Courtesy of Lieven, the newest model, Gran.
My Gran is definitely not a man,
but the most feminine of women,
a personification of the Mother,
a breathing testament to love.
A selfless love for all living things,
whether teeny-tiny or quite large.
The champion of the underdog
and companion to an ubercat,
the tenderest of merry witches,
complete with hat and broom.
Bound to her handsome groom
by a love that conquers all.
Today it be thirty-one winters,
let us pray for that many more!
A shining beacon of bonded trust
for the rest of us to only dream of.
All hail to the witch of West-Virginia
and her fine specimen of a man!
She’s wild I tell you
She sports the mouth of a bitch
She’s wild I tell you
She charms the men to her bed
She’s wild I tell you
She talks with the dead
She’s wild I tell you
She rides on the wind
She’s wild I tell you
There’s a twist in her bend~
I try to walk at least a mile in nature each day. In the warm months, I walk at the beginning or the end of the day. This is an intimate ritual for me, a quiet time of meditation and reflection. While walking and thinking~ my life and the people in it begin to make sense, my work and my passions seem to fall into place with each heel strike. The world is often glowing golden at twilight time and can appear to be a sterling star washed silver as the day awakens. Each walk is a production of great glamour and high drama. Being a witch is not a choice for me, taking the time to connect with nature is part of who I am. Walking across these beloved green hills and strolling among the gilded trees and feeling a part of it all is how I seek “The Divine.” On these walks, I never fail to realize a profound gratitude for the artistry of The Goddess~ I am a daughter of the elements, the landscape is my altar, the rising sun is my sacred flame, my life force is charged with reverence and humble devotion.
Woe is me, for I work nights
Riding my broom at lofty heights
Women all want a love true spell
Men tell me I’ll go to hell
Herbs and magick, one two three
It’s not that easy to be me
Dashing around here and there
Pluck and gather with such care
Light the candles, burn the herb
Ringing phones cannot disturb
Dog and cats and cawing crows
Ask the ole crone, to see if she knows
Oak tree legs and mossy hair
Fat soft arms that hug with care
She dances deep within the night
She sings and conjures till the light
Silver charms upon her weeping tree
Roots and tinctures all for thee
The Crone lives deep within the grove
Stirring her cauldron and firing her stove
Bread and soup and sweet corn cake
Love and hate~ we all shall make
Turning wheels and ticking clocks
Forests, Springs, and tumbling rocks
Fire and rain, want and pain
The hill crone sings of loss and gain
Candles lit, all’s said and done
Moon will rise and then the sun~
The merry ole crone is out for the day
Broom propped “straw up” while she is away.
Her skirts are cotton, she smells of a rose.
By her violet door, herbs and flowers now grow.
Sage and Rosemary sizzle there in the sun
The labors of summer, yet to be done
In her heart, she conjures the death of it all,
The sacred bend of harvest and fall
She walks~ clutching the call of a dove
The wheel ever turns~ below and above
Here it comes, let go of the night
Choose a fresh path, welcome the light
Smile in the sun, give it a go
Bless all the weeds
For they too must grow
I am a witch as common as mud
I know of your secrets
They run through your blood
You’ll never fool me
Not in ways that matter
I read beyond words
I hear beyond chatter
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.
Heed it well!
The Law of Return:
Ever mind The Rule of Three,
Three times thine acts return to thee.
This lesson well, thou moste learn,
Thou only gets what thou dost earn!
We have many choices in life, we don’t think about this often, but, we truly do. From the moment we roll from bed, there are choices; diminutive details of our lives are all about our own choices, but, we fail to claim this as a truth, we fail to take personal responsibility and ownership of the details and this is how I believe that we lose touch with our personal magic.
Most of us can recall magical times in our childhoods, and we blame the loss of our childhood magic on growing up, it isn’t true, or at least it does not have to be true. We are the same souls we were then, true, our bodies have grown, and true, along with physical growth comes certain dark discoveries, our hearts do get broken, but, our spirits do not have to be slaughtered along the way. Heartbreak does not lessen ones magic unless one allows for this to happen, one must acquiesce to such a tremendous loss, and I am here to tell you, don’t do it, ~just don’t!
We can choose to be practical or magical or practically magical or we can practice practical magic. We can choose to take on a magical attitude about our life and times here on this planet. Certainly we have this choice, no one owns our thoughts as no one owns our bodies, we are each unique and we all came here to this planet with a uniquely magical purpose. When did we forget this?
This isn’t tricky, you don’t have to shove your nose into witch books and study hard, all you have to do is be flexible and free flowing for a time, just try it on for size. You don’t have to join a cult or call yourself a witch either, (contrary to the beliefs of some of my fellow human beings, you most certainly do not have to be an Atheist or practice the black arts)
Just calm down, settle in, and do not judge yourself or anyone else. Begin to appreciate what is around you, above you, below you, be grateful, flow, open up, bloom, blossom, be hopeful, be positive, dance, move, sway, get happy and settle into your happier self. You are precious magic all in your own right, you don’t have to DO anything, except notice!
For a moment, if you can, forget everyone and everything, only consider yourself as a sacred being, have no other thought. Light up, glisten, glow, and be sacred for a moment. You are worthy, blessed, complex and simple, strong, miraculous, tender, raging, blissful, amazing, and grateful. You have choices, smile, own those choices, and feel empowered.
Employ your senses, go crazy, take your shoes off today and walk in the grass or in the mud with naked, appreciative feet. Do something outrageously natural and be unashamed to behave like a child. Sit in wonder, allow yourself to be awestruck. Get goose pimples, it is OK to be scared, don’t freeze up; empowerment can be a frightening thing if it is new and awkward for you. This is normal, smile and enjoy the sensations.
If it is possible, make love today, sexuality is a most powerful life force, if this is not physically possible, create art, this is making love… in its own way, this is pure magic and yet another very spiritual life giving act. Project magic with your mind, your body, your spirit, do not be afraid, it’s free, you do not have to have money to be magical! Inhale, exhale….and do it with intention and you are magical!
Dress for magic, wear something that moves as you move, we weave magic as we pass by in flowing clothing, it never hurts to use everything that you can to create your magical ways.
Say something kind to someone, anyone, this is magic, watch their face change, watch their energy rearrange itself, you are a magician. You have powers that you don’t harness, don’t you see? Just give away some kindness, this isn’t a dark art, this is a holy act, pure, selfless, and nurturing. Be kind. Plant roots of kindness, they will grow to bless you.
Embrace your practical magic, walk with it, sleep with it, wake with it. You will be happier and freer for it. Blessed Be!
Sunlit earth, turned once again
Shoots and buds show smiling faces
Native greens now take their places
Sparrows and Robins busy at their nests
The forest is alive with feathery chests
Warm the ground, bless the seed
Give us Goddess all we need
Dance and sweep
Chant and reap
Light our paths with silver moons
Plant and plow through golden noons
Mirth and merriment we shall know
Beneath the sun our seeds shall grow
The Lord and Lady hear our call
Fruit and flower bless us all!
When she was feeling magical, she would take to her basement chamber and lock the door behind her. This was where she twirled and spun beneath his ethereal scrutiny. This was where she transformed herself from mother and wife into high priestess and daughter of the moon. There were no windows down there, the space made her feel otherworldly and secreted from the domestic boundaries of her present life. In this place she was safe from all distraction; she was free of the invasive sunlight and of the common clatter of the upper floors. This place was her sanctuary; this was her time for humble prayer and reflection. No one dared interrupt her once the door was shut and locked. If she had done nothing decent for them, she had at least taught them this one courtesy.
Once safely behind the door, she would reach down in the familiar darkness and choose a fresh beeswax candle and light it with a match from her apron. The scent of sulfur filled the air as golden light flickered across canning jars, hanging herbs and drying hides. She would then carefully sprinkle finely ground patchouli powder onto a cauldron of hot coals that she had taken down earlier. She bent her head, she felt the heavy mane of raven hair falling free of delicate shoulders, she breathed in deeply, disappearing within fragrant grey breath of smoke and bliss. She gently walked out of the smoke and sat down to wait. She leaned her warm back against the cool of the northwest wall. She softly closed her lavender blue eyes in serene anticipation. Her hands and feet began to tingle. Behind her eyelids, images of how she fancied him to appear in the flesh of life would sooth her aching spirit; her shoulders would then drop, yielding to an abrupt and delicious kneading of virile hands. Her face would grow warm and pink for once again he had not disappointed her, he was there, his cold fingers were digging into her fragile shoulder bones, this hurt her in such a pleasant way that she held her breath praying to die beneath his powerful possession. This badness inside of her would go away now; she could be good for a while. The coolness of him would slide over her muggy thoughts; he flew in and out of her spirit, his icy black wings caressing her damp face and hair. She knew that he was both noble and depraved, yet more and more, she ran to him, this temptation to be with him was swelling out of her control, for something about his bloodlessness made her feel fully realized.
I call myself a witch, and you can call me that as well if you like. We all call ourselves “something,” don’t we? Labels are important little trinkets to enjoy for a lifetime or two. I’ll tell you right up front, I am not bothered if you find me superstitious or ignorant, and I don’t care if you judge me silly or evil. I don’t entertain fantasies of being well liked or admired, I just “am” the woman I came to be and that alone is enough to fill my heart with appreciation.
I am not sorry for myself, or ashamed of myself, and I can say quite confidently that I am not striving to be particularly proud of myself either. I simply strive to be authentic. In the end, I am the only judge that I will ever stand before as worthy or unworthy of the life that I have cast for myself here upon the earth mother.
I am not alone; I have sisters and brothers. I take a peculiar joy in my nakedness, for it has been hard earned. Tearing off ones wardrobe and strutting around gloriously imperfect isn’t comfortable, but, for me, it is a necessary evil.
When I rise and employ my rituals, I am not foolish; I am connecting my spirit to the divine life force. I am seeking (and I am finding) that peace in which I seek within the core of the pink tinged dawn.
I don’t worship idols; I worship the passion behind their creation, I worship the blood, sweat, and the tears upon the hands that fashioned them. I worship the earth on which they stand, the moon under which they glisten, the sun that warms them, the bird that perches upon them, the dog that urinates pressed against them, and I worship the rain, sleet, and snow that cleanses them. I worship not the idols; I worship the sensual joy that looking at them, touching them, and bowing before them brings to the human heart and mind.
I don’t find darkness ugly, have you ever danced naked on a moonless night and found healing in the sheer benevolent love of life within your own belly? I have, and it is brilliantly soothing.
One evening, long decades ago, I was traveling alone. I was lying across the bed in my hotel room, I was drowsy, I was warm and comfortable, but, I was not asleep, I am certain that I was not asleep. My eyes were closed and I was thinking about going downstairs for dinner when I felt a warm presence enter the room and slip along the wall behind me. The energy was feminine in both form and feeling, the room was suddenly shimmering in a soft glittery golden hue. I was not afraid when I felt the feminine energy fold me within her golden arms. I was not afraid when she held me to her spirit body and lovingly whispered into my ear a minutiae of scenes from my entire life, a life that was yet before me. I was not afraid when she told me that no matter what happened here, that I was unconditionally loved and that I was being safeguarded and that although I would know sadness in my lifetime, I would be fine and all would unfold as it should, and that I would always be loved and happy no matter what happened. Then, she held me for a while until at some point; I melted into her warm golden light and breathed in her wisdom and compassion. This union was mysterious and sensory, complete and satisfying. When “she” left, she left in the same manner that she had approached, softly, quietly, tenderly, lovingly, like a new Mother creeping into the nursery to check on her sleeping infant.
I know without a doubt that she revealed an eternal mercy upon my young woman self on that cold winter evening that now seems so long ago and so far away from the mature woman that I am today… She left the gifts of comfort, trust and faith in things that I don’t necessarily understand. I comprehend now that I am immortally connected to her through a great silver umbilical cord that ever pulsates with light and love. When I think of her today, I think of her as The Great Mother, the feminine force that sparks within all of humankind. She has never forsaken me, she lives within me. She comes to me in times of great sorrow and in times of great joy. She guides my hands and my heart, she soothes my soul, she grants me passion, and within my spirit, she lights fresh fires of restoration with each sunrise.
You are free to believe me or to brand me mentally diminished, but, I am a witch, and as a witch, I am encircled within the arms of the original Madonna, I walk within the vigilant ever golden eyes of the Great Mother. I am energized and warmed by her perpetual compassion and mercy. I dance and leap within her golden radiance and my spirit will never grow bitter, for I am but one of the countless keepers of Her magical ways. Blessed Be.
Marry the frost
in the hollow
the winter birch.
in the crackling
bracken and grass.
Warm in the brown
Safe in the wooden
heart of the tree.
wild and free
Embrace the Witch
She is real and warm
Her pots bubble before dawn
She is intimate in charming ways
She has ripened beneath sun, wind, clouds
She cares for tender things
She croons the rampant babes; she holds the frail hands of the dying
She binds, bends, splits, weaves, blesses, conserves
Her hands bleed, she digs, she plants, she gathers
She prays, her incantations sincere and just
She dances beneath silver moons, her feet bare, her heart surging
She helps, heals, shelters, encourages,
She feels, she sees, she knows
She is merry, with well-lit eyes
She is devoted, loyal, discrete
She walks in truth; head high, intent, purposeful
She is never bored, boredom is but bitter bane
She is good-woman, wise-woman, crone-woman, beloved woman
She gives good gifts, time and nurture
She is forthright, honest, and fair
She is matron, mother, and crone
Bless my withered garden, with Sage, Thyme and Eyebright
Fill my heart with heat, so that my passion knows no end
Teach to me the ways of warmth, that my love may freely bend
Set me high upon your inspiration peak
There is the healing, the work, the desire
There is the dancing, the shine of the moon
There is the planting, the sun of the noon
There is the study, the branch, leaf and tree
There is the hunger to set the soul free
There is the fruit, the pulp and the core
There is the legend, the folk and their lore
There is the wild thing, the beat of the night
There is the forest, the reverence, the light
There is the woman who sings to the wind
There is a witch, and she is my kin
How could I be anything but a witch having grown up, and now, once again living within the green majesty of these beloved Mother Mountains? Within these forested hills and deep, dark hollers are women who have never called themselves “witches.” Women who have never entered the incense scented New Age Witch shop in town. They have never worn a pentagram, or attended a Pagan drumming circle or danced within the sacred circle on a full moon esbat, and, yet, they know their folk medicine well, they are intimately familiar with the native herbs and roots, wild life and moon phases. They know when to plant and when to harvest. They are wise women, keenly familiar with the streams and the rivers, they are strong and they are sweet. Their bare feet have walked upon the earnest warm earth, soft, freshly tilled soil seeping between their grateful toes. Within the knowing hearts of these unashamedly robust mountain women lives the sweet lullaby of The Great Mother, they are proudly maternal souls.
West Virginia is a sage mother. Growing up between her generous breasts leaves a child with a life long sense of belonging. She fills us all with an eternal longing for home, no matter where we roam. Within our hearts and minds we remain connected to her hills, her creeks, her valleys. The pull of the moon over her mountains, shimmering upon her exotic forests sustain us, our memories are fond and they are charged with the magick of folklore and legend.
What rural child has not ceased their folly to rest their warm, damp backs against the lime refreshment of a cool mossy bank on a hazy, lazy, humid afternoon, or fallen fast asleep on a plush carpet of grass beneath a Red Maple or Knotty Pine tree when the merriment of a searing Summer day has left them limp with carefree childhood exhaustion? What Appalachian child has not plucked a fat purple grape from the arbor and savored it’s roundness before that first splendid purple blast of flavor made them smile with wonder and delight? It is only natural to be spellbound by the beauty of our wild, wonderful, Mother.
I am a witch and I believe in magic.
This is at the heart of my being. What does it mean? When Sheila invited me to write with her on here, I was excited but cautious. Many years ago I had defined myself as a solitary witch. Since then I have happily walked my own road, secure in my own magical world, performing my own personal rituals and making my own private obeisances. I have never explained my spirituality to anyone. Having publicly (if anonymously) declared myself a witch, I found myself wanting to explore what I actually meant by this. Was I really a witch? Do I really believe in magic?
I started (as is my way!) with the dictionary. I have a strong belief in the power of language. I looked up the word witch.
“Witch – a woman thought to have evil magic powers.”
I did not like this but decided to pursue it anyway. To me – a large part of being a witch is looking clearly at things and being honest with my Self. The word evil bothered me. I looked that up next.
“Evil – profoundly immoral and wicked”
I was still unsatisfied so I looked up moral (this looking up is going on for a while, but there is a point to it!)
“Moral – concerned with the principals of right and wrong behaviour –based on what is considered right or acceptable in a particular society”
This felt better – in our society it is considered acceptable to exploit other people, hurt animals, worship money and possessions, go to war. I do indeed decide for myself what is right and wrong and my decisions are often at variance with “what is considered right or acceptable in a particular society”
So far – so good. I went on to look up magic.
“Magic – the power of apparently influencing events by using mysterious or supernatural forces”
Just to be absolutely clear – here are two more dictionary definitions –
“Mysterious – difficult or impossible to understand.”
“Supernatural – attributed to some force beyond scientific understanding”
The word wicked, I already knew, has it’s roots in the word wicca. I was proud to be wicked.
These definitions all fit me perfectly. So as far as the dictionary goes, I am fully entitled to say that I am a witch and I believe in magic.
I would like to write some more about magic. Scientific understanding is a good thing but is, despite the prevailing wisdom, extremely sketchy, and over time has repeatedly been forced to admit itself wrong. The earth is not flat. The atom is not the smallest building block in the universe. Matter contains energy.
Life comes out of death – this is now a scientifically held view. We are all parts of a whole – again this is current scientific belief. One thing leads to another – all of our actions have repercussions. We are only beginning to recognise the truth of this and we still don’t understand the extent of it.
A scientist called Backster took some cells from the mouth of a world war two navy veteran. He put them in a room seven miles away and connected them to a polygraph, which measures the cells ability to conduct electricity. He connected the veteran to another polygraph and showed him video footage of battle in the pacific. Stress causes activity on the polygraph. On this occasion the polygraph, viewed on simultaneous video pick up, “jumped” at the same time on both polygraphs.
To my mind this experiment is an example of someones thoughts and emotions having a physical effect on matter that is miles away. Witches have always known that this is possible. This I call magic.
For me, being a witch is about taking part in transformation. Both of my self, and the universe. Witch is the same thing really. It is about awareness, cause and effect. I engage in rituals which I believe make a difference. These are not superficial, staged performances, but deeply thought out, strongly felt acts of integrity and magic.
I am a witch and I believe in magic.
I suppose offering a magickal home to all who pass through our door is this crones little “cottage” hobby. I have been working this past year to bring as much of nature indoors as humanly possible without starting a forest fire when I light my alter candles each dawn.
Poppa and I don’t run a fussy home here. We share our home with a “canine coven” consisting of several elderly, set in their ways “rescue” four leggers, not to mention our very vocal wolf hybrid, husky empress, “Miss Francis.”
Still, regardless of these hairy, smelly, elder fur kids, this crone wants to dwell within a comfortingly aromatic, reasonably orderly home. (I said, reasonably) Clutter is chaos, if I don’t use it, I donate it or recycle it.
Chimes, bells, incense, feathers, grapevine wreaths, candles, rocks, branches, crystals, all add to a “humbly elegant and cozily magickal” dwelling. Branches and vines make beautiful natural archways over doors and windows. Fresh Fruit and vegetables are simple and lovely, look at them in a simple white bowl for a minute, then click a photo of them, display it on the wall in a sticks and stones hand crafted frame. Throw a clean, soft, old patchwork quilt on the kitchen table with a jar of fresh picked daisies in the center and have a friend over for coffee, all will be cozy and no big deal if there is a spill! Any witch can entertain, with no fuss!
Poppa and I live on a ridgetop with other ridgetops as our only “eye level” neighbors. We keep our windows uncovered, open to light, open to the natural art of winter birds and falling snow. All day long, bright birds freely spy on us, study us, and, we do the same.
There is calming music playing as I meander through my folksy, warm, little world. Right now, it is Gary Wright’s musical offering, “Waiting To Catch The Light” that is fluttering around me. I sigh, it is very calm and relaxing in this old house. The fur kids are blissfully sleeping off this chilly afternoon, as I enjoy my happy solitude.
Mood setting aroma therapy is essential for creating a drama free space that is soothing to the weary soul. I especially enjoy the rich earthen scents of pine, cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg, ginger, patchouli, sandalwood, sage, bayberry and citrus.
In this witches house, the seasons dictate the decor. When the seasons change, I change everything!
When the days lengthen, and the air softens. I get busy. I put away my incense and open the windows! Fresh mountain air is energizing, as I get to my Spring cleaning! In the evenings, I might light a lavender or tea rose candle. Soon, fresh flowers will be tucked in vases here and there to acknowledge the simple abundance of the Great Mother. There is no thing more romantic in springtime than a bouquet of fresh mountain wild flowers with delicate sprigs of fresh lavender and baby’s breath tucked within the bright colors.
When Poppa cuts the grass, for the first time of the season, I am entirely blissful. Yes, I am a winter soul, but, there is nothing sweeter smelling than the first fresh-cut of new grass! There should be a candle featuring this scent (and one for puppies breath too)
The center of this old witches magickal home is the alter, today, on the alter, I have lit a thick, glittery bronze brown candle in the midst of a bed of creek stone rocks and sea shells..the sparkling brown candle has an elaborate scrolling leaf carved around its center. At this minute, I am burning a pinch of dried white sage leaf and earth scented incense on the rock bed. I inhale the warm, heavy spiciness of sage smoke, and instantly, I feel richly blessed.
“Salem,” the resident black cat, has fallen asleep on the back of the sofa. He is exhausted from bird watching, he is lying there in a tight little circle, he is “done all in” from plotting how to snare one especially “flitty” fat red bird. I read that “Salem” means “peace” by the way. So far, he is a little shy of peaceful, but, he is just a kitty, six months old today, he will settle down.
Every good witch cherishes her home, and, no matter how humble her dwelling may be, or how little money she has to spend, she can decorate lavishly for less than one cent. She only has to take a long walk in the woods to come home with the very finest in decorator accents. (Watch for poison ivy though, I learned this the hard way, recently)
A sizzling pot of water with a teaspoon or two of cinnamon in it, can make a house come to life when the witch is fresh out of candles and incense. Add sprigs of pine or a couple of pine cones and you are transported back to the fragrant forest floor, without ever leaving your house. A few rose petals sizzling in a pot on the stove, in the summer time, offers a softly romantic effect. (or lemon juice or orange peel or mint leaves or a blend of all of the above) I love to drop a few dozen old marigold (dead heads) in a pot with a drop or two of vanilla in the Fall. Instant pleasure!
A string of cheap white lights and a few clean branches arranged artfully in an old weathered flower-pot, can light up any dark corner for a couple of dollars. There is no end to the natural possibilities for economical, earth friendly decorating!
Tap down and gather together
all ye merry crafters
Gather the herbs and vines
and hang them from the rafters
Kick a boot cheerily
and sway thou wicked hips
Grab the wisest merry-man
and kiss him on the lips
Ring the bell and call the cat
then spark thy candle bright
Sip a witchy midnight brew
on this winters night.
Words are capricious little sprites. When I say to another soul, “I am a witch” there are any number of impressions one might embrace depending upon your background, your present and past realities, your geographic location, and, your personal emotional response to the word “witch” based on your educational exposure and perhaps your religious teachings.
Here is what I am not, I am not an angry, ugly being that stirs up herbs and lights fires in order to send out wicked hexes and spells that are born to cause harm and chaos. I believe that what I do and say comes directly back to me, magnified and growing claws that will serve only to scratch my own eyes out when I least expect it. You cannot play with the fires of negative energy and not get burned, there is such a thing as the three-fold law, I embrace that concept with profound respect. I am not a worshiper of Satan, for me Satan is an entity that is created in the minds and hearts of bitter souls that choose to take the dark path of greed and selfishness. Satan is your self-created evil “baby” if you know him, and “rock” him, he will be yours forever. “He” will rob you of your light and your dance on this planet will be an ugly, lonely dance, fit only for sad angry fools that cannot be forgiven because they know not how to forgive. It is said that witches do not believe in Satan, well, I do believe in the dark embrace of evil which has more to do with an attitude of hopelessness and rueful anger than a man in a red suit with a pitchfork in his hand. I don’t sacrifice babies or animals, in fact, I am a child advocate volunteer and an animal rights activist, so, that would be impossible for me. I love and nurture all creatures, even the crawling pesky bugs that most people think nothing of squashing under their shoes.
I am me, for this I came. I am carnal in that I celebrate the fleshy pleasures of this life, I make no apologies for my love of pleasure, of sex and of eroticism. I know these things as gifts, not as sins. I treasure romance and passion, sex is poetry, art, music, and drama in motion between two souls. What is so tender, and yet so powerful and moving as making love with someone worthy of your focus, your adoration and your naked trust? Creative lust has been the juice behind many works that move the souls of man. Sex is the life force, it makes us happy and centered and gives us hope to soar above the mundane tasks of daily living. We are like hungry children without sex, needing, wanting, and empty. Sex is such a perfect gift in fact, that there is not a requirement that we have a partner, we can sexually satisfy ourselves.
Now, isn’t that a wonder and a well thought out gift for us trembling and needful human beings dwelling in a sometimes lonely world? It’s as if the creator thought of everything when the gift of pleasurable sex was given to us simple-minded human beings.
Of course, where you have humanity, you will have meanness and power struggles, so, sex has been perverted, like every other good thing. We had to go and make all of these rules about what is a sin and what is acceptable, because we enjoy playing like we know the heart and mind of the creator. Give a human something perfect and natural and he/she will make up rules that are designed to drain the joy and promote guilt and shame. The witch knows sex is a perfect thing when used as it was designed, with tenderness and respect for a partners heart and mind. We honor one another with our sexual skills, we give pleasure without shame or regret, we take pleasure with an attitude of grace and gratitude. We embrace intimacy with respect and awe. We get a body while here on earth, a body in which to give and receive pleasure, a body in which to heal others through tenderness and touch. Witches know secrets about sex, and they are not afraid to use those secrets to heal what is sick or broken in a lover.
The witch is familiar with plants and animals. She or he knows that every being, every plant, every animal has a purpose that is elegant and perfect in its natural state. That is worthy of awe and wonder. That is worthy of tenderness and care. The witch takes responsibility for passing out kisses and hugs, for looking the other way when those she loves prove themselves to be achingly human, for there is grace in not noticing weaknesses, especially in the strongest of souls. The witch dances alone and in her dance, she heals, she inspires, and, she moves mountains. The witch grieves in ways that others can only dream of, for she knows life and death are closer than most think. She knows the worlds of the living and the dead are ever entwined. The stopping of the heart beat only means the flesh is no longer sustainable, but, the spirit can soar and dance forever. She is comforted by the knowledge that her loved ones can be closer in death than in life. The witch knows that time is the only true gift that is given to anyone that we care about. All other things will pass away, but, the time we spend actively loving those we care about is living energy between two souls that never ceases to pulse with life and vitality. Energy cannot die, it is only released to eternal celebration.
Witches know that love binds all things, prayers and spells are the same things, kindness counts, pleasure is good, the earth is our beautiful and sacred Mother. Witches know that time makes one more beautiful inside and that wrinkles and gray hair are in realty quite earnestly beautiful because they are the creators way of pointing out the wise ones.
So yes, I am a witch, I love well, I seek to heal, I seek to bless, I seek to encourage, I seek to find balance in loving myself and in loving others. I seek to inspire, I seek to liberate, I seek to bow in respect and awe of the elements, of the animals, of all creatures of the land, of the air, and of the seas, I seek to honor human nature, and the creators nature. I seek to honor my ancestors, I seek to dance in the spirit of creativity and I seek to become an elegant, loving, contented, and happy soul. I seek to make this journey that is my life one of celebration and wonder. Above all, I seek to be kind. “So mote it be!”
I was talking with Poppa last night about the word “witch.” This is such a misunderstood word, even for one that is a witch. There are numberous meanings of this word, depending on where you look. Every time I run a search, I find a new “original” definition.
I find that for this crone, embracing the word “witch” is liberating, it soars out of my mouth on wings, I like that. I have been misunderstood all of my life, it only seems appropriate that I am a witch, to further the misunderstandings, if for no other reason.
Some say the word means “wise one” I do not know, I was a witch at sixteen, but, I do not claim that I was all that wise at that time in my life, but, my life force was powerful and the Goddess was a friend of mine, so I got by.
I have read that witches are “consorts” of the devil, oh come on, Poppa is never even fussy, much less, evil, and, he is my sole consort. Real witches do not believe in a literal “devil.” The little dude is a Christian creation having to do with the image of the horned God of Harvest above the (pre-Christian) Pagan Temple door ways. I won’t go into the history here. (as I have read it to be)
Some say that a witch is an old ugly woman. Give me a break, I am not what I used to be, but, who is? I am happy in my own skin.
Some say that a witch is an enchanting woman, (sigh) that is nicer, but, I assure you that there have been times that I have presented myself to the world as a woman who is somewhat shy of “enchanting.”
To be sure, I know by now that witches are like everyone else, all unique, all have good and bad days, all have challenges and problems that they wish they could remedy with a twitch of their noses and a little eye of newt.
I have known one or two that dabble a tad in negative energy, but, like anyone else, they get back what they cast out, so, eventually, they learn to only “cast happily” or they grow sad and bitter very quickly.
For me, to be a witch is to be thoughtful, to use my energy, my art, my communication skills for purposes of healing and mercy. To move about the world in a way that blesses, not destroys. To speak with reverence and kindness… to humans, animals and creatures, for I have known the heartbreak of scorn, and I won’t participate in casting hurt. To me, a witch is an authentic individual (male or female) with a keen awareness of self, of nature, of intuition and of priority.
Blessed Be All Ye That Are Weary This Day.