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Let's face it, in this Age of Delusion, Deception, and I-Can-Call-Myself-Anything-I-Want-And-You-Can't-Stop-Me, there are many that call themselves Wiccan, of the Wicca, or Witch, and they are no such thing. If you are a Seeker, or Cowan, or even a fake pretender, you will know when you are in the presence of a Witch. You will be uncomfortable. You will be quiet. You will feel awe. You will feel small. You might even feel stupid. If you are a fake pretender, you will even feel vengeful (the negative pole of the more constructive "remorse," although "relief" from the prison of your illusion would be even better). This is your first test, and it is a spiritual test. I will state it plainly. Can you overcome these feelings of discomfort and inadequacy, swallow your ego, bow your head, and say: "I am ignorant. Will you teach me?" Can you approach the door and knock, seeking admission, without fear? Many cannot. They will retreat to the echo-chamber of books, classes, shops, and "maybe some day but not now," and there remain forever. All for failing a simple test of basic humility and courage. They will celebrate the turning of the Wheel of the Year, and forever spin and spin in the eternal roundelay of haste. The Mysteries will be closed to them.
When I was 19 years old, I was extremely well read. I had read almost everything published on the Craft of the Wise, and the Old Religion, that had ever been written, and I was expert in that material. But I was not a Witch, and I sure as Hecate would not be so presumptuous as to take a title I had never earned and to which I had not been bound by oath. When I first met the Witches that would serve as my initiators, despite my expertise, I felt all those things above -- uncomfortable, quiet, awe, small, and stupid (I did not feel vengeful inasmuch as I was a plain seeker, and not fake pretending to be a Witch already). Why? Because I was in the presence of Witches who knew and celebrated the Mysteries. The Great Mother and the Horned Father had illuminated their physical bodies. They had known the Great Rite, and the sacred blessings flowing therefrom. They had been out of their bodies, in spirit flight in the Otherworld. They knew the Rites of the Goddess, which are the spiritual inheritance of every woman born, and under the spiritual guardianship of every man born of woman. They knew the Horned Father, whose love was so great that Witches of past centuries would forfeit their lives instead of forsake Him. They knew the Mysteries of the Earth and of the Heavens. They observed. They measured. They watched. Most importantly, maybe, they served, and they healed.
I swallowed all the fear and ego. I knocked, asked, received admittance, passed the tests.
I once had a fake Witch Priestess approach me at an open gathering, and mock me with a snide remark: "Oh, I remember you. You're the one that doesn't wear clothes under your robe." Thereby demonstrating, on so many levels, her profound ignorance of the Craft's traditions. I also knew that she had never taken the oath of the Witches. Or, if she had, she would blithely betray it at any opportunity so she could indulge a little quip. What could I do? I ignored her. Such a person is very dangerous, and would sell a real Witch for a shekel if she could.
*** Blessed be to those who serve the Great Mother and the Horned Father.
* Copyright to Coven Rochester
When I was 19 years old, I was extremely well read. I had read almost everything published on the Craft of the Wise, and the Old Religion, that had ever been written, and I was expert in that material. But I was not a Witch, and I sure as Hecate would not be so presumptuous as to take a title I had never earned and to which I had not been bound by oath. When I first met the Witches that would serve as my initiators, despite my expertise, I felt all those things above -- uncomfortable, quiet, awe, small, and stupid (I did not feel vengeful inasmuch as I was a plain seeker, and not fake pretending to be a Witch already). Why? Because I was in the presence of Witches who knew and celebrated the Mysteries. The Great Mother and the Horned Father had illuminated their physical bodies. They had known the Great Rite, and the sacred blessings flowing therefrom. They had been out of their bodies, in spirit flight in the Otherworld. They knew the Rites of the Goddess, which are the spiritual inheritance of every woman born, and under the spiritual guardianship of every man born of woman. They knew the Horned Father, whose love was so great that Witches of past centuries would forfeit their lives instead of forsake Him. They knew the Mysteries of the Earth and of the Heavens. They observed. They measured. They watched. Most importantly, maybe, they served, and they healed.
I swallowed all the fear and ego. I knocked, asked, received admittance, passed the tests.
I once had a fake Witch Priestess approach me at an open gathering, and mock me with a snide remark: "Oh, I remember you. You're the one that doesn't wear clothes under your robe." Thereby demonstrating, on so many levels, her profound ignorance of the Craft's traditions. I also knew that she had never taken the oath of the Witches. Or, if she had, she would blithely betray it at any opportunity so she could indulge a little quip. What could I do? I ignored her. Such a person is very dangerous, and would sell a real Witch for a shekel if she could.
*** Blessed be to those who serve the Great Mother and the Horned Father.
* Copyright to Coven Rochester
