We Must Do Better


Today, they are all spinning in their graves.












“Yes! I want this person so much!”
“Ok… but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Maybe I should get the spell consent in writing.

What does a storybook witch do in her downtime?

She works on stuff.

There’s always some youth wandering the forest in search of their Fortune, and they often have no idea what they’re even looking for. So the Witch needs to check in with their charts and see what kind of help they’re going to need. So many young people are going through their Saturn Return, and even older folks in their Second. They’re feeling the shackles of old thought needing to be removed but they’re scared and surrounded by cruelties of their story. So the Witch becomes Fairy Godmother-Midwife and helps them during Rebirth. Sometimes it’s calming them down, sometimes it’s making a charm or potion to help ease delivery or speed up the process. Sometimes it’s kicking someone out of their life so they can finally grow.

Sometimes a Lost Prince or Princess wanders into her woods, seeking a way to reclaim their stolen birthright. Often the Prince/ss has been raised as a pauper and must be taught what it is to rule. But other times, the Prince/ss has been broken down to almost nothing. The tasks are harder, the journey inward often glossed over because it’s not nearly so interesting. But the transformation is far more beautiful and satisfying to behold.

That is the current case. The Prince-ling must Recover the Lost Sword, Restore the Broken Armor, and Find the True Heart that guides him.The world was not kind to this Prince-ling and has stripped him of everything he tried to hold dear. The Witch almost wonders what he did in a past life to merit this level of abuse.

Is he willing to make the hard journey inward and face his fears?
This is where the Witch has to get clever and trickster in her ways. This is a long three-part quest in which the Prince-ling must regain his inner kingdom before he can hope to reclaim his birthright. In a way, this is his greater birthright, but he may not think of it that way. He has a great sense of theater and drama, he is prone to self-centeredness, and he will need someone to lovingly smack him out of it once in a while. And the witch must expect nothing from him in return. How often has a Prince thanked his magical helpers at the end of the tale, eh?
(Although the Witch may use the experience as a lesson in coaching, and devise an appropriate compensation rate for later.)

The Beauty of Trump

Thank you. I can finally see a glimmer of light in this darkness.


“What we get to see with Trump is that capitalism has nowhere to go other than into the darker reaches of itself.”

The aesthetics of narcissistic Capitalism, from Charles Liburd


In this sense I am religious. To me, it suffices to wonder at these secrets and to attempt humbly to grasp with my mind a mere image of the lofty structure of all that there…

View original post 926 more words

Rainy Days Means Making Witchcraft

I’m glad we’re getting this much rain, because we freaking need it. I just wish we could get a few sunny days in there, or at least warm up a bit. I live in Western Mass, not Oregon, thanks.

My first batch of Social Justice candles were a rousing success! I’ve tweaked the formula a bit and added my new Pinch of Justice” powder. This new batch will be available for purchase. More details when I figure out where I’ll be posting them I’m a little wary of Etsy lately. These may end up being an in-person exclusive item.

Let Divine Justice Rain Down Upon His Head and Sever It From His Body

Yesterday I buried a poppet for a client’s abusive, child molesting, kiddy-porn-peddling husband. I made it out of an old towel she gave me for material, glued cursing herbs & a rock into the head area, wrapped it in an all-most-new spool of thread, and then bashed the poppet against an anvil 13 times. I put him in a mirror box lined with wide-open, staring googly eyes glued around the inside so that all his evil will be reflected back on him, and everyone will know him for what a monster he is. After the lid was glued shut, I wrote his full name on the outside of the box, as well as a list of his crimes. I then buried it in the woods. If anyone ever finds it, they will know without a doubt that the intended target earned his punishment.

+                 +                      +                  +                 +

I’ve been sitting on that spell for a while.

Not that I was unsure or uncertain of the man’s guilt or innocence. The client showed me the report and my brain literally shut off the ability to read after just the first few lines. My client read the whole thing and vomited for three days afterward. I had a hard time sleeping after the few words I saw. It was like a cobalt blue flame had embraced me and was flaring behind my eyes. Dear Michael was furious and at that moment, He took control of the situation and assured both of us, my client and myself, that things will be ‘taken care of.”

But first I had to do a lot of thinking and planning and prep work.

I had to parse thru the bullshit guilt and shame foisted upon weird witchy folks like myself who practice regular (or even sporadic) curse work. Especially in the current political climate where the whole world went bonkers when a some rather milquetoast group posted on FB about global “Curse 45” event  and then sent out invitations. I’m sure you all saw or heard of it.

Then the age old argument happened again;  “real witches don’t curse” (they most certainly did/do), how that’s “stooping to their level” (when a Xtian counter-group organized a prayer event to protect their beloved Pumpkin Feurer, literally praying to a supposedly ‘loving’ god to protect the man who sold his soul for money and power?), and other such curse-shaming bullshit. I stood my personal ground and supported the conversation where it mattered, and held up a more quiet support position where my specific opinion wasn’t necessarily required b/c it had been stated better by someone else. But in the back of my mind, all the social conditioning and victim-blaming guilt that had been burned into me flared up again.

Even though this target in particular had been clearly marked for the demonic Beast in need of termination, I struggled with the particulars of it. Procrastination was my BFF; I waited for the right moon-phase but let it slide b/c the weather wasn’t perfect. I had to tend to the house and gardens on nice days; I hadn’t been able to go out and find an ‘ideal burial plot in the woods; I forgot a key ingredient somewhere, or didn’t have a suitable substitute on-hand, etc.

Finally, on the night before the target was to have his court date, I grabbed the tools I had on hand, set up a quick playlist, and told Hubby I was going out into the work shed with headphones, so text me if I’m needed.

I had thought I’d need to be sufficiently pissed and enraged to get all the power into the poppet, but the detached emotional state helped me stay focused. Thoughts came in pictures and tonal sounds, colors, Bibliomancy for some key words and phrases that I circled and made certain were marked in the two miniature bibles the client provided (her exact words were “Return them to the earth”, for they had been tainted and needed purification.) As the target had used the words of their God against children and family, those words would return his sins back upon his head and punish him for supreme blasphemy. I sealed the box and left the work shed for a much-needed dinner of comfort food. I didn’t feel drained or anything, but my arms were tired.

It takes a long time to unravel a large, almost-new spool of thread. At least twelve repetitions of ““The Vengeful One” by my count.

But for every inch of thread binding him, may he receive a corresponding lash, and may each long series of lashes be in exchange for the soul of a child that was harmed by his actions.

Did I mention he admitted to trafficking underage material where the children were as young as 3 months in some cases? Yeah, I kinda feel the need to stress that one.

Next morning, we got up early and made the trek up to the woods and buried the box. I made certain to write out his name and crimes. Hubs was supposed to be on look-out, but a hiker may have seen some weird thing get buried in the woods, and if anyone wants to check out what it is, they’ll see black duct tape and silver sharpie. I suppose I could have written the same thing on the mirrors inside, since those would be protected from water damn….


That evening, I get a call from the client. His defense attorney  told the judge she was ‘Unprepared” and asked for a later date. They will reconvene in June.

Time to make a month’s worth of St Michael candles.

Losing myself, but did I ever have myself in the first place?

Where do my loyalties lie?
ARE my loyalties just a lie?
Am I more loyal to my parents or to myself? or the IDEAS of my parents and myself. Is this even my TRUE self I’m trying to assuage or is it the False Self I’ve spent a lifeime cultivating and hiding behind to the point where I don’t know which is which?

Does being loyal mean mindlessly serving something that you have sworn yourself to, regardles sof the pressing evidence to jump ship while possible? Is this a temporaary storm or have I just been tossed around for so long that it’s become normal?

Do I stay or do i go? Do I get out while i still can and turn my back just like those before me have? Do I drive that nail into my mother’s coffin? Or have I been tasked with a force too great for one person to endure and I have the right to put it down before it crushes me?

I’m just gong to spin my wheels some more and do some Anxiety Donuts a bit longer….