Witch Craft Quotes

This witch had been crafted from the darkness between the stars.

This witch had been crafted from the darkness between the stars. “I think not, Prince,” she said in her midnight voice. She sniffed again, her nose crinkling slightly. “But would you bleed red, or black?” “I’ll bleed whatever color you tell me to.

I'm not just a warm body.

Slaying dragons, melting witches, and banishing demons is all fun and games until someone loses a sidekick—then it’s personal. The bad guy isn’t just the “bad guy” anymore, he’s the BAD GUY!

Her eyes narrowed, the gold like living ember. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful. This witch had been crafted from the darkness between the stars.

No bit of tail ever comes between you and Prince Charming. He must have entranced you." "Prince Charming?" Falin asked, the question barely a whisper. "What did you think PC stood for? Politically Correct?

Well,” he said, “I’m glad to see you’re finally taking some precautions, but you weren’t this tense when I dropped you off last night.” “But you were this annoying. At least one of us is consistent.

Ms. Craft, while I’m sure your charming personality endears you to many people, is there anyone you know who would want to kill you?

He was secretive, bossy, and regularly insufferable. He had also saved my life a couple of times. And he looked really good in my kitchen.

The rest are ruined. No fumbling drunk in my bed would top what I'd just felt.

This is so sweet I’m going to end up diabetic.

Once in a lifetime. Even sated in the aftermath of the best orgasm of my life, a twinge of sadness touched me. Don't be stupid, Alex: it's just tonight. We both know it's just tonight.

Andrews threw the convertible in gear, and I trailed a hand over the bright red finish. Probably fresh off the lot—unlike my little hatchback, which had been factory assembled in the same decade witches came out of the broom closet.

Because you’re going to help me train a seven-year-old Witch who’s got the raw power right now to turn us both into dust and yet”—he dropped the shoe onto the chair—“is abysmal at basic Craft.

The witch who claims to forbear her magick for fear of causing the next Indian tsunami is really saying that she is powerful enough to kill thousands of innocent strangers when all she meant to do was water her mugwort. She can't be challenged to produce evidence of this, because doing could provoke earthquakes and Africanized bee attacks.

Wicca offered real, not pretended, means for the individual to express the art, beauty, and reality of ritual, including magic, in the here and now. --Paul Turnbull

Once, he’d been the Seducer, the Executioner, the High Priest of the Hourglass, the Prince of the Darkness, the High Lord of Hell. Once, he’d been Consort to Cassandra, the great Black-Jeweled, Black Widow Queen, the last Witch to walk the Realms. Once, he’d been the only Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince in the history of the Blood, feared for his temper and the power he wielded. Once, he’d been the only male who was a Black Widow. Once, he’d ruled the Dhemlan Territory in the Realm of Terreille and her sister Territory in Kaeleer, the Shadow Realm. He’d been the only male ever to rule without answering to a Queen and, except for Witch, the only member of the Blood to rule Territories in two Realms. Once, he’d been married to Hekatah, an aristo Black Widow Priestess from one of Hayll’s Hundred Families. Once, he’d raised two sons, Mephis and Peyton. He’d played games with them, told them stories, read to them, healed their skinned knees and broken hearts, taught them Craft and Blood Law, showered them with his love of the land as well as music, art, and literature, encouraged them to look with eager eyes upon all that the Realms had to offer—not to conquer but to learn. He’d taught them to dance for a social occasion and to dance for the glory of Witch. He’d taught them how to be Blood. But that was a long, long time ago.

Witches are liberated from their own fears and limited thinking. In turn, their presence has the power to liberate and consciously expand others.

it wasn't the wearing of the hat that counted so much as having one to wear. Every trade, every craft had its hat.

Sometimes we forget to, or feel guilty when, we take time to nourish our own souls. It is not selfish to spiritually fill ourselves because we need that time to find the delicate balance in our lives. Only then can we truly be of service to others. --Debra Siegrist

Only two bags, huh?" Helga was eighty, feisty, and the fastest knitter Elsie had ever seen. “We’ll have to work on that. It’s not a respectable stash until it has its own room.

Salem has become this... Mecca for Wiccans, but no witches died here. Aside from Tituba, no one practiced anything like witchcraft near here in colonial times. It was a bunch of bored Puritans who thought killing their neighbors at the behest of teenage girls was a fine, Christian form of entertainment and land acquisition.

When I grow up, I want to be a green witch,” Emilia said later, cradled in the nook of her sister’s arms. “I’ll grow all kinds of herbs. And have my own trattoria. My menu will be crafted of magic and moonlight. Like Nonna.

Any divinity that can't see me as a good witch in street clothes has no business hanging up a shingle as a god.

The craft was dangerous and unpredictable, and witches were difficult to control, for they had minds of their own and didn’t hold to keeping to the law.

Your magick does not need to look like someone else’s magick to be valid,

...what about this rule about not meddling?’ said Magrat. ‘Ah,’ said Nanny. She took the girl’s arm. ‘The thing is,’ she explained, ‘as you progress in the Craft, you’ll learn there is another rule. Esme’s obeyed it all her life.’ ‘And what’s that?’ ‘When you break rules, break ‘em good and hard…

Witchcraft is an empowering practice that any person can learn, cultivate, and personalize. It is all about stepping outside of our mundane world and choosing to take on a perspective of mysticism and reverence for nature, life, and the energetic forces of this world. But what makes witch-craft simply intoxicating is that it’s about appreciating the world around us. It’s not just about what we can see; it’s about everything in between. It is the love for spirits, messages, other-worldliness, unexplainable things, mysterious connections, and the universal system of checks and balances. That is witchcraft,

This is an organic religion. A religion of the people from heart to heart; a faith that finds the presence of the Divine within life, and nature, and ourselves. We don't have teachers and books because we are our own teachers, and our book is the sacred book of the Earth. We believe that we can connect with the God and Goddess and hear their voices, receive their inspiration directly and take responsibility for our own actions, without the intermediary of a pope or rabbi. We have a loose set of beliefs and morals and a ritual structure that is common to all Wiccans, but there is room for creativity and deep mystical experiences. This is a faith with roots as old as the earth. --Meri Fowler

Jaenelle peered into the space between the chair arms. “Saetan?” she said in a small, quivery voice. “Saetan, are you all right?” Using Craft, Saetan sent the top chair back to the blackwood desk. “I’m fine, witch-child.” He stuffed his feet into his shoes and gingerly stood up. “That’s the most excitement I’ve had in centuries.” “Really?” He straightened his black tunic-jacket and smoothed back his hair. “Yes, really.” And Guardian or not, a man his age shouldn’t have his heart gallop around his rib cage like this. Saetan looked around the study and stifled a groan.

This is one of my most fulfilling writing jobs. It was like having my own witching hour, when I summoned magic and breathed new life into the pages. With every keystroke, I crafted characters that came to life, captivating readers and leaving them spellbound.

Witchcraft is art, practice, discipline, knowledge, and passion. Only by working on yourself and exploring the world around you will you discover your own path, the truth that lies in you.

The witch approached it and pared its edges with a sword that she drew from her thigh. Then she sat down beside it on the earth and sang to it while it cooled. Not like the runes that enraged the flames was the song she sang to the sword: she whose curses had blasted the fire till it shrivelled big logs of oak crooned now a melody like a wind in summer blowing from wild wood gardens that no man tended, down valleys loved once by children, now lost to them but for dreams, a song of such memories as lurk and hide along the edges of oblivion, now flashing from beautiful years of glimpse of some golden moment, now passing swiftly out of remembrance again, to go back to the shades of oblivion, and leaving on the mind those faintest traces of little shining feet which when dimly perceived by us are called regrets. She sang of old Summer noons in the time of harebells: she sang on that high dark heath a song that seemed so full of mornings and evenings preserved with all their dews by her magical craft from days that had else been lost, that Alveric wondered of each small wandering wing, that her fire had lured from the dusk, if this were the ghost of some day lost to man, called up by the force of her song from times that were fairer.

The gray witch abhors violence, hatred, and conflict as much as the next person; but she’s not afraid to face these issues using the power she possesses to right a situation and reinstate balance. The gray witch doesn’t flinch at the earthier aspects of her craft that send the fluffy bunnies running for cover, clinging to their illusion of a perfect white world.

A witch there was, who webs could weave to snare the heart and wits to reave, who span dark spells with spider-craft, and as she span she softly laughed; a drink she brewed of strength and dread to bind the quick and stir the dead. In a cave she housed where winging bats their harbour sought, and owls and cats from hunting came with mournful cries, night-stalking near with needle eyes.

Magic and music are brother and sister,” he replied as Starbrow picked his way through the fog. “The bard’s craft has always been half magic; in times past minstrels and magicians were often one and the same. Perhaps it is because we must sing so frequently of the old days and the magic of them that we do

I have learned a great deal from other Witches, Wiccans, Odinists, Voodoo and Hoodou practitioners, Druids and many others who consider themselves Pagan. The one common thread is that every single person has been nonjudgmental. Isn't this what it's all about, acceptance? Are we not here to design our own spiritual path? --Icinia

We all have different beliefs, ways of worshipping, and ideas about religion. I believe it is a very personal subject, and so everyone should respect each other's beliefs. I simply live my life, and if someone is uncomfortable with who I am or what I believe in, then I have found that I am better off not having them in my life. --Kristen Adams

You know, for someone with your reputation, you are amazingly difficult to get into bed.

Intuitive witches do whatever works—if something works for you, use it. If it doesn’t, try something else.

When they can no longer use your craft they call you a witch.

If the k in magic(K) gives you hives, take an allergy pill and move onward to focus on more important things.

Your life is your own magnum opus in the crafting. It will not be perfected overnight.

Throughout the years, I have found people are confused about my love for both Christianity and Paganism. I tell them what was revealed to me while I lay sleeping in the hospital. The All, whether perceived as a God, or a Goddess, or as one being, or even as an energy field, cares only about one thing: Love. Absolute and unconditional love. --High Priestess Enoch

My mind had no answers. It was limp and dulled, useless as my missing fingers. One thought came clear: I must do something. I could not stand by while a horror was loosed upon the world. I had the thought that I should find my sister’s workroom. Perhaps there would be something there to help me, some antidote, some great drug of reversal. It was not far, a hall off her bedchamber separated by a curtain. I had never seen another witch’s craft room before, and I walked its shelves expecting I do not know what, a hundred grisly things, kraken livers, dragons’ teeth, the flayed skin of giants. But all I saw were herbs, and rudimentary ones at that: poisons, poppies, a few healing roots. I had no doubt my sister could work plenty with them, for her will had always been strong. But she was lazy, and here was the proof. Those few simples were old and weak as dead leaves. They had been collected haphazardly, some in bud, some already withered, cut with any knife at any time of day. I understood something then. My sister might be twice the goddess I was, but I was twice the witch. Her crumbling trash could not help me. And my own herbs from Aiaia would not be enough, strong as they were. The monster was bound to Crete, and whatever would be done, Crete must guide me.

I believe in religion, I believe in religious expression, and I believe that all gods are one God. I do not lie when I pray in the words of another religion, because I believe. --Oisce

We don't get to choose our blood families, but we do get to decide how to talk to them, how much to tell them, and how open to be with them about the core of who we are. --Erynn Rowan Laurie

You seek to torment. But I am not a witch. Trial me; I will not confess to the craft.” “I don’t blame you for being a witch. I condemn you for not accepting the burden of your talent. Now open that door.

I had to learn that I knew nothing. I also had to learn that it was okay to think for myself and that my happiness, my true salvation, was not dependent on the approval of others. --Gregory Michael Brewer

The place felt like a weapon expertly crafted to strip you of all humanity, hollow you to a shell creature that would do anything it was told for the slim chance of someday getting out into the living world again.

Whoever you are, you're like no one else, and you can do magick like no one else, too. Each and every one of us is a one-of-a-kind pattern of energies and essence, each with our own affinities, abilities, and purpose.

He's doing some kind of demony witch-craft (demoncraft?), and there is someone's blood all over the place, and do evil murdering demon librarians generally let witnesses to their crimes go running off into the late afternoon to tattle to the world? No. No, they don't.

This room is like one of those crazy clown cars,” Zayn said. “I don’t know how we can still be pulling bins and bins of stuff out of it.” “It’s the inherent magic of a craft room, any craft room, whether it belongs to a witch or not,” I laughed, remembering how Sylvana had once explained it to me.

She’d learned to use that darkness, learned how to fold herself into shadow until she was a slither of the night itself, learned how to grow claws and steal prince’s hearts. She’d learned to bide her time and wait for the best moment to strike. Really, Black Jaga could hardly claim to be shocked by Zosia’s actions. She was the one who had shaped Zosia into what she was, the one who had raised her. Wasn’t she the monster the old witch had wished for? The monster she’d crafted in her own image. You made me, Grandmother. Am I not everything you wanted me to be? The witch had only herself to blame.

What does a research witch do?’ Tiffany asked. ‘Oh, it’s a very ancient craft. She tries to find new spells by learning how old ones were really done. You know all that stuff about “ear of bat and toe of frog”? They never work, but Miss Level thinks it’s because we don’t know exactly what kind of frog, or which toe—’ ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not going to help anyone chop up innocent frogs and bats,’ said Tiffany firmly. ‘Oh, no, she never kills any!’ said Miss Tick hurriedly. ‘She only uses creatures that have died naturally or been run over or committed suicide. Frogs can get quite depressed at times.

INSTANT DEATH SPELL CASTER I am very glad for what Prophet Adachi did for me, he help me to cast a death spell om my friend life who was really troubling my life and future, they never needed me to progress, each time I get a job from a company, I get drove back because of the witch craft friends I have, I never knew my friend was the one troubling me, until one day I contacted Prophet Adachi for help and he told me Ramson my friend is the one troubling me and he help me to cast unto him a death spell. I am happy because Ramson the evil doer is dead yesterday with the great death spell of Pophet Adachi. contact him now if you need a death spell at: adachispirit@yahoo.com

Witchcraft is part of a living web of species and relationships, a world which we have forgotten to observe, understand or inhabit. Many people reading this paragraph will not know even the current phase of the moon, and if asked for it will not instinctively look up to the current quarter of the sky, but down to their computers. Neither will they be able to name the plants, birds or animals within a metre or mile radius of their door. Witchcraft asks that we do these first things, this is presence. Animism is not embedded in the natural world, it is the natural world. Our witchcraft is that spirit of place, which is made from a convergence of elements and inhabitants. Here I include animals, both living and dead, human and inhuman. Our helpers are mammals, reptiles, fish, birds and insects. Some can be counted allies, others are more ambivalent. Predator and prey are interdependent. These all have the same origin and ancestry, they from from plants, from copper green life. Bones become soil. The plants have been nourished on the minerals drawn up from the bowels of the earth. These are the living tools of the witch's craft. The cycle of the elements and seasons is read in this way. Flux, life and death are part of this, as are extinctions, catastrophe, fire and flood. We avail ourselves of these, and ultimately a balance is sought. Our ritual space is written in starlight, watched over by sun and moon. So this leaves us with a simple question. How can there be any Witchcraft if this is all destroyed? It is not a rhetorical question. Our land, our trees, animals and elements hold spirit. Will we let our familiars, literally our family be destroyed? If we hold any real belief and experience of spirit, then it does not ask, it demands us to fight for it.

make some rose water. Take the petals of six or seven organic roses, place these in a pot and add enough distilled or spring water to cover them. On a medium-low heat, bring the petals to a simmer and cover with a lid for twenty to thirty minutes, until the petals have lost their color. Strain the mixture and pour the liquid into a glass jar. Decant this mixture into a spray bottle, then shake it and use it on your skin or to cleanse your altar, mirror or ritual tools—or pretty much whatever you like.

The words witch and witchcraft, in everyday usage for over a thousand years, have undergone several changes of meaning; and today witchcraft, having reverted to its original connotation of magic and sorcery, does not convey the precise and limited definition it once had during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. If witchcraft had never meant anything more than the craft of "an old, weather-beaten crone..." Europe would not have suffered, for three centuries from 1450 to 1750, the shocking nightmare, the foulest crime and the deepest shame of western civilization, the blackout of everything that homo sapiens, the reasoning man, has ever upheld. This book is about that shame...degradation stifled decency, the filthiest passions masqueraded under the cover of religion, and man's intellect was subverted to condone bestialities that even Swift's Yahoos would blush. Never were so many wrong, so long...

Out of anyone, Ashe was more aware of the rules in place in the hidden world. As a half-demon, Ashe knew how harsh the hidden world could be towards beings the WWC considered ‘inferior’. The bigotry and ignorance perpetuated by the hidden world’s institutions against half-demons was partly the reason Clover had chosen to become a lawyer and defend those weaker than her. She wanted to be there for Ashe, to protect him from a world which wanted nothing more than to classify him as dangerous and ban him from using craft or being a part of the hidden world. The WWC prided itself as being a righteous institution, yet it disrespected any being that wasn’t entirely a witch. It had only begun accepting witches and wizards born to human ancestry about two centuries prior, but it still had miles to go before being entirely open to half breeds like kitsunes and other sentient demons. Ashe knew the rules and their cost. Yet, he didn’t hesitate to break them.

Since the 1960s, many men have struggled to find a new definition of masculinity, one that does not involve shutting down emotionally only to burst out in anger or violence once those feelings surface. In the 1980s, Robert Bly, a leader of the men’s movement, wisely and sadly noted that men don’t talk about their feelings because when they look inside, they cannot find them. And the common experience of the absent father is also a reflection of that distant God whom we can’t access—He came, He procreated, He went to the office, so obey the rules while He’s gone and He’ll be back on Judgment Day to punish you if you were naughty. Expressing most feelings other than anger is taboo for men, and many of us women also have this problem of repressed emotion, especially when we enter the once-forbidden work realms of men, where strong emotion is considered a weakness. Bly’s other great and wise suggestion was that the appropriate response to such an absence of feelings is grief.

Standing at the prow of the pitching deck of the trawler, unscrewing the top of his flask, Frank Fontaine asked himself: Am I after fish—or a wild goose? Sure, he always dreamed about a big-paying long con, but this one was threatening to go on indefinitely—and though it was afternoon and supposedly summer, it was cold as a son of a bitch out here. Made a witch’s tit seem like a hot toddy. Was it worth giving up Gorland—becoming Fontaine? A city under the sea. It was becoming an obsession. Fontaine looked up at the streaming charcoal-colored clouds, wondered if it was going to storm again. Just being on this damn tub was too much like work. Talking to the men who picked up the fish for Rapture’s food supply, Fontaine had confirmed that Ryan had indeed built some gigantic underwater habitat, a kind of free-market utopia—and Fontaine knew what happened with utopias. Look at the Soviets—all those fine words about the proletariat had turned into gulags and breadlines. But a “utopia” was pure opportunity for a man like him. When this undersea utopia fell apart, he’d be there, with a whole society to feast on. Long as he didn’t step too hard on Ryan’s toes, he could build up an organization, get away with a pile of loot. But he had to get down to Rapture first … The trawler lurched, and so did Fontaine’s stomach. A small craft was being lowered over the side of the platform ship—a thirty-foot gig. Men descended

People like me—like the Roussels—are a dying breed, our gifts of little value to a world that no longer believes in la magie. For generations, my family has been part of a kind of conte de fée—a fairy tale. Though perhaps fairy tale is the wrong term. Fairy tales have happy endings. Fables are meant as cautionary tales, lessons intended to teach us about life and its consequences. And over the years, the Roussels have learned much about consequences. There are many names for what we are. Gypsies, hexers, white witches, and shamans. In England we’re called cunning folk, though I’ve always hated the term. Perhaps because it conjures thoughts of slick-handed cheats, waiting to separate the unsuspecting passerby from the few pennies in his pocket, the charlatans with their phony magic and vulgar showmanship, making up fortunes and doling out platitudes. We are not those people. For us, The Work is sacred, a vocation. In France, where I come from, we are les tisseuses de sort—Spell Weavers—which is at least closer to the truth. We possess certain skills, talents with things like charms and herbs, cards and stones—or in our case, needle and thread. There are not many of us left these days, or at least not many who depend on the craft for their living. But there are a few still, if one knows where to look. And for a time, I was one of them, like my mother and her mother before her, living in the narrow, twisty lanes of Paris discreetly known as the craft district.

The sabbats mark the Wheel of the Year, the turning of the seasons. For Wiccans and Pagans of some other traditions, these are the spine of the Craft, and some fall on dates that are closely aligned with those of major Christian holidays: Yule, the winter festival from which we get the Twelve Days of Christmas; Ostara, the spring equinox and the source of Easter’s fertility symbols (the rabbit, the egg); Samhain,3 the time of communion with the dead, dressed up in mainstream culture as Halloween.

the path of the witch is one of personal growth and development. This means that in dedicating yourself to the craft you are committed to stepping into your true power, and there are few things more powerful than mastering your own brain.

The power of words lies in the hands of a writer. Your fingertips are your wands, and your mind is like that of a wizard or witch who marvels at their own craft.

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Crafting” refers to choosing a location for your spell, clearing away unwanted energies, casting a circle of protection, raising energy, and setting your intentions. “Casting” refers to performing the spellwork, closing the circle of protection, and observing the results.

He grinned and she couldn’t help but smile back. Until something bumped her hip hard enough to scoot her further into the booth. She registered the shock on Sam’s face first. He was standing to his full height with his fists clenched but held rigidly at his side. He wasn’t going to use them, just yet. Delilah had a flash thought that she admired his restraint, when she registered the voice. “Hey, Lilah, you out picking up men again?” Brandon! What was he doing here? “Brandon?” She looked at him in shock, but he only smiled at her. Somehow a real, genuine smile graced his face, and his cheeks nearly formed dimples. Sam looked back and forth between the two of them. “You know him?” She nodded. But Brandon spoke first. “Does he know what you are?” Delilah blinked. And in that moment, Brandon turned to Sam. “Did you know that she’s sixty? As in, sixty years old. She’s a witch, that’s how she keeps her looks.” “Sixty?” Sam squinched his eyes at them. “Wait—” was the only word she got out. Brandon was talking to her now. “You’re not going to deny that you’re a witch are you, baby?” “No, but—” She practically sputtered it, but sixty? Sam was giving them bizarre looks. “Delilah? Are you okay?” She didn’t get a chance to answer. Brandon smiled and waved his hand indicating her form. “Of course she’s fine. She’s amazing for twenty, let alone sixty! Her secret is that she bathes in virgin’s blood. It’s how she stays so young looking.” Sam looked a little sick to his stomach, but he clearly wondered what was going on. Thing was, Delilah didn’t have an answer for him. Brandon did. He sighed in great theatrics. “And you just would not believe how hard it is to get virgin’s blood these days.” Delilah laughed. Sam asked if she was all right and she could only get out a few words, “Thank you, Sam.” He nodded at her and pulled out a stack of bills to cover the drinks. Brandon waved him away. A look passed between the two men. Delilah could only decipher it as some weird passing of the baton, where she was the baton. Sam smiled at her as he left.

Folk etymologies have their place in our collective psyche and are often used among magickal teachers. The word witch is often connected to the word Wicca, which is popularly passed on by elders of the Craft as meaning “to bend,” “shape,” or “wield.” While there’s not really a lot of strong evidence of this being a historical etymological definition, it’s an effective idea that gets to the heart of what witchcraft is when you strip all the different trappings and traditions away. In other words, the Craft of witchery revolves around “the ability to manipulate energy and shape it for desired outcomes.

What is witchcraft? Witchcraft is worshipping the Old Gods on a moonlit night, on a high tor on Dartmoor. Witchcraft is tying nine knots in a red thread. Witchcraft is walking in the spirit world. Witchcraft is catching the moon in a mirror. Witchcraft is collecting rowan berries. Witchcraft is living with familiar spirits. Witchcraft is making a circle of holed stones. Witchcraft is dancing with the Horned God. Witchcraft is sitting on a deserted beach as the tides ebb and flow. Witchcraft is the oldest thing there is. Witchcraft is all of these things and much more.

witches reflecting and my mirrors are scared hand-crafted fears got stories to share my mind is a maze it's playing against all of the magic that's holding my breath

Ambition, assertiveness, nonconformity, high standards, the ability to say no, control over your own body: all witchcraft, by our definition. Our witchcraft also means practicing arts that may be devalued because they’re too feminine: listening, supporting your friends, choosing clothes, applying makeup, crafts and cooking, taking care of people or animals, making and keeping friends, allowing yourself space. If you speak when you’re told to be quiet, take pride when you’re told to feel shame, love what and who you love whether or not others approve, you’re practicing witchcraft.

A witch doctor or wizard pretends that his main job is to solve problems in a village, town, or community. In most cases, his curses and spells are the cause of the problems he then cures. However, his real mission in these exchanges is to plant a lifeline between his god and the victim, which gives the victim and the god equal access to each other. Of course, the god knows his way to the victim, but the victim might not know until he is initiated into the craft. Again, without access to man, a demonic spirit remains powerless. Though God Almighty is the sole owner and Creator of earth, He has given the earth to man that they may take charge over it. Earth is reserved for the exploits of man, not spirits. When a spirit has access to man, however, it can legally function on earth. When a witch doctor gives the god access to a victim, the god can accomplish things through the victim. The apostle Paul said, “…it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me…” (Gal. 2:20). Paul said this because his education did not give him the extra abilities Christ gave him. Christ’s access to him accomplished what the Adamic nature had limited in man. A demonic spirit might not be able to work all things as Christ did through Paul, but it will work many things through the person it has access to. As Christ claims and protects you if you have accepted Him, so a spirit claims and protects the one who accepts him.

The Green Children are the persons who indwell those plants. This Garden is connected to their world. This is a place of congregation, of confraternity for many beings, them included. The Queen's ancient people were masters of herbal lore and craft. This realm is part of the Queen's soul, a portion manifested as an entire world by the power of her great Fayerie-metamorphosis. It would have to be what it is: a great union of the green entities and their many mysteries.

Energy cleansing is about shrugging off what’s not useful, bringing yourself back to centre, back to focus – hitting a healthy reset button.

Even if you knew her, it was easy to forget that she had been a runaway, a war-witch, a soldier. She had walked the long way through history. His mother looked at her.

It’s important to remember that witchcraft, even as a practice that resists definition, is still distinct from other forms of magic. As a figure concerned with exploring liminality, the witch disrupts our idea of binaries, eliminating the boundaries between life and death, true and untrue, material and spiritual, in a way that is inherently transgressive. This is very different from the divine, high-magic aims of

For brief explanation I may say that witch craft is known to its votaries as la vecchia religione, or the old religion, of which Diana is the Goddess, her daughter Aradia (or Herodias) the female Messiah, and that this little work sets forth how the latter was born, came down to earth, established witches and witchcraft, and then returned to heaven. With it are given the ceremonies and invocations or incantations to be addressed to Diana and Aradia, the exorcism of Cain, and the spells of the holy-stone, rue, and verbena, constituting, as the text declares, the regular church-service, so to speak, which is to be chanted or pronounced at the witch-meetings. There are also included the very curious incantations or benedictions of the honey, meal, and salt, or cakes of the witch-supper, which is curiously classical, and evidently a relic of the Roman Mysteries.

Having witch craft, the craft of witches, is having power over your own life. That is why it is and always has been dangerous to the state, the system.

The Horned Master governs the generative powers of the kingdom of the beasts, the raw forces of life, death and renewal which sustains the natural world.” Nigel A Jackson. The Call of the Horned Piper: 38 The Art and Craft of the Witches is found at the crossroad, where this world and the other side meets and all possibility become reality. This simple fact is often forgotten as one rushes to the Sabbath or occupies oneself with formalities of ritual. The cross marks the four quarters, the four elements, the path of Sun, Moon and Stars. The cross was fused or confused with the Greek staurus, meaning ‘rod’, ‘rood’ or ‘pole’. Various forms of phallic worship are simply, veneration for the cosmic point of possibility and becoming. It is at the crossroads we will gain all or lose all and it is natural that it is at the crossroads we gain perspective. The crossroad is a place of choice, the spirit-denizens of the crossroads are said to be tricky and unreliable and it is of course where we find the Devil. One of the most famous legends of recent times concerns the blues-man Robert Johnson (1911– 1938). He claimed that, one night, just before midnight he had gone to the crossroads. He took out his guitar and played, whereupon a big black guy appeared, tuned his guitar, played a song backwards and handed it back.2 This incident altered Johnson’s playing and his finest and most everlasting compositions were the fruit of the few years of life left to him. This legend tells us how he needed to bury himself at the crossroads, offering himself to the powers dwelling there. Business done with the Devil is said to give him the upper hand. The ill omens and malefica associated with such deals is present in Johnson’s story. He got fame and women, but he died less than three years later before he reached thirty. His body was found poisoned at a crossroads, the murderer’s identity a mystery. Around the Mississippi no less than three tombs carry the name of Robert Leroy Johnson. The image of the Devil remains one of threat, blessing, beauty and opportunity. Where we find the Devil we find danger, unpredictability and chaos. If he offers a deal we know we are in for a complicated bargain. The Devil says that change is good, that we need movement in order to progress. His world is about cunning and ordeal entwined like the serpents of past and future on the pole of ascent. It is to the crossroads we go to make decisions. It is at the crossroads we set the course for the journey. It is at the crossroads we confront ourselves and realize our

Attaining deeper spirituality and mastering more advanced magick have two unwavering requirements, and only two. One, you must intend to progress, intend to evolve, intend to take your magick and spirit further than ever. Two, you must actively pursue the next step along the journey.

Our models of magick are ever-expanding works in progress, imperfect and incomplete yet still highly useful in providing a concrete structure for testing theories, improving techniques, and figuring out our own best ways of working powerful magick. Whatever your model of magick might be, the important thing is to have one.

How can nothing more than a mass of quarks and blood and bones weep, love, dream? We are more than the matter we're made of, and that is in fact what makes us matter.

growled and shook my head,vetoing the whore red tube of lipstick

as you progress in the Craft, you’ll learn there is another rule. Esme’s obeyed it all her life.” “And what’s that?” “When you break rules, break ’em good and hard,” said Nanny, and grinned a set of gums that were more menacing than teeth.

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The contemporary spiritual practice of Witchcraft is based on many of the old customs and folk wisdom of old Europe. Because of this, practitioners have reclaimed the word “Witch.” Contemporary practitioners view the word as one of power and they reclaim it in an effort to be mindful of the cost of religious intolerance, to release negative associations and to forge a new future.

Where would you even go if you were free?” Beata continued. “East? West? You have no money. No family. No friends. You think your life would be better anywhere else?” Again, Zosia didn’t answer. It had never been about having a specific place or destination in mind. It was the possibility to choose, to go anywhere, wherever the mood and the wind took her. The freedom to decide her own path no matter where it might lead, the freedom to craft her own destiny.

Character Sheet: Herobrine Height: 6’3’’ Most Likely to Say: “Heroes Lose Everything.” Least Likely to Say: “I will fail!” Affiliation: None Origins: Herobrine is the king of the mobs. They follow whatever order he gives, and without him, they are weak and mindless. His goals are to dominate the entire world and become the King of Everything. One of the biggest cities that has been able to resist his attacks is Craft City. And since the arrival of The Mob Hunter, the job has only gotten harder. Herobrine faced off against The Mob Hunter and although he was winning, the Mob Hunter used his creeper ability to gravely injury both himself and Herobrine. Herobrine recovered using the potions of the witches and dark matter energy from the enderman. Not only did he get better, but he also gained the ability to turn into smoke. Herobrine teamed up with Crusher to successfully invade Craft City, but his victory was short lived as he was eventually once again defeated by The Mob Hunter. Herobrine got his freedom after he accepted Alex’s offer to join her team of villains to do hero work. With his redstone collar, he isn’t able to betray her. Yet. Then instead of Alex, Mayor Jackson had control of his redstone collar. Herobrine was then accidently rescued by Steve. Herobrine thought about who he was and if he really was a villain and realized that after fighting for the Mine City Heroes, he rather be a hero. His journey to redeem himself and become a hero came to an end when he sacrificed himself to save Anne and Steve.

Since modern witchcraft draws so much potency from the stories of the past, we can reach back into antiquity to identify with not only those with whom we may share a lineage or bloodline, but also with those with whom we may draw a poetic association. We also identify with those people who may not have been actual witches but who were accused and/or executed for the 'crime' of witchcraft, thereby drawing that current of poetic power into our own lives and practices.

BROOM PURIFICATION This basic purification with a broom can be done almost anytime and anywhere. Do not use a plastic or nylon-bristled broom. Find one with real straw bristles. Craft shops and farms open to the public sometimes sell handmade brooms. (For a personal touch, you can make one yourself following the directions in Chapter 7.) You can keep the broom you use for purification for that purpose alone, or use your regular housecleaning broom to purify. Here is how you should purify with a broom: 1. Stand in the middle of the room you intend to purify. Hold the broom in your hands. 2. Take three deep, slow breaths to calm yourself. 3. Begin to make a sweeping motion, sweeping the broom from your right to your left. Don’t actually touch the floor with the broom, but swing the broom an inch or so above it. It’s energy you’re sweeping, not the floor itself. 4. Turning to your left, slowly turn in place. This is a counterclockwise direction, which is traditionally associated with breaking up and banishing negative energy. Walk in a counterclockwise spiral around the room, sweeping just above the floor as you go. As you walk and sweep, visualize the energy of the room being stirred up by the motion of your broom, and any heavy spots being broken up and restored to the regular flow. See the energy being transformed from murky to bright and sparkling. 5. Sweep the entire room, gradually widening your counterclockwise spiral until you end at the door. 6. If you wish, you may end the purification with a short statement, such as: Bright and strong flows the energy through my home. This room is purified.

It was a beautiful fall day at the soccer fields when I met Stacy for the first time. The game had just begun when she arrived carrying homemade pumpkin spice muffins with cream cheese frosting for everyone, photos of the jack-o’-lantern she had elaborately carved earlier that morning into the shape of a witch stirring a bubbling cauldron with the rising steam spelling out the word “Boo,” enough material and glue for each of the siblings not playing soccer to make adorable “easy no-sew” bat wings as a fun craft to fill their time, as well as little gift bags for every mother full of Halloween-themed wine charms and sleep masks that were embroidered with “Sleeping for a spell.” Besides her generous gifts, she also looked terrific. She was wearing the perfect fall outfit with just the right number of layers and textures and cool boots. Her hair was beautifully twisted into a loose braid casually thrown over one shoulder. While everyone sat in their lawn chair and screamed at their kid to “attack the ball,” Stacy ran up and down the sidelines taking (no doubt fabulous) photos of her son and overseeing the siblings’ craft bonanza. At this point I should also mention, in case you don’t feel bad enough about yourself, that Stacy has a full-time job outside the home. Like a really important one. I’m not sure what she does exactly, but from the thirty seconds that she slowed down long enough to talk to me, I learned that she works fifty hours a week or so and travels around the country every few days and then comes home and makes her kids pancakes in the shape of clovers for breakfast, because it’s International Clover Day or some shit like that.

The Harry Potter franchise has featured two noteworthy magical books, the diary of Tom Riddle and later Tom’s Potions textbook. Of

is about as useful as a rubber gun loaded with Jell-O bullets,

DEDICATION For Halle. The coolest Mudblood I know. Consider this your Hogwarts letter.

6. You now have a Nimbus Two Thousand Hairpin that everyone else will be totally jealous of. Wear it and enjoy! TRANSFIGURATION TIPS If you prefer, you can also glue your broom to an alligator clip for a little more stability. GOLDEN SNITCH NECKLACE The

micro second, I could see Mishy and I doing an aerial somersault and being pinged like a sling shot off the bike, landing ungracefully  in the gutter, probably head first into a steaming pile of dog poo. Miraculously, (well not really, because I used my witch craft) Mishy was able to steer the bike to safety as her tyres magically ploughed through the bike on the ground. She kept saying over and over, “What just happened, what just happened? I thought we were dead!” I said to her, “Its ok Mish, you saved our lives.” “Sorry guys,” a timid voice popped out from behind the tree. “It was kind of lying against the tree when I left it. It must have fallen down. I hope you’re both ok.” As soon as I saw Kaitlyn sheepishly step out from behind the tree, it suddenly clicked as to what had been missing back at Koolbar. It was Kaitlyn. She wasn’t there and she was always dutifully there with Tiffany. Kaitlyn Ramsay was part of the princess gang, though she wasn’t as fake as the rest of them. Every Friday the four of them always sat in a corner of Koolbar, slurping on their shakes and getting guys to slurp on their every word. I don’t think I’ve ever been there on a Friday when the four of them weren’t huddled up together batting eyelids and preening themselves, whispering and fussing. Which is why it seemed so strange when I didn’t see her. As she stood under the branches, the sun sprinkling filtered light onto her face, I could see that her normally creamy colored complexion was blotchy, and her eyes were red and hazy. Her makeup was streaky under her eye’s with smudges of black casting shadows. She looked a little bit like Dracula’s daughter meets prom queen Barbie, but she put on this big phony smile as though nothing was wrong. As if! Did she think we were born under a rock? “So what’s happening guys?” She tried to sound cheery. “Nothing much, we’re just on the way home from Koolbar,” Mishy replied. “What about you? What are you doing hanging around a tree?” “Yeah Kaitlyn, we didn’t see you at Koolbar. What’s the deal? You’re always there on a Friday with the others.” Kaitlyn’s face crumpled momentarily when I questioned her, then just as quickly went a fake shade of happy again. “Agh, I didn’t really want to go today. I have aghh ….some other things I want to do,” she stuttered, searching for words. “Like bird watching?” Mishy giggled. “You didn’t want to go? That’s not like you Kaitlyn.” I added. “So are you two going straight home now?” Obvious change of subject from Kaitlyn. “Yeah I have to babysit my kid brother while my mom and dad go out on their date night. “Aren’t your parents married?” “Yes, they just like to have a date night once a week where they don’t have to be bothered by us kids. Apparently

really being able to relax means you can be comfortable doing nothing at all.