I Waited Until 45 To Call Myself A Witch (When Magic Did Not Exist, I Felt Alone)
BY WENDY KONZELMANN I was 45 years old before I began applying the title of witch to myself. Not because I didn’t feel…
BY WENDY KONZELMANN I was 45 years old before I began applying the title of witch to myself. Not because I didn’t feel…
BY VENNIE KOCSIS When women age We become Crones, Silver witches who have Learned to carry lines on our eyes, Grooves in our…
BY IVY LAINE Last summer, on our final hike of the year to our favorite spot, the Goddess spoke to me. The visions…
Do you fight the stripe? You know what I mean – the stripe of silver strands that started to emerge at your temples and along the part of your hair at a certain point in time.
Anyway, if provocative selfies annoy you to the degree yoga selfies annoy me, I can honestly say I feel your pain. That said, both of us can choose to not look, just like the women in the photographs chose to take them, and that is some real, majestic truth right there.
The Crone is the seat of intuition and a wise woman. She is no longer run by the cycles of her hormones. She has a lifetime of knowledge and intuition and has figured out the flow of life.
She spins trickster tales, fool stories, & her own particular color of moonlight. She brings on meteor showers & watches the sun slipping into sight again.
Let me be that tree, so that the scent of pine will remind the world that someone must have meant it. I will be a singing sentinel, and that which breathes life into death. The raven has no part with the pine, nor the blackthorn with the dove.
She waits there, Old Woman, stirring her pot and praying over the bones. The fire is in the hearth and the lantern in the window. She waits there.
These are the holy days of the Winter Witch, and we are effectively birthing a whole world into being; this weighted work demands we rest when we can, my sister.