To Be a Witch

29 Tuesday Jun 2010

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I wonder what it takes to be a Witch, what it means.

I feel like it is a title that should be earned, and I feel that you earn it by working on yourself, constantly working to be the best you can be as a human being; as part fey, part animal, part divine.

I feel that it represents an inner power, earned through clearing yourself and connecting to the realms beyond the physical, beyond the so called  ‘mundane’. To be a little Fey, deep down.

I feel that it involves a balancing act between the light and the dark, in yourself and in the world.

I feel that it involves a deep sense of Pride which, in its true form, includes humility. Pride is knowing your place in the world, knowing your value and valuing all other beings in the world, knowing everything has a place and a function and is sacred, including yourself.

I feel that it involves acting in alignment with your values, your beliefs, walking your talk and speaking your mind.

I feel that it involves constant attunement to the flow of nature, the flow of magic, coming back to yourself when you notice you are distracted, reconnecting at every moment possible.

I feel that it involves magic, striving to know your True Desire, True Will, who you are fundamentally, and changing consciousness in accordance with this.

I feel that it means someone fiercely joyful, deeply compassionate, righteous in their anger when necessary, powerful in themselves, truly honest  and eternally loving.

I feel that it involves doing your best, not Perfection, but a process of improvement.

I feel that to be a Witch is to do all these things, and with a particular flavour, of deep forest greens and cool nights, of full moons through starlit skies, of Northern landscapes before the snow. The emerald lands of home.

I strive, every day, every moment, to do these things, to live connected, aware, to reconnect when I find myself scattered and distracted, to know myself and act in accordance with my Self, to be passionate and compassionate and full of joy. Mine is not a path of yellows and oranges, of sand or smoke or baking sun, but of cool deep forests and winter’s rain, of the hearth fire that holds the damp at bay, and the sun which warms but rarely burns. I am not perfect, but I am in process, and so I use the title ‘Witch’.

Haunted by Gods

24 Monday May 2010

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I have, in my life, two rather different groups of gods. The Feri gods, and the Others.

I am still in the process of accepting these Others, although my actions tell me that I have, really. The altars, the offerings, the studying of their lore… all actions which say; yes, yes I see you. Yes, you are entering my life, and I am not fighting.

I’m not fighting anymore, but I’m still wary, still scared.

I’ve spent the past few years slowly opening up to the fact that one of Them is present… as gentle as She has been with me.

This year I learnt who the other face, the hidden one, was.

And in opening to this hidden piece, opening rather than hiding as I’ve always done (every night she came I cried out ‘go!’ And she would leave), in opening, I let the others in.

Some are still on the fringes, waiting for the right time. I know now that I cannot simply avoid them, they will arrive when they choose to. For now I am given work to do, to become strong, to learn things that can serve later, though I’m not sure how.

And all this raises questions.

Why did I avoid them? Was I scared of the power I can feel they hold? Was I scared of the reality, the reality in magic that I believe but often doubt? It feels that way. They are real, powerful, capable of turning my life upside down. And yet, they are being oh so gentle with me. This does not match the stories I’ve heard of them from others.

And so now, I doubt. I doubt that they are who I think they are… and then I remember the external confirmations (coincidence some part of me states firmly, I shake it away).  I doubt that they are really interested in me, and wonder if I’m just hoping that I’m useful. And I doubt that any of this will be useful, to anyone.

And here is where the hard lessons come in; trust, surrender, risk.

I heard once that it is better to fight with a sword in both hands and your heart open, than to hide behind a shield.

What else am I doubting? What other powers am I scared of? What is it that will come of this?

So I’m learning to trust, working out a way of building up a relationship with these beings that are entering my life, learning about the things they’ve pointed me towards… and generally finding that everything is enhanced as a result.

And I’m trying not to invite catastrophe by doubting them because my life is still up the right way!

Run, Run! – or The Beltane Fire Festival

18 Tuesday May 2010

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Go! Go!

The May Queen has passed!

We watched her, saw her, ascend, descend over the steps before us.

We watched, saw, the fire-lighters start the nied fire.

We watched, we saw, the path cut through the crowd, past us, past us, the procession moved past us.

We ran!

Run! Run!

Do not lose her! Never lose her!

We ran, ran, over the grassy hill, down a tunnel of bodies bemused by the sudden space where magic had passed us.

And found ourself stopped. In the cold. Behind the wall of blue-faced men who told us no.

Stopped. Lost. Cold.

No. We smiled. No. We can say no too.

We said no, said yes.

Our band of fey-folk flew apart, found our places. Mine and hers, my beltane-friend, our place was running!

We followed the Queen, she led our hunt!

We flew, cross the hill, round and about, past people bemused, over rocks and dips that lifted us gently over their treachorous forms (one fey-folk twisted her ankle, others sat with the stillness of the rocks holding their bones, we, somehow, flew unscathed, the earth herself letting us pass).

We flew! Flew! From space to space, always, just and perfectly, keeping pace.

For long stretches we flew beside her, so close as to almost touch her, but always striving to respect the boundary which kept her safe. (So grateful, I am, to the blue-faced folk that kept us all at bay. So grateful, while I longed to touch her. So grateful for that line, uncrossable, sacrosanct.)

Sometimes the crowd became too tight, too close, too confused, and we flew away, to the edges, still running.

Time and again we let the stillness touch us. I pointed the direction, she led the way. Together we flew, together, mapping out  a perfect path.

At every space the procession stopped we found a niche, once the fire-space came upon us unexpectedly and we watched, entranced, by the spinning flames and the red-people charging, the white-people keeping the line, the line that must be crossed. The pain of division.

We saw Him die and rise again, his dance frenzied in the strobe-light of camera-flashes.

Their kiss, love shining from them like a star.

The red and white, chaos and order, together, united, in love.

Each element, a gift in themselves.

The whole path winding round and round, the serpent of great Beltane found.

We watched, we flew, we laughed.

We were touched by madness, running in the wake of her winter-hunt, running like the joyous hounds of hell as the sun-fire rose and burned away the last of the winter’s dark.

We ran, flew, followed… and we rejoiced.

The fire festival, a ritual carving its own space through a crowd, deliberately confused.

This was no mere spectacle, but a marvelous sacrifice of life to life for life in life.

Life rises like the sun.

The May Queen blessed us all.

The fires of our hearts ignite as the sun kisses our skin, and they will never die.

Herbology – Sage

18 Tuesday May 2010

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With a name that means wise-one, and a history of purification, sage seems a good place to start my herbology endeavour.

Salvia officinalis – a grey-ish, wooly-branched shrub.

Traditionally used in Native American Indian smudging ceremonies, so the smell of it burning reminds me of the moment before the magic begins. Therefore, as incense: focussing, purifying, cleanses the space, opens the senses, dedicates the moment.

James Wong’s Grow Your Own Drugs tells me that its good for dealing with coughs, colds and congestion, and hot flushes. My book on Herbal Teas reveals that this last is because sage contains oestrogenic substances.

Herbal Teas also says it is good as a general tonic, is antiseptic, and a general nourishing stimulant.

The booklet accompanying a deck of cards called The Flower Speaks describes sage as a white lion, a teacher, and a cleanser.

I acquired a packet of sage, its scent is familiar from drying bunches years ago and I remember that it is a regular ingrediant in stuffing at Christmas. I pour a small pile into my palm and pour blessing energy into it before placing it into an incense burner. This week I have singed it most days to purify and bless the space and day I am living in.

I made it into tea, and it certainly has wake-up properties, though I’ve found the taste has swiftly become unpalatable (I tend to grow sick of something if I ingest it too often over a short period) so I’m revising my original idea of a cup of herbal tea each day.

Magically it seems well suited, then, to cleansing and stimulating… adding a boost to a spell… or preparing the space/ground for work. Clearing the way.

It has been easy to involve the dried herb in my day, through tea, devotional burning and adding it to cooking. Later I would like to find a live sage plant and engage with it directly!

Herbology

17 Monday May 2010

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The image of the witch stirring her bubbling cauldron resonates through the ages.

When I first began on the pagan path I gathered bundles of herbs and hung them round my room to dry. I collected jars which filled with deliciously scented green leaves and brightly coloured petals. I occasionally took these jars out, inhaled the contents and then placed them back in their basket.

Once or twice I made up a flying incense, which, strangely, I never thought to burn but instead would breathe in the scent of woodland before meditative journeys. It worked. I wish I could remember the recipe, but I believe the main ingrediants were pine-needles and optimism.

I relocated to Wales, five years ago now, and last summer I threw out the jars of old, dusty herbs that had resided in my Mother’s attic for the time I had been away thus far.

And then, this spring, I began to feel the urge, again, to understand plants. Having passed the initiatory challenge of keeping a houseplant alive for a year this Imbolc, two miniature rose plants no less, I began to feel hopeful that perhaps my history of killing spider plants would no longer count against me. I bought live herbs from the supermarket, the basil thrived for a while, but eventually joined the other two in brown, shrivelled death.*

And still I have the nagging feeling that I really should be learning about plants, learning from plants, learning to use plants. And graduating from ready-mixed dried herbs and black pepper in the kitchen would not be unwelcome either!

Perhaps something to do with the Fey-Queen’s prescence in my life, or perhaps because Idunna finally revealed herself to be one member of my childhood ‘invented’ pantheon (You only had to ask, she reminds me gently, I’d have told you sooner if you’d asked.) Perhaps its the green of Wales finally sinking into my bones, or the garden planted in my heart by elemental guardians. Whichever perhaps, I’ve begun to explore.

The Herbology category will track my posts as I collect information, both book-based and experiential, slowly about the plants I encounter. As a devotional act I am exploring this world of green green things. In gratitude for the information I’ve found online – and to keep myself  both active and accountable – I intend to post my findings here.

Enjoy.

*I also have packets of seeds waiting for when I settle somewhere a little more permanent than 3 months… I will grow a garden one day soon.

Moment to Moment, My Dear…

15 Saturday May 2010

Posted by in Art Craft and Beauty, Magic

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Painting

That knot in my chest just gets tighter every moment...

Its hard to breathe past the dawning feeling that things just aren’t right…

I let it fill me and reach inside for a sense of direction…

Strokes of colour, like feathers, reach into the sky.

A sense of flight rises up from within...

I see I fear confinement, being tied down to one place…

I see I fear losing, losing you my dear, and losing me.

My longing for adventure,

outpouring of colour in space…

Patterns form, shift, swirl.

In the flow I move...

Heart-to-hand-to-joyful-line, forming patterns, shifting, swirling outwards and outwards…

The freedom of a snow-white page…

Kissed by colours, the emerging-moment fills me…

A powerful hand glows.

I am full of power...

I glow. I know. To paint is to be free.

I know. To trust is to be free.

I know, to spread my wings and leave to faith what happens afterwards…

I know, to live, moment to moment, in each moment, is to be free.

I Wish not to lose you, my dear, but I Will keep me.

Moment to moment, my wings spread wide.

My dear-one, sweet-one…

Will you fly by my side?

Trust me to Live.

Trust me to Fly.

And its your choice, my dear, your choice.

Moment to moment.

Your choice to Live too.

Your choice to Fly.

In Love, I hold out my hand.

In Love, I must do what I must.

In Love, moment to moment, in Trust.

Creation is like a sun shining from the heart…

17 Saturday Apr 2010

Posted by in Art Craft and Beauty, Creative Process, Following Delight

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Creation is a Sun

The sunlight soothes my skin, scent of a green, green land playing in the air.

A bee bumbles past as I lay lazily, brush in hand, stroking the paper into colours.

Words come, unbidden, as the image emerges and my pen pours ink onto the page, spelling out the words, the spell, to capture the feeling.

How words and images reflect each other, like twins, Dionysian movement, Apolline images, dancing together.

I am reminded of Blake, who I have often strived to follow, inspired by the seamless blend of pigment and print.

Walkers wander past, voices loud against the hush of the slow summer which sneaks into my valley. Traffic in the distance, not so far from here, but still worlds away, does not burst the bubble of my beauty-brushed-blessed-being-of-the-moment.

I am here, bathed in light, warming in the sun, warmed from the sun within which feeds on the fuel that is joy. Joy, like a sun in my heart, shining in the light of the sun in the sky, overflowing through my hands and onto the page.

How can I share this moment with you?

I breathe up, a prayer of delight, of gratitude, of beauty.

I talk of sun and warm and light, of joy overflowing and green green grass… and still I wonder, can you feel it?

Can you feel the heat, the flames like liquid gold, pouring out from my heart into beauty, being fed by beauty, a circle of love for the world?

My heart opens and love pours out.

Originally posted on blogspot.

The Cheshire Cat’s Smile

10 Saturday Apr 2010

Posted by in Reflections

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~ A Review

I walk home after the sky has moved from blue to purple, and above the rooftops I see the thin sliver of a Cheshire cat smile.

Two nights before my sweetie, a friend and I went to watch the new Alice in Wonderland film by Tim Burton in 3D. Its a rare treat to visit a cinema from the Valleys of Wales, so we were most excited!

It was beautiful, and a strange blend of Alice in Wonderland, Alice Through the Looking Glass and The Jabberwocky. When the 3D technology has developed even a little further it will be a fantastic addition to the visual experience and I look forward to seeing how it may perhaps add to the storytelling. For the moment, it was pretty (despite my personal difficulties focussing, and preference for brighter colours, which were washed out by the special glasses). We all giggled at the spectacle of ourselves in the huge frames over our modest daily glasses we wear to see the world.

But I left the theatre feeling that here had been a spectacle, and little else.

It being Burton, there were plenty of treats, and a familiar cast of actors who pulled off their roles wonderfully. There were characters, long loved and often missed, reappearing in new guises. There were amazing details and vast vistas of beauty.

And yet it lacked something…

And under that sliver of moon I began to realise what.

In the story that captured our hearts so long ago, it wasn’t a narrative that we fell in love with, but the surrealness, the moment by moment twisting and turning of a world which whispered with wonder.

Now the fantastical has become so commonplace it cannot invoke the same degree of dreaming on its own, and forcing a loose narrative on pieces of art which have little truck with beginning, middle and end takes a little more away.

The story of Alice is not a narrative, but a dream, and that is why we love it.

Alice shows us how reality flows between the two worlds of dreaming and waking, and watching her adventures lets us walk away with a little piece of her ability to walk between these worlds. It felt to me like the new film tried to make this more obvious, and perhaps missed the point.

But it was still gorgeous, I will still watch it again, and I do still adore the Cheshire Cat and his smile…

I walk home after the sky has moved from blue to purple, and above the rooftops I see

the thin sliver of a Cheshire cat smile.

Two nights before my sweetie, a friend and I went to watch the new Alice in Wonderland

film by Tim Burton in 3D. Its a rare treat to visit a cinema from the Valleys of

Wales, so we were most excited!

It was beautiful, and a strange blend of Alice in Wonderland, Alice Through the

Looking Glass and The Jabberwocky. When the 3D technology has developed even a little

further it will be a fantastic addition to the visual experience and I look forward to

seeing how it may perhaps add to the storytelling. For the moment, it was pretty

(despite my personal difficulties focussing, and preference for brighter colours,

which were washed out by the special glasses). We all giggled at the spectacle of

ourselves in the huge frames over our modest daily glasses we wear to see the world.

But I left the theatre feeling that here had been a spectacle, and little else.

It being Burton, there were plenty of treats, and a familiar cast of actors who pulled

off their roles wonderfully. There were characters, long loved and often missed,

reappearing in new guises. There were amazing details and vast vistas of beauty.

And yet it lacked something…

And under that sliver of moon I began to realise what.

In the story that captured our hearts so long ago, it wasn’t a narrative that we fell

in love with, but the surrealness, the moment by moment twisting and turning of a

world which whispered with wonder.

Now the fantastical has become so commonplace it cannot invoke the same degree of

dreaming on its own, and forcing a loose narrative on pieces of art which have little

truck with beginning, middle and end takes a little more away.

The story of Alice is not a narrative, but a dream, and that is why we love it.

Alice shows us how reality flows between the two worlds of dreaming and waking, and

watching her adventures lets us walk away with a little piece of her ability to walk

between these worlds. It felt to me like the new film tried to make this more obvious,

and perhaps missed the point.

But it was still gorgeous, I will still watch it again, and I do still adore the

Cheshire Cat and his smile…

Squidmonsters and kittens

17 Wednesday Mar 2010

Posted by in Following Delight

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~ A Templesmith inspired meander…

On the hive-brain that is Twitter I once asked Ben Templesmith this:

Out of curiousity… I love your style but squirm at the subject,

have you ever drawn, say, a kitten? (Without tentacles?)

And his response was:

Nope, I don’t draw nice things generally. It’s the bad stuff

that happens in life that defines us after all, not the banal/cutesy

While I really appreciate his taking time to respond, and the limited space of Twitter… I disagreed:

Really? Only the bad stuff that defines us?

I can understand not banal/cutesy, but ruling out good/beautiful/happy as defining?

And that’s where this post comes in, I’ll not get into the argument that kittens are not necessarily merely banal/cutesy, though they can be, but I will present another perspective.

Both kinds of life experiences define us.

Its too often that I’ve come across people who feel that they are shaped primarily by the bad stuff in their life. Yes, that has an effect on who you are and how you interact with the world, but so do events like winning awards, having children, getting happily married and living past your golden wedding anniversary together, and on a smaller level, even experiencing a beautiful sunset can set the tone for an evening, a night, or a whole week.

When we can be defined by both the joy and the sorrow in our hearts, why only settle for one half of the equation?

Home Away from Home

10 Wednesday Mar 2010

Posted by in Reflections

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I’m sat in a room at a philosophy conference, in a strange place, with all my loved ones miles away. There is a strange feeling of liminality here, a beautiful conference hall in acres of land to wander in, trees rustling as the sun sets, and students gathered to perform philosophy. A place away from home, but still familiar, home to an event dedicated to an activity I love.

I can hear people through the walls, and yet I’m sat alone. We are here already, and yet the conference has not yet begun. I find myself waiting…

I look around me, this year I have properly unpacked, I have put my things in spaces, temporarily designated as their proper places.

I open up my laptop on the desk and start it up, feeling like some modern writer opening a new version of the old writing kits, laying out the pieces, putting everything where it should be.

The wallpaper, my familiar icons, it all puts me at ease, and I realise that I’ve carried something very familiar with me, a little piece of home.

My laptop is many things: writing tool, connection, art-medium, games console, TV, entertainment station.

It is also familiar, set up how I want it, messy and disorganised, icons everywhere, files in multiple places at once, cluttered… and also homey, indicative of my life, comforting.

Its funny how the things we use become parts of us, however temporarily, extensions of our selves, expressions of our personalities.

Its funny how, so far from home, such a strangely unnatural-seeming object can be the most natural to use, the most comforting, a little piece of home.