Happy Days

“Think about it. If you’re still interested, give me a call and I’ll set you up!” And with that, she cycled away, ever so gracefully, despite her girth.

But let me start at the beginning.

The lethargic spinning of the fan blades, whirling over the heads of the congregation, was hypnotising me as they caused the disco balls to sway ever so slightly, creating nauseating patterns on the walls as the mirrors reflected the neon lights.

The place was stuffy, and smelled of stale sweat and a million different deodorants, perfumes, and fabric conditions fighting for dominance. I fanned my face with my prayer leaflet, causing the old biddy behind me to poke me in the back and tell me I was a sacrilegious upstart.

The cacophony of Halleluiahs! and random conversations was the last straw. I ran out of the hangar, nearly colliding with Sylvia, and threw up.

Sylvia nearly fell off her bike. We go back a long way – since before we were born, in fact (even or mothers were schoolmates). She asked me what the matter was, whether I was pregnant, and whether she should call for an ambulance, all in one breath.

I explained that it was the atmosphere in the hangar-turned-prayer-hall that had affected me thus badly.

She threw back her head and laughed that joyful raucous laugh of hers which had earned her several detentions at school.

“You must adopt a worthwhile hobby. You must become a witch… like me!” she said. “Religion is the opium of the people!”

“What? You, a witch? Oh, come on! Witches are usually…”

“Thin, and they wear black, like Gothic, but not quite, right? Not my kind, they aren’t! I am a White Witch. That is why I said it is a hobby, not a job.”

“Wait, what? I do not understand.”

“Black witches go about making hexes and wreaking damage. White Witches like me do good wherever they go – they help others in any way they can. They cook, sew, make crafts…”

“Hmmm. This sounds like a good way to spend time – much better than listening to repetitive, senseless sermons, and attending interminable services… And you have always been a selfless person.”

At this juncture, she mounted her bike, told me the above-said words, and cycled merrily away.

This was an offer I could not refuse. I called Sylvia the very next day, and she gave me a list of terms to look up, which I duly did.

I discovered that not all witches – Black or White – belong to a coven. Solitary witches are just what it says on the tin. And then, of course, there are the Green Witches and the Kitchen Witches. All these use blessing, charms, incantations, laying of hands prayers, and songs to make people happier and better.

In addition, we pick-and-mix elements we choose, because we have no canon to follow. That suits me just fine, because eclecticism allows me to combine traditions and… well, stuff like candles, crystals, fruits, herbs, leaves, minerals, oils, pebbles, roots, seeds, shells, spices, stones, vegetables and more, for my Natural Magic lotions and potions.

In the course of my research, I discovered that in October, 2019, the New York Times published a piece entitled When Did Everybody Become a Witch?. The writer stressed that “White Magick” is a noble thing, necessary for the unstable, uncertain world to run smoothly, toward the greater good – and, perhaps, to counteract the doings of the black side.

The Atlantic, in the April 2020 article Why Witchcraft is on the Rise, said that witchcraft rises in popularity as faith in institutions, churches, and the establishment wanes – exactly as had happened to me, albeit on a much grander scale. 

At school I was always being told off for having my head in the clouds! Now, I have found my niche in life – the fact that I am sensitive to images, sounds, smells, and sensations makes me the ideal White Witch.

In the provincial, nay parochial, community where I live, no one apart from Sylvia, knows that I am a White Witch. I explain the fact that I no longer go to Prayer Meetings by saying that the last time I went, I felt sick, and that I have developed claustrophobia. Meanwhile, I travel on my right-hand path, knowing instinctively that I am doing the right thing, because I dream of my ancestors giving me the thumbs-up sign.

Being a White Witch is easy - for me, anyway. My Sacred Space includes have a cute table - I refuse to call it an altar, just as I refuse to use terms like Wicca or Pagan - draped with a fluorescent yellow scarf. Sylvia said I should put   air, earth, fire, spirit and water on it – not literally, of course. So, I have a helium balloon, a bowl of soil, a scented candle and an unopened miniature bottle of vodka from the collection I inherited from my father, which is so old that some of it has somehow disappeared… spirited away, so to speak.

I also put seasonal fruits and vegetables on it, or things I find on my walks – a feather; a piece of bark; a dead insect; the moulted skin of a serpent…

We are good people. Black witches are nasty, destructive and vindictive. As for us, we connect with Mother Earth and Sister Nature in every which way we can… we watch a leaf float to the ground, we smell the newly-tilled soil, we feed feral cats, who do not fear us, and we move snails and insects out of danger.

We are in tune with the power of cycles of the Universe, and we use the energy of Earth to help others, not to gain wealth or power for ourselves; we work with them, never against them.

So far, in these last few months that I have been a White Witch, I have helped several people, without their knowledge.

My friend Rita’s daughter has been trying for a baby for these last eleven years – my wild heather honey spell (I kept Kunzite, Morganite, Pink Fluorite, Pink Opal, Pink Spinel, Pink Tourmaline, Rhodonite, Rose Quartz, Rubellite, Star Garnet, and Star Ruby in it for a week, under sunlight and moonlight) – means she is now pregnant with girl triplets.  

Helene was sick and tired of commuting to work each morning – so, my Peaches & Cream charm…worked like a charm! She was offered a plum job – C.E.O., no less, at the new Supermarket franchise opening just across the road from her house.

The Women’s Shelter needed funds… and (because I don’t believe in money-for-nothing) I cast a spell with lentils, poppy seeds, and oyster shells… and they received offers from world-famous brands of handcrafted jewellery and candles, in order that they work for them. The Mother Superior of the Nuns entrusted with the care of the women spoke to me at the Clinic, and said she couldn’t fathom out how, from halfway across the world, the two Companies had found out about them. It was a cinch, I whispered – and she replied, “Yes, we clinched the deal online just this morning!”

When all is said and done, being a White Witch has done oodles of good for my self-esteem, too. I have become more articulate, but, ironically, I speak less than I used to. The unworldliness of it all and the aesthetical appeal of “a place for everything and everyone” makes me almost glad that I wasted a lot of years in what I now consider a Sect, because now I know the difference between that and this. I have learned how to slow down, and live without the thrum of the internet as background music for my life, for days at a time.

Being a White Witches is the epitome of female empowerment.