The Witches of the Kitchen Table

Even a mere planning meeting is, for a bunch of wacky coven sister witches, a time of fun, magic and more than a few off-colour remarks.

It feels odd but nice to realize I am finally part of anything resembling a coven --- a closed, acknowledged and organized (if only somewhat! The phrase "herding cats" has been used more than once) of witches or mages who meet on a regular basis. The charmingly humble, earthy, but in-your-face honest name "Witches of the Kitchen Table" popped up some months ago in response to that eternal human question, "What shall we call ourselves?", in part because that's where we always seem to end up meeting. A mystic grove is lovely, but the kitchen table is warm, convenient, safe, accessible for those with bad knees, and strong enough to support all the candles, cauldrons and bottles of booze we wish. We flirted with Jezebel, tossed about Lilith, but so far, the Kitchen Table has stuck. The fact that it isn't excessively romantic or sounds like it's right off the pen of some cheesy scriptwriter from the new Sabrina (*eye roll*, gimme a break) is why I like it.

Our little coven, such as it is, comprises a loose friend-group of about eleven women that grew up organically; some people believe this to be the best way for a coven to form, but of course that's one opinion. Ours evolved in part due to what can be called a "hiving off": In this case, an older nonprofit women's spirituality group was no longer serving the needs of several of us. Emotional and psychological, even verbal, abuse was also a factor, including shaming (mainly slut-shaming) and gaslighting, as were childish power games, with the nonprofit being controlled by three people who all lived in the same household and were loathe to hand any power to new members (despite their claim otherwise), and avoided disclosing the legal ramifications of being on a nonprofit board of council to those who were allowed in. Many of us began finding these behaviors unacceptable, perhaps none more so than my housemate after ten years of dealing with these dynamics! When an old system no longer serves, or refuses to grow and adapt --- even with the seemingly positive goal of feminist empowerment --- a new system works to fill the need; my fellow sister's use of the word "dinosaur" was not misplaced.

My path began as a solitary at the age of nine, and solitary I have always been, from my simple childhood moon rituals and first Wiccan ritual tools, to working with a totemic animal, to exploring the nature of deity-forms via quantum physics, to medicinal herbalism and the potential of an archetypal fictional character like Severus to guide and enlighten. I've gone to events or done rituals hosted by many different groups and organizations, and briefly even conducted my own as a priestess for the sake of others' benefit (and, of course, to get that experience of growth under my belt). But no group affilations have ever been permanent for me.

I believe some part of a mage's practice should always be solitary, because your path must always, somehow, be unique, just as you are. Also, like popularity, the context of a group can be whisked from you at any time, whether by abuse, drama, location factors, or simply by your changing spiritual needs: A feeling of "been there done that, got the grade" has motivated certain past changes of scene in my life, but so did graduating college and leaving Bellingham! And while initiation into a group can be affirming, many witches and mages today clearly understand it isn't mandatory, or even always helpful. Our coven is definitely a friendship, rather than tradition (i.e. Wicca) or initiation, based group, although some of us did initiate in a tradition. Initiations can be just as meaningful if done solitarily, as mine were. Often as not, a traditional initiation can be, as in the case of the PaganFair presenter, just a way of stroking the ego and placing yourself above your fellow humans and witches, and thus just kind of totally missing the fucking point of spiritual expansion! And as always, there will --- not may, but will, in this lifetime or the next --- come a point where you outgrow the group.

I'll go further, and say that one's ideal spiritual state is that of continuous growth and change, at times rapidly and other times slowly, because what doesn't grow and change begins to stagnate --- spiritually, a situation worse than death. When things are always the same, even and perhaps especially when they're also comfortable, we tend to get complacent. Transformation is part of life, as is challenge.

Thus there's a good chance I won't be in this group forever, either. But I am currently enjoying being in the closest, tightest, most regularly-meeting group of magickally-oriented women I've ever been in, for the specific purposes of friendship and working magic, after having so few close friends for most of my life; my earlier years in this same city were mostly marked by a few friendships with older males, and damn it, I am liking having sisters to witch, stitch and bitch with! Finally, no matter how far or how long I roam, I hope to always be able to return and visit these women as my friends.

I won't stake my life on such hopes, mind. Ever. As one of our coven's youngest (a mere 37!), most grounded and least volatile members, and an introvert, I've learned by observation how quickly things can fall apart in a person's sphere. My psychological stability is due in part to my lack of experience in dealing with a lot of nasty situations in which my coven-sisters are veterans, like abuse, drama and health issues --- and in turn, that lack of experience has manifold causes, of which my youth is only one: My low-drama life is also a result of my actively choosing to avoid reckless or emotional situations, dodgy relationships, or impulsive decisions. I have less baggage to recover from, by choice, and by luck of my parental story, and it means I have more growth in certain aspects of my life, but less in others, having not overcome those challenges. I know I could find our group rent apart by unforseen dramas, since so many of us are still recovering from intense wounds --- both physically and psychically.

So what is my place here? As I see it, it's to firstly be a supportive friend to these sister women, to the best of my ability, though I'm only human and may fail. It's not my place to judge, since while another woman's choice may not be the one I'd make, it's her choice and I need to respect that; her spirit is growing because of it. And also, because sometimes shit just happens, and we need to support each other when it does. I'd want them to do the same for me. Aside from that, my place in this group is to make the most of all the moments I share in it. That includes being creative and having fun, and helping the others do the same. Unless I'm mistaken, it's what humans did together before we had so-called group therapy. It's what we need to do still. It's called community.

The goal of this meeting was to plan further for our May 4th Butterfly Goddess transformation ritual. Midway into March, I decided to work with the ancient goddess of Minoan Crete, one of whose many symbols is the butterfly. She's a beautiful but tricky one, because it was so long ago, and Minoan mythos was rewritten --- as usual --- by patriarchal victors. The Minoan minotaur, for example, shares a similar shamed and subjugated or "monsterized" role as Eve and the serpent. I'll need to do some meditations to dig below all of that. But it'll be easier to access her than Etain of Ireland, whose myth is like one big thousand-year continual handoff and catfight! Besides. . . . I'm not currently feeling very blonde and fairy-like. It couldn't possibly be the Snape in me, could it?

First order of our meeting was food. No booze this time, since we had time restrictions. One of the Kitchen Table's founding forces is our shameless Aries powerhouse Amie, and while neither autoimmune disorders nor surgeries have kept her down for long, she was back for another work week tomorrow, just as I was.

Then Amie laid out an altar on our namesake kitchen table. We lit candles, and some delicious transformation incense on a charcoal brique in a tiny cauldron. The black candle had a dried crocus on it, which eventually caught fire and burned like some weird second wick, looking very Victorian Gothic. Three of us leaned in at one time, getting photos, and I intoned, "It's the gathering of the phones!!"

Actual planning is typically preceded by, and interspersed with, much ranting and discussion of family issues, job complaints, and lovers gone wrong, plus randy comments involving body parts and anything else that tickles our fancies (it's why we call our crafty meetings "witch, stitch and bitch", after all).

But eventually we started ironing out the order of the ritual: who invokes who and when, who gives what gifts when, and so on. Wanda showed up with two kinds of pop-snacks, and then there were five of us. Kat shared a great insight about her goddess, the fierce Itzpapaloatl, and the labyrinth meditation. I dug out my oracle cards, found a cool Minoan statue design online and planned how to replicate it with my skills, and snuck some chocolate-infused wine off the counter. There were oils for annointing, and my method of smelling a substance as taught to me by Snape and another, real teacher has become habitual, an amusingly rapid but effective sniffing:
". . . .snifsnifsnifsnifsnif. . . ."
(I'd say doglike, but Snape would no doubt take offense to an indirect reference to Sirius!)
Meanwhile, the black candle devolved into a wax pool that burned lower and lower and finally went out.

We went til 5:30 instead of 3:00, and had to beat it out of there. The transformation incense spilled all over the floor, and I scooped up what I could and kept it. Kat grabbed the kids, and then we went to Scrap --- I had the honor of introducing her first time! We found fifty of the little bags I'd suggested we get at the meeting for the ritual gifts, and the Greek design was perfect. I got cloth, including some butterfly altar print, and a book on hand-dyeing and spinning yarn! Scrap is super-cheap and loads of fun.

After that we went to New Renaissance, where I got an impulse buy, though I'd been wanting one for awhile: a snake priestessing armband. Then we went home. I'd had a headache for two hours by then, but I knew it would lessen with finally washing my hair, food, drink, and sleep. But before I washed my hair, I took a photo. It's longer now, and looks so lush and smooth with three weeks' worth of grease in it!

My new armband! I'll definitely want it for the Minoan role, in addition to its regular use for my personal rites at home.