Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means talking on the phone for four hours to get someone out of a panic spiral, while picking apart knitted socks with a crochet hook.
Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means screaming at the ceiling and demanding that whatever is haunting a client better back off because now they have to deal with ME.
Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means casting a net to personal contacts and friends to gather info that would otherwise be out of reach for others.
Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means giving a magical hug and watching the person leave with a trail of invisible fairy dust.
Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means pouring over astrology charts for an entire family, looking for signs of a curse, and binding the suspected curse-casters chart with tape and three colors of yarn bc the papers are thrumming in a highly suspicious manner.
The danger is in getting caught up with other people’s stories and trying to force an ideal narrative on them. That did not work out well for The Fairy Godmother in Shrek, or Lillith Weatherwax in Witches Abroad (Discworld). They tried to control the stories of others and got very mean and nasty when their very narrow ideals were challenged.
Some people want you to do just that- they’re tired of how things have played out in their lives, and in these cases I cannot blame their desire in the slightest. They’re looking for a fairy godmother who waves a wand and makes things better. It’s over and done and everyone is supposed to live happily ever after, but nothing has changed on the inside.
Witches dont do that stuff. We make you earn it. There’s a hard lesson to be learned and a cheat sheet isn’t going to teach you anything. Just because the outside has changed, doesn’t mean the inside did.
I’m not here to be the sole author of their stories. I’m just a ghostwriter and proofreader. The most important lesson I teach my clients is that YOU ARE THE AUTHOR OF YOUR STORY. MAKE IT A GOOD ONE.
The hardest part people have is accepting the responsibility of that position themselves. They’ve been told a false narrative their whole lives by other people; By the media, by their parents, spouses, children, siblings, friends, etc. They have so many ideas about who they’re supposed to be and what other’s expect from them that they have forgotten WHO THEY TRULY ARE.
Moana restored the heart of Te Fiti by acknowledging the goddess who had forgotten her own self in her grief and rage. I help others see the true self within by reminding them who they are, who the stars said they could become at the moment of their birth, and where the stories got twisted and tangled.
I will find that thread of their true self and unravel the knots until everything is laid out and clear. Then we work together to design a new pattern for their life , one they’re in control of and know how to form with some tutelage from me. Everyone has their own learning style and sometimes books are enough, sometimes YouTube videos, and sometimes it takes a hands on approach and constant reassurance that they’re going to be ok if they just stop being afraid.
Being a Storybook Witch means being a friend to those who have none. It means teaching other people skills they never knew they had access to. It means being an advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves.
To me, it means living my souls purpose. And I love every moment.
I will never understand humanity’s mad desire to crush and destroy anything that is good and pure. Something that is “too good for this world” is stifled, abused, stepped on, isolated, slandered, and otherwise destroyed for all intents and purposes and to what end?
Why do humans try to destroy that which we should uphold as a beacon of hope, a standard to strive for, so that we too can achieve this level of wholeness?
Why is history marked with the bravest and wisest people being stoned to death or burned at the stake? Religious institutionalism and political control aside, why do we do this on the small family group or tribal level?
Why is there a scapegoat in the family? Why is there a Meg Griffin main target? Why does a parent single out one child to torture and deprive of basic human kindness?
And when that child refuses to break, when they radiate more light and find someone outside the family who sees them for the wonderful person they are, the parents swoop in and chain the child up. They prevent that child from receiving any kindness at all, lest they get the idea that they are worthy of basic compassion and humanity.
The pattern repeats into adulthood. The parents refuse to aid their child thru horror and trials that would (and have) sent most others into the depths of depression, despair, even suicide. Baseline compassion and empathy is denied them, just contempt and derision. But this shining human being walks thru it all, bent and bowed under the pressure, but never broken. Only once do they snap and hit rock bottom but even then they have an inner core of steel that will bend and sway but not break and they lift themselves back up and carry on.
More and more weight is thrust upon them, lower they bow, but never break. The scars made them tougher, while inside they are still soft and loving. More and more support is sucked away; first by the parent, then by the spouse, then children. Then the spouse turns on them and casts them out, as well as the children created, or else they poison the mind of the children against the parent who did everything in their limited power to protect the children at all costs. Another spouse comes along, promising to be their salvation, but instead they are another sadistic overseer, piling more chains and restrictions, trying to break the shining person’s very Spirit.
This Spirit is the first, last, and only support system the person has ever been able to rely upon. This is the Spirit that others tried to kill, tried to starve, tried to abandon and neglect, tried to poison but nothing they did had any lasting effect. The Spirit was wounded, but healed quickly and grew only stronger in defiance.
Fifty years of this repeating pattern. Fifty years of walking thru the fiery fields of Hell, until they’re familiar and the shining human sees them as normal.
Until the shining human makes friends with a witch. A witch who sees the radiance that half a century of shit-flinging couldn’t diminish. A Witch who has born under the Sign of the Scales, with strong ties to Justice and Balance.
No, says the witch. This is very very wrong. This is not in balance. This must be fixed.
The following passage from Marx’s Grundrisse could serve as a fairly accurate pitch meeting for American Gods:
Let us take e.g. the relation of Greek art and then of Shakespeare to the present time. It is well known that Greek mythology is not only the arsenal of Greek art but also its foundation. Is the view of nature and of social relations on which the Greek imagination and hence Greek [mythology] is based possible with self-acting mule spindles and railways and locomotives and electrical telegraphs? What chance has Vulcan against Roberts and Co., Jupiter against the lightning-rod and Hermes against the Crédit Mobilier? All mythology overcomes and dominates and shapes the forces of nature in the imagination and by the imagination; it therefore vanishes with the advent of real mastery over them…
From another side: is Achilles possible with powder and lead? Or the Iliad with the printing press, not…
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HELP FOR CHICO
Guys, I’m a little beside myself right now, so please, if you can help in any way by spreading this around, I thank you.
On July 7th, our dog, Chico, lost control of his back end while he was jumping up to play. We rushed him to the ER vet, but due to cost concerns, couldn’t afford the suggested MRI to see what was wrong. They gave us painkillers and now we are waiting to meet with a local vet to see what is going on. We suspect it may be Lyme disease, since Chico is a tick magnet, but need X-rays & blood work to find out for certain.
To help pay for tests & treatment, I am offering a special “Tails” From the Tarot price – $10 for a 4 card spread, with illustrated PDF.
I sincerely hope my brother-in-law lets us keep the chimnea he left behind. It’s become one of my most useful & convenient magic tools. Between giving us some lovely outdoor fire-nights, being a stick & leaf disposal unit, and focal point for the yard, this thing is backyard witchcraft at its finest!
Magic Stuff I Have Used The Chimnea For:
- Smoke cleansing large objects. Light a charcoal block in the belly, add loose incense and pass objects thru smoke out the top without scorching anything.
- Burning a curse poppet at midnight and gathering the ashes to scatter at a crossroads the next morning before sunrise.
- Safe place for a free-standing candle to burn down. Wax forms a 3-D shape that can then be read for divination.
- Disposal of leftover spell elements that I didn’t want hanging around.
- Being a weirdo in public, with none the wiser.
If you’re lucky enough to score one of these bad girls, I highly endorse using it to it’s magical limits and beyond. Smaller table-top or tea-light versions can be used for excellent spell work as well. You just have to get creative and make sure you know if your unit can handle high temps or not.
Mini-Chimnea Suggested uses
- Sprinkle loose incense on a tea light to add the energies to it. You may not get smell, but you’ll feel it.
- If made of heat-proof metal or clay – Use as a charcoal brazier, just add incense.
- Chime/ free-standing candle burning container.
- Put sand in the bottom and use for stick incense.
- Mini-altar for Hearth Deities and House Spirits.
However you utilize a chimnea, the results are nothing short of enchantingly magical. There’s a primal beauty and wonder in a bonfire, but there’s something about a semi-contained source of fire and heat that hits deeper into the heart. It may be that since chimnea and similar fires are in our more recent cultural memories, I feel something more ancient than a wood stove or fire place can fully embody.
It’s more magic than a fire pit, but still mundane.
It invites attention, but not enough to invite suspicion.
I can sit in my yard tossing handfuls of herbs on the fire, and if a neighbor asks what’s that smell, I can say with perfect honesty, that the herbs keep mosquitoes away.
And in the winter, no one’s outside b/c it’s too damn cold.
Yeah, I don’t think my brother in law is getting this thing back any time soon.
((The things I do for clients lol))
Many years ago, a Young Princeling gave me an amulet he made out of blood, sweat, tears, clay, and desperate pacts with all manner of beings. Neither of us was entirely sure why he gave it to me, but even after we fell out of communication I kept it safe. It stayed in the glove-box of my car for six years until the car finally died beyond repair. Honestly, I think it may have saved my life on a few occasions. When I cleaned the car out one last time, I tucked the amulet away and forgot about it.
It recently resurfaced while I was cleaning & re-organizing my witchy workspace.
(Trust me, this is an improvement.)
I’ve been doing some Work with the Princeling and so I sent him a text.
“Dude, remember this?!”
I do but had forgotten about it until now!
He explained in more detail what that amulet was, how it worked, and now we’re experimenting with it as a two-way conduit for me to work spells for him. I sent a Test-Signal and the results were promising. I found a home for it, tucked it away, and then sat back to see what happened.
A spontaneous Summer Solstice Solar Blast had an amazing effect, and he immediately requested another.
Friday was his final interview for a major career opportunity. He called me the night before to request another boost to the amulet, and gave instructions to “call in some favors” on his behalf.
Whiskey or cream are the traditional offerings for fae-type spirits, but I’m lactose intolerant, and have a pact with the local spirits – NO WHISKEY.
When you live in an area with a thick and well-documented history of atrocities against the original Native American residents, it behooves you to make an effort to live peacefully. It’s easier to know the taboo’s and just not even attempt to go against them. After much negotiation and promises made, I know that the local spirits will allow only Moonshine or Hard Apple Cider. Which suits me fine, b/c those are the only alcoholic things I enjoy drinking.
So I set up an offering out on the outside ledge (ant problem inside) of the Kitchen Window Altar. Bread, West African Honey, Bacon, and a shot glass of moonshine. I then lit the Brigid Cauldron light, and turned Her statue & Cookie Pirate outwards to await the arrival of our ‘guests.’
At one point, I walked thru the kitchen for a coffee refill and I swear to everything Holy, I saw a blue-grey wolf-grasshopper thing sipping the moonshine with one pinky-claw out like it was a delicate cup of darjeeling tea…
…and that wasn’t even the weirdest thing I saw all day.
“…Okaaaayy,” I said to myself. “Time to go out and weed the garden. This is getting a bit weird even for me.”
Over the next hour, as I was tearing grass and lamb’s quarters out of the lettuce bed, trimming the spearmint that took over the carrot rows, removed as much wood sorrel as I could reach from the pea-trellis forest, and complained to the ants that they need to leave my house and stop eating the roses, a steady stream of other worldly visitors passed through. Some creatures were turned away by the Angels guarding the property, while others skulked around and waited to see if Lady Brigid would wave them in. The ones that allowed me to catch a glimpse were unlike any members of the fae I had ever seen.
There was a troupe of green & brown gnome-like men. They looked nothing like my own cadre of gnome helpers, but stayed in a cluster of arms and heads and legs and brown bowler-hats. When they spoke, it was like gravel crunching and random curse words.
A tall man dressed in an orange-red three-piece suit and matching top hat, with smoke for a face, tipped his hat to me as he sauntered up to the window on his turn.
A beautiful silver child-fairy lady, with sparkling wings and an entourage of Tolkien-esque nursemaid elves spoke in a voice that was like crystal chimes. I have no idea what she said, but the Lady laughed and offered her more ‘honeycake’.
My land spirits were VERY CONFUSED by all this! I had given them an offering of the same honey & bacon bread, minus the booze, to allow for the traffic through our little corner of land. But they were still very WTFMATE?!?! To pacify them, and to set up a future arrangement for Faerie Tea Parties, I have promised a daily egg from our chickens, as soon as the girls start laying. Hint, hint, chickens.
As the time of the Princeling’s final interview drew to a close, I went back inside to wash off the dirt and bug spray. Lady Brigid and Cookie Pirate were ‘cleaning’ up the energies from all the visitors as I shuffled to the shower. While in there, I was struck by the sound of crystal-silver bells and a tinkling child voice asked what I would like for a “hostess gift”. I asked for a plentiful harvest, for the weeds to die back, for the chickens to lay prolific amounts of eggs, and for the ants to leave my house. She laughed again, very amused by my requests, and said all would be done and happily. Then she left.
The Princeling later asked me how it went. He described the ones he expected to show up, and was delighted when I was able to confirm that they did indeed arrive. He seemed particularly interested in the Silver Lady, especially when I described her child-like appearance and the boon she offered as thanks.
It’s now Monday.
The ants have left the kitchen.
My flower garden started to bloom at long last.
The peas are going nuts.
Still no eggs yet, but i heard the neighbor’s chicken clucking as she laid that morning’s egg and told the girls “I wanna hear those noises from you!” Hopefully they take the hint.
Now I’m just waiting to hear from the Princeling.
Results were better than anyone anticipated! His new employers are creating a position just for him that is better than the one he applied for!
Today I look at the world and I am ashamed. My grandfathers and great-uncles and distant cousins fought in WWII. Some of them were part of the liberation of the camps. Some of them were lost in the camps. All of them gave up a part of themselves to protect their homeland from the cancerous wave of fascism that was tainting the world with it’s poison.
Today, they are all spinning in their graves.
The ancestor altar has been a grumbling mess for months, and I can’t even bring myself to do more than a cursory dusting and replenish their water goblet. They are PISSED. And on this Memorial Day, their brothers and sisters who are being remembered are even more pissed off.
Today I lit my last Justice Candle (note to self, get a shit-ton more wax) and placed it on a long-running spell jar on the working altar. I called out to the ancestors who were being remembered today; those who fought and died and gave their all to keeping us safe here at home. I asked their forgiveness for our failures. I begged them for aid one last time. I prayed that they could somehow make their presence known to the masses and to help the people here at home one more time.
Our greatest battle is yet to be fought, but the skirmishes are growing and the intensity is rising. We need their help and guidance more than ever. They saw combat, and for many it was the last thing they saw in this life. We need their wisdom and extended world view. We need their courage and strength. We need their kindness and sense of duty to their fellow humans. We need to find the heroes within ourselves and acknowledge the fact that only fists can stop fascists.
“The only good Nazi is a dead Nazi. Because they won’t stop even after you’re dead.”
I”m good at some of the more controversial spells; Curses, Hexes, Banishing, etc. I can get nasty people out of someone’s life quickly, sometimes with a modicum of difficulty, but usually within 3-6 months they’re totally gone and my client can begin the work of rebuilding their life from a better emotional place.
Where I really shine, dubiously enough, is Love & Lust Spell-work. Hooo boy, have I got stories I could tell!
Things I didn’t even realize were spells that worked great! Until they wore off and blew up in my face. Or for other people, who later found out that the person they wanted me to get them wasn’t as hot shit as they had thought. I thought my abusive ex was part of a manifested love spell, which is partly why I stayed with him as long as I did; I asked “make him totally different from what i’m used to”, and he certainly was… A Summer Romance spell manifested for me a lover who came into my life in June and was gone by September. The sex was great and exactly what I needed to help get my groove back . After that fizzled, I used magic to help me find my Someone Just For Me, and I am now married to that person and the alchemy is perfect. Alchemy, not chemistry b/c the end result is Gold where there once was Lead. Chemistry is just a bunch of explosions and smoke. (I failed chemistry twice in high school, so that may be a factor.)
And just like Curse-Shaming is a live and well in the pagan communities, so is Love Spell Shaming. When working a manipulative spell to break up a relationship is considered on-par with rape, then I really have a hard time accepting that I”m really freaking good at conjuring up a hot date for someone.
The way I work my spells, there’s always a loophole. IF the target person is not already somewhat attracted to the client, then the spell WON’T WORK. At all. And if the target person is already in a relationship with someone else, I will tell the client in no uncertain terms that no good can come from this. Usually that’s enough to get them to go away, but then I’m killing a potential client-relationship. To the point where I just don’t even advertise that part of my skill set.
Maybe I should, tho. Maybe I should just get it out there that I know how to use magic to get someone what, or who, they want, for good or for bad. Maybe my trying to save people from the pain and heartache of a lust spell gone too strong is keeping them from learning an important lesson, like I had to learn. I want to help people by saving them from pain and suffering, but that’s pretty much how humans learn to be human. Anything else is cheating.
“This love spell will get you what you want. Are you SURE this is what you want to do?”
“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.
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.)