Category: A day in the life (personal)

Mourning Days and Ghost Festival

August 15th is the one day shared between Mourning Days (a three day festival of introspection and remembrance) and the Ghost Festival (a sixteen day festival).

With Mourning Days, I spend one day cleansing and attending to cemeteries. I’d spend more doing it but often life gets in the way. I have a real love, admiration, and fascination with cemeteries and graveyards. I use to volunteer and work for the state finding missing cemeteries, marking them with GPS so they can be added to maps, recording their condition, and cleaned it up if necessary (although this varied per person.) I love studying death rituals and cemeteries are gorgeous. Pillars of carved memorials only worn away by time embedded in living earth. Ugh. I can’t even express it to you with rambling poetry. A community of the deceased, laid together in the same ground but always apart, always alone.

Don’t mistake my fascination with cemeteries and death rituals as a fascination with death or murder. I like the cultural ethos around funerals, deaths, and act of honoring the deceased. I care more about how the dead are honored and how the living treat the dead then the method of death itself (unless the method of death or the condition of the body actually affects how the deceased is treated).

The rest of the time during Mourning Days, I spent with vague honors to the deceased ones I know and introspection. By vague I mean I light a vigil candle and incense. With introspection, I sit down and think. I think about those who have passed and how they affected my life. I think about how I would feel in my last thoughts of death, what I would regret or want more of. And then I use that nostalgia and meditation to plan for the future.

With Ghost Festival, it leaps off Mourning Days right into dealing with the spirits of the dead. Now I don’t deal with the spirits of the dead often. That’s my brother, the Necromancer’s gig. I don’t want it and my experiences with the dead haven’t been awesome. However, I feel that ignoring the dead entirely is an injustice as my role of a spirit walker so I spend the Ghost Festival keying into that “range” of spirits. I say range because I like to explain the different feel of spiritual energy by comparing them to frequencies. I don’t think spiritual energy is frequencies I just find people understand it easier when explaining it to folks who don’t really get or want detailed explanations. On the same train of thought, I think that ghosts can be tracked by equipment that pick up frequencies.

Anyway, I spend Ghost Festival really wandering around and seeing, talking to, and listening to ghosts. That’s what I do. Sometimes, those ghosts are just impressions, fragments of who or what they once were and other times they’re nearly full people, dead people but people none the less.

At the same time, it should be noted that the Dying Days of Summer Festival still runs till the 24th. During that particular festival, I spend it celebrating summer, the heat and the ecstasy of summer itself. The last throes of the year before preparing for the harvest and the cold, sleep of the year.

Now despite being a secular witch, I’m a spiritual person. I know there are gods. I know there are spirits. And I know they share the same world as me. I cannot, personally, exist and live without acknowledging them and their lives. My festivals are more like parties. They are not worshiping and they are not part of a religion. There are years I feel like I don’t need a Ghost Festival or often I don’t do a damn thing during the festival but acknowledge that it’s a thing I should be doing. It’s separate from my witchcraft. Maybe it is the foundations of a religion but I like to see it as my own spirituality. My witchcraft doesn’t include it. I do not do spells or charms for my festivals. This is my personal way of dealing with the things I see, know, and experience.

Rhode Island Pagan Pride Day, August 11, 2013 – a review

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Or, hell yes RIPPD

Ginandjack and a RI PPD Program

Ginandjack and I were running late. Having both slept in a bit more than we had planned, I swung by his place to pick him up and grab some breakfast at Dunkin Donuts (which is so very Rhode Island I can’t even).  A quick visit to the ATM and a hustle back to my house to stock up the Hakuryuu the Jeep before heading out.

Water was loaded up by the metal container into the cooler alongside a simple pasta salad, homemade pastries, and a pair of peaches. Finally, we doused ourselves with lemongrass and eucalyptus bug spray and 70+SPF sunblock.

As no one contacted me for a lift to the event I hadn’t bothered putting the rear seat back in. The truck was filled with our cooler, some emergency supplies, the speaker, a blanket, and Nella, the citronella plant I intended to plop on the table during my workshop so I would a) have a prop and b) won’t be attacked by insects in the near-swamp.

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The road facing away from the Sportsman Club and towards the Wampanoag Trail.

RIPPD was being held in our hometown. It was easy for us to rumble and rattle our way down the Wampanaog Trail to the nearly hidden street of Mohawk Drive (or Sportmans Drive. Depends on who you ask.). Narrow and broken, we slowed to a roll and parked alongside the road. We decided to leave most of our crap in the Jeep and took only our wallets with us.

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The view of the Sportsman Club and the event site, plus a glance of the Jeep from the road.

The first thing we saw was the Noble Knots food truck, a coffee truck who’s name escapes me, and the RI Blood Bank truck. (Later, we ended up having to move the Jeep to a small field because the blood truck had to leave and the cars were blocking the way. Oops. Poor planning on their part.)

The building itself is a single floor with three steps up (a side entrance for the physically imparied with a ramp). White and narrow, the inside was two rooms, plus a tiny hallway with bathrooms and the kitchen. I don’t have images of the inside, but they were mostly small table full of jewelry, some cloaks, and Familiar Spirits, the state’s only New Orleans’ style Hoodoo shop. The Witches’ Almanac was also inside, which I adore and highly recommend for folks who are looking for an alternative to the Llewellyn almanacs available.

We made our way to the Welcoming Tent where I was immediately recognized by Dayna, the workshop coordinator (also, an absolutely adorable and sweet person.) Once I got my program and name tag (which I refused to wear. It’s a thing.) Ginandjack and I started to wander and see what there was to see.

The location was gorgeous and larger than we imagined. The workshop tents were on separate corners of the little field behind the building, past a cement patio with a fire pit. There was plenty of space for large rituals, which was where they were also held. In the distance, you could see the marshy waters of the river opening up to the sea and hawks flew high above, circling in their habitat. The Sportmans’ Club is down the street from a wetland bird sanctuary, often used for hiking and relaxing by locals.

I think my only complaint about the grounds were the rampant amount of poison ivy, cut down but still present and the lack of seating. Other than the ground, there were no seating arranged unless you snag a chair from the workshops. Likewise, there were only tables to stand at. This sadden me because unless I plopped down on the grass, I couldn’t chat or do readings on a whim as I would normally do at get togethers. Perhaps next time. It was the first time at this location so live and learn.

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Vendors 1, including a patch of signs that may or may not leave to Night Vale.

On the other side of the building, past the food trucks, were the tents for vendors.

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Second image of the vendors. There’s more along the right but you get the idea.

The vendors themselves were mixed. A lot of jewelry, a very nice booth with stones, some mish-mash witchy stuff, soaps and aromatherapy, a few information booths, herbal products, handmade mirrors, and some statuary. It’s pretty much as you’d expect. I didn’t end up buying a thing as either I could make the things offered or they didn’t appeal to me. Gin picked up a few things here and there. For each of the purchases we strolled back to the Jeep to stow it securely in the Jeep’s lockbox before heading back in.

Unlike other Pagan Pride Days, there was a definite lack of entertainment. No music was played outside of the occasional snippets of song by a person or during ritual. It was peaceful but I’ve come to expect some music for PPD, and all events really, but since I couldn’t come up with any local entertainment either, I can’t really complain about what can’t be found.

We arrived during the Wiccan Opening Ritual performed by a group from the Stang and Cauldron shop. Since Wicca is neither Gin nor my own bag of tricks, we watched, commenting politely and quietly to ourselves, before making another series of rounds bout the vendors.

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The mid-day ritual by the Hellenic Temple of Apollon, Zeus, and Pan.

Eventually, we got to chatting with the local Hellenics since Ginandjack is a Hellenic and Dionysian. By Hellenics, I mean not just a random group but of Hellenic but the Hellenic Temple of Apollon Zeus and Pan. A Kemetic also hung out with her “Hellenic cousins” and was quite fun to talk to. We enjoyed their company and spent a good hour or so talking with them, if not more. The Hellenics were also doing the mid-day ritual, which I didn’t participate in due to being secular. I did, however, shoot a few photos and watch. If Ginandjack writes up a thing on his experiences during the ritual, I’ll link it.

I didn’t get close because not only did I not want to be involved, but because I don’t want to mess them up. (If you’re wondering why that might be, well, secrets and spoilers).

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Ginandjack came to find me under one of the tents where I was sitting quietly, watching. The Kemetic we had been talking to came over too, to talk and chat about seers and seership.

Ginandjack and I snagged some water and fruit before hitting the vendors again and discussing what we’d seen and experienced. We said hello to those we passed and wandered about.

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Ginandjack with Nella the citronella plant. Because we don’t mess around and always bring protection.

My workshop on secular witchcraft was at three, so we spent a lot of time wandering until then. Towards quarter of, we meandered back to the Jeep to collect Nella the citronella plant and my notes and handouts.

RIPPD ran two workshops at a time and I was, unfortunately opposite of Raven Morgaine, the owner of Familiar Spirits, whom was talking about Shadow Work. His workshop was packed, of course, but about a dozen people showed up for my own. A dozen people was about average for a workshop at RIPPD so I was pretty happy with the turnout.

Th workshop itself went well. While some of the attendees went away with more questions than answers (which is totally unsurprising since no one except Ginandjack I had spoken to knew what secularism was at all) but all of the attendees were interested and many actively engaged. A few stayed after for discussion before moving on to other things. It was a good hour, in my opinion.

Ginandjack and I talked to a friend who stopped by for a little while before grabbing something else to eat, making a final round of the vendors who were slowly packing up, before scooting out ourselves to hit the beach before the sun set.

I might post my “notes” here so others can see what the workshop entailed, roughly, if folks are interested.

A Day In the Life

I was asked by a student to give a general summary of my day. Well, I’m not exactly good with the brief and succinct posts so I rambled. Here’s what I wrote:

Hello!

Well, my day in the life might not be like others’ because, frankly, this is all I do.

 

I’m a witch professionally (trying to finish a novel to become a writer professionally too). But I’ll give you a rundown.

I usually wake up between eight and ten in the morning. I open up my home to clients at ten, so I’m definitely up by then but I don’t tend to bother with alarm clocks unless I have to. The first thing I do is check my cellphone while I boot up my laptop. Since I run my business and life from my cellphone, I spend the first five minutes making tea, brushing my teeth, that sort of thing one handed while checking my email, calendar, texts, and asks on tumblr. Then I’ll turn on the music, hop in the shower, and dress.

While I’m doing these mundane things, I’ve also done little witchy things too. I’ll check any sigils, protections, and wards I’ve set up and pass. I’ll flip or shake jars of infusing oils. I’ll pet the cats and send my servitor on any assignments I need xe to attend to. I take the first random song of the day I hear as a possible divination and I’ll bath with some sort of enchanted or herbal bath products. Even dressing is somewhat witchy. If I have plans for the day, I’ll dress in colors that suit my needs – red for power, blue for healing or truth, gray for invisibility. Jewelry added is never just for decoration, as each has been bewitched with various purposes. If I intend to go out of the house and meet clinics, I’ll swipe on some makeup which I also enchant for witchcraft – lip balm might be for sweeten word, eyeshadow or liner for protection, perfume to mask intent, that sort of thing.

Depending on how early I wake up, I’ll spent the next few minutes or hours writing until ten in the morning. The writing might be fictional or might be a witchy post for one of my blogs, fine-tuning an essay or workshop. It’s writing of some kind.

Then I’ll open up the “shop”. It should be noted that by “shop” I mean I open up my home for potential clients. It’s never a flood of people. Some days I don’t get a client at all – not in person or online. But once I flip the “I’m open” sign on the front door, I’ll start my day. Any orders that need to be sent out will be packaged up, enchanted for a quick and safe journey, and set out for the mailperson. I’m pretty restless, so I tend to do a lot of things at the same time throughout the day.  I’ll bake if I had nothing in the house to snack on (as I offer these to clients) and then I’ll start some new project that needs doing. It might be making a clay charm, writing a sigil, casting a spell, sewing, embroidering, making new witchy products for the shop, whatever. I’ll check on experiments I’ve running or clean and sanitize equipment from past experiments. I’ll go ahead and record spells or herbal concoctions in lab books and grimoires. I might head out into the garden or plunk down for a video game to pass the time. I’m almost always reading some book – every room has at least one book I’m actively reading – but I might watch a TV show too while tumblring or writing.  A lot of the time I’ll sprinkle in everyday tasks too – set the laundry to go, sweep the floors, put dishes away, eat, etc. These might have a little witchcraft in them too – I might toss a pinch of herbs in the wash to help protect or bring money and prosperity. Sweeping might be done alongside a cleansing or straightening and checking other household protections. Often, I stop to do a tarot or oracle reading or to throw together a charm bag for a client, or answer ask, emails, texts, and phone calls from friends and clients alike. I keep an ear open for the door during all of this. The day is pretty varied, depending on my mood, the weather and current season, and any plans made.

If I have errands to run, friends visiting, or just need some time to do something less easily put aside, I’ll turn my sign saying I’m not taking clients and for any potential clients to call the shop’s number. Some afternoons I’ll spend with friends chatting over religion, spirituality, and witchcraft but it’ll be sprinkled with gossip and shenanigans too. Errands might be as simple as running to the corner store for milk and bread but it might also be popping into the city to purchase rarer herbs from a witch shop. I might swing by to tend to family grave sites or wild harvest plants.

I run my shop until 10 p.m. and I’ll wrap up the evening writing and debating on tumblr before bed.

I don’t have an altar space or work space and I’m very folk magic more than ceremonial, so my witchcraft tends to be easily meshed into everyday life. I’m just as likely to cast a spell on my kitchen counter as I am in the garden or my bedroom.

Sorry. That was probably pretty specific but I don’t tend to have a really typical day. Does that help you some?

So that’s how a normal day runs for me. I’ll give an example by giving you a rundown of today so far (it’s not noon yet but shh)

I woke up about eight thirty, check my cell, turned the laptop on for music, and put tea on. Then I wrote that response until my uncle texted me about quarter to nine. His car broke down so I quick dressed and ran to the next state over (three towns away) to give him a jump. Once done I scampered home just in time to open up the shop. I flipped my sign, swept the porch and communal living and dining room (as a favor for my mother more than anything) before heading down to my flat. I left some bread dough out to rise overnight and make them into some really fabulous buns. While they baked, I tumblred a bit, listened to Welcome to Night Vale, pet the cat, and think about my day.

Tomorrow’s my shop’s one year anniversary so today I’m going to be REALLY busy making sure everything set for the BIG sale at midnight. I’ve new items to make, package, and set up. I’ve a few emails from Witchvox to answer as well. The rest of the day will be spent doing a lot of witchy stuff rather than by reading, playing video games, or hanging out with friends. If I’ve the time, I’ll work on the workshop outline for RIPPD.

So that’s how I spend my day as a pro witch and struggling writer.

Spirit Kings

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Spirit Kings

[UPG Alert! My opinions and UPG]

The other side has a hierarchy. Some places has courts as elaborate as you can imagine. Others are more territories where a being rules over their territory as they like.

Quick terminology is this: when I say king, I’m drawing up mental images for you. I use the word king specifically to relate to the exact mental image I want you to have. I’m not saying ruler. I’m not saying emperor. I’m not saying queen. I’m saying king. Specifically. There is no gender or sex for this term in this specific context, most because spirits rarely may any heed to gender or sex constructs.

Generally speaking, the more power the larger the size of the territory. Reasons for this power varies. Someone the power is all about how dangerous the spirit is. Other times it’s they’ve made enough of a reputation to not be messed with. Most often, they’ve killed, bartered, or manipulated their way there. Rarely, a spirit king takes up residence that has a skill or talent that makes them worth listening to and respecting. Fucking with that person annoys other spirits and can even cause wars.

Being the ruler of a territory is a perilous and precarious position. Once a territory is claimed or made, the mood of that territory changes, shifts to match the laws made and the king’s personality and moods. Very Fisher King like except not usually as dramatic (this isn’t entirely true, sometimes it is JUST as literal as that)

These are not beings to be fucked with. These are not beings to cross. Paid proper respect and all is (usually) well. But enrage a king in their kingdom? The very land itself will rise up against you

Why are there so many wars then? Because it’s easy? It should be noted that as well networked and liked as a king is, as many subjects they have or folk attend their court, there is only ONE person who fights for their throne. Them. The king has to defend their own kingdom with their own hands from a usurper. Sure, anyone can pick a side and join ranks to fight, many will be called upon to do just that because, hell, the point in war is to damage enough of the other side to make them submit. A territory vs. territory battle? Free-for-all. Half the times the rulers aren’t even fucking involved.

Spirit kings don’t tend to remain in one place either. They wander, rambling, and travel throughout their territory and visit friends elsewhere. You literally will never know who might be a king. There sometimes isn’t a way to tell. Despite being rooted in their territory, the itch to move and travel is often another cause for wars in my opinion and certainly is why they like to fuck with humans and travelers.

Sometimes those beings can make territories here, and connect their spirit territories with a physical location on this side. I’ll repeat that. They can be so powerful that they can make their presence and kingdoms known here. On this side. In this plane. You know when you think you’ve crossed into something’s territory but it’s so much huger than when you do it normally to other spirits and you feel eyes watching you, judging you? Yeah.

I’ve more to say on this subject but I don’t want to ramble on more than I have to.

Just something to think about when you travel about.

This is a tumblr repost that is really on point considering what’s coming up for me. And, because I don’t have as many people here as I do on tumblr, I’ll answer questions on this topic. Not every question may be answered as it might shift into personal and/or secrets and spoilers area.

Mental Reorganization – Shadow Work?

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This morning I woke at an unreasonable hour – five a.m. Now that’s not actually unreasonable but I had only gotten to sleep two hours before. I was definitely wide awake and very annoyed that I was. I knew I needed more sleep and I knew that getting up to putz about the flat at that hour would only lead to me napping much later in the afternoon. So I did the next best thing to sleep and traveled.

Let me get into a little explanation right now. I travel all the time but recently I’ve been having trouble getting over there and staying over there. I know it’s because I have a lot of things on my mind right now, most of them stressful, and many of them actually out of my control. My mental state directly affects my condition to travel. And I’m absolutely terrible at understanding my physical needs. I don’t take the time to sit back and think “You know what? This is unusual. I should do something about it.” An example would be the times I was hospitalized for stress in college – I wasn’t even aware that I was stressed out. I just don’t acknowledge that sort of thing until I know and can recognize the personal tale-tell signs of it in myself.

A+B = C

I knew I was stressed. The issue with that is, besides inconvenience, there wasn’t anything I could directly do to solve the issue. Take steps to solve the problems, yes; but nothing direct. It was a weight on my mind. Doing little physical things help. Cleaning the kitchen, clearing off counters, sweeping the floor. All that helps. (No! really it does! That’s stuff that gets pushed aside in stressful situations. Taking care of it while trying to work out the more serious issues really helps. Trust me on this one.) But it wasn’t enough.

As the sun began to rise this morning I fetched a small jar of my mugwort salve and a bottle of water. I usually go light when applying the salve to myself as I don’t usually need the push – I do it so I can stay there longer or fall asleep afterwards. But today I applied about a teaspoon (which, again, for me is a lot) to my wrists, inside elbows, collarbone, throat, and forehead. Thus applied, I laid back, pulled the blankets up on myself, and dove into my own head.

Anyone seen the BBC’s Sherlock? In the show Sherlock speaks about forgetting things not important to him and at other times about his ‘Mind Palace’. When I heard those lines I didn’t think anything of it. I only later found out that his methods of organizing his thoughts and forgetting things that seem important to others but weren’t to himself as unusual. (I think this is about the time where some of my readers begin to understand just how strangely my brain works.)

The year 2000 was an important year for me. The summer was excellent, full of friends, exploring of powers, and just plain good times. It was the year I entered high school and lived in an huge and extremely haunted and paranormally active condo community. It had it’s terrible times too. That year was the year I was attacked by a spirit that ended with me at home nursing a broken finger and permanently stunted fingernail growth. I fell in love that year, only to have it unrequited. It was a setup for some of the best and worst times in my life after all.

It was also the year I started doing mental organization. I had just turned fifteen, woke each morning at dawn to have ham and cheese grilled sandwiches, then threw myself into the world to wander about the condo community’s grounds. Some of those mornings found me sitting on the small bridge near the acres of unused wildland, lost in my own brain, reorganizing it.

Shadow work is, as the community currently uses it, the mental exploration of the darker sides of yourself. It comes from Jung and the psychological field of study. It’s been adopted into the New Age world and spread from there.

What I do is similar but not the same. I’m not talking to my darker side. I’m not even airing out those dark cupboards. I, instead, go into my brain where those to-do lists reside and reorganize my thoughts.  Things That Need Doing are organized into groups. I’ll line them up in order of importance and pin down the ones that keep wiggling away. Really Important Thoughts get their own area and are starred to remind me just how bloody important they are. Shit I Want To Do But Not Right Now gets tossed in a bottomless box and those thoughts will be released once I finish the Things That Need Doing. A mental cleaning is done. I’ll scrub down the inside of this Mind Room as I do so the darkness of the room and the gray of the walls shift and change. Light begins to fill up inside and the walls are a flux of colors, gently undulating.

I found the trap door that leads to the Other Side and dusted it off. It’s almost always open, with a big ring pull that’s polish has been worn away by time and usage. The windows in the Mind Room show me different aspects of the Other Side. I can access the Other Side through these windows as well and most of the time I just simply defenestrate myself than go for the trapdoor. Faster that way, for sure. Much of the time I leave these windows half open so I can be on the Other Side and not as I wish. But not all the windows show my Forest and Seaside from There. Some of those windows have memories playing out beyond the glass. If I open those windows I can remember that event as clear as day (the latches on these windows are faulty though and memories always leak in unbidden, huge and clear as the time I first experienced them to the point where I can be physically shocked motionless at Sudden Memories flooding me, getting me lost in FEELS.  (I’m under the assumption that many people remember things at random but aren’t as deeply affected as me. This may be due to how little memories I actually have of the past. Memory loss is a bitch.) Other windows show the future. I don’t look at them often but I leave the mottled glass windows open a crack. Once I clear out the Things That Need Doing and the Shit I Want To Do But Not Right Now piles I’ll open it up a bit more.

Next it’s time to shake up and reassess some other things. There’s another trap door that leads to my Heart. Inside there is tall and huge but very dark. My Heart’s mental image is the size of my Mind-Self, maybe a little smaller but I talk to it. We clear out some of the darkness and connect the String of Courage to it. This should give me the courage to talk to someone I like and to use my heart a little more freely. With the Heart a little bigger, brighter, and happier, I climbed back up to open the trap door in the ceiling where my Imagination lives. Imagination has no form but I berate the air enough so Imagination flows down into the main Mind Room. It attached to the wall, a living thing, golden and glowing. To keep it from running away, I attach Strings of Courage to it too. My final act is to find Motivation. Motivation is a very tiny thing in my head, often curled into a ball and hides under boxes and piles of Things That Need Doing. I kick it out, dust it off, shake it a few times, tell Imagination to watch over it, and put it in the center of the room with a few of the Strings of Courage tied to it. As I stand there admiring my work, Curiosity peaks in. Curiosity lives in a ceiling trap door like Imagination but is less lazy. I shoo it away for now but Curiosity will come back all on its own.

There’s still more work to do, of course. I haven’t touched any of the other aspects of myself but that’s for another day and another time. The Mind Room is always in movement, nothing rigidly defined. I could make it so, if I wanted, use shelves instead of boxes and index things so I don’t get lost but I like the chaos of it all. Pleased, I fling open the trap door to the Other Side and drop in.

I personally find mentally reorganizing my brain incredibly useful, especially in relation to witchcraft. Much of my thoughts can be linked to witchcraft and if the lines of communication between the heart, brain, and courage are working correctly, then any love or attraction spells I’d do for myself will work better. Because I link my thoughts through Courage and not through some other thing like Morality, Decency, or Doubt, I tend to do brave but sometimes stupid things first and worry about the  Doubts, Morality, or Decency afterwards.

Again, that’s just how I wire my brain up. Loosely described. There’s a ton more to it. Logic, for example, didn’t make a showing and Logic is always there. Skepticism too.  It can be a scary place in your own mind and a lot of work. Very complication. I tend to face scary things head on, so I don’t mind it. After I organized everything I slept for something like ten hours. Crashed very hard and didn’t wake up until after five in the evening. My brain’s less buzzing now but it gently reminds me to do Things That Need To Be Done every so often. Pleasant. My Heart’s ready to be brave and check for messages from potential dates and Imagination is ready to go (I think that’s obvious from the showy language but it’s as close as I can describe to the inside of my brain.)

My mental reorganization of my Mind Room (really, a series of chambers from one great room) is similar in the aspect to Shadow Work in that it’s the diving into my own mind to clear out the rubbish or get the mind organized in a fashion that’s better for my current needs. Does anyone else attempt something similar? Or would you consider this shadow work? Is anyone curious to try it themselves?

How My Youngest Brother Learned I’m A Witch

[A repost from tumblr: How My Youngest Brother Learned I’m A Witch. Early May, 2013]

Today I went over to see my father the Warlord and returned some of the books I borrowed. He decided he needed to feed me and served up some lasagna while I visited. As he’s setting up to make dinner (which I wouldn’t be around for) he asks me what the rest of my plans for the day were.

“I’ve a shit-ton of asks to answer on my blog.”

“Asks?”

I shifted how my head laid on my upturned hand. “Yeah. People send me asks about things. Witchy things usually but all sorts of shit sometimes.”

“Like what?”

I tap open the tumblr app and summarize a few public ones. We get to talking a bit about one of them before he turns from cutting potatoes and said, “There’s a lot of spirit ones there.”

“Well, yeah. It’s something I specialize in, I suppose.”

“Have you ever tried talking to your great grandmother?”

I shake my head without moving it from my hand. “I don’t tend to work with ghosts. Non-human spirits. I already don’t like people. Why would I hang out with dead ones?”

He turned and points the knife at me. I don’t bother to take offense. We tend to direct each other with pointy objects on a daily basis. “Your great grandmother’s a ghost. Your great grandfather said that if anyone would come back, it would be her. She haunted the [house both he and I grew up in]. Your uncle and aunt saw her too. She’d come out from the door as if there was still a wall there, go around the table, and come down the hallway to stare into the kid’s rooms.”

I only nod. I’ve heard this story before many times. “I remember you telling the story. I saw her too. Or, well, I saw something. It was when I was in that front bedroom. I saw something huge – taller than you Dad – and white block out the light in front of that door. You know how that light always emitted a yellow color right? Whatever it was was brighter than that.”

“It couldn’t have been your great grandmother. She was a tiny thing. Smaller than you. Could have been my grandfather though.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t know what it was, but it block out the light. I was so surprised I just pulled the sheets up over my head.” I laugh. I remember being no more than eight when the sighting took place and being more startled than scared. It was always something I believed had happened and could never disprove. I never bothered telling anyone about it usually. It was a ghost. It happened. I saw it. End of story.

B.A.D, my little five year old brother comes in, holding a worn, dilapidated checkers box. “You saw a ghost?”

“Yes. At least I think it was a ghost.”

“Oh. You should ask brother. He’ll be able to tell you whether or not it’s still there.”

I hide it well but I’m surprised as fuck and impressed. Yes, my brother the Necromancer could very well tell whether or not the rumored ghosts are still there. I could too, if I bothered to. However, no one in the family owns the house any longer and thus there was no point. But how the fuck did a five year old know about my brother? He rarely ever speaks of it. I don’t even think my father knows about my brother’s abilities.

B.A.D however continuous as if he didn’t just drop a fucking bomb of information on me. “I’m not afraid of ghosts!”

I laughed. “You’re afraid of dogs, bees, and wary of girls but not of ghosts?” (When the Redhead disowned herself it caused emotional trauma for my youngest brother, already there from my step mother’s less-than-stellar parenting. The boy just didn’t understand that not all of his sisters or girls will abandon him.)

“Nope!” He said quite loudly, proud of himself. He flashes a smile. “I see them all the time.”

I’m not sure whether he meant on the TV or in real life. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He babbles on for a few more minutes and has me laughing.

“How about witches?” I ask him. I keep my smile easy, not teasing but friendly. While the question seems innocent, I don’t want to scare him off.

He blinks slowly, processing the question and for a moment I worry he didn’t hear me. He has hearing issues sometimes and I am about to voice the question again when he shakes his head. “No, I’m not afraid of witches.”

“Oh good. Because I’m a witch.”

I watch his eyes grow fearful for a moment then doubtful. I know I don’t look like any witch shown on Scooby-Doo.

I continue, “I really am. It’s my job. It’s what I do.”

My father comes around to the table and readies the chicken and rice for my brother’s dinner. He doesn’t look at me but instead makes eye contact with my brother. “She is.” He confirms.

That’s enough for my brother. He thinks on it for a few more moments before nodding, “I’m not scared of you either.”

I smile. “Good. I’m nothing to be scared of.”