I’ve decided, after some thought on the matter, my long term ambition is to become a witch. Not one of these flouncy fashionable Crowley witches, oh no, but an old time, down to earth hedgerow witch.
My great grandmother was a witch in South Wales, they call it something different now, “seer” or something . She had a crystal ball to tell the future, concocted spells, brewed potions and made herbal remedies back at a time when there was no NHS. Interestingly she was also a church going Christian, which goes to show cavorting in front of devil icons is not compulsory.
The Rude Mechanicals song Big Lies is partly about mixing up a witches broth and then going into a trance state where I talk in tongues (for real).
One of the most appealing things about aiming to become a witch is the comfortable amount of time it can take to become a successfully practicing one. A bit like becoming a judge I feel (spot the reference anyone?). At the age of seventy you are just coming into your prime of Witchness. The job must require a lot of knowledge and wisdom, something that only years on this planet can give you.
I do get visions, the epilepsy is crammed with them – pre, during, and post – and they feel very meaningful, but it is taking me a long time to understand what they mean. It is taking a lifetime. Yesterday I had a large pink creature the size of a football hovering around me, it had no eyes or nose, just a very large mouth with sharp shark-like teeth, it was trying to bite off my head. It was terrifying and somehow very meaningful.
Also I like insects, and mud, and slime and frogs.
With regard to the job expectations:
“It won’t make you much money” I hear you saying,
But come the apocalypse who is going to want money?
They will want knowledge of the plants and beasts we share the planet with, and visions of what the future will bring.
I probably need to get my visions more ordered.