Tar-Pit Angel, I Clip Your Bloody Wings: A Binding Spell For Heroin.
{source}
So bewildered, I am.
I have no words, and I stand silent at the edge of these bubbling black-gum tar pits under the full Storm Moon. What notes are contained in your siren song that I cannot hear?
My ears must be immune to your harmony, for all I can hear are the throaty gurgles of those who can no longer breathe. All I smell is hot, gassy death, and all I feel is grief for those I have lost to you.
Dark Angel, I can still see those I once loved struggling in your muck, but they do not look the same.
Not only has their inner-fire — once so bright that it blinded our great sun — been doused so completely by the dripping weight of your twisted euphoria, but their very souls now quiver in the corner of the prison cell you have built for them, trapped under scabby skin and behind glued-shut eyes.
Dark Angel, you owe me, but I come to collect no debt. I must ask, though, how could you possibly repay me? What are the lives of my loved ones worth?
How could you quantify all the good they could have done were they not suffocating in your black tar, your brown mud, and your white smoke?
Dark Angel, you can never fill the void you have created in my world, but I don’t want a damn thing from you.
I see you, Heroin. I see you ruling over this stinking graveyard like a deluded king. Your wings drip as much with the thick stuff as they do with the blood of those whom you’ve kidnapped.
You think they want to be here with you, but you are wrong. Their eyes are stuck closed, encrusted with tears of mourning for the life they will never live. Their ears are full of tar, and their noses can no longer smell anything but you.
These two young men whose corpses bob half-incinerated by your heat were once the most vibrant reflections of the sacred masculine. They had big dreams; did you know that?
He was going to be a pilot, that one, and this one was about to have a son. You didn’t care about the paths their souls had designed for them, did you? You snuffed them out like they were weak candle-flames struggling to burn in a storm.
And this one, this roaming zombie from whom you’ve stolen all mobility. You don’t remember her like I do.
You never opened presents on Christmas morning with her, or watched the sunrise on a beach with her, or cackled like witches around a campfire with her.
Heroin, it was not you who saw her struggle for so many years trying to escape the grip of a twisted childhood. It was me. You have not earned the blood-bond she now has with you, but I have.
You, a demon so foul that just your single kiss can send someone’s entire being into a downward death spiral, will not win. Unpucker your lips, Heroin, for you will not have me. I have never tasted your sweet, numbing escape, nor will I.
Tonight, I have come to call you out of these black tar pits and to cast your crown into the molten stuff. Tonight, I will ignite this slop you call redemption, and I will clip your wings.
I bind you, Heroin. I bind you from stealing any more of the Goddess’ beautiful children. I bind you from luring those innocent ones into your grip and keeping them behind bars of cold, spirit-sucking iron. I bind you as a social disease.
I bind you as a plague on the soul-starved, and I pray you get what you deserve. Dark Angel, you may do no more harm, and you can no longer fly. Die here, you will, but I am taking her with me.
You cannot have her, you evil opiate muse. I spit into your un-dilated eyes, and I call you out for betraying your roots as a natural remedy for those in pain. I cast you out of my world, and I wrap thirteen tight knots around your gnarled wings.
Heroin, you will fall. Even those in your grip see you for what you are, but such dark magick radiates from your hollow heart. You know, you pitiful creature, they aren’t looking for you when you find them. Lost they are, and predator are you.
Heroin, I smash your needles that promise intravenous divinity. Addiction is a spiritual quest gone awry, and you have used this truth to your twisted advantage. So profoundly selfish you are, and so undiscriminating.
You are blind to socioeconomics, culture, and gender; I’ll give you that. To wherever there are those who long to fill a spirit-born vacancy, your tar-dripping wings will take you.
Dark Angel, it ends here. I am but one woman, but I would burn you to the mother-loving ground were I able. I would do anything to get her back, you see, so it’s your wings against mine. Let’s do this.
Their unruined souls are still in there, these ones you have encaged and enslaved, and they dance like diamond-lit holy fire inside the addicted bodies that house them.
Let me ask you this: If I slay you, will they be free? What will it take for you to let them go? For that matter, who am I to make this choice for them, and who are you?
I do not pretend to know you, for I have not tasted a poison so sweet that I could leave all else behind. Heroin, you are no heroine, but I do fear you. Such black magick you must have to control so many!
You are the most demonic creature I know, for you have fooled the ones who could slay you.
Dismissed are the addicts as unintelligent or otherwise inferior. Punish them say the powers-that-be, but it is you, Dark Angel, who is at fault. The loved ones I have lost to you are now so fragile their whole body might crumble like butterfly-wing-ash in a soft breeze. To punish them would be an exercise in such foolish futility, for they are already incarcerated by your hand, you blood-hungry parasite.
Yes, our society has let you in. We opened a portal to hell that we cannot close, and we blame those who are too vulnerable to defend themselves. Broken is this system of ours, but not irreparably so.
On my stronger days, I vow to carry every one of those stuck in your tar-pits on my back to a place where they can never find you again. Today, Dark Angel, I fear this place does not exist, and I only want to take you down.
Heroin, I have looked pure evil in the eye more than once in this short lifetime of mine, but never have I seen a shadow more formidable than you.
I will not bow to you, but I do fear you. I will never taste you, but I will call you an adversary most worthy. I will not go into your tar-pits to get her, but I will be waiting for her if and when she makes her way out.
Heroin, you have stolen my heroine, and never have I felt so powerless. I chant into the night anyway, howling at the Full Moon with all that I am:
Heroin, I bind you!
I bind you, you lying beast!
I bind you. I bind you. I bind you. I bind you. I bind you. I bind you. I bind you.
By my will, so mote it be.
***
Danielle Dulsky is a multi-passionate entrepreneur, energy-healer, Yoga teacher, multi-media artist, and magickal mentor. She holds the highest designation from Yoga Alliance as an E-RYT500, and is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless creators of their sacred work. She is the founder and creatrix of the Living Mandala Yoga teacher training programs, a Reiki Master in the Usui-Tibetan tradition, and long-time believer in Earth-based traditions. Her work is based on sensing and transforming energetic vibrations, empowering individuals to discover their potential for authentic abundance, using artistic practice intuitively, and holding space for women to unearth their inner goddess through the magick of sisterhood. Danielle leads women circles, witchcraft workshops, a teaching coven, and psychic development intensives in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania where she lives with her partner Ryan, sons Bodhi and Sage, and pet-familiars Jeepster and Raven. She believes that all women alive today are meant to be instrumental in supporting the return of the Divine Feminine. You could contact her via email.
***
{Join us on Facebook, Twitter & Instagram}
Comments
Latest posts by Rebelle Society (see all)
- Cemetery of Tears. - May 2, 2024
- My Identity Journey: What’s in a Name? - May 2, 2024
- Cyprus: A Magic Place That Feels Like Home. - May 2, 2024