Witch Wound

For me healing the witch wound is coming more into the collection consciousness perhaps that’s just where I’ve been recently, the communities I’ve been with, the circles I’ve sat in. The events I’ve been to over the last 12 months or so. Having sat in witch wound webinars with Imelda, the Sacred Familiar Doll Course talking of the witch wound or witch mark. Having been to the I am Witch Exhibition and prior to the Exhibition stitching my witch’s name on the collective bunting, attending the Ceremony at Samhain. And something that became very apparent for me in one of the webinars with Imelda where we created art, healing, words, for me it became apparent, I received a very strong message in a journey that it isn’t just about the witches, the women, it is also about the land, the land carries the wounds and the buildings carrying the wounds. The indwelling spirits of the buildings where the witches were imprisoned, were jailed. The lands upon which they were burnt and hung, the waters in which they were drowned. These too carry the wounds.


We shall not be drowned

Perhaps it’s more palatable for us to think that the witch wound we carry, the witch mark we carry within us is because our ancestors were witches. Herbalists, midwives, wise women, the healers, the seers. But the reality is the witch wound, the burning times, ripples out far and wide. What if our ancestors were one of those jailors? What if our ancestors were one of those that created the burning stake, that lit the fire? That built the gibbet, pulled the rope? What if our ancestors were out of fear the ones that gave in, snitched, grassed on their neighbour, born out of fear they gave up names. What if our ancestors were one of those that were tricked and lured into giving up the secrets. What if our ancestors where those that did the tricking and the luring, the interviewing, the corralling of the witches?


Something that I hadn’t really thought about before, until the I Am Witch Exhibition what about the men – the husbands, the brothers, the sons that lived in fear of their wives, their sisters, their daughters, their mothers being found out. The husbands that were widowed, the children that were orphaned. Remembering that although witches were primarily women there were men too it wasn’t only women. Remembering the girls, they started their apprenticeship at a young age, perhaps at the tender age of 12 or even younger they became the witch’s apprentice. A man living in fear for his wife and his daughter, knowing that he stood to lose both of them. And all the time they knew that the magic they created was innocent magic it was magic of the land, of the plants, the plant medicine. They were the midwives they were the doulas, they were the people that bought people into this world and saw them leave this world.


Perhaps is far more palatable to believe, to hope, to feel that our ancestor was a witch not a jailor, not a hangman, not the man riding the horse across the moors to arrest the witch. This is the unpalatable truth of the Burning Times. This is the unpalatable truth of the witch wound.


Let’s not forget that watching the burnings, the hangings was a trip out, they were witnessed by young and old. How has that carried within us. The trauma of witnessing the deaths, the public deaths of these women whom we no doubt had called upon. Had been on the receiving end of their wisdom of their plant medicine magic, of the healing of the animals of the brining of life into this world. Knowing if the crops would grow, knowing what ailed the livestock. We had called upon these services, their services, they had sat at our table in our kitchen we had fed them and watered them and here we were watching them, watching their end.


Our blood mingles with the Earth and we shall live on.

From Imelda’s witch wound webinar’s the seed was planted for healing, paintings were created that have gone into my magical boxes, words were written that I have put out into the world and I decided to call myself a witch, a water witch and then the I Am Witch Exhibition. My first visit with friends so incredibly powerful, the raw emotion and as we all stood on the beach at night listening to the sound of the sea and the beat of our drums we knew, we knew that for us it could not stop here, it could not end here. More was needed. And so I returned, I returned and this time I found words.


Then a chance meeting with a friend, she too was bubbling away within her cauldron with ideas brewing. The Yorkshire Witch Way was born. A dream of reclaiming the witch, reclaiming the medicine, reclaiming the witches of Yorkshire acknowledging them. Acknowledging our shared wisdom that we still hold deep within our bones and deep within our DNA. Running through the very core of us. The knowledge of the plants, the plant medicine, the seers, the healers within us. To shout out loud that we are witches, to share our medicine, the medicine of our souls and our lands.


Poems


Healing the Witch Wound


Hagal shines brightly

The rune of the witch

The rune of the hag

She rebirths herself again and again

I stand as Hagal

I stand hand in hand with Freyja

I will fly across the night sky

I will gather the souls of the dead

I will gather the souls of the lost ones

I will hold them

I will nurture them

Nourish them

I will stand side by side with all those

Executed, persecuted, ridiculed and jailed

Women, children and men

I will stand by them

I will declare my love for them

I will declare the truth for each and every one of them

We will stand by the fire

We will stand by the stake

And not be afraid

We will walk into the cell

Knowing that door will no longer close upon us

Together we will open cell doors

Unlock all shackles

Together we will teach the old ways

It won’t be me alone for they will stand with me

They will teach me the old ways

And I will teach you

We will teach the ways of the plants

We will teach the ways of the secrets of the stones

We will teach the magic of the water

The water is to be embraced

Not to be feared

The water will hold us and float us

Together we will float down the river

Leaving a trace of truth behind us

Leaving our knowledge along the way

Gathering the plants, the rocks

Talking to the spirits of each and everyone

Knowing that together we begin to make

The world safe for the witches

Together we will stand tall and proud

With you at my side

Your hand in mine

I will stand tall

And proudly declare

I am a Water Witch!




I Am Witch


Today I returned and still my words are lost, as if stolen from me

Emotions began welling within me as the train approached Lancaster

I went and stood within the castle walls, feeling them there

My face recognised from before

Thank you for remembering me amongst all the faces that have passed through

Another red thread, tired carefully and reverently around my wrist

“You know what you’re going into” she said

With her kind words I burst open

My tears spilled out

She wrapped her arms around me and thanked me

Held me as my body shook

Her shoulder drank my tears

An invitation to just sit, be, to ground myself.

I sat amongst the spoons and names

Tears quietly falling down my face

Healing, cleansing sacred tears

For me, for you for all of them

My tears wash you clean of the shame

Shame that is not yours to carry

Not mine to carry

Not ours to carry

Invitations to reclaim ourselves

Our own wild selves

Welcoming us home to ourselves

Reminding us we are welcome in all that we are

That we are perfectly complete

The work is only just begun

Inspiration fills the air

A well of potential

A wound carried within our souls, our bones, our DNA

A wound carried by not only us

By the land, animals and plants

Feel the pain within the stones of the towers

Within the wood of the gibbet

My everlasting words of “it’s a lot”

A lot

Overwhelming emotions

Processing

A profound and deep experience

Living with us all

It ripples out forever


Thank you Silver Spoon Sisters

Thank you for all that you have created

Thank you for all the healing you have done and begun

Thank you from my hear to your hearts

From my womb to your wombs


Thank you Paula for holding me today



Honour and Share From The Witch Wound Series


Honour and share

All that you are

All that you weave

All that you carve

Honour and share

Who you really are

Honour and share

Your truth

Follow your path

Not that of another

The medicine of the lands

Honour and share

The sacred plants

Honour and share

The rocks and bones

Honour and share

All that you are

And all that you do

Don’t hide

Don’t shy away

Step over the turret

You will find

You are not alone

You will find

That you are many



Featured Posts
Recent Posts
Archive
Search By Tags
No tags yet.