Mabh Savage
Words and the world passing by; how it sings to me; how I clamour back.
Kitchen Witchcraft, so what’s that then?
Pagan Portals – Kitchen Witchcraft: Crafts of a Kitchen Witch by Rachel Patterson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
The phrase ‘Kitchen Witchcraft’ conjures up brewing potions and hanging herbs, and while this of course can be the case, the experienced witch knows the kitchen can be the beating heart of their home, where the material and the mystical meld to create magic.
Rachel approaches this topic with just such a theory in mind, and makes no assumptions about the level of skill or experience of the reader. It’s important to bear in mind that as part of the Pagan Portals series, this book is intended as a brief introduction to Kitchen Witchcraft. Having said that, for such a slim volume, Rachel manages to pack in a great deal of info.
She starts by introducing the idea behind kitchen witchcraft, and giving an overview of things that may be needed; tools, ingredients and attitude. Even for the experienced, this is a good reminder and also interesting to gain an insight into what another experienced witch has in their own cupboards, physical and otherwise.
The eight big seasonal pagan festivals are discussed with particular focus on what kitchen crafts can be used to celebrate them. In here are correspondences, incenses and many more hands on ways to get your worship on. She also talks about how the differing phases of the moon can affect one’s workings, and while this section is a little simplistic for those experienced in moon magic, again, it is a great point of reference and a good reminder of the roots of many more complex types of moon magic. She looks at working with energy, and how to utilise candle magic, from the very simple to the more convoluted spells that can be worked.
One of my favourite sections of the book is the meditations in the final chapter. Each one is a different journey for a different purpose, and while each is written as a detailed journey, there is plenty of scope to make the journey your own. Unlike the narrative style which is direct and almost chatty, these written meditations have a wonderful dream like quality which is just perfect for getting you in the right frame of mind for approaching this type of working.
Rachel’s style is very accessible and conversational. Despite being almost a reference book at times, this short volume is a complete page turner as it is a real pleasure to read. It is as if she is in the room with you, talking you through the ideas that she is obviously passionate about. This is a very modern way of writing about a subject as old as the hills, and will make the subject easy to absorb even for the complete novice. Yet she manages this while making it a perfect refresher for the experienced witch, by including lists, correspondences and ideas from many paths.
This could be my favourite point of the book, that Rachel does not assume that you are Wiccan, or indeed of any particular religion at all. Most of the practical tasks in the book could be completed by someone of no religious beliefs at all, as the main focus is on a connection to nature, the world, and one’s self.
There is no limit to who would enjoy this volume. The only downside is that it is so short, however as an introductory piece, as it is intended, it is absolutely ideal. I will definitely be getting a hold of her larger volume, Grimoire of a Kitchen Witch, to see if the style and themes are expanded upon. Highly enjoyable, and it has inspired me to get back in the kitchen- not something I say every day!
Some more seasonal poetry…
Thanks Martin for letting me add these to the Winter Wonder series. Gorgeous! Enjoy folks…
Winter Wonder: Ploughing the Dawn
Thanks to Oz Hardwick for today’s Winter Wonder submission, Ploughing the Dawn.
Ploughing the Dawn
Dawn comes late, the tread of frost
heavy on hard ground. Steady steps
stride through snow, shackle spirits
to icy shafts, weigh the balance,
take the weight, and crack
the frozen winter.
Copyright Oz Hardwick
If you would like to submit a piece of writing for my Winter Wonders series, please apply here. There’s a chance to win a signed copy of my book, A Modern Celt.
Winter Wonder: Snow Scene
Thank you to William West for this beautiful submission to the Winter Wonder series. You can find William at http://billonbike.blogspot.com
Snow Scene
You were magic
When we first met
And so was I
I could see it in your eyes
You flung your arms around me
Wearing a ridiculous purple hat
And a mustard woollen coat
And the snow fell on our Winter scene
On our first date
You led me through a hedge
That didn’t want to admit me
Neither did your parents at first
And the snow fell on our Winter scene
You now lie sleeping beside me
And I pinch myself
It hurts
So it must be real
And the snow falls on our Winter scene.
Copyright William West
Cry of the Cailleach
Winter cries
A broken sob
Of rain and throbbing grey
To wistful white
A sorry sight
A tear track trails
And smiling fails
As frost bites hard
Each chew and chomp
Enamel stomp
Upon a tongue
Of furry sludge
A grisly grudge
A snarling wind
And screeching trees
Fog whispers please…
And begs for entry
To the heart
The roaring hearth
The glowing soul
Oh let me in, let me in…
Cailleach cries
But listen not
If you are wise.
copyright 2013 Mabh Savage
Winter Wonder: Win my book!
Another bite of winter. If you want to submit an entry for my Winter Wonder series, please send your winter related prose, poetry or art via the form below. If you want to attach an item rather than write straight onto the form, please use the form to send me your email address and I will contact you directly. The best submission will win a free copy of my book, A Modern Celt. I’d love to see your writing on Yule, the solstice, the cold, the weather, the festivities; what does winter mean to you? Joy? Sorrow? Reflection? Or feasting and fun?
Excerpt from A Modern Celt
Another year [at the winter solstice] we became a little lost in the dark, and weren’t sure quite how to find the spot we were looking for. We heard wings overhead, and followed the sound. When the sound stopped, we checked our position. Shining our torches about, we discovered we had been led to the spot we had been searching for. As soon as we were done, a wind whipped up then suddenly stilled. Twigs snapped as though something heavy footed were walking towards us, and the wings began flapping back the way we came. We moved fast to follow the sound, and though the night had been still before, as we moved away from the woods and down the path, with the lake to our side, a new wind whipped ripples up across the surface of the water, seemingly always one step behind us. Just like the year before, we left swiftly and didn’t look back. Both these latter experiences led us to believe we had witnessed an aspect of “The Wild Hunt”: the idea that gods and their entourage, or in Celtic tradition the Fae or aos sí, ride out in a mad cavalcade to hunt down the unwary who dare to be abroad during the darkest midnight. We spent the rest of those evenings snug and warm, drinking and feasting and appreciating good company. Although we had a wonderful time and felt blessed to have felt that presence so strongly, we would not have ventured back there for anything less than an emergency.
A Modern Celt is available now in paperback and on Kindle.
Picture source: hdwallpaper2013.com
One Winter’s Night
Big thanks to Leigh Laycock for submitting the first piece for my ‘Winter Wonders’ this year; a series of pieces intended to get us into the spirit of winter, Yule and the festive season.
One Winter’s Night
In the dead of night there came a tapping
Then more urgent sounds of someone rapping
Who would be knocking on the glass
Is it some lost and lonely lad or lass
Who’s there we ask before we open
No words in answer are ever spoken
A heavy chill descended down
Causing all to fear and frown
But still the tapping did continue
All we could see was just white sinew
Just an outline caught our eye
But I was sure I heard the figure sigh
Let him in he must be cold
It seemed to listen if the truth be told
The knocking ceased as it waited there
But all I could do was stand and stare
Don’t open the door a shrill voice cried
I am upstairs – I can see outside
There is no one knocking at our door
No one in sight I can see for sure
The road is empty – not even a soul
or ghostly form, or body whole
As we stood rigid with the shock
There came another unearthly knock
And so we shook with mouths agape
The ghostly figure of a monk took shape
The glass pane rattled but there was no wind
The apparition did not rescind
White knuckles rapped upon the door
We ran upstairs, we could look no more
Dived under the covers the night we stayed
Four in a bed all silently prayed
The knocking dimmed but continued to drum
For us eventually sleep did come
For in the morn we braved to peer
To see what had caused us such fear
Nothing was there that we could understand
Just the tell tale marks of a ghostly hand
And the shape of a monk, or just his cowl
Did he seek sanctuary or was he foul
What did he need this man in black
For us to open the door – just a crack
Was it a warning or maybe a sign
Of what does wander when the moon doth shine
To this day I can tell you no more
Of who came knocking at our door.
copyright Leigh Laycock 2013
Mabh Savage 