I awoke one day to find the Mourning King in my garden, taller than the pines, empty eye sockets so blue it felt like I was looking into heaven. His tears wept down his skull in threads and he took my breath away. I could not look away from his eyes, those oceans of sky, that like time, ate everything away. Those threads could bind me forever in a moment, and I would be happy to die in those chains.
How I tore my eyes away, I will never know. Maybe I never did, and that is why I began to forget and how I began to remember.
Some spirits are so old, one word or message can take months to be formed, and a conversation can take years, and if we are not patient, we may miss out on what they have to say. If we are not careful, we do not even see them, they become swallowed up in archetypes and similar god forms; in essence forgotten, unseen, lost, dead.
It was Brian Froud, that first taught me to forget. I will always remember when first seeing the Faery Oracle, how the fae seemed to jump off the cards. I would get lost in those realms, looking at the cards for hours, being inspired to draw my own fae. I would often be at odds with what they taught in school as art and what the Fae taught me. Looking at the cards, I knew that art was not about the logical, it was about something surreal, something emotional, it was about soul, and when the soul was allowed to speak, there could be art and poetry and witchcraft. Art is quite a lot about madness, and one can argue, that witchcraft is too.
The Mourning King is a spirit of place, of the land. How often do we look at the indigo morning glories growing up the fences and along the roads, and feel that blue strike us deeply, asking us to stop and listen… just listen for a moment? I guess we have become so accustomed to seeing it as a weed, that we forget to remember.
The morning glories remind me of the first time I met the Mourning King, and how that blue swallowed me up.
His eyes are like that, so deep, so seductive that I am willing to be bound in those sorrowful, starry worlds.
He makes me forget.
Morning glories are part of the Convulvulaceae family and are commonly known as bindweed. They are grown for their cheery disposition, beautiful colours, and love of the sun, but like many Saturnine herbs they are poisonous and speak to me of a darker nature. The name Ipomoea derives from Greek meaning worm-like. Morning Glories have a serpentine nature, twining, and binding, curling and coiling, and are seductive. They can be deadly, but their nature is expansive, they brings awareness of unity, wholeness and ecstasy. Their cursive nature is like a love spell, gently coiling over a lover, and yet they are binding, constricting and controlling. They lend their nature to my love and lust potions and ointments, and would make wonderful allies for compelling and controlling hexes and curses.
“Thou Holy Snake of Knott’d Green
All foes within thy Coils entwine:
Thou Holy Rope of Fastening
Go forth, Surround, Constrict, and Bind.
Unto the Fields of the Accurst
Ride forth ye Host of Wortbane might,
Tendril of the Gallows Rope
Draw the Coil and pull it tight.
Hangman, fix The Head in earth
From Root to Vine and Vine to Leaf,
Ensorcell now by Ban of Knot
Thou Compass whole of Midnight’s Sheaf”
-Viradarium Umbris- Daniel A Schulke
I watch the morning glories fall from the vine, one by one, they curl up and wither.
I gather them softly in my hands and offer them up to the Mourning King. This conversation is still very young. I have only to forget.
Copyright 2016 of Nightshade author of The Purple Broom