By Devi Singh

As a woman of colour who is a practising magician in the Western Esoteric tradition, I often find its wisdom teachings to be steeped in a colonial lens. I struggle with the appropriation that sometimes happens when we as occultists integrate or absorb the mystical practices of cultures other than our own. As a woman, Western Esotericism can also feel highly patriarchal. There are many times when my experiences are not reflected in the systems and practices of this particular school of magic. Throughout the history of Western Esotericism, men have taken the major roles and it is men that get most of the glory, acclaim and recognition. It wasn’t until the founding of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn in 1887, that women were ‘allowed’ into a mystery school. Of course, there have been women that have left an indelible mark on the tradition, such as Helena Blavatsky, Dion Fortune, and the four rebel priestesses covered in Mary K. Greer’s book, Women of the Golden Dawn, Maud Gonne, Moina Mathers, Annie Horniman, and Florence Farr, but they are definitely less well-known than their male counterparts. My point in writing this is to underline why I insist on sharing a woman’s experience (in my case, a cis-gendered woman) in this long-standing and wonderful mystical tradition. 

As someone who bleeds monthly, one of the premises in magic that has always intrigued me is blood magic. When you think of esoteric traditions, blood magic is a very pop culture reference. But, is it really employed by modern day magicians? 

As a child, I subscribed to the ancient blood brothers (or sisters) ritual of sealing friendship with a bit of blood. My besties and I made small pin pricks at the top of our fingers and pressed the two open wounds together declaring our undying loyalty and love for each other. Of course, knowing what I know now about health and safety, I would not recommend doing this. Bonding over a couple of beers is probably just as effective…for adults, that is. The idea of blood magic can be very controversial and offensive to some. It  conjures up images of stone altars covered with the deep red blood of animal or human sacrifices. Certainly, the use of baby’s blood (or ‘strawberry juice’) for any ritual is an abhorrent practice. Under no circumstances is it okay to draw a baby’s blood for the sake of a ritual. Of course, a grown adult is more than welcome to draw their own blood and use it to anoint ritual offerings or enhance ritual practices. More often than not, blood rituals are subtle and require only a pinprick to enhance spells, such as in witchcraft. 

It is easy to understand the allure of blood magic. Blood carries deep psychological symbolism for humans. It is associated with major aspects of our physical experience – death, pain, rebirth, life. It is these aspects that give blood its symbolic potency.

This leads me to a particular source of life-giving blood – menstrual blood. Here is a ready and easily extracted source of blood. A natural supply for blood magic.

I inadvertently stumbled upon blood magic in my own practice. I had no intention of using blood in my ritual practices. I’ve practised sex magic and used sexual fluids for manifestation but never blood. However, the premise that fresh blood can be used to induce physical manifestation has recently intrigued me given my current life circumstances.

At this moment in my life I am undergoing a major transformation. I am completing my journey as a single woman on her own to becoming a mother. Lacking a partner, I am doing this with medical assistance. My journey began a few years ago when I hit my late 30’s and realised that I eventually wanted children but wasn’t quite ready. I was referred to a fertility clinic here in Vancouver that provides assisted reproductive technology. I went through a long, arduous month of hormone injections and at the end of it underwent a procedure to have eggs removed and cryogenically preserved. We were successful in retrieving six healthy eggs. 

But before using these eggs, I wanted to give the ole turkey baster method, or insemination, a good try. The clinic introduced me to their preferred donor sperm databases. I searched numerous profiles and after weeding out those that were genetically incompatible with my own profile, I finally landed on a donor. It was like Tinder without the date. By the end of it, I wanted to meet the man I had selected as a donor. After delving into his personal history, genetic profile, listening to his voice, seeing baby photos, I felt like I knew him. If only phone numbers were included! How easy would it be to plan a weekend of sex? No strings attached. Sign on the dotted line, here’s a few quid, thank you, kind sir, for your genetic material! Alas, reality is a lot more….restrictive.

I had the sperm shipped to Vancouver and my first insemination happened that summer. After two weeks, I learned that the procedure was successful but for some reason after a couple days, the embryo was aborted. The medical term for this is a ‘chemical pregnancy’ and there could have been a number of reasons for why it happened. Most likely, the embryo was genetically abnormal. Either having too many or too few chromosomes. It was devastating to be told that an implantation was successful and then to get a call a few days later saying it was not.

My second similar attempt was earlier this year. Same rigamarole. Outcome. No implantation. Was something wrong with me? I was told it normally takes 4 attempts on average before a woman is successfully impregnated. But instead of trying the turkey baster method again (I mean, the bills were stacking up), I opted to go all out and try IVF. This is more of a laser-focused approach, where the egg is fertilised outside of the body in the lab and then the resulting embryo (after passing quality control tests) is implanted in the uterus giving a much higher chance of success. Up to 75% from a measly 5%. More expensive, but worth it. But, I still felt something was not right. Not ready. Perhaps with my womb. My body. My hormones? Before this procedure began (by this time I had only one precious egg left), I needed to meditate and commune with my body. Speak to my womb. What could she tell me? I performed the Holy Cross consistently for a week imagining my womb in the centre of that sacred space. Receiving healing and light and love. 

After that week, in preparation for IVF, I underwent one of the most painful procedures I have ever experienced. In fact, it was the most pain I have ever felt in my entire life. The procedure, an endometrial biopsy, lasted only 10 seconds but those last few seconds had me writhing off the gynecologist’s table, screaming bloody murder. If pain could kill, any more of that pain would have. It was a test to determine the health of my womb. To make sure it would be a healthy environment for an embryo. Necessary, but excruciating. I was traumatised after that experience. I went home and cried deeply.

The next day, I set up a new altar, dedicated to this endeavour of pregnancy. An altar to manifest a baby. On the altar I included a clear crystal pyramid and topped it with a gold Isis ring that I had commissioned from a magician artisan friend of mine – a representation of Isis – great mother, great healer, great lover. I included a small, very unique stone I had found along the river that reminded me of the Venus of Willendorf, the ancient fertility sculpture. I included a wooden bracelet carved by my late father to bring in his spirit and the spirit of my ancestors. I sat by this altar nightly and prayed. One night, after showering and on my way to take a seat by my altar, a stream of deep, red blood flowed down my leg. My moon cycle had arrived. Without thinking, I quickly swept up the snaking trail with my hand so it would not drop onto the carpet. The blood on my fingers mesmerised me. Suddenly, I was inspired with an idea. I went to my altar, took the Isis crystal and coated it in blood. The blood off my hand and blood directly from the source. That night, my ritual practice was especially strong. In the candlelight, the Isis crystal covered in blood cast a shadow on the wall that looked like the goddess herself. Light shone upon her and also directly onto me at right angles off the crystal. Something shifted that night. 

A few days later I received the results of the endometrial biopsy. I had ‘chronic endometritis’ – a bacterial overgrowth in the uterus that enhances the uterine immune response making it a very harsh environment for an embryo. If an embryo was implanted, the uterus in its immune enhanced state would attack the embryo as a foreign body. Is this why the first implantation aborted and the second failed? I was so grateful to have received this knowledge and somehow knew that even though it was based in science, the blood ritual had something to do with it. Something had shifted that night. Time and space. I feel the truth of this in my bones. In fact, a prior test – a hysteroscopy performed a month ago – that should have picked up the endometritis had failed to do so. If the condition had gone untreated, there would be little chance that any implantation would be successful. 

There is still no guarantee that my IVF attempt will be successful, but after a course of antibiotics and probiotics, I feel my uterus is happy and healed. I feel more ready to receive. That, at least, is something. For a woman, it is more than something. Our reproductive organs and our cycles are so much a part of who we are. Every month, as our hormones cycle, our personalities and moods shift. We are different people every week. We cannot underestimate the importance of this aspect of a woman’s health and correspondingly so, this aspect of a female magician’s experience and practice.

I am not a proponent of blood magic per se, however, I am in support of female empowerment and ‘moon blood magic’ can give a woman (cis, trans, non-binary, or other) a unique opportunity. Throughout history, menstruation has been stigmatised and women have been taught to be ashamed of their menstrual blood. In some cultures, like my own, women are not even allowed to enter temples or touch deities while bleeding. We are seen during these times as ‘unclean’. Moon blood magic is a way for a woman – especially a magician – to take back her power. A way to reunite with our feminine ancestors that were once free to practice mysticism and magic without persecution. 

Recently, a magician friend told me that she has been doing blood magic for a while. Every month, she collects her menstrual blood and buries it in the ground. For her, it is a way to strengthen her connection to Mother Earth. She says that if every woman returns their moon blood to the earth, it would go a long way to healing the planet from centuries of human bloodshed. I believe this.

If you are interested, here are a few easy ways to practice moon blood magic:

• Bury your moon blood in the ground to strengthen your connection to Mother Earth. Thanks, Amanda!

• Mix a few drops of blood with oil to charge your candle.

• Use a few drops to anoint or charge a talisman or amulet.

• Use blood to draw a sigil for manifestation magic.

I would like to end on a note of appreciation. Appreciation for my current magical community, The Temple of Anubis, which strives to foster inclusivity and equality and hear all voices. For this, I am grateful. And appreciation for the land on which we practice our magic, which is the traditional, unceded territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh peoples.