A nearly full moon hangs above the trees, and leaves skitter across the road like little animals as I drive, so much so I keep half-stopping.
Fantasy, Erotica, Horror
Tag: witch
These crazy days, when I’m working so hard, what keeps me sane is my witch practice.
I made ten minutes this morning—which seemed like a lot—to sit in front of my altar and do that.
Hekate Soteira means Hekate savior. The Neoplatonists saw her as the mediator between the realm of the undying gods and that of mortals. Celestial in this aspect, she forms a boundary between the worlds.
I’m back from my magical retreat with a lot to think about.
A retreat is not a vacation—particularly not a retreat you’re putting on. I need to remember that.
We go to a location I love, out in the forest among cedar trees, doing ritual by herb and flower gardens. The grounds host a pond, a hot tub, and a house with a wraparound porch.
But it’s not a bed-and-breakfast visit, rather an opportunity to do spiritual work.
I’m going to a big witch retreat today! (Also with polytheists, pagans, and magicians. All the magical folks.) I’m helping put it on. We’ll be dreaming and working and imagining big magic, hoping to move toward the healed world.
It’ll be a build-your-own-spell ritual, and one altar will hold tools and symbols for altar and shrine building. I’m collecting a bunch of symbolic objects for folks to choose from.
Apparently one of those is a cat.
Saturn is central to my astrological chart—ruler of duty, constraint, control. Saturn conjuncts my moon, which books will tell you makes me melancholy and my emotions hard to express. Saturn also sits highest in my chart, nearest the zenith, making it the ruler of my career.
Despite Saturn’s reputation for constriction, he also rules the Saturnalia, when everyone trades places, servants become rulers, and we exchange gifts amid revelry. Saturn is king of the Golden Age, when no one needs to work and fruit falls from the trees.
Hekate was said to have saved Byzantium from Philip of Macedon by showing the Byzantines a great light in the sky, so they erected a statue of Hekate Lampadephoros, Hekate Light-Bringer.
It’s a blustery first of November. All morning, the cats have watched out the window as leaves fly by, wondering if the leaves are birds.
Hekate has been calling me back for reconnection. The mother of witches, she’s been with me since I was a young teen.
I didn’t know it then. I drew and painted then as often as I wrote, and one of my first big projects for my seventh-grade art class was a woodblock print. I made a traditional witch’s workroom—skulls, books, candles, cauldron. Out the window was a waning moon. In those days, any time I drew a moon freehand without thinking, it was waning.
Today is Samhain, the witches’ new year. Like any new year, it’s a time to notice change, and a time perhaps for resolutions.
My parents are dead. They were pretty fucked-up people, a drunk and a codependent. My dad wasn’t a high-functioning drunk, either—he never conquered alcoholism.