Bright light city gonna set my soul
Gonna set my soul on fire
Got a whole lot of money that’s ready to burn,
So get those stakes up higher
There’s a thousand pretty women waitin’ out there
And they’re all livin’ devil may care
And I’m just the devil with love to spare
Via Com Busta, Via Com Busta!
We are in the heart of the the Season of the Witch. . . Scorpio Season. . . sliding into All Hallow’s Eve, Samhain, Dia de los Muertos, All Saint’s Day, All Soul’s Day….
we are on …. Via Combusta.
When the sun travels from 15 degrees Libra to 15 degrees Scorpio, which occurs in late October we have entered Via Combusta–Latin for the
Firey Path….. the Burning Way.
This is a dangerous road for celestial bodies to walk…. this is when the veil is thinnest between this world and the spiritual one…
it is now that cultures around the world since the time of our earliest ancestors have used ritual to shield and protect themselves from the spirits that walked the earth. We took our fear and we gave it a name so it could cease to do us harm. We walk among the dead in masquerade of our worst fear so that for this night we are in fact one with it, and it cannot do us harm…. we hide behind the mask of our nightmares and demons to keep safe from our demons. We eat and drink and dance to raise magic to a pitched frenzy as a buffer between us and them… those that walk the pages of Stephen King and the celluloid of Wes Craven.
So why? Why is this the witchiest time of the year? Why is the Via Combusta filled with fear and demonology and malefics?
It’s where the bad to the bone planets do their very most bad ass bad ass work.
The Maleficient of the Solar System, the beautiful got-a-ring-put-on-it Big Bad Wolf Saturn is in his exhaltation in Libra and Scorpio is home to her ruler Mars, traditionally, and now, to her modern ruler as well, the Planet of Death, Pluto. Anytime you have a party and invite these three? It’s pretty much Altamont and you’ve asked the Hell’s Angels to cover security.
No good can happen on Combust Way.
I think of that stretch of road in ghost stories and Supernatural and Twilight Zone and even that 1960’s pop song where there’s a girl by the road and you pick her up… but she was a ghost…. Every small town with a train track has this place in the road. You don’t stop there. You get a chill. You speed up without even realizing it. The Via Combusta. Home to malefic fixed stars capable of disaster and despair. Where the celestial bodies exhibit their darkest qualities. Where angels fear to tread.
Edgar Allen Poe wrote that, “the lights from the sky do not function here.”
The gates are flung open to other realms. Psychics feel the vibration of the dead and hear the messages whispered from deity louder, no longer whispers, but wails from our ancestors and theirs before. Spellcrafting for love can backfire…. spellcasting for money can leave the querant and the practitioner homeless, penniless… only the craft of the dark is responded to with macabre treat not trick.
So we take our dead their favorite foods bargaining with altars of respect and honor. We play loud music and cover our faces and drink while before the air turns frozen and the nights grow even longer still. We become one with what tonight, at least, can no longer hurt us as our revorie calms the Lords and Ladies of the underworld–safe we down tequila terrified and joyous in our realization that tomorrow we may join the cemetary reuinion of our blood, but tonight, tonight, tonight we are alive. Our flickering candles steal the darkness. Our Jack o’Laterns broken teeth tell the dark muraders that pranksters are already afoot here, move on, move on to another. Maybe perhaps next year.
Wear your mask,
drink your liquor,
dance the dance of your life,
feel your life with passion,
play music loud enough
to be reciation in your brain,
eat the cake,
flirt with the reaper
tonight,my love, you are alive.