Bone-Digging Justice For The Holy Witch Healer: A Ritual Of Remembrance.
{Photo credit: Atomic Photography}
I dreamt of Her again last night, and now I know what I must do. Raise your woolen hood, Woman, and come with me to the moonlit hill where Her bones are buried.
While I sleep, She shows me Her life, a life that could well be our own. She shows me the faces of Her children, Her mornings spent in the garden, and Her work as a holy healer. She shows me the toothy smiles of women whose lives She saved and babies She midwifed out of the womb.
She shows me a man who loved Her deeply, right until the rope choked Her last breath from Her body.
Walk with me now, as the moon wanes toward darkness, and let us divine our futures by remembering Her. Let us proclaim who we are to the diamond-light god-stars, for they will not judge us. Let our bravery be Her healing salve, for She is still bleeding beneath the dirt.
I am Witch, woman, and you are, too. Let us honor Her by coming out of the shadows under the watch of the ancient oaks. We are debutante-Priestesses, and this is our Witches’ Ball.
Fear not the late hour or the ghosts who haunt this sacred place, for we are welcome here. They have been waiting for us to answer their cries, and tonight, we do just that. Can you feel them standing around us in solidarity as we climb the hill to the place where the gallows once stood?
The hairs stand straight on the back of my neck, and I grit my teeth, for I know the merit of this moment.
I do not forgive easily the sanctimonious slaughter of healers. Yes, weak apologies have been offered for the cross-sanctioned crimes that led our Sisters to the stakes, guillotines, and gallows, but They did not hear them. Today, still more women in our wounded, wild world meet their deaths in the name of witchcraft.
Tonight, we go to the hill for them.
Take your hood down now, young Witch. Toss your hair about, for we are here. Climb this steep hill, get your bare feet muddy, and do not discount the weight of our work. By the dim light of the silver Flower moon, we will dig up the bones of the holy Witch healer, and we will wash them with our tears and our sweat.
The eyes of the Goddess are watching us, my love, and the stars are the souls of children waiting to be born into a world where Mother Nature can be worshiped as a She-God.
The women buried under our feet died on their wooden death-structures for the sins of the fearful, the ego-mad, and the power-hungry. Let us offer them vindication now, Warrior Priestess, for another storm is coming.
Sink your hands deep into Gaia’s skin, and get dirt under your nails. I can hear Her screaming for Her children to close their eyes and for Her man to keep them safe. I can hear Her raging against the sight of Her sisters in chains, and I can smell the bloodlust seething from the gaping holes where Her captors’ hearts used to beat.
I can feel Her grief, Her fury, and Her surrender, and I claim it all now as my own.
Pull Her browning skull from its shallow grave, and let us run our warm fingers around the lines of Her face. Let us peer through Her eye sockets and see what She has seen. Unearth Her fragile hand-bones, and let us know how hard they have worked.
You hold Her left hand, and I will hold Her right; we will know the meals She cooked, the clothes She sewed, and the medicines She brewed. Dig up Her ribs that kept Her heart strong and safe until it was deadened by breathlessness, and harvest the pelvis that opened like a flower in Spring to bring children, art, and sex to life.
Use both hands, Sister Witch, and pull Her crumbling leg-bones from the ground, then hold the sharp fragments of a foot that once danced in revelry by ceremonial fire.
Our work is nearly finished, Sister, and I can hear your heart-drum beating. Together, we must bring up the last of Her. Curl your fingers, and lift Her mighty backbone now, for She was bold and brave indeed. Let us dust Her off as best as we can, then lie with me next to Her sacred skeleton.
Lie with me on the cold piles of dirt that kept Her hidden for so many years, and hold Her hands the way Her children did. I will cradle Her head in my lap, and whisper words of peace. I will tell Her it is over, though I know it is just beginning.
You have done all I asked you to do, my love, and I know you are tired. You need not come with me, Sister-Witch, but I have to do this; before She is laid to rest in a manner befitting a Queen, I will take Her bones to the grand places where they tell us how to live our lives and treat our bodies.
I will carry Her bones in my arms to the corners of this world, and I will show them to every woman I meet. Do not let Her death be in vain, I will say, for She is you! Do not let them invalidate your anger or judge your pain. Do not let them target you for your strength, solitude, or independence. Most of all, do not forget who you are.
Sister, we hold in our shaking hands the bones of the holy Witch healer, and it will not be long before our own bodies are in the ground. Stand up and shout to Goddess-God-Mystery! Stand up for those who are forced to sit.
Let us move the bones of the forgotten to a holy place where they will be worshiped for their divinity instead of scorned for their sin.
I ask you now, will you come with me? Press your painted nails and ringed fingers into your face, my love, and feel the skull beneath the skin. Honor the pranic power that keeps your hot blood pulsing and wise eyes seeing. Now know the impermanence of it all.
Affirm that you are every woman who has ever been born. Affirm that you are She-Magick. Affirm that you are the holy healer returned.
I ask again: will you come with me?
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Danielle Dulsky is a multi-passionate entrepreneur, energy-healer, Yoga teacher, multi-media artist, and magickal mentor. She holds the highest designation from Yoga Alliance as an E-RYT500, and is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless creators of their sacred work. She is the founder and creatrix of the Living Mandala Yoga teacher training programs, a Reiki Master in the Usui-Tibetan tradition, and long-time believer in Earth-based traditions. Her work is based on sensing and transforming energetic vibrations, empowering individuals to discover their potential for authentic abundance, using artistic practice intuitively, and holding space for women to unearth their inner goddess through the magick of sisterhood. Danielle leads women circles, witchcraft workshops, a teaching coven, and psychic development intensives in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania where she lives with her partner Ryan, sons Bodhi and Sage, and pet-familiars Jeepster and Raven. She believes that all women alive today are meant to be instrumental in supporting the return of the Divine Feminine. You could contact her via email.
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