Fourth grade is a turbulent year for a budding witch. By the by, I should have pointed out that by then I’d had at least five boy-crushes and in the 90’s, even in California, this was vehemently taboo. On Free-Dress-Days, when most kids wore overalls and dresses, I wore Ozzy and Kiss band tees. During computer class when we were awarded game time I would play with the stamp scene games…and create magical battle grounds with dragons, grim reapers, fire balls, and castles. When I wasn’t creating fantastical scenes in the far corner of the room I was researching Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, Paganism, Paranormal Phenomena, and the Occult. There we have it…the word: “Occult”!
The word literally means “Hidden”, and where are things hidden? Anything hidden is placed carefully in the dark. These thoughts…these powers, are concealed beyond the veil and forbidden by the so called light moral high ground of ordinary and proper people. To quote the character Aviva from season one of Charmed, the hit show about three sister witches, “We aren’t pink people”…and she was right. I was hiding my sexuality, hiding my spirituality, and hiding everything that made me who I was. I was the occult.
All this aside, the poltergeist-esque events which tantalized my inner witch began to sire an insatiable desire within me. I sensed things others couldn’t, and was more attuned to the natural, conscious, and unconscious worlds than my friends or the adults around me. Well before the storms, I could sense there was a torrential event ahead. My dreams were vivid and very uncanny, and there were even some occurrences where electricity would run rampant when I threw a fit. There was one time my grandmother shut off the television to scold me. As I rolled my eyes and landed them on the screen, my program popped back on. This happened twice in those minutes, and she crossly unplugged the set.
By the age of ten, in fifth grade, I had begun studying the practice of witchcraft. I remember withdrawing from recess and lunch time during the fall to focus my time on weather witching. I’d ground, center, shield, connect with Naiads and Undines, and chant to align myself with the cloud formations and the cold, watery world above. When it would begin to rain, I reveled in the power and energy. It was where I felt most alive! I finally had found my friends and family…in the nether realms.
When I turned eleven I declared myself a Witch, and was allowed (thankfully) to change to a public school when I turned 13 and we moved. Up until that point I had been practicing and honing my craft. I didn’t have a coven, and was completely solitary. I didn’t even perform a “proper” dedication rite. I mean, why would I need to? One deterrent from Catholicism and Christianity in general was all the rules, regulations, How-Tos, and Musts. This-Or-That thinking just didn’t do it for me, and it would never, ever again be a part of my path.
Even the Sabbats as a young witch were simple. Since my grandfather was a Catholic-Military man (my grandmother was more open minded), it was so easy to meld the Sabbats with the every day holidays that we know and live with. So I’d chant a little chant, make a small offering, light a candle, and that was it. It was never a huge deal to me because I knew that what they were celebrating came from what I was celebrating for the most part. Hiding my witchcraft from my grandfather wasn’t easy, and eventually it was a moot point. He allowed me to stop going to church. Hiding my sexuality was even harder, but I was very successful. I came out to my grandmother at age fourteen. She wasn’t surprised one bit, and was more supportive than I could have ever hoped for. Now that I was out of both the broom closet and the proverbial gay closet, I could finally start being me!
Coming out to my mother was catastrophic. She hit me, threw chairs at me, and threw a mirror in my face calling me “The Fag of Rio Americano” (my highschool). I remember calling my grandmother in tears and she picked me up. That’s when I saw my very damaged mother for who she was for the first time. Our relationship to this day is non existent, not just or those reasons. She was a very negative influence on my life, but that is another story all together.
I finally came out to my grandfather at age sixteen. My grandma told him I had something to tell him but I was terrified…he instantly guessed. I wrote him a letter, and he wrote me one. His was filled with a father’s fears of losing a son to AIDS, drugs, and other stereotypical life threatening situations that the “Gay lifestyle” entails. I knew it came from a place of love, and he didn’t treat me differently. It was the reaction I expected, and after my mother’s episode, I welcomed his way of dealing. Once I turned eighteen, he finally came to terms.
My grandparents hosted my wedding in their beautiful, mystical back yard with fairies, gnomes, mushrooms, gardens, and a pool with a waterfall. Torches were lit for Hecate, and grapes and vines donned the altar for Dionysus and Pan. It was a witch’s fairy tale! My husband isn’t Pagan, either, I should mention. He and my grandparents were so happy to give me my dream wedding, and our marriage has been such a blessing. Our hardships are storms to weather together, and we are strong and magickal. It’s important to remember that we are conduits between the worlds. Be a conduit of love and magick, and you will create a new universe and a happy ending. Blessed be!
