Who Has The Right?

If you put yourself out there in any capacity--as a teacher, a coven leader, an initiate of anything--someone will eventually come popping up seemingly from nowhere to challenge you on it. It does not matter what your bona fides are; you could be the finest witch with the most impeccable lineage imaginable, and some asshole will still appear to question your validity, deny your right to do what you're doing, tell you your upline is illegitimate, or a dozen other things. And the reason why is simple: people suck.

People suck, and a great many of the suckiest among them can be found in religious and spiritual sectors. Why that is, is a topic for another dissertation, but just believe me when I say that it's so. Among the worst people I have known in my adult life, the bulk of them have been other witches, pagans, and occultists. These people have bullied me publicly and privately, harassed me online, denied the validity of my initiates, claimed I did things I didn't do and didn't do things I did do, tried to ruin my coven, break up my marriage, and the list goes on. I'm far from the only one who has experienced this. A dear friend and initiate of mine once told the tale of attending a public pagan gathering and overhearing some complete strangers discussing him, gleefully recounting all the horrible things he'd supposedly done, with him sitting right at their same table completely unknown to them. If it's true that people love gossip, the more salacious and outrageous the better, then it's magnified a thousandfold in the pagan/Wiccan/occult sectors. It would be hilariously stupid if only it didn't cause real harm.

Why does it happen? One reason is because a lot of heavily damaged people find their way to the craft in hopes of fixing that damage; but as the saying goes, hurt people hurt other people, so instead of finding personal healing they seek scapegoats. Instead of addressing their own feelings of illegitimacy they challenge that of others. Some genuinely deserve compassion; others are genuinely nasty people who deserve only contempt, and our best efforts to avoid them and minimize where possible the damage they seek to do. I've found an inordinate number of that second kind over the years.

As the friend I mentioned above once told me, they behave so badly because the stakes are so small. 

I am a part of two Wiccan traditions: the one in which I was originally initiated and trained, and the one which my partner and I developed. I have been questioned and challenged about my place and my rights in both of them at various times, and let me state loudly and clearly that I do not give one single shit whether someone unknown to me, whose opinion means nothing to me, considers me a valid witch or teacher or priestess. And neither, dear reader, should you. The person who starts off with a challenge doesn't want information, they want a fight; they want you on the defensive, want you shaken, want you to doubt yourself. Don't give them what they want. If you're up for a battle, then turn it back on them and question them in turn, but in general it's better to defuse the situation and walk away. Pick your battles carefully or you'll end up with a broken heart and an ulcer, because these people live to drain others dry. Don't open a vein for them.

If someone questions your lineage, tell 'em it's oathbound. Tell them you were brought in by a witch who was brought in by another witch. Tell them you don't have any. Tell them it's none of their godsdamn business. Tell them you made it all up yourself, or you read it in a book, or a wizard in a cave on a high mountaintop passed his wisdom on to you. If you are a member of a tradition and you put yourself out there as such, then you can certainly expect to hear from others of that trad; but there is a big difference between the friendly curiosity of one initiate to another, and the malignant interest of the bully. The sooner you learn to differentiate between the two, and to react appropriately, the better off you'll be. And if you are trying to enter initiate space and need to prove your bona fides, you should already know how to provide a requested vouch. Randos on the internet trying to provoke you or discredit you do not deserve consideration.

Festival Season and the Plague Years

The daystar burns brightly above and the midsummer sabbat (1) fast approaches: festival season is upon us. Whether that means big multitrad pagan festivals, tradition-specific gatherings, or single-day events like Pagan Pride Day, from now until after Halloween there will be a multitude of activities wherein one can meet other paganfolk, reconnect with old friends, spend time in nature, etc. I even had intention this year of attending one or two such events; but you know what they say about the best-laid plans. Between rising gas (and everything else) prices and the ongoing threat of coronavirus (now with special guest star monkeypox for an opening act), my partner and I have had to bow out of two so far, and there may be other events down the road that we end up opting out of this year. Risk-aversion still seems the safest course.

It's been years since I/we have attended any trad-specific gatherings. They can be fraught with Issues. In the past, we've personally stayed away from an event when told by organizers that one of our initiates was unwelcome because there were people who had Issues with him. In another case, we were told that we ourselves were unwelcome because someone the organizer liked wouldn't come if we did! In an ideal world, a trad-specific festival would be open to any verifiable members of that trad, and interpersonal issues would be dealt with, like goddamn adults, between the parties involved; but this is not that world, and most such events are and have always been invitation-only. I can understand that, I suppose: if you're trying to minimize drama, and keep away people that you or someone close to you thinks is an asshole, then controlling attendance is a feasible way to go. I'd love to live in a world where verified members of a tradition could all attend a grand festival, regardless of what horrible rumors follow them (2), and sort themselves out while there, behaving like "adults" and simply not engaging with people they were at odds with--but then, I have a lot of impossible dreams. People are people, and they rarely get along, and they like to stir shit and spread gossip and engage in all the kinds of activities that usually have me running for the exit like the former bullied kid that I am. I'm pretty sure somewhere in Gardner's writings there's something about covens not knowing where any other covens are, and that was probably sound advice. As the great Terry Pratchett once put it, 

The natural size of a coven is one. Witches only get together when they can't avoid it.

 In any case, we've had to bail on two events, which is unfortunate, because despite my general introversion and mistrustful nature, I was looking forward to both of them. For the most part, my memories of previous such events are good ones, though it's likely that the haze of nostalgia has much to do with that. I'm not a fan of camping, though I can stand it for a night or two (so long as adequate sanitation facilities are nearby), but there's something enjoyable about setting up one's little camp site, and having a little cabin to stay in is even better than a tent. Nature hikes and campfires and big rituals with lots of other people who know the rite being performed and can fall into it all together--well, there's nothing else really like that, and it makes for a singular experience. But the truth is, we're not out of the plague years yet; the rona is still out there, and it's still making people sick, and making some of those sick people die or have complications that will follow them for years to come. That's not a gamble I'm willing to take, not with my own life and not with the lives of anyone I love. 

So it's back to the shadows, back to being among Her hidden children, and that's probably not even a bad thing. Trouble does seem to follow when too many witches try to mingle. Too many opinions and perceptions and egos running into each other. One of the trads I work is purposefully small; we're far-flung, but we all know each other, and even when we disagree or butt heads, it's easier, somehow. In the bigger trad, it seems like things get out of hand and become schismatic fairly regularly. Not surprising in the least, but still depressing to see. I have no reason to think the smaller trad won't go the same way eventually; it's the nature of witches, apparently.

It will be a small solstice celebration this year, with several of our people scattered for summer adventures, and the looming threats of financial collapse and continuing pandemic. To those who choose to gather at various festivals, good luck to you; to those others who scale back and tend their own hearth instead, I wish you good fortune as well. We'll be together again one day (3).

(1) Fuck it, it's fine, we can call it Litha like everyone else does.

(2) I mean, unless it's someone with a verifiable criminal record. Unverified rumors are bullshit, but a rape/murder/burglary conviction is a matter of record.

(3) Assuming we're invited, of course.

Little Synchronicities

I've always been a proponent and practitioner of synchromysticism, even before I had a word to affix to it; it ties in with my perception of magick as the art of probability enhancement and coincidence management. My ability in these arenas varies, largely dependent on my energy levels and where my attentions are focused, but sometimes it snaps back to the forefront of my consciousness in obvious and unsubtle ways. When it does, I know to attend to it, because that's when things happen.

Last month I started watching the new MCU series WandaVision on Disney+, and is often the way for me, it quickly shifted from diversion to a deep-dive into a minor obsession. Things like this invariably open channels of inquiry and imagination for me, and I've learned over a lifetime of Being Like This to just go wholeheartedly into it and see where it takes me. Along the way, connections are formed and, to quote Tolkien (I think), way leads on to way. And along the way, there are signposts. Synchronicities. That's how you know you're on the right path.

A week or so ago, already fully enwrapped in Wanda Maximoff's journey of owning and controlling her power, I was doing my weekly(ish) reading with my combo oracle deck, The Well-Worn Path/Hidden Path. The card that flipped up that morning was this one, the Fire card: 

A red-haired woman, dressed in red, with a spiral of fire-red energy emanating from the palms of her hands. Huh. That reminds me of something...

(Yes, I realize her jacket reads more purple than red in this photo, but work with me here)

A little synchronicity, enough to make me sit back and go "Huh. That's interesting." Around that same time, something happened that came as a sad surprise, the sort of thing that makes you contemplate concepts like Life and Death and Meaning and so forth. Because those themes were present in my current fandom focus, they wove easily into my observations of what happened (it was the sudden death of an older work colleague, if you're wondering). Then something else happened, and then something else happened, and at the end of that chain came a thing that made me understand that I was coming in to my own power, both magickal and mundane (assuming there's even a divide), on a new level. My card reading this morning amplified it, and today's passage from my favorite daily meditation book further clarified and sealed it.

Synchronicities. Coincidences combining, probabilities turning to actualities. This is why I do what I do, this is because I am who and what I am. The takeaway? Pay attention. There are always signposts along the way. What moves you, motivates you, inspires and inflames you, right now? No matter what it is, no matter how mundane or "silly" it seems, look at it, let it lead you down into the depths of your imagination and then see where you end up. 

Full Circle or Downward Spiral

It’s always around this time of year that I feel the most nostalgic. It was just after Lammas that things began ramping up for me, leading up to my initiation in the fall: doing rituals, attending my first trad gathering, the excitement and anticipation of the Samhain season itself. And so I remember all of this, and both nostalgia and melancholy come in equal measure as I remember the young woman I was, and all that came after. Those ended up being very challenging times as I floundered about navigating the intersection of multiple new roles that I was entirely unprepared to take on—times when I came to understand that the bit about “suffering to learn” was nothing less than the literal truth.

In those days, my partner and I sometimes joked about being the Mulder and Scully of the Wicca, but there was more than a little rueful truth about that as well. Despite having grown up as a consistently bullied kid, I was still terribly innocent of the types of intrigues that people in groups could get up to, and even my devoted X-Files viewing didn’t quite prepare me, though it did at least give me some small comfort—after all, bearing the brunt of an admittedly ugly witch war still wasn’t quite as bad as being infected with alien viruses and forced into hiding from the entire corrupt US government. Just like Mulder and Scully, we exiled ourselves in the aftermath of a negative situation, and went on to live our lives and do our things with varying degrees of success. (When I sit here now and think about it, the parallels are so close as to be disturbing. We never broke up, though, in spite of some peoples’ efforts, perhaps because we didn’t have Chris Carter scripting us. Thank the gods.) Still, the nostalgia never quite left me, though at times it lay dormant as other things took the fore.

Our mutual practice evolved, but never strayed so very far from the root stock, even though at times our focus shifted elsewhere and led us down different paths of inquiry and exploration. I’ll admit now that even skeptical as I tend to be, I have come to believe in the power of initiatory experiences, and of the bonds we form by our rituals and our oaths. I can find no other rational explanation for the persistence and the tenacity of my attachment to a system of working that ought, given the scope of these past negatives, to fill me with revulsion. (The thought of certain people absolutely does; the system, no longer. Despite my early antipathy to dualistic thinking, I’ve also come to the realization that there really are positive and negative aspects to nearly everything, and that walking the line between them is my natural state. I’ve also realized that people can do bad things for seemingly good reasons—and that some people are simply utter shitlords.)

This may be another function of getting older, but despite years of raging at sundry machines, I’ve had time to rethink some of my earlier positions and arrive at a more nuanced view of them. Seeing recent outpourings in the blogosphere that remind me of where I was so long ago have certainly been at least a partial catalyst. Some of it I can see now as the end result of where I started, and while some of the shifts that I see are absolutely to the good, others seem to me to go too far. (I’m being deliberately vague because this essay is already in danger of turning into a dissertation.) Some of these seismic changes are going to be a threat to some of the older ways of doing things—a good and a bad thing, to my mind. Good, because in this era of #metoo and consent culture, the more egregious abuses will become harder to pull off; bad, because some ways of doing things will be unfairly and unnecessarily given negative labels when they are merely one way of working among many, suitable to some but not to others. A part of my nostalgia is now for some of those older ways of being and doing, things that still hold value, things perhaps in danger of being tossed out for lack of understanding, or for being seen only for their potential negatives and not their potential positives. (I’ve been there, after all, so I recognize it when I see it.)

I have come to believe that it is entirely possible to adhere to the letter and the spirit of the law while still remaining ethical and respectful. I’m starting to believe there may be others who agree. The public writings of newer-generation BTWs are awakening new hope in me, that this form of Craft may ever survive, and thrive, in a modern culture that expects things like respect and tolerance and consent. I’ve come to believe that it’s possible to honor the past while living in the present, and without fighting the future. But I’m older now, and I’ve had a lot of time to think.

I’m pretty sure I could have handled things better in the past, had I possessed deeper levels of understanding and wisdom and maturity. All of those things come only with time and experience, and back then I had neither. Perspective may be the greatest gift of age, and it’s a damned shame that it takes so long to acquire it. I still don’t know that I’ll ever again want to train and initiate people, into any of the systems I have that right and ability in—I’ve lost quite a lot thereby in the past, and I’m gun-shy now—but I won’t rule out the extreme possibilities. The fact that I’m here writing all of this would have been a near-impossibility at one time, maybe not even that long ago. Change truly is the only constant in life.

Mulder and Scully ended up back in the FBI after a long period of exile, a return that brought its challenges and rewards. I can easily imagine both of them, during those years away from their work, thinking and reviewing, considering their paths. I can so easily see Mulder turning his badge over in his hands, wondering if it was all worth it; can see Scully taking an afternoon at the gun range, keeping up her skills just in case (she always was the better shot). I can imagine the fear and hope and hurt and anticipation they would have felt over those years. I’m feeling some of those things now. I have no idea how any of this is going to play out, but I am feeling like making a tentative foray out beyond my comfortable place might not even be the worst thing I could do.

At least, I want to believe.

Why Not Wicca?

You’ll have noticed that I only very rarely use the word “Wicca” in reference to my practice. “BTW,” you may say, “generally refers to ‘British Traditional Wicca,’ doesn’t it?” Well, yes. Generally it does. And what I, and my initiates and their initiates, do, certainly often looks like what you’d term Wicca—at least, of the traditional, initiatory kind.

All this is true, and yet… That word. It bothers me, somehow.

I got involved in this initiatory Craft stuff back in the mid-90s, when witches were pop-culture hot and the word “Wicca” was seemingly everywhere. The bookstore shelves groaned with titles, each progressively blander and less inspiring than the one before it. Wicca! Not nasty old badly-behaved witchcraft but a shiny modern Religion, safe and sanitary and approved for veterans and convicts and suburbanites and teenagers alike! Not some stodgy old hidebound thing with rules and regulations, but a real do-it-yourself Spirituality to be made and remade as your whimsy takes you. Wicca! Easily found on a hundred websites with sparkle text and spinning pentacles, shared by a hundred youthful elders quick to assure you that there was no right or wrong way to be Wiccan. And anyone with a dialup connection and a Geocities account was well on their way to the priesthood. Wicca!

I’ll admit, the word was making me twitch before I was even an initiate—hell, before I’d even set foot in an Outer Court circle. I had some books. They seemed so safe. Colorful and inoffensive and about as mysterious as the local Vacation Bible School. I wanted Mystery. I wanted THE OCCULT. Feel-good fluff had its comforting appeal, but it was not in my nature to be satisfied with the superficial. I wanted WITCHCRAFT, brooms and bats and pointed hats, spooky and special and more like the stuff in those exploitative little paperbacks from long ago in the 60s and 70s. I ended up first as a solitary practicing a half-assed homegrown Egyptian paganism, but I still held out hope for the Craft. WITCHcraft!

I stumbled into it, rather by accident, around the time That Word was exploding everywhere. Wicca! OK, fine, Wicca it is, then—as long as it’s being used more as a safeword for Actual Witchcraft. I got in. I was initiated. And I was Initiated as a Witch, not a Wiccan (I was paying attention!)—that overused and mispronounced term did not appear anywhere in the proceedings. But of course, the two were forevermore linked.

Skipping over the years between then and now, and you’ll find that I’m about as averse to the term now as I ever was, though I’m slowly desensitizing myself to it. (These days it’s also fashionable to be very anti-Wiccan among the skulls-for-your-craefte traditionalists, but that’s not really me, either.) My practice is rooted in the stock that was the early template for all the Wiccas to come after it, no matter how diluted they became. If I told you that I cast a quartered circle, used specific tools, made specific invocations, etc., you’d look at me and say “oh, you’re Wiccan.” Well, fuck it, I guess I am, if you look at it that way; but I will always think of myself as a Witch, and only grudgingly concede the upstart, sanitized term.

You’re going to find the two words used interchangeably, especially by older traditional folk. If you look to my Recommended Reading page, you’ll see both Witchcraft and Wicca in the titles. I can read and enjoy books that use “Wicca” predominantly or exclusively, and I can even see myself and my Craft there. I’m desensitizing. Trying not to come off as a complete asshole while still maintaining the distinction between the kind of “Wicca” that I practice (initiatory, oathbound, esoteric, occult) and the kind that I do not (eclectic, open, exoteric).

It’s the 21^st century now, and those spinning-pentacle sites are long gone, replaced by the rabid wolverines of Tumblr and the fabulously photogenic Insta-witches. I’m not sure what the founders of this feast—say, Gardner or Valiente, for example—would make of all this; but I am sure there’s room for all of us beneath the moon-drenched sky, no matter what words we prefer to claim.

Back In My Day, Part One

I came in at a pivotal time in the history of the Craft, in the liminal space between a publishing boom and the arrival of the mainstream internet. Being initiated in 1994, I found myself “between the worlds” in more ways than one. The book blitz of the early 90s was still very much in play and driving much interest and expansion, but there was also the sense of something coming over the horizon, with talk of “computer bulletin boards” and “newsgroups” of interest to pagans. Along with the fashion for witches and witchcraft in popular culture—from Charmed to The Craft to Buffy’s Willow and Hocus Pocus and more—it was a heady time to be pagan.

Still, I consider myself to be among the last generation of pre-internet pagans. My interest was sparked early on in my childhood thanks to the availability of lurid occult paperbacks left over from the late 60s and early 70s. My parents would haul me along to yard sales and flea markets, where I would rummage happily in bins of musty old books and come up with the bizarre treasures that helped fire my imagination and drive me down the paths I grew up so eager to explore. (Fortunately for me, my parents never censored my reading materials.) Once I was old enough to drive, libraries and bookstores were my natural destinations, and discovering that Actual Occult Bookstores existed within driving distance was utterly thrilling. Probably dangerous, too, since I was a sheltered small-town kid with zero people smarts and a certain amount of naievete-induced fearlessness, but for whatever reason I survived my early explorations unscathed. If I had been something other than a conventionally-unattractive Weird Girl, I might have been less fortunate.

I look back on those days now through the rosy tint of nostalgia and feel a bit sorry for today’s newcomers. I wonder if it can have as much of an impact for them as it did for me, and, I assume, others of my generation. There were always two or three shops in town that catered in some way to the pagan/new age/occult subcultures, and regular visits were a given. Seeing new books and statues and tools in person is a very different sensation from just seeing photos of them online. Finding and ordering from catalogs like the old Abyss Distribution/Azure Green was a furtive delight, as well. I can remember very early pamphlet catalogs from bladesmiths and jewelers and the like, passed from person to person and group to group. I remember the fun of going to festivals and gathers and seeing the vendors’ rows set up, seeing the wares handcrafted by magickal folk for magickal folk. Finding out about those groups and festivals was also a challenge and a risk: flyers put up at the shops, ads placed discreetly in magazines like Green Egg or Circle Network News. Phone calls made and public meetings arranged. Chances were that you came into a study group or Outer Court with only the most rudimentary knowledge of what you were in for; there were, for good or ill, a lot more secrets in those days.

Many of those secrets were passed along as multi-generational and barely legible photocopies. I still have reams of such materials, and I can’t even look at their binders on my shelves without recalling the excitement of receiving them, the clandestine thrill of reading through them, imagining how the authors of them felt as they wrote them and ritualized them and passed them on. I remember the fun of long nights at the copy shop, laboriously photocopying hundreds of pages and collating them to be given to a newly initiated or elevated witch. It was a magickal time.

I cherish these memories. For all the backstabbing and bullshit that inevitably came about (people being people, and people in marginalized and factionalized quasi-religious groups being the worst), I still have so many fond recollections of so many experiences. (I hope that you, Dear Reader, have a few of your own.)

If I were to start actively training and initiating people again, I imagine that it would feel profoundly different. I’d be contacting and screening people via email or social media. Meeting them at restaurants or coffee shops instead of witchy stores, as there are so few of them now that everything can be bought online. They would come already armed with extensive knowledge and fully-formed opinions, thanks to the nearly limitless information available for just a few keystrokes. I could send them links to providers of appropriate robes, cups, athames, jewelry, incense. Share suitable books for them to read from my Kindle library. And once they were initiated, I could pass them 50-plus years’ worth of materials as scanned pdfs on a thumb drive, no photocopiers necessary.

I don’t want to give the impression that the internet had no role in my early years in the Craft. I was initiated in late 1994, and got online in 1997, and it was meeting, online, people of other lines and other trads and exchanging ideas and information with them that got me through some of the most difficult and exasperating experiences of my life to that point. The witch friends I made online in my formative years helped make me into the person and priestess I eventually became. I have to think that coming in when I did, at the confluence of these two approaches, absolutely shaped my development for the better, and I’ll always be grateful that I was lucky enough to have it both ways.