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Hiding Magick in Plain Sight, Through the Power of Nature and the Self

There have been numerous attempts at reconnecting with nature, and seeing nature as part of our physicality/psyche, especially when understanding the self and the power of knowledge by allowing our own nature to teach us. The unfortunate rise of dominant religions have forced millions of old religious ideologies to disappear, only to be brought back, more predominantly during the Industrial Revolution. With physics, biology, philosophy and medicine developing into something far greater, and the ongoing feud between religion and science, only a famous few sought the power of Nature in times of need, creativity and devotion. Some people, as I will detail in another essay, hid their ‘pagan and hermetic’ philosophies’ in plain sight, going as far back as medieval Britain, the Renaissance and the period of the Enlightenment. A few poets took a particular interest in writing about Nature as a separate entity, with an emotional tie to every individual who ever lived. William Wordsworth is one prominent writer who often described nature as his lover and teacher, and as I will detail below, his judge. Seeing nature for what is, seeking the emotional power one perceives from it, allowed people to realise their own ambitions once again, as we will see.

It became evident during the Nineteenth Century that people should live regimented lives, according to the government, especially in the UK. This was a time of the Industrial Revolution, and people from working class, or poorer backgrounds were at the forefront of building and maintaining an empire held up by them, for the ruling classes. For a group of artists from all over Europe, and the Americas, came an influx of genius through art, music and poetry. This period is known as the Enlightenment, based on the philosophical wonders of mans’ re-connection to Nature. Nature was vast, and could over rule anyone by reminding them that man did not have control. One example comes from The Prelude, by Wordsworth, where the narrator reflects on a time where Nature was all powerful when he was hoping to laze about relaxing:

'One summer evening (led by her) I found
          A little boat tied to a willow tree
          Within a rocky cave, its usual home.
          Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in             360
          Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth
          And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice
          Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on;
          Leaving behind her still, on either side,
          Small circles glittering idly in the moon,
          Until they melted all into one track
          Of sparkling light.'

This short passage, also very well known, details the act of taking a boat out from the shore. This boat does not belong to the narrator, but small amount of guilt he feels does not bother him at all. You could say he had the intention of bringing it back, thus “borrowing” it, and also suggest he knew he had the pangs of guilt, but just didn’t care. You can interpret it in many ways, but you can agree he felt naughty. The idea of being “led by her” is the idea of Nature leading him to the shore, and out to view the stars (mentioned from the next line onwards), because he is drawn to her. Later, his awe and guilt get the better of him, and in a way so does Nature:

‘She was an elfin pinnace; lustily
          I dipped my oars into the silent lake,
          And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat
          Went heaving through the water like a swan;
          When, from behind that craggy steep till then
          The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,
          As if with voluntary power instinct,
          Upreared its head. I struck and struck again,              380
          And growing still in stature the grim shape
          Towered up between me and the stars, and still,
          For so it seemed, with purpose of its own
          And measured motion like a living thing,
          Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned,
          And through the silent water stole my way
          Back to the covert of the willow tree;
          There in her mooring-place I left my bark,--
          And through the meadows homeward went, in grave
          And serious mood; but after I had seen                     390
          That spectacle, for many days, my brain
          Worked with a dim and undetermined sense
          Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts
          There hung a darkness, call it solitude
          Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes
          Remained, no pleasant images of trees,
          Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields;
          But huge and mighty forms, that do not live
          Like living men, moved slowly through the mind
          By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.’

As you have just read, the power Nature has over the emotions of this young narrator caused him to flee back to the shore and run home. He is haunted by the image of the rocky hill, as if it knew what he had done. The narrator details how Nature can peer right into his soul, and pull out emotions from differing ends of the spectrum, as lust and fear/paranoia. Funny enough, the next stanza beings with, ‘Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!’ – Nature has power, and it’s a matter of recognising it, and working with it, either by science (predicting the weather etc.) or spiritually (by symbolism and philosophy).

Whilst most households during this time were predominantly Christian, this poem reflects the worship and love affair the narrator has with Nature as God. As most Romantics and the Enlightened, found the old classical philosophies about life, death and Nature incredibly inspirational. This is partly why so many classical works have remained today, as there is a valuable and shared truth behind the idea of living a life where you have total control. These ideologies were shared freely from master to student, ensuring the student would later become the master. This idea had caused problems during the destruction and adopted ideals of the pagan world in favour of controlling old religions under one, or several, titles. By taking away the basic rights to individualism, or living will, the modern religions allowed themselves the power of controlling mankind under one shared belief in an all supreme deity, who would/should be far greater than Nature. This idea of “controlling the masses” had become warped, as it was no longer about working together to defeat an enemy or entertainment, it was about actually controlling what people thought, how and who they had to worship (be it God or a priest), and the notion that thinking outside of the box was a wrong. Man slowly became disconnected to nature, and went on living without much hindrance to it, unless it was spoken of with a Christian translation – like I said, feigning the idea the Nature was weaker, and under total control by God.

Referring back to the understanding of the poem, and if you get a chance to read that passage (details and link below), the narrator makes a note of how Nature was, and still is, a part of his human consciousness, or psyche. The fact that a craggy hill, which doesn’t do much besides lay still and erode, has the metaphorical ability to have consciousness and peer into the narrator’s soul, suggests we humans share something with Nature. This thing can be interpreted as magick. As the narrator insists throughout the poem, he sees Nature as a temple, the lover, the teacher and as a Universal deity. Understanding then, that if the Universe (personification of the supreme deity) is a vital part of your psyche, it must then mean that we have the ability to work with, and be part of Nature because we are born with it within. It is tapping into that magick and allowing ego to teach us how to live with it, which causes so much panic and fear in the controlling environment. As long as Nature allows us to think and feel for ourselves, we will ascend from a primitive base to the stage of master.

Sy Calaelen

I will go into further details about how understanding magick, and how to use it at a later date. Thank you for taking the time to read my essay – it is only a small part of something I have been working on for some time now.

The Prelude’ – William Wordsworth, Bartleby.com (scroll down to line 357, beginning with ‘One summer evening’)

William Wordsworth


An Unfinished and Untitled Poem

I can’t even analyse this poem! Gosh! It’s also unfinished, crap and just weird, but hopefully the message will come across. I haven’t written poems in almost a decade, so I am extremely rusty.

Untitled Poem I

When trust is destroyed it leaves a browning flower,
Even if the sun shines, the world rolls by,
You should succumb to the praise, love and pleasures by the hour.
Trust should never leave your head, your heart or touch,
Especially if that trust was destroyed by another.

My head, my body, thoughts and the dank mire,
All these creations I planted myself, with you
Were subjugated to your every need and want,
Caused my golden yield to sink deep into your poisoned soil.

I fell for the idea of you and I, the day I opened trust,
And even though many people asked why, I just waved them off.
The time came, on one particular night, the Gods showed me the broken lust,
And when I confronted you with it, I hid my tears,
Because I finally saw you for what you were; the one who ruined my heart, and browned that flower,

The one who broke my trust.

Okay, like I said, it’s a work on progress. What do you think so far? What words would you change?

Sy x



Bedtime Shema | Invocation of Angels

I remember learning this around the tender age of 6. I also think it was one of the last prayers I learnt in Hebrew before I forgot it all. Like most children the wonders of the world captured my thoughts more than church or synagogue did, but I am slowly in need of my old Hebrew teachings as my journey continues.

A lot of weird things have been happening within the past few days, and thus just happened to be one. I have been dreaming of the Lesser Banishing Ritual if the Pentagram for a few days now, thanks to myself, a friend and a few new books I have. Normally I ask deity for an idea of what I should do next, and this is what has come to light; I need to move on up to the next step, and fast.

So, this Shema is one I was taught as a morning and bedtime devotion. This one is basically a protective invocation, in prayer to the protective angels up high to watch over you and guide you. Most Shema’s are spoken in a mantra with a repetitive manner or spoken a few times. It’s great to teach children hebrew slowly, as the words flow better from their tongues. It’s a beautiful language, and yes I am biased!

Last night however, during mid dream time LBRP, this particular Shema popped into thought… With a few others, but I shan’t go into those as I have yet to find them. I ignored the dream, like I do frequently, but proceeded to look up more on the LBRP. I ended up on YouTube, and slowly but surely I wondered from video to video and found one of the Shema’s I had dreamt about. I have no idea why I am getting these lessons, but I am excited and terrified at the same time! I may record a new morning devotion with this…hmm?

So, here is the Shema, just listen with your eyes closed and see if the words feel like they could roll from your mouth.

B’shem Adonai…

Follow me on Instagram @sycalaelen

Sy, x x

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All the Things Unsaid

This is a poem I wrote early this morning, which actually woke me from my sleep. If there is one thing on this planet I know for sure, it’s that love is too complicated, it hurts and it has been deaf to my heart. This poem needs some work, but for now I thought I would publish the first draft so as not to forget. It is written in free verse as I am hopeless at rhyme of any kind.

All the Things Unsaid

I tell you, its all the things unsaid.
The way you walk, the way you talk,
The words you choose when they flow from your head.
They bare a weight so heavy, but I never did see.
Because the world to an iridescent fool like me, is bright and rosy.
Perhaps just for a moment, I did wish you could see.

The times I would stand on the carousel, waiting for you to climb on.
Watching you stand so close, only to see the ground.
The moments I would creep toward you, hoping you could greet me,
Only to feel you look straight through me.
I am your ghost, and nothing more.
It wasn’t what you had said, but what your body did show,
All the things unsaid.

“Time will tell,” these patriarchs’ did gush,
And I soaked up every word.
I was the hungry child, with fears of disappointment.
The stupid fool for you, with a heart of glass.

How long must my troubled mind obscure me?
Those words you never spoke, so soft as they fell,
Shattered the glass in the morning swell.

An empty, yet painful realisation, woke me.
Words expressed in the past went unheard.
Feelings of passion played on and on, but,
All the things unsaid, bruised my head,
And lead to loves death.

Amazing, phantom like feelings gathered in my heart, and finally I let them create peace.
I stood on that carousel, and danced a million steps.
Knowing deep down, love only drowns those fools like me.

All the things you never said,
And the kind lies you did,
Let me grow a heart of stone.

Sy Calaelen 2012

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A. Crowley | Every Woman is a Star

I am on a bit of a writing spree today… Be aware there is profane language used below.

I have recently subscribed to ‘ozzzz156’ on YouTube thanks to my inspiring friend and Thelemite Mr. Lestat, because I have been reading Book 4 and really studying its texts when I can. I have grasped the symbolic meanings behind a lot of what Crowley had written and suggested, but when he wrote about women it awoke something in me.

I am not a feminist, yet at the same time I am. Thanks to the wonderful Caitlin Moran, I consider myself a strident feminist. One who moans at other feminists who want equality yet still feel that their men should constantly buy them gifts and flowers, yet they won’t see and buy a nice Rolex for their man. I won’t go into too much detail about that argument, but you get the gist. over the recent years, the media have shown us the profane words being used in today’s society, and through that helped claim the use and in some cases the rights/connotations of those words to the people they were originally aimed at. You hear black/Latin folks singing and rapping about “You nigga this, you nigga that,” in a manner that empowers them. So long as it is spelt with the letter ‘a’. In time I hope the word “Cunt” will only be used and claimed by the people who actually posses one, which would be women. To this day it is the most profane word in existence, yet I have one and no man I know does so it’s mine and I am claiming it. Along with that, the word “whore” sums up so many images in my mind. Firstly, a whore is usually referred to a woman of the night or someone who likes to have fun using her bruised flower. Secondly, as it’s a word that is supposed to be derogatory then why not claim it? People often put women down and call them these nasty words, yet when the push comes to the shove it’s the woman/whore you need is it not? Don’t contradict yourself dear.

Now this video is a reading from a text, but if you listen and really think about the words you should be able to pick up the message. As much as people try to discard us, y’all need us like we need you. Enjoy!

Thelema – Every Woman is a Star

93, 93 / 93 x


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Life Transition | Love, the Unrequited Kind

 I journal a lot. My current journal is literally bursting and I have only just gone over half way. This morning I sat skimming over the posts trying to find the theme of the last two years, and so far I have noted three with constant strain. I constantly write about travel through wanderlust, inspiration through quotations and poems, which remind me that life is not all bad and the last theme that pops up a lot is unrequited love.

Now, to a 23 year old who has only had one failed relationship that seems a bit much, but whilst reading some of my old posts I genuinely think I am love repellent and growing to accept it with a cool heart. I had to laugh at some of the entries because even though I have much better grammar in my Moleskine (than on here…), I don’t half just go into silly, lonely teenage style, hate fearing, ultimate sob your heart out mode. I understand finding love is hard, especially at 23 when all the people I have met and correspond with are all loved up or married and I’m the weird single girl in the corner, but wow, I do scare myself with the heart wrenching thoughts that circulate within the pages. As much as I have been trying to turn my heart into stone when I curl up in bed alone each night, hoping to wake up never having to feel a thing in order to get by in life, I know I can’t do it.

Love is fleeting, and even though I won’t find anyone, I need love to get by. Love for me is what I give to my little siblings, my friends, myself, (Michael Fassbender and Rory McCann worship) and most importantly my writing. For the sake of reading and writing I copied up Shakespeare’s sonnet 102 in my journal and thought I should share it with you folks. I read it when I was 13, at upper school at a point in my life when I still didn’t have friends, but the love I had made me hope that one day I could share it. I guess at that age I was more mature and sentimental than I thought. I’m growing up and it feels great. I’ll no longer believe in “one day,” and only stick with now.


Shakespeare’s Sonnet 102

My love is strengthen’d, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear:
That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming
The owner’s tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new and then but in the spring
When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
As Philomel in summer’s front doth sing
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue,
Because I would not dull you with my song.


Quick note… If you are unfamiliar with Shakespearian cant, what he is basically saying is that even though his love is still as strong as it was in the beginning, he’s glad he had the experience and it will always be in his heart and mind forever, he just won’t show it as much anymore. He, like me, no longer sees love as the life changing event that will rock your life forever and every single day especially when the person he loves doesn’t precipitate. Love is powerful yes, but over the top at times and because of that, it is overwhelming and it is resulting in his heartache. This is a wonderful example of unrequited love, and why you shouldn’t be desperate or give up, without emphasis in “one day”.

Tomorrow I shall pull a card from a tarot deck and find the new lesson I need to learn within.

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Life’s Journey – A Poem by Murphy Payne

As that lucky old sun shows his face at dawn
And erases the morning dew from the pastures and beyond
The busy worker bees are busy kissing their blossoms not for fun
But to feed their family and propagate life’s journey

Tiny shoots on trees poke out through limber limbs
That survived the winter winds and little furry creatures crawling on them
And as hard working farmers prepare their tractors’ morning run
Not for fun but to feed the world and propagate life’s journey

When one looks down at the ground and sees
Caissons of ants marching away from a newly made mound
Drill sergeants all over the world, would be so proud
If their columns of men were dedicated to propagate life’s journey

You see playful boys and girls happily off to school
Leaving behind at home those heavy bulky threads
Jumping, jousting, talking and running freely to class
Mostly for education, fun and propagating life’s journey

Some may say all these things are just harbingers of spring
And that may very well be so, however
If mankind is to survive, we must be true to future generations
And propagate life’s journey as we go

— Murphy Payne


Summer Solstice and Me