Perhaps you know of a witch nearby
The Everyday Witch
The sky closes early now, there is a wind whipped up in the evening and starry yellow leaves stick on darkened wet sidewalks.
It is time for an autumn story.
A Halloween story.
Only, this one is real…
She turns off all the lights in her one-bedroom apartment, turns off the tv and radio, so all the sound there is in the world is the popping of the fire and the sploosh of rain on the window. Which is left open to invite the moon.
She is a witch. An Everyday Witch. Perhaps you know of one yourself.
The Everyday Witch casts spells and boils potions.
Tonight, she throws a clump of dried sage on her fire to scrub the dark forms out of her house.
Then, not satisfied sage is enough, she tosses in a jar of oregano and basil from her cupboard. For good measure.
And what about the ingredients for her potions? Her incantations, tinctures and cosmic revelings?
A good thesaurus. Words. Poems.
By her fire, muttering and sometimes cursing, she creates poetry of permission.
Permission to breath fully, openly, and make motion of things to dark to utter out loud.
The dark forms come to her mind, and the fire shoots up blue, purple, lavendar and orange flowerettes that bloom against her cheek and cause a rush of warmth that reminds her of the days when she was not a witch, but a princess.
Yes, there was once a trailing gown of creamed silk, with the promises of the prince flushing her cheeks and causing imaginings too good to be true.
The prince, upon making his promises, quickly turned into a dark form. Dressed in perfect Ralph Lauren suits and saying all the Right Things in front of his public, but in private, eeking out a terror and malice and doom that only the princess could satiate by rolling over and playing dead.
But she did not play dead for long.
The prince became an ex-husband who abused and threatened, and stole their child away with lies and con artistry, which is possible if you buy the right suit.
And the princess became a witch. An Everyday Witch…
Back now to the mesmer of the fire and the story of this chilly and wildly winded night..
Dark forms. Domestic violence. Custody con jobs. Sociopaths. Childhood molestation. Family betrayal. Homeless and sick in spirit and body, mind and heart, turning to drink to abate the frozen fears of the night that never leaves…
But wait…There is a witch, and a witch knows how to handle Dark Forms… The witch casts sage upon the burning wood, and it softens the haunting blows of the past. She writes her potions as poems and rolls them up into empty beer bottles to cast them upon the future tide. An entire basement full of beer and wine and olive oil bottles with scrolls of potions poems inside.
There are potions of.. what? Did the author say, ‘permission’?
Permission to reject what your family told you about yourself all those years ago.
Permission to be free from the traps of the Ralph Lauren Sociopaths.
Permission to give life out of the ashes of unbearable loss.
Permission to not only duck a bully, but run and run to pastures that only you can harvest.
Permission to sell your talent, not your body, to buy seeds that grow the imagination and skills of young persons.
Permission to walk away with dignified presence.
Permission to keep yourself for yourself.
Permission to start again, and again, and again.
Permission to watch words become reality, and fires glow and tender your most dear loves and ambitions with the fruits of your pain and with granulated grace.
So, this Halloween, when you spot an open window, and catch a wiff of a cedar and sage burning fireplace, stop and look into it. If it is a true witch sitting there, she will not mind, but welcome you in.
The dance of the flames, the dance of the living with all its perils, and the dance of words.
Listen to the mutterings and incantations and rhythm of the poetry of life coming into its own.
You might need permission someday, too.
copyright2012heididhansen
Heidi's Art Life 