What is my first memory of feeling magick? I remember grinding up colored chalk into powders when I was young. I would save them in jars, then scatter them outside in protection or blessing. It was my fairy dust, my benediction.
I would gather stones, smooth and colored rocks from various places. Then, when the mood took me, I would gather them together, smear potions on them, and bury them around the property.
I was obsessed with rings for years. I was convinced an old ring of mine held incredible power. It was a beautiful old opal. I have no idea where I got it. Wearing it comforted me, made me feel stronger. Even after my fingers grew too large, I still would take it out from its hiding place and hold it.
I collected small bottles, and would fill them with colored liquids. As I did so, they become powerful potions of blessing.
My earliest memories are of talismans.
Later in life, in my early teens, I would sneak out at night and dance naked in the wind. A fey wildness would take me, and I could hardly wait for my parents to fall asleep so I could go out and commune with nature. It never lasted long, as nights in the Pacific Northwest are not warm, but it was invigorating. It was best right before a storm, when the air was vibrant and the wind blew in all directions. I always had the sense that this was something secret, something forbidden. I never spoke of it.
The Craft is an art, intuitive and personal. It sings to you, asks you to do things that seem whimsical or strange. Listen to it. It is so very easy to ignore it, especially as the stresses of adulthood and life creep in. Don’t do it! Listen to that impulse. Do something strange and powerful, childlike and free.
Listen, and play. Blessed be!