Dress yourself in royal vestments of yellow and golden silk, and put a crown of gold on your head, and likewise a golden ring on your finger, and equip yourself in the manner of the great men of the Chaldeans, because the Sun is the lord of their ascension.”    -Picatrix, Bk3 ch7

Hello again friends,

It hasn’t been quite a month, but I couldn’t help writing once more before the Winter Solstice- one of my favorite annual marked days. I don’t say holiday because it’s not something I often celebrate – at least not in the same way one celebrates Halloween or Labor Day or a birthday.  I mark the day- I notice it, I think about it, I appreciate it.  I draw it into my sphere of attention and intention, where it colors my ongoing personal celebrations -as well as my trials, stumbles, and the moments of self doubt that arise.

In Spring we think of plantings, flowerings, beginnings.  In Summer, sweat and exertion; an overflowing 
golden-ing.  In Fall, a harvest, a shortening of the sunlight.  And in Winter, a magickal darkness into which all life must sink- with which all life must sync.

An exercise:

Using the symbols and sensations that you personally associate with each of the seasons, superimpose in your imagination these marked days onto your breath cycle. Breathe in– this is the swelling of Spring at it’s Equinox.  Lungs full, hold your breath in taut balance, chest and stomach stretched- this is the apex of Summer Solstice.  Breathe out, deflate, contract- the fallen leaves and ripe pumpkins of the Autumn Equinox are in accord with your exhalation.  And now pause: empty, silent.  This is Winter’s cold Solstice, the world’s great Waiting. And at that bleak precipice, when the lungs revolt and the air rushes in, the cycle begins it’s next turning.

This isn’t dogma; this isn’t proscription- just a game.  If you’re reading this in Sidney or Buenos Aires then it is summertime and our cycles are each transversing the other.  The Sun does its thing. Maybe it doesn’t even notice us down here, sprouting and falling like funny little mushrooms.  After all, it isn’t the Sun that returns midwinter, it’s us, rounding the bend again in our tilted ark.

~

If you have been reading along since my first newsletter, you may remember my promise of EXCLUSIVE CONTENT.  As we traverse this arc in space together, please enjoy a short living room session I recorded for you: a sci-fi sonic prayer distilled from a longer piece, improvised on drum and keyboard.

https://tinyurl.com/MilkFromTheStars

~

Work is progressing now on a new publication that will be, in part, a reprinting of two somewhat psychedelic  LOST INTERVIEWS I conducted several years ago in the broken kaleidoscope of Los Angeles CA. The first is with musician and spiritual explorer Djin Aquarian of the infamous Source Family (and guitarist for the family’s pioneering psych- rock house band YAHOWA 13.)  The second is with British writer, prankster, and scatological philosopher Stewart Home, controversial author of Defiant Pose, Come Before Christ and Murder Love, and The Assault On Culture: Utopian Currents From Lettrisme to Class War among many other prurient tomes.  The two interviews were originally published approximately ten years ago in Applesauce Smutzine, the print run of which was ridiculously small- I myself don’t even have any copies of the original issue and so I had to hunt the material down from friends whom I’d hoped had saved theirs!

In this new pulp, the interviews will stand alongside my own original writing and photo ephemera, to contextualize the conversations within the chaotic, polluted, and magical landscape of that time in LA ‘s cultural undergrounds.

This project will hopefully see release early in the new year. 

(((  In the meantime, consider as a belated stocking stuffer or New Year’s treat my previous release:
 A QUANTUM CONVERSATION WITH LAVENDER COUNTRY   tinyurl.com/lavendercountryzine   )))

~

I said I don’t often celebrate the Winter Solstice but that’s not entirely true.  This year my family pod is preparing our own crude version of a yule log to burn in celebration of Winter and the Solar Return.  We’ll drill out some holes and stuff it with herbal offerings and written wishes for the coming seasonal cycle. We’ll light it for Love and for our honored dead who came before and have gone ahead.  In marking the day we set it apart from others- in seeking the essence of it we observe a diversity of winter festivals and rituals held throughout the season, as well as saluting the stoic coldness of those who hold no celebration. 

The Sun does it’s thing.  

As I walk this morning there are crows everywhere and they know this is their day.  A fog is hanging through the hills and the Moon is nearly full.  May she shine upon the swelling immanence of your own dreams and aspirations! 

Jason Triefenbach

Portland Oregon
December 17 2021