The iron that the elves fear pumps in your blood.

A curious ritual takes place at the center of each heme group within hemoglobin. An atom of iron reaches in four directions to bind to N(ephilim)…no, I suppose that would be N(itrogen). Reaching down, the iron molecule anchors the heme group to the rest of the hemoglobin, and reaching up it may gather energy in the form of oxygen and release it to your cells. Thus, the ethic of blood is a ritual act of respiration writ large, binding us to powers greater than ourselves in the service of life.

The temptation in considering the ethics of Faerie is to leap immediately on all the ways it has failed in our tiny human subculture. We loves us some witch wars, don’t we? Well, at least, occasionally. And the bauble of a gothic differentiation can distract us: “I’m so edgy and amoral that I sometimes wait for the light to change to ‘don’t walk’ before crossing the street.” And there’s nothing more engaging than the endlessly revolving scandals which foment and froth at the boundaries where Faerie practitioners meet.

But the ethic of blood has little to do with petty human concerns. Or, rather, the ethic of blood subsumes purely human ethical concerns into a more encompassing paradigm. The ethic of blood moderates the exchange of energy at the ruddy iron gate of Faerie.

The ethic of blood is an ethic of kinship. The blood of Faerie pumps within us, and we share, honor and ward that kinship with all who walk this path. However, were we to insist that the ethic of blood were solely about which humans are in our particular religious kinship group we would be woefully missing the bigger picture. The ethic of blood is not about exclusivism or elitism. The Faerie bonds of blood, instead, link us to an otherworldly ecology of being, and, at the same time, those bonds also restore us to an appropriate, natural and Wild interweaving with the balance of life as it exists physically on this planet.

Let’s assume for the moment that the Faerie are beings of pure imagination; that they are nothing more than stories we tell each other to feel all metaphysical and whatnot. What ethical considerations do we owe to the stories we tell? Are there stories which should never be told? Should we moderate or alter a story we are creating out of consideration of the impact on the characters in the story? Should we consider who will hear the story and who may carry forward to others?

The ethic of blood acknowledges we as sentient beings are, in part, stories. We are, in part, stories we tell to ourselves about ourselves (we might call that process our ego). We are also, in part, stories about ourselves we try to convey to each other (we might call those tales our persona). We are also, in part, stories that are told by the Faerie as we are called into being each moment. The Faerie are beings of pure imagination (in part), and this life, this living web, all of it, is the product of their tale-telling. Thus, the ethic of blood is the crux of narrative reality.

So far in this exploration of the ethic of blood I have been purely descriptive. Despite the notorious obstacles first noted by Hume in going from an “is” to an “ought”, I find that it is extremely important to emphasize that the ethics of Faerie is far wider in several dimensions than the kind of ethics normally considered in ethical philosophy. Our ethic is not just about how one individual human should treat another individual human. Nor is it our ethic simply ecological: how should humans as a whole relate to the environment. Nor is our ethic merely systemic: how should groups of sentient beings behave towards other groups of sentient beings. The ethic of blood mediates how all of these things should come into being as stories, and, as a consequence, how all these myriads of things should interact.

To derive the ethical prescriptions of blood, therefore, let us consider the end of things. That is, where as a story do we wish the whole shebang to go? I am a finite human, and as such can only catch pieces of it in my vision. For the earth, were I to wave my magic wand to transform human culture, I’d want a world in which humans lived a sustainable ecological balance with as broad as diversity of life as possible. That would mean, most likely, far fewer humans each having a comfortable, wealthy, peaceful co-existence with a much smaller variance in the ecological footprint necessary to support each individual human.

But it is not enough, merely, to consider the material goals for existence. Where should the process lead us as spiritual beings? Me, I want to be God. Well, not right this minute. But I do want to evolve the capacity over lifetimes to create and sustain beings within my imagination who will, in turn, grow their psychic abilities and grapple with the ethic of blood as they in turn grow into godhood.

The prescriptions of the ethic of blood are two-fold, to my mind. I may have given it a new name, but there is nothing new here at all. Francesca taught me in training that the reason we are here is to have fun and serve others. The ethic of blood is no different. We should be passionately and fully embracing this life. “…all acts of love and pleasure are My rituals.” We should also be fiercely and actively serving the rush of sentience towards that intimate relationship to the Goddess that will be fulfilled as each us of becomes Her equal as well as Her lover.

That is, the ethic of blood is an act of respiration. It is a reciprocal exchange of energy between living systems. We gather in energy through our enjoyment, our pleasure, our passions. We exhale that energy through our service to other humans, to the environment and to the Faerie through our channeling of their energy into our existence.

Because we are priests in service to a blood-line older than humanity we must confront an ethical complexity that is greater than the relation of one man to one man, one man to one community or one man to one God. And as fully as we might wish to take the ideas of fairness or reciprocity, it is difficult even for the wisest to ken the ramifications of an ethic which might aspire to be “fair” across incarnate humans, divergent ecosystems, various political entities, the twilight powers of Faerie magic, and the Gods who lift us up even as we endeavor to serve. That is, Kant might desire that there be categorical imperatives stretching across the breadth of being encompassed by our metaphysics, but it is certainly beyond my comprehension as to how that could even be feasible.

But my personal lack of comprehension is unimportant. We, Her priesthood, are the blood of the Goddess. We must trust that where our passions take us is exactly where we will be needed. We must trust that those beings who tend to us and have grown closer to their own godhood will help guide the energy we provide in a way that will balance and unite and serve the All that Is. We must trust our Selves.

This then is the ethic of blood. That we are to course through the veins and arteries of the Mighty Goddess giving and receiving Her power. That we are to pulse and aspire. That we are to enter even the darkness of oblivion as Her suitor. That we are to tend to Her creation as one might attend to a lover. That we are to return to Her very heart again and again as needed, and thereby find a renewed impetus in living.

Some say that the elves fear iron. I suspect, rather, that their reaction is nothing less and nothing more the ancient sacred taboo of blood, made holy by the pleasure of service in the ever unfolding epic of being and becoming.

Be blessed.

P.S. You might want to check out the etymology of “bless” the next time you’re around a good dictionary. If you haven’t already, of course.

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