… a thought making crooked all that is straight.

Ma’at

Blut zeigt sich! (You can’t hide from your blood)

On Saturday I met a neo-Nazi. And I don’t think anyone else around him even realised. I was at a warehouse buying a bike. He manages the warehouse. He was covered in tattoos … even more than me. His head was covered in militaristic symbols (German) and emblazoned across his scalp were the English words, “Blood and Honour”. Now the phrase “Blut und Ehre”, as it is in the original German, was the motto etched onto the knife blades of the Nazi Youth Movement. These days “Blood and Honour” is the name of a neo-Nazi music group and political movement, white supremacists, blah, blah, blah. Unless you know this stuff, you just don’t know, and you don’t “see” the neo-Nazi in front of you, you just see a surly tattooed guy.

Ironically he showed an especially gruff demeanour when I gave him my obviously foreign name, because the dullard didn’t realise that my name was German. And what I would never have told him, for my own safety, is that my origins are German-Jewish, and that I lost most of my family in the Shoah (the Holocaust). A long time ago now I did a year of research in Germany on the Shoah and wrote my Masters dissertation on the portrayal of the Holocaust in German fiction, specifically by a man called Edgar Hilsenrath. So I know my history. Let me rephrase that: I know MY history. I know my origins.

My German family (the ones who survived) ultimately fled Russian occupied Berlin because they were blacklisted by the Russians due to a book my uncle had written about 10 Catholic men who had been assassinated by the Russian government. My family fled to America, leaving only my great-grandfather behind. He took refuge in a convent in West Germany and spent his final days with the nuns. When I was 9, I visited this convent for the first of many, many times.

Once I reached adulthood, one of the oldest nuns took me aside and told me the story of my Jewish family and their time in Berlin under the Nazis. She took my hands in hers and said, “Blut zeigt sich!” which means, “You can’t hide from your blood” or “Blood will always show itself!” I think in her wise old heart she knew that I was never going to be a Catholic like the rest of my family (who converted). For some reason, she marked me out to carry on the history of my family and importantly to carry the heritage of those who died.

This was in part why I chose the Masters’ subject that I did and why I worked so damn hard to learn German (I was not brought up bilingually – my mother married an Englishman and I was brought up in England; in fact, German was forbidden at home until my father left). I have always felt that I have had to make up for the diaspora of my family, the immigrants who settled in America and abandoned everything German.

My grandmother joined my uncle (her brother) when they fled Berlin from the Russians. My uncle never lost his accent but he became an AMERICAN with a German background; my grandmother, on the other hand, always remained displaced – a GERMAN living in America. Last year my grandmother died. She asked for her ashes to be scattered in the New Mexican desert where she lived. My Catholic family riotously objected and so she was ultimately buried in England – a country she had no ties to in any respect. It still makes me sad (read: furious) to this day.

You would think with this heritage running strongly in me, perhaps more than anyone else in the family, I would have a strong spirit connection with my blood ancestors. But I don’t. In fact I can’t. I’ve tried. I have tried four times to establish ancestor shrines and to welcome and engage with the spirits of my dead family, and each time my life was blighted with so much bad luck that it belied coincidence. Within a day of me dismantling the shrine/altar each time, the bad luck dissipated and peace would return to my life.

Even at my grandmother’s funeral I sought to connect with her (too soon perhaps) and a piece of ceramic fell from the earth over her grave at my feet. On the ceramic piece was the word “malade”, which is French for sickness or madwoman. Of course it was the broken off piece from a MARmalade jar, but the message to me was clear. My grandmother and I communicated in German but she always signed off her letters in French. I felt her disapproval of my spiritualist ways in relation to her and so I left her in peace.

The fact is that my family have undergone horrific times during life and I fear they carry it with them in death. Relatives were killed in Auschwitz or died under dreadful conditions. Those who survived had to flee their home country for their lives and all have lived under the shadow of the past. My grandmother would hide under tables when planes went overhead; she wielded an enormous gun at strangers on her property; she trusted no one, least of all authorities because she knew that an apathetic nation could allow tyrants to rule and neighbours are ready to betray you if the price is right.

So in connecting with spirits I leave my ancestors alone. I wish that one day I could bring them some semblance of peace, but I don’t know how. For now I connect to the nameless ones, the forgotten ones, the faceless ones; the blessed Aakhu who have passed the test of Ma’at and have her feather of truth tattooed on their tongues. Blessed are the Doo spirits who are good to me always.

But my encounter with the Nazi made my blood stir. I love Germany and I love the Germanic past, before it was distorted and misappropriated. I feel a calling but it is soft and indistinct. Maybe I am not yet ready to hear it. Maybe I need someone to spell it out for me. My shyness often converts into reticence and gives me cloth ears to my own destiny. For now I shall set it before the spirits, and quietly pray that my ancestors rest in peace.

©StarofSeshat 2016

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Who is my enemy?

Over the last few months I have discovered the joys and travesties of Facebook Groups (not an option I had explored before). I have encountered trolls (not directly at me, just generally wandering the cyberscape) as well as overly egotistical admins who ban posts, responses and people willy-nilly in an attempt to keep some kind of Aryan purity of group intent and clique integrity, instead of which they turn the group into a vocal platform for a bolshy few and a minefield of vitriolic filled eggshells for those on the outside of the elected minority.

In spite of these online shenanigans, which I’m sure you are all familiar with, the thing that has struck me recently amongst Hoodoo and Vodou groups is the prevalence of talk about enemies:

I need to bind my enemies…
Have you put up protections against your enemies?
Have you done an uncrossing spell?
You need an uncrossing spell …
How can I stop people from talking about me?
How do I bind someone’s tongue?
How do I find out who is working bad stuff against me?

… and on and on it goes. At first I was interested in the answers and the stories, before I stopped: Who are all these enemies? How does one get one? And for that matter, how does one get so many?!

Enemy: A person who is actively opposed or hostile to someone. That’s the dictionary definition, but for me that is not enough. In my life, according to this definition, I will have made enemies; people opposed to me and what I do. But do I care? I believe this enemy relationship works two ways and if I refuse to “enemize” you by opposing you, well, then your opposition just kind of dribbles off into an ineffective, directionless waste of energy.

I have experienced bad things in life that have gone beyond gossip or people just disliking me; I have been raped, strangled, threatened verbally and physically abused. I have been in fear of my life. Once out of those situations, pagan friends have jumped on their boxes of judgement and out of a sense of outrage by proxy have insisted that I blast them with “my witchy thang”. But I have always had a sense of the precious nature of magick – it takes time, concentration, energy, and a little piece of me to work magick and frankly I don’t think the people who hurt me deserve any of those things which I could just as well put to good use (thereby actively benefiting me instead of just harming them) by spending time with friends, concentrating on my own wellness, turning energy to those who deserve it and save me for me and those who deserve to share the preciousness of my self.

So what I did was banish these people from my life. They no longer exist for me and I no longer encounter them. It is one thing to make someone suffer, but another to symbolically kill them and make their existence in your world cease. They are dead to me. Their physical death is irrelevant.

But if I met my so-called enemies with hate and spells to jinx and hex them, my focus on them would strengthen the connection between us. Hate pulls people as closely together on an energetic level as does love. If I really hate someone, then I don’t want them anywhere near me; and I don’t want to be joined with them etherically through my emotions which call them back again and again.

This is why in a banishing it is so important to rid yourself of anything associated with that person. If you do a banishing but keep a photo of them because it was “from the good times” and you are sentimental, then you don’t really want them to go; what you want is for them to change back to being lovely and that your relationship will continue. Banishment? Fail!

So I look at all these petitions and declarations about enemies and I wonder, “Why do you care? Why do you strengthen your attachment to that person, and therefore their influence over you by caring?” Protect yourself. Yes. Banish them. Yes. Freeze them out of your life. Yes. There are many ways to cut the astral cord that binds you, and that requires singleminded focus and belief that you really do want them out of your life. Or are you actually thriving on the drama? Do you like to play the victim as a sympathetic response can sometimes feel like being loved, and if you are lonely you will undergo many a masochistic thing to scavenge love-scraps from other people’s tables?

There may indeed be people who consider themselves my enemy. Cute. I consider them nothing … a breath on the wind. However, don’t think that I am forgiving, nor that I am a pushover. The fact is that I am a warrior, and I pick and choose my own battles; I have survived a lot and I will survive petty gossips and people whose tongues should rot in their heads. But if someone should turn against an innocent, against someone I love, then all bets are off. Once my anger is on, it is an anger with deep, deep roots and it comes in the form of Kali. I know how to be an enemy, but I choose not to be one. And those who would jump at my ankles and yap that they dislike me – shoo! You are nothing to me. You are dead to me.

I wonder if some of the Hoodoo and Vodou practitioners (especially the former) would learn to focus on more edifying things if they really considered the word “enemy” that they bandy around so freely.

Ultimately, as my aunt said to me once: If people keep treating you like shit, associate with a better class of person.

Sometimes spells, hexing and crossing work feels like putting a sticking plaster over a pus filled wound. You do it, it contains it momentarily, but the root cause is unaffected and you will keep having to cast your spells which will appeal to your ego on many levels: look at me, doing all this hexing! Look at me with all these enemies, I must be doing something right as even Jesus was rejected by those who knew him. And even Winston Churchill said, “You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.” … But maybe you’re just a prick. Maybe your conduct encourages gossip. But do you really care what other people say? A confident person, content in their own skin, will walk the earth and be at peace with compliments and criticism because they say nothing (whether the good or the bad) about the essential essence – the divine spark within.

It seems to me that with all this talk of “my enemies”, hexin’ and flexin’ your mojo muscles, that perspective has been lost for the edification of your soul and spirit, for the purification and elevation of mind and heart. And none of this is so that you too can be the twinkliest fairy in the forest, it is so that you can begin to attune yourself in this life with the energies of truth and knowledge that will see you pass the crossroads without being challenged by Papa Legba himself; instead your heart will be weighed against the feather of Ma’at and it will be unencumbered by residual attachments to petty, human arguments and ego-fights.

So hate me if you like because I will cut you off at the knees and forget about you. Love me if your heart is big enough, because my love in return is more rewarding.

Enemies? What enemies? I choose not to acknowledge, and therefore empower, my enemies.

The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.” Sun Tzu

©StarofSeshat 2013