Mouth the spell
Fell the tower
Forge the meaning
Fire and flame
Mouth the spell
Fell the tower
Forge the meaning
Fire and flame
Many witches that I have known practice their craft alone. Many of us solitary practitioners live in isolated areas. This would stand to reason, all of us are united in one very powerful way, we adore, admire, embrace, and cherish the abundant gifts of nature.
Personally, Poppa and I live on a high hill, I call it a mountain, but, in reality, it is a high hill. We are three hours from the true mountains. We rent a cabin there at harvest time, I write there when I can. The splendor of the brilliant October foliage can bring me to my knees sobbing with pure delight and childish wonder.
Back here, on our humble hill, we are high enough to be set apart from the coming and goings of the locals, this house cannot be seen from the road, and I like it this way. Pretty much, everyone knows that there is a witch up here, a witch with several old dogs that do not enjoy visitors. The shock and scorn of this crone’s black cat and bubbling cauldron have long ago given way to a passive disinterest. No one has hanged me, or burned me at the stake yet, although, I never, “say never!”
There was a rustling on the wind for a troubling little moment back in the eighties, when I first wore my pentagram in public, but, after a while, there was a quiet, collective acquiescence, followed by dim dismissal. People moved on to more fascinating and far sexier gossip. The more “hillbilly” types are fickle, they enjoy chewing on a brand of “home-made sin” that one can sink ones “tooth into” those few (yes “few” we aren’t nearly ALL hillbilly’s these days) aren’t up for much of a spiritual debate, they need “stiffer stuff” like adultery and fornication to really get their hands in the air. Witchcraft is an uninspiring topic in these parts, in these modern times, thankfully. I think this is a sign of social progress, “hip hip hooray!” No, that is a lie, what I really think is that no one cares about anything much nowadays, unless you disconnect their cable television or disturb their internet connection.
When our children were in school, I watched my p’s and q’s. Now that they are grown, I do and I say what I want, but, I don’t feel the need to advertise myself, I don’t care to make any local statements or declarations. I am content. I blend when I need to, (there is a grandchild now) I mind my own witchy business, I am just up here doing my own thing and no one cares.
The beauty of being a solitary witch is that everyday can be a high holy day. I don’t need a Pagan holiday or a witches Sabbat or Esbat to work my lonely magick, or to bow low, all alone in the forest, in utter surrender and awe of The Great Mother.
Being a solitary witch can get lonely. At times, even the most solitary soul becomes needful of a friendly sister or two. A touch of merry camaraderie, can be a sweet event. On those rare, but fairly regular occasions, I wonder down town, or up town (I am in the middle here) and, I make my way to a couple of blessed witch shoppes, where I chat a bit with the owners and the few, but, “select” shoppers.
On my little “witchy” adventures, I wear my stones, my feathers and my cape (weather permitting) …and this feels appropriate, everyone else does the same, except for the student “hippies” in their beloved tie-dyed tee shirts and “vintage” ragged bell bottom jeans. Who doesn’t love these gentle, artsy, guys and gals?
The shoppes, are my prized jewels of the market place. All are quiet, little havens, displaying the most delicate of enchanted offerings. All are stimulating mini retreats for this shopper crone. The shoppes are very tiny, and prettily “tucked away” on back streets. When I enter, astral bells tinkle and I am welcomed by seductive aromas. Flute music floats around my body, and I am swept into a mystical realm of warmth and understanding.
I browse the rare or odd items with interest. I inhale the heavenly scents of lemon grass, amber, and lavender as I fondly consider the beautiful, hand crafted, one hundred percent natural, lotions, candles and soaps. I always pick up a few charcoal pads, an inspirational assortment of spicy herbal powders, a few pebbles of “dragon’s blood” for crushing and burning, and I never leave without a bag of dried, white sage leaves. Most of these treasures are used for clearing and energizing my sacred space. I don’t do as much “spell casting” these days, I mostly, consider the daily casting of a peaceful home, invoking the centeredness that is required for a truly loving marriage, a happily connected extended grown family and very contented, healthy, four-legged companions that I share my life with. These efforts of ” pure heart” are my worthiest pursuits now.
I vote we get rid of the calendar altogether. Who needs is anyway? It’s so annoying, don’t you think? What day is it? Who cares! Wouldn’t it be nice, if you could just say: “Why, it’s Myday!” No more waiting for Thank-God-it’s-Friday ever again!
The same goes of course for weeks and months, if anybody asks: “But Sir/Madam, it’s Myweek in Mymonth!”
I would loosely allow for the season’s to be kept on. But just to be annoying, I’m having Myspring now, instead of later on in Mymonth. Hey, the sun is shining and it’s pleasantly warm here in the south of Spain, so why not. You can have Yourwinter, should you so choose!
And evidently, I was born in MYyear. Duh!! Did you have to ask?
I could write much, much more on this riveting topic, but I’m having Myholiday, so I can’t be bothered! Nananananh…
If you vote Ralphie for Internet President, I shall make this the first amendment to Myconstitution, make that Ourconstitution. Unless you would like Yourownconstitution, which would be ok by me.
I’ve seen so many works of art in my lifetime that I forget the names of most of the artists, but here are a few paintings of the Masters that I love the most:
But I should state that these pictures do not do justice to the originals at all! I’ve seen a number of them in museums and you really have to be there to believe how magnificent they are. A painting is a living, breathing work of art that should be met in person! It changes with the light from every angle.
by Zombiehun Aren’t the colours extraordinary? Lovely workmanship.
Click to visit DeviantArt!
Did I tell you that Linda almost gave me a heart attack about a week ago? I’m going to get as many Linda-stories in as I can, before she takes leave of me for good, going to her new home in Germany. Every morning, I open one eye and already with my left hand I take Linda’s lead to take her for a wee and her morning doodahs. This particular morning I was in a bit of a hurry, because I myself had an appointment with Mrs. Nature, who can be a cantankerous old cow. She is prone to some nasty practical jokes, if you keep her waiting. I assure you that I am not being facetious, when I say this!
But Linda wouldn’t have none of it and took her merry time, as per usual. There was an elderly couple that she insisted on saying hello to. The man was sitting down on a bench by the side of the road and his wife(of long-standing, one would suppose) was appropriately standing by his side. Linda sniffed the gentleman’s hand and he petted her and his wife smiled in appreciation. After Her Majesty had done the necessary, we headed back to West Virginia or thereabouts, anyway.. homeward bound! But I digress and I shouldn’t do that, seeing as I had an appointment.
On our way back, the couple was coming from the opposite direction and my dog recognised the friendly gentleman. This time however, she put her two paws and her full sixty-four pound weight on the little old lady’s chest and toppled her over! What happened next, I perceived as if it were in slow motion. There was a big rock behind the lady and she plopped down on it, using it for a chair, so to speak. But then she started falling sideways. Thank the heavens that her husband came to the rescue and straightened her up. My heart was beating like a jack hammer! I should have sprung to the lady’s aid pronto, but I seemed to be paralysed.
Fortunately, the woman was unharmed and tut-tutted that I should not make a big deal out of it. However, all the while, I was envisaging all that could have happened! You know that some old people have brittle bones. The lady might have broken her pelvis or some other bones. Linda was unaware of any mishap, but I was a mess. All the ramifications of the consequences of what might have come to pass went through my mind again and again. I will not enumerate them here, because I still feel faint, whenever I think of it. Linda managed to drag me home and it took the rest of the day to see me right.
I shall care extraordinary care, whenever I meet octogenarians on the road, whilst accompanied by this pooch, I can tell you that! Let me just state, for the record, that Linda meant to harm whatsoever. She is a year old and is boisterous and wants to play. That is all. It is only that she doesn’t know her own strength!
That very same evening, I took Madam to the beach, where I take her off the lead, because nothing untoward can possibly happen there! Or can it? We were on our way back and Linda was about fifty yards in front of me. It was pitch dark, because there was no moon out. All of a sudden I hear somebody shouting in Spanish to get this blasted dog out of his vicinity. I run towards the mayhem and would do I see(and hear!)? A lone man was fishing and had thrown his catch on the ground next to his feet. Linda thought this very considerate of the angler, for leaving a lovely snack there for her.
The man was not enthused, to use an understatement. He shouted that he was supposed to sell these! His swearing was quite colourful, let me tell you! I apologised profusely and dragged Pooch-who-was-in-a-pickle-now away from there. The worst thing was that I had such a hard time refraining from really laughing out loud at this hilarious episode. I fervently scolded her, for the man’s sake. But when we were out of hearing I fell over laughing and Linda licked me merrily, with a breath that was not very aromatic. Or rather it was, but not in a rosy way! So far for the tales of Linda for this day, folks.
It ain’t like them good ole days!