Category: Magic and Witchcraft Themed

Mystic Lake Dream – 27-02-2026

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I am my mother’s savage daughter
The one who runs barefoot
Cursing sharp stones
I am my mother’s savage daughter
I will not cut my hair
I will not lower my voice

My mother’s child is a savage
She looks for her omens in the colors of stones
In the faces of cats, in the falling of feathers
In the dancing of fire
In the curve of old bones

Karen Kahan / Wyndreth Berginsdottir

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Here is last night’s dreaming it was in some parts accompanied by this song during the dreaming. There is a sense of something broadly shamanic incoming. I was reminded of Snowdon’s Glaslyn and Oeschinensee in the Berner Oberland.

The dream opens in a brightly lit indoor setting. It is like a pharmacy / clinic. Two young nurses, one female and one male, are struggling to calm down and contain a large older man with unruly blonde hair. He is panicking about his test results and upcoming injections. He will not listen to them. The woman turns to me and asks me to explain. I am of a similar age to the man. She explains to him that I am a trained scientist. I start to explain to him and slowly he calms. I show him a test tube in which the red blood cells from his blood have been sedimented out to the bottom. This means that for now he has not been infected which is why he needs to be vaccinated, something the nurse will gladly do for him. He is surprised that his blood liquid is light yellow murky over the small layer of sedimented red blood cells.

The scene changes and I am climbing a mountain track with a leather coracle on my back. I round the bend and go over the last lip into the corrie / cwm where there is a mountain lake of sublime beauty. It has been scoured out by glaciers of days gone by. I place the coracle and oar down on the rocky shore and marvel at the azure blue. I am home. I am back at the source of the river. I marvel at the rocky slopes plunging into the icy waters. I hear an all-encompassing silence. I will in time row out onto the lake because I have an appointment there.

The scene changes and I am in something of an ersatz physics laboratory. An experiment using lasers in being prepared for the school children. The technicians are struggling to get the experiment to work. They call for help and Ian M tips up and together we start to align the outdated clunky optics on a heavy metal rail. They are confident because of our laser expertise the experiment will work.

The scene changes and I am back lakeside. A magnificent mist has come in cloaking the lake and making the atmosphere heightened and mystical. At any time one might imagine the lady of the lake rising with Excalibur in her hand. The mist enshrouds and welcomes. I get into the coracle and row slowly out into the centre of the lake and the centre of the mist. I have a meeting and I have something to retrieve, to find again. I stroke my beard with my left hand. I am enlivened and energised. My palms are tingling with “electricity”. I have come for something and am reminded of the role of all the lakes in this life and beyond.

I am now outside a funeral parlour. There is a mass funeral taking place. Where members of two families are being sent off together following a huge violent brawl at a wedding. The two sides have been at war for generations. Yet they have decided to join together to remember their dead. Coffin after coffin is walked from the hearses into the crematorium. A newspaper photographer is there and goes to take a picture. I stop him and seize his camera. Such a thing would inflame and ignite.

Back out on the lake the mist clears and I can see far in the crisp pristine mountain air. I look down into the hyper-transparent water of the lake and several metres down I can see the rocky bottom with a few arctic fish like char. I remove my heavy fur jacket / long coat. It is bearskin. I am wearing a shirt fastened at the top with a shoelace like fastening. I stand in the coracle and am ready to plunge into the icy depths.

The scene changes to the carriage of a bus which is brightly lit and modern. The bus is only partially full. I am at the back of the bus and there are a few young people there. They are taking the piss out of me because I am not sitting down even though they are seats. I am holding on to a tube train style ceiling handle. They are all chatting and playing on their electronic devices.

The bus is coming to a stop. I have fallen asleep standing up much to the surprise of everyone except me. The bus has morphed into an airplane and we are taxying to the terminal. The doors open and because I am standing I am the first one to leave the plane.

The dreaming ends and as I awake I make a mental note to search my dream archive for dreams with lakes in and in writing I am reminded of the morning when I threw my katana souvenir into a lake in Hertfordshire.

Spooky – Who Are You ? – Gwrach

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Last night we watched an episode of “Who Do You Think You Are?” with Greg Davies.

His search was uncanny in similarity to mine Tremadog , Nantmor etc.. It was so close as to be spooky. He visited places I know well.

So I have been back on the ancestry bus.

In 1841 one of my relatives lived here..

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Somewhere between Sygyn Bach and Cae Du at Sygyn Isaf {not shown on the map}.

Here is the mill…centre left on the map.

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It is rumoured than one of my realtives was a witch…

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Is Tantra Poppycock ?

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There is a tendency for people to pooh-pooh things without ever trying them. They may rely on the witness of “some bloke down the pub” or on the collective omniscience of their own peer group.

In the previous post I have put a link to “The Tantra of the Blue-Clad Blessed Vajrapāṇi”

There are no gonads or well-ness orgies therein. No V-scented candles or merch.

I would encourage any doubter to sit alone in a room at night with a few lighted candles and incense sticks and then read aloud the full translation. Many might think that Tantra and magic are poppycock few of these would have the balls to do what I have just suggested.

The only reliable way to learn is personal experience. The true test is in the act and not the words.

Place your bets if you dare…

Approach a Tantra like this one with a wrong attitude and you will FAFO, as the saying goes.

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A lot of people are sure in front of and with their peers, less so in the wee small hours on their own.

The translation of the Tantra linked to in the previous post shows that it is a spell of some considerable age and has many facets some of which are powerful even lethal. It is very well crafted.

I have always approached anything to do with Vajrapani with the utmost respect. My intuitive response to the first of the dreams today was to turn towards Vajrapani practice.

I personally am OK reading the Tantra because I am in control of my emotions and have a generally benign intent. Although I have not been granted any permission from a lineage holder, I am reasonably safe. I have a good instinct and in me there is very little dark or nasty. My self-assessment is probably realistic. For me I am not trying to use it or abuse it.

I have spent a lot of time on my own doing things which might freak others out. I have learned a few things on the way.

A lot of people imagine themselves skill full, clever and resourceful. They may be foolhardy enough to bet their “magic” against that of others. Which in itself shows a poor understanding and a lousy intent.

Somethings are beyond our ken. Each of us would do well to remember that.

I was toying with an idea the other day and I do not know how people might respond.

The question was, “how would people respond if, in all earnest, I offered to perform an exorcism on them?”

I guess it would depend on circumstance. Exorcism is a Tantric rite…

How would you respond if someone offered to exorcise you?

Is exorcism poppycock too?

Malevolent Thoughts – Magic – White Scallop – Phowa Dream 06 -02-2026

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I had hoped that we were past this, past this kind of projection at me. Here is last night’s dream on a night which had an otherwise long sleep.

The dream opens in a seemingly underground labyrinth, a warren of tunnels, which I know to be the mind of another or others plural. The walls are curved and of a grey muddy hue and texture. Hanging pendant from the ceilings of these tunnels are amulets shaped like a pain au raisin, coiled. They are palm-hand sized. They are British English of provenance. I know they are encapsulated thought forms and parcelled emotions. They are negative and malevolent towards me. They have variously resentment, jealousy and ill will. They are anger and even hate filled projections at me. In some cases they have festered long. They are by way of black magic spells directed at me either wittingly or otherwise. The persons generating these malevolence are not fully aware of their voodoo like essence. Nor do they understand that these emanations against a witch with well-practiced charms of reflective protection is for them, the emanator, a very unwise thing. Deep in the resentful caverns of their minds they are harbouring and feeding this negativity which is bad for them. They are nurturing it and it feeds upon them. It is eating them alive. To project against a witch is foolhardy.

In the dream I sigh.

The scene changes to a small cove on the coast with crystal clear waters. It too seems English. I am in the water swimming at the behest of an “archaeologist”. I am free diving to the bottom and searching the sand. I find a large pristine white scallop shell. Larger than normal, shiner than normal and whiter than normal. It is somehow special even magical white. I go to shore and show it to the archaeologist. He is excited. He asks me to find a living bed of scallops as proof. I know that the archaeology refers to the/my past. I dive and swim towards where a fresh water stream inlets into the sea. There on a small rocky outcrop are a bed of scallops. I take a picture with my underwater camera and with the knife from my ankle scabbard ease a living pair of scallops off. I return to the shore. I show the archaeologist who is very happy.  We go into the village and enter a small cottage with a “Tudor” blue wooden frame. We go into the kitchen and start to wash the scallops in the sink. The couple who are the cottage owners return and let themselves in with a key. At first they are surprised to see us in their house, their kitchen. The archaeologist apologises and explains. They are happy and the wife helps him wash the scallops in the sink.

The scene fades and I am left with a very strong visual image of someone known to me whom I have not spoken with for two decades. He is older than me and of a prior “generation”. I know that he nears death and this is by way of a checking in. If and when things progress I will see him during the transition and soon afterwards. The same holds true for a female also of his generation. As a part of the Phowa practice I will encounter them on planes non mundane in the in between. I am ready whereas they are not. I am at home there.

The dreaming sequence ends…

On waking I know that there is nothing you can do if someone harbours envy, bitterness and jealousy towards you. If you mention it, it does not go away. It only entrenches and gets worse.

Cagliostro – Erasing Personal History

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In a world obsessed with the curriculum vitae it makes “sense” to be able to account for our life, our training and our affiliations. We might even get a job on the basis of our CV. Historians may want to pin down where we were born, to whom and with whom we associated. That makes a story, a narrative of our lives, a his-story or a her-story. Human folly suggests that these stories are important when they are in fact impermanent and mutable. If someone knows our story we can be held to it.

“You said you are vegan and that meat is murder. How come you are eating a steak you lying bastard?”

Our stories make an expectation which people expect us to life up or down to. If we don’t behave as a good priest we could be chucked out of church for shagging a prostitute.

There is a Toltec technique called “Erasing Personal History”. In which one is encouraged to unpick, change and ultimately remove any legend or story we might have about ourselves. We become free of the bullshit we tell ourselves about who and what we are. We are liberated by rubbing out the story, erasing it. As an interim measure we might make a working story to use until such time as we have no story at all.

The CIA and MI6 allegedly prepare extensive cover stories for agents complete with passports and driver licences. The back story might be fleshed out in, inter alia, social media.

So why not invent a cover as Comte de Cagliostro?

It might infuriate those who want to try to pin you down to some identity or other. You are not playing fair if you do not stick to “normal” societal rules. Who is this charlatan?

Well maybe he was someone who was erasing his personal history forever reinventing how he behaved and how he presented himself. As he evolved as a spiritual being his story, his legend evolved with him. He was not a fixed and rigid being. He was not constrained by the stories others sought to tell and be adamant about.

Right now there is nobody who can give a good account of me. I have claimed that I used to teach chemistry to the nurses. Nobody has tested my knowledge. I could be a lying charlatan. Weirdly I might be able to talk about high resolution laser spectroscopy and how to use a two-stroke strimmer.

If your bloodline was dangerous to you. It might be wise to hide your pedigree. Having noble parents could mean your end. There are many motivations why someone might be vague about their birth.

They did not have DNA screening and biometrics back then!!

It is funny to watch people getting into a tizzy about who Comte de Cagliostro might have been. Then watch them present their theories, which have made it onto Wikipedia.

So obvs they must be gospel true.

The whole notion of wanting and trying to erase any and all personal history goes against what makes “sense” in the normal socio-political view of the world. A personal history can shackle.

Peoples lives are ruined now because once they made an ill conceived remark. Their careers can be trashed, cancelled, because of the recorded history of what they are alleged to have said.

Now like so many others I am writing off any trip to the USA because what I have written on blogs may be held against me and prohibit my entrance. There is no point doing the paperwork.

Having your history held against you is not very liberating…

I have not been to Malta for quite a number of years 😉

Cagliostro – History and Agenda

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It is raining today. I’ll make some comments.

There is a lot of cut and past without attribution “stuff” on the internet. There is a lot of re-hashing

I’ll speculate that laziness has prevented good research.

I’ll comment that the level of scholarship may not  be high.

In this document seemingly in his own words.

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The man who takes on the name Comte de Cagliostro describes the fact that his place of birth was unknown and that he was initially raised in a Muslim household and that he visited Mecca. He was allegedly an orphan.  It is possible that amongst his  studies of the sciences he did optics and astronomy. He says that he learned many languages.

There is perhaps a Christian bias against Islamic science and scholarship which is promulgated in the easily available material. The fascination with politics and courtly goings on is emphasized in the available material, soap opera stories entertain. Elsewhere he describes a kind of power struggle with the Christian theocracy and power brokers.

1766 has him travelling to Rhodes and Malta where he takes on the name Cagliostro and adopts Christian dress. He is well received by the Knights of Malta. Later in the text he suggests that his date of birth was 1750 {by subtraction} and that he arrived in Strasbourg in 1780. From his narrative he had access to some high ranking and important geezers. Pretty soon he ends up in the Bastille. The memoire is dated March 1783.

“The Storming of the Bastille occurred in Paris, France, on 14 July 1789.”

This text already differs from the Wiki page. He does say that he travelled to Sicily.

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In the text he glosses over travels in Egypt and Asia.  Which would have had him exposed to  Vedic and Buddhist thought . Other texts on the various masonic rites points at a Zoroastrian Ahura Mazda influence in Egyptian masonic traditions.

{I have only scan read}

He goes to Rome incognito and is invited to see Cardinal Orsini…

“The Orsini are one of most important families in Italian history. At the height of their influence, in the late Middle Ages and into the Renaissance, the Orsini were crucial players in Italian politics; they were closely allied to the Medici, with whom they were tied by several high-level marriages. The family produced three popes, about thirty cardinals and 62 senators of Rome, as well as several electors of Saxony and Brandenburg, and grand masters of the Knights of Malta.”

Of a Sunday morning one can see that quite a lot of stuff on the internet may have an agenda and a bias.

It is a bit strange reading 18th century French…