Wander 14: Full Moon of Hallowed Souls

This Full Moon, on this All Hallows Eve, this wander is for you and your ancestors. For us and our ancestors.

This is also a wander about Witches. 

I have been thinking a lot about witches, and womynhood. And I have been thinking a lot about trauma this summer, especially since George Floyd’s murder, and him crying out to breathe, and for his mama.

I have been thinking a lot of trauma. Yours and mine. The trauma I carry, the trauma our people carry. When I say “our people” I mean all the people who live together on this land we call America. I mean the black, brown, and white bodied people who inhabit this continent together. And mostly the trauma I have been thinking about is not that of my personal lifetime, but of our ancestors. The trauma my white bodied ancestors inflicted on my black bodied ancestors. The trauma my white bodied ancestors experienced that led them to seek life outside of Europe. Most of this is “unknown” to me, in an intellectually conscious sense. But, I’ve been feeling it, especially as I continue to consciously move into a descent to reintegrate offline places of myself that inhabit the dark, and the shadows.

Several months ago now, I heard Resmaa Menakam, a trauma therapist, and author of “My Grandmother’s Hands”, speak on “On Being”. He made real for me this idea that the white bodied people who came to America were traumatized people, and that it was and is this trauma that is responsible for the trauma we have and still inflict on our black and brown bodied brethren. He made it real that we must address each of our own embodied ancestral trauma to overcome what he calls white body supremacy.

Not too long ago, I turned to my partner Andy, rather out of the blue, and said “You know they used to burn women like me.” It seemed to spring up out of nowhere, but it is unfolding.

In the last post, I quoted Joan of Arc who was burned at the stake for being in touch with her own divinity, and putting it to action. She was a prominent one of many, many women, who were persecuted for their innate divinity and their practice of it. I would venture to say, all women were persecuted in Europe through these trials, the magic and power in them threatened. It seems to be very likely that this widespread and deep persecution of women throughout Europe, and then here in America, is very likely a large part of why we women now struggle to rewild ourselves, to own our voices and stand in our power, even with each other. To own ourselves—warts and all—to own our own divinity.

So here it is a Full Moon on Halloween—the ancient Celtic holiday Samhain—where it was believed that the dead could walk among the living. A hallowed day for sure. For who has not prayed in their longing and grief to walk with a loved one no longer here, who might provide guidance, comfort, and wisdom? And who has not had that prayer tended by something greater than themselves in some way?

Which brings me back to Witches. I am apt to picture this offline part of myself as the evil witch in Sleeping Beauty, enormous, terrifying, capable of great harm—and perhaps she is. She is certainly not Glenda the Good Girl witch. (Side note: I am told in sharing this draft with a friend, that the movie Maleficent is a retelling of this very tale, and an uncovering of the “evil” witch’s true character). This offline part of myself is not an evil sorcerer, though she be magical. And the more I read about traditional Witches, part of the Old Religion of the Goddess—the more I see my own experiences resonant in it: That spirit and matter are not separate. That ALL life is sacred. That spiritual action includes not only ceremony but also direct action to make the world a more just place, where all beings’ children are taken care of. That expressing joy and feeling through our bodies dancing, singing, making music transports us. That the world is full of magic. I am left finding comfort of the notions of ancient ancestors’ religion, and also asking the question: am I a Witch? Because through no purposeful affiliation, all of my life experiences have brought me to know these things in my bones. I find that I, and many of my beloveds, check these boxes.

I recently buzzed my hair off. I wanted to get closer to who I am. And I wanted to see the raised moles that I have felt like tiny mountains on the planet of my head. I realize that in medieval times, these would have been used to prove my guilt as a Pagan—the Devil’s marks. But to me they are part of the constellation of who I am.

So here’s what’s really true for me right now. We must heal these forgotten traumas to mend our world. They hide the potential of who we are in locked boxes inside us. We, Americans, are a traumatized people. Hurt people hurt people. We must embrace the healing of these forgotten parts of ourselves. We must approach with kindness, firmness, and a key. The powers that be are on our side right now.

So in the shadow of Samhain (it is likely now as you read this All Saints Day (Nov 1), or All Souls Day (Nov 2) in the Christian calendar) when we celebrate all souls intermingling, I invite you to wander with, not a ghoul, or a monster, or a wicked witch—although that may be your initial perception, but to invite an ancestor to wander with you. Call out for them. One who understands a piece of yourself who you perhaps understand less. Invite them to help you unfold the beautiful Mystery that is you, that is us. That is our reintegration. Our re-creation.