Young Witch, You Are Everything!
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Young Witch, you came into this life bearing scars that were not your own; your neck bruised from the noose, your skin gnarled from fire, and your womb dented, carved, and bound to suit their will.
These marks were sourced from the darkest of evils, rooted in the most twisted attempts to control the bodies of every woman in your feminine bloodline. Dear one, these hurts run so deep they still throb every time you wield your feminine power, and sometimes the ache is so fierce you want to drop your wand.
In your bones, you remember a time when playing small was necessary for survival. To be unmarried, childless, or speak out against any man in any position of power, was considered to be a magnanimous threat to the patriarchal dominion.
To act against the social order, that placed man first and woman second, was to manifest a certain death wish, and to suggest that divinity was anything but masculine was to ensure your eternal demise in hell. So we women kept our magick under lock and key in our broom closets.
We tucked our wands away, pursed our lips, and burned our Books of Shadows.
And we have not forgotten. You may think your memories only trace back to your youth, but you have an ancient recollection. Writhing in our collective unconscious is bitter disdain, for we remember it all.
Our womb-memories are vast, and pervaded with a profound fear that claiming our power will make us a target, and, High Priestess, we know that there are parts of this great world of ours that still enact horrific punishments against the female body, mind, and spirit; it is for these women we must stand, rage, and rally.
Young Witch, they want you to stay quiet and be good, but silence does not breed social transformation. They want you to believe that the magick in your blood is dirty, but this is a fear-born lie. They want you to believe that, when all is said and done, you will be judged by a male God so you better not wear your skirt above your knees.
I am telling you, Witch of the Spring Moon, that you are everything. You are the very promise of a world reborn. You are the vindicator. It is you who will finally allow the hundreds of thousands of women who were hunted and tortured at the hands of the fearful to rest in peace.
For now, their bodies are twisting in their graves as they twisted at the noose-ends, and you can hear them screeching for justice under your bare feet. Their ghosts stand with you in affirmation every time you claim another piece of your power. They beat their bare-breasted chests in solidarity every time you raise your voice.
Smear your face with the same mud and blood that paints their corpses, and go to battle. Woman, you are the sword-bearer, and your weapons are your words and your presence.
Do not stand down, Witch. Not now. Do not let them tell you that you are anything less than absolute, Goddess-given perfection.
You will know your Shakti-flame is burning bright enough to drive transformation when you are met with condemnation. When they denigrate you. When they tell you that you are crazy, directionless, untalented, ugly, stupid, or blasphemous, keep going. When you lose friends and family over this soul-work, press on.
Young Witch, it is not easy bringing down thousands of years’ worth of institutionalized prejudice, and your spirit will ache for an easy way out of this mess. Stay steadfast in your path, for you were built for this.
The twinges you feel in your heart, when you hear of longstanding oppression’s continuity, are your soul-wounds screaming for justice. Even when you want to drop that wand of yours, you will know in your blood that you were not born, not this time, to be silent. Rise up, you Witch-Warrior! You know why you are here.
Change is happening so quickly that our psychic terrains have not caught up with the growing power of the feminine. Every time you open your mouth to speak and then bite your tongue, ask yourself why. Your silence is not what serves you any longer, and the time for closing our hearts and legs is over.
Young Witch, a deeply resonating fear still keeps you hidden in the shadows, and every time someone questions your value, you wonder if standing naked in the light is worth the pain.
They will ask you: Who do you think you are? Tell them I am Mother Earth come to claim her children. Tell them I am She who is and will always be. Tell them I am the Goddess returned. Tell them I am everything, and then know the truth of your words.
Young Witch, stand with your tribe of those who were so wronged not so long ago. They are no longer vulnerable, nor are you. Feel the magick in your veins, and drink the medicine of sister-fire. You did not come here to sink into the shadows. Woman, you are liberated. Go dust off your wand, and get to work.
You are the leader we have been waiting for since the vile Hammer of Witches was printed. You are the savior sent by the Earth Mother. You shine with the brilliance of a million stars, and you will burn the outmoded structures to the mother-loving ground.
Young Witch, look around you and see the ageless faces of all the women in your bloodline; their wounds are your wounds, their rage is your rage, and their fem-fire is in your very cells. Woman, your soul designed this life for you, and being a Witch is your birthright. They cannot take that from you. Their threats lack creativity, but you do not.
Woman, you are a child of the Great Mother, and inside your womb you store all of the magick and the mystery of this world.
Your power is so immense that if you were to truly comprehend the force that lives inside of you, you would drop to the ground in the most beauteous self-reverence. You would erupt with a cry so fierce that every mirror they hung to make you question your worth would shatter, and every woman alive would know the divinity in their veins.
Young Witch, plant these words at your heart-center, and use them as a shield against those who would diminish your inner torch.
Hear the ghost-whispers of the women buried in unmarked graves who were killed in front of their children; they could not say these words aloud once their tongues were cut out, so you speak for them now as much as for yourself: I am everything. I am the howl of the wolf. I am the groan of the mother in labor. I am the last breath of the dying grandmother. I am every flower that has ever bloomed. I am death. I am life. I am everything. I am everything. I am everything.
Young Witch, I bow down to you. You are the Highest Priestess in this global coven we are birthing with our words. You were born for this. Every breath you take is a prayer to Her, and She hears you. Now raise your voice, and make them pay attention. Rise and rage on, Young Witch. Rise and rage on. So mote it be.
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Danielle Dulsky
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