Can't say 'No' to the Coal Black Sweep

Someone knocked at the door today, and there was a Schornsteinfeger. A chimney sweep. When they come to the door, you have to let them in, it’s a law, and custom. They are usually good-looking young men, sometimes women, and they often drive a black bicycle. They wear all black uniforms, with a patch or two containing good luck sigils, and some of them wear black top hats. There aren’t that many these days who make the most of their folkloric reputation, but every now and again you see one who plays up the whole chimney sweep identity.

The broom, crossed flails and stars of this rubber stamp image for professional chimney sweeps has deeply magical associations.

Touching sweeps brings good luck. They keep the fires away from your house—mostly, now, because they check your heating system to make sure that it is working, not leaking any gas. Everything was in order. We will soon receive a bill for about 60 Euros, which we are required by law to pay. Even if we heated our house with beggar’s velvet and star dust, and could prove no incendiary devices of any kind were needed, we would have to let him in and would have to pay the bill. What extraordinary job security.

Our Schornsteinfeger was tall and thin, and perfectly blonde, with lovely blue eyes. His black uniform smelled of wood smoke, and his fingernails were smeared with black ashes. A skinny kid. Olivia came out of her room and we each touched his sleeve, laughing, for good luck. What a great job—you can’t be refused, and everyone wants to touch you. One would come to believe in your own power of good luck. The power to ward off fire.

I see them as related to the Coal Black Smith. Smiths were magical and dangerous because they could raise and tend fire hot enough to form the most important tools, and this gave them a devilishly powerful reputation—just for having the guts to play with fire like the gods. These entities exist not only in the Spirit World, but also as archetypes which ignite subconscious rememberings in us.

I see these ancient archetypes as having splintered into various forms in the early modern era, as city life transformed entire societies in middle Europe. Often, the domestication of these archetypes meant that over time they lost their threatening powers, but remained potent subconscious reminders. For example, witches were initially wise women, containing both good and bad powers. Their reputation became exclusively evil, as framed by the church. But the storyteller aspect of their wisdom needed to be retained, and found expression in images of Mother Goose. (I will write about her in posts to come.)

The oldest origins of sweeps places them symbolically as walkers-between-worlds, because they used to enter the chimneys physically, and were most often children. Chimneys are where fire lives; they are dangerous places, and narrow, but cleaning them out in the days of daily use was vital for avoiding fires that could destroy entire closely packed 13—17th Century towns within a twenty four hour period. There are many postcards featuring cherub-faced sweeps from the late 19th and early 20th centuries (usually sent as good luck charms at the New Year) but their work was some of the most dangerous that children were then pressed in to doing.

The ladders they carried in the past also had a magical, liminal meaning.

The chimney has always been a portal between the worlds. Chimneys in old houses often contain spells and charms in the form of pet skeletons, or shoes, or flasks hidden between their bricks or under their foundations. Apparently these communications were placed there in that portal to purposely step over the line between our world and the world beyond. Santa Claus travels down the chimney from his magical world to ours. The greedy wolf foolishly used it to try to enter the pigs’ brick house safety zone and was burnt to death. Old time witches were taught to fly up the chimney to go on their midnight shamanic rambles.

My first shamanic teacher taught me to do the same. He said: you have to leave the house without leaving your house—how are you going to get out? When I chose the chimney, he twinkled at me.

Bowl of May

It’s been a long, cold winter, and I’m starting to have that itch for spring. I can always tell when spring is approaching here, a couple of things become apparent. One of course is the scent of freshness in the air, snowdrops in the park, a slight greening of the underbrush. The other recalls the fertility festivals of old. Suddenly one day in spring there are dozens of posters in town, advertising for the “Erotik Messe” in Göttingen.

This is a consumer’s convention for erotic products and services, apparently. I have not been to one, because I'm above that sort of thing (hee!). They seem slightly slanted toward the male pleasures. But the ads for them show that one can get a spirally black tattoo on the sacrum (called “ass antlers,” here) or purchase a dancing pole. There must be exhibitions of “dancing” and scanty costumes, as well. I can only think that they are the logical modern merging of consumer culture with the very old rising of the sap, increase of sexual energy that occurs in spring—with a whole lot more fetishism these days than the natural arousal of the land spirits. Even so, it's interesting how some things never change. In North America, we call it "spring fever."

Of course we know that the Celts were all over Europe, not only in the British Isles, although it always seems tidier to think of them that way, when you are North American. But there were significant amounts of Celts in what is now Austria, Switzerland, and central and southern Germany. And they did in fact celebrate Beltane here, although I don’t know what they individually called it. And when they wandered into the forest, the most commonly seen plant they encountered was the sweet woodruff (Asperula odorata/Galium odoratum), an emerald green shade-lover which carpets the forest floor about 6 to 12 inches high with clusters of 6 to 7 hardy leaves.

Here it is called: Waldmeister, or Master or Boss of the Forest. It also has many other folk names, including: Gliedkraut (phallus herb), Herzfreund (heart’s friend), Leberkraut (liver herb), Maiblume (May flower), Maichrut/Maikraut (May herb), Mösch (?), Teekraut (tea herb), Waldmutterkraut (forest mother herb), Waldtee (forest tea), Wohlriechendes (good-smelling) Labkraut (?), and das blühende Kraut (the blooming herb).

Waldmeister is used in modern treats to this day. Especially in puddings, cakes, candy, popsicles, ice cream, and as flavoring for sodas. It has a very fresh, mellow/tangy vanilla-lime-grass/hay flavor, but is unlike anything I had tasted before, before I tasted it. It is super refreshing and tasty.

The Celts/Druids had merged with the plant in shamanic journeys to speak with the gods for who knows how long. It was enjoyed as an aphrodisiac, but in large doses can cause hallucinations, which is exactly the point of all entheogens. Early on, Benedictine monks were recording their use of waldmeister for infections, insomnia, cramping, blood thinning, migraines/pain and heart problems, but the monk Wandalbertus was the first to write down in 854 A.D. that it was delicious drink when wine was poured over it.

Because the active ingredient is Cumarin, which has a slightly euphoric and enlivening effect, waldmeister is used to get over “early spring tiredness” (frühjahrsmüdigkeit), one of those seemingly hypochondriacal German complaints (which I initially scoffed at), that nonetheless seems to hit people in late winter/early spring, when we find it hard to get out of bed, and feel sluggish during the long, wet, gray days.

Dr. Oetker's "Götter Speise" is waldmeister-flavored jello whose name translates to "Snack of the Gods," hinting at waldmeister's heathen origins.

Whether you drink it with alcohol or not, it can cause morning headaches (hangover, which translates to “Tomcat” in German: a “Kater”) and in very high doses it can lead to dizziness, vomiting and breathing problems. (So, don’t go there.)

Nevertheless its euphoric effects and deliciousness are what keep people making Maibowles (Bowls of May) every year. In April or May, before the plant blossoms in tiny white flowers, cut a few bunches (for greatest power and affect: gathering in a spiritually aroused and grateful state, shamanically merging with the plant).

The plant is most aromatic before it has begun to bloom. However, if you use blown woodruff, then cut the flowers off before adding to the punch. The longer you wait after cutting, the more flavor leaves the plant, so add as quickly to the wine or juice as possible. You’ll need:

2 large handfuls of sweet woodruff/waldmeister
a scant cup (200g) sugar (or half as much honey, or to taste)
juice of two lemons
3 bottles of reisling, mosel or rhine wine (not dry)
1 bottle of sparkling wine, prosecco or champagne
(4 bottles of white grape juice would do for the alcohol-free version)
Any of these: strawberry leaves, red or black currant leaves, thinly sliced oranges or strawberries, edible flowers, raspberry blossoms (good luck finding in May), violet blossoms, young yarrow leaves, and cinquefoil/potentilla blossoms.

You might slightly macerate the leaves and blossoms in the punch bowl with a pestle, add the sugar, and then directly pour the liquids over. Let stand overnight, at room temperature. In the morning, keep it cool until its time to drink it. Traditionally, it is served in a large tureen called a "Bowle" with matching glasses or mugs.

Of course, this recipe is just custom-made for enchanting, because not only can the plants be ritually collected or collected in a shamanic state, but they can also be physically enchanted and worked in a state of poetic resonance as they are handled, with the appropriate intentions of waxing life force, virility, and desire. Prost!