Article ID: 15878
Age Group: Adult
Days Up: 657
Times Read: 1,765
RSS Views: 49,262
Type of Passage: Death
Date of Passage: July 3rd. 2015
Author: Abbi Spinner [a WitchVox Sponsor]
Posted: August 9th. 2015
Times Viewed: 1,765
I first met Earil Wilsonat a gatheirng in Western Mass, called The Rites of Spring. It was 1995, and the event was held a Camp Hi-Rock. I remember this beautifully crazy, extremely funny woman from way back in the time when she was crafting magical perfumes. I remember the first scent she made for me, filled with magic words I didn’t understand, and, she said, flying ointment, very rare, very precioussss.
I remember her singing so many songs, telling so many stories, allowing herself to be seen and heard around so many sacred fires. Earil had an innate knowing about lots of things. She held a stream of wisdom and was tuned into a deep current of the river of spirituality.
I remember the first time I met “Swawee, ” her inner-child, smaller self. I think Earil was a brilliant genius of a woman, and I am so glad to have had the privilege of knowing her for decades.
I remember feeling impressed at the stream of beautiful men who were always nearby, waiting to help, to be of service, to receive her attention. I remember hearing about George, and how taken she was with him. She knew he was the one for her.
I remember talking with her once, about my feelings at the time, about size and weight and body image and media…. and I clearly remember her being so at home in her skin, “well, there’s just more of me for them to love!!” She loved Oshun, and I know Oshun still loves her. I remember when she began to walk the paths of the santero, dressing only in white, becoming who she was. I remember, at Starwood one year, when she asked me to take a look at her foot… and I knew she would soon be walking with one leg in the spirit world. I remember that she made a wonderful story-truth about sacrifice and offerings.
I remember when she became a blonde.
Earil was a dragon. She knew their language, and could speak it. She hoarded pretty things, magnificent faceted stones, magickal tools she made with her hands- knives of black stone and bone, fans of feathers and spiderweb, sacred stones with amazing historiesssss…. She liked to have lots of them, and enjoying showing off her treasures.
Once, while we were sitting surrounded by all her oils, she spoke to me in the voice of the dragon, and promised me that I would have “a beautiful death.”
I remember, she would call me and talk about her art, and about Sekhmet, and the messages she was receiving, the words that were coming through her mind and body, how she was writing while she was asleep.
I remember Katlyn bringing Earil’s energy into the sacred fire circle at MayFire, and the sound of the energy going out to her that night is something I will always remember.
That which is named can be written.
That which can be written can be remembered.
That which is remembered never dies.
--Abigail Spinner McBride
Location: Las Vegas, Nevada
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