As a piss poor magician, I have been trying to keep my focus on servitors and the manitu of late. My reasons are multi-fold, but the biggest two of those reasons have to do with 1. knowing about a clutch of ancient servitors and 2. dabbling in demonolatry only to get slightly serious after learning that a similar path was the original religious way of my people. But still I am a piss-poor magician, and I think this is why the cosmos smacked me a little bit a few days ago.
Normally my approach to magick is nonchalant. Then one of my beloved cats tore open the cat carrier and ran away from the veterinary parking lot. Trying to find him by asking around and posting flyers wasn’t going to get anywhere, and I knew it. I had to take that further step above.
First I turned to my servitors with no results. I wasn’t surprised. As days passed my anxiety grew, and then I knew. I was going to have to go crying to someone with more reach than the servitors.
It took me a while to figure out just who to go to. Faced with this situation I actually didn’t want to go to the obvious answer – Bastet, cat goddess of Egypt, because that’s what everyone does. I opened books and looked on the internet at various names, trying to find someone who wouldn’t have such a long line of people waiting to pester them. Indeed it was with much reluctance that I finally turned to Bast.
How I did the actual approaching I guess is important only in that everyone has their own unique ways of doing things. For me, one of the strongest ways I use to create a Work is to do things with my hands. In the old days, I used to work with paint and canvas. Spirits used to approach me often for their portraits to be made. It was interesting.
Drawing a circle and doing all that solitary ritual stuff literally has little effect for me. I knew it, and where I had been lately trying to use the ritual methods in a half-ass attempt to be less of a piss-poor magician I was desperate. I opened Photoshop, grabbed my light pen, and I began to ‘pray’.
I was with her immediately. For me these experiences are a lot of empathic remote viewing, so I felt her affirmative nod more than saw it. It wasn’t a yes so much as a “I hear you and I agree with your request”. (They speak in tiers you know.) Then she requested a portrait from me. I hadn’t received such a request in so many years, I admit I chuckled and said out loud, “Okay. I can do that.”
I worked all through the night, putting on the final flourish as the sun was rising. I have embedded the image in this post. The sun? She insisted on that sun although I didn’t know why at the time. The wings? She actually guided my hand some, which is why their style is a slight bit more detailed than my usual kind.
As it was finished she changed her tune from ‘Yes your cat was coming home.’ to ‘No I’m not going to do it but I will you shall see.’ I thought maybe she was disappointed in my work, that I had taken too many artistic liberties or something. I also doubted the final message I had received, a bad habit but one can lie to themselves so easily.
Then I looked her up a bit and I learned why she wanted that sun, as well as other things. It was amusing.
Twenty-four hours later it happened.
The husband left for work early in the morning, and I was still awake from handling some odds and ends in the office. Suddenly he drives up, rushes inside, and hands me a kitten; a little orange kitten who happened to look exactly like my cat gone astray.
The husband explained that the kitten appeared suddenly at the door to the gas station as if it had been waiting for him. The lady at the counter told him that it would let no one near it. However, the little guy crawled right up into the husband’s shirt like my other cat used to do. And purred, and purred, and melted into my arms to purr some more. He had decided he was with the right people, as if he knew to expect it.
I wept when I realized this kitten had been sent from Bast, because I knew it meant my other cat would not be coming home. I had suspected he didn’t make it out there in town, because I had dreamed he jumped on the bed. In the dream I knew he had actually truly returned and it wasn’t a dream. My cats all tend to come back to me this way, and they may hang around for years before moving on.
So clutching this tiny gift from a goddess, I tried so hard to be thankful. But I could only feel sorrow. The kitten in turn didn’t let me out of his sight for 24 hours, looking me in the eyes and purring softly. Goddess only knows what was going on in that tiny cranium of his.
It’s a day later and the little guy has no name yet. It will come to me, as with all the other kittehs in my care. Dinkus maybe. Ha. He already has become part of the household. The other cats barely even hiss at him – not normal in case you don’t know cats – and he’s even litterbox trained.
Of course we have to make sure we haven’t somehow gotten someone’s beloved and lost pet. It wouldn’t be right to do to someone else what is happening to me. Even though we’re pretty sure he was sent to stay. And I admit to still hoping Mongo makes it home.
Thank you, Bastet, for making as good as you could on my request. You could have said no. You chose a path of love instead. Whatever is name his going to be, I’m sure he’s going to pick something appropriate.