Taming Fire
“The Flame of the Forge is the Lair of the Snake,
It remembers the Gods that some men forsake.”Frater ADK, “The Charm of the Forge”, in. Psalterium Caini (The Psalter of Cain)
Fire, Walk With Me.
It is said the oldest fairy-tale preserved is the one of the Smith and the Devil, dating back hundreds of years and showing just as many faces and retellings across different cultures. Despite local variance, the story always revolves somewhat around a Faustian pact of sorts, wherein a Smith strikes a bargain with the Devil to gain the power to wield any material, and ends up using his newly gained metalworking and smelting abilities to outwit him, thus reneging on the contract. But the multiple versions of the myth[1] retain a plasticity which, aside from conveniently fitting appropriate values, is in itself relevant to the deeper occult patterns expressed in the lore at stake here. The language of fairy-tales is a fiery thing, words mutating and mating, sending tendrils into the imagination of the beholder and sinking deep into our subconscious to impregnate it. To magical practitioners, the symbols do tend to become rather literal indeed.
In occult circles, the figure of the blacksmith occupies, quite rightfully so, a fascinating crossroads where myth, symbol and significance interact, intersect and intertwine. The mighty Forge where raw power is birthed in furnace, refined on the Anvil, and distilled in weapons and knives, this alliance of iron and fire, quenched by cold water, naturally echoes an almost alchemical transmutation of the practitioner going through blazing trials, and “charring soul from flesh and flesh from bone”, which seems to be the common ordeal in so-called spiritual initiations or “Deaths” – where one gives up everything they are for everything they could become. This iconography brings to mind a rich, vivid set of images bearing immense resonance: the red-hot iron “Mark of Cain” branded on the Witch’s brow; the concept of Higher Inspiration as “Fire-in-Water”; the “Lanthorn of the Dragon’s Flame[2]” (the “Devil’s candle in the dark[3]” burning betwixt the horns of the Witch Father and allegedly said to light the “Witch-Fire”); Mars in Scorpio – arguably a blacksmith’s placement – holding its claws like metal tongs and burrowing its sting deep into the ground (immunity of poison through creation and cultivation of poison); the Red Serpent-Power of the Land; or yet again the divine Star-Fire of Gods, Angels and Grigori. From Tubelo to Brighid of the Hammer, from Azazel to Archangel Michael and the demons slayed under his flaming sword, from the pyres of Hell to the blinding rays of the Sun, Solar and Martial beings alike abound and respond to the divine call of the Forge’s Fire within Western occultism, singling out the blacksmith as doing, to some extent, the Devil’s work still[4]. Exactly who the Devil is is a question for endless consideration, but what that Work, that Forge, and that Anvil might be, however, is a Mystery that has to be determined by the Aspirant. Such traditions as the Clan of Tubal-Cain or, largely, the Cultus Sabbatii, may hold some of the answers… but so do quieter folk lineages.
My solstice fire, 2020 – frankincense resin and freshly cut juniper burnt on the coals.
Fire in the Head, Fire in the Heart, Fire in the Hands
“Taming Fire” is an article opening this blog in hope of humbling shedding some light and sharing my perspective on an important topic paradoxically oftentimes overlooked in magical communities. It concerns itself with the subject matter of the manipulation of occult “Fire” as a performative metaphor for the Witch or Magician’s Power, broadly questioning its provenance, uses, cultivation and employment. The place I come from is one of a Witch myself, Cunning Woman and Fairy Doctor–the latter, it is to be expected, seemingly counterintuitive with regard to all the fairy lore emphasizing the hatred of the Gentry for transformed / processed metals in general, and iron in particular. As a mark of civilization, indeed, blacksmithing raises a particular cosmology in which the powers of the spheres of Mars, Blood and Iron, dominate the mind of Men to the understandable dislike of the People Under The Hill, still dwelling in wild, « untamed » places – Themselves, it should be acknowledged, skilled craftspeople, if in entirely different domains of expertise.
The shift in perception concerning the nature of Fire itself as an element being both sacred and profane, purifying and defiling, comes from a complicated set of representations encompassing both Pagan and Christian perspectives. Once holy because it procured light and warmth against the horrors of the night and the winter season, allowing nomad settlements to sedentarize in the first simulacrum of society, then invited inside the hearth to cook for the household, turning a house into a home, carefully smoored under the ashes and re-kindled at quarter days, Fire came to be vilified under Christian law in profit of Light itself (as a more abstract but elevating concept), now cognate to the infernal mouths of demons below Earth – yet still retaining some of its transformative properties.
Likewise, blacksmiths held a specifically liminal status in society, and the « folk-ore » surrounding the smithing profession teaches us valuable lessons regarding this vital figure who seems indeed to have been bestowed with magical powers, thus acquiring authority over matters of life and death, and igniting phantasms not unlike those associated with midwifery – both professions granted occult implications, both ever present where the taboo lies, both feared, revered, and condemned for their closeness with vulnerable states of existence. According to the aforementioned fairy-tale of old, the blacksmith’s ability to « tame fire » and refine the ore into workable tools was suspicious at the best of times, and only his vital role in society protected him from the violence of his peers. Thus the blacksmith often was a marginal figure. Such was his supposed daily connection with chthonic or « hellish » powers, beliefs, such as the water used to quench weapons being an admissible substitute for baptismal water in case of proper holy water shortage (the blacksmith effectively taking the place of the priest), persisted and endured quite later on in rural areas – sometimes up until the XXIst century. And such is the depth of the blacksmith’s influence underpinning the existing links between fire and magic, that mapping out its entire territory exceeds, by far, the pretensions of this essay – not to mention the author herself has, as of yet, little to no practical understanding of the intricacies, subtleties, and demanding complexities of blacksmithing per se. What should now become quite apparent, however, are the obvious parallels to be drawn between the blacksmith and the magical practitioner.
Whether Witch or Magician, initiate or profane, Ceremonialist or folk magic weaver, we all tap into a specific burning source of Power located within ourselves – whether taking the form of a coiled Red Snake tied to the Land or a spark of Divine Fire – that we can awaken at will, tame, and put to magical use. Much like metal on the anvil, such power is to be worked and refined by improving our tech and knowledge, and by building up various skills, from prophecy and healing to outright sorcery. Some would explicitly designate the Soul as the seat of such Fire, although the Head, the Heart, the Hands, the Bones, the Blood and sometimes even the Genitals have all seemed acceptable alternatives depending on tradition, which certainly should now strike the practiced occultist as indisputably logical. Such Fire is of a warrior-like quality – a weapon in its own right. It is lit when want and necessity arise, ignited and employed both in service of the self and the extended community or tribe. Such is the place of the occultist wielding fiery powers that, akin to the blacksmith, we stand at a crossroads of influences, bestowed with gifts we snatched and cultivated in concealed darkness. With proper stimulation we kindle, raise, and direct our Fire, much like the blacksmith uses his own tools: hammer, horn, tong, wedge or cisel. According to lineage specifics carefully shrouded from outsiders, we instill change in the world through the sheer Steel or Iron Pin of our Will, driven into the soft, melting parts of the universe – prong and needles with which to weave a thread of the Wyrd. The question of the Witch-Body as the Forge, or the Magician-Mind as the Anvil, stays open and has yet, to the best of my knowledge, to be seriously discussed among contemporary occultists and communities. Gods’ interferences, spirits’ gifts, pacts, oaths, vows and bargains, all colour the nature of this personal power with specific inclinations – you become what you work with. Suffice to say, for the purpose of this research, that Magic has an almost physical quality, some kind of burning weight of its own, and that it is very much a tangible thing that can be felt, like a strange extra limb not unlike some wings or tail (including by non magical practitioners). Once lit, this Magical Fire grows to consume everything in the occultist’s life, with demanding authority, as it needs its own special care and nourishment – some regular feeding to be kept pure and sing power in our bones. Thus it is all about encompassing strength and moving energy, which are arguably abstract fiery metaphysical things coincidentally very much tied to the Work of both the Smith and the magical practitioner. We temper and shape : we share the fire.
In many ways, spiritual initiations, such as they are, are meant to shape the spirit in certain ways, much like an armour forged by the heat of the heavens and tempered by the dark, chaotic waters of creation. The crux of the matter is in the process of transformation itself. Initiation means a beginning. We might talk, of course, about how witches are marked, in some capacity – sometimes more literally than others. But changing for power to be more like the spirits you work with isn’t just a side-effect, it is also a price; and not just that, but a core part of the operation. The most dramatic results always come from the transmutation of one nature to another. The spirits themselves in truth seem to me less aerial in nature than fiery, which now comes as an oddly appropriate affirmation – the practice of burning offerings to disintegrate their essence in smoke proving also, to some extent, this subtle linkage. Interesting as the parallels between a witch’s or disciple’s initiation and the blacksmith’s work are (the specifics of which being, of course, debatable), the point of the price of such an initiation is not that it is a regrettable cost that must be dutifully paid because that is the way of things, in some dull and mundane fashion, but rather, that when it is right, the price is met with joy, even jubilation. Much like the blacksmith of the fairy-tale, the Witch strikes a bargain they can hardly go back from, but this is not to say they can’t devise cunningly about it. The plunge or quenching is taken when it is time for it to be taken, and the act of paying the cost is where transformation truly happens – for in terms of payment, timing is, always, an integral part of the magical laws. Quite plainly put, the undertaking of the Forge’s trials, of the Anvil’s work, and the practice of smiling up at the Hammer, give a power that dabblers simply cannot match – a Baptism by Fire.
“See the flame flowing from hand to hand to hand throughout history. The Witch-Fire, the burning in the blood, from teacher to student, growing and adapting and changing and never lost. And it lays there, waiting, and we find it again and take a piece of the fire from the hands of our Mighty and Beloved Dead. Their hands to our hands and their mouths to our mouths, and so the fire passes on.”
So did my teacher once say to me. And so this proposal aimed to demonstrate and articulate, with more or less satisfactory defense, that every Witch or Magician is, arguably, a blacksmith in potential. This is a call for action. Now to go on, and fuel our own Fire.
[1] The most recent and accessible of which probably being the movie Errementari by Paul Urkijo Alijo, Netflix, 2018.
[2] Gemma Gary, « The Light Betwixt », in. The Devil’s Dozen. Thirteen Craft Rites of the Old One, Troy Books, 2015, p.100.
[3] Gemma Gary, op.cit.
[4] Cody Dickerson, in. #039 – Forging Iron Spirits With Borealis Ironworks, Glitch Bottle Podcast, 2019.