Popular Pagan Holidays
Autumn: The Croning Time
Well, You Don’t Celebrate Christmas...
Daily Goddess Awareness
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Chri... Yuletide!
Samhain: A Time for Introspection---and Activism
The Tale of the Holly King and the Oak King
Anti-Witch Bigotry: Still As Popular and Deadly As Ever
The Dark Half of the Year
Imbolc: Traditional Celebrations for a Modern Time
Ah...To Be A Witch...
The Halloween Witch: Sense of Humor or Sense of Ire
Winter Solstice By Any Other Name
Autumn Equinox: A Point of Balance on the Wheel of the Year
Winter Holiday Intentions and Food Magik
The Beltaine Storm
Spiritual Aspects of Yule
Traditional Yule: Make your Own Homebrewed Mead
Lughnasadh: The Deeper Meaning
A Meditation on Samhain: How Lucky You Are.
Lughnasa: Festival of the Harvest (A Druid's Perspective)
Alicia Meets Grandmother Autumn: A Children’s Story
The Solstice Flame: A Yule Story
A Celtic View of Samhain
Ostara: Enter the Light!
A Summer Solstice Primer
Yule and the New Year
Witches Lost in Halloween
Imbolc...or As The Wheel Turns
The Best Thing About Death
Supermoms’ and Superdads’ Defense Against “Holiday Kryptonite”
A Story For Autumn
Winter: A Joyous Holiday Season
The Babylonian Ghost Festival
Thanksgiving Memories of a Native American Witch
Dealing with the Darkness, Post-Samhain
Solstice of the Soul
First Thanksgiving... in China
The Samhain Experience
A White Christmas in Fuyang
Love Lives On: A Samhain Reflection on Death, Rebirth, and the Afterlife
Imbolg - A Lesson of Positive Change
The First Yule
The Story of Ostara
Bealtine: Blessing the Summer In
A Yule Story for Children ~ The Tiniest Fairy ~
Solstice Swim at Beach 69, Puako, Hawaii
Unity During Samhain
The Summer Solstice: A Time for Awakening
Mabon..Balance and Reflection
Yuletide Thoughts, Life and Death
Ghosts, Omens, and Fact-Finding: Wandering In Today's Eco-Interface
Brighid's Healing Sword: Imbolc
The Blood is in the Land
Sandy Was The Name Of the Dark Goddess This Samhain
At Samhain, Meet Bilé, God of the Dead of Ireland and the Danu, the All -Mother
The Promise of the Harvest
Mabon - The Flash of the Setting Sun
Yules Lessons from Days of Yore: Perfect Love, Perfect Trust
Parting the Veils and Opening to Ancestral Wisdom
Samhain and the 'Witch Questions'
Lammas: The Sacrificial Harvest
"The Horn of Plenty": A Pathworking for Lammas
Samhain is Ablaze with Reflections of My Father
Lascivious Lupercalia: Why Valentine's is a Vital Pagan Holy Day for the Modern World
The Call of the Crone
Opening to the Anima Mundi – The Gift of the Equinox
Symbology of Altar Decorations
The Light Within the Shadow of the Winter Solstice
The Serpent's Kiss: Beltane's Fire
Back to Basics: Imbolc
Imbolc Musings: We're All Broken
The Lover's Flame-Beltane
Sonoran Desert Wheel of the Year (Square Peg, Round Hole)
Ode to Ostara
Anthesteria, the Hellenic "Samhain"
Samhain: the Sunbeam in the Twilight
NOTE: For a complete list of articles related to this chapter... Visit the Main Index FOR this section.
Magick in Winter
Article ID: 11367
Age Group: Adult
Days Up: 3,686
Times Read: 5,666
RSS Views: 84,049
Author: Lady Abigail [a WitchVox Sponsor]
Posted: December 17th. 2006
Times Viewed: 5,666
Winter brings with it the secret emotions held in time by each of us. Even now, when standing beneath the twinkling stars, the crisp, clear night sky is like a blanket over me. It envelops me like a child in a mother’s love. The sweet aroma of smoke drifting on the cold night air gently carries my spirit. This is when I remember my childhood and those magickal times I spent with my Great Grandmother.
Normally, winter was a fiercely cold time of year in the Ozarks. However, this year’s winter seemed as if it might never arrive. Yule had come and gone, but it was almost like spring outside. The birds were singing and the small puddles of ice around the house had turned to mud. The sky was crystal clear and the sun gleamed bright in its deep blue. There was not even a cloud to mark the sky.
I had been playing, running in and out of the back screen door of the house. I could hear it bang behind me each time I ran through it. The large, heavy, wooden door had been propped open with a laundry iron so that we could let the sweet fresh air from outside fill the house. Through the open door, my Great Grandmother could be seen in the kitchen cooking something on the big black stove.
The wood popped and crackled as it burned and I could hear a sizzling as the bubbles from the pot burst and splashed onto the hot stovetop. Soon, my Great Grandmother carefully moved the boiling pot from the stove and placed it to the side allowing it to cool.
While the mixture was cooling, she selected herbs from the many various ones she had placed on the kitchen table earlier. Then she took three small jars from the shelf above the stove and began adding herbs. She placed different herbs into each jar, so no two were the same. Then she cautiously poured the hot brew over the herbs in each jar, sealing their lids tight.
This confused me. I knew that she had been asked to make a special brew for a lady in town. She told the lady that she would make her what she needed to help her. Yet my Great Grandmother had made three jars, each now different from the other, according to the herbs added.
I slowly walked back through the screen door and over to the table covered with herbs and jars, trying to figure out which herbs were in which jar. My Great Grandmother looked at me and smiled. She could see the puzzlement on my face. I picked up some of the herbs and asked my Great Grandmother why she was using herbs that did such different things with such different outcomes. Some were for love, some for hate, some for protection, and some for change. I didn’t understand. Was she making something for this lady or someone else?
Looking at me, she shook her head, saying, “Things are not always so black and white. Sometimes you have to wait and see what colors they become.”
Still confused, I put down the herbs and turned to go back outside. My Great Grandmother stopped me and asked me to go and get more firewood and stack extra in the corner for later. There was a storm coming.
I looked in the wood box; it seemed to be near full, to me. Plus it was a glorious day. I turned and questioned if it really needed to be done right then, since it was so beautiful outside and I wanted to play. My Great Grandmother simply turned and looked at me. That was all it took. I understood that when she said something, she meant it -- even if I didn’t understand why.
I got the firewood and stacked extra in the corner by the great stones that made the fireplace wall. All the while thinking how silly it was, when I could have been playing outside. I guess that was why I didn’t notice the clouds moving in or the temperature now beginning to drop so quickly.
It was evening when I hear a voice coming though the door. I had just finished with the firewood. It was the lady returning. She was small and spoke so quietly. She made me think of the doves that hid in our barn during winter. My Great Grandmother had her come in and made her a cup of tea. I could hear them talking and the lady was crying so very softly.
I watched my Great Grandmother as she held the lady’s hand. My Great Grandmother seemed to have a gift, a way to help others hear what was in their hearts by just talking with them. After a while, my Great Grandmother said to the lady that what she had asked for was on the table.
The lady walked over and stood for a few moments, then picked up one of the jars, thanked my Great Grandmother, and left. I watched her walking down the path. It had begun to get dark and the light from the door reflected on her big black coat now glistening with the tiny flakes of snow that had started to fall.
As my Great Grandmother began cleaning up, she took the two remaining jars out into the yard and poured them onto the ground. Now I was really confused. I asked my Great Grandmother, “Why did you throw them away?”
She looked at me and said, “They were not the answers she truly wanted.”
My Great Grandmother explained to me that the lady had come to her very sad. Something had happened in her home and she didn’t know what answers she needed or what she should do next. She was lost. The three jars held a different answer in each. The lady decided for herself, with her own heart, what she needed to do. She found her own answer, her own way. It wasn’t my Great Grandmother’s place to fix it for her or make her decisions.
My Great Grandmother explained that by allowing the lady to see the choices in front of her, she was able to understand what she truly wanted.
After dinner, I curled up next to my Great Grandmother in front of the fire, which was burning nicely with the firewood I had carried in. The wind was blowing outside, clicking the snow against the window glass.
I asked my Great Grandmother how she knew it was going to snow and how she knew what jar the lady would pick. She smiled, looking down at me, and said; “It’s magick.”
My Great Grandmother taught me that. “Magick is that element of our spirit held deep within each of us. It is that secret part of a natural knowing, not always understood.”
“Just because others do not always see the truth in magick does not negate the truth that magick exists.”
Be ye blessed, with magick.
By: Lady Abigail
High Priestess Ravensgrove Coven
Orlando, Florida area
Copyright © 12082006
Copyright: Copyright Lady Abigail © 12082006
High Priestess Ravensgrove Coven
Orlando, Florida area
Location: Greenfield, Indiana
Author's Profile: To learn more about Lady Abigail - Click HERE
Other Articles: Lady Abigail has posted 77 additional articles- View them?
Other Listings: To view ALL of my listings: Click HERE
Email Lady Abigail... (Yes! I have opted to receive invites to Pagan events, groups, and commercial sales)
Web Site Content (including: text - graphics - html - look & feel)
Copyright 1997-2017 The Witches' Voice Inc. All rights reserved
Note: Authors & Artists retain the copyright for their work(s) on this website.
Unauthorized reproduction without prior permission is a violation of copyright laws.
Website structure, evolution and php coding by Fritz Jung on a Macintosh G5.
Any and all personal political opinions expressed in the public listing sections (including, but not restricted to, personals, events, groups, shops, Wrenâ€™s Nest, etc.) are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect the opinion of The Witchesâ€™ Voice, Inc. TWV is a nonprofit, nonpartisan educational organization.
Sponsorship: Visit the Witches' Voice Sponsor Page for info on how you
can help support this Community Resource. Donations ARE Tax Deductible.
The Witches' Voice carries a 501(c)(3) certificate and a Federal Tax ID.
Mail Us: The Witches' Voice Inc., P.O. Box 341018, Tampa, Florida 33694-1018 U.S.A.
of The World
NOTE: The essay on this page contains the writings and opinions of the listed author(s) and is not necessarily shared or endorsed by the Witches' Voice inc.
The Witches' Voice does not verify or attest to the historical accuracy contained in the content of this essay.
All WitchVox essays contain a valid email address, feel free to send your comments, thoughts or concerns directly to the listed author(s).