Everybody has a holier-than-thou friend or, in my case, a witchier-than-all acquaintance. My
in the ass friend almost visited me yesterday. She wanted to see my writing studio and bring me a house warming
gift—I’m so blessed, aren’t I?
So… she brought me five plants. Tomato, pepper, beet, eggplant, and—are you ready for this?—broccoli.
Let me explain some things. My writing studio is a 28’ x 13’ half cellar with four 24” windows that bring in very little light. My brightest window is in the bathroom. Go ahead, chuckle, it is kind of funny.
“Um… Witchier-Than-All,” I asked, “where did you find a broccoli plant this time of year?”
She beamed (I know this is a cliché, but the triumphant light that bathed her features could only be compared to a kind of psychotic beaming). “I got them online,” she told me. “I ordered too many, and I figured you could use some. You are always talking about how growing things is good for the planet and for the pocket.”
I blinked. “How much did your pocket spent on this?” I pointed at the poor little plants, which I noticed were wilting in the trunk of her car.
“That’s not the point.” The beam was replaced by a hastily camouflaged scowl. “What counts is that I’m being good to the Great Mother, and I’m bringing living things into my life. I thought you were a nice Witch, and you would—”
“Look,” I said. Okay, I probably yelled it. She was getting loud and I had to talk over her ranting. “It’s not that I don’t like the plants; I love them. The thing is that I don’t have the space or the light to give these plants a good home. I won’t accept them just to see them die. They would do much better with you or someone who can care for them.”
“I don’t even know why I tried. Everybody in the coven said you weren’t a real Witch or a nice person.” With that, she slammed the trunk, got in her Prius hybrid, and drove away. She never made it into my writing studio. Thank gods!
I walked to my writing studio, thinking, fine, so I’m not a very nice Witch; not when being one means compromising my common sense. I miss having a kitchen garden. I love my dragon’s blood plant, and the bamboo and philodendron I grow in a pot and a jar, respectively. They know it, too, for I often tell them how much I wish they had green kin that didn’t mind sharing their bits with my tummy.
But being a Witch is much more than having an altar, burning candles, and surrounding oneself with greenery. It is to have enough insight to understand that good witchery doesn’t involve a one-size-fits-all mentality. The same goes for how we express environmental consciousness—by we, I mean me, and maybe Polgara, too.
|“Until a person learns to laugh at himself, though, his life will be a tragedy – at least that’s the way he’ll see it.” Polgara the Sorceress by David Eddings|