If you were to ask me, what's it going to be then, Art or Majik? i couldn't answer you. Because i'm not at all sure i can distinguish, any more. i'm not at all certain that any pure, true artist (define as you will) is free of the taint of shamanism; no moreso than i could find something shamanic that bears no stamp of the artistic.

i've noted before that preparing a piece of artwork is like preparing to entheogenically journey is like preparing to cast a spell. There's no difference, is there, Mr. BBC? In fact there is so little that i'm not entirely sure i could even disentangle by referencing the final outcome. With the first, there is assuredly something tangible, but the other two may produce tangible results as well. The second is the least likely, but then again what one brings back from journeys beyond thee Veil might well feed inspiration for the first; the creation of which involves the third.

i walk a razor's edge between the three, always have. Is this the line i walk?


i see no difference between that and a journey into Faerie; my Otherworld is equally at home and likely to appear under blacklights and strobes as by firelight 'gainst the trees. Most of my favourite bands would transport you straight into another realm, a shamanic, participatory event that Boujeloud himself would recognize.

These are the rituals of thee Kali yuga, mad Shaivites smearing themselves with cremation ashes - all is one, all is one, all is one.

And so if i write that i received email sent from beyond the grave last night, it is only of a piece, yes? i've known precious few shamen who were Conscious enou that i'd credit them the ability to work such a piece of majik. One, i believe, spent himself in a last final effect of simply staying alive - those who know me know that story. Another - well, might once have had that power, but chose to forego it, at least from my perspective. The third - must there be three for such things? - the third has pulled it off i do so solemnly swear. Here, have an example of art becoming majik in his hands:


Now, before anyone texts this in to the National Enquirer.. the email is 'only' from an autoresponder. That it bears a crowbird's stamp as apparent sender is merely a fluke of how he set it up. That it comes from a message board that was never, ever active, long months after i might have thought it shut down is explainable, if unusual. That the very next message in my inbox queue *has his name as subject line* - well, an accident of fate, innit? Particularly if the message notification was just a pointer to the same poem the second email carried.

It isn't. The friend who sent the poem doesn't even know the dreamland board exists.

Each year i seem to lose several friends. A drawback to aging i suppose; moreso because walking a razor's edge is a path few can navigate well. i was going to say, successfully, but i'm far from certain 'success' is a term one can apply to such a pursuit. This last year saw three losses of people whose impact on the community they left behind was much greater than they likely ever knew in life. One was simply a Good Person, a spirit everyone liked and no one thought could leave so soon. One was that and an artist/activist/focalizer besides, whose impact here echoed tho she moved from the area two decades before. The third - its triangles, triangles, triangles all the way down - all i can say is, whether he's got a tin shack in the mountains of Bulgaria or spends most of his days in crow form winging about the piney woods above Mabon, he came back to town this weekend. And he sent me an email to say hello.