That old black magic

Or rather, that particular type of enchantment....that all women possess.

Most books on witchcraft will also tell you that you need to choose something to become a witch- a tradition, a god, a category. A coven. Most books on witchcraft will be, in essence, completely modern, New Age, Wiccan, Neo Pagan. Even those that claim to be Celtic in nature, will be that only on the surface. Celtic is trending still- as the Norse, so most practitioners will be fashionably eclectic.

I remember the time when green magic was trending. Everybody suddenly started reading Ann Moura and Ann Murphy-Hiscock. Everybody suddenly became aware of what nature was, as if it had never existed before.

Then came the big bang for the Celtic tradition. And boy, did they get it wrong! How do I know? I've been a Celtic polytheist for several years by then- and had plenty of good mates from all over, who generously shared experience with me. I’d talk to Morgan Daimler one day, and participate in a conference on Welsh gods the next, and write copious poems on Facebook. All about the gods I knew, and let me tell you, those gods were not the gods i’d find in neo pagan books. Then wise people would tell me, it was fine. The gods have many faces, and they work with humans differently based on the initial agenda.

I’d follow my gods- Gwyn ap Nudd, Lleu Llaw Gyffes, Dylan, Cerridwen (Wales), Lugh, Nuada and Morrighan (Ireland), and experience them in my mind and life- from differently flickering candles on the altar, to people who’d come seeking advice. And i’d do courses on my gods. In Russian, of course, which was tricky and difficult at times. But I knew that those 50 people I had taught were there for a reason. They still practice by the way. Differently, but some were tested pretty harshly along the way. In accordance with lore.

Does that make me a witch?

Some called me so. But being called something sometimes feels weird. And heavy, if you get me. I was comfortable with being called a bard. My patron gods called me that. To them I was a voice. Someone who translated and transferred their messages. Here, there are no boundaries. I’ve been a voice to the Irish, Welsh, Norse, Greek and Roman gods. Some of them stayed. My altar still has Persephone, Hades, Cernunnos, Apollo, Morpheus and a golden black dragon for Gwyn. And a fairy for the Fair Folk. There is no rivalry there, between gods. It all happens in human minds.

I do believe in gods. If that makes me a witch, then so be it. I’m a witch.

I’ve had an acquaintance recently. It was a wonderful contact, intellectual, ironic, brilliantly British in many ways, romantic at times. We’d talk for hours, and felt quite at ease, despite the age gap. But that’s my lucky thing- I do feel at ease with people much older than me. So, we clicked. And then this thing happened.

He started having doubts about continuing. On what grounds? He was a Christian. One of those guys who don’t do church to find God. They do courses. And then their view on Christ and Christianity becomes weird. So - although I mentioned i’ve been a Christian, - Catholic- for twenty years-and then sort of shifting into Celtic tradition, - he tried converting me into his ways. Didn’t work.

Then God was brought into equation, and my position of a Victorian historian and mythologist suddenly became subversive. And my previously praised poetry he promised to publish, turned …dangerous.

Then supernatural happened. The Wild Hunt sort of zoomed past him one night. Same night his ATHEIST friend saw a dream about him swimming in the HOLY river against the current. And a snake biting him. See, I was the snake.

That was the point of no return. He backed away from the contact, stating that our being on the different paths made our friendship dangerous.

I was furious. It hurt.

It took me almost a week to realize that he actually did a great favor to me.

I stopped being apologetic. I stopped being somebody else.

This brings us back to witchcraft. Totally unexpected, right?

I think that somehow we got a wrong understanding of witchcraft. Stepping aside from medieval/modern era, and the idea of sexualized, almost promiscuous women riding brooms and boiling toads in cauldrons, and casting off (no pun intended) the notion of Wiccan rituals, we should instead look to the priestesses of ancient days, pythias and those who, much like Persephone (literally, the voice of the dead) and Hecate, had enough grit and guts to step into their power and be who they really were: magnificent, powerful, knowledgeable, perceptive and totally in tune with spiritual side of life. Those who were comfortable in their psychic, divination-based nature.

Witchcraft isn't necessarily about rituals and rules of covens. It's all about being authentic and dark - if that's the thing that allows development in. Darkness can be variable, too. For some it's talking to the dead. Talking to the dead isn't dark. Allowing your mind to be clouded by somebody else's idea of you or tradition you follow, is. If you're brave enough to call yourself a witch or a priestess, you definitely must be brave enough to face consequences. Such as, for instance, cutting the cords and breaking free of everything that holds you back.

So if wearing my grandmother ’s ring as homage to ancestral wisdom makes me a witch, then I am one.

If writing about the past and tapping into someone else’s mind and emotions because that’s how I do it, makes me a witch, then I am one.

If following the gods I feel connection with, makes me a witch, then I am one.

If wearing a mood-changing nail polish makes me a witch, then I am one.

If preferring silver jewelry with gothic subtones makes me a witch, then I am one.

If being myself in everything from writing to knitting, makes me a witch, then I am one.

If going deeper in what I do, makes me a witch, then I am one.

If using tarot and oracles makes me a witch, then I am one.

See where i’m heading?

If being a witch has no problem with me, but it makes someone feel uncomfortable, this isn’t my problem. It’s not up to me to change to make someone like me. I’m really old enough to be myself.

One more thing.

Poetry has no gods.

Words have no allegiance.

Words are pure. All impurity comes from the human mind using them. Human mind can turn a rainbow into a tainted scrap of cloth. Human mind can twist anything how it wishes.

Those who work with words, know that too well.

Be careful. Words are living beings.

I leave you with a quote from the great Stephen Sondheim.

You got this.

Go and make art.

And be a witch.

A wizard.

A worderess.

A worderer.

Be you.