SHE Cackles: 

Q: Why don’t witches fly on their brooms when they are angry? 
A: They don’t want to fly off the handle.

b2ap3_thumbnail_LisaNoble-diademuertos_20151008-221304_1.jpg

    Witches aren’t angry. We harmonize with the cycles of Mother Earth and harm no one, and those who say otherwise will now have a hex placed upon them—Oops, just kidding . . . .
    We bow to the CRONES.
    Samhain is OUR DAY, the Witch’s Day. Everyone knows it. Oppression has burned so hot for so long, yet we are STILL HERE. At midnight, the veil between the worlds is thinnest. The Great Hags Hecate, Baba Yaga, Cerridwen beckon. Inanna descends to the underworld, Kali suppresses through splendor. Mictecacihuatil, an underworld goddess of the Aztec, sees her festival ever-increasing as “The Day of the Dead”: altars, processions, sugar skulls, and cemetery picnics acknowledge the ancestors. 
    We give honor to sisterwitches who have gone before, forgiveness to sisterwitches of this life, integration of one’s own earlier selves: bring all to the circle. Stir the cauldron. Celebrate the dark. The wonderful, scary, embracing, moon-changing, starflooded, mysterious, party-time, dream-time, magikal dark. The time of trans-formation. Do not be afraid. Take back the night. We are the Witches, let there be nothing out there more wonderfully wicked than we! 

Carolyn Myers © Mother Tongue Ink 2014