Tyche Praxis & Wetiko-Free Djurö

Standing on a varietal patchwork of green mosses covering verbosely shaped rock quintessential of the Swedish landscape, surrounded by courageous dendrites whose roots desperately grasp for purchase in the mere inches of windswept topsoil, and with the meager offering of tobacco, I perform the Orphic Hymn to Tyche in the direction of a rising scandinavian sun.

Normally I would burn frankincense and light a candle, but calling in a presence to experience and share the golden light of a wild morning seemed, to me, far richer than incense. This morning practice of performing a Tyche alignment has had some interesting effects in the four weeks since it began. One of which being the invitation from an old friend I hadn’t seen in years to enjoy a weekend with both of our respective fiances catching up and steaming in the loving warmth of a Swedish spa, his treat. This unexpected and treasured time with a beloved and long-missed friend, as well as this luxurious experience which my partner and I could not have afforded otherwise pushed my senses, and my sense of worth, into the realm of miraculous deserving. 

Learning how to want is difficult, but for anyone to accept that they actually deserve to be pampered, or wealthy, or loved is a far greater challenge. This is the main lesson I am learning from Tyche. Nobody doesn’t deserve these things. So why not me?

My running thesis at this time is, in that new-thought kind of way, is that we have to actually open those possibilities by healing our misconceptions about our limits and our merits. We have to know that we deserve the things that are best for us before we can truly have them.

There is something else here to be mentioned, though, in the archipelago east of Stockholm. Not so much a something as an undeniable lack of something. There is simply no trace here to be found of that wascally wabbit Wetiko. It’s simply too far out of its jurisdiction. I couldn’t find a trace of rampant cynicism, woker-thans, postmodernist ironies, toxically masculine feminism, or subversive acts of goodwill. 

No cannibals here, spiritual or otherwise.

Sure, the Swedes have their own battle with the itch of abandonment their predominantly atheistic materialist-science driven worldview will undoubtedly leave them with eventually, but they simply don’t have the same rampant mind-virus/selfishness algorithm that has absorbed the United States all but entirely. 

It’s barely detectable in Stockholm, which is surprising, but back in much more familiar Copenhagen there are signs of the Wetiko pandemic spreading, mostly through the attitudes and speech patterns reverberating through streaming services, and popping up in actual conversations like little spells, tricking the unconscious mind that repeats the pattern into belief that the thoughts are their own, into a thought pattern that is essentially alien and hostile.

My scheduled trip home has me wondering about my spiritual arsenal and just what, exactly, I should be doing to immunize myself against the thick fog of the Selfishness Archon prior to my return.

Suggestions are welcome.

Another interesting result of my daily Tykhe alignment came from a dream in which I walked to the local metaphysical supply store and purchased the silly little Lo Scarabeo Gypsy Oracle deck and, upon actually physically walking to the store in efforts of signaling to the Other that I am paying attention, I discovered none other than the lady Fortune herself, blindfolded and generous, on the back of the pack. I purchased the deck immediately and readings have thus far been amazingly accurate, but not for hypotheticals. It seems Lady Fortune is not inclined to tell me “What will happen if…” but will accurately and readily answer true to “Show me this weekend…” as a closed article of fate.

At the break of dawn, light candle. Fumigation from Frankincense. Honey, Sunflowers, and their seeds are amenable offerings. I offer pocket change occasionally which I let accumulate in a cup before randomly giving the entirely to one street performer, indiscriminately, just as Fortune would do. Visualize each sound and feel it as you slowly and deliberately speak the hymn from your heart. After recitation, wait thoughtlessly and visualize a crown on your head showering gold coins all around you.

Approach strong Fortune [Tykhe], with propitious mind and rich abundance, to my pray’r inclin’d

Placid, and gentle Trivia, mighty nam’d, imperial Dian [Artemis], born of Pluto [Eubouleos] fam’d;

Mankind’s unconquer’d, endless praise is thine, sepulch’ral, widely-wand’ring pow’r divine!

In thee, our various mortal life is found, and some from thee hi copious wealth abound;

While others mourn thy hand averse to bless, in all the bitterness of deep distress.

Be present, Goddess, to thy vot’ry kind, and give abundance with benignant mind.

Liber Kali

As much as my feelings on old Al Crowley seem to rest at a comfortable love/hate, the bastard sure could write. He also came up with many useful templates for crafting one’s own spells and incantations, although it sometimes seems these truly profound accomplishments of his get ignored in favor of the more extreme sensory experiences of elaborate ritual pageantry.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just that a few well chosen words well-mastered can be just as powerful and without all the expenses and planning. That said, getting comfortable with your own expressions is a hell of a challenge and in hopes of inspiring some of you out there to write your own magic (or use someone else’s template,) I am sharing my own dedication to Kali Ma modeled after Crowley’s instructions in Liber Astarte for crafting a dedication to align oneself with a deity.

This practice is not necessarily devotionalism. It can be, but it can also simply be something akin to tuning an instrument. Once you really have a grasp on the personality you are tuning in to it becomes easy to dial that force back up again from then on. Rinse and repeat until the ability to differentiate one subtle force from another has been developed.

Without further adieu, Liber Kali by Reverend Janglebones.

I plead unto to thee, most terrible Kali

Lend me thy grace and shine thy bright darkness

That I may dissolve at thy lotus feet

OM MA (x3


Hail demonslayer, great Goddess of black

My skull and my sword, they are yours to your service

Until your great tongue takes them back



Grandmother weaver, from whom all is born

You could blink but your eye and erase every form

You could cease but your laughter and freeze time in stone

And in you, not ever, has a soul been alone



Oh mighty and merciful Kali, 

Without whose darkness there could be not the stars

Without whose thirst for destroying illusions

Without whose ecstatic emancipation I would be

Forever bound and found-less 



Did you not confer to me a compact 

When I thought none I could accept, surely?

Until the shape of fate laid prone before me

From birth unto death

Shone the one single thing I’d regret if my breath 

Shortened early



Always do you see me, never falling for my charms

Reflecting as a confidante the profundity of my folly

Marking out ahead of me the tripwires of desire

And chivalrously sounding the alarms




Hail She of shameless night, bare-breasted in Her glory

Whose nectar from the deepest rose bestows memento mori

I would drink of your sap and collapse in your Shakti

I would nap in the lap of the Goddess Kali