Spring Comes to Earth from Heaven
A happy Vernal Equinox one and all!
Star Club celebrated the turn of the year by hosting the wonderful Cristina Pandolfo to speak on Plant Spirits followed by our Open Ritual, the Mithraic Invocation of Sol Invictus, with Sol represented by Fr. Delta.
Nature in Theory and Practice
Our Star Club Cycle training session beforehand was Natural Magic, taught by Dr. Halo Quin, and our new group of Practitioners learned all about the magic found in and around us. Halo is a fantastic teacher and this is one of their key praxes, but don’t take it from me, here’s some thoughts from Cristina:
“Being both a teacher and a student, I have attended many courses, workshops and lectures, and I can say I have experienced one of the most welcoming, kind yet clear classes when participating to Halo’s one on natural magic. Teachings were shared with a composed passion and attention to all participants’ need for a safe space where to learn and grow. Highly recommended.”
High praise indeed, and we’re grateful to Cristina for sitting in with us and giving a brilliant lecture on Plant Spirits. You can find her work and learn more about her at In Lumine Lunae.
A Feast for the Equinox!
I was away on the Isle of Wight for its inaugural Conference of Magick, Art & Medicine - and you can read all about that on The Visible College’s blog here - so Fr. Delta has very kindly written up his experiences of the weekend and its aftermath in his more regular life for us. Presented without annotation or editing (though images my contribution), please enjoy this guest blog post by a Star Club Initiate, the first of many we hope.
Plants, Foxes, Mithras & Sol
A male co-worker in my office approached my desk yesterday and asked, in hushed tones, whether or not I was into Witchcraft... and Rituals.
Such questions rarely crop up in the polished cradle of modern corporate Britain, partly because the answer is often obvious (you know, jewellery and stuff), but mostly because ignorance is bliss and despite being painfully traditional, us Brits are moderately tolerant when it comes to hippies, wizards, stone circles and esoteric symbolism.
And we love our coronations, with vast displays of power and sacred knowledge bestowed upon the illuminated few.
Fr. Delta making a statement during our Headless Rite
Now, I happen to think that on occasion, in the right sort of environment, I can be deathly amusing. Like a vaudevillian hobo-clown, cloaked in swathes of colour, vaping rhubarb and gesticulating wildly when excited. Twisting my limited facial hair and shooting glances through yellow aviators.
I have to insist on remaining measured, wherever possible, with my office banter because this is 2024, I work in management and because HR.
Microaggressions. Badly-timed zingers. They can ruin a career and I have mouths to feed. Plus, I get lippy when ambushed.
Whilst I would normally debilitate my co-worker with hilarious insults, I’m having a mufty day and there’s at least 4 pentagrams that are visible on my skin and clothes.
Meaning…this conversation has to happen.
I have an audience. Certain expectations exist.
I ask him why he’s whispering. Everyone has a ritual.
‘Do you brush your teeth?’, I ask.
He doesn’t. Everyone can tell.
‘Do you begin every day anew, with a fresh clobber of linen and an overwhelming sense of love towards your fellow man?’
He doesn’t.
He never removes his furry mountain coat and his desk is arranged in a manner that reveals he is ready to leave the office at a moments notice. I like to imagine that he has a ‘go-bag’, stuffed with foreign currency, international passports, mace, a taser and all the essential pharmaceuticals. He has at least two burner phones in a lockbox buried near the gazebo on Castle Park.
I tell him I think he’s a spy. We both laugh, but I’m stalling for time. My mind is racing. I’ve been rumbled.
Apparently, the symbolism I’m showcasing is overtly satanic in nature and so I must be a witch.
I stand ready for my trial.
For me, the five-pointed star is balance. Air, water, fire, earth and spirit.
A majestic tightrope walk over columns of blazing inferno, nestled in the rolling green valleys of some unexplored wilderness. Where chaos meets order and they discuss Jungian archetypes over a fresh pot of assam tea and high-grade manuka honey.
They eat lotus biscuits. Tom Petty is there. So is Bowie. Robert Johnson is painting seagulls in mixed media on a hand stretched canvas. Nothing is what it appears to be…
But this is not what comes out of my mouth.
“No, Fr. Delta, building a Wicker Man is not a ‘team-building exercise’…” -HR
In a supposedly enlightened age, a debate around the collective demonisation of ritual practice is not commonplace and therefore I have a responsibility, nay, an obligation to educate, or destroy this man with words.
My overarching ethos in any work-based communication is this;
Be simple. Be direct. Never mince your words, but remain silent when disturbed.
I want to tell him that last weekend, in a bohemian suburb of South Bristol, hidden away in a Quaker Meeting House, surrounded by my tribe of fringe characters, I helped to deliver a eucharist from the Sun. A solar benediction.
I want to explain to him that the fundamental cadence of the Star Club framework, the Mithraic Invocation of Sol Invictus (written by my good friend Sef Salem) and the critical essence of what we do here, is more akin to what is happening in churches and spiritual centres all over the world, this very weekend.
Of course I’m into ritual. Jeez. Look at my arms.
It is not Charles Manson. Nor is it Sam Smiths’ performance at the 2023 Grammys.
I have never killed a goat, but I do start fires.
When I hold a ceremonial spear aloft before the old Zoroastrian god, Mithras, dressed in white, red and gold, I look more like priest at mass than I do a card-carrying Satanist.
Hollywood has much to answer for. It has truly done a number on the conspiracy theorists.
I say none of this, because although the answer is simple and direct, it takes aim at the very bedrock of a persons conviction. Blood has been spilt for less, plus…HR…
So I laugh and take the piss out of his jeans. He looks like a Bon Jovi fan that befell a near fatal plane crash and had to hike across the Himalayas. His knees are raw from the hail storm that is hammering the South West, but it hasn’t doused the fiery Welsh humour that I do so love. They know how to have a giggle.
I laugh enough that I can pretend to need a toilet break, and abracadabra…I avoid being outed as a magician at work.
I am a master of my domain. A silver-tongued wordsmith who can charm his way out of anything.
All the cool Initiates have one
I look down at my phone and there’s a message from Sef reminding me that I’m supposed to do a write up of our ritual for the Star Club website.
I have the ‘Societas Astris’ logo emblazoned in tattoo ink across my inner arm. Right where the archangel Mikael lives.
I think I came out a long time ago. Can’t go back into hiding now.
The Invocation of Sol Invictus
There is an act of rebellion that exists intrinsically within every magical act. Every act of change.
I’m guilty of gesticulating wildly when talking about my experiences, but it’s never as interesting for the listener as it is for me. Like describing dreams, or one of those ‘you had to be there’ stories. When miracles become as perennial as weeds, I find it helpful to adopt the Sef Salem approach.
He smiles, nods and says, ‘yep, that sounds right’. He lights another cigarette and watches me monologue for another 15 minutes, or until I tucker out.
A Solar adoration
I have been a member of Star Club since completing my cycle in Autumn ’22 and the Mithraic invocation of Sol Invictus is a ritual that shifts form with the passing of each season. The altar is adorned with a mottled glass chalice, zinfandel, grape juice, fresh flowers, incense, planetary candles arranged in the shape of the Tree of Life, cakes of light (gluten-free of course) and a ceremonial sword, shield and spear. All of the elements are represented.
The cast of characters include Mithras, (who leads the rite) Sol, Luna, the positive / negative children and our congregation.
I’m carrying a ton of energy lately. My hobo-clown alter-ego has been touched by an energiser bunny.
I sit in on the closed teaching session, held by the marvellous Dr Halo Quin. Partly so I can be disruptive, like any other post-graduate back in school, but mainly because these sessions, as always, are attended by a broad spectrum of creative, intelligent and enigmatic seekers, all moving in the same general direction.
Halo speaks in rich form as they lead us on a pathworking into the very depths of the earth. I’m reminded of my place here. We drop focus and follow our intuition into the sprawling garden behind the meeting house, connecting with nature. I’m drawn to a dead tree trunk lying on its side, peppered with fresh sprouts of new life beside a bubbling brook. I take a moment of silence and return to the house, completely missing a fox as it darts out from under the tree, vaulting over a fence and away.
Halo saw it. I was in my own head.
Foxes are my totem right now, it seems. I’ve never encountered more of them than I have the past few months.
‘Yep, sounds about right’, I hear Sef say. Except he’s not here. He’s on the Isle of Wight, doing his thing.
We are then treated to a talk on plant spirits by the wonderful Cristina Pandolfo. She describes the eternal relationship between plants and the divine. How each is encoded with its own message, its own essence, that can be distilled into its purest form for healing, for connection and for initiation. Nature, shamanism and primal forms of spirituality have always been a passion of mine, even if I walk, talk and dress like a nouveau Thelemite.
And so it is with much gusto that I take on the role of Sol, under the crimson glare of ceiling mounted heat lamps. Spear held aloft, in my white, red and gold attire. The last time we did this ritual, I was blooded and sent into desolation for the winter. It feels right that I come back from the dead. Sunshine is lacking in the UK right now and I’m carrying oodles.
A Tauroctony tableau, only slightly more impressive than ours
Mithras reads the Orphic Hymn for the Sun, which is one of the most beautiful pieces of magical writing I have ever read. I am armed with the elemental weapons, before blessing the altar, the cakes of light, the zinfandel and the grape juice. Myself and Luna offer the eucharist to the congregation. We close with the Star Club framework and perform the super secret grounding ritual.
Brimming with solar power, sugar and light, we head to the pub for a well-earned sherbert.
Star Club after-dark is as much of a ritual as everything else. Cristina convinces me to try a plant burger. It’s very, very good.
This particular ritual genuinely sets me on fire. I would recommend it to anyone, unless you’re carrying a ‘go-bag’ and need to ditch your ceremonial spear the moment the Feds arrive.
In LVX.
- Fr. Delta
Another round of thanks to our Brother for his writing, an inimitable style and full of the rich tapestry of his life. If you enjoyed it, please head over to Doghouse Clowns, his personal blog, and you might find a little more about Star Club tucked away here and there.
That’s all from Star Club for now in our little round-up, but the next Open Ritual will be our Beltane Celebration on 27th April, written by Dr. Halo - we look forward to seeing you there.
Until next time.