Wicca is spirituality for the whole person. Some religions are big on doctrine and scripture and rules, and they appeal mainly to the head. Other churches offer an emotional hallelujah-chorus-rock-’em-sock-’em ecstasy of the spirit. Still others try to quiet the soul with meditation and contemplation. Witches aim to satisfy every level and aspect of ourselves: body, head, heart, and energy field; playful younger self, responsible middle self, spiritual higher self; the feminine side and masculine side of each individual; and so on. We are complex and multilayered beings; our spirituality needs to be rich enough to work on all levels.
The Choice
We’ve explained a lot here, and hopefully it’s made you think and do some self-exploration. Though it’s good to understand what draws you to the Craft, in the end it will not be a choice made by weighing the pros and cons. Like most crucial decisions we make in our lives, the real choice is going to come from your gut, your need, and your true will. In your heart, you probably already are—or are not—a Witch.
You can just try it on. Say to yourself, “I am a Witch.” How do you feel saying that? Neutral and blank? Afraid? Excited, empowered, eager? Your heart and body will tell you if it is true. All the rest—who you tell, what training you find, how you express yourself in the Craft—is just follow-up, and the reason for the rest of this book.
May the blessings of the Triple Goddess of the Moon and the Hornéd God of the Wilds be with you on your journey.
Blessed be,
Amber K & Azrael Arynn K
[1] Marion Weinstein, Positive Magic: Occult Self-Help, rev. ed. (Phoenix, 1978), 11.
Chapter 1
What Is Witchcraft?
Sing to Goddess, moon times three,
Touching magick, wielding power,
Drink to God, stag-hornéd he,
I am a Witch at every hour.
In deep woods on a late summer evening, nine men and women stand in a circle. The youngest is twenty-three, the eldest seventy-one. Candles on a stone altar flicker in the light breeze, and together they drum as the full moon lifts into the darkening sky through a gap in the Minnesota forest. They chant to the moon goddess in time with the rhythmic drumbeat and send the growing power to a coven sister who is giving birth to her long-awaited child. As the moon crests the trees, they imagine they hear a newborn’s cry—and a cell phone rings. The high priestess answers the call, grins, and announces that baby Selena has just been born, and mother and child are doing fine. The coven cheers and claps, and begins an impromptu dance thanking the gods. Witches have performed magick.
Willowleaf walks in the woods at noon in the early fall, talking to the trees and plants and listening for their answers. Every so often, she harvests a third of a plant with a small knife and puts it in the basket over her arm, gathering ingredients for some personal healing work. Later, she sits quietly in a clearing, her mind open to the land around her—the gnarled oaks and dogwood; the small, scurrying life; the stream to the north; the living soil. She frowns—something is not right; she picks up a dead twig and whispers, “Be thou wand, and show me.” Sweeping it slowly around her, she pauses, the stick pointing north. Soon she has found the trash some careless camper left by the stream, and she takes it with her. At home, she makes a warm herbal compress with the plants she gathered and places it on a red, irritated spot on her arm, saying, “May this potion soothe my skin, and let the healing now begin.” In the morning, the skin is smooth and clear, and another Witch has done her healing magick.
Diana is a fifteen-year old whose altar is in the lowest drawer of her dresser. On this night, she locks the door to her room, pulls out the drawer, and sits on the floor in front of it with her sick kitten in her lap. She mimes lighting the two pink candles, whispering, “Rose-colored for healing,” then puts a small carved cat in the center of the drawer. Calling on Bast, the Egyptian cat goddess, she repeats over and over, “May my kitten healthy be, as I will, so mote it be!” After nine repetitions, she lifts the kitten and surrounds its tiny body with healing energy. She thanks Bast, “blows out” the candles, and closes the drawer. A young Witch has performed magick.
Becky sits with her husband and two small children at the kitchen table and passes around muffins fresh from the oven. “Mmm, they smell great,” says George. “What’s in them this time?” “Oh, blueberries, pecans, local honey, a few special herbs and spices…” “Mommy puts in lots of love,” says the five-year-old. “And magick!” adds the seven-year-old. Soon Becky and George are tucking the children into bed, with a story about a wonderful dragon who lives in a cave. Becky silently senses the children’s energy fields, then draws some soothing energy from the earth and gently pours it into their auras; they sleep. Their mother, a Witch, has done her own magick.
Zephyr sits absolutely still in the dark room of his apartment high above the city streets. He has no robes, candles, or ritual tools. Within him is a rich tapestry wrought by his imagination, an alternative world that could come to be. When the picture in his head is complete, the colors vivid, and all the details present, he traces a path in his mind from the present reality to what he envisions, and he draws upon the power of his spirit allies to help make it real. His breathing changes as he begins to pour energy into the mental image, certain that what he imagines and wills must come
