The snail trail

Snails by Aisselle A T Gabegie
Snails, a photo by Aisselle on Flickr.

All the sightings, warnings and visions had left me feeling decidedly scattered, so I spent some time in meditation and consultation with Hermaphroditey. But yesterday I left the Guardian of the Basement on his own (he is not the best of company), to walk in the magic wood. I half expected to see Mollie Promp in one of her manifestations, but instead happened across a trail of snail shells. They were all intact and undamaged, as if some dextrous bird had removed and eaten the contents without needing to break the shells. I followed the trail, collecting the lovely brown spirals along the way, wondering if they would lead to some sort of revelation or message from the goddess, but when I emerged from the wood I found myself at the crone’s caravan.

It struck me then that perhaps she was Mollie Promp in another of that creature’s guises, and I determined to ask her and get some sort of an answer, even if it were just a nod of her aged white head.

A hollow tinny sound echoed from the rap of my knuckles on the battered door, and I had the feeling that many such knuckles had rapped at this door exactly as I was rapping – perhaps for millennia. No one answered, although my special powers told me that the crone was inside. I sat down on the step and counted the snail shells. There were twenty two – the number of the major arcana. I was just thinking that perhaps I should create a snail tarot by painting on the shells when the caravan door opened and the old woman was looking down on me. It’s a funny angle from which to view someone. Her skinny ankles seemed like bones fleshed only by the wrinkled stockings as they balanced in the huge pink slippers, her hands emerged like two claws from the sleeves of the red velvet dressing gown, and all I could see of her head was the jagged peak of her nose above the wrinkled skin below her chin, surrounded by a halo of white hair.

I didn’t mean to be so direct – after all, she had never uttered a single word to me, and I wasn’t even sure she could hear anything I said – but ‘Are you Mollie Promp?’ I gasped.

I think she may have sighed silently – I’m not sure – but anyway her shoulders seemed to droop. She turned back inside and I thought I’d offended her, but in less than a minute came out with a pack of cards, which she fanned out and studied, her head on one side like some sort of bird – a stork or crane perhaps. Selecting one, she turned it to show me the face of the card, on which was written a single word in a childish hand.


I must say that I felt relieved. I thanked her and went straight home without waiting to be taken in for tea, although she didn’t make any attempt to draw me inside as she usually does, but turned around and disappeared, shutting the door behind her.

In celebration, and to give thanks to Hermaphroditey I made a necklace with seven of the snail shells. I shall wear it for our handfasting at the Summer Solstice – Jay will be thrilled.

It was only later that I realized that I’d forgotten to ask the crone if her initials were TD, or her name Tullulah Dervish.

Till when, Aisselle


Four of Tinfoil Hats

I have rested, and am renewed. This morning I created a new card for my Grand Ellessia Tarot – the Four of Tinfoil Hats.

You see me on my couch in the basement in a deep recuperative state, charging my metaphysical batteries, four of my most powerful tinfoil hats above me on the shelf. They are also recharging in readiness for the next reading. I have depicted this part of my recuperation rather than the earlier part in bed with Jay. Open as I am on this, my very own blog, read by my many devoted followers, there are some things that must remain both occult and sacred.

Now I must attend to creating the vault in the basement. Jay is at this moment at a place called Bee and Queue, whatever and wherever that may be. I can only guess that bees go there to queue for something, which seems very odd, as bees are mostly far too busy to queue for anything and gather nectar without the need to waste time on such things. He did speak of strengthening the basement door before he left though, so perhaps he will collect the necessary materials on his way back.

I will need another powerful Guardian when the work is complete, and of course there are the ritual items to gather together. I must make a list and venture into the magic wood this very afternoon. And perhaps call on the old lady who lives in the caravan – she may have some Spiritual Insights to pass on to me.

Till when, Aisselle

Three talismans

Three talismans by Aiselle A T Gabegie
Three talismans, a photo by Aisselle  on Flickr.

Inspired by Gruenwalda’s reading yesterday using the primitive but truly wondrous Tarot of the Origins, I spent last night in the magic wood searching for special objects to make talismans.

The moon had been at her fullest on the 18th April, the night before, but her strength had barely diminished, and I could feel her power as my naked feet led me to those special places where such things are to be found. At home in our bed Jay slept on through the warm night, unaware of my meanderings, dreaming no doubt of cake. Somewhere not too far away Joel would also be sleeping, probably dreaming of cake too. But I was free and wild in the magic wood, and my heart rose up and flew to the stars.

I sensed the presence of the woodland spirits, and was not afraid. Again I felt the weight of the woodman’s huge body in the dream before Jay woke me. And something else, a stronger sense of a special connection to Joel through this wood.

But something was shining white in a delicate beam of moonlight filtering through the trees, and my feet took me to stand by a small object lying on a cushion of starry moss at the base of the trunk of an ash tree. I picked it up. It was part of the lower jawbone of an animal – a badger – with one tooth still present. I slipped it carefully into a small drawstring bag I’d brought especially for keeping my treasures safe, and giving thanks to the Goddess, wandered on.

And now I knew that Hermaphroditey must surely have led me here tonight, for lying on the top of a flat thrush stone was an intact snail shell, its owner long absent.

But another treasure lay nearby. The skull of a tiny rabbit, so small that it might have been mistaken for the skull of a bird were it not for two front teeth. Three things – who could ask for more than that magic number? I turned towards home and bed.

Today I have honoured those precious objects by creating three talismans. They are too delicate to wear as jewellery – as the people of the Tarot of the Origins wore those things – so I’ve simply added a few beads and much love, and will use them when needful in spells and divination. May the spirits of those three dear creatures be ever with me.

Blessings till when, Aisselle

Of Joel, Dainty and a tinfoil hat.

Dainty &Tinfoil hat by Aiselle A T Gabegie
Dainty &Tinfoil hat,  on Flickr.

I have written to Joel, and posted the letter today. The poor boy needs help, and I must not fail him, whatever my misgivings. I’m posting the letter in full below, in the interests of keeping up site stats.

Dear Joel,
I am well and Spiritual as always. I’m sorry I have taken so long to thank you for your gift – a treasure. I can barely believe you made Her yourself – She seems Goddess-given. I keep Her always around my neck, safely hidden in a small bag I made from the purple velvet that encased Her, and take Her out to kiss Her noble knobbly head many times a day. She can only have been created by one touched by Hermaphroditey Herself. It seems we are truly of one blood, you and I.

There is however, a danger in being touched by one as powerful as the Goddess, and I can see evidence of this in your letter. To put it quite bluntly, that touch has affected your brain, which has behaved in the manner of an electrical device short-circuited by a charge in excess of its capacity. But despair not – there is Hope, in the form of my Tarot Masters’ Course, which happily, you will begin very soon.

I’ve been thinking of you lying in that bath you mentioned, waiting to see which card floats up to your chin. It’s a beautiful and moving image that stays with me for many hours.

And those three cards – The Fool, The Star and The Two of Cups – I can read them only too well, but feel that it would be helpful, if not enlightening if we were to explore their meaning together when you come.

Please arrive on Monday at four. I will prepare the basement in readiness. I’m already looking forward to your gift.

Henna has gone, but left me all her decks and gear. We might use them for role-play – to act out some scenarios between Reader and client – or perhaps simply to catch up a little on our lost childhood.

Blessings, and try to hold on till Monday, Aisselle.

As soon as I’d posted the letter in the box down the lane it was as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I celebrated by making a special tinfoil hat, which you can see in the picture with Dainty, who took a fancy to the bobbles.

Till when, Aisselle