ioqayin:

Lately, I’ve been really drawn to reading through my old grimoires, and feasting upon old ideas that are starting to resurface in my dreams. I used to be fascinated by the idea of turning into animal. Indeed, when I was younger I would often travel in my dreams as a wolf, waking up with what one author called the “wolf spittle”, though at the time I did not realise this was what it was. I’ve been turning into a raven, more recently, but I sometimes still feel the wolf deep within my bosom. 

The old stories of werewolves were never about being bitten, and then turning into a wolf at the full moon. No, they were also, as the witches, separated into groups of werewolves, though I hesitate to call such groups “covens”, the name seems appropriate. If we look even further back we see magicians donning the skins of wolves, and transforming into these dire beasts to roam the world. Or we see berserkers wearing a bear pelt and shapeshifting into terrifying beasts. Sometimes, we read of sorcerers smearing ointments on their skin, which helps them to magically change into an animal. 

This latter idea persisted well into the 17th century. Many accused werewolves claimed that they became wolves by smearing an ointment upon themselves. This is rather reminiscent of the witches using a flying ointment to help them fly to the sabbat. There were some werewolves that claimed to able to go down into hell and battle with other werewolves to stop them stealing crops, which reminds me of the Italian Good Walkers. 

Below I wrote up a quick little ritual inspired by these folkloric myths, as well as a recent re-reading of Nigel Jackson’s The Compleat Vampyr. I want to make it noted that I myself have never attempted this ritual, and therefore it is a work in progress. However, from what I have experienced with spirit flight, this just seems a logical leap. Spirit fills form. To our ancestors, who were most likely in the throes of ecstatic trance, or high out of their minds, the was no separation between their body laying catatonic on the ground and what they were experiencing in spirit flight. Today, many sorcerers experience a sensation of bi-location: of being in their beds, but also having shapeshifted outside of their body. 

That being said, I have seen a pack of men shapeshift into wolves and chase down a deer (also, incidentally, shapeshifted). They were men in body, but wolf in spirit. And they certainly seemed like wolves to me as they ran by, their eyes rolling with feral hunger, a couple of them even so low to the ground that they could have been running on all fours! A good friend of mine has even recounted the story of a man she saw at a festival who was truly a wolf-man, his hair ragged, his nails long and yellow, his teeth ferocious. It is possible to go too far on the path of the shapeshifter, and remain trapped as an animal forever. We must always remember our humanity. 

So, let us begin. 

At the full moon, take yourself away to some liminal place, such as a crossroads, a cave, a border, or even a graveyard. There you shall light candles giving a dim light, as well as certain resins and incensum of an earthly and mercurial nature (pines and such). Face the north, that dark realm of spirits, and begin your incantations. 

There are many traditional incantations of transformation, such as Isobel Gowdie’s famous chant to turn herself into a hare. Perhaps the incantation is spontaneous, making the noises of that which you wish to change into. Or perhaps, as recommended by Nigel Jackson, you intone the name of the Dark Wolf God Volkvh/Pykkulos/Velinas. It is good and appropriate to make a sacrifice at this point, maybe even of a live animal. How visceral. 

Smear noxious ointments of shapeshifting upon your skin. Or perhaps drink deeply of a red wine. Don the pelt of the animal skin, and begin to dance as you chant, and drum. Spirit fills form: Take to the form of a wolf, melding the body to its shape. Howl, growl, snap your jaws, bark, and yip. 

This ecstatic chanting will eventually, if you allow it, lead the body into a state of immobility. From the Sorcerer’s Trance, your consciousness shall fly out and take the form of the wolf. Spirit is malleable, and easy to shape. Your body is to the world as one dead, but the spirit flies free and roams the world as a wolf. 

As you must, you will return to your body. You have died, and have been reborn. And so it is. 

I find it interesting that there are so many parallels between shapeshifting trance, and flying to the sabbat trance. The body lays catatonic, dead to the world. Le petit mort, the little death, the ecstatic trance. 

I do not need to remind you, dear reader, that, because of this vulnerable state of the sorcerer, we are in danger. Whether because of possible spirit possession, or the discovery of the body by less than welcome humans, it is intelligent to guard the sleeping sorcerer with protective amulets and wards. And even better than that is having a trusted friend by your side to watch over your body until you revive.