Tomorrow traditional Daemonolaters celebrate the equinox Rite of Leviathan. This time of year symbolizes the turning of the seasons from summer to autumn as well as the changing of the daemonic elements. Water rules from now until the beginning of winter. It is a period of harvest and contemplation. You can use it to assess how well you have done in the months so far and make plans to tackle any shortfall before winter. It is also an excellent time to over your to-do list and calendar before the end of the year.
Of course, your version of the end of the year may differ from mine. In some pagan traditions, the year ends with Halloween or Samhain—better known in Daemonolatry as the Rite of Eurynomous. To someone coming to Daemonolatry from such a background, this would feel pretty natural. On the other hand, if you are a Daemonolater from a part of the world that celebrates New Year’s Day in March, then even hanging a new calendar on December 31st might feel strange! Both are entirely possible, given how far around the world Demonology is now practiced.
If you are unsure how to approach adding the element of water into your magick, why not ask it directly? Here is a brief guided meditation that I wrote in the spirit of the Equinox rate of Leviathan to help get you on your way.
Spirit of Water Meditation
You stand atop a small hill, with the vast ocean waiting below. Centuries of initiates have walked this slope, wearing natural stairs into the moonlit grass. As you look down at the water, a series of hooded lanterns come to life on each step, one after another. Their flames beckon behind stained glass.
When you are ready, follow the glow of the lanterns to the bottom of the hill. You will find there are nine steps in all. If you have difficulty seeing the lights clearly or feeling the stairs beneath your feet as you descend, try counting every step. Visualize the shape of each number in your mind before you move onto the next. Don’t worry if you cannot picture any of them for very long.
You reach the beach at the end of the hill. It appears that someone has already left offerings to the gods of ocean. Large wreaths bob upon the waves. A few have drifted back onto the sand, carried by the tide. Moonlight mutes the flowers’ colors but it cannot dull their scent. The perfume of clary sage and iris blossoms hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the salty tang of the ocean itself.
Take a moment to drink in the warm night air and revel in the damp sand beneath your feet. Breathe deeper if you like, but not so deeply that you strain your lungs. Let your body relax into a rhythm that feels right for you. Notice how the offered wreaths dance on the ocean and sway with the tide in time with your inhalations and exhalations. Breathe as the ocean breaths, gentle as the night.
Now turn your attention to the sand at your feet. The tide has created a small pool cut off from the rest of the water, the pond no larger than it a dinner plate. It rests between your toes, reflecting the moonlight. Stray petals float on its calm surface.
Gaze down into the water, feeling the warm night air around you. All at once, the water ripples as if stirred by an invisible hand, the petals swirling. The silver reflection of the moon shifts. You look deeper into the pond, and it seems to look back into you.
I cannot tell you how the spirit of water will appear to you, or how Leviathan might choose to communicate. If you haven’t established a relationship with Leviathan yet, any messages could be difficult to hear. Try reaching out with your other senses. What else can you smell? What can you touch? Does what you see in the pool remind you of anything?
Don’t dismiss what the water is trying to tell you now. Remain open minded and open to different sorts of conversations. If you do not need to talk with water or Leviathan about anything specific at this time, consider asking how you can make use of water for purification, protection, or blessing rituals.
When you feel like your time together is done, thank Leviathan and any other spirits that feel appropriate to you. After you have said goodbye, climb back up the hill, visualizing your ascent as clearly as possible. If you need to, see the numbers in your mind again.
The lanterns on the stairs wink out one after another. Finally, only a single light remains, and you stand at the top of the hill. You lift the last of the lanterns in your hand and look back toward to ocean. You can no longer see the scrying pond from where you stand, but you know it remains for you to tap into its power any time you wish.
Ave Leviathan. May this autumn be good to you.