I grew comfortable not telling people who I am, a witch. I grew comfortable thinking they were better off, more comfortable in their normality. I grew sideways, I grew in the direction of bending to please people with my false truth. I’ve grown accustomed to carefully lying, carefully joking, and carefully playing with the truth so it mirrored the moon, part of it was always hidden away. I have grown anywhere but up.
Yet here I am, siting at a small round table here in the mall. I’m typing as quickly as I can into my phone, with my nails as long as they are, with only 15 minutes before my shift starts, with so much to say. With my Nordstrom Cafe coffee cup in hand, the sleeve depicts not just my order but a smiley face. I am a regular there and most of the team members know my order from years of repetition. Today before work I made some time for myself to shop for a new iPad, just looking no buying, but I am searching for something convenient to write on the go. Today is a great example of why this is necessary. While on this endeavor the genius at the Apple bar, asked what my needs were, I told him such. He asked what my price range was, I told him such. He asked what I wrote about, with a deep breath, I told him such. “I write about a blog about Witchcraft, which I am a practitioner of,” I looked down briefly as a said this. Hoping my humanity would soften the blow of my truth. He looked surprised, and not quite sure of what to say next. Most people have this reaction so his facial expressions are nothing new. His humanity softens the blow. Then states he is a “retired” catholic. I laugh, retired is a great way to put it. Like my fathers retirement from the police force, after the seminary, what you did in the past still happened to you. You can follow a new calling, you can pave a new path, you can honor you past and retire that old you. I listen to him, while realizing I can speak about myself and the world didn't end for this retired catholic. Its been interesting this last year. Why? One of my coworkers noticed how little I talk about myself. How little I speak of my own interests, something your coworkers pick up on after a couple years of working with you. She notices I am quick to discuss my mom, Jon, my friends and never myself. My co workers call me “MJ” I wonder if they know what the J stands for, or that I have two middle names. I have been this way most of my life, more concerned about others feelings that my own. Thats what you get for being a childhood empath*, some habits die hard. Baby steps are necessary. I know my best interest should come before anyone else's, but the truth can hurt both them and me. So, I sit here. I told a stranger what I am about and the world didn't collapse, the earth didn't shake, and my life isn't over. It is easy to try and please people when you know what they’re feeling, it is second nature. Maybe this is how my barriers come down. Maybe millennials have conversations about witchcraft in the Apple Store and have epiphanies over coffee. Just maybe, its a start. Love and Light, MJ. _______________ Empath: a person with the paranormal ability to feel the mental or emotional state of another individual.
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prompt inspiration, “where you’d like to be in 10 years”
My co-worker recently told me what she believed was the best advice she had, “Write a letter to yourself,” she laughed, “I’m serious. It will be the best gift you can give yourself.” I agreed with her wholeheartedly, but have not seriously considered it until now. As I sit here with my Pinterest page of blog prompt ideas, the second on the list being Where you’d like to be in 10 years, I realize now may be the best time to write myself a letter. I believe in not just setting goals, but setting intentions as I would in spell casting and rituals. You see, a goal is a wish, a desire for something to happen. Your intent is your plan to accomplish it. It’s hard to say when your life goes from great, to comfortable, to questionable, but it does. I have been thinking lately, very much about where I really want to be in my career, in my relationship, and with myself. I sincerely hope this sounds very much like a 20 something have a mid 20 something life crisis when I read this in 10 years. I received the promotion I always wanted with my job last fall, as the assistant manager of my store. A year ago I was silently wishing and watching as my managers choose someone from outside the company to take the position. I was genuinely supportive, but knew I was meant to be higher than what I was. Then, last summer another store tried recruiting me. Not to be overly dramatic, but cue the most stressful three to four weeks of my entire life. I questioned if I was ready to start over, if I was being just another typical millennial upset she didn’t get the promotion she wanted. So, I turned down a fantastic company because my stubborn self refused to give it up. I was promoted within the month and there you have it. I love retail, really, you find few people who are in that career field because we want to be. I am there by choice, I also chose to leave community college twice but that’s beside the point. However, I spend all day in and out thinking about what my clients want, what my team wants, and what my superiors want, that I for the first time a long time am really thinking about the things I want for myself. Being a store manager is not my dream, as much as I love what I do and feel comfortable in my current position. Maybe I will feel differently in a couple years, I certainly didn’t see myself where I am now two years ago, so who knows? 24 feels so young, and so old at the same time to plan starting over. My boyfriend and I have been discussing next steps, it’s time for that. No, not that. Haven’t you heard? Millennials are ruining the wedding industry. As well as top sheets and bed skirts, according to the Today Show. Here I’m talking about moving in together, an on again off again topic as I go through my emotions in deciding what I really want. I need at least a week of soul searching for my decisions, maybe a month depending on the topic. This one in particular has taken about six months, since we have gone from “one day I’d love to live with you,” to “okay, when?” It seems silly to think I need that much time to come to the conclusion of wanting to live with him, it’s true though and I had a lot of factors to consider. Like, how much I love my mom. This is the same women I regularly break plans to be with, so the thought of not coming home to her, or being there to wash her towels before she comes home from a business trip bothers me. Who’s going to watch Feud with her and discuss who's Bette Davis and who's Joan Crawford? This stresses me out more than it probably should for a healthy, young woman, leave me alone. Most women I imagine, but hell don't let me put you in a box, might want a walk in closet or a nice kitchen. I may, or may not, don’t put me in a box, have suggested to Jon a nice sunroom where I can meditate, keep my practice to myself, and work on various other witchy things. On top of a nice closet and a great kitchen. I want it all okay? So here we go. Dear Maria, “Want” seems to be the million dollar word. You over analyze all your choices, and think about everyones thoughts, emotions, and reactions. I know that’s not your fault, you've spent your time being empathetic and concerned for others. In full Notebook style I hope you ask yourself “What. Do. You. Want?” more often. Now, I have started this blog for you, to put your talents and story out there. You never had someone to relate to growing up, so why can’t you be that person for someone else? I hope your dreams to go viral and end up on Ellen come true. Maybe you will even get a book deal, maybe some young person will cry and tell you that you have changed their life. I hope your friends understand you more. I hope you and Jon are still together. If not, it better be for a good f*cking reason. I’ve decided we are taking a yoga class on Tuesday, at the church we go to, because you deserve to socialize will other Pagan’s and people like minded to you. You don't take enough time for your spiritual self. I hope you do that more. I hope you and your mom still take trips together, I hope you get over Jack being taller than you and I hope you both are still close. You don’t have a brother so please treat him like one. You've been lucky in how unique your family is: cousins like brothers, neighbors like sisters, and a grandfather who is your father. I hope you are studying and perfecting your craft, I know exploring your third eye is scary. At this point, I haven't meditated in over a year because some doors can’t be closed once you open them. Please, keep the door open and don't be afraid to walk in; good things are there for you, I promise. Please keep writing your experiences down, whether it is with your two good eyes, or your third. Above all, I hope you are happy. Love and Light, MJ The barren yet beautiful landscape of Idaho brought about one simple question, one I asked my mother while she took us on a road trip from Salt Lake City, Utah to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We drove, through the desolate lands of Western America with nothing but nearly 300 miles of highways kissing the sky on the horizon, framed by the mountains. Her iPad holds a vast collection of music, from the best of 1967 (aptly named the "essential summer of love" playlist), to 90’s rap as well as the best of country. Feeling thoughtful in my awestruck mood, seeing the west for the first time does that to you, I asked her, "who do you think is our spiritual DJ is?"
What is a spiritual DJ you ask? Well, funny enough with as much music music as my mom possesses the iPad always seems to shuffle with the right mix of artists and sounds. I felt like in that moment, there must be someone mixing the soundtrack to this trip we are on, I refuse to believe in coincidences, as well as refusing to believe in serendipity. I believe we have people on the other side, guiding us in various ways. Maybe they're influencing our instincts, decisions, or speaking to us in our dreams. They'll communicate in the best ways we can understand from our side, and sometimes, maybe, they just mix a really good selection of songs. There is a scientific theory, which I am about to severely over simplify the best way I can: suggesting that time happens all at once, instead of in a linear progression. This is the only way I can describe the way I felt is Hudspeths Corner, Idaho, our first stop on trip. We followed the curve of the highway as a glorious mountain view came into sight across a massive plain and we pulled over immediately. I hadn't noticed the sign right away marking it a historical sight, where the 49'ers passed through following a path to the gold rush. Im overcome now, just as I was then, by the thousands of people who came through the that path. The same way I feel when I am by the ocean, near a cemetery, or a old building. As we travel we leave parts of ourselves wherever we go. I will not be the same people I was in that moment, as I stood their in unity and honor of those pioneers searching for better lives. I found something I didn't know I was searching for, something left for me to find. We reached Wyoming and found the Grand Teton mountain range just as is was left for us. As a photographer, and a nature photographer especially, it's impossible to not see the footprint Ansel Adams left behind by his work. You can stand where he stood too when he photographed Grand Teton and the snake river, where it suddenly dawned on us. The mountains have not changed, they will continue to be just as they were then, now, and tomorrow. I am overwhelmed by this, I finally understand that the land, all lands, truly do not belong to us. We come, we go, and it is the lands that remain of us and our impact. I gazed upon the buffalo just as millions of people did before me, who will continue after me. At times I feel jealous of other religions and their spiritual monuments, such as when I went to Temple Square in Salt Lake, Vatican City of the west. It covers ten acres and contains museums, research centers and temples for worship for Mormons. Even though millions of people come to see it, I can't belt but feel incredibly annoyed by it, honestly. So I texted my best witchy friend and she reassured me that we have "the forests, the moon, the sky, the whole world." If you ever find yourself wondering what the witches do, exactly, when you may or may not believe magic is real. Just understand, that there is nothing more pure that gazing at the same moon as every person has done for millions of years. You can believe, if only this, that the land is real, that the changing of the seasons are as real as the energy that connects us. "I think it's Tom Petty," my mom thoughtfully responded to me. She believes it too, with a very thoughtful gaze in her eyes, she never looks away from the road as she merges onto a new highway. It's early morning, we are leaving Utah, not far from the border of Idaho, on our way to Wyoming and it's a beautiful thought to have on a beautiful day. We have an entire trip ahead of us. "I think you're right," I replied smiling. We go on, where many have and will continue to go. I am uncertain, about my place in this world and what my impact will be, but we will continue on this journey together, not in pursuit of things we want but coming into the things we need. As a lovelorn teenager I once read a quote that said, “Date a man who makes you feel single.” I thought it was genius. My best friend wondered what the point was. I had a vision, though, of being loved but not giving up how great it feels to not answer to someone and to do whatever I want. Now I am deep in my roaring 20’s; drinking, going out, watching my friends get married and have their babies. While I am sure some of these things are not far away for me, I have been in a relationship now for nearly 5 years. It is also incredible how different we are; he’s agnostic, logically minded, and an engineer. I am, obviously, not agnostic, if that wasn’t clear by this point I am so sorry but you may have to depart from this crazy train. I am emotional, an artist, and most days both of those things combined. With that said, we rarely argue and routinely acknowledge each others perspectives. By that I mean I bitch and moan until I get what I want, Im kidding! He’s the Darren to my Samantha, and he could care less that I am a witch.
I did worry though, in the beginning, how I would tell him about my practice. Something I didn’t worry about in my previous relationship, a story for another post. I knew I couldn’t lie to him. It would only be obvious that I was hiding something, and as an overtly honest person I would be bad at it anyway. It was a strange time for me. We began dating while I was feeling out of touch with my practice. While I never stopped being a witch, I stopped trying to understand it all together and, by extension, myself too. Before we started dating, there was one night where we found ourselves in the backseat of one of his parents cars.Like the classy millennial I am, this felt like an appropriate moment to break it to him, with his attention was clearly divided. I figured, “What is he to me?” If it bothers him, fine, go. If it doesn't, great, keep kissing me then. So thats what I did, and he just kept kissing me. I learned that his celebrity crush is Alyssa Milano of Charmed fame, a show he has seen every episode of. As a brown eyed, short haired brunette, with a slim build this worked out surprisingly well for me. Now I didn't have short hair when we started dating, so this was more cute than fetish, trust me. He never asks for spells, for answers or clarifications. I also learned he thought about taking me to prom. Yes, in many ways I am still the freshmen girl crushing on the senior boy sitting next to her in art class. In case your wondering why some things don’t pan out, just keep waiting, the universe knows how to put the pieces of your life together. Now I know I’ve made this relationship sounds super cute, super romantic and super awesome, so you should know that I once believed he was going to leave me, and two times after that we almost left each other. I know I’ve mentioned a few times that we started dating at a weird cross road in my life. I didn’t know where I was going, and dating a man who graduated college with his masters at 24 made that increasingly hard to determine. He had multiple job offers starting at, and over, tens of thousands of dollars. I was waitress deciding to drop out of college, and couldn't see why he'd want to stay with me. He never brought up that decision and he never brought up what was going to happen after he graduated and moved back home. So I, incorrectly, assumed he was trying to break it and break up with me gently. He laughed at me, I cried, and he laughed again, it was a very loving moment. However, going back home was hard. At college we had privacy, no parents, with plenty of restaurants and bars in the city. We didn't know how to be ourselves with an audience of family and different friends around us. So one night, after leaving a bar with people we generally didn't like, we fought, hard. Something that rarely happens, but it did that night. He picked a fight, I yelled at him in an open parking lot, Philadelphia classiness at its finest, and for the first time since coming home we really saw each other. He asked me, “Are you happy? With us?” I told him I wasn't, but I wanted to be again. More recently, about a year ago now we attended our first engagement party. Leading up to this I had been asking questions; like last names, how many children we’d have, what religion they’d be brought up with? We naturally disagreed on all of those topics, but not without common ground, or so I thought. You see this party brought about an existential crisis I don't think my boyfriend even knew he needed to have. I woke up the next morning, after leaving the party early, and without him, to a text messaged I received at 5 am stating “We need to talk.” Well, thats not terrifying at all. With the help of alcohol my boyfriend expressed to me with more emotion that I even knew he possessed, that he was worried we didn't want the same things. “How can we have a life together?” I was shocked, but empathized. I apologized for overwhelming him with my questions and reassured him without falter. That I love him, and I would do anything to make him happy. That he’s made me a better women, and witch, by being a great man. I would never be where I am without him guiding me. He calmed down, assured me we would be fine. We said our I love you’s and hung up the phone. I learned about 6 months later, that this last near breakup is when Jon realized he wanted to marry me. It both hurt and shocked me that it took him 4 years to get to that moment, but he told me something I’ll never forget. That knowing you love someone, and knowing you’d have a life with them are different things. I loved him when I told him I was an empath, I loved him when I told him I channeled his grandmother who died three years before he was born, to which he didn't bat an eye and supported me. I loved him when he worked with me through my bouts of depression, when surprised me with flowers for my birthday, and threw me a surprised dinner with all of my friends. I may have only seriously considered leaving him when he didn’t understand why Penny Lane by The Beatles is one of the greatest songs ever written, but I digress. I knew I could live my life with someone, who through it all unconditionally loved, with no questions and watches me grow into the women I was meant to be. P.S. I asked Jon if he thought my blog was mistake, if I shouldn’t be writing about my life, if it was wrong. His response? “No because the blog is what’s on your mind. It’s your thoughts and experiences- its your life. And your life isn't wrong.” So witches, there are people out there for you. Friends, family, partners; people who will love you and support you through your craft. Those who will not perceived you to be intimidating or scary, but will be in awe of how you are unapologetically you. Even if you are only out to me, even if we have never met. I am here, I support you, and I love you for the witchy person you are. Love and Light, MJ. Date: January 19th, 2018
Written 35,000 feet in the air on a flight to Colorado. My first time in an airplane I was just six years old, a few days shy of my seventh birthday while my family and I were traveling to New Mexico for the balloon fiesta. I can remember this period of time pretty well, like events such as my baptism seeing as it was only the year or so before. As detailed in a previous post, I went to a little catholic pre-school where my two aunts, who are nuns, had their convent around the corner. They say some apples fall far from the tree, so, naturally I fell and rolled right off a cliff. As my plane ascended above the clouds en route to the American Southwest, my little eyes were met with thick puffy clouds stretching out amongst the atmosphere. To which I promptly asked my grandmother, "where are the Angels?" To which she responded "It doesn't work like that," firm and thoughtful. My grandma grew up in Mayfair, Philadelphia. She is tough as she is beautiful with a no nonsense attitude that is genetic on her mothers side. "You can't see them, but that doesn't mean they are not there." I don't know what I was looking for exactly, but that was definitely not it. I thought I might see these people with huge wings, or my dog we put put down the year before, because we all go to heaven, right? Maybe I would see this God I’ve heard so much about, and visit this place I'm supposed to fight so hard to get into. Discouraged, I chose instead to imagine a particularly puffy cloud to be Zeus’s throne as he looks out amongst Olympus. This is a particular fun fact given I left the church 10 years later for a faith based on polytheism. For visiting a placed called the Land of Mañana I spend an awful amount of time in the past. I didn't know this trip would be the last and only time I'd see my cousin George and my great Aunt Pam. My great Aunt Pam who would have apparently loved my fiery attitude and loving spirit, who looked ethereal in her hospital bed, all white lights and a loving smile. George, he died when I was about 12 years old. I have not been back to New Mexico since that trip, and not since he died. I miss him a lot. I remember him throwing me over his shoulder as his little sack of potatoes. Taking me to the local Native American reservation, buying me a buffalo hot "dog" and treating me like his own daughter. There is a special magic that falls over the southwest, especially at night. One in particular on the eve of the balloon fiesta. We went to watch everyone light up all the balloons and inflate them, just partially, but enough to create a maze of giant figures and characters. I think about that trip now, and most times when I travel. It would be the first and only time I would fly in a pre 9/11 world, the first and only time I would meet some of my relatives, and the first and last time I would ask where the angels are. You see, my great grandparents would pass away the next January, only a week apart from each other. This would be the same great grandmother with the genetic tough streak, and my great grandfather who whistled when he laughed. I remember meeting his brother at the wake. He was dressed for the next taping of the Godfather, and more than likely worked for one too. The first and last time I'd meet him as well. Aunt Pam didn't die much longer after that. I'm too sweet to be bitter about all that. My mother had me at a young age so I got to witness a rare time in my family; when one generation passed into the next. My mother who once asked me if I believe in heaven. Her face tight with fear of what I might say, her eyes bleeding with her unspoken uncertainty. "No," is what I wished I said. I wished I was calm and confident. I wished I told her I don't need to look up to figures in the sky, above me and away from me. That our Gods are with us, in us, are us. I wish I had spoken of the Vail. How our ancestors are with us but only in spirit, amongst us and separated only by a journey we must take now before we join them. That death is victory for a life well led. That angel's are wherever we are, and wherever we need them to be. Love is not knowing my mom likes pickles because she always gives me hers. It’s a steady ritual, unchanging in its rhythm. Just a few weeks ago we were out to brunch and she routinely slid her pickle slices off her plate and on to mine, I, for the first time, told her she didn’t have to. It seems silly, but its a small example of the little things my mom does for me. My mom, who I regularly break plans to be with, is currently planning a trip to Utah, Wyoming, and Montana as we cross “traveling to every state” off our bucket list. My mom who dresses like an off duty rockstar, with purple roots in her hair, and a band tee shirt collection to rival anyone. My mom, who I can quote saying, “I can drink pepsi before bed. I am like Keith Richards and Heroin,” which I reference from a list in my phone of other outrageous shit she has said.
Ladies and gentlemen hold your applause, please, as I accept my award for “Coolest Mom Ever.” Currently, we are both displeased with the consistently cool weather. Is 60 degrees too much to ask? This time last year I was anxiously waiting to throw the top back on my new convertible, enjoying mild weather on my way to lunch with an old high school friend, who now is married. Yes, yes I know. Welcome to my mid 20’s, I get it, ok? Shut up. My newly married friend is Jordyn, and she gave me my first pentacle. It is small and subtle with an amethyst crystal in the center. She told me, “Amethyst is for the powerful.” I’ll never forget that. Jordyn was amongst the first to learn I was a witch. The very first being Maya, I can’t forget that either. At that point, I had known her for 5 years, and to this day, she is still my best friend. I passed her a note in our history class during junior year, and even though she was sitting right next to me pen to paper was an easier way to communicate. As if she couldn't have made a scene in a room full of people. My note said something to the effect of “I'm a witch, I’m studying Wicca.” Naturally, like any sane teenager, she was rightfully shocked but quickly rebounded as my face anxiously waited for her answer. Maya wrote back, “Well, if this is who you are then I love you. Nothing has changed.” My mother on the other hand, has a daughter (me, its me, I’m the daughter), who thought the best approach would be to print an article, cite resources of best information about 5-8 pages long, and then tell her to sit down and read it without giving her much of any context to go on. I am nothing if not thorough. She was confused, I was a well intentioned disaster, and together we were a mess. Don’t get me wrong, my mom is my best friend, but that doesn't mean we didn't fight to the point when I was twelve that she didn't strongly consider sending my colossal paint in the ass to boarding school. So, as she stared at my college essays worth of notes I internally felt all the blood in my body just drain to a pool at my feet. She paused, set the papers aside and said, “What is this?” I didn't blame her. I never discussed converting, much less doing so, without her knowing. I don’t remember what I said. I imagine it was something I stammered out, nervously. My voice shook, I’m sure of it, while I told her “Yes it’s true, all of it.” “We’re a catholic family, Maria.” She stated firmly, then shut the door to her bedroom. Now 20 mins of 20 hours could have passed. I don’t remember, but during that time I thought about all the fake witches: from Sabrina, to Samantha, and Sarah Sanderson. How my mom must have thought I had taken a few too many things too seriously, but they aren't real, I am. Telling my mom I was witch was the most stressful event in my life, second to me telling her I needed to come back home after two years in Pennsylvania; living with my grandparents, and going to college. I was a witch, without a path, feeling disconnected from myself. I was, and still am, in love with a boy she surely thought I was just coming home to chase, and it was a difficult time for both of us. I changed my mind, my major and my plans so many times. A gross depression had washed over me at this time. My biggest victories were simply showering and leaving my house. It wasn't enough anymore, to be in love and so miserable with everything else. Yes, me, the witch was miserable with her life including her craft, and that happens sometimes. My perfectly paved highway, stretching to the horizon with clears signs of where to go had turned into a dirty back road. Where my third eye couldn’t get a connection, and I had to start looking at things differently. As much support as I had growing up from my mom, who told me I could be and do anything, which you can argue I took to a new level, to my friends who never for a second doubted me, my life or my choices, it didn't mean anything if I too didn't choose myself. It’s a good thing though, that I have a mom who continues above all else to choose me every single day. It’s been almost 4 years since coming home from Pennsylvania, I have a job I love, still dating that same boy, and I have a bucket list of things to do with my mom this summer. I missed her I needed her- that never changed. It didn’t change when she planned a trip to New Orleans, where we toured cemeteries and Voo Doo shops. It didn't change with our trip to Salem, Massachusetts, where we had card readings, past life readings and shopped spell candles together. With time, as we grow and learn to be who we are, the love never changes. Thanks, Mom. Love and light, MJ It took less than six seconds for my mom to feel the full range of human emotion when I came out to her. My coming out of the broom closet was neither great nor terrible; it just was. My family is one of devout Philadelphia catholics, and as my grandmother would say, “it wasn't what neighborhood you were from, it was what parish you went to.” That being said, I can’t relate to how my mother, her sister, my grandmother, her sister, or my grandfather and his sister grew up. One of these things is not like the others, clearly. I still try to wrap my mind around how they were raised and I’ll never really know. As a child going to church probably meant attending every other weekend. Since by the time I came around my family was living outside the city, I was enrolled in a great public school, and, in sprit of keeping His Holy Spirit alive, church was still on the menu. The only person in my family who still goes to church regularly is my grandfather, who is also known as my Dad. Did I mention he studied to be a priest? My mother keeps a photo on the fridge of him in his clerical clothing, his sister (literally a sister, she is still to this day a nun) in her habit, and their parents together. It was taken sometime in the late 60’s and my mom calls it “Where I almost didn’t come from,” but I call it ironic. I still remember my mom teaching me the Lord’s Prayer, telling me I had Confraternity of Christian Doctrine class’s, baptizing me when I was five so I could continue going to my little catholic pre-school in the city. The pre-school was located on a typical inner city street with a steep incline, no parking, across from the church my grandmother wanted to be married in, and around the corner from the convent my aunts were apart of. It was a narrow window of experience, a brief time when my mom tried to give me the same upbringing she had. Right around that time I remember sitting with my dad and his sister. Bare with me as I’m currently reaching back through two decades of memories. It was in some house I don't remember well. We were there for some reason I can’t recall when I asked them a question I won't ever forget. I was fascinated with their commitments to the church, like a child asking tattooed parents, “when will my pictures begin to show?” I wondered when I too would feel the way they did about religion. “How did you know?” I asked, because everyone is talking about the same thing and I just. don't. get. it. My dad, the ever philosopher, who I imagine put a great deal of thought into entering the Seminary, then a great deal of thought into leaving it, said carefully, “Well, Maria it’s a calling only I could hear.” Wait, can you hear that? It’s the gods laughing at me. I somehow have ended up at church again, as an “adult.” A word I loathe to use as permanent child of the universe, but once you visit your high school 5 years after you graduate you realize how much you’ve grown. I mean honestly, I like to believe I at least looked before crossing the street. Now, I belong with a pagan sub group of a local Unitarian Universalist church. Which has brought me inexplainable joy, and curiosity. I see witches as parents, a sight unique to me, with their children at rituals. Calling their ancestors, calling the gods and elements alike. Raising them without baptism’s and confession; which by the way- the first time I went all I could confess to was being a nightmare as a toddler and drinking soda when I said I wouldn’t. Now you can’t change where you come from, and telling people I was raised as a republican catholic makes for a great ice-breaker over cocktails and board games. I know, I know- I’m a real party animal, but the point is you can't change who you are. I look at the photo now, of my great grandparents, my grandfather and his sister- donned in their very sunday best. I tip my black hat to them, and I think, “I am so proud of where I come from.” P.S. I know I pick on the catholic church a great deal but it is my best point of reference considering how I was raised. If you do not share my feelings, great, and I would never want you to, but I hope it helps you understand me a bit better. Love and Light, MJ Pictured above from left to right: My great aunt Sister Winifred Feeney, my dad John Henry, my great great grandmother Winifred Kliebenstein, my great grandfather Joseph Feeney, and my great grandmother Anne Marie Feeney.
Telling my mom I was witch was possibly the most stressful event in my life, second to almost not graduating high school because I failed math that previous fall. Senior year was an emotional, physical, and metaphysical nightmare. While my friends partied, had half days and skipped classes because they had early acceptance into their colleges, I wondered How do I tell you the boy you like, doesn’t like you back because I can feel his emotions? I was learning how to be happy for my friends while they prepared to go away to school, while I would stay home saging my room hoping my dad didn't think it was pot. I was a teenage witch, without coven, without a tribe, with a very catholic family who never saw any of this coming.
One day while watching What Not to Wear with my mom in my sophomore year of high school, everything came together. Yes, I had epiphany watching a fashion show on TLC, I am nothing but a women of my time. It happened at night while I nested in the same corner of the couch I always do, proven by how much more deflated my corner was than the others to the extreme dismay of my mother. This episode of WNTW had a witch from salem Massachusetts discussing her life, her magic and the difficulties of being a witchy women in a world that doesn't believe you exist. Suddenly the moon felt full as all the hair on my arms stood up, my world was shifting in shock at the relatability of it all. Fun fact, I went to salem a couple years ago and came across the shop she worked in. I didn't have the courage to tell her she changed my life. But, unlike the witches who came before me, I had google. So that night, after my mom went to bed. I googled Wicca and witchcraft, something I hadn't done in years. Not since Tyra Banks had done segment on witchcraft during her talk show years. Another favorite of mine, see a theme here? If I was going to be a kid who spent more time watching TV than time spent at the library I might as well get something useful out of it. No, really, I just went a public library for the first time less than six months ago. Also to the dismay of my mother. To the credit of the new millennium, my experience in the broom closet was made easier by having my own laptop, my own debit card, and a Borders book store across the street. However, a closet is a closet and for a period of time I didn’t realize I locked myself in. Being a teenager is hard enough when you are struggling to get good grades and realizing you shouldn't write love spells during math class. Then guess what, they work and suddenly your zero interest in dating turns into too many guys paying you attention. I just wanted to graduate on time and without an aneurysm. Realizing I was a witch was the single most important moment of my life, up to realizing life goes on after high school ends. I am a 20 something witch, with a great life I never saw coming. |