Tell something no-one knows about you…. Comment and Share! I write poetry… http://www.tinyindiewhimsy.com
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Angels, Demons and forbidden love interlace in this dark fantasy of Dantalion, a condemned demon summoned from an ancient 17th century book of magick ‘The Goetia’ creating an unexplainable relationship of love, obsession, and redemption.
Dantalion Of The Goetia: Legacy NEW PAPERBACK BOOK COVER REVEAL AND GIVEAWAY
It has been over a decade (2010) that the original idea for a true to life ancient Courtyard and a 17th century condemned demon have come to life in the Fantasy Fiction Paranormal Romance Dantalion Of The Goetia Series. ‘Goetia’ refers to a practice involving the invocation of angels and the evocation of demons, derived from an ancient book of magick entitled The Lesser Key of Solomon, featuring the Ars Goetia as its first section. It contains descriptions of seventy two demons that King Solomon is said to have evoked and contained in a bronze vessel sealed by magick symbols. These writings were edited in 1904 by the infamous Aleister Crowley, a controversial magician and occultist of his time.
IN HONOR OF Dantalion Of The Goetia’s ANNIVERSARY, I WILL BE PUTTING TOGETHER FREE BOOK GIVEAWAYS at RANDOM to the first 100 people who download any of my E-Books or Purchase any of my other Book Titles, share this post with others and leave their email in the comment section of my homepage!! http://www.tinyindiewhimsy.com
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The Witches Creed
“Hear now the words of the witches, The secrets we hid in the night, When dark was our destiny’s pathway, That now we bring forth into light.
Mysterious water and fire, The earth and the wide-ranging air, By hidden quintessence we know them, And will keep silent and dare.
The birth and rebirth of all nature, The passing of Winter and Spring, We share with the life universal, Rejoice in the magical ring.
Four times in the year the Great Sabbat Returns, and the witches are seen At Lammas and Candlemas dancing, On May Eve and old Hallowe’en.
When daytime and nighttime are equal, When sun is at greatest and least, The four Lesser Sabbats are summoned, And Witches gather in feast.
Thirteen silver moons in a year are, Thirteen is the coven’s array. Thirteen times at Esbat make merry, For each golden year and day.
The power that was passed down the age, Each time between woman and man, Each century unto the other, Ere time and the ages began.
When drawn is the magical circle, By sword or athame of power, Its compass between two worlds lies, In land of the shades for that hour.
This world has not right then to know it. And world of beyond will tell naught. The oldest of Gods invoked there, The Great Work of magic is wrought.
For the two are mystical pillars, That stand at the gate of the shrine, And two are the powers of nature. The forms and the forces divine.
The dark and the light in succession, The opposites each unto each, Shown forth as God and a Goddess, Of this our ancestors teach.
By night he’s the wild wind rider, The Horn’d One, the Lord of the Shades, By day he’s the King of the Woodland, The dweller in green forest glades.
She is youthful or old as she pleases, She sails the torn clouds in her barque, The bright silver lady of midnight, The crone who weaves spells in the dark.
The master and mistress of magic, That dwell in the deeps of the mind, Immortal and ever-renewing, With power to free or to bind.
So drink the good wine to the Old Gods, And dance and make love in their praise, Till Elphame’s fair land shall receive us, In peace at the end of our days.
And Do What You Will be the challenge, So be it Love that harms none, For this is the only commandment, By Magic of old, be it done!” – Witchcraft For Tomorrow, By Doreen Valiente
Tuesday Tell All… Tell something you would never know about yourself to another…
My tell all is I am a Holy Witch…(I am part Catholic part Wiccan)….
I inhaled the moon’s gaze upon me, as I touched upon the jagged stone. I felt my soul emerge through time, here to the place I felt so drawn. It had taken me from the sea to a canopy of green. I saw my likeness once etched into the stone. I knew nothing then, yet it was my reflection staring back at me, purged of sin only to be thrust into the depths of Hell.
I’ve come for him above the hill and beyond the mountain, where our destinies crossed, lost alone, yet I am here. My soul is ancient, so I must heal from within. My heart is pure so I must bleed alone. When I came through the veil I had left everything I once knew behind. I was the saint, the sinner, the Holy Witch. Left to the task of making sense of this past life and my place in it.
I held the fragile thread of life barely in my grasp. The tears of heaven grew higher it seemed, and I tasted of sin, and witchcraft and sorcery, and of damnation. Breathing became a task I forced myself to master.
I found myself back at the tree in the glen, the memories rushing through my essence. I wavered, hoping I would recover from the madness. But it did not go. I touched upon the pages of the book and began writing in words ancient and strange, unheard of in my time yet so familiar, they filled the parchment with my story.