Writing Isn't Always Safe
Ceremony has been on an unexpected hiatus for the last few months while I worked on a piece of writing that possessed me: a letter to loved ones that stated my truth.
All of my spare time went into crafting the letter. I knew that once I sent it nothing would be the same.
Writing isn’t always safe. Like dreaming and witchcraft, writing works with material from the unconscious. It can create unimaginable change.
This is the second time I have sent such a powerful spell into the world, and, this time, I am less of a novice at witchcraft.
The first writing-as-spell I created did change my life in profound ways, just not the ways I expected. I had too much attachment to the outcome. I wanted resolution, reparation, or revenge.
That first letter was written several years ago, when I still worked as an academic. It stated, simply, my fear. Fear of his raised voice when we were alone together in a room. Shame at the minor humiliations. Despair at his taking credit for my work. Numbness at being isolated from others. By the end it wasn’t just his voice that made me flinch but hearing his name.
I was erratic and disturbed. I taught one class through a panic attack. I gripped the desk, hoping I wouldn’t faint. A shimmer at the edge of my vision. My hairs standing on end.
I was ill with fever when I received a message from a student. He had covered a class of mine. It was hard to understand what had happened. He had locked the class in a room for several minutes, the message said, while he did something with his car. The student was having heart palpitations because he had told the group that everything I had taught that term was wrong. That there was one way to do things: his.
I don’t think I ever fully convinced those students of their own power that year. They liked my class, but so much was at stake. They no longer knew who to trust.
When I could not go on any longer, I asked for help. I wrote a letter. I composed a hex.
I created the conditions to lend the spell power. I shaved my head. Concentrated my will. I wanted him to fear me. I wanted blood.
I wanted far too much.
You probably don’t need me to tell you that it didn’t go like that.
I was given a formal rebuke. He wasn’t angry, he was passionate. If he had taken credit for my work it was for the good of the department. Worst of all, I had colluded with others. The colleagues who had supplied witness statements had attended the same party as I had; that must have been where we crafted our conspiracy to bring him down.
I am ashamed to say that I no longer talk to the people who put their names to those statements, and who supported me at great personal cost.
I ghosted my life.
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I realise now that I did cast a powerful spell, but it wasn’t a hex, it was a prayer.
That prayer created a seismic shift and led me to a new path.
This time, I know more about how to work with witchcraft. It isn’t something I can control. I can only be open to receive. Who am I to dictate the outcome?
This time, I know not to expect or demand, but to clarify my will.
I wrote a letter that told my truth as directly as possible, that connected earlier experiences with current feelings, that stated, plainly, how I had been affected. I sent the letter. I let it go. It was the most powerful witchcraft I have ever worked.
I was willing to receive whatever came. The outcome, so far, has been intense.
I no longer feel cut off from my own creativity. I have re-imagined Ceremony as something wilder than it was before. Instead of turning down the sensory world, protecting myself from loud and violent intrusions, I am able to feel it all. I am grateful to Sharon from Swail Studio for translating my mood board and playlist into visual language.
Something in me has dissolved and opened. I take evening walks at twilight. I salivate with desire for the flowers: peach and crimson and mint. Their alien tallness. Their night perfumes.
I know the real-world power of using authentic words to wield change, of the intentions we infuse our writing with, and the singularity of our wills.
If you live in the UK, you can write a letter to the new foreign secretary to demand a ceasefire in Gaza. It will show what you stand for directly, truthfully, and with clarity. It will bring us closer to the only outcome that affirms our mutual dignity – ending the genocide.
Writing is powerful witchcraft.
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Though I dream of a world where all of us are safe to just be, and to create, we have to work with what is.
I was struck, recently, by Avgi Saketopoulou’s explication of the concept of traumatophilia. Instead of banishing trauma, she asks us to consider the idea of honouring what is and of appreciating the materials we have to work with.
In witchcraft, and in writing, nothing is wasted. it’s not that you can’t heal but that healing is not purely redemptive. It won’t return you to where you were. You can make something new, though.
I have expanded my sense of what writing can be. It isn't always going to be feel safe. It is always going to feel alive.
I no longer have the same forms of relationships that I did before I sent my letter spells. Though I tried to disappear from my own life, the spells had other plans. They gave me a mycelial network of relationships that sprang to strange life in the margins. They allowed me to inhabit old friendships in new ways.
Ceremony is one of the places where those relationships live.
Ceremony is witchcraft. Ceremony is truth. Ceremony is intentional. Ceremony is not ephemeral.
Whether you are a reader, writer, artist, or witch, I hope we can dream new worlds into being together.
Ceremony has changed over the years, and if it doesn’t feel right for you, I hope you will concentrate your sacred, finite attention where it brings you the most joy and freedom.
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CEREMONY PODCAST
How does the most compelling fiction work its magic? On the Ceremony podcast we will explore how writers use the power of ceremony to make their books irresistible. You can listen immediately to the introductory episode, and to an incredible conversation with writer, artist and kitchen witch Stephanie Edd. A new episode will be coming next week.
Take exquisite care of yourself this week.
Until next time, Laura
July 2024
🐚 this is microdosing ceremony, a weekly-ish letter from my artist’s cocoon to yours.
🌺 find out more about rituals and writing on the ceremony podcast.
🐇 explore creative rabbit holes on my website.