The Long Way Home

The past two weeks seem to be the longest two weeks ever.  Through the pandemic, the only places I have been are the grocery store, the woods, and hiking.  I haven’t been to North Carolina to visit my family since Christmas of 2019.  Yes, I talk to my mama every day or so…I text my nieces almost daily…I video chat with the babies every other week…but it just isn’t the same.  Hugs and kisses over video leave you feeling a little lackluster.

During this time of separation, I have been trying to be productive.  I have been studying, creating, building, searching.  One of the things I decided to try was Ancestry.com. I have been able to trace one side of my dad’s family back to the 1500’s in Nairn, Scotland.  Our surname has evolved many times over the years…centuries.  We have been Gaddy…then further back, Getty…the back further, Gettie…then before that, Goudie…and prior to that Gowdie.  I have traced my lineage back to an Isobel Gowdie….now whether or not that is the one and only Witch of Scotland, who knows.  It is a nice thought though.  It is nice to have a history.

I have been studying a book called, “Scottish Witchcraft” by Barbara Margaret Meiklejohn-Free.  I have been pouring through the pages absorbing every morsel.  One area of the book speaks to ancestral magic.  She addresses the fact that there are blood ancestors (those you know) and unknown ancestors.  She speaks of finding her own connection to unknown ancestors and the journey that they led her through.  I have loved building a new ancestral altar separate from the one that I have for my blood ancestors.  It is an altar that holds the breath of Scotland and the Welsh countryside close.

During the full Strawberry moon and eclipse last night, I called upon those ancestors.  I could feel the power surging…I could hear their ancient voices on the wind as I stilled myself and prepared for what they wanted to teach me.  It was like I could feel myself walking the Scottish landscape and could sense them walking with me.  I could see the many standing stones as we weaved in and out…I could hear the lilt of their voices whispering ancient secrets.

 

There is something to be said about walking the worlds with those whose spirits resonate with your own.  There is a familiarity and a magical feeling just knowing that you are part of the same clan, so to speak, but on completely different planes.

I have also been trying to go to the woods more.  There is something in me that craves that connection with nature.  Rituals under the patio or in the courtyard don’t hold the same power as sitting under a tree listening to the sounds around me with a small sand-filled cauldron with a candle burning and natural elements scattered around.  I have become a hoarder of bark, walnut casings, sticks, and rocks.  If it calls to me, it stays with me.

Lately, when I visit the woods in the early morning or close to dusk, I am visited by a young fox, a squirrel, and a crow.  The fox won’t ever get any closer than 20 or so feet away.  He’s always watching, but still seems comfortable enough to lie down where he is.  It’s almost as if he wants to be a part of the magic happening.  The squirrel on the other hand likes to play.  He or she is a mischievous little creature who seems to enjoy throwing black walnut hulls at me as I do my workings.  The crow, who I like to think is Mama crow, sits on perched in a tree about 10 feet away.  I can hear her cawing and of course, I answer back.  We are an odd group, but there is a camaraderie there.  A knowing that none in our circle is there to harm the other or interfere in the business of the other.  I am not one who feels the need to pursue the animals or call to them like pets.  If they speak, I answer back.

It has been important for me as of late to create many of my own tools.  I needed something that would make transport easy, so I created a potions/incense/tool case. It holds my favorite incenses, candles, snips, my mini Book of Shadows, my mandrake root, and a small athame…all the essentials.

I have found that in the makings and workings as of late, that the feelings and needs that home and family provide are never that far away.  Through the ancestral workings, I have been introduced to the spirits of family that I never thought to engage before.  Being away from my homeplace for so many years, I have learned that home isn’t necessarily a building or a piece of land.  It is the feelings and spirit that you carry with you in every moment.  In every memory…in every working…I am more at home than I ever have been.

I guess what I took the long way around to tell you is:  Don’t be afraid of the unknown.  Don’t look at solitude as loneliness.  Utilize all that is within you and around you and you will never be that far away from the magic and purpose you are called to be a part of.

Blessed Be.

 

Evolution of the Witch Within

It truly is hard to believe that I have been away from here this long.  Sometimes we just need time to rest, grow, and regroup.  We have to take the time to nourish and grow our spirits and reacquaint ourselves with who we are.

These past couple of years have been years of sorrow, growth, and learning to dig deep into my spirit to remember who I am and what I want my life to be.  In that time, my sweet Frisbee passed into the Summerlands.  I know that the death of a pet/familiar shouldn’t throw us into a tailspin, but his did that to me.  I wasn’t prepared and it happened all too fast.  His little heart gave out and it did it quickly.  On a cold November night in 2018, we said goodbye to one of the best friends and sweetest spirits I have ever known.

I have learned that sometimes it isn’t all about loud, planned out rituals and dancing naked under the moonlight.  Sometimes the most potent magic comes from sitting outside under the moonlight with a cup of tea or coffee holding conversations with the moon like the old friend that she is.  The best magic is quietly whispering your intentions as you sit curled up in your recliner with a cat softly purring in your lap.

I still take my walks by the pond…though not as often as before.  I venture into the woods even more now, but I walk a little slower nowadays.  I have learned that there is no need to rush through life.  The world spins fast enough around us without us having to add to that momentum.  My niece and nephews (yes, I now have a total of 7) have taught me to live in the moment.  As far as they are concerned, today is the only thing that matters.  We FaceTime a lot.  I talk to my mom almost every day….again, typically over a cup of coffee.

One of the biggest undertakings I have had in the past year is that I had Gastric Sleeve Surgery.  The decision wasn’t a decision that I made lightly.  After months and months of research and preparation, I had 85% of my stomach removed on June 14, 2019.  Honestly, It was the best decision I ever made.  I have lost over 160 pounds in less than a year.  I am off of most of my medication…am no longer pre-diabetic and have more energy than I know what to do with.  Most of the issues after the surgery are mind related.  I still see a fat version of myself when I look in the mirror.  I crave things, but not out of hunger, but out of habit.  I am having to retrain my brain to listen to my body.

We have been ushered into a Pandemic since the beginning of this year.  I am finding the challenges of everyday life (Working from home, spending 24/7 with the members of the household) are teaching me more about myself that I thought I wanted to know.  I have mellowed…a lot.  The impulsive witch seems to have melted in the midst of all of the changes and challenges and I have found more of myself in the aftermath.  I have come to realize that not everything has to be a battle.  It is the smart warriors that know when they truly need to expend the effort to fight.

I have come to enjoy the simpler ways of magic.  I spend my time in the woods these days releasing whispers of spells into the wind.  I find that as I confide in Nature and the spirits within it, that they trust me more and I trust them.  Yes, I still do the wonderful, wild and frenetic rituals when needed, but most of the time, my spells are quiet, simple, to the point and thoughtful. I have found a joy in creating, giving, and pouring into the magic of others.  Witchcraft isn’t a ‘gimme’ craft.  I have found that in contributing to the magic of others, my needs have been met many times over.

As I get older, I find that the need to make things…to use my hands as a means of creating magic and pouring my intent into something is a necessity.  As I create staves, wands, wand stands, and apothecary boxes…I feel the magic and the emotion and the power flowing through.  It is in those processes that I work healing magic and magic for others needing it.  It is easy as I mold something with my hands to visualize a manifestation of spirit and soul.

I have found that in the loss of many things…even those things we love most, that there are things that we will find that we never even knew we needed.  It is when the heart hurts most that we have to dig the deepest for purpose, strength, and even magic.  We get so wrapped up in our own grief and hurt that we forget that there are those who have lost more and hurt worse.

I have changed….physically, emotionally, mentally…and yes, even magically.

Many Blessings!

The Weathered Wiseman

Finding Your Strength

It seems like an eternity since I have sat down to write.  Life has a way of picking us up by the scruff of the neck sometimes and shaking us like a dazed puppy.  Since January, I have had two strokes, my mom has been hospitalized for over a month, and our oldest cat TeeTee is preparing for her journey into the summerlands.

I hate to admit it, but in the midst of everything that has happened, magick tended to be done in hindsight…an afterthought at first to the situation at hand.  There were days after the strokes that I would find myself just sitting…staring out of windows…more conscious of the drooping or the lack of strength on my left side.  Funny, the doctor says that I have had ‘mini strokes.’  In talking to a friend of mine and through reading, I have found out that a stroke is a stroke.  There are no minis or maxis.

Through the challenges of recuperation, there were, constantly in the back of my mind, visions of my great grandma’s sister.  We called her Aunt Carrie.  I often wish I had gotten to know her before the strokes.  She was a beautiful woman always dressed to the nines, very passionate and eloquent from what I was told.  She was a teacher.  When I got to know her, she had been ravaged by stroke after stroke.  They had rendered her bed-ridden, only able to mouth and garble words, and only able to barely motion.

I lived in a world of not feeling like myself, fear of being that shell of a person I once was…but it was in the words of friends and family that I found the strength to push myself.  I found out from my mother that Aunt Carrie was given the opportunity to go through therapy but chose not to.  Her marriage was bad, her husband used to beat her.  She hoped for death but was given an existence with a husband riddled with guilt who now decided that he needed to try to make up for the earlier hell she had to suffer through.

I determined that I would not recreate that scenario for myself.  I had many friends that not only supported me through my healing but also pushed me.  They knew there was more fight in me than I was showing.  They also realized that I had pushed my magick to the sidelines.  Working side by side with them and my doctor, I used magick and medicine toward healing.  I did the therapies…I did the dreamwork.  I utilized stones, crystals and visualization.  I found myself in a good place.  My doctor had even told me that I had made progress that she wouldn’t have expected until the six month mark.

I built a moss and fae garden to keep me close to the earth at all times…wear hematite for grounding.  Things were looking better daily.  I began to breathe again.

Then we noticed that our older cat TeeTee was losing weight and throwing up more.  We took her to the vet for bloodwork and xrays.  The bloodwork looked ok, but when they pulled up the xrays, I breathed in sharp.  I worked at a veterinarian’s office for ten years.  I had learned to read xrays.  When I saw the large fibrous mass staring back at me, I knew immediately that it wasn’t good.  We discussed options with the vet and came to the conclusion that as long as she wasn’t in pain and seemed to have a decent amount of energy that we would do whatever was needed to keep her happy.  We have blended the stinkiest of foods, hand-fed her, given extra attention…and now as I type this,  we know that it won’t be much longer.

We know that we have given her the best life she could have.  From a wild, white feral kitten to a spoiled content house cat, she has been cuddled, pampered, catered to, and loved with complete abandon.  Where is the strength we pull on here? The knowledge that she will rest and walk side by side with Bastet…back with the energy and magick she came from.  We also know that they truly never completely leave your heart and side.

When you think you can’t handle anymore…the flood gates tend to open.  Toward the middle of April, I got a call from my aunt.  My mom had been admitted to the hospital that past Saturday.  No one wanted to worry me (give me another stroke) so they didn’t let me know.  My aunt was calling, however, to tell me that my mom had to be put on a ventilator and that the doctor had suggested calling the family in.  We left immediately for North Carolina.  My partner and I sat by her bedside for five days straight.  They had induced a coma…hoping that the rest would do its part in the healing.

My mom has always had a strong faith and believed in energies and such (with our family history, how could she not).  I had witches from all over sending healing and energy toward her.  My brother, who thinks my mom is more along the lines of a conservative christian, asked how I think Ma would feel knowing all those witches were sending her healing.  My aunt walked into the room behind him and whispered in his ear, “I think she would be completely fine with it.” With that comment, she looked at me and gave a wink and kissed the air.

In the process of that hospital stay, my mom coded not once, but three different times.  She always made her way back though.  She is a fighter.  She has always been the bedrock of our family.  I knew that if anything happened to her, that would fall to me.  My first visit, I whispered to her, “I am not strong enough for this yet.” I have no doubt that she heard me.

It has been a long, hard battle but she is now awake, aware, winking, smiling, and breathing air and not on oxygen.  They have decreased the size of the trach opening and have moved the feeding tube from her nose to her stomach.  She is now going through therapy and trying to mouth words.

I feel like in the midst of all of these things happening around me, that I have lived any spare time I have beside ponds, in woods, and walking mountains.  On my last trip to Red Top Mountain, I looked forward at the path ahead.  It was crooked, scattered with rock, muddy in places, but oh so calming and lush.  An old bible verse sprang to my mind, “I lift up my eyes to the mountains, from where my help comes.”

There is an area hewn into the rock on Red Top…I crawled into that cubby and lay my head back.  I woke up an hour later after the most peaceful sleep I have had in months.  Life is going to give us twists and turns, scratches, bruises, pain…and yes, even death.  I have found though that I do have the strength to face each one.  It doesn’t mean it isn’t going to hurt or that there won’t be loss or challenges, it means that I can survive.  I can come out of it stronger…the armor might be a bit dirty or scuffed and even broken in places, but I have the choice of getting up and continuing on, or falling back and dying.

I walked out into the courtyard yesterday after work.  I finally gave up and just started leaving food for the birds, squirrels and anything else that might be hungry out there.  Mama Crow was perched on the wall eating peanuts.  She looked straight at me and gave me her comforting ‘Graaaaaaaackkk’

I will keep getting up as long as I am able.

 

Rewriting the Story

Yesterday as I was doing my normal trek through friends postings on Facebook,  I came across a posting that literally left me breathless.  Why this thought had never occurred to me, left me dumbfounded.  The passage below was written by Jeff Leavell.  He is a writer in Los Angeles, CA and you can find his blog at Jeffleavell.com

I was talking to a friend today. Telling him about some things that are going on in my life. He told me a story and then gave me some advice: “When I was 43 I was sleeping in my car, high on meth, kicked out of Slammer and Melrose Spa for being that fucked up. I was nobody. But I had this idea: all this, it’s just a story I’m telling myself. About being a meth addict, about being homeless, about having AIDS. It’s just a story. And I can decide to change that story. The next day I went to AA. I stayed homeless for a while, but I went to the doctor and within a few months my HIV was undetectable. About a month after that I got a job at a grocery store. I got an apartment. And then, at 44 I had to figure out what I wanted to be. The grocery store, the tiny studio, the beat up car about to die, were just stories I was telling myself: even though I had changed my whole life I was still telling the story of failure: I was a failure.

So I stopped. And I told myself: you’ve succeeded. You are an amazing success. And if you can do this you can do anything. I’d always wanted to be a writer. So I started writing again. Something I hadn’t done in years. And I wrote a lot of really bad shit. And I went to meetings. And the story I told myself was I was a writer. Seven years later I sold my first book. Three years after that I sold my first script. I bought a house. I got a dog. Two years after that I started dating a guy too young for me: but it was okay. I was happy. I wrote another script and then another and then I won some awards. That guy I had been dating, he moved in with me. We were in love. And then I found out he was cheating. And the story I told myself was about betrayal. And lies. And how I can’t trust anyone. We fought for months.

And then one day I thought: I can tell myself a different story, where he’s a just a human being and I’m just a human being and we have been so in love for so long, that maybe we could still be in love. We still struggled, he didn’t buy into my idea of just changing the story line: he needed to work things through, go to couples therapy: but that was okay. That fell into my story: it just showed how in love we were. We got better. We sold my house and bought a house together high up in hills. The kind of house where you could see the ocean on a clear day.

And then he got cancer and my story changed. And I showed up and took care of him. And I was lying next to him, fully aware, holding his hand, the day he died. And my story became sorrow and loss and fear. Until one morning I decided I am going for a hike. And I took our two dogs and I went for a hike and I talked to my dead lover and told him I am ready to change the story.

You, you need to change the story you are telling yourself. That is all. Just change it. It won’t cure you of HIV, it won’t make you instantly rich, it won’t solve all your problems: but it will suddenly make clear things that weren’t even visible the day before. It will change how you relate to the world: and the world will change how it relates to you.”

This reminded me of something that I remember hearing when I was a part of the Assemblies of God church.  My pastor at the time was a very kind and gentle man.  I would have to say that he was probably teaching me spellwork long before I had ventured into the Craft.  He was one, that when you were feeling depressed, didn’t want to hear you talk about how despondent you were…or to hear you say, “I will be ok.”  He was one that coaxed you into professing what you wanted to feel like.  He didn’t like to hear people talk about how much of a failure they were, he wanted them to look toward what they wanted to see themselves as.

This wasn’t a ‘Name it and Claim it’ gospel for him.  He wanted us to be able to look past circumstances and feelings and mentally put ourselves in a place that would offer hope.  He never chastised us for having the feelings or being in the circumstances, but he always offered the hope and motivation for moving beyond those things that kept us bound up.

Just after Christmas, I began entertaining an old friend…a friend that I hate and thought that I had left behind 20 or more years ago.  This is the friend that always told me that I could never be good enough, that I would always fail, that life just wasn’t worth living.  As I would go to sleep at night, I would hear him whisper in my ear that even though my partner would hurt at first, that soon I would be forgotten…only a wisp of a memory.  This friend was the master of secrets.  I remember feeling that secrets were all I had left.  As long as no one knew that I was having suicidal thoughts, then they wouldn’t have to blame themselves when something did happen.

This time around, I decided to talk…no more secrets.  I called on my closest friends and told them what was going on…what I was feeling.  I forced myself to do things that I felt too ‘tired’to do.  This time would be different.  This time I was older, had more fight, more resolve.   This time the reflection in the mirror couldn’t just be cracked, it had to be shattered.

And then, last week happened.  On Monday, I was taken to the hospital from work in an ambulance due to what was later discovered to be a mini stroke.  I remember the fear that overtook me as I laid in the floor with coworkers looking down over me.  They would ask my name and I could hear the halted slurred speech as it came out.  I could feel the weakness in my left side as the EMT asked me to squeeze his fingers.  Then later that week, the overwhelming tiredness and weakness of just getting in and out of the shower.

This one time in my life I decided to do exactly as the doctor ordered.  I took the time off work.  I rested….a lot.  I hydrated…I nourished my body.  I did crafts to keep my mind and motor skills as sharp as I could.  I had my follow up visits and am working with a TIA clinic to put myself at the lowest possible risk of this happening again.

I have been rewriting my story this week too.  There are some characters that may need to take their final bows.  There are some characters that may need to have their parts fleshed out more.  The main character in this book is me…and I determine what the next sentence is…what the next chapter is…how it ends…when it ends.

But I have to strip away all the old thoughts, ideas, and the way I thought it should all play out first.

Blessed Be!

Watch the Skies, Traveler

I was walking through the living room of the condo right after Christmas and my roommate was sitting in front of the television playing one of his video games on XBox.  He was playing Skyrim.  Just as I got past his chair, I heard a phrase come from the speaker that intrigued me. “Watch the Skies, Traveler.” I asked my roommate why the character used that phrase and he explained that it was a warning. Since the land was known to be inhabited by dragons, the one character was telling the traveler to ‘take heed’or to watch for anything that may cause harm.

I took this thought with me to the woods last Sunday and also this morning.  I needed to let the thoughts surrounding this one phrase to sink in.   As I pondered this thought on Sunday, I thought about how many times my friends and family have told me as I leave their homes to be careful or take care as I drive or walk.  To many, just a pleasantry, but these are also warnings to be on guard against the things that may threaten us.

There are so many things going on around us as of late.  It seems that everywhere we turn there is violence and anger and hatred.  We like to see ourselves as living in a civilized society.  I don’t so much see that anymore.  Yes….we are more advanced technologically, but we are no more civilized than our people groups were in prehistoric times.  It is still all about survival.

It seems that we as a people have come to annihilate anything or anyone who isn’t just like us.  We like to talk about how much more evolved we are, but we will crucify someone on Facebook.  The media (social and otherwise) has become just another battlefield.  Never have I seen so many people want to disappear from society all together and either live off the grid or whatever would keep the world at bay.

In such a time as this…when people seem to believe less in magick than they ever have…but also long for magick more than they ever have (there is a reason that Harry Potter and television shows like The Magician are  as popular as they are.  People hunger for the power and strength that seems to come with magick.  I find it funny that it is the people that I know who tell me they don’t believe in magick are the ones who come to me asking for spells to be done (but shhhhhhhh, don’t tell anyone I asked for this)

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Last night, I got out my scrying mirror.  As I stared into the darkened depths before me, I saw an old man.  I would have originally been inclined to think it was my own reflection, but this man was as old as the mountains themselves.  I could see sadness in his eyes.  In one eye I saw desolation and darkness and in the other I saw fire burning out of control…it was in a moment of fear that I looked toward his mouth.  Out of his mouth came hope, encouragement, and life.

This morning, in preparation for time in the woods, I gathered my dragon ring, some dragon’s blood incense, my mini cauldron with some charcoal discs, and some Vesta powder.  I work with dragon energy every so often, so I am aware of the etiquette and the way to address dragon energy.  As I worked inside the circle, I could feel the energy thicken and power coursing through me.  As I looked toward the sky, it was if I could feel the air from dragon wings moving around me.

In this instance, dragon energy began to communicate with my spirit.  I have long viewed the dragon as a friend and advocate, so there has always been a respect for that energy….never truly a fear.  As the smoke from the dragon’s blood wafted toward me, I sprinkled the Vesta powder onto the charcoal.  The mini-explosion and sparks was magnificent.

As I meditated on this energy, I envisioned myself walking toward the dragon and climbing on his back…all with his permission.  Again, the dragon was not an object or being to be feared but one to partner with and become a force unmatched by any other.   It isn’t about taming the dragon, but about utilizing its strength.

As 2016 plunges forward, we witches have to call on the forces around us.   We hold tight to the magick around us.  We walk in strength and with a magick as old as the universe.  In the coming year, don’t forget who you are and don’t let the world make you into something you aren’t.

Blessed Be!

The Death of the Green Man

As the seasons swirl around us, we are entering into the transition from light into darkness and back into light again.  We have gone from the wild abandon of summer into the time when the Green Man’s colors begin to change and death overtakes him to make way for his transition into the Holly King.  Our lives seem to always be centered around transition.  Those things that we wish we could control…we have no control over at all.

As we move into this Yule season and cold overtakes the Earth (even in Atlanta, we live in anticipation of the shift in weather).  The briskness that comes with the Northern winds jolts us into a state of expectation.  As we celebrate the different manifestations of our own holiday with others who celebrate in their own ways, we set our eyes on the approach of the longest night of the year….knowing that the light of spring is not far off.

 Over the past few years, I have become intimately acquainted with the green man through visits from an unexpected stranger.  Someone I have introduced to you as simply, the Green Wizard.  I have learned first hand what a kind, gentle spirit can accomplish through him.  I have learned to listen more intently to what the earth teaches…all through him.  I have learned to trust the heart of faithful friends more. I have learned to love someone who could do absolutely nothing for me other than be a friend and a magickal confidante…someone who represented purity of heart and selfless abandon.

I found out yesterday that the Green Wizard has journeyed into the summerlands.  I received more information this afternoon.  He apparently collapsed on the sidewalk of a small town close to the Tennessee border.  They took him to the hospital where it was found that his heart was giving out.  Boomer, his dog, was put in holding in the local animal shelter.  He quietly slipped from this plane in his sleep.  They found my name and Atlanta, Georgia written on a sheet of paper in his pocket.  The authorities assumed that I might be the next of kin.  I explained that I was a friend and asked what happened to his dog.  I was also told where his pup, Boomer was located.

I engaged my cousin who does animal rescue and she arranged for someone who works with her to go and get Boomer and set up a fostering situation.  There are many more things that have transpired due to his homelessness…especially since there was no identification of any kind associated with him and no direction as far as family or even a name…the one thing that was told to me by the contacting authorities was that at least he knew friendship…there were many who passed on knowing nothing but rejection and hatred.

In my mind, though, I will always see him dancing on the wind.  I can close my eyes and see his ruddy face, his eyes twinkling with hopes and dreams and always that sparkle of magick.  He enjoyed the freedom of being who he was…an extension of the wild God.  I can hear his hearty laugh echoing through the branches of the trees in the woods.  He will forever be Peter Pan to me….always dancing with the moon.

Am I sad?  Yes…but I can never forget that wonderful spirit.  He always looked for that bit of magick in all things…whether it be an old pair of sneakers…a dog that was considered a throw-away…or a weathered old wizard who seemed to be a little out of sorts himself.

Especially, in this season, I know that so much of the world seems to slumber…waiting patiently for rebirth.  It will be the same for my Green Wizard.  He only sleeps now….we have known each other before in other lives and other magickal places.  It is only a matter of time before we see each other again.

I am excited for him.  This is a new adventure….a fresh beginning coming with the new moon.  This is his chance to be reunited with his beloved Calliope…a chance to dance and finally fly among the stars.  I am privileged to have been able to be a part of his magick.

His energy will always soar around me….sneaking up behind me when I least expect it…laughing heartily at the unexpected.  He was a child of the moon and sun…the earth was his bed and the grass, his pillow.  He was friend to the winged, and four-legged.  He loved completely and wildly and unconditionally.

As the Green man sleeps, the blood of the Holly King courses through his veins…anticipating his awakening beneath a shield of ice and snow.  With magick, nothing ever completely dies.

And so he goes…with the heart of a true witch.

Blessed Be!

Preparing Your Den

This week, I asked a dear friend to share her magick with you.  Hearth and home have always been places of comfort for me.  Celtic Oaksoul will share with you how she prepares her den for the anticipated turning of the wheel of the year.  Sit back, grab a cup of coffee or tea, and enjoy!

After years upon years in our home…22 to be exact…I began what I do every fall, I began to deep clean. Purging my home of years of what no longer serves a purpose. Years of “I have NO idea what this is nor who it belongs to”. This year…this year became different. This year was by far, the worst to date. This one became a total cleansing of my home, my life, my world, my being. All that is present in my presence and within these walls. This year became a new awakening in my 56 years. The actual re-awakening of myself.In being a Druid, I turn to Mother Earth, open spaces, kindness, love. I try to let things go…”water off a duck’s back”! Now, I won’t say I don’t give out my share of words to others nor tears shed due to them and their own words. But, for the most part, I strive to be a congenial, loving and forgiving human being. Yet, I have also allowed my home and myself to become a dumping ground of sorts, a storage unit for clutter…both materialistic and of the heart, soul and mind. I have allowed my internal, Spiritual self to become just as fouled up and stacked with unnecessary things as my home.

I do so long for these months. The months when I slow down, as Mother Earth slows down. When there can be so much more one can do than anyone realizes, while being inside out of the cold. More reading, crocheting, lounging around with the furry ones and also have some family time. Yet, in this time…I must have ME. In this dark time, when we really believe we are ready to “settle in for the winter”…what have we done, if anything, truly, to prepare ourselves, for ourselves? Hold that thought…..

As I was saying, I have been cleaning out and purging my house. It had become stifling in here. No breathing room, no space to be individual…when you have had 22 years of every single person who grew up here, lived here or stayed here, left behind in one form or another. How will one actually enjoy this down time that is so freely given to us, each turn of The Wheel, when we cannot Spiritually breathe, in our own, Solitary-gifted, space? How…I’ll tell you! You absolutely open your eyes, wide, look at what is in front of you and say, “you have no purpose here, in my home nor in my life!”, and give it a good heave-ho out the back door for the junk to be hauled off or donate what you choose to a worthy cause, and just breathe. In doing this, each season of the dark months, you are the one that is being cleansed. You are the one that is being de-cluttered, purged, your load lightened. YOU are the one being re-found, rediscovered, released and able to function as yourself, again.

So, what have you done to prepare yourself for this time of year? Does it matter? Not one bit. The only person it matters to, absolutely, is you…and you are the one that completely counts in all of this. You certainly didn’t ask anyone to deposit their left over items in your home or their energy…negative or good…on upon your self! Flow as the waves in the ocean, as you settle your home for this most wondrous of times. Glide as upon birds wings, through what you do. Smudge, as each box, closet, under bed, room is gone through, cleaned up and cleared out. Light each space, once again, with the open freedom from all of that past, that you are feeling. And relearn to breathe, just for you! Once you are free of ALL of your past…take your bare feet and walk through your house and your yard. Ground and center back into YOU…into your life, heart and soul. I smile. I’m giddy as a school girl. I laugh, dance, through my arms out and head back. I want to whirl around in circles (but it makes me really dizzy)!

Just know this…that you have prepared your den, once again, but this time, it’s for good! Know that your preparations have been all about you…for YOUR winter of settling in, keeping warm and that your beautiful magick is all yours…all of it, again…close to your hearth, heart and soul…and not tucked away in some corner, in some box, under a stack of junk…in the hidden recesses of your mind! And, that whomever reaps the benefits of your labors of love, of home and self, will do so because you have allowed them to share your newly cleaned and cleansed den…and your happy, sacred self!
Deepest love, warmest light and Brightest Blessings

~Celt

I See the Moon and the Moon Sees Me…

This week’s blog was written by someone who taught me a strong and powerful lesson.  Upon hearing of this man, I was determined not to like him.  I was determined that I would always keep him at arm’s length…but then magick showed its face.  Isn’t it just like Magick to turn our thoughts and emotions upside down and teach us a lesson?  I put myself before the goddess one long weekend day and was presently taught that I could never know what battles someone else was fighting.  I learned that I had to empty my heart of judgement and offer kindness instead of anger or offense.

That powerful lesson earned me a friend…one that I trust enough to have him share his magickal experiences with you. I stand here and proudly offer you the writings of someone I am deeply honored to call my friend, “Fredric Terra.”

Blessed Be!

My first memory of the moon; I’m 2 or 3 years old at my grandparents’ home. Standing in the front yard as a lady and man are leaving after their visit.

The moon seems nearly full and the lady is asking if I see the moon, and is telling me that the shadows on the moon are her and Uncle Arthur on his motorcycle. She asks if I can see the front wheel in the shadow, and everything following behind with her and Uncle Arthur riding along. I was able to follow along, I saw the shadows, it made no sense to me – maybe I was missing her point, but that event has stayed with me; it was about the moon.

I’ve always had a strong fascination with her, and her strength. As a child helping my grandfather and dad tap maple trees for the sap and boil it into syrup, my grandfather always counted on the full moon to bring more sap, lots more…it always did and still does. Moonlit nights at the sugar camp in the woods in February were so special. No they were more than special, they were magical. Grandpa and dad keeping the fires built just right, ladling sap from one kettle to the next, sometimes Aunt Annie telling stories about ghosts and other mystical tales….but mostly, I was captivated by moonlight that surrounded us on the clear nights.

The pull of the moon affects the tides, the flow of sap in the maple trees – and me. As I transitioned through adolescence I would watch for the clear moonlit nights and stay up as late as I could just watching for hours from my south facing bedroom window, or sneaking outside in warmer weather.

At some point when I was 12 or 13 I began doing rituals. I didn’t know they were rituals, I didn’t realize or understand what I was doing but looking back with what I know today, they were rituals nonetheless. There were many variations depending on what I was trying to bring forth. Elaborate dress – if my parents had seen me they would have been terrified. I sensed that the degree of difficulty should match the importance of whatever I was after. These were my deepest secrets, shared with no one and always at or near a full moon on clear nights. The rituals always included a very solemn and deep sincerity, reverence for the moon – because as a young Christian, the concept of the Goddess was entirely foreign to me. To me the moon represented a mysterious presence, a profound force and the most beautiful object in the sky.

Fast forward four and a half decades. This allure never left me, but I had to rein in my rituals as I married – it didn’t seem something that I could share. There were still plenty of times to be with her, share silent love, reflections and comfort. The fascination of dad working the fields and animals by the moon sign, when to plant, when to wean, when to hoe the thistles so they wouldn’t come back (that’s the dark of the moon in August, BTW); it worked, the proof was there. By now the rituals had ended and were replaced by my incessant need to share her wonder with whomever was near me at the time, but only as a beautiful, wondrous, and powerful entity circling our earth; I still didn’t know her as the Goddess.

A little over a year ago I became reacquainted with a long-lost friend through Facebook. I had no idea of what lay in store until I read a post about an upcoming full moon. The post described the opportunities to ‘work’ the strength of the event to bring forth desired outcomes. I read more, I looked deeper for older posts and found so much – so many indications that there were answers for my endless questions; and I reached out. I learned what many already know, that there is a way of life here for us, one that is hidden by societal norms and traditional teaching. I was introduced to other like-minded friends who have become family to me.

With a lot of support I began reading, more and more questions developed and were answered by this new network of friends. I was experiencing profound change, I was realizing an elusive satisfaction – one that always seemed just out of reach, just around the corner….one that seemed like it may come next week, next year, but it was here and it was happening. I was beside myself. An elderly friend had once given me his advice for beginning a new venture – “When you jump in, jump in on all fours, and don’t just dangle your toes in the water”. And so I did.

Over the past year I’ve realized that I’ve missed so many signs over the years. My grandma was a very good Christian with strong beliefs about going to church. My grandpa only went to church for weddings, funerals, and sometimes at Easter. Grandma once told me that as much as she wished grandpa would go to church, she understood why he didn’t….”The outdoors is his church, he appreciates trees, flowers and nature” so it’s ok that he doesn’t come to church every Sunday.

Jumping in on all fours has been good advice for me. Immersion, commitment, being open minded to all possibilities creates an environment for accelerated learning. Or is it recognition? During these past few months there have been countless times when learn something but feel like I’ve always know that, I just wasn’t consciously aware.

These are the happiest times of my life. Every day is one of wonder and magick, everything looks brighter, and the connection with nature is so much stronger. For so many years it felt like something was missing and now its here. I’m truly blessed to have these doors opened before me, to begin this exploration of life from a fresh perspective – a perspective that’s always been there just out of sight.

 

 

A Walk in the Woods

This week’s blog was written by a friend whom I have come to deeply trust over the years.  He has become more of a brother to me than just a friend.  We have grown together in the Craft and I have watched him delve into Shamanism with a passion and hunger that can’t  be matched.  His talent with the tarot is amazing and his readings have always been on point.  Sit back and take a walk into the wooded world of my dear friend, Owl Sundown.

This evening the woods are quiet. The rain earlier in the day, followed by the chilly air, has put a blanket of silence throughout the trees. All I can hear is the leaves crunching under my boots and the wind in the tree branches. I’m thankful for the chill in the air. It means winter is coming.

I make my way through the path only I and the deer know about. I see my grove up ahead. It’s a small area of trees by the creek that form a natural circle and is hidden from view from most directions by thorn bushes and the honey locust trees.

I walk around to the other side of the trees, carefully picking my way through the thorny branches, finding the small path into the circle. This is MY place.

I can feel the earth’s power radiating from the ground as I walk among the rocks I’ve placed as direction stones. I make my way to the center and close my eyes. I take deep breaths and smell the scents of the forest. I sit and feel the dirt in my fingers. Before long I sense THEM. Oh yes, they have made themselves known to me over the past 6 years.

The spirits of place, the fae, nature spirits. They go by so many names but I just call them THEM. Before long I sense them move among my circle. They know that I honor them in this place. I have taken measures to make sure they are respected and honored in these woods. And in return they help and guide me. After communing with the Earth and them I leave honey, nuts, and bird seed among the stones and ruefully make my way back to civilization. Oh if I could just stay!

 Most of us who walk a pagan path honor the Earth. Some of us honor the Goddess and the God. We may even honor animal spirits and totems. But I think we often fail to connect with the land where we live.

The land I live on has been in my family for over 75 years. I have lived on it for 25 and visited it for ten before that. And yet even when I embraced this way of life it was a few years before I really connected with the place where I lived. I constantly found myself daydreaming of Ireland, Scotland, England, and other amazing places and yet I was failing to see the magic in my own backyard.

One day while I was walking through one of the paths on the back of the property (over 300 acres) I kept seeing something out of the corner of my eye. I thought maybe it was a deer or a bird flying between the trees. I kept walking and kept seeing it. I never could see it straight on but always from the corner of my eye. I felt like I was being watched. So, being the novice witch I was, I decided to call it in. I think I heard it laugh. Ha!

It wasn’t until a few months later that they made themselves known to me. Sometimes I see shadows, other times I see actual human-like figures, other times it’s just spirits. But they are there and they respect me as I respect them. It’s balance and give and take.

Now, by no means do I claim to know everything about these amazing people. This is just my experience and walking this path is definitely subjective. I usually turn and run if someone tells me, “It has to be this way!” No mam, it doesn’t. It’s how the Goddess, God, Great Spirit, Fae, Sprits of the Land, or whatever else comes to us and shows us.

So here are some things that have helped me in my walk that allows me to commune with the spirits of the place.

1. Mindfulness of the land. Take initiative to take care of the Earth where you live. Pick up trash, plant flowers, help in whatever way you can.

2. Go out there, sit down, and just BE. If it’s in your apartment courtyard, your front yard, or even the potted plants on your patio. Put your hands in the dirt and allow yourself to just BE one with it.

3. Don’t force it. You will never know the spirit world by forcing yourself among it. Be respectful and let it happen in time.

4. Leave food and other things for the animals. Nuts, seeds, honey. Anything that they might like.

5. Fill your mind and spirit with the stories and myths of the area you live in. I live in an area that was populated by Cherokee and Choctaw tribes. Then my great grandmother and great aunt with their “old religion” from Ireland came and put there magic here as well. I fill my soul with the stories of those people. Give your mind and spirit something to draw upon as you continue to grow in magic.

There is nothing more rewarding to me than spending time in my woods with “my people”. It is my hope that as winter comes on, wherever you may be, that you will find time to get quiet as the Earth goes quiet and touch the Otherworld. May you be blessed always.

Owl Sundown

Voices of the Past

This week’s offering comes from my dear friend Maluna.  Over the years, this woman has become mentor, trusted friend, and soulmate.  We have shared laughter, tears, and many a sleepless night.  She has listened to and interpreted my dreams and given me a right smart kick in the ass when I needed it most.  I have asked her to share her magick and her heart with you.

Samhain. It means Summer’s end. The end of a season…the end of the witches year. The veil between the worlds is thin…the dead walk among the living…and many of us see and hear them. It’s always been my favorite Sabbat…this year it took on a whole new meaning.

It’s been a turbulent year for me….the end of a marriage, a new home….the death* of a life I once knew. Deep in the woods…far from anyone….I feel the hedge witches….they lived away from society….shunned for being different….feared or respected…they practiced their craft in solitude.

I’ve been shunned from my small town. Lies, accusations, misconceptions from friends and family…and like the Salem witch trails….rumors spread like wildfire….fingers pointed…damage done. I’ve walked these woods each day…listening to the voices of the past….sometimes wailing like the banshees that cry in the howling wind…looking for answers….wondering if all I have lost is worth what I’ve gained.

Do we travel through our physical lives like the ghosts and spirits that slip through the veil? Do they regret their lives and the consequences of their actions? Do they haunt and pass through to feel…to touch once more what they had….good or bad? When we die…I believe we have choices….to start fresh, or to come back with glimmers of the life we left…maybe it takes many lives lived to find the purpose…the soulmate…the connection that will send us to the divine afterlife….the completeness. Could we possibly be just lost souls traveling through the veil looking for that connection? Seeking…searching.

I’ve found many answers in this dead season….and I’ll find more in coming dark months….it’s always been my time. As many tears as I’ve cried for what is past….I also see a glimmer of light….the glint of a sword…the flick of a cape….the brush of The Morrigan…and I’ve found a connection of magick with a dear friend….a goal to build a sanctuary of magick and Nature…a haven for the ancient hedge witches that pass through the deep woods that surround us…our voices will carry on the traditions…the love of the land….a time lost in the Mists. In the dark, cold ashes of the Samhain fires new growth will be rise….new lives will be lived….and magick will carry on. BB