There’s a lady in my town who I’ve always been envious of. She seems to have the perfect life, beautiful home, and just is plain out fancy. I find myself, on occasion, driving down her street to admire her home and her picturesque landscaping. I imagine what life must be like on the inside of the home. Singing birds bringing her morning coffee, small woodland animals doing the housework, and not a care in the world.
But even though I’m slightly jealous of her life, I know it will never be for me. It all seems too tamed and clean. I prefer being wild and dirty. I enjoy letting my garden be fecund and grow as nature intended, I’m quite alright with weeds popping up here and there, and I’m more than ok with not being disturbed by singing, coffee-bearing birds so early in morning.
I suppose it’s in my blood to remain untamed. I come for a long and staunch line of people who refuse to confirm and give in to the status quo. Stubbornness runs in my family deeply.
So I guess it’s no wonder than this unwavering wild spirit reflects in my magic. I prefer the dark and untamed as opposed to tree hugging. I enjoy pissing in bottles and spilling blood upon the ground for thirsty spirits. I like folk magic, bones, curses, and things that just a little spooky. Darker yes, but by no means evil. Just a little dirtier than gathering in a circle, wearing robes, and chanting.
I have a great deal of respect for those non-cursing, non-blooding spilling, tree huggers, and the goddess folks. Your magic is just as relevant as mine, but it never set right with me. It’s the same feeling of being in a church house. I don’t feel like I belong and probably shouldn’t be there.
By white-washing Witchcraft to mean this safe, non-scary and benevolent practice, you do it a great injustice. Witchcraft is something than cannot be stricken of its darker and scarier side. It is the balance of the light and the dark. Both should be respected equally.
Witchcraft was never meant to be tamed, and I for one refuse to to tame it. Or myself.