Witchcraft, An Act of Resistance

A thought provoking article. Enjoy the read.

GODS & RADICALS

From Emma Kathryn

Witchcraft is an act of resistance. Or it should be.

To some, witchcraft is a religion, to others, a spiritual practise, to others, a way of life, or all three, but it is also a tool. Witchcraft has always been the tool of the poor, the repressed, the maligned, those to whom without its protection, and often times solace, would have been powerless against those whom would seek to hold them down, to make them comply, to oppress them and rule them, without mercy and kindness.

Do not let your witchcraft be tamed, for us witches are wild things. Isn’t that why we are witches? If the comfort and ease of acceptance, of ‘‘normality’’ was what we wanted, then why would we bother with the effort that witchcraft takes? Because make no mistake, it does take effort and at times, sheer will. It’s not all love and…

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THE STOLEN CHILD

NOTE: First published December 1886 in the Irish Monthly.

 

THE STOLEN CHILD

by

William Butler Yeats

(1865 – 1939)

 

WHERE dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water-rats;

There we’ve hid our faery vats,

Full of berries

And of reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than you

can understand. 

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim grey sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances,

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles

And is anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than you

can understand. 

Where the wandering water gushes

From the hills above Glen-Car,.

In pools among the rushes

That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout

And whispering in their ears

Give them unquiet dreams;

Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears

Over the young streams.

Come away, O human child!

To to waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For to world’s more full of weeping than you

can understand. 

Away with us he’s going,

The solemn-eyed:

He’ll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal-chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.

Library seeks witches to translate 17th-century spellbook

NOTE: Thank you to The New York Post for the article!

 

Library seeks witches to translate 17th-century spellbook

Trees are being felled near Greenhead Park – here’s why

NOTE: Thank you to The Huddersfield Daily Examiner for the article!

 

 

Trees are being felled near Greenhead Park – here’s why

The Site of the Salem Witch Trial Hangings Finally Has a Memorial

NOTE: Thank you to Smithsonian Magazine for the article!

 

 

The Site of the Salem Witch Trial Hangings Finally Has a Memorial

In a town that has long profited from witchcraft-seekers and Halloween revelers alike, a new memorial strikes a different tone