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Presented here are Sigils from my personal shamanic journey work and spirit practice for you to use if you connect with them. Use them freely to burn in ceremony, place randomly in public spaces to re-enchant the world, carve into rocks and throw them in a river, sew them secretly into your clothes, however you feel moved to summon or draw from them as long as you do so with intention and a little bit of fun. Sigils and Spirit Symbols are a way to externalize energy in a very tangible way to bring it directly into the world. *These are given freely for personal use. Please respect this gift and do not share online without attribution, or use in commercial products*
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Often called calling the quarters in reference to four sections of the wiccan circles, almost all neo-pagan traditions include some form of summoning the elemental forces in their working. This is my personal invocation poems for the four major elements for ritual use, shared here for you to use in your own work or as an inspiration for creating your own!
There is a well in the middle of a clearing, centered in a dark forest at the center of my mind. The water is moving, neurons shivering like leaves forming and re-forming the networks of this animus. The trees are moving while I remain still. They are full of voices and memories, some of them are murmuring and some are screaming. The shadow of the old stag and the headless mother are moving through the filtered light just beyond my vision.
The stones of the well are shaking, it is the door to the undiscovered country beyond the knowledge of my will and hastily collected wisdom. What can I do but let my self fall down, let all the trees and the wandering spirits drown as I pass deeper into the darkness. What is there here to discover in the vast emptiness? I am still here, and the twilight between the mind and the sands of the distance is far from empty. When I come to that undiscovered country, I will set myself down under the plum blossoms, and let time stretch out at my feet like a river. Shhhh, come and sit quietly under the hedge. Nestle close to the ground, extinguish the lights, and take care to remain unseen. The moon is full and the wild glow is inciting the spirits of every thing desperate and repressed, as well as the wilding passions of everything craving companionship and pulsing music. From here you can see the the wolf shedding the winter and the wildly dancing sheep, unaware of each other, until they come into bloody conflict.
Stay a while in the quiet here, watch the bright white cast across the fields, letting the truest forms of the inner beast be seen before they fade again into the shadows as it falls toward the horizon. It calls out, saying - Come, be free! This night, do not heed its call to transformation, but melt into the tangled roots. Breathe, watch, listen, be just one of the slowly tilting leaves of the silent hedge. Become the shadow of the twisting roots, a formless observer of the passing wonders. This place hums with a power of the elder gods of wood, and no beast of the inner or outer world can find you here. So stay a while in the quiet, and be sure to stay awake... The Great Healer waits, larger than a mountain, just over the green hill through the road under the root gate, along the stream and among the pillars of the old giants. His tools are spread out on the slabs of dark stone, the way opener falls away, I am alone. My body is spread out on the cold weathered table formed from the back of the crumbling stone man, seen and felt at once as both whole and spread open like a field of stars.
Some things are the way they are. The past self, alone on a hill on a fall day in the perfect warm wind, a template for restoration work. All that missing time, it was my own self restoring and folding under the enormous copper scythe, stuffed full of herbs and roots, a scarecrow spread out through time and space. Time to climb down, wander through the hills toward a place I hope still exists, and stitch myself to the waking world again. Climbing up, sewing my wandering soul to the eyes of the breathing body; waking up full of one more wide ancient space and one step closer to healing. |
Author Morrigan Oran 
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November 2022
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