Rantings of a Former Fluff Bunny
Article ID: 15124
Age Group: Adult
Days Up: 530
Times Read: 2,901
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Author: Shayi Wright
Posted: November 11th. 2012
Times Viewed: 2,901
I grew up in a sort of Christian household. We only attended church from time to time until I was about six, when I started going to Sunday school every week with my cousins. I heard all the cute little Bible stories that every kid hears, like David and Goliath, and Noah’s Ark. Being the serious child I was, though, I also learned about the darker Old Testament God that they usually don’t talk about to children. To the literal, young-minded me, the Old Testament God was less lion-and-lamb, and fierier avenger. Here’s a story that exemplifies my feelings towards God:
Every Sunday, my group would pull out the new kids to ask God for forgiveness for our sins and welcome him to our hearts. It’s a one-time thing; you’re supposed to feel free after this and worship the Lord. I didn’t get the memo. I went out every week with the groups to the hall to ask for forgiveness. When the pastor finally noticed that I went out every week, he asked why I did so. I promptly burst into tears and bawled that I had sinned yet again that week. My parents pulled me out of Sunday school for a couple of years.
During these years, I had what some may call a “crisis of faith.” My parents divorced. I hadn’t realized yet that my parents could actually be really good friends when they weren’t actually living together. I kept asking God to put my family together again, and asked Him why he split it. I realized this more every coming year, and my parents came together, had my sister, split, dated other (questionable) people, got together when Mom tried to escape an abusive husband, split, and Mom had my two other siblings. Over all this time, I was in and out of the Church. I collected a few Bibles from relatives, men on the school playgrounds, and friends. I didn’t have the patience to read them, so I just read Genesis and Revelations (I know; the end and beginning of a long story!!) .
Unfortunately, every time I went to Sunday school, I felt more and more distant. I felt like the teachings went further and further away from the Old Testament God, like they were trying to cover up a crazy, distant relative. Someone (usually me) would bring Him up, and the pastors would say that our God loves us…as shown here (the New Testament) . I learned about the iffy way in which the Bible was written, and I remember a particularly heated debate with my aunt (a Sunday school teacher) over whether or not animals could go to Heaven. Eventually, I got aggravated enough to just stop going to Church except to see my friends.
My conversion started when I met one of Dad’s girlfriends. They had been dating in the background for a while before I met her. Our heat and water was turned off where we lived, so she let us come over for dinner and to shower. We both grew to love her, and I inevitably asked her about the pentacles I kept seeing. At this time, I knew nothing about Wicca, so I was trying to think of some alternative to Satanism, because surely this amazingly kind woman couldn’t worship the Devil! She carefully explained what it was and where it was from, while poor Dad fidgeted in the background nervously. Unfortunately for him, I was intrigued.
I started researching, and the woman let me borrow one of her books (A Witch’s Bible) . I kept a book cover on it, so I could read it at school. The poor thing was falling apart, and I remember one humiliating day at school when I dropped it and the skyclad pictures in the middle popped right out onto the floor!! I picked them up before anyone got a good look.
My friends, of course, asked what I was so furiously reading, so I told them about my discovery. Being all Christian, and one of them a pastor’s daughter, they were a little iffy until I explained in greater detail that no, it didn’t worship the Devil, and no, it didn’t sacrifice anything. After that, they were much more comfortable asking about other details.
The next part of my story is what I am ashamed of, and will always be ashamed of…my turning into a fluff bunny. After finishing the Farrars’ book, another half of a book, and several articles (some right here) , I decided that the Witch’s path was the path for me. And I wasn’t quiet about it. We had an assignment in English where we had to write an essay choosing one side of a disagreement and prove one right. So I did an essay on why Wicca wasn’t the Devil-worshipping, evil cult Christianity believed it to be. By this time, I think everyone in my class knew which way my spiritual needle swung (much to my chagrin now) . I fortunately met little to no conflict; everyone was very understanding. The essays were all read aloud, graded, and I was done.
A couple of months later, I realized the blatant stupidity of my actions (thankfully) . I started delving deeper into witchcraft where I could. I live in a rural town, where nearly all the Wiccans I know are questionable newbies like me in high school. Thankfully, the woman let me read her small collection of books when Dad approved (he didn’t know I had already decided to drop Christianity) .
I remember my self-dedication rite: the paper I burned to the God and Goddess set off the fire alarm in our apartment! I ended up nearly tearing it off of the ceiling in distress. I remember after the panic died down (Dad still didn’t know, and he was on his way home any minute) , I finished the ritual. Afterwards, I thought about it, and I ended up laughing so hard at the little sign that the Lord and Lady had sent me. That was the day I started feeling truly happy with my path. I felt on top of the world. I had never felt this way before.
I soaked up all the information I could from Dad’s girlfriend’s books (a fair collection, featuring books from the Farrars and Cunningham) , and read even more online when I could (I didn’t have much internet access at all) . After his girlfriend left, we had to relocate yet again, and we were both a little broken. Dad had been looking more into Wicca now, and he finally acknowledged that I had crossed over, thanks to the homemade pentacle necklace I had made out of an earring and some wire.
In the last year or so, a small New-Age store moved into the area, and the people there have sold us some helpful books and answered a couple of questions. My friends make little jokes here and there (a picture of me using a flame background on an iPhone, “burn the witch!!”) , but were cool with me nonetheless. One of them in particular introduced me to everyone in her Youth group as “the Witch.” For a tiny suburban town, everyone has really understood, and I remember an in-depth conversation between me and one of the pastors at Youth over the details of both religions. We both left the room smiling with an arm over the other’s shoulder.
I’ve moved out of my fluff bunny phase and have taken a better understanding to and respect for the God and the Goddess and their many faces. I like to think that I take my religion much more seriously than I did a couple of years ago. Now I’m not so quick to announce that I’m a witch, and I understand the repercussions that this could cause. Since Dad’s girlfriend left, I’ve had an even harder battle with trusting people, but this has taught me a valuable lesson in when to shut up and look around. Nobody around me cares (so far) that I’m a witch. I’m not quick to deny that I started out witchcraft just for shock value, but I’m definitely serious about my relationship with the Lord and Lady now. The farther I get into Wicca, the more I thank them for leading me here.
I also thank Mr. and Mrs. Farrar, Mr. Cunningham, and Ms. Blake. It may be hard for me to find resources where I am now, but I hope to some day be able to teach others about what I have and will learn from my experiences. And I hope to caution others to not give in to the fluff bunnies. They are frightening in every sense!
Location: Gas City, Indiana
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