who almost took the school down because of her political extremism. A terrorist, Leonard’s father insisted. Furthermore, rather than applying herself to unusual scholarship in the Terra Mysticus as was claimed about her, she had been running some sort of silly “New Age” cult among the Commons in the Outer Plane for the past 15 years . . .