Early Years
Out comes the medium.
I'm not what you'd call different. Not really. To much of the outside world I am a plain, normal woman in her fifties. Along with my husband and three cats, we live in a typical working middle class suburban neighborhood. For a lot of years, I worked in accountancy and human resources, though I'm retired from that now. My sister, bless her, always labeled me the normal one. I wasn't the black sheep. I wasn't an outcast. Sure, I was married off later than the rest of my siblings, but my family just thought it was because I was bookish, and shy, and maybe a little too picky. I was always the responsible one. The one who was good with her money. The compliant one who didn't make waves. I suspect that has something to do with my INTJ personality type and Capricorn Moon. What even my closest friends and family didn't know was that it was all a ruse. I was good at mimicking normalcy. A subterfuge to keep everyone out of my private business. THAT comes from my Cancerian Sun, and a Mars/Mercury conjunct in the upper left sextile of my natal chart, all of it nestled safely in my twelfth house. Top that off with my black moon Lilith in Scorpio, and what would you expect?
You see, I'm a witch. I was born a witch.
And not the white-light fluffy kind of witch who celebrates the turning wheel, worships goddesses, and spreads love and toxic positivity all over the place.
No, I'm the other kind. The kind who cavorts with Daemons and practices black magick. The kind of witch who was invoking Daemons and offering blood and bone before it was cool and became a favorite social-media pastime of people rebelling against their too-strict Christian upbringings. Some might even call me a Satanist, even though that’s partially inaccurate.
I was probably about three or four when I realized I was different and didn't really fit in. My friends told me so, too. One day when we were playing, my dinosaur friend, Tweety, looked at me and said, "This is boring. Let's go read a book."
With a nod, I jumped off of the swing and ran toward the sliding glass backdoor of the 60's ranch style house we lived in, my brown corduroy pants swishing as I went. Tweety slipped in unnoticed by my mother. Most of my friends could get away with keeping to the shadows. See, Tweety wasn't always a dinosaur. As a matter-of-fact, I can't rightly remember how we'd met, or why I'd given him the name Tweety to begin with. I suspect Loony Toons was involved. Probably because the first time I saw him, he was a raven.
Looking back now, I think of all the Daemons who disguise themselves as ravens and crows, Amon, Malphas, Caim, and Raum to name a few. I’ve often wondered if it was Amon, with whom I've always had an amiable camaraderie with. Or perhaps Thoth, who has the head of an Ibis and rules over magicians and writers. The two things I eventually became with all the ease of a fish swimming through water.