The Path of a Christian Witch Read Online Free Page B
Author: Adelina St. Clair
Tags: Religión, Spirituality, Christian, Memoir, witch, Christianity, wicca, pagan, paganism, Feminism, Faith, self-discovery, feminine, belief
neither from books nor from formal teachings. It came from experience. My experience. This wisdom came through my body and through the earth and through the energy of the universe. A new dimension was opening up for me.
The next day I returned to the bookstore. My vision was changed. I felt a profound serenity. The colors around me were brighter. I could hear everything without being overwhelmed by it all. My breathing was even. I felt so peaceful that the fact that I lost my wallet that day did not jar me. I merely observed that it was missing and went about the process of finding it. I felt none of the usual stresses and anxiety that I was so prone to. I felt the world.
It was in this state of openness that I walked down an aisle in the bookstore and picked up the book that would turn my journey around.
I walked over to the spirituality/New Age section. I let my fingertips linger over the books as I walked. I had just finished my exams the week before. I had all the time in the world. I was filled with that glorious feeling of youth and summer vacation. My fingers stopped and I took a look: Book of Shadows by Phyllis Curott, Wiccan High Priestess.
I had never heard of Wicca or Paganism. I picked up the book and went to sit in the bookstore’s café. I had spent innumerable hours here, cramming for exams. It felt so good to be able to sit quietly and read whatever I wanted. I opened the book and started reading. I was plunged into a woman’s journey as she discovered the magic of a new-old religion called Wicca. I was with her as she found her way to a magic store and joined other women and celebrated her femininity in ritual, as she conjured magic and awakened an untapped power deep within, the power of the Goddess. I followed her as she became a Witch.
I realized then that there was nothing I wanted more. I wanted to lead rituals and feel magic in the world. I wanted to worship the sacred image of myself through the Goddess. I wanted to feel connected to the universe and worship the sanctity of nature. I wanted to feel the rhythms of the earth and walk the world in pure awareness. I wanted to be a Witch.
I held the book close to my heart. Books are the vehicle of stories and fairy tales. They tell the tales of other people.
But what if ? . . . I thought. What if the magic could happen to me?
Maybe I could join a group at a distance, a group like the one this woman had joined. Maybe I could do some distance courses . . .
I sat at my computer and I entered the words: classes, Witchcraft, and Paganism.
Crescent Moon School of Magic and Paganism
Ste-Catherine Street West . . . Montreal . . .
I stared blankly. I had lived around the corner for two years, and I’d never noticed the little magic shop. It was there, right around the corner. I could not believe my eyes. I could meet others, learn about magic, celebrate the Goddess and the cycles of nature. I could dance around a circle and lift my hands up high in praise. I could be a Witch.
Now, I had to ask myself a serious question.
Did I dare?
A Goddess Made of Clay
There was no doubt. I was afraid.
It was right there at my fingertips. All the magic and beauty I’d always wanted. What if it was really a strange cult, waiting to get me? What if I lost myself in it? Worst of all: What if God disapproved and cursed me forever? Was I willing to take a chance on this? I disagreed deeply with many of the positions of the church on gender and homosexuality, the place of women, and other political stances. Yet the voice of doom kept booming in my ears. Concepts that I’d cast away, like hell and sin, came sneaking back into my life. What if I was being seduced by an image of beauty and that heathen image was taking me away from the one true faith? I knew logically that it was ridiculous. I did not believe in a vengeful God. But the propaganda of the church was effective. I was afraid.
For weeks I debated. I called the school and asked questions. The teacher seemed
The next day I returned to the bookstore. My vision was changed. I felt a profound serenity. The colors around me were brighter. I could hear everything without being overwhelmed by it all. My breathing was even. I felt so peaceful that the fact that I lost my wallet that day did not jar me. I merely observed that it was missing and went about the process of finding it. I felt none of the usual stresses and anxiety that I was so prone to. I felt the world.
It was in this state of openness that I walked down an aisle in the bookstore and picked up the book that would turn my journey around.
I walked over to the spirituality/New Age section. I let my fingertips linger over the books as I walked. I had just finished my exams the week before. I had all the time in the world. I was filled with that glorious feeling of youth and summer vacation. My fingers stopped and I took a look: Book of Shadows by Phyllis Curott, Wiccan High Priestess.
I had never heard of Wicca or Paganism. I picked up the book and went to sit in the bookstore’s café. I had spent innumerable hours here, cramming for exams. It felt so good to be able to sit quietly and read whatever I wanted. I opened the book and started reading. I was plunged into a woman’s journey as she discovered the magic of a new-old religion called Wicca. I was with her as she found her way to a magic store and joined other women and celebrated her femininity in ritual, as she conjured magic and awakened an untapped power deep within, the power of the Goddess. I followed her as she became a Witch.
I realized then that there was nothing I wanted more. I wanted to lead rituals and feel magic in the world. I wanted to worship the sacred image of myself through the Goddess. I wanted to feel connected to the universe and worship the sanctity of nature. I wanted to feel the rhythms of the earth and walk the world in pure awareness. I wanted to be a Witch.
I held the book close to my heart. Books are the vehicle of stories and fairy tales. They tell the tales of other people.
But what if ? . . . I thought. What if the magic could happen to me?
Maybe I could join a group at a distance, a group like the one this woman had joined. Maybe I could do some distance courses . . .
I sat at my computer and I entered the words: classes, Witchcraft, and Paganism.
Crescent Moon School of Magic and Paganism
Ste-Catherine Street West . . . Montreal . . .
I stared blankly. I had lived around the corner for two years, and I’d never noticed the little magic shop. It was there, right around the corner. I could not believe my eyes. I could meet others, learn about magic, celebrate the Goddess and the cycles of nature. I could dance around a circle and lift my hands up high in praise. I could be a Witch.
Now, I had to ask myself a serious question.
Did I dare?
A Goddess Made of Clay
There was no doubt. I was afraid.
It was right there at my fingertips. All the magic and beauty I’d always wanted. What if it was really a strange cult, waiting to get me? What if I lost myself in it? Worst of all: What if God disapproved and cursed me forever? Was I willing to take a chance on this? I disagreed deeply with many of the positions of the church on gender and homosexuality, the place of women, and other political stances. Yet the voice of doom kept booming in my ears. Concepts that I’d cast away, like hell and sin, came sneaking back into my life. What if I was being seduced by an image of beauty and that heathen image was taking me away from the one true faith? I knew logically that it was ridiculous. I did not believe in a vengeful God. But the propaganda of the church was effective. I was afraid.
For weeks I debated. I called the school and asked questions. The teacher seemed
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