You Can't Stop A Witch
Happy Friday!
Welcome back to the Chapel of Honey. We meet you as you are, where you are, no judgement.
I’m going to the shrine and making it into my own workspace, you can’t stop a witch in a room full of spirits for hire. I’m taking my bills to the money box and sprinkling my own holy oils into the beeswax candles, because this is a house of god and I’m making myself right at home in it. Every icon here knows my name, the sound of my voice ringing out when the century old walls hold no other walking bodies and the rhythm of my footfalls to and from the altar.
I’m taking dirt from the feet of saint joseph and bringing it to one of my own altars, mixing it with salt and red brick dust and sealing in a jar with wax from a candle bathed in rue and st jude colognes. My faith lives in my heart and my hands, in the roots and prayer cards and the words that tumble from my lips. You can’t stop a witch who knows the old ways and makes new ones, too.
There’s a place for me in every room I enter, I’ve made sure of it. There’s a gift for me nestled in the boughs of tomorrow, in the folds of yesterday, and I’m like kid on christmas when I find what the saints have kept tucked away just for me. You can’t stop a witch in love with Time itself, God will always romance the one who adores Her Mysteries. How can you defeat the one who loves the sand in the hourglass? The ride is live, you’re in the mix and the only thing to do is dance until the sky falls.
I am my own priest. I don’t need anyone to administer God to me when I am here in the flesh and with the blood, when I hold a cauldron in my womb and have eyes to see the Sun come up. Who can give me God better than the body I was born in? Who can feel the soft fur of the animal or taste the feast or relish the sensation of gliding through water for me? You can’t stop a witch who knows that God is, that god is within and reflected and reaching out in her very own fingertips. When I hug myself in weeping, the Mother holds me. When I embrace my lover, God is in both of our arms and hearts and the warmth that rises between us. There is no priest of sensation but my own soul, and no greater way to adore God than by living.
And when my world falls apart? So what, that’s a tuesday. I laugh with Michael and Lucifer, spinning arm in arm until we fall onto the soft grass still smiling, until I’m ready to build a fire in the clearing and call up the One who can get the work done. I’m Purgatory’s favorite daughter-auntie-mother-friend, always there to continue the prayers of the Dead, and in turn they part the waters where I walk. You can’t stop a witch like me.
Love always,
Honey