By Thom Potter

It was an ordinary night. The air was a little cool with the breeze flowing from the ocean a few kilometers away. It was a cool, fresh night. I was visiting my mother, that day. It was our custom occasionally to go to Denny’s for coffee and sobremesa. At thirty, one has a feel for the impermanence of life, and one comes to savor the little things a bit better. I, being the gentleman that I am, opened the door for her and her guide dog, Lennie. At the time, I was new to the Craft of the Witch, and had not yet even been Wyccaned. Though I was better aware of my environment, my maturity had not yet matched my new experiences. I was wearing a pentacle of simple design, two inches wide, and made of pewter. I felt that it was my affair what my faith was, and any who wanted to confront me on it would be welcome to an education! (What children we are when first we are enlightened!)

As we waited for a table, I noticed a young Hispanic couple sitting at the counter. He was talking with her in a way that suggested to me that they were either a couple, or about to be. I smiled, happy to see they would be happy. He, too, had turned to see who had entered. His eyebrows rose a bit as he noticed Lenny. Not many expect to see a dog in a restaurant, and we have witnessed many different sorts of reactions. (“Mommy, there’s a dog in here!”, “Silly child, they won’t let a dog in here…” “But mommy, there he is!”) Then his eyes drifted from Lennie to me and they exploded. His mouth dropped open as his hand flew quickly across his chest with desperate accuracy, and then turned from me.

Living in America through most of my life, I have come to accept myself as unusual, but normal. A Pentacle draped about one’s neck is a bold, but a modest statement by herself. To this Hispanic, however, finding himself in the presence of a bruho was cause for panic.

Until this incident, my experience had been limited to looks of scorn, pity, and curiosity. I can cope with this. This is, after all, America, land of milk and religious freedom under God. Questioning one’s faith is a private mater. Open displays are often considered the work of buffoons and Hollywood Land.

Like a cross or a Chaí’im, the Pentacle represents a commitment to a religious philosophy. The Craft is one of several Pagan cultures. Paganism represents a basic, down to Earth approach to life and the life force that interpenetrates us all. Our faith centers us on nature, and humanity’s relationship to Him. The Witch often focuses on the feminine aspect of Magic, with all the healing and nurturing that Motherhood implies. (I don’t mean that to be an absolute truth, just a general observation.) Each culture, religious or civil, possess such symbols that represent faith and commitment. Sometimes, however, such displays stop any further conversation.

When this Hispanic crossed himself, I was confused at first. I was no threat to him or his lover. With only a little reflection I knew that it was my Pentacle that gave him cause to fear. It blazoned in his mind everything society had taught him to fear in a Witch. I was the little old hag who ate children and drew men in for dinner and a date, (not in that order of course, silly). The fact that I was a young man would not have changed his opinion. He saw only the stereotype. Before this occasion it was my belief that such displays were my concern alone and any who find it troubling should get a life or ask me questions! (Whew!)

An ancient Chinese proverb observes, “To know others is to be wise. To know oneself is to be enlightened. [Lao-tzu]” There is a long-standing joke, (not the one about 13 Witches in a bathhouse making a self-cleaning coven). If we placed thirteen Witches into a room, and asked us what we believed, there would be fifteen answers, and no one would know where that fifteenth came from. Nevertheless, some things would always be near the top of the list. Only those who would bring harm or illness into the world should have any cause for fear from a Witch. The Witch may want to stir another’s thoughts, cause them to question their own faith and the world theories they have accepted.

The Craft expects Witches to be responsible, for their actions and how they affect the environment. As such, I can easily accept scorn, pity, and even curiosity. These only originate from within the other person, (and are vented on an image that does not exist, any way). Ordinarily, these people will find many opportunities to vent their emotions, by making threatening phone calls, or entering a pagan chat room and scrolling everyone into wrath.

Love is the desire for happiness and security. Fear is the desire not to lose love. Unrequited fear can evolve into anger, which can grant the power to change what is wrong. Unrequited anger can evolve into hate for another or shame for oneself. Hate and shame are hard emotions of which to be rid. In a society that has no valuable outlet for these emotions, this can be hazardous to our collective health.

I can quiet an angry or excited horse with body language and vocal tones. (I use this technique in my classroom, too, with favorable results.) The results are nearly immediate. A frightened horse is another story. I must first cure the fear, for he may kill me now and regret it later. A hate-filled horse is another story all together. Someone has abused such horses for quite sometime, and for no-good reason. Eliminating the hate is nearly impossible, as it is well ingrained and little I can do will convince the horse of any other truth.

There was a time when the clans respected the Witch, and her wisdom preferred. And then they tried and murdered us for no-good reason except for that wisdom. We could hear the voice of God for our selves, and the social leaders were doing the wrong thing. Murder is never a good governing tool, whoever justifies it, (they aren’t like us in any way, so why keep them around?) These persecutions culminated in the fifteenth century, as the Church tried to hold onto Her temporal authority. The Mother Church forgot our teachings of respect for life. She began to participated fully in the slaughter of innocents. The Burning Times rest hard on a Witch’s memory. These Times are similar to the memory of Jews, Negroes and women who have also suffered much persecution at the hands of authorities. My study of the life of President Lincoln has taught me to educate my opponents to the error of their logic, not beat my views into their heads. If they do not agree with me, it does not matter. They may have learned something to help them grow. If we try to beat it into them, we only convince them that they were right and that we are bitches after all!

It is with this in mind that this Witch prefers a more subtle form of advertisement. The Pentacle becomes different or added, somehow, to the clothing. Often, we simply remember it. The Pentacle reminds me of the nature of magic, of the Witch, and of the world we serve. Then, the person who I must assossiate with will get to know me, and respect me, and possibly, respect my faith as well. My best shield against fear and hate are love and stability in the mind of him who wears her. To use her as a weapon is to rape the maiden head of truth and moksha that truly empower the Witch.