We Shall Not Sleep

We are exhausted, but

if the wicked don't rest,

then how can we? 

There are agents out-

side every door with-

out warrant. If the

wicked don't rest, tell

me, how do we? They

have come to take our

friends, families, you,

and me. What fight is in

a pillow? When it said

"don't let the sun go down

on your anger," it didn’t

mean finish that argu-

ment. It meant let your

rage against the wicked

be without end. Therefore

until the wicked is put

to rest, then neither shall

we know rest.

Hekate's Deipnon

It is an offering, a meal set out for Hekate and the ghosts in her care, distributed as she sees fit. Traditionally, the meal is left at a crossroads. However, it can be left on an altar or in another sacred space. Last night, I placed it on an altar just outside my apartment. Garlic, a pancake made with herbs and honey, and incense were the gifts I offered.

I was exhausted. My body ached, and my mind was obscured by a fibromyalgia-induced fog. I felt guilty. My heart was there, but I thought I was not in the right space to make the offering.

The guilt sprang from a place of idealism and an expectation that every offering, ritual, and spell must be perfect for it to be worthy of acceptance and effect. It is the trauma of religious conditioning. Growing up in an imminent rapture cult, there were so many barriers to approaching a god who supposedly called people to come as you are. My prayers and offerings needed screening to ensure they were good enough and worthy enough for their god.

I sat with this for some time, considering its implications and effect on my practice. It was baggage that I no longer needed to carry. Witchcraft isn't perfect and clean. I went back out and offered the following prayer:

I offer this, as I am. Imperfect in practice and understanding. Learning and unlearning. Better on some days than others. But every day, here I am. May this offering be pleasing to You. Hail Hekate.

The worry of offering my gifts incorrectly left me. My intention was right. My spirit was right. In that moment, I felt clearly that my gifts were accepted.

The Proclamation of the Social Media Witch

I find in the unsolicited proclamations of what witchcraft is and is not, the confession of what that person needs it to be. Often, what they need is a supportive and inclusive community—stability in an unstable world. They need to be heard and validated, assured they are not crazy.

Other times, they need a safe place, so they speak with authority in the hope of manifesting their vision of witchcraft. Others have yet to work through the trauma of past conditioning, synthesizing what they know with what they believe with what they are discovering—sometimes, unintentionally inviting in toxic patterns.

Please know, I mean no harm. This is not a casting of judgment, but an observation.

I find witchcraft to be multifaceted and complex. It isn't always clear or pretty. It can be messy, ugly, and frightful, but it is, in a way, ours—if we apprehend it. It can be what we need it to be, but we must be careful not to confine it.

Where I'm From -- Written for a Credentialing Celebration

I’m from

years of mirrors

reflecting back at me

the worst of my fears:

that I’ll grow up

to be just like him.

I’m from

long nights at sea

a million miles away

witnessing the worst—

and best of humanity.

Open heart and open arms

I confronted misery,

and learned to bring healing

to them and me.

I’m from

broken promises

a tarnished ring

by inner darkness,

costing nearly everything.

I’m from

this road ain’t easy.

I’m from

hard knocks,

knocked down,

knocked out,

until I stopped fighting myself,

until I embraced that

the life I lived—

isn’t solely for me.

I’m from

growing up

and finding my purpose

stitched in a lifelong dream

from which I was running,

believing the lies in the mirror:

that it was never meant to be.

But here I am,

and here I stand,

humbled in the presence

of those who believed in me,

even when I didn’t believe

in myself.

I’m from

my wife who cheered

and chided me along—

never shy to tell me

whenever I was wrong.

My son and daughters

who taught me to be a dad,

and not just a father.

I’m from

brilliant, beautiful minds,

both here and elsewhere;

and from mentors

who made me better than I am.

I’m from

Dr. Kevin Cordi,

and Mrs. Bernadette Hamilton,

who in grade nine

caught me in time,

without whom

 I wouldn’t be here,

without whom 

I wouldn’t be here.

I’m from

finally acknowledging

my gifts

and seizing my dream,

and realizing the life I live

isn’t for me,

but for redeeming,

teaching,

and helping to build up

humans who are better

than I could ever be.

Where I'm From

I’m from letting go
of all hope for a better past.

I’m from I
who restoreth mine own soul,
from discovering light and divinity
imprinted within me.

I’m from defiant hope
and healing—
rejecting the audacity
of our fathers’ fathers’ fathers’
insistence
that this is all we’ll ever be.

I’m from the Fool,
boldly stepping forward
on perilous paths
toward destinations unknown—
knowing that even if I die,
I first yet lived.

I’m from seeking stillness,
tracing spiritual lines backwards,
and untangling the knotwork
of generational curses—
getting to the root
of all this debris.

I’m from the healing arts
and the Lefthand Path,
cleansing and exorcising
spirits and people
drawing out the worst in us.

I'm from choosing myself.

I'm from choosing me.