This old mountain is alive, aware and alert and wearing her most sensual navy blue dress tonight. Crickets and frogs are humming; rain is falling softly, soundlessly. I know that there is a small group of reddish brown does that are sleeping together one hundred feet below me. There are gray doves sleeping in scruffy pine trees and my favorite old hoot owl is resting upon a branch somewhere along the Oaky ridge above me as I write this. There is too much life out there to fall asleep tonight. I feel it rising up inside of me, sliding, running, coursing through me. Summer is whispering how tired she is and I am sitting with her tonight, comforting her, telling her my secrets as she nods off now and again. A three wick candle burns on a bed of black rocks and creamy sea shells in my cauldron and a black cat sits beneath my desk lamp watching my fingers with primitive feline fascination. I am thinking of how blessed I feel right now to be a silver haired crone witch suffering the wonders of insomnia.
It is midnight, I raise my east window, to find that it is raining hard out there tonight. This witch’s home is filled with soft music and candle light, the dogs snore. My body is tired but my mind isn’t ready for sleep, my spirit is at peace.
An alert black cat named Salem just climbed onto the window seal to watch the rain and the darkness, he has golden eyes, and he loves the wet wind on his whiskers. We are sharing this night.
This is a magical old home at night, it’s well broken in, magnificently scarred up, it is humble and worthy to be called home. I wonder did I do this place justice when I was the young mother of a family here, when this place was buzzing with the desperate dizziness of youth and the dreams of a life to come, was I magical enough to be both inspirational and hopeful? Was I fun and warm with my children, I hope so.
There are so many lives down beneath this mountain, down the road, across the hills, under the stars, over the seas. My life is here, I love it, but, I dream of other places, and other realms. I wonder sometimes why I was dropped here and not there. Is there any reason or purpose to where I am and what I am doing?
I have this quote, I made it up. I don’t know if there are a million others that have claimed it before me? How could I know? I tried to find out, I Googled it, I found no such quote, so for now, I am claiming it. It goes like this. “It isn’t that I don’t believe in anything, it is that I believe in everything.” This pretty much sums me up spiritually.
I claim to be a witch, but, I have been other things. Devout things, ridiculous things, funny things, vulgar things. I suppose you don’t care, that is fine, I don’t care either. I don’t think labels help one thing, we humans are so silly about such things. I do know that my soul is quite the same soul that it was when I prayed the rosary or attended revival or studied Native American teachings or went dead spiritually, I have always been ME, and I fear that I shall very likely remain this way for all of time.