Witchcraft - The Way of the Goddess

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Love & Light,

VAMPGYRL420 AKA Windy Grace

Within the corner of a darkened room a woman sits on a chair and hums a repetitive tune. Her eyes are closed and she rocks back and forth, back and forth, back and forth - seeming to sway in some invisible wind like the rushes on a lake shore. Her hands are moving between threads as she weaves and plaits them, every now and then stopping to tie a knot; the silence more permeable for the lack of song.

She sits, thus, for hours until the room lightens with the glow of the rising Moon, the shafts of which pierce the window to land at her feet. The monotonous humming stops, the rocking stops, the dancing fingers stop - her eyes are open.

She stands and walks to the corner of the little room where her table is set with the instruments of her birthright: cup, picking up the glow of moonlight and dripping it onto the cloth beneath; knife with the hilt as black as jet that glints with streaks of silver that have been set into the ancient runes that surround the base, and with a double-edged blade that flares and tapers finely to its point of power; pentacle that glows with burnished light, the symbols on its face deep and meaningless to any save its owner; wand of willow wood, finely carved with her own hand into an intricate set of spirals and swirls, worn in places where it has been lovingly worked; unlit candles of purest white to compliment the Moon's glow, and a heavy silver medallion on a cord, older than even she knows, that has been passed down, along with her knowledge and her sword, the Initiator, from one to the other, in secret nights and ancient tongue, from one to another, by right of succession and ancient oath, until to her it was bequeathed with all that belongs to the passage; a bowl of burning coals that glow and shed warmth round about, upon which she drops juniper twigs and wood from the dead bough of an apple tree. From the coals she lights a taper, then the candles, one by one - all in silence and certainty of what is to follow.

Her shapeless dress is unbuttoned and dropped to the floor; her hair, bound about her head in a tight braid, is unraveled and spreads around her in a wild, burnished copper haze. The medallion she takes lovingly in her hands to greet with a soft kiss before raising it to the Moon's glow for approval; she then drops its cord over her head onto her breast, drawing comfort from its familiar coldness on her skin.

She kneels, raises her arms above her head, breathes deeply, and waits. Very soon the Moon is fully risen and the shafts of silver cover her body and radiate around her. She cries out, in the ancient tongue of the Lands of Lirian, that she is ready to greet her Goddess, whose name she summons by the name she knows, and it rings around her thrice, like the secret chiming of bells.

The air is still and expectant.

She slowly stands and takes the cup, this sacred chalice, now filled with water, later wine, and walks around the little room sprinkling as she goes. A soft, melodious chant is rising, rising, from her as she quickens her pace, deosil, deosil, leaving trails of moonlight glowing in a circle all around her. She feels the force field, an almost imperceptible swishing that grows to a hum. When it is constant she stops, moves back to her table, proclaiming it altar. Now she dips her wand into the cup and uses the sacred water to seal her body from all things impure or mundane, thinking, "Be ye far from us, oh ye profane..." She kisses the wand's tip and lays it back on the altar. She refuels the brazier and inhales the sweet-smelling smoke - a tribute to her Goddess. She takes the pentacle between her two hands and raises it above her head, calling forth the force of the Four Winds to act as sentinels to her rite. She takes the dagger, the power of her birthright, and presses it to her breast to fill it with her own essence, and then she stands. The dagger is now athame. She raises it slowly; her whole being is poured from its magnetized tip in shafts of blue fire as it pierces the night for the acknowledgement she knows will come.

Her breath is still. The night is still. The forces of life wait expectantly, and suddenly the light returns to flood the room - the priestess of the Moon cries out to the primordial mother, to whom she was bequeathed before the dawn of time.

The mother answers with the heartbeat of a thousand million lives and acknowledges her daughter, sister, self. They fuse and are one - was it ever any other way?

The cycle is complete, and the priestess of the Moon is assured. The magic of her fingers will soothe where they lay, and the magic of her voice will light the Earth, and all things will grow where're she looks upon them.

The Way of the Goddess will continue, though to most her name is unknown. As long as even one remembers will the knowledge proceed and the Earth be sustained.

Though the foolish fear what they don't understand, the magic goes on and the secret survives, for the priestess of the Moon is witch, and what she represents is at one with what's living, and all that she is will continue - for without her the Earth would weep and the night would never understand and so would cease to be. She is the spiral of life - the oceans, the rivers, the falling of the dew, the changing of the seasons. She is the corn at harvest and the birth of birds. She is the wind on the mountain and the spider's web at dawn.

All things of beauty are the name that she summons, for she is the mirror of the Goddess that is life, and the mother of all living things. If she could not continue, or was the last of all, then all hope would cease to be.

- The Prologue from "Witchcraft - Theory and Practice" by Ly De Angeles

I was not always Wiccan, As an infant, I was christened as a Methodist. At the age of about six, I became deeply involved as an Apostolic when my parents began attending a church where my Uncle Bobby preached. Between the ages of 11 and 13, I still attended church and this was probably my peak time, because I spent 3 to 4 days a week at church and attended church camp the summer just before my thirteenth year. At church camp, everyone gathered around me and prayed for me. I received "The Holy Ghost" on that particular day, as tears rolled down my face. I did not have an easy childhood. It was pretty rough growing up. Buying into what people were telling me, I agreed to be baptized the autumn just after my thirteenth birthday. After I was baptized, I rushed home with the certificate to show my parents who had left the church years previous to this event.

Upon inspecting my Baptismal Certificate, my step-father became very angry and beat me badly with his belt. This is when I began to question God and wondered why He wasn't watching over me to protect me from the abuse...I continued to pray to the Christian God, hoping He would hear my voice and pull me out of the wicked pit of negativity that had become my life since my mother had married my step-father and taken me away from my comfortable home with my Great-Grandparents. He obviously never heard my voice, because matters only became worse...

Months later, that March, my Great-Grandfather and best friend in the world was killed in a tragic tractor accident. While working in the pasture to pull old posts out, he lost control of the old Ford tractor. It rolled over on top of him and the steering wheel went through his skull. I was developed and once again left wondering...What kind of loving God would allow something like this to happen to the most loving, caring, best man in the world? I still attended my uncle's church, but not as often. I didn't bother to pray, because it didn't help circumstances. In contrast, things were getting worse and worse and still worse.

A couple of months later, I moved in with my Great-Grandmother who was having great difficulty recovering from the loss of her husband. I thought I could help and I guess I did while I was there. At least she began to smile again sometimes. However, my Grandmother was going through menopause and I won't even begin to describe the ugliness this stirred up. To avoid further confrontation with Grandmother, I moved back home with my mother, siblings and step-father.

Upon returning home, I did go back to church a few times; but, after a while, I got tired of hearing the older sisters of the church talk about my sins. I was wearing makeup, jewelry, miniskirts, tight jeans and rock t-shirts. Oh my!!! Through the next year, my step-father continued to beat myself and my mother. He shoved me down the stairs and slammed my head through the bathroom window. After wiping the blood from my forehead, I gathered myself up, shook my head and connected one good blow to his jaw...This stopped him for some time; but, then, his advances became very sexual in nature so I began running away from home.

The last time I ran away from home, I got homesick and was greatly missing my adorable little brothers so I called a friend of my mother's for help. She came where I was, picked me up and returned me to my mother who took me to a psychiatric hospital, where they kept me for the next month and a half without ever asking me why I was running away from home. They really never asked me anything...

When I was released, within a week my step-father advanced further and I ran to my best friend's home where I talked to her mother. Mrs. Stella walked with me to the payphone in town to call my mother and tell her what had happened. When mother got off work, she came to my best friend's home to pick me up and called me a liar. Upon speaking with my step-father while leaving me in the car, she was told from the horse's mouth what had happened. Mother had to call social services as is the law. Social services did not do much...My step-father was not allowed within 50 feet of me and charges were placed over his head just in case he ever got in trouble again.

Because my step-father was not allowed in the home with me there, my mother filed papers with the courts to release me from her custody to a ward of the state. While I was out hanging her laundry on the clothes line, a deputy walked into the yard and handed me the papers. I overdosed on everything that was in the medicine cabinet and the little girl across the street found me and told her parents. An ambulance came, strapped me to the stretcher and hauled me off to our local hospital. I was given medicine to make me dispel the toxins from my body through the route of my mouth, another traumatic experience. Mother came to the hospital to see me and she cried, but she continued with the court case. However, the judge ruled that she had given birth to me and hence, would have to take care of me.

At fourteen years of age, I came to the realization that my mother didn't want me around so I walked away...Now, I was on my own officially. I began researching to learn about all different types of religious beliefs. I remember feeling like I was looking for a missing piece to the puzzle, something that my pastor was leaving out.