By Land, Sky & Sea (18 page)

A Witch understands life and the experiences that go hand in hand with that mystery to be one great circle that we cast (reaffirm) again in every moment. The importance of ceremonial initiation in the context of mystery traditions such as Witchcraft is that the ritual helps to facilitate an unbinding and an opening up to the freedom that is our gods-given birthright! Often, while having my personal devotional ritual every week, I will reaffirm this sacred truth for myself by reciting my own personalisation of a traditional Craft verse: “I come to the charge neither bound nor free, but it is here, within the circle that is in all places, that I find my freedom.”

For me, the Craft has always concerned freedom—the freedom to accept that I am a powerful being in my own right, and therefore I am able to live my life and channel the currents of change and evolution to aid my journeying through the woven web of Wyrd. I am a Witch and a priest, and I have focussed on the equilibrium—and, indeed, the implicit complementation—between these two states of being. In my mind and heart, the Witch is aware, and the priest harnesses this awareness, enhances it, and channels it towards service and devotion to the gods, the tribe/community (including the environment/earth which sustains us), and self. However, this is not to say that a Witch who does not consider herself a priestess is not on a path of service or devotion. Indeed, in my opinion, being a Witch, at least in the modern revived traditions, implies priesthood.

When one is initiated as a Witch and priest/ess (as the Wiccan rites testify), one is opened to the vital current that is born of the great mystery and returns to it. If we are initiated into that current, we become vessels for and of the great mystery, and that is a journey one never forgets.

One can never fully describe initiation or the phenomenon of this particular magickal rite of passage, as words do no justice to the truth and core of the experience. However, here I have assembled a few beautiful words and expressions from a variety of Pagan friends who have been, are, and will continue to be initiated.

Initiation means to become a witness to wonder, to the great wonder of the mystery…to become the great wisdom.

—Awen, initiated priest of the WildWood
Tradition (Coven of the WildWood)

Initiation…it’s as if delicate threads of the most dense yet light metal have woven their way into my spinal cord, my bones, my veins. It reminds me. It holds me to what is sacred, to the very centre of what I am. It is with me in moments of terror and joy, and it is simply me, myself…which will always be, to me, the greatest mystery of all.

—Arione, initiated priestess of the WildWood
Tradition (Coven of the WildWood)

I entered with hands bound, blindfolded, and relying on being led to show my perfect trust. After the physical release, I was presented with a coven robe, which I changed into within the circle. These physical forms symbolised internal changes of clear sight, free movement, and a new presentation of myself to the world.

To me, initiation was a ceremonial ritual, a recognition and a reward for hard work and a transformation into the full freedom of equality and community within the coven. The ceremony was as powerful as a shooting star in the night sky, full of joy and spirit but also serious and sober.

—SpirAl, initiated Witch of Earthwyrm Coven

My initiation into Paganism opened a totally new way of life for me—a realization that I was looking at everything from a different perspective and deriving more from each day because of it. It’s been many years since that change took place for me, and the differences are still apparent and continuing each moment. From that time onwards, life has taken on a glow that grows ever stronger and more purposeful.

—Marye-Ann Azzarello, initiated Witch
of Earthwyrm Coven and Coven of the Two Sisters

For me, initiation marked the beginning of my commitment to the Pagan way. I had learned enough by then to know that this was the path for me, and also enough to know that there was still a lifetime of learning in front of me. I think initiation is a way of saying, “My feet are on the path; now let’s see where it leads.”

—Morganna, initiated Witch and
high priestess of Earthwyrm Coven

Initiation.

Know it, name it, step forward and claim it!

Here is the mantle of priestess—take it.

A long journey lies behind you,

So let me remind you,

Of the long nights of doubt,

Of the days of fun and dancing,

Of the way your mind cleared after learning

That you do not have to be perfect,

Only willing to offer your service.

Yes, when you made your first attempt,

You didn’t know that you could take this step;

So celebrate as we offer acknowledgement,

Be bold although we can’t hold your hand

To help you over this threshold.

Today you need to stand alone before the gods

Knowing it, naming it,

Finally claiming it;

That you have a desire for service

That you are their priestess.

—Helona Moverin, initiated priestess
of the WildWood Tradition (Coven of the WildWood)

Initiation is the acceptance within yourself of your connection with the greater worlds around you. It is taking the next step on your path and walking with strength, knowledge, and courage in your heart.

—Shiray, urban shaman

Initiation is not a stroll in the park. Initiation is a journey through the hidden and shadowed crevice to what lies beyond. However, the initiate is not truly alone: their coveners, the Mighty Ones and the Goddess and God all witness and partake in the journey.

—Dyffeg, second-degree priestess
and Witch, Circle Coven

Initiation means to offer one’s self to the gods, to experience not just their presence but their acceptance. It is a journey of humility and sacrifice of ego.

—Sarah, initiated priestess, Circle Coven

Initiation is the affirmation of my oneness with the earth and all of her inhabitants—human and non-human, spiritual and physical, animate and inanimate—in the ever-increasing web of life that connects us all through time and space.

—Linda, initiated priestess of a
Celtic Pagan path (solitary)

Initiation is the end of a journey with the gods and the elements and is the beginning of a new one.

—Amaris, initiated priestess, Circle Coven

Initiation means to begin a journey towards self-discovery and self-mastery. Quite simply, it is to initiate the process of unravelling who and what we truly are. It is the turning point of an individual’s life, where one has decided once and for all to know oneself. Initiation only happens once, and the process of unfolding is ongoing. You cannot turn back or unlearn what you have learnt. Once you have begun, you cannot go back.

—Dennis, initiated priest of Janicot

Initiation is the clarity of knowing so greatly and feeling so deeply the mysteries, and then realising all over again you know nothing!

—Saule, initiate of a Celtic Wiccan tradition
and the WildWood Tradition

The Lord of Death, he came to me,

As I beheld the grail

Of wonder, joy, enlightenment,

And thus begins my tale.

In golden light and hues divine,

I knelt before the king;

He handed me the axe of death

I trembled in his ring.

Blunt blade, long staff,

A sceptre proud, of tearing life from life;

Of blood, of loss, of pain, of grief

And causing all but strife.

But then the Mother came to me

And whispered secrets old;

Beside the gruesome blade

She placed a glory to behold.

Beside the blood-stained blade

She placed a sickle moon,

She sang to me of rebirth

From the darkness of her womb.

The Goddess smiled and knelt and said,

“I love you, you are mine.”

I knelt and kissed her silver lips

And witnessed the Divine.

For within each seed therein lies

A story to unfold;

And it is life and it is death

A glory to behold.

—Eilan, initiated priest of the WildWood Tradition
and of the goddess Persephone and the lady Aphrodite

The Gift
of Persephone

Her flawless, shadow-riddled face stared soullessly back from the ancient mirror, eyes unblinking and lips poised to reveal the white caps of two perfect rows of teeth. The glass was smudged, and the concave depths seemed to lap a pool of eternity. Eurydike lay on her side, her unbridled pink flesh resting against the soft fabric of perfectly pressed linen sheets and satin pillows. Her left arm propped itself up to frame her elegant elfin chin while she ceaselessly traced patterns with her tapered fingers. Her raven-black hair shone eerily beneath the subtle glow of the crescent moon as its lunar liquid slid down the arch of her delicate back, forming an intricacy of rivers and streams against the fine lines that composed her young skin. Eurydike glanced up to see a snow-white owl perched upon the windowsill, an ocean of black crashing formidably against its stark luminosity.

The owl tilted its head as if to study the porcelain figure. Secrets and stories spilled forth from the inky midnight tones of the bird’s endlessly open eyes and began to dance evocatively with the undulating shadows.

Eurydike watched as the owl performed its task and then took flight, the surrounding darkness absorbing it completely as if it were a taint or the owl a shapeshifter. Though the owl had passed into the shadowy passage that was the gaping yawn of night, Eurydike felt its presence linger on, an imprint set into the fibres of air that clung like weather-beaten strips of fabric to a rain-soaked body. Stifling her own delicate yawn, Eurydike inwardly affirmed her decision. She had not taken the road to the west for many a year; however, the memories of the journey had never left her, and in the deepest moments, when solitude was the cloak, they swarmed through her mind. Driven by an insatiable lust to reunite with the forward consciousness that was the present-being, Eurydike embarked on a pilgrimage along the road to what can only be known by unknowing oneself.

Drawn to and empowered by the heartwoven stretch of mystery that was the gods and their livelihood, Eurydike rose reverently from her bed, taking care not to crease the sheets. A mist gathered at her feet and began to spiral, surrounding her slight frame as if fueled by some serpentine divinity. Eurydike heard the soft hiss and smelt the cypress and juniper of the chthonic temple as if its scent had remained eternally imprinted upon the soft palate of her tongue. A lilt began to slide self-consciously through her lips, escaping before any inhibition was able to bar its way. The lilt became a lull and the lull became a chant and the chant a song, until the golden muses themselves forsook all their endeavours just to listen. The cosmos, the ribboning current of life, was filled to its outermost with the vibrating presence of the spell and echoed back the story of creation itself. For Eurydike’s song was made of the essence of magick, and while she was no great Witch like the famed Medea, she knew the path to the underworld was won by such a spell as was unravelling. Then, as if a lock had been slid out of place, there was a series of hastened clicks, and a pure vision unfolded before Eurydike’s eyes.

First there was a river, channelled through small openings within the earth, flanked by settled stone and veins of treasure. The river, black as pitch, emerged from the dragon’s carved path into a field of soft yellow light that came as honey runs spilt. There were many happy souls, and they feasted and drank from a spring that wove further back, until no trace of its source could be marked. Eurydike then noticed a dark man who seemed the patron of the realm, crowned and with woven bands of crop and blossom about his arms as if the gathering had bedecked him with these gifts in honour of his kindness and generosity to them. He was a king, and feeding around his feet was a black cockerel, sparsely snowed upon, though the light shone from its preened feather coat in a golden hue that seemed to say, “Here is one blessed.” Then the light began to dim, and the field of laughter and light faded as the coarse and violent journey through the howling halls of Tartaros began.

Pain and suffering was the brand endured by the damned and forgotten, whose destiny it was to linger trapped and tortured forevermore. There was unearthly shrieking and a keening undertone that clipped finely at Eurydike’s heart. There were stretches of blood-stained platters on which the beating hearts of the damned were as potatoes to blunt knives. Tartaros was a hollow veil and not truly a place of substance, existing mercilessly on the periphery of Hades.

My daughter,
came a voice. Eurydike sat within a royal chamber, splendid in its subtlety and Spartan grace. While there were few things to fill the grandeur of the room, each one was a miraculous beauty. The throne that Eurydike had awakened to seemed at first the work of the wood-realms; however, upon second glance, she noticed the soft gleam of obsidian and the flash of rainbow that signalled its profound depths. Upon the throne, however, was a woman—a woman who wore a soft, trailing white gown that neither hung loosely nor hugged her form. Her long hair was black and shone from the rich oils and spices that had been lathered into the fibres. Her eyes were waterlike jewels embedded in a porcelain face of serene expression. Her blood-red lips were enhanced by the glistening juices of the pomegranate, and her supple breasts were nursed by a modest neckline. All was still. An all-pervasive silence wove its way into the core of Eurydike’s being until she found herself kneeling, head bowed to the woman before her. Suddenly all Eurydike had ever known had been washed away in a torrent of massing shadows, writhing like Medusa’s own crown. Eurydike knew then that the woman before her was more than and exactly as she appeared. She was the Lady of Paradox, the Veil and the Veiled, the Key to the Mystery, the Queen of Hades, and—of course—she who bears the promise of spring, the Kore…Persephone.