Cloven Hoof-Prints of the Master

Cloven Hoof-Prints of the Lord of Sorcery: Searching for the Witchfather
A Meditation on the Path of the Turnskin, the Master of the Witches, And His Secret
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Copyright © 2007
By Robin Artisson
From The Horn of Evenwood
Available Now from Pendraig Press.

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I.

"Witchfather, double-headed and two-faced Master, whose head is encircled by the savage horns of the fertile goat, all prayers raised by the faithful are known to you. Here, surrounded by white dust, in the presence of holy fire, with blood shed from our left hands and our tongues anointed with salt, we make the grand invocation by which you are praised and worshipped."

* * *

In my own experience of Witchcraft, there is no Craft apart from the Master. For those of you who don't know who or what the "Master" is, let me say that I don't really know who or what he is, either. For the longest time I tried to figure it out; I searched the pages of history, the corners of forests, the depths of my mind and the minds of others, and everywhere else I could think of to solve the mystery of it. Once or twice, I found cloven-hooved tracks that disappeared into page margins, into undergrowth, or into dreams that couldn't be remembered. This went on for quite a while before I found what I needed to find the most subtle spirit of all.

The Witchfather has existed in every era of human history, and in the countless eras before that. He's been worshipped as God, feared as a devil, and sought by the wise in thousands of forms and disguises. For all that, he can't rightly be called a God, an angel, a devil, a spirit, or a man. Sure, he is those things, depending on who you ask, but he's also none of those things. If you try to catch him, you'll find that it's impossible.

This is because he's a turnskin, a master shape-shifter, who has no "native" form which can be caught. One of his greatest tricks is to slip out of any net, any trap, even the traps of death and mortality. Many of those who seek for him hope to learn that trick, so that they can join him among the throngs of the deathless who enjoy a perpetual existence in the unseen world, but few learn it.

It has nothing to do with the Master not wanting to teach it; he's been teaching the secret to immortality since the dawn of time. It's his task, his way. It has to do with people not wanting to go the distance they need to go; not wanting to pay the piper, as it were, for his wisdom. It has to do with people not wanting to make the sacrifice demanded. Nothing's free, after all.

But what the Master wants isn't money or property; he wants your cherished beliefs about who and what you are; he wants your soul. If you are any one thing in particular, you can be trapped. He wants you to shed your skin like one of his favorite disguises- the serpent- and slither beyond the snares of delusion. Long ago, under the power of a very real spell of deceit, you decided that you were this way or that, that you were this person or that person, thriving or suffering, living or dying. Whatever you decide about yourself, it will be so.

When you make up your mind about the way you are, you cast a net around yourself. When you make up your mind about who the Master is, you cast a net over him. This is no problem to him; his immortal cleverness has long ago seen the way out of any net. He changes his shape and slips away. Things aren't as easy for us.

When you look to see the Master, he'll look like something or someone. Try as you might, you will only seem him one way, because even though you have more than one pair of eyes, you have learned to use only one pair. He has two faces, and if you can only see in front of you, he sees in front, behind, and all around. He looks into the world that we know, and into the world that we don't know, at the same time. He sees beyond the end and the beginning, beyond life and death. Real sight is like that- there's nothing it excludes. If you saw him with the same sight by which he sees you, then you'd know what you most dearly want to know- both about him, and about yourself.

II.

"From the threshold of the unseen, glare with your double-gaze and appear in your many forms, great Turnskin God."

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The Turnskin changes his skin, his shape, his form, with the ease of flowing water. The moment you've pinned him down, you find yourself staring at the bare ground, the empty sky, a dim forest, or just handfuls of dust. What you thought was a fleshy body is just bare white bone, and when you grasp for the bones, they turn out to be slivers of light on the ground. No matter where you look or how, he evades you. But even in his evasion, he's never lacking in presence. This is what you need to hear, and why the devil of the witches cannot be expelled by prayers, no matter how pious.

The Master isn't trying to hide from you. He adores worship, and appears to any who gather in his name. In some way, he IS the sound of his name. The very thought of him conjures him. He's not trying to hide; he's trying to reveal himself in the most powerful way he can. He wants us to realize a secret about him, because if we can have this realization about him, we can realize it about ourselves. And then, the light will shine without end. What's the secret?

The secret is that he has no original or native form, no beastly body, no human form, and no godly or immortal form. That's why he's the master shape-shifter, the immortal, the most clever, the living secret beyond words and ideas, beyond measures of time and vast deeps of space. This is how he opens the Eye above the Eyes that sees everything; this is how he is able to be whatever he needs to be, at any given time, when the gaze of any human falls on him.

III.

"Called by many names and limited by none, Master, Andras, Bel-Bucca, Lordly, Strong, Handsome, Bestial, Seductive, Cunning, Ancient and Wise One, teacher of the Royal Art to women and men, radiant with the light of the Supernal sphere; Azarach-Theraza, great and princely One, descend and be among us again."

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If you ask the Master his name, he may tell you one. But it's more likely that he'll say he's been called by many names in his long existence. This is true; he has been. And those names, they are all right, all names for him. And they are all wrong, in a way, because no given name can really suffice to label the Master at all times.

If you decide that you have his name at last, you'll feel powerful and happy for about a week. Maybe a month. Some poor fools may feel that happiness for the rest of their lives, but all of the Knowers of His Name share the same Fate. One day when they reach into their bag of tricks, looking for his name, they find only fragile, dead leaves. They panic, search harder, and crush the leaves to powder. The gold they found has revealed itself to be fool's gold, lumps of iron or coal.

Your name will abandon you. If you last till the end of your life with that "secret name" that was revealed, you'll die and walk the Roads of Reversal like all of the dead. You'll call on that name to spare you from the terrors of the grave, but it'll fail. You'll feel abandoned, betrayed. The Master will be sorry, but he can't help being what he is. He's wily, he's the hare that no dog can run down and no snare can hope to seize.

The most clever being in any world doesn't fail. He has no choice but to escape from your traps. He knows what happens in those traps; he can see the pain and suffering of human beings and animals, all of whom get caught in traps of some kind, and who even define themselves by their styles of imprisonment. Besides, the Master didn't get the title "Master" by letting any little poor man or woman who wants to seize at the hems of his robes catch him. He's the Master because he outstrips the cleverness of every other being in the world- unless, of course, that being learns their lesson well, and unseals the secret of true cunning. Then they can rightly claim the title "master" as well, and join the mercurial lord in the neverending chase through day and night.

IV.

"Thrice-Great Master, Orvendale, Archer, praised by us as the Lord of Light and excoriated by foolish men as the devil, Let your horned serpent wrap around us, white and mysterious, from the roots of our bodies to the crowns of our skulls. Let our bodies become the trees of knowledge; let our bodies become the trees of life, in the gardens and meadows of the Goat."

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Lord of Light? Devil? Absolutely. His light is the light of realization, and he's quite the Devil to any person who thinks that they have figured out who they are, and who he is. When you know too much about yourself, you are chaining yourself to the rock that will one day drag you down below the water to drown. When you know too much about the Master, he will fail to live up to your expectations, and then you'll hate him. He won't offer you the comfort you seek, and you'll curse his name, calling him "betrayer", "traitor", "liar", "father of lies", "most unclean", and "tempter".

At that point, you won't want to hear it, but the truth won't go away: you only ever lied to yourself. The Master makes no statements, no promises, and no oaths save one: "I will show you the light if you will look."

Looking is hard, because we've spent a considerable amount of time telling ourselves that we shouldn't look in that direction. But wisdom is there, hiding in plain sight, waiting for us to give up what we've told ourselves and just turn around. Turning around is like dying, like taking a risk for love, or like getting flipped upside down. For a moment, nothing is clear, and then... then life continues on, but no one knows where it's going to go from that moment on.

And not knowing is the greatest blessing of all. What, were you living for some fictional "happy ending"? There is no ending. Life is right here, in that moment of blissful uncertainty, that moment of great possibility which is every moment of your life, if you want it to be. Anything can be, and everything is. So what were you doing, after all? Where have you been? Did the bitter fruit of the tree of knowledge taste good? You didn't act like you enjoyed it; you started weeping and laughing like a madman the moment you tasted it.

The Master told you that the fruit of that tree was the sweetest fruit there was. A lie? You thanked him quite a bit when you were in the midst of passion and pleasure, but began cursing his forked tongue when pain seized you. Maybe he meant something else when he said "sweet". Trickery you say? Double meanings? He can't help being what he is; he can't help it if you weren't sensible or clever enough to read the warning disguised in his words. At any rate, there's no going back now. Remember this lesson, for as long as you exist: words often have two meanings, and you are responsible for both, whatever you decide.

V.

"From the great inheritance of the House of the Satyr springs discovery, and from discovery comes knowledge of the world that is Unseen, that mankind might triumph over death and our spirit endure the grave. By the hands of the cunning and the wise, the Earth gives bounty in great share and all face the endless march of the seasons with new hope."

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In the depths of any darkness, hope lives. The Master has been that way, too. He's held a lamp of hope-light out in the deepest pits of darkness, giving us all a star to guide ourselves by. Despite our unfailing ability to stumble into our own traps and become tangled in them for entire lifetimes, we have another gift: the ability to make the best of bad situations.

While still cobwebbed up in our own nonsense, we've managed to make ourselves very comfortable; from the most primitive technologies to the beating of glowing hot metal, to the modern day with its double-edged wonders, we've been the world's greatest example of defeat in triumph, and triumph in defeat. Not one nor the other, humans are the halfway children of the world.

Maybe that's what being a human is all about- when you're up, you're up, and when you're down, you're down, but when you are only halfway up, you aren't up or down. How long can that tension last? Won't we tilt and finally go one way or the other? I think the Master would say "no, of course not". We'll be halfway until we know the Turnskin's Secret, and then, like him, we won't be any certain "thing" at all. Could there be a greater freedom?

We like to think that moderation must rule the world; that fair, moderate, simple ways of life exist as reflections of some higher truths. We love to say that life is rational, love to believe that we can apply a few simple ideas to our lives and escape most of the pain of living by avoiding extremes. We like to think that if we do this long enough, we can find some real answers.

The Master teaches otherwise: you're either free, or you are plunged into nightmarish traps of nonsense and soul-crushing stupidity. There's no middle ground. When we call ourselves "stuck in the middle", or "evolving to something better" or "between heaven and earth", that's just us trying to make ourselves feel better about our situation. It's more silvery nets of deceit, spun by our own minds and draped around us by our own tongues. It's the words of people buried alive who are trying to convince themselves that being stuck in a suffocating hole in the ground isn't so bad.

VI.

"Over each life you appoint one of your deathless ministers to watch and guide, and summon that life to the Secret Inward Path when the Fate of death is finally ordained. Goat-horned, sharply hooved, serpent-eyed, wolf-taloned, beautiful of face, terrifying initiator, we have no allegiance higher than our pledge to you. You have a crown of roses and fire-circled horns, and you protect your faithful."

* * *

The Master might pity us a bit, or maybe he doesn't. Whatever he thinks- which would be impossible to pin down- he is very busy, a hunter of souls. He's going around the world, looking for people who have made it to the crossroads. He wants to initiate people into the essential mystery of life. He's not just a devil, a trickster, who takes things from people- he's a savior, too. The hand that takes is the hand that gives back; the sword that kills a man is the sword that brings him to life. Maybe the Master pities us, or perhaps even an immortal being such as himself must finally be moved by the tears of the world. Whatever the reason, he waits for us at the crossroads of this world. He can always be found there.

Most people think of crossroads as physical places only. But this isn't true. While the Master can be found at the actual crossroads out in the fields or wilds, those aren't the only junctures, the only forks in the road that he can be discovered at.

When you stand at the crossroads, you are standing in the realization that you have a serious choice to make. On the left hand, there is a grinding storm of pain and terror, of blind, drunk passions and wonderful imagination and ideas. That is the way of death, though if you were to go that way, you would find yourself very much alive. On the other hand, the right hand, there is a great, mysterious freedom, something you cannot even begin to gaze upon, and which offers no clean assurances. That is the way of life, though if you were to go that way it might mean the death of everything you've known, cherished and loved.

There's no middle ground. It's a true crossroads, a fork in the road, a fork in your mind. The Master is there, standing there, waiting for you to choose. He has a golden stang, blazing with light, and he gazes at you with two faces. One face looks to life, the other to death. What will you do? Who are you? What are you? The question and the choice isn't going to go away.

You have a feeling that going to the left isn't the answer. You've been down that road before, so many times. The right would seem to be the way to go, but the uncertainty that hovers about it checks your will and paralyzes your feet. Maybe you'll follow the left way one more time. Just once more- there IS, after all, pleasure there, and some of the greatest times you have ever had. There are many people there you love, and you don't want them suffering without you. That's what it means to love people, after all, right?

The temptation rises and draws you towards the left, and forgetfulness. The Master merely watches; this is your choice, after all. Suddenly you stop- this is a trick! Nothing is as it seems here! This is a place of great reversal! If you go left, won't you really be going right? Fair is foul and foul is fair. Your eyes dart to the mask of the Master who is still watching you. He's not giving any hints.

Must this choice, this most important of choices, be made with a coin toss? Must you randomly pick a direction and go, not knowing if that road is what you thought or hoped it was? You cannot remain; a choice must be made, even if you don't have the information you need to make the choice. Blind and yet responsible for seeing, you hurl down the road you finally choose, not knowing where it goes. Is this life? Death? Is this the road to paradise? Or hell?

Hopefully, you will have realized something amidst this terrible and wonderful initiatory experience: because if you realize the secret being shown to you here, a miracle will happen: you'll find yourself back at the fork in the road. You never moved. The Master, however, will have changed. His body will fade into light and become a third road. And you will walk it. And that is all that can be said about that.

If you didn't realize the secret, you'll also see a light down the road you chose... but where will it lead? Can you guess? I'd tell you, but I don't think you'd believe me. And who knows- Maybe you shouldn't.

VII.

" In every time and place your power is known, Triple-Horned world-creating spirit. You go among mankind in the deeps of his winter when the gate of solstice opens under the northern stars, heralding the time of night, the time of wolf-terror and the season of unforgiven dead who wander. In the white fields of snow and under the frost-hardened boughs of trees you fly to and fro, a spirit of warmth and radiance, the candle-light of the dead, ready to sleep in the bed of holly and reveal the pathway to life eternal."

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In every time and place, the Master has been known, worshipped, and feared. He's been sought, loved, hated, and wondered at. You may hate him at some time in your life, but he won't care. He'll like you well enough. You may love him at another time in your life, and he'll really appreciate that, but he won't be playing many favors, because he knows you better than you know yourself. He knows better than to trust emotions, which are as mercurial as he is.

Many modern people seek for the Master in the past, in the pantheons of old, and that's a good place to look, all things considered. You can find hints, find names, find ideas, even find your way. But if you make nets out of the faces of the ancient Gods, the Master will escape you, slip your nets, and leave you wondering if your beliefs and efforts have all been nonsense. That's not his fault; he doesn't want to leave you in doubt forever; he wants you to stop making nets, and free yourself.

It's madness, but it's true- the still hand captures the bird. If you don't have me, the Master says, you have me. Grasp at me, and I will always escape you. Open your hands and go still, and I will come to settle in your palms, a golden light of perpetual truth, and we will be together forever. But don't miss the irony- I am not a golden light; you are a golden light, and you make me into a golden light. I cannot let that net fall over me, I will have to slide away and vanish, after giving you a moment of warmth.

So let go, the Master says; let the light go out. Do this now, and you will know what I have to tell you, and death will be banished forever. If you don't do this, it will be done to you. One day, you'll be lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling, taking labored breaths, watching the light go out. You'll wish then that you had done it now.

VIII.

"Master Pouck, Harvester of Souls, You give your blessing to the corn-spirits and circle the court of their Straw-Crowned King, knowing his death and his life, and teaching mortals to be not afraid of the passions and deaths which are their Fated portion. You fly to death, and suffer the spear-wound, the blast of a thousand arrows of stone and steel, and the thick intoxication of hate and death, and yet you are unharmed. "

* * *

"I cannot die", the Master says. "What could possibly kill me, and what would it be killing? I am no thing that can be targeted by blade, bullet, or arrow. Let them cast their stones and swing their scythes! I know what dying is like, and I know what living is like. I have been a lover in the grip of ecstasy, and a disease-ridden dog racked with pain on the side of the road! I have been a prince and a pauper, a king and a beggar.

I have been foolish and clever many times, but only once was I wise. I beg you to be wise now- do not imagine that you are a man or a woman; do not imagine that you are foolish, clever, kind, or cruel; you are not living and you are nothing that dies. The titles, the words, they may comfort you, but they will turn on you; they will be your murderers. Give them up.

I know the truth about you- and when I see you as you truly are, I ask: what could possibly kill you, and what would it be killing? You are no thing that can be targeted by blade, bullet, or arrow. Let them cast their stones and swing their scythes! Though you have forgotten much, you know what dying is like, and you know what living is like. You have been a lover in the grip of ecstasy, and a disease-ridden dog racked with pain on the side of the road! You have been a prince and a pauper, a king and a beggar.

You are not your past. You are not those things you have been, and even when you were those things, you weren't those things.

If you make yourself into a hare, you will be chased by hounds. If you make yourself into a fish, a hook will pierce your lip; if you make yourself into a bird, you will fear the blast of hunters below. If you make yourself into a clever man, your mind's failures and jealousy will haunt you; if you make yourself into a hateful man, you will long for the love and joy that will be absent from your life.

There is nothing you can make yourself into that won't be pierced by the sharp awl of Hard Fate. If you must be something, be a loving man, able to put himself aside for the well-being of others. The man who can put aside himself is already partially free. He isn't far from the crossroads and I will bring him to truth, if his love holds."

IX.

"O, Earendil, you are the power of your Father, the prince of Faery-Elfhame, and none are more subtle than you, Buck-King. Great Goat Angel, sovereign of the Craft, servant of the Ancient of Days, lover of Old Fate, Lord of Elves, by your eldritch knowledge mankind is purified of ignorance and the door of Xvarenah opens. What is putrid and foul turns to fairest ambrosia in the skull-bowl you offer to your initiates. You are the oracle of oracles, and foresight is numbered among your many names. With deceit you tell the truth, and you are the truth-teller who destroys all deception. In a thousand forms you satisfy those who seek your hidden halls, and in a thousand forms you destroy that which they hold dearest."

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Site last updated: October 30, 2006