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The god who sits cross-legged: you know Who I mean. The position is central to the iconography of the Horned, in art both ancient and modern. In Old Craft symbolism, the Master may be represented by the skull of a horned animal with two longbones crossed beneath it. If Witchdom had pirates (!), I suppose that's what they'd fly on their flags. The Lord of the Red Bones, above and below.

Even in images such as Lévi's Baphomet and the Gundestrup Antlered, where the god is seated in a position not fully “tailor seat” (as we used to call it), his crossed or bent legs at least allude to the fully cross-legged seat. It's well worth asking what this pose can tell us about the god.

Nature. Civilized people (and their gods) sit on furniture. Barbarians sit on the ground, and cross-legged is the natural way to do so. This is an untamed god, a god in touch with the powers of nature, drawing strength and stability from the Earth.

Duality. The iconography of the Horned lord is dominated by doubling, and this speaks deeply to His nature. He is both Dark and Light, Lord of life and death, the master driven by his own internal contradictions. (Whereas Wicca tends to read duality in terms of male-female pairing, Old Craft generally looks to the divided self for the primal articulation of Twoness.) Just as his legs cross beneath him, so too do the two sides of his self cross and intersect with one another, the basis of his Being.

A mudra that links Star Trek, Orthodox Jewish liturgy, and the god of witches.

Fascinating.

The “Vulcan salute” premiered in 1967 during Star Trek's second season. Series creator Gene Roddenberry felt that the words of the newly-invented Vulcan greeting needed some sort of physical gesture to go with them. Actor Leonard Nimoy held up his hand, palm facing out, thumb extended, fingers divided between the second and third fingers. In that moment, a pop-culture icon was born. Live long and prosper, folks.

Nimoy knew the gesture from his childhood. Six times a year in the Orthodox synagogue that his grandfather took him to, the kohanim—men from priestly families—would face the congregation, raise both hands before their faces making the same hand-sign, and pronounce the ancient Threefold Blessing:

What will the well-dressed warlock be wearing in 2015?

My sources say: classic look, hoof to horn. 

Hats. The well-dressed man-in-black wouldn't dream of leaving the covenstead without one, and better it be if it's got a crow's feather tucked into the band. Any style will do, although the classic hood is a perennial favorite. Why hats, you ask? Simple: they hide the horns. 

Eelskin waistcoats. They say Old Hornie's a gentleman and, as everyone knows, gentlemen wear waistcoats. Scots warlocks made the eelskin jacket de rigueur centuries ago, and the fecket, as it's known, richly deserves its classic status. Admittedly, feckets can be difficult to find these days, especially with the EU's current environmental regulations, but trust me, it's well worth the effort. (You can find anything on the internet.) Why eelskin, you ask? Mythological reason: it links us to (and, in effect, identifies us with) the Earmengand, the Old World-Serpent “whose coils contain the ocean.” Practical reason: it makes us slippery and hard to catch. Plus an added perk: eelskin sheds bullets, even silver ones. What's not to like?