The Many Lives of a Witch

In the early autumn of the 82nd year of her life, in the dappled shade of her favorite willow tree, an old woman realized, quite by surprise, that she was dying. In fact, she felt certain today would be her last day alive.

It was by all accounts an otherwise beautiful day: the sun was shining overhead, the skies were blue, there was a gentle wind stirring the leaves which had fallen, perhaps prematurely, and it wasn’t so hot out as to be bothersome.

It was on this same day that she realized she had been here, in this precise spot, in this very moment, before.

She had lived here before. She had died here before. And whether it was her consciousness preparing, also perhaps prematurely, to pass once more through the veil into the other side, or if it was simply deja vu, she wasn’t sure.

By noon of that same day, images began to flood her mind of strangers. Names and places and events she couldn’t quite remember in full detail started to dance and intermingle with memories of her current life.

It was around tea time that she wasn’t absolutely sure of which memories were which. She couldn’t recall her name, her birthday, or tell you where she grew up. There were simply too many faces to remember now and too many whispering voices.

By supper, the visions gathering in her mind, and now too her heart, had begun to form a clear picture of who she was.

No, not just who she is, but who she was.

Sabine Rose understood that she was a witch.

And so, also on this early autumn day that was to be the last day of her life, as evening fell, Sabine sat in the tiny desk near her bed and began to write furiously, for she was running out of time.

* * * * *

The Diary of Sabine Rose

The Reminiscences of a Witch

I’ve lived many lives. I know it down to the marrow of my bones. I’ve been a healer, I’ve been a mother, I’ve been a gypsy, I’ve been a witch. I’ve been someone’s lover and I’ve been someone’s most wretched pain. I’ve been crippled by fear, and still, I’ve been someone’s long-sought peace.

As I lay here, the memories of people I’ve never met flood my mind. I know they’re real because suddenly, I remember them all. I remember each of their many names.

They’ve called me Linnea, they’ve called me Aisling, now they call me Sabine. I am all of those women, and now my intuition and my soul calls me quietly with wisdom I should not have and lessons I didn’t yet learn. Herbs to ripen the womb or to prevent the same, spells to return a lost love or to banish ill-meaning people, how to build a fire in a raging storm to stay alive under the harshest conditions.

Now, all I can smell is the smoke.

The smoke of my sisters who burned and were drowned or hanged for their knowledge of midwifery. For preparing soothing balms and salves for the sick. Those who were executed as witches for their wit, their beauty and their bravery.

Now, all I can hear are the screams.

The screams which rent the night while the masses stood watch, smugly, as innocent women were killed for using herblore to help others or for having the courage to be different. While women were publicly stoned and privately raped before being persecuted for the indecency of it. While they were stripped naked to uncover their witches’ mark and were pricked repeatedly with retractable trick-pins to see if they bled before being convicted and murdered.

And yet - they would have us fear those witches. Would have us recoil at the very people they condemned and killed without justice.

The Wheel of the Year will turn, however, and justice shall be ours.

*****

-Many Turns Later-

“The Hermit, Rhi, again?” Julieanna asked.

“I know! I can’t stop pulling it. Last week I drew it twice in one reading.” Rhiannon said, shrugging.

“You do realize there’s only one in the deck, right?” Anna asked, skepticism plain.

“Precisely why it’s so damned annoying” Rhiannon replied, while gently wrapping her tarot cards in a glittering scarf.

“So why do you keep reading them then? Can’t we go out and do something else?” Julieanna asked, while picking some old nail polish off her pointer finger.

“You can” Rhi said “and you should” she added “I’m just not in the mood tonight.”

“Suit yourself,” Julieanna said, “but it’s trivia night at the Nook.”

“Begone then, wench” Rhiannon said, laughing “and don’t come back until you’ve proven you know way too much about Harry Potter.”

“Everyone already knows that” Julieanna said “and it’s not half as fun winning a pitcher without you.”

“You’d think it would be twice as fun,” Rhi mused “since you don’t have to share it.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going” Julieanna said “but only because I’m starving and you don’t have any food here besides Lucky Charms. Seriously, how do you live on this shit Rhi? It’s not natural. It’s got to be messing with your energies.”

“But they’re magically delicious!” Rhiannon retorted, grinning “and I can’t afford to keep feeding you Jules. Your metabolism is higher than Snoop in April.”

“Alright, I’m gone” Jules replied while heading for the back door “meet me at the bookstore tomorrow for coffee. I’m buying.”

After the door clicked shut, Rhiannon kicked off her socks and went to her bedroom. Lighting the candles she had placed in sconces all around the room, she grabbed her favorite quartz and opened the closet door.

Home Rhiannon said, exhaling a long breath, time to get to work she whispered to herself while admiring the altar and tools she had painstakingly curated over the last few months.