I wonder sometimes if I seem less witchy because I talk less about spells and more about feelings. Feelings are crunchy and harder to contain. They don’t come with instructions or moon phases or certain essential oils. (Okay, some might.)

They come with questions. They ask only for a witness, a sacred witness. They stand in the periphery, sometimes shadowed, sometimes screaming.

But I am a more effective witch when I feel. When I dare to feel and to know the name of the feeling, I cast spells with clarity and without confusion. When I know what I feel, I know why I do — or why I do not.

Oblivious magick is potent, certainly. Tapping into my internal landscape allows me to bypass my (often) willful ignorance and to know, which informs my will and activates my daring. What was silent is now seen.

Calling Out to be Held

I invite you to slow down and tap into your heart. What are you feeling right now? Is it surprising? Is it expected? Is it unknowable?

I was sitting with a friend one day when they told me something I had never heard before. They were in pain, they were confused, they were scared, and they were overwhelmed. (And it was clear they didn’t want to say anything.)

In relationships, we are asked to hold things with one another. But how do you hold the unholdable? How do you know what is unknown? You don’t. You can’t. But you can sit there. Be there. Be present. Be still enough to breathe together.

Back to feelings. The magick of feelings, even the ugh ones. Even the crunchy, misshapen, where-did-that-come-from ones. Those are the ones with stories. And the louder the feelings are, the more I know they are old stories. Old stories that have dug their heels into my subconscious and have hung paintings on the walls of my brain. Those paintings are pictures of things I have done and things done to me. These pictures are far enough away that I can’t quite see what they are anymore.

But I can feel it.

Sitting with Myself

One essential practice in my witchcraft is checking in with myself. It is not easy, sexy, or fun. It is a practice of self devotion (my translation for self care minus the capitalism). It is a practice of returning to the me that is real and raw. The unmasked me that doesn’t know why they’re doing __________, but they are.

Find a quiet space or a place where you won’t be interrupted.

Close your eyes — or focus on an object that is soothing.

Trace your body with your awareness. What is happening? Talk to yourself about what you feel: tension, relaxation, warmth, coolness, fast heartbeat, slow breathing, etc. Describe in your mind what is objectively happening. Describe what your body feels like physically as though someone was across from you and they needed to know such things.

Right now, my body feels tense and my stomach is full. My eyes are tired and half closed. I feel as though I’m close to a headache, but not quite. My neck is in a weird position as I look at the screen. My right foot is a little numb after sitting cross-legged for an hour.

My breath is slow and steady. My heartbeat is there (whew), but not too loud or fast.

Take inventory of your body. And let yourself realize that all of these sensations are just what they are. They don’t have any meaning or morality. They exist because you are a body that interacts with itself and its surroundings.

So why do we think of feelings and emotions as something different?

Naming the Feels

Now, scan for your current emotions. And instead of assigning a story to each one, let them be words. I recognize sadness. This is anger. That is joy. By learning to notice and name, the feelings do not get to take the wheel and drive your attention. Feelings can be present and can be information, but they don’t have to have any more responsibility.

The more you can just be with feelings, the more they become allies. They become a part of you, but not all of you. Not enough to overwhelm or engulf you. The feelings can become something to witness. To sit with. To hold the hand of. To nod at and say, “I see you.”

The more I can sit here, even when it’s uncomfortable, the less distracted I am. The less reactive I am. I can think more clearly and I know I will know what to do next. And that, to me, is a certain kind of magick.

I can be ready to hold the unholdable.

The art of engaging the invisible is what magick is. The practice of discerning and acting accordingly is a spell. And if you want to cast something courageous and authentic, begin with yourself. Be with yourself and all that entails.

The ugh. The ooh. The aah.

Feel it all. And witness your power in all that you can hold.

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