though he belonged more, in many ways, to the Ocean, to a home of long ago, free and sea drifted, where pyramids glowed, and the heart’s knowledge ran like electricity or money does now – blue and green. I told him my favourite god as a child was Neptune, and so it was. He was a giant with the softest, warmest hands, this powerful warlock, and had grown up in Northern California, going undercover as the bullied kid at school, latterly disguised as a hard-working, kindly Peter Griffin. Here is a picture of him:
I cannot speak of all the things we shared and went through, but I want to give a sense of how powerful and important this father warlock was, how disguised, how magnanimous, how strong. His name was Philip Michael Batchelor, but he liked to be called Phil.
He was a twin, born in transit in Alameda at the dawn of the 1960s. His bother was taken from him shortly after birth, said by the Catholic Church to have died (though he was the stronger of the two), buried with an adult member of the family, body unseen. This warlock never believed that, and swears he saw his identical brother decades later. Phil was born with Jupiter in Sagittarius, and Saturn in Capricorn. Many people could see that Jupiter in his optimism, his vision, his sociability, his generosity. Fewer saw the Saturn, the weight he bore, and the horns he wore, and the goat blessing he carried, both scaped and leaping free.
Phil also had Pluto rising, in Virgo, and I think this is what gave him both his mediumistic ability, and his power as a hypnotherapist. Deep within him there was a darkness that could look and speak and listen into darkness. He was aware of some of his past lives, and related them with amusement or dispassion.
For what he carried, he often paid dearly. To be a warlock is not an easy path, and Phil was an innocent, carrying a power of being that others would treat as guilty. Phil was quite simply treated appallingly, dishonestly and ruthlessly by some, right up till his last year, when he was eliminated from his son’s obituary. There are no words. Such are the ways of the “righteous”. Indeed, the Devil’s road is kinder by far.
Phil and me had this in common: we both looked to light and brightness and ideals and dreams, yet carried and valued something far darker within us. Sometimes it was me, sometimes it was him, who was the darker or the more luminous appearing. But we were twins in our soul, merging into one, living like two lovers washed up on the beach in the morning, entangled, at peace, sea weed in our hair, wet sand in our beards. I watched his darkness grow, as he watched mine, and through all, we lost fears and found the work of magick. He had instant, natural understanding, of Thelema, of spirituality’s south paw, of gods, and spirits, and our individual, crucially individual, lawless calling.
So yes, I met a warlock in the high desert. And I will follow him into the sea.
Into the sea. Into the sea.