Like a lot of people, I was raised with a combination of established and folk religion.
Growing up, I went to church on (most) Sundays, and for many years I attended a weekly Wednesday-night youth group.
At the same time, I didn’t play with Ouija boards, chant “Bloody Mary,” in the mirror, and on Halloween I wasn’t allowed to dress up as what my mom calls “Creatures from the pit of Hell.” Think witches, vampires, ghosts, and zombies. I used honey and tea to treat colds and Vicks Vaporub was a cure-all.
Due to my own experiences growing up queer and female in the South, I eventually separated myself from the religion I was raised with.
For all of high school and now the early part of my college career, I’d describe myself as contentedly agnostic – there may be a higher power, but I didn’t feel the need to have a personal relationship with it.
This changed somewhat recently. Loss in my personal life left me grieving and seeking answers, and I was ready to find a new forum to process these things.
Embracing contemporary witchcraft was the next natural step for me.
I’ve always loved nature and ascribed divinity to it. As someone disillusioned with the often patriarchal nature of religion, the idea of venerating female powers and deities appealed to me. Further, this would be the first time in my life that my religious teacher/instructor/guide would also be a woman.
By chance – and luck – I found a flier for a Samhain Ritual hosted by local metaphysical shop Heart, Body, & Soul.
Samhain – pronounced “Sow-in” – is an old Celtic Druid holiday that takes place halfway between the autumn equinox and winter solstice. The festival recognizes and celebrates the thinning of the veil between the living and dead. Historically, it was a time for the living to venerate and reconnect with their deceased ancestors.
Many contemporary Halloween traditions are taken from Samhain. Costumes and masks were used during Samhain to prevent the spirits from taking the living. The carving of pumpkins – originally turnips – into faces was intended to ward off spirits with ill-intentions. Bobbing for apples is based in the practice of leaving apples out as offerings for the departed.
It felt as though the stars aligned for me to find a group Samhain event in the midst of my personal suffering. I decided immediately that I needed to attend.
The ritual was held on Oct. 27. I spent the hours leading up to the event stressing about what to wear and my own lack of experience with magic and witchcraft. Finally, I settled down, picked an outfit, and began the drive to Heart, Body, & Soul.
I arrived at the shop after close and walked in to find a group of about 20 individuals standing together and introducing themselves.
The group was largely women with a few men scattered in, but in terms of age and experience with witchcraft, the group was expansive. I felt unexpectedly at ease with these strangers-turned-compatriots.
Out of respect for the hosts and other practitioners, I will keep my description of the ritual general.
After a brief introduction, all of us attendees received a blessing and were ushered into a separate room where an altar stood. We performed a call-and-response to seal the space from evil and called benevolent powers and our family spirits into the room with us.
We weren’t asked to share our griefs publicly, but we were given the opportunity to light a candle in memory of those we had lost.
This was undeniably the most cathartic point of the evening for me. The lighting and placing of the candle in a sacred space made me feel as though I was ushering my lost one into a gentle rest. I hoped that my love and good memories of the person eased their spirit and allowed them peace.
As our guide for the evening explained, Samhain is uncomfortable because it forces us to confront human mortality. However, she shared, there can also be comfort in knowing that we can return to the earth and continue to give back to from whence we came.
My loved one was not gone, simply occupying a different role within the world.
To allow all the participants to consider the relationship between life and death individually, we were taken through a guided meditation. The intention of the meditation was to connect with a divine power representing peaceful death.
There was no judgment. There was no pressure to successfully connect with the higher power, nor was there a prescribed method for interacting with her. Simply, we were all undergoing a personal journey and protecting one another by just sharing space and empathy.
For me, connection with the higher power was not as important as using the meditative state to rest and leave behind the weight of my grief. For others, meditation gave them the power to speak with a divine being who could help them and hear their call.
This is one of the core appeals of modern witchcraft. It is a highly variable practice that takes whatever the practitioner wants to give. It’s a recipe that allows for as many or as few mix-ins as desired. For some in my group, the extent of their practice was tarot reading and meditating. For others, witchcraft involves a full pantheon of deities and saints.
Emerging from the meditation, however, none of it mattered beyond the feeling that we collectively had undergone individually important experiences. We didn’t pry into one another’s experiences, we simply shared an understanding that we were united in our loss and in the healing that followed.
To close the ceremony, our group offered up a blessing for anyone else hurting and wished for them the relief we had found that night.
The atmosphere as I exited the ritual room was warm and intimate. I was offered snacks and given spiritual advice by the women who had organized the event. They were infinitely kind and patient with me, wishing me luck in my personal life. They urged me to return to Heart, Body, & Soul whenever I needed.
Returning to my dorm that night I felt different. It was like I had shifted slightly – been realigned in my own skin.
Truthfully, I don’t know what the future holds for my religion and beliefs. I don’t know if commiting to the religious part of witchcraft will work for me, or if magic will be something I explore alone rather than communally.
What I do know, though, is that I wouldn’t trade this experience for something else. I truly gained something from my first ritual; something that allowed me to rest and feel relief from my grief.
So, I remain undecided. I remain contentedly unsure about the world, and I remain contentedly within my own body. Perhaps, to sound cliche, the magic of healing is something I possess innately. Perhaps, I am magic.