Bøker av Ly De Angeles

Witchcraft is as old as humanity. In the caves of Lascaux, in modern day France, are the images of the magic of the summoning of the hunt, painted perhaps 20,000 years ago. On the tundra of Siberia, the shaman is summoning a soul back to the body of an ill child, and they do not die. The Northern Paiute introduce the Ghost Dance to unite the living with the dead, to achieve the numbers necessary to defeat the invaders. In Australia an Illapurinja, a woman kurdaitcha, points the bone, and causes a just death, to avenge a severe wrong. Witch is anarchist. Witch is also heretical, in the original meaning of the word: the right to choose. Anarchist, not in the politically divisive slander of misrule, rioting and carnage, but in the sense of having and requiring no leader. Witch is the soughing of a breeze in the treetops and waves, like kelpies, in a hurricane. Witch is desert, and the cobbled lanes of Melbourne, Birmingham, New York, Prague and Brasilia. Witch is the whir and hum of a spindle, binding those known to harm others, with each action. Witchcraft is not a religion. We do not worship. To know more is to read these pages. This gathering of, (mainly) Celtic lore, as well as contemplations, span fifteen years of the author' life. It is hoped some of this work will assist witches, still trapped by the bigotry and condemnation of societal stereotyping, to be true to their practices. To no longer feel the need to explain. This is for my friends, all over the world, who have long informed me they don't want, or need another 101, or 'how to' manual. Come and sit with me. The woodstove is warm, and the candles are lit. I'll make us both strong coffee, or gentle tea. Put your bare feet up on my table, or the hound's'll make you wish you'd taken some advice. Make yourself at home and... stick around a spell.

Celtic mysticism, prior to the Roman invasion of Britain, is written in a scholarly but storytelling weaving - a tapestry of history - because this knowledge would otherwise be hidden. Many books have attempted to present the animism of the tribal people of Albion, called priten for the tattoo art (called "painted people") and most have failed for one reason: the indigenous peoples are described in the past tense, alleging that they have long since died out. The invaders, genocidal perpetrators and colonisers of what is now known as England, Scotland and Wales, Ireland, the Outer Hebrides and more, have attempted to eradicate the lore, law, customs, language, culture and spirituality of us, these first people. In many instances rape and assimilation through force have come close to breeding us out. De Angeles delivers the soul of an ancient but living people, their valour and humor, the struggles they fight to maintain a traditional way of life, and that still live. The author is a direct descendant of Caradoc ap Cunobelin, one of those struggling for self determination.To many reading this it will be the first time they have heard the names of these historic people, let alone celebrate their kinship with them. This could very well be your own family. Forgetting is the sleep of freedom.

SAVAGE - BODYWORKHealth, nutrition, resistance training wildcraft wisdom and a touch of witchAs a young witch, de Angeles learned the of the body/mind/spirit connection. Of living true to oneself and earth. As feisty and formidable as a wild creature at forty, and for many years after, all that knowledge seemed to unwillingly desert her. Because of menopause. Because of betrayal and the social bigotry of gender/age shaming. Warrior-trained, she summoned her inner champion, climbed the abyss of commonly-held profiling and rediscovered the seemingly-forgotten art of living beyond them. Author, witch, healer and scholar, she writes Savage - Bodywork to reassure all women and the odd bloke, to not despair. Take up the cause of self-determination. Be strong, and proud of how you live and who you are. Be that hoodoo hussy they all thought was an insult.At competition-level bodybuilding aged sixty-six, de Angeles teaches the weaving, howling, disgraceful and unconditional journey of limitless individuality.

Witch people, like magicians and sorcerers, conjurers, druids and hoodoo hexers, like cunning women and cunning men, kurdaitchas, shamans, manitous, angakoks, curanderas, bruxas, enchanters and shapechangers are needed in this world. We are the stories not bound by dogma or displayed as relics in a museum. We cause disquiet. We summon questions but it's not our way to give answers. They take us to the wild and the frightening places. The cave entrance under the ice at the base of that crevasse. Blue handprints on the rock face imprinted with an ochre of confusion. By people we cannot name and from a time we cannot confirm. Once Upon a Time people. People of the reindeer. Volcano people.

The Skellig is a woman. Most of the time. On the black of the moon she’s another creature altogether. Insectoid.A deal she made, with the soul of earth known as the Grace, a few thousand years ago. Sometimes, over a couple of days, she’s a bit of both.A desperate escape north is the only hope for thousands of runaways. Guided by an indigenous and immortal starman, the shape-shifting skellig, a Maori mystic named Mukata and Terrence, a scientist who should be the enemy but is not, make the journey. Bull and Rattlesnake Lil drive the silver bullet called the Midnight Express, packed to the rafters with escapees and hybrids. Alice, in his armored all-terrain, raises his rainbow pennant on a fifteen foot high middle-finger to the drone swarms overhead. A militarised force not far into their dust is intent on annhialation. The only escape is beyond the northern border a mighty, raging river, guarded by a mythic race called Álfur. It is live free or die.The year is 2156. Dystopia. Misrule. Pirates, badlands, transdrones, cowboys, rebellion. The story The Skellig tells is one of hope and redemption where hard tech and stainless steel meets legend and myth.