Sickly Sweet Candle Spell

Sickly sweet candle spell,
distressed and full of rage,
drawing us to the gates of Hell,
know we venerate
the cursed Wishing Well,
where Darkness dwells within.

Return. Return.
Lest it rises from its sleep
and by its iron hand
breaks your master's cheek.

Return. Return.
Your master is far too weak.
Know your source cannot find
the suffering that it seeks.

Sickly sweet candle spell,
distressed and full of rage,
we return you to your master's hand,
weak and full of shame.

Hekate's Deipnon

It is an offering, a meal set out for Hekate and the ghosts in her care, distributed as she sees fit. Traditionally, the meal is left at a crossroads. However, it can be left on an altar or in another sacred space. Last night, I placed it on an altar just outside my apartment. Garlic, a pancake made with herbs and honey, and incense were the gifts I offered.

I was exhausted. My body ached, and my mind was obscured by a fibromyalgia-induced fog. I felt guilty. My heart was there, but I thought I was not in the right space to make the offering.

The guilt sprang from a place of idealism and an expectation that every offering, ritual, and spell must be perfect for it to be worthy of acceptance and effect. It is the trauma of religious conditioning. Growing up in an imminent rapture cult, there were so many barriers to approaching a god who supposedly called people to come as you are. My prayers and offerings needed screening to ensure they were good enough and worthy enough for their god.

I sat with this for some time, considering its implications and effect on my practice. It was baggage that I no longer needed to carry. Witchcraft isn't perfect and clean. I went back out and offered the following prayer:

I offer this, as I am. Imperfect in practice and understanding. Learning and unlearning. Better on some days than others. But every day, here I am. May this offering be pleasing to You. Hail Hekate.

The worry of offering my gifts incorrectly left me. My intention was right. My spirit was right. In that moment, I felt clearly that my gifts were accepted.

The Proclamation of the Social Media Witch

I find in the unsolicited proclamations of what witchcraft is and is not, the confession of what that person needs it to be. Often, what they need is a supportive and inclusive community—stability in an unstable world. They need to be heard and validated, assured they are not crazy.

Other times, they need a safe place, so they speak with authority in the hope of manifesting their vision of witchcraft. Others have yet to work through the trauma of past conditioning, synthesizing what they know with what they believe with what they are discovering—sometimes, unintentionally inviting in toxic patterns.

Please know, I mean no harm. This is not a casting of judgment, but an observation.

I find witchcraft to be multifaceted and complex. It isn't always clear or pretty. It can be messy, ugly, and frightful, but it is, in a way, ours—if we apprehend it. It can be what we need it to be, but we must be careful not to confine it.