Witches Get Stitches

Arianrhod is probably my favorite goddess. I've always had an affinity for the moon, and I have a soft spot for anyone who's been screwed by patriarchy. But you know what else makes me so fond of her? She spins and weaves the threads of fate. Grandmother Spider, another weaver, also has a place of honor in my personal pantheon. I worship the deities of my ancestors unless another one specifically comes to me. Athena is in that category.

These three are just a few of the goddesses who weave and spin. Consider the ancient Greeks' Moirae (Fates), Egypt's Neith, Hinduism's Maya... I could go on, but my hands hurt so I'm keeping this brief. All these cultures throughout history have goddesses who excel in textile arts. Hell, even Tolkien's Varda (also called Elbereth) sewed the night sky. Why is this archetype so firmly embedded in our consciousness?

Perhaps one reason is the importance of fabric. It's safe to say that without textiles, human civilization would not exist. For one thing, we don't have fur. In colder climates, clothes are necessary for survival. In hotter climates, they protect against the sun. Even if you never wear a stitch of clothing in your lifetime, you're probably going to need a blanket or a tent or a bag. After a certain point in our evolution, textiles became an absolute necessity. I'm not knocking naturalism (nudism) by any means--though I'm too much of a fashionista to go naked--but imagine a life without any type of fabric except animal furs or leather. It worked for our ancestors once they came out of the trees and started losing hair, but now? No way.

But there's magic in the mundane, and even something as practical as fabric can be mystical. So many connections are made between threads or tapestries and fate in mythology. Fiber arts allow for ultimate control over the finished product. I have dabbled in most of them. I spin yarn from newspaper and plastic bags. I sew by machine and by hand. I crochet (badly). And if I ever get a loom, I will weave, because I loved it when I tried it in school. The best part is knowing that I can make something I have imagined come into being. That is the art of creation. It connects me to all of these goddesses. And isn't the whole point of magic to create your own fate, to make your own world?

Working with fabric can be an extremely powerful form of magic. Each stitch holds intention. Each thread ties you closer to the divine. The next time you need to connect to any of the aforementioned goddesses, try a little sewing project. It can be as simple as sewing on a button or making an Ojo de Dios, or as elaborate as taking up point lace just to make an altar cloth (which I may or may not have attempted). All that matters is that you know that you can manipulate the threads of Fate.

Painting Your Hermit Crab Shell When Your Claws Hurt

On both of the last two sabbats, I have felt too bad to do any sort of proper ritual. With chronic illness(es), it's a given that you're going to miss out on things. But religious observances? The fun ones, especially? It blows.

I have crippling impostor syndrome about everything. I guess that's to be expected; I spent a decade being gaslighted on a daily basis and didn't really learn to recognize it until years later, so I'm used to doubting everything about myself and my experience. Being diagnosed with my various ailments has only made it worse. It's pretty obvious based on my blood tests and my own physical symptoms that I'm really sick, but for some reason the first thing people say when they find out is that I'd be less sick if I was more positive about it. I have one disease that will shorten my lifespan and almost certainly be the cause of my death, barring accidents, and another that is usually not fatal but could just as easily kill me tomorrow. That's not being negative. It's being aware that I need to spend however much time I have as wisely as possible.

It's my body. It's my life. So why, why do healthy dickheads' comments about how I need to cope with my health make me feel like I'm the crazy one? It awakens that slumbering beast of self-doubt, which I have never been able to kill entirely. And when I convince myself that I am just crazy and try to function like a normal person my age, I end up hurting myself really badly.

My goddesses don't like it when that happens. I've been getting a lot of directives to take as much care of myself as possible, and that includes resting when I'm tired and avoiding activities that cause me to feel worse. At least one, and I'm 90% sure I know who though She hasn't explicitly introduced Herself, really pushes pampering. I think that by encouraging me to treat myself to little things like DIY masks and a spritz of good perfume on not-so-special occasions, She is training me to view my body as sacred, and bless Her, I was so far behind that She had to start with the basics.

The self-doubt feeds a really vicious cycle of perfectionism, which too often ends in total paralysis. Going easy on myself is another of my directives. When I get frustrated over my imperfect body or an incomplete to-do list, I feel a serene presence beside me. I hear a soft voice in my head, not my own, whispering that it's okay. I am not my body or my to-do list. I am not chronic illness. I am an embodied spirit and a bright mind. I may live in a shell that grows more cumbersome and cramped over time, but this shell is a part of the natural world, and I should respect it as much as I would a tree or a river. And because my hermit crab soul will grow too big and have to move to another shell someday, I should love this one while it houses me.

I have decided, at least temporarily, that I will observe the sabbats not as a single day, but as a period of time: the section of wheel rather than the spoke itself. Until Mabon, I'll be celebrating Lammas every day, even if it's just taking a moment in my heart to thank the Earth for the first harvest. Maybe this will be a way to more fully experience the Wheel of the Year, to actively participate in each moment of the natural world rather than stopping eight days a year to fixate on it. (Not that that's what everyone else does. Most folks have fuller schedules than I do, though.)

Well, the shell needs a shower. Friends, don't let the ignorance of others cause you to hurt yourselves. Listen to yourself and your deities of choice.

Flower Pic-ing

Probably half of my phone's memory is filled with variations of my hand holding a flower in place while I snap a picture of it. I like to identify wild plants, especially flowers. How could I not? They're the epitome of the Divine Feminine as expressed in nature. After a decade and a half of hypermasculine Christianity with a fondness for giant new buildings, I need the sacred wildness of Mother Earth. So I store up pictures as references and learn what I can.

To the right is an Asiatic Dayflower I found while walking on the edge of the woods near me. It's said to bloom only one day out of the year. That may or may not be the case. What I can say about it for sure is that it's a member of the pea family. And sure enough, it has little legumes in pods that look like the seeds inside of a green bean,

They're edible, apparently, but I don't know of any medicinal or magical uses. When I found them last year, I pressed a few and offered the rest to the Goddess on my altar. (At that point, I didn't really have a patroness, so they were for the Earth Mother in all her aspects.)

This here on the left is a Muscari, or Grape Hyacinth. I used to think they were ugly until I heard someone compare them to Faberge's work. Sure enough, they are gorgeous up close. Do you see the little white edging on the fully-opened bell in the center? It looks like crochet lace.

Again, no idea of any medicinal or magical uses. I will point out, though, that Hyacinth was the curly-haired youth loved by Apollo, and thus the hyacinth is sacred to him. I don't know if the Grape Hyacinth is included, but I imagine that using these to honor Apollo would probably not hurt his feelings.

They're also a great decoration for an Ostara altar. If you find them growing wild, as I did, you can dig up the bulbs and transplant them to your garden. Just give them extra TLC so they aren't shocked beyond recovery.



And the little white bloom here is... something. It almost looks like a wild violet, but the way the petals behaved looked more like the Asiatic dayflower. It nestled in the grass like the niphredil of Lothlorien. While I was sitting down after getting tired out, I noticed this one beside me and picked it to get more familiar with it.

So what is this flower? I'm sure I'll sit down and do the research sooner or later, but I think that particular blossom had a much simpler purpose: to add a little beauty to a moment when I wasn't feeling very well. Sometimes a tincture or a salve or a spell isn't what you need. Sometimes you just need to sit a minute with the Divine and reawaken what's divine in you.