Wise Woman Summer
TLDR Version: I spent July trekking through bracken and brambles with a bunch of witches in Cornwall.
Oh, you want to hear the rest of the story? Okay, you asked for it.
I have a long-running joke with an old friend from back home that “we ARE the wise women now.” I’ve been saying this since we were 30… and ten years later, it’s no longer a joke. We are quickly running out of wise women elders to consult, not because there aren’t older women around us, but because we’re realizing that many of them aren’t that much wiser than we are!
My clients are notable exceptions to this rule, and I’m not just saying that to be nice (if you know me well, you know I don’t say ANYTHING just to be nice — I’m pathologically honest). I say this because my clients are people who not only have done the work, they’ve mastered it to the point of teaching it.
They are wise indeed.
But I wanted to find a group of elders in-person who had things figured out that I didn’t — which is how I found myself skirting around path-width puddles, getting snagged by blackberry brambles, and learning (viscerally) what “bracken” is (it’s a particularly robust fern) on the way to several sacred stone circles with 8 other witchy people in Cornwall.
I think I’ve always been searching for the answer to the Big Question of “how do we do this?”
“This” defined as:
Life,
living as a woman in the world,
becoming a badass,
being unfuckwithable.
With these goals in mind, witchcraft seemed like something worth exploring in greater depth. I won’t go into detail about my personal spiritual practices, but suffice to say that I have a pointed-straw-hat with a broad brim (for gardening), herbs hang from anything with a ledge (for medicinal purposes), and I firmly believe I can manifest parking spaces on demand. It’s Practical magic.
There is one witch I follow in particular who speaks to my down-to-earth witchy-style: H. Byron Ballard, the Appalachian Village Witch. (If you want the coziest comfort-listen of your life, check out her podcast: Wyrd Mountain Gals)
Every day, we’d trudge to sacred sites: St. Nectan’s Glen, Mên-an-Tol, Boscawen-un Stone Circle, The Merry Maidens, Sancreed Holy Well, St. Madron Well. We passed Clootie Trees and made wishes on strips of cotton, and left gummy bears for piskies (who, please note, do not appreciate the health food store versions).
Every evening, we’d sit around in a circle and learn how to work with energy in new ways. My personal favorite: Making noisy children quiet down and go away! (Yes, really, and it works. No, I won’t tell you how to do it, but maybe Byron will.)
We sang to the selkies on the coast, sang to the stones in the moors, connected with the nature spirits, got lost a couple times, and ate too many fries at pubs (while on a fruitless search for authentic scrumpy - a potent hard cider). And we met the Cornish Village Witch, Cassandra Latham-Jones, who had many bon-mots, like
“Real witches keep their kit ON!” (ie. none of that ‘sky clad’ nonsense in chilly Cornwall, thank you very much)
“Is that a lemon in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?”
And…
Byron: “I wake up with the sun.”
Cassandra: “Oh? What’s his name?”
But here’s the most magical thing that happened: I figured it out. The thing I’ve been searching for. The wisdom I’ve spent years trying to find. And part of the answer lies in practicing magic, but that’s only a tool for the larger work.
The larger work is agency.
Feeling like, no matter what the circumstances, you have agency. Feeling like, even if you’re by yourself, you are not alone because nature’s energy is there to connect with (and deities, fairies, or other people - if that’s your jam) — and the more you connect, the less alone you feel, and the more powerful you are.
Connection plus agency is a potent combination.
This is why women wielding magic is soooo threatening to the patriarchy — it’s a way for us to practice connection and agency, so when a situation arises, we don’t feel helpless.
We feel badass. Ready. Unfuckwithable.
I’m turning 40 this year, and I am well on my way to being unfuckwithable.
(This post has nothing to do with copywriting for coaches, copywriting for witches, or copywriting in general. It’s really just what’s on my mind today, which is a very old-school way of blogging. I guess I should add that I had quiche for breakfast, so we can make this an official old-school blog post.)