As I write this, the sun is still warm, the day still bright, even at this late hour, as evening draws on and the normal routines of winding down just don’t feel right. The chicks still call out from nests unseen in the tangle of ivy or from beneath roof tiles, their cries harsh and incessant, their hunger seemingly insatiable. Children still shout and yip out in the street.
It’s the evening before the summer solstice and it seems every living thing, particularly the young, can feel its approach.
The longest day and shortest night.
I always feel the solstices are always good points to reflect back on what has been and consider what may come. The summer solstice is a good time to do this, when the power of the sun is at its peak, driving away shadows so that we can confront the truth of our endeavours, indeed to confront what it means when we consider the power of the witch.
Our own power.
What is it that draws the witch to the crooked path that weaves its way through the black of night and leads on to the sabbat, guided by the full moon’s light?
What echoes in the heart of the obeah woman and courses through her veins, is infused within her very bones?
It is not the power portrayed by Hollywood, nor is it the work to achieve one’s earthly wants and needs, though few can deny there is an allure to such power, the first many feel and only the foolish desire.
The real power of the witch, of the obeah woman is more than that.
It is the power to overcome fear. To face those fears head on and to see them for what they are, projections of self doubt and fear, often fed by the insecurities of others. It is the power of self respect and self belief, not in the loud and crass way of the overconfident con man or of the slick tongued snake oil peddler (what’s that saying, something about the emptiest minds having the biggest mouths?). This power is quiet. It thrums throughout your being, hums beneath the surface but is as deep as bone and stronger still. It is the power to create and manifest.
To others it might seem such power comes easily because you have laboured silently, without fanfare and show. You have vanquished your own demons of self doubt and laid them to rest and in turn they have fed your power like the death that feeds life in that constant cycle of creation and destruction that is in fact life.
This is the true power of the magic worker, whatever their tradition or path.
And so, with this in mind then, it makes sense that those who have not done the work of self and are not willing to, who have not scryed their own souls and traversed their own shadows, it’s no surprise folks such as these might project their own doubts, failures and perceived inadequacies, grow jealous and bitter.
The power of the witch is also the power to protect oneself and keep on moving, of not letting the other peoples self doubt, jealousy and their projections interfere with our own will. We might raise others up but we protect ourselves against attacks too. Perhaps part of that power also has to do with recognising the differences between the two and moving with grace and with dignity (and perhaps a little fire too) between them both.
And so as the wheel trundles on and the solstice approaches, recognise your own wins and victories, raise a glass to your losses and feel the power of the witch inside of you.
Have a blessed solstice!
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As I write this, the sun is still warm, the day still bright, even at this late hour, as evening draws on and the normal routines of winding down just don’t feel right. The chicks still call out from nests unseen in the tangle of ivy or from beneath roof tiles, their cries harsh and […] -
As I write this, the sun is still warm, the day still bright, even at this late hour, as evening draws on and the normal routines of winding down just don’t feel right. The chicks still call out from nests unseen in the tangle of ivy or from beneath roof tiles, their cries harsh and […] -
As I write this, the sun is still warm, the day still bright, even at this late hour, as evening draws on and the normal routines of winding down just don’t feel right. The chicks still call out from nests unseen in the tangle of ivy or from beneath roof tiles, their cries harsh and […] -
As I write this, the sun is still warm, the day still bright, even at this late hour, as evening draws on and the normal routines of winding down just don’t feel right. The chicks still call out from nests unseen in the tangle of ivy or from beneath roof tiles, their cries harsh and […] -
As I write this, the sun is still warm, the day still bright, even at this late hour, as evening draws on and the normal routines of winding down just don’t feel right. The chicks still call out from nests unseen in the tangle of ivy or from beneath roof tiles, their cries harsh and […]
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