Dark Goddess Craft

by Stephanie Woodfield

  Quite a lot of people find Paganism out of a desire to create real and meaningful change in their lives. The idea of casting spells, connecting to powerful gods, and reshaping our lives into something better than it is can be a tantalizing thought. If I do just the right spell, say just the right chant, I can land the job of my dreams, find love, and have a happy and content life. Magick can do that. The gods can do that. But like any genie worth his salt, they will remind you that wishing for things and, more importantly, manifesting them isn’t as simple as you’d like it to be. What we want is the Emeril Lagasse approach to magick. Bam, and you got instant change! But it doesn’t work that way. There is always, always a price. And we don’t like the idea of magick or working with the gods having a price. But trust me, it does. Real magick, real devotion and dedication to deity, has a cost. And it’s completely worth paying.

  When I am discussing my work with the dark goddess, one of the questions I am often asked is how exactly to go about causing life-changing transformation without causing any harm. The answer is simple and completely not what the person wants to hear: it’s impossible, because the concept of harm none doesn’t work. When we are “baby Pagans,” we buy into the idea that transformation can be as easy as burning a candle and calling on the right kind of god that we find off a list of correspondences on the Internet. Change is a beautiful pain-free process, like a caterpillar morphing into a beautiful butterfly. Love and light. Harm ye none. These are all the lies those new to Paganism are fed, and the old hats fall victim too. So, for the record, change sucks. It hurts. It’s painful. And worst of all, there are no guarantees where you will end up when you start down the path of true change, spiritual or otherwise, in your life.

  In Paganism at large we get caught up in the idea of the rede, in the idea that to be a Witch you have to work in a “love and light” paradigm. But it doesn’t work. It isn’t realistic. And not subscribing to these ideas doesn’t make you immoral or a bad person. There are many words I use to describe myself. I am a Pagan: I’m a polytheist and see the gods as very real beings with personalities and individual likes and dislikes. I am a priestess: I am dedicated to the Morrigan, and my devotion to her influences and drives much of my work and spiritual practice. And I am a Witch, but I don’t buy into the rede. Don’t get me wrong—it’s a pretty thought. But just by living and breathing, we affect the rest of the world, sometimes in a good, creative way and sometimes in a destructive way. We destroy things to fuel our continued existence on a myriad of levels. The nature that Pagans worship is brutal and deadly at times. Lions eat zebras, and I have no problem seeing this brutal truth as being balanced and having a kind of beauty. Nothing comes for free, especially in magick. And when we get caught up in the idea that we can do magick without a cost, create change without consequences, we are either left wondering why our magick didn’t work or why our world is suddenly turning into shit. By “cost” I mean that deep and powerful magick, or deep and powerful transformation, requires work. You don’t have to offer a grand sacrifice or your firstborn child to the gods, but the things you want to bring into your life may cost you some tears and some honest soul-searching. Doing the work is a kind of offering to the gods. Scholar and author Morgan Daimler explains,

  There is risk with all-powerful magic, and the bigger and more badass the better the chance that someone’s gonna get hurt during the process, and that means the person doing it and that means the people affected by it. When you’re trying to shift years’ worth of entropy and BS out of your life, you’re going to bleed in the process, and you’re going to spill blood as well. Some healing can’t begin without first opening wounds, and some freedom can’t be gained without first cutting away that which holds us back, even if it means cutting out a part of ourselves we don’t want to let go of. You can’t uproot a tree and replant it without breaking the roots and letting the sap run, after all. If you seek to do such a thing without harm, you have failed before you’ve begun.3

  Dark deities will help you through the process of change. They will give you exactly what you asked for but at the same time they expect you to earn it. They will sit there tapping their feet, arms folded over, until you get the point. And that requires a certain amount of trust in the deity. Many people who experience this will chalk it up to the deity being spiteful or dangerous. But they are there to help you work through your darkest fears, your biggest challenges. They are like drill sergeants preparing you for war, for the hard realities of life. They are on your side, but they won’t do the work for you.

  Perhaps one of the best descriptions I have come across to describe what exactly “change” is comes from a workshop taught by Kirk White at Harvest Gathering several years ago. He was describing how his life changed as he worked through the different levels of initiation within a particular magickal tradition. At one point he commented, “Real change feels like death.” And it’s true. At its core change is a process of destroying in order to move forward or re-create ourselves or a part of our life. By its very nature, it demands that part of us die or be destroyed to accomplish this. It is a process no more peaceful than a construction crew taking a wrecking ball to an old building to clear the way for a new one is. When governments change, it is often through revolution, warfare, and violence. When we go through the process of change, at the innermost parts of our being, it is no less violent or chaotic. Nothing in this universe can be created without destroying something in its stead. And breaking down the things that dwell at the core of our being—the things that weigh our spirits down, that can be the hardest to let go of, the hardest to destroy—is not easy, nor should it be. Nor does it happen all at once.

  The problem most of us encounter is that the world around us doesn’t really want us to change. And as a consequence, we really don’t know how to deal very well with change when it does occur or become a necessity. Our culture encourages stability. Change is viewed as a weakness, as a mark of instability and failure. As a child you most likely were asked what you wanted to be when you grew up. Maybe it was a firefighter, a teacher, or a musician. Whatever the answer you gave, there was a certain expectation that you would spend your childhood growing, changing, dreaming, and figuring yourself out. We’ll go through angsty teenage years, changing and evolving both physically and mentally, but then at a certain point we are supposed to have figured it all out. That process of change and becoming, we are told, is supposed to stop. Become the firefighter or teacher. Become stable and consistent. Have the steady job or career, the spouse, the 2.5 children. Pay the bills. Live a life of quiet repetition. And once we reach that goal, we are supposed to stay there. Our time for change and evolution reached its conclusion in our youth.

  Yet life isn’t stagnant, no matter how much we want it to be. We are constantly changing and growing throughout life. In fact the entire point of living is to grow and change. And that requires us to accept that there will be things about ourselves, people, and ideas along the way that we will have to let go of. There is no such thing as happily ever after, because we are constantly growing and changing. More than likely who you were five years ago is not the same person you are now, nor will you be the same five years in the future. The changes aren’t always dramatic, but they are there nonetheless.

  The more we understand about the process of change, the better equipped we are to journey into the realms of these gods. No matter the situation, whether a physical change or an inner one, in general the steps we take toward transformation are the same. It is a journey that we can find models for in some familiar places. We will be looking at four models in particular, although they are certainly not the only ones that exist. Each model looks at the same problem, how humans deal with change, but tackle and describe the process through different lenses. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, a psychiatrist, looks at the process through the lens of the medical profession. Friedrich Nietzsche’s metamorphoses of the spirit show us change through the viewpoint of philosophy. Joseph Campbe
ll’s hero’s journey brings us the perspective of the mythologist. Finally, the concept of the descent brings us back to the actual myths themselves. Each describes the same process in different ways, through different filters, to give us a better understanding of transformation. One is not necessarily better than the other, but each describes a universal truth about the process of change.

  Kübler-Ross Model of Grief

  If real change does in fact feel like death, then it only makes sense to look at the stages of grief in our journey to understand change. The five stages of grief were first introduced by Swiss psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book On Death and Dying, based on her work with terminally ill patients. Although initially used in reference to her patients’ own physical death, Kübler-Ross later expanded this model to include other forms of loss, such as the death of a loved one, chronic illness, losing a job, ending a relationship, and dealing with drug addiction.

  Kübler-Ross’s stages describe the process we undergo when we are integrating new ideas or information into our reality when those ideas conflict with our previous beliefs. It describes how we come to grips with change and ultimately accept and integrate it into our lives. She notes that some people will experience a roller coaster of going back and forth through the different stages and that not everyone experiencing grief of any kind will necessarily experience all five emotional stages.

  Denial

  This is the very first reaction to grief or loss. In this stage individuals hold on to the hope that a diagnosis or fundamental issue is a mistake or somehow not true. In the case of a disease the patient believes the test results are somehow false, a child dealing with the separation of his or her parents believes they will get remarried, and in an unhealthy relationship we might choose to ignore certain behaviors. There are endless ways we try to convince ourselves that things we are uncomfortable with don’t exist.

  Anger

  In this stage the individual accepts that denial cannot continue. Frustration and anger may be directed at others, especially caregivers or individuals who are in close proximity to the individual. The individual asks questions such as “How could this happen to me?” and “Why me?” and states that “It’s not fair!”

  Bargaining

  In this stage the individual hopes the situation at hand is avoidable or alterable in some way. This could be by initiating a lifestyle change for an extended life or making compromises in situations not involving physical illness.

  Depression

  In this stage the individual becomes reclusive, silent, and withdrawn. They may refuse to see visitors or interact with people, and they spend the majority of their time mourning or in a sullen state. They question the point of going on with everyday activities: “I’m going to die soon, so what’s the point? Why bother with anything?” Individuals may also burden themselves with guilt and regrets in regard to the situation.

  Acceptance

  In the final stage the individual embraces the reality or inevitability of the situation or tragic event. Those facing illness and their own mortality enter a retrospective and calmer emotional state. This doesn’t necessarily equate to happiness but rather acceptance of the situation and being able to react to it. In leaving a relationship you might make plans for the future. Or you may accept the passing of a loved one or make preparations for their passing.

  Nietzsche’s Metamorphoses of the Spirit

  In Thus Spoke Zarathustra Friedrich Nietzsche offers us another model for transformation. While his analogy is influenced by his contempt with some aspects of Christianity, his description of the process of transformation holds true to us today.

  Nietzsche writes, “Of three metamorphoses of the spirit I tell you: how the spirit becomes a camel; and the camel, a lion; and the lion, finally, a child.” 4 The analogy begins with the strong spirit whom he imagines in the guise of a camel. The camel, being very strong, takes pride in the fact that it can carry a great deal of weight. And so the camel bends and loads himself with weight even to the point of exhaustion. The camel bears the weight of its tasks but eventually finds its work unfulfilling and meaningless and finds himself weighted down in a spiritual desert. No longer wishing to bear the weight and no longer finding meaning in the values placed on itself, it transforms into a lion, a spirit that fights against false values in order to find his own place and freedom. Nietzsche calls the lion the no-saying spirit: its role is to deny and make room for new things. In the spiritual desert the lion battles the dragon “Thou Shalt,” representing established values and religion. After confronting the dragon, the lion transforms into a child. As the child, the spirit can experience the world anew, live for the moment, and forget the limitations of the past. The child can see things with new eyes, live for itself, and create a new path.

  So what does that mean for us today? Nietzsche’s analogy has many layers. How many times have we acted as the camel? When have we taken up tasks and burdened ourselves with things that we should not have taken on? Or taken up tasks that were unfulfilling to us because others have told us we should find them meaningful? Eventually, when we are dissatisfied enough with a situation, we rebel against the things that hold us back. We become the lion and begin living for ourselves, but we must battle the obstacles that block our path. When we have battled our monsters in our spiritual desert, we can transform into the child, start on a new path, and see things in a new way.

  The Hero’s Journey

  We find a similar pattern for change in Joseph Campbell’s study of comparative mythology. In his The Hero with a Thousand Faces Campbell proposes that throughout world mythology there is a “monomyth,” a cycle that is repeated in the adventures and journeys of heroes universally within mythology. The journey of the hero through the underworld is one found in all cultures in one form or another, and perhaps it has remained so prevalent in our imaginations because the process the hero undergoes is one that we also embark on within our lives.

  Campbell breaks down the hero’s journey into three parts: departure, initiation, and return. In the departure stage the hero experiences a call to adventure, and the hero then resists the call, usually out of fear or doubt. In some cases another character expresses the danger the hero will face. Afterward, the hero meets a mentor, usually one that is magical in some way or has special knowledge. With the aid of the mentor, the hero is able to cross the threshold of the underworld and enter the next stage of initiation.

  Initiation is where the process of change occurs. As the hero travels through the underworld, he faces challenges and sometimes temptations until he is faced with the final ordeal. Usually, the hero gains a treasure or special item from facing this ordeal. In the final stage of return, the hero must experience a resurrection. This can be surviving a battle or test that would be fatal to anyone else or coming close to death and surviving before being able to return to the normal world. The hero returns to the ordinary realm with new knowledge and treasures he has claimed from the underworld.

  At times the underworld isn’t a literal underworld where the hero faces his challenges. It is simply something outside of the ordinary for the hero; it can be a faraway land, the depths of the ocean, or a dream world. Regardless of whatever our own “underworld” is, it is a place out of our comfort zone and represents something outside our everyday experiences and familiar landscapes.

  Campbell’s hero’s journey is a familiar one. It is Odysseus traveling to the underworld for knowledge, Orpheus descending to Hades to rescue his lost love, and Inanna’s descent into the land of the dead. Although we most likely are not physically traveling through the underworld, we experience our own hero’s journey throughout dark times in our lives. We all have our own personal hells, our own demons to face in our darkest hours, and our own journey toward the world of light and rebirth. Like the hero, we resist change, we may have mentors and spirit guides who help us make the realization that change is inevitable, and we make our
descent into the dark through trials and challenges so that we may return with the knowledge of ourselves and begin anew.

  Concept of the Descent

  We have looked at change through the lens of the scientist, the philosopher, and the mythologist. When we look at change purely through mythology, there is one more pattern that emerges. The descent is something that is part of the human experience and speaks to us on the deepest of levels. We find it in various forms throughout world mythology. It is the story of Inanna’s descent into the underworld; it is Persephone’s abduction into Hades’s realm. At first glance this may seem akin to Campbell’s hero’s journey, but there is a key difference. Campbell’s hero travels to the underworld or a faraway land to receive gifts and discover allies, while the descent is its shadow opposite. When Inanna travels to the land of the dead, she must leave pieces of her finery at each gate. Persephone must relinquish her innocence to become Hades’s queen. The descent is not limited to goddesses; heroes like Orpheus, Heracles, and Odysseus all make journeys to the underworld. While the hero acquires things along his journey, the descent is all about relinquishing the symbols of our status, our pride, and our long-held illusions. Katrina Messenger, in her book Descent, uses the mythologies of the descent to describe a matrix for change: “Unlike the hero’s journey where at each juncture the hero attains gifts, tools, or allies, the descent journey asks us to relinquish our hard won trophies, shatter our deeply held convictions, dissolve our ego-supporting illusions.” 5 She explains, “Myths are like a cultural dream—they represent the journey of a people. There are thematic patterns that repeat across different cultures, which means that those patterns are specific to us as a species. Descent myths in particular are greater than human in their content—they illustrate the patterns of life itself.” 6