My Witchcraft Is Wild

I don’t want my witchcraft to resemble the faith you left behind.

I’m not interested in someone standing up at a podium, telling me the ‘truth’ of religion.

No reading old prose from old books written by old men from a long time ago; even when that happens in a forest rather than a musty building.

I’m over rituals that are memorized, creaking from old age. A representation of a world gone by.

My witchcraft shouldn’t be closed off, rigid, dry, and rote.

I don’t want my witchcraft to be a pagan-sized mirror reflecting the ‘white light’ that makes it palatable to the outside world.

I want my witchcraft to be wild; to taste dirty.

My magic is alive, fluid, changing, and flexible.

Let me run naked through the dark wood howling at the moon; becoming so lost in the magic of life that I remember my wild animal self.

Immersed completely in the ritual of living, remembering I am earth.

I crave rituals unfolding like some crazy magical chaos, not knowing what is happening from one moment to the next. Where the Godds* and the Spirits of the Land and the Mysterious Ones are my co-conspirators.

I want my witchcraft to be scary, because life is fucking scary.

Give me rituals that fuel, awaken, and envelop me. Singing in my bones that I AM MAGIC.

*use of the word ‘Godds’ is intentional, as a more inclusive word for Gods and Goddesses.