My journey into the world of the occult began when I was growing up in San Francisco. My mother was an Irish Catholic born and raised in Mission’s Potrero Hill district – one of ten iron-fisted kids who scrapped their way through poverty and violence, some of the siblings thriving better than others. She knew the weight of sin and was taught to lean on the shoulders of her God, to light candles for the lost, and always mount a cross on the wall closest to where you rest your head at night.
My journey into the world of the occult began when I was growing up in San Francisco. My mother was an Irish Catholic born and raised in Mission’s Potrero Hill district – one of ten iron-fisted kids who scrapped their way through poverty and violence, some of the siblings thriving better than others. She knew the weight of sin and was taught to lean on the shoulders of her God, to light candles for the lost, and always mount a cross on the wall closest to where you rest your head at night.
How she ended up marrying my father – a sinner of Olympic proportions, a man who would eventually claim to speak in tongues and would often sleep in trees with the homeless in Golden Gate Park – still mystifies those looking into our family dynamic. That said, my dad was a storyteller, and it was easy for him to confide his unworldly beliefs to his children and those he thought of as enlightened beings. I was six years old, and apparently, my internal light was bright; he recognized me as worthy.
First, let’s start with a quick lesson in etymology. The word occult originates from the Latin, occultus, which refers to a secret or something hidden and concealed. Today’s definition has expanded to include things related to magic, alchemy, and the practical arts whose practitioners seek closer communion with the Divine; however, the knee-jerk reaction to the word often conjures something dark or negative.
The occult and the people who collect the tools, books, and symbols associated with this agency of mysticism are often unfairly connected with dystopian spell casting, cults, animal sacrifices, and mumbled prayers for disease and injury. My two teens, Maximus and Harlowe, both have begun occult collections – my daughter’s interests spilling over into heavy-handed Egyptian eyes, shredded clothing, and weekends spent giving Tarot readings to friends. Every inch of her walls is draped in tapestries, her shelves thick with melted wax. And I remember: I was the same way.
But, back to my dad. His stories really took flight when The Unification Church moved into the abandoned building across from our local 7-11; the Moonies, they were called. My dad created imagery of mass weddings and children being kidnapped, violently extracted from their families to sell flowers at the airport. He talked of Jim Jones and the mass-murder suicide in Guyana. He pointed to the apartment where Charles Manson had lived and recruited his Family. And he connected all of this to my home, San Francisco.
Now, let’s get spooky.
One day, my dad put me on the back of his Harley to go for an afternoon ride. We ended up in the Richmond district – 6114 California Street, to be exact – “The Black House.” Here, he said, was where Anton LeVey lived and worked his dark arts. LeVey, he explained, had founded the Church of Satan. He warned me not to come to the house at night, certainly to never go alone. He talked about the importance of scrubbing salt onto the scalp, about building a relationship with the self and the cosmos, about deciding which side of prayer work I would gravitate towards. It was hedonism that captured his attention, self-indulgence. But what The Black House did for me was much more profound. I wanted to pull back the heavy curtains and explore the ritualism, and, like Catholicism, I could not understand the absolute faith of its followers. But I wanted to, deeply.
So, down the rabbit hole I went. As I grew older, I had my aura read and photographed, I burned sage and an obnoxious amount of Nag Champa, fell in love with Edgar Allan Poe, and had my name and birthdate reduced and analyzed according to numerology (Life Path #4, Expression #9, in case you were wondering). I drew nude women with their bellies distended by fire, developed a love of wax seals, and sought to manifest control of my adolescent life through lunar symbols and a belief that there was a happening beyond death or suffering; this seems to be a common theme in occult enthusiasts. When I asked my 17-year old what intrigued him about the items he collects and some of the pagan dynamics still held in those objects, his response was honest and straightforward. “Guidance,” he said, “I’m looking for guidance that is safe and specific to me.” Fair enough.
For those looking to start or build on their occult collection, it can be challenging to find items that hold genuine value and aren’t trinkets or pewter pendants found at a Renaissance Faire. Beyond aesthetic acquisition, rare and high-dollar items are generally sourced from book collectors. While crystals and fossils can put a serious dent in your pocketbook, some first edition books can fetch several thousand dollars. For example, the first edition of the Secret Book of Black Arts (1873) retails for over $14k, but you can pick up H.P. Lovecraft’s Necronomicon for under $60.
Oddity shops are also an essential resource for collectors. A reputable shop owner will source items for serious collectors; this includes items from natural science, artwork, medical instruments, taxidermy, and handwritten correspondence from recognized occultists.
In researching this article, a family friend introduced me to her cousin, who collects vintage cameras (looking to sell in bulk if interested!), antique medical supplies, and preserved animals, both taxidermy and wet specimens. Her collection of skulls and such began when she was gifted a mummified pig fetus – because nothing says I appreciate you like swine pathology.
Today, she finds additions to her collection through Etsy and a friend who preserves animals; this personal connection seems to be the standard when looking to add to unusual collections. Today, she is the proud owner of a two-headed baby duck, a mummified kitten, ram skulls, taxidermy bats, a small alligator skull, various butterflies, a pajama squid specimen, a fetal opossum, and more. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but for me, I would lovee nothing more than to tiptoe through her bell jars and specimen boxes. To each his or her own, as they say.
Today, I no longer search for faith in either organized religion or occult practices. Still, its ghostly fingerprints linger not only in my children but in my continued affinity for animal skulls, oddities, and an appreciation for the mysteries of nature. Okay, I still listen to Bauhaus and Christian Death. Some skins are not so easily shed.
Collector Resources:
eBay and Etsy, suggested search terms include occult, macabre, taxidermy, transgressive art, Wicca, oddities, curiosities, wet specimens, entomology, palmistry
Nevada Taxidermy, 1455 Deming Way, Sparks, NV
Oddities for Sale (private residence) For appointments, email contact@odditiesforsale.com
Paxton Gate, 824 Valencia St., SF, CA
