I am a witch

I am a witch. Yes. You read that right. In fact I am a Gray witch. What is a Gray witch you may ask? Well, before the Christian’s get the self righteous panties in a woad. Let me xplain what I mean by witch. 

My definition of a witch. And yes I have study a bit about witches and spells and all. And here’s what I found out when I (a born again spirit filled Christian) found out. It’s the same. They are the same. Except that their faith encounpasses nature and all that is part of this life and not just a text and deity that is deemed so by someone outside of each person. Or at least true witches don’t. True witches, which I feel are the walkers in between. What they walk is the line. Following the laws of nature that are all around us and are created by the deity that Christina’s proclaim to follow. But gods is all folks. And all is god. Even the devil is god in a devil costume. 

Each of us are witches. We call ourselves other names due to shame and our past with witch burnings and such. Which by my research shows a systemic issue with us be able to accept another’s truth (accessment) about who and what they see when they look at us. Truth. 

And today we struggle with truth. And from what I see? The church’s are at the top of that struggle list. Many are narrowmined. Narrow is the path guys. Not the mine? Jesus did not come and she’d his precious blood. Which was not saying he was a god to worship his body or name? Or story for that matter. His blood was precious because there would only be one Like him? A pundent square like no other, who’s mother was told his fathers name was God. Her heart still open to hear his voice. There were not so many voices back then, to drown the soveitgns voice out. And Mary obeyed that still, small, voice. Hear me. 

God is wearping for us. Can’t you feel it? Those pills can not make that pain go away. Escape is not possible. We are spirits, we, shattered and fragmented. All speaking different languages, yet saying the same things. What is it? What is the shout. What is the cry? Is it coming from without or from within?  Haven’t you heard the story of the tower? Well, language transcends geography and color, creed. Each body has its own language. Each body is its own combination. So each of our blood is precious. When it is spilled it drains us all, and fragments us more. 

I say I am a witch to prick that pride of yours. Pride you say? Yes, pride. Pride when you say I am at least not that. And I say to you, if you gaze upon that that you are not? You deny the mirror before you. 

Let us look again my friends. Let us tell our nasty truths, and let it set us free, to see again. Words can not be taken back. But the rest of that line goes like this. But neither are they to be held onto. Listen. Learn. Amd st them free. Each day is new. Yes. And if we hold onto truths from our past? We carry them into today. And in doing so have colored our world with yesterday’s news. Let us air our truths and not hide them where they become stain amd cause is grief. 

How can another change their course with out a course correction? And being brave enough to speak ones truth, sets one free to a new day. Full of possibilities. It is a mark to shoot for. Not a desination. Life is a journey. As we each share our truths, we each evolve and grow more aware. 

And when you know better? You do better! 

Oprah Winfrey’s paraphrase of Maya Angelou. 

Thanks for diving deep with me, I know. It’s dark down there. Xo

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