Chapter 5.The Wiccan rede
A childhood diet of Grimms Fairy Tales, not to mention the occasional Disney film, has made me more than averagely cautious around people who claim to be witches.
Not that I’d actually met anybody who had up to that point. In stories they always had a disturbing tendency to start out as sweet little old ladies, and end up as ravening monsters hurling lightning bolts.
Although Shanty was more bag-lady than little old lady, and in spite of the fact that I didn’t really believe in witches as such, I decided not to take any chances. I didn’t want her morphing into Bellatrix Lestrange on me.
Thanking her again for the necklace I was about to stand and make my excuses when a thought occurred to me. In a lifetime of lapping up stories about witches, goblins, demons, princesses, dragons, and fairies everything I’d learned, everything I knew, was fiction.
This was the first time I’d actually met someone who seemed to believe in this sort of stuff for real. In the interests of research alone surely I shouldn’t pass up the chance to quiz her about it?
“What exactly does a witch do?” I asked tentatively, hoping against hope she wouldn’t say “chop nosy teenage girls up with an axe, and cook them for dinner.”
Shanty tilted her head to one side, rather like a bird. “It’s not so much a question of what we do, as who we are. The title of Witch has been twisted away from its true meaning. I told you I’m a witch. That doesn’t mean I ride around on a broomstick casting hexes.”
I breathed a mental sigh of relief.
“Witches are, for the most part, followers of Wicca, one of the most ancient of faiths.”
I couldn’t stop myself from interrupting her. “You mean being a witch is a religion?”
“In a way. We draw on the power of the Earth to try to ensure that there’s an eternal balance within the life source. Do you know what the Chinese terms Yin and Yang mean?”
“Um, I think so, aren’t they opposites...black and white, man and woman, inside, and outside…something like that?
“Almost; literally they mean shadow and light.”
Shanty crossed the caravan and brushing Ozymandias aside, sat herself next to me. The owl puffed himself up slightly and shut his eyes showing his disapproval.
“They show how all opposites are interconnected, dependent on one another,” Shanty’s dreadlocks looked like sausages of hair close up.
“Who’s your God? I asked her.
“We worship the divine masculine, and feminine principals united together in harmony. The Wiccan Rede, the principal we live by is a simple one.
“And it harm none, do what ye will.”
I was sure I’d heard something like that before; I just couldn’t quite bring it to mind.“Where do Wiccans go to pray, or have ceremonies and stuff?”
“We have many sacred places. There are Ley Lines all over Britain, our temples lie where they join. They could be on a hillside, in a grove of trees, or by the banks of a river.”
I found that while I’d been listening to Shanty my fingers had strayed to the amulet she’d given me. Letting it drop I repeated the unfamiliar expression again.
“Ley lines?”
“Lines of magnetic force, underneath the ground, they respond naturally to masculine or feminine energies. Dowsers find them with a witching rod.”
I’d heard that expression before. “Dowsing’s what you call it when you have a forked twig or branch and try to find water isn’t it?”
“They do the same thing prospecting for oil in your country, though you Americans call it doodlebugging.”
Doodlebugging! I made a mental note to store the word for future use. Shanty got up and moved towards the grimy window, smearing it with her sleeve as she peered out.
The sun had almost set and it was getting dark outside. I‘d need to get back soon or Rebekah would be worried. I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket to send her a quick text. Typical! No signal.
“Right here in the village of Baring is one of the strongest junctions of Ley lines in England. We’re directly above the axis of the Wessex Astrum, a sacred geographical hexagram linking the Neolithic sites of Stonehenge, Avebury, and Glastonbury.”
I was impressed. I knew all about Glastonbury, and the Tor from reading hundreds of versions of the Arthurian legends. It was high on my list of places to nag Rebekah to take us to visit. The Tor was a steep conical hill rising up out of a broad flat marshy plain. The Ancient Britons called it Ynys Yr Afalon, the Isle of Avalon, and it was here that King Arthur was supposed to have been buried.
Shanty continued on. “The problem is the world’s out of balance, the signs are there for all to see. Scientists would have us believe it’s global warming, chemicals in the atmosphere. Cut the chemicals and the problem will go away. Unfortunately it’s not that simple, nothing will change if Gaia continues to be denied.”
“Gaia?” The wind chimes gave a gentle tinkle, as a breath of air passed in through the open caravan door. Shanty turned away from the window.
“The Earth Goddess. Our mother. She’s being ignored, belittled, humiliated. It’s been going on for centuries, but now we’ve finally reached the tipping point.”
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
“She’s being treated the way we’re treated ourselves.” I must have looked puzzled because Shanty sighed.“I mean women Thea!”
I was still drawing a blank. Shanty’s expression was grim.
“How are women treated in this world?” she demanded.
I hesitated before answering. “I don’t know. OK in some places I guess?” Shanty’s lips thinned as she considered this, then she shook her head.
”Open your eyes Thea. Women are persecuted, patronized and oppressed very moment of very day. There are places where just to be born a woman condemns you to life as a second class citizen, unable to work, show your face, drive a car, or walk the streets without fear of being attacked or ridiculed. Even here in the so-called civilized world the true essence of the female is threatened by the frivolous rubbish we women have to put up with about our bodies and our opinions. As long as things continue this way balance can’t be restored.
The power of our goddess, Gaia, is fading as we turn our faces away from her. How else could it be that the name witch has become a curse, an insult, when once it merely meant one who could conjure – literally a wise woman? ” She slumped down on a stool near the sink as if drained by everything she’d said.
I suppose I’ve always thought of myself as pro-women, in a slightly shallow Girl-Power sort of way, most of my favorite legends feature warrior maidens. I’ve just never really considered what being female means that deeply, never felt the need to perhaps.
“Can’t witches do magic or something?” I suggested rather lamely, “make things better? Isn’t that what you’re famous for?”
Shanty’s head came up a little. “What magic there is in the world has been weakened by lack of belief. It has to be felt, nurtured. There’s much that is hidden which can be seen if you only know how to look. Trust your intuition Thea; find ways to change your perception of this reality. What you see around you here is illusion.”
It was my turn to sigh, her answer was exactly what I’d expected to hear and it felt like a complete cop-out. After all I'd seen The Matrix about half a dozen times, and I wasn’t about to go down that rabbit hole.
I sniffed the air suspiciously, it crossed my mind that perhaps there was a more obvious reason she’d been so eager to conceal the caravan from prying eyes.
“Is that what this is really all about?” I asked, “are you going to try to sell me some herbs to help me see things differently?”
Shanty looked puzzled for a moment, then chuckled as she clicked to my meaning.
“No,” she said, “not at all. Though it’s true some drugs have been used to open pathways to the other side, most suppress them. They interfere with true vision, distort it.
True vision comes only from inside.” She looked at me pointedly. “You of all people should know that.”
I suddenly realized that I could barely see Shanty’s face; it was almost pitch dark inside the caravan. Night had fallen ages ago, and I was really late for dinner and about to be in serious trouble.
When I finally burst into the kitchen at Rose Cottage, red faced and out of breath twenty minutes later, Rebekah almost had a fit. She’d been on the verge of calling the police. I told her I’d been with Millie at her place doing our homework together and had completely lost track of the time. I didn’t think she’d take kindly to the thought that I’d spent the evening chatting with a Witch.
Beltane Page 5
