Witchvox Article

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Posted: February 23rd. 2003
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The trip down to DC was a testament to Mercury's retrograde. Our 7.5 hour drive turned into more than 10. We went from bad weather to unpredictable traffic problems to mysteriously long rest stops. I'd wanted to be in Lafayette Park for the webweaving, and was frustrated that the delays were causing us to miss it. So I began to weave myself, around the time others were gathering to build webs. I took up my massive knitting needles and a bag of yarn and slowly transformed it into a long river of variegated blue so soft and bouncy it feels alive to the touch.

We arrived in DC in time to join Women in Black for their evening vigil. A diverse crowd lined the city block, some drumming and dancing while others huddled together around tiny candles. The cold was a shock - I'd been to protests in DC in April and in the fall, and I'd had the impression that DC just never got as cold as it does up here in the Northeast. Instead, it seems that it does, they just have a shorter winter. I swear I was marching in a tank top last April while there was still snow on the ground here at home!

The vigil closed and we began the Spiral Dance. There was a magical moment early when Star was struggling to be heard and voices throughout the crowd started echoing her words. Soon everyone in the freezing crowd was chanting back her speech as she gave instructions about what a Spiral Dance was and taught the chant. This introduction could have been perfunctory, a throwaway moment leading up to the magic of the dance, but it was transformed through that call and response into rite unto itself: over a hundred people chanting in unison, "This is an act of magic," made it so.

There were so many familiar faces in the dance, and so many new ones. Even dancing in such close quarters did little to raise the temperature, but there were smiles on every face I saw, shining with gratitude that we could all be together in this work. I had said to my companion, on the drive down, that I wished we could be coming together for a festival or a tribal council. I wish that we lived in a world where there was no need for anti-war protests. He reminded me that in many places throughout the world, we would be shot at for marching through the streets to protest the ruling regime, and that we were lucky to live in a place where we can still bring our voices and bodies together.

Another part of the magic of the Spiral Dance after the vigil was seeing the joy on the faces of people who had not been to a ritual before. One young woman was singing and holding hands and basically walking through the motions. When the priestesses around her began to raise a cone, there was a moment when her face suddenly changed, a moment of "OH!" and then she opened her mouth and began toning wordlessly with them.

Saturday brought a rushed morning. I'd finished my shawl, thankfully, and wrapped it around my wet head like a cowl to keep warm. We could not have asked for better weather in January - the day was clear and warm(er) and dry. At Union Station, my companion and I met up with the Rhythm Workers Union, pushing the world's most organic "drum machine", a cart dressed in percussion instruments that brought strangers together out of the crowd. The cacophony of all those joyful drums kept us warm for the march to the rally. So many bright, diverse, brave faces, playing everything from African drums to conventional marching band pieces to milk jugs, even each other's bodies. As we passed a police van, the officers buzzed their siren in time with our drumming and gave us all wide smiles!

After the Rhythm Workers found a home on the lawn, we left them and wandered down through the crowd, admiring the artistry of protesters signs, flags, costumes and songs. The mall literally throbbed with people. Eventually we caught up with our hostess, sporting a sign that said, "Mamas for peace" and "Jr. needs a time-out". A photographer came by and asked her to pose making the face she would make if she were giving the Shrub a time-out; intimidating indeed. We sat with them for a few minutes listening to the speakers ANSWER had brought in. Then we met up with the Pagan Cluster, who had grounded around a tree in which they'd woven another stunning web of peace. Again, it was incredible to see the light in the faces around us, and personally strengthening for me to be able to embrace people I correspond with who are usually so far away geographically.

People were finding their way into blue ponchos with Spiral prints on them, and beginning, organically, to circle up and raise energy for the march. Once we'd come together as a group, we moved into a large open area directly in front o the capital building for a Spiral Dance before joining the march. This was my first time drumming in an action, and my first time drumming during a ritual, and I was amazed at the sweetness and depth of the energy with the other drummers and the web of dancers around us - so different from the energy of dancing, yet complementary with it. In this spiral particularly, we seemed to connect with the web of solidarity actions going in our home communities, and throughout the world.

The black bloc fell in behind us for awhile, and our drummers joined the beat they'd set, a forceful chant that carried above the noise of the march. Later, a group of anarchist cheerleaders popped up in our midst with a strong, sexy chant: "Shake your booty for peace! Yes! This booty don't shake for hate!"

Throughout the day, I was struck by how serious everyone seemed. The last DC action I attended was April 20, and the difference in energy was astounding: people this weekend were much more focused. The sense of community was stronger, as was the sense of purpose. People seemed less depressed but a touch more grim and determined. Even those shouting with joy had a deep ribbon of purpose to our work that, while invigorating, made me a little sad. I'm still in my early twenties, and I wish I wasn't looking into the faces of kids younger than me and seeing that they'd had to come to grips with how serious things were getting.

As the Cluster moved through the march, drumming and continuing our chant, someone shouted, "Where did you come from?" and I looked around and thought about it. As individuals, we had traveled from Austin and San Francisco and Boston and Burlington and dozens of other places. As a group though, clothed in blue spirals and wielding magical webs and our own strong voices, we had stepped from that place between the worlds in order to change this one. We had become the magical Allies we call on to aid us in our work.

Sierra Black

ABOUT...

Location: , USA

Bio: Sierra Black is a freelance writer and hedonist living joyfully. She is a Witch, Priestess and teacher in the Reclaiming Tradition of Witchcraft, and participates in magical activism with the Pagan Cluster and in her home community. Her stories, articles and poems have appeared in numerous local publications, in the Sarah Lawrence Review, and in Teen Ink: Love and Relationships, an anthology of love stories for teens. She recently completed an M.F.A. in Creative Writing at Emerson College. Sierra lives in a cooperative housing experiment near Boston, MA, with three other humans and two mighty cats.

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