I am VVitch. 

Weaving my way with language…a new spelling and a new concept. Welcome to the musings of my mind. 

My childhood was infused with the classical pop-cultural images of witch. The evil witch. The witch in black with long grey hair. Wart on her crooked nose. Stirring over a smouldering cauldron. The green faced witch. An amalgamation of envy, evil, vile, spite, anger, revenge, and bitterness.  

As I grew so did my exposure to other representations of witch. The fearful woman in eternal pursuit of youth. The young maiden longing for her mate; calling him forth with a love charm. The modern teen looking for adventures outside of her mundane life. The independent woman manifesting her own destiny. Owning her future. Afraid of none. 

Then it happened. I was called a witch. In 2011, in the midst of my level one apprenticeship in plant spirit medicine, I was called WITCH. All I remember is being bound over in laughter at something when the teacher called out to me “I knew you were a witch after all!” I can’t remember what I said right before that. I remember though that it shook me to my core. Wait. What? I’m a witch? How does she know? I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I didn’t think of myself as a witch. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a witch. At that point I still had a pretty mainstream life. But, I don’t understand. I didn’t say I was one. I didn’t agree to that. I don’t think I am. But, am I? 

Throughout the apprenticeship I will learn that there are many different types of witches. Kitchen. Hedge. White. Green. Grey. Cosmic. Hearth. Sea. Of course many, many others as well. I won’t find out what type of witch I am until almost ten years later. After the birth of my daughter. Not until I travel to Hawai’i and take hold of the gifts that run in my bloodline. It is not a moment before then that I will come to understand who I am at my core. VVITCH. 

She is Queen. She is servant. She is Goddess. She is God. She is abundance. She is emptiness. She is vitality. She is dormancy. She is Maiden. She is Mother. She is Crone. She is child. She is adult. She is light. She is shadow. She is plant. She is animal. She is docile. She is feral. She is spirit. She is form. She is wife. She is husband. She is kindness. She is rage. She is potential. She is non-existence. She is warmth. She is cold. This is my VVITCH. She. Is. Duality.  

What is duality?

::the quality or state of having two different or opposite parts or elements::

Two faces of every coin. The dance of yin. The dance of yang. Neither good, nor bad. Just being. 

I am Vildkvinna.

Vildkvinna…Wild. Woman. She is the rawness of woman. She is dark. Introspective. Needing only her own company. Keeping her own council. Guiding herself through learning because none is her equal in skill. She is the vvitch in the cave in the darkest part in the woods. The place where evergreens soak up all the light. Where the birds stop singing. The one whom desperate seekers approach only when at the end of their rope. When all other avenues are exhausted. Sticks in her hair. Mud on her face. She bleeds into the earth. She drinks from the roaring brook. She snares the rabbit, anointing herself with its blood before roasting it on her spit. She sleeps on a bed of hemlock boughs before her hearth. She brews medicines from plants both friend and foe. She beats her drum under the full moon. Sings her sacred songs under the new moon calling forth her manifestations. This is her wildness. 

Her softness looks like sovereignty in her partnership. Equal to her mate. The master lover. No longer feeling the pull to procreate, mindful of the remaining potential until her womb is quiet.  Still emitting breast energy to her offspring. Her body forever their homeland; stroking their soft hair as they release their tears into her chest. Inhaling the scent of them. Closing her eyes and wishing that the smell of their newness remained. Knowing that it took flight many years ago when they no longer came to her breast. Making the slow journey to the end of her moon time. Finally at peace with her identity. Remembering who she is. Who she was. Who she will continue to become.