Monday, April 18, 2011
The witch belongs everywhere, but fits nowhere. .
It's a witch proverb I have heard thrown around. Some say it's been around awhile. I have no way of verifying its age. . . only its truth.
I am only going to speak from my personal experience on this one. I do not presume to speak for witchdom as a whole. I find that while our means and methodologies are highly effective, we are almost always a last, desperate resort. As if asking for help out side of the orthodox means is something to be ashamed of or even feared. I often times hear: I've tried everything else and this is my last hope. I can hear the voice in the back of my head saying: why didn't you come earlier? This didn't need to get so bad.
I don't think that I consciously separate myself from the rest of humanity. I think it is something done as a result of my practices. . . and it's two fold. I can not fully handle an issue unless I back up to see the whole picture, which results in a sort of a distant attitude. Secondly, many of my practices require a certain amount of solitude. Even my closest of friends see me infrequently. And if they want to guarantee seeing me, they often times have to conduct a house raid or a witch-napping and pry me out of my hole.
There is another aspect of that distancing. It is one of the most subtle of them. There is a feel and look to us. It doesn't matter if I go out and about in my everyday mommy grubs or if I am dressed for esbat/ ritual, I get the same look from those who are weary of power. The one that says: you're different and I can't put my finger on it. I am uncertain if it is a cause or effect of working with other realms and magic. It's palpable and people detect it. If they are of the fearful kind, they shy away.
While all of these things may look like the cheese is standing alone in the middle of the barn yard, when something goes wrong people hunt me down. Whether it's something for that pesty ghost that wakes you up at 3 a.m. or the psycho ex who walks through that restraining order, people jump through hoops to locate me and often times call clear out of the blue. I am fairly certain that I am not the only witch who experiences these things. I don't moan about these things. . . I just smile and nod. It feels good to be useful. I realize that I can dress like everyone else, talk like everyone else and act like everyone else, but there will always be that invisible finger pointing me out. I'm okay with that. I just wish the whole fear propaganda machine would break down, rust and fall to itty bitty little specks.