Goddess Within

The human voice can put a lot of power into a speech. The words "Have a wonderful day" can be taken as the greatest comfort or the most painful insult simply by the inflection. That's why presidents who know nothing can win the popular vote. That's why confident children are popular, even if they don't have the common idea floating around the playground.

But when you announce that you are a Witch, all that malarky about "power of speech" goes right out the window. Because even as I write, affirming my credo with every word, you may have already made your pre-determined judgements. You may think you already know what my affirmation has made me. You may observe the stereotypes and concern yourself with how bitter I might be about what your reviews will have to say. And that's okay, because at one time, I thought that way too.

I was your typical poor little rich girl. I had everything I wanted and parents who took me to church and to music lessons and gave me all my heart desired. I was somewhat popular, or at least comfortable with my popularity, and managed to pull off good grades and average looks at the same time. I wasn't some oppressed child who had a beef with the world, with Jesus, with the lack of eco-friendly toilet paper in the bathroom. I was content with life. I still am.

Back then, something was missing. Like a 5000 piece jigsaw puzzle that never came with the 4999th piece.

You could blame it on the visions I would have as a child if you wanted to, I suppose. You could hold the viewpoint that there was something more to those girly seances at midnight sleepovers. You could say that I held a lot of lock and stock in finding the ghost of my aunt after she died. You could develop an eye twitch from the amount of occult books I checked out of the library on hypnosis at a mere 7 years old. But I was, after all, a good little girl. If I had a problem with the unknown, I went to Jesus about it. And if I didn't get an answer, I wasn't supposed to know. End of story.

The pesky thing about humans, though, is that there's always one nagging question. And we HAVE to know. And it frustrates our very existence when we DON'T get answers.

Jesus never "spoke" to me. He never told me where my aunt went after she died. He never told me what I needed to do after my boyfriend broke up with me. He never told me whether masturbation was a sin or not.

Of course, I never held it against him, either. But deep down, I never accepted that I wasn't allowed to know.

I was the problem child in confirmation class. I would ask the questions that would take four hours to explain. I spent entire days at church hanging around my pastors, asking them why they pursued the clergy, what it meant to them, where God and Jesus were. By sixteen, you just don't ask those questions and need to find the answers as much as I did. At least not in modern society. But I had to know. I wanted to be active in all of life's mysteries.

Yet no one, not one person, could give me an answer. And yet I still would not rest.

When I took my saint name at the time of confirmation, that was my goal in life. To make music and to pursue the Mysteries of the Universe. Where was God, and why hadn't He talked to me yet about all of this? I wasn't pursuing it right, I assumed. There must be something I'm missing, another different perspective.

Please understand that I never once grew bitter about my quest for knowledge, for spirituality. I just wanted to know. Like a curious four year old, I fell into every book about every religion I could. I wanted to know everything about everyone's culture. I would seek out anything I could find, and no faith was left untouched.

At seventeen, I received a letter from a local convent, inviting me to join them in the holy union with our Lord as a nun. My involvement with the church and with philanthropic activities was "stunning", and would I like to pursue it all further? The answers lay before me, I thought, this is it. I went to my family and asked them if this was a good idea, could I be a nun for the rest of my life?

I never expected them to look me in the eye and say no.

With perfect clarity and even more painful sincerity, my family noted that I had "a lot going for me" and that I shouldn't "throw that away" by joining a convent. But why was pursuing the mysteries of God and nature such a bad thing to do? I would never understand, but I knew one thing was for sure. If I was going to quench my thirst for knowledge, it would not be through my family.

I didn't end up in a convent anyhow. Confirmation, like a perennial flower, lost its charm after a while and I was feeling empty and unsatisfied with my faith again. Only this time, I wasn't going to put up with it. This time, I would find God, wherever He was, and make it all fit. I was determined to find the meaning in my life. I had everything going for me- I was going to a top notch school, soaring through my studies, and preparing to be a true professional musician. A spiritual journey would only improve my life.

I was indeed right. A few months later, with a new residence and new companions, I discovered a young woman pursuing Wicca. This religion was not at all foreign to me; in fact, I had a great many friends who worshipped the God and Goddess. Through much conversation and careful study, this girl and I found our roots in a religion that started to make more sense than any other faith I had ever read about.

Wicca observes that the earth is ever present with the masculine and feminine. Deity manifests itself in the form of God and Goddess, or many Gods and many Goddesses, depending upon how you believe. The God and Goddess are not one or two or fifty entities that you worship as a separate, untouchable thing, but they are present in every aspect of your life. She exists in the grass you walk upon, He exists in the fire you warm yourself with on a cold winter's night, etc. Wicca advocates birth, death, and rebirth, just as Catholicism does...but Wicca takes it a step further, stating that the soul reincarnates into different planes.

Nothing could have made more sense to me, but could I find meaning? I later discovered that Mass, that four letter word I was so accustomed to spending time in on Sundays, was now something that was more often performed on Sabbats and Esbats, celebrations of the turning of the Wheel of the Year and the full and new moons. Each time a Witch would have a major worshipping circle, it would represent a change in the season and an aspect of the mysteries I had asked so many questions about as a young child.

Everything began to make sense. I began to see light at the end of every tunnel, and my new friend and I began to discuss pursuing "coven work"- the idea of studying, practicing, and worshipping in the way of Wicca inside a group.

It didn't take long before societal reality gave me a swift kick in the face. I had just determined that WITCHCRAFT was what made sense to me. And Witchcraft was completely against Catholicism- not only that, but it would have me excommunicated from the church! My loving, supportive parents would be devastated!

And what of my good name? Soiled with the word "witch", to spend a life shunned from society? Was I ready for something like that? Could I willingly make a commitment to a religion of spells, Books of Shadows, and elementals, knowing that I would never be the same again in the eyes of my friends and family?

It wasn't a question I wanted to answer. I simply wanted answers to my eternal question, and I couldn't understand why someone would be shunned from society for finding a religion that truthfully only worshipped Nature in its truest form. So I continued on this new path I had found, conjuring small spells, reading, learning, observing. No one but our circle of three would ever know that I was a Witch. And I could keep it that way...well, at least for now.

Someday, I would like to come out of the closet. Today is not that day. There will come a time when I can free myself from the fear of not being accepted by my family and friends, but it will not be any time soon. Only when I can truly revoke every stereotype in my mind will I be able to stand before an entire congregation and scream at the top of my lungs, "I am a Witch! I do not worship the Devil, I worship the ground on which you walk! Judge me not, for I am just like you!"

I have one more mystery to unleash before I can speak with confidence about what beauty I have found. But I am getting there.

Prayer has not changed. It will still be "God help me" or "Goddess help me" or "God thank you" or "Goddess thank you". I still sing praises and I still celebrate holidays, both Catholic and Wiccan alike. But I no longer discriminate between the two. Prayers are spells, and spells are prayers. Magick is magick, and whether you believe it or not, a church is as much a sacred space as the circle you create. Because you invite the energy of the gods into a place you purified for their coming. And some day, I will speak to that. But not today.

It's been some time now since my "official" decision to become a Witch, since I officially initiated myself and took my name and oath. I've since passed on to the second degree, and still I seek third. Why? Because it feels right. Because some day, I WILL be able to handle the duties of the High Priestess. It's something I've believed in all along.

Every now and then, someone crosses the threshold to my apartment bedroom and remarks on my permanent altar, sitting innocently by the door. And when people ask me what it is, I answer honestly. And when people ask me if I am a Witch, I also answer honestly. But the stereotypes are still there, and I still fear them. I still sit paralyzed with fear that those I love who have walked through that door and seen my open display of faith will turn back over that threshold and never walk through again.

But confident children, like I said, never walk alone.

And I have always been a confident child.