|photo via Google search|
A strict Roman Catholic, Roxie kept as many saints' feasts as she could, attended mass when she was able, and never forgot her cultural roots, even when she and my father frequently moved around the East Coast. No matter where she made her home, her Louisiana customs went with her. Though she never claimed or admitted to practicing Voodoo, I can sit back now and sort through some of the things I observed when I spent time with her, and those elements of her personal spiritual practice stand out. She always wore white on the Feast of St. John, lit a candle-she was always lighting candles and poured her own- and said prayers throughout the day. One year I spent a few weeks during early Summer with Roxie and my Daddy at their cottage rental in Rehoboth, Delaware, and she introduced me to her version of a St. John's Eve head washing. After the sun set we went to a remote area of the beach beyond the boardwalk and walked out into the ocean, holding hands. Roxie sang a chant in French as the water lapped up against us. Both of us were wearing head scarves, and when we got out into the water a little more than waste high, she removed her scarf and let her long black hair tumble down into the waves. She stood there for several minutes combing her fingers through her hair in the water before gathering it up again in the scarf; then she pulled off my scarf, took my hair down, and 'washed' my hair in the salty seawater. I remembered how she handled my hair; it was an act of reverence. She hummed throughout it all, which seemed like a long time but couldn't have been more than a few minutes. When finished we walked to shore, the ocean at our backs.
We stopped just short of the waterline and sat on the sand, where she told me the story of the Lost Acre, the place between the sea and the shore. It is a liminal place, she explained, a place in the Otherworld that belongs to the spirits of the sea. I found a holey stone on the beach that day. I still have it; it sits on my desk in the living room and when I pick it up, it reminds me of that day on the beach, my hair still wet with salt water, where my step-mother baptized me in the mysteries of the sea. It makes me hungry for steamed clams and all the good things about time at the shore, for the briny scent of the ocean, and the sound of gulls flying overhead.
I am a Pisces child, born on my father's birthday. I love bodies of water- lakes, ponds, rivers and oceans, and yet I have never learned to swim ( I have an inkling that a past life was spent as an Irish third class passenger on the Titanic, where I drowned). I am enchanted by the sound of rain, waterfalls and ocean waves, which lifts my vibration and increases my energies. A portal opens for me when I'm in running water (http://amethjera.blogspot.com/2018/06/the-wonder-of-water.html). My Pisces intuition also connects me solidly to the earth, mountains and stones of all kinds. I'm an empath still learning to manage my emotional insights and how I'm affected by what I pick up from others. I am still learning a lot of things about my spiritual choices and practice...that is the joy of this journey.
This morning I went wort cutting, which sounds very mysterious and witchy, but is actually just a stroll around town to see what's growing in the wild places that are available for collecting. I use common plants ( some which you might call weeds) and adapt their correspondences for simple spell craft. I rarely do any really involved high magick because simple seems to work best for me. I keep a jar of pennies by the door for offerings and take along a bottle of water for both me and thanking the spirits. Today I came home with some catnip, mugwort, wild sweet pea blossoms, red clover, white clover, blue anemone,creeping bluet, and dandelions. I also found a chunk of broken vintage red brick,and three crow feathers. Not a bad haul, and all I had to do was keep my eyes open!