In the Old World, witches were called the Wise Ones, and the use of that wisdom was called the Craft. Witches are all free to interpret the guidelines as we understand them.
Inspiring, and the way of the wise is featured in my magick and realism story the Enchanted Snare!
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The cold air almost knocked Avril off her feet. She shivered. Her hair blew about. Her garments she wore whirled around her body. Under the bright illumination of the full moon, she began to place the basic essential magickal tools upon the old worn down wood sun-wise around her. At each of the cardinal points, in a wind-protected candle holders the proper colored candle was placed and lit; north - earth, a green candle, east - air, a yellow candle, south - fire, a red candle, west - water, a blue candle and said, “Thrice ‘round this place to weave, thrice blessing thy words, thrice cleanse in thy fire. With the four cardinal point candles put in place and lit, she stood in the center of her invisible, protective circle facing east. She put a small black handle athame east, a small wand to the south, a container of water to the west, and a shiny, gold pentacle north. She lit the central white candle wick with a match.
Again, Avril faced north. Her head held up high, she raised both her hands up into the night sky. With palms, upward and fingers spread wide, she spoke from the heart. “I call upon the Moon Goddess. Hear my call this I pray. The energies from which comes all existence, the magick that naturally flows and is manifested in all life is illuminated by your light. What I seek for shall be found as I align my intentions with the Full Moon energies to enhance my magikal work,” she said, trying to find guidance.
The witching hour drew closer. She stood in a comfortable position, focusing on the bright full moon. She traced the symbol of the pentagram in the air above the central white candle. Abruptly, the wind died to virtually nothing. There was a sudden silence. Her senses urged her eyes upward. The full moon was at the highest point of beauty and perfection. The clouds moved in. The ominous clouds looming over her began to move, curling around the bright Full Moon. The clouds glided lazily into each other. They descended, passed, rejoined, and rose a bit.
“Guide my sight,” Avril whispered.
“Of course,” she whispered, immediately seeing what the patterns were forming in the night sky. She understood what the shapes meant. “A blessing to honor deceased veterans.”
Avril place her hand over her beating heart and said, “I remember the soldiers for their great sacrifice killed in action. The ones who gave their life and who gave their service to honor and defend freedom. I am proud to stand for the fighting men and women of the past, present and future. I support our troops who serve our country or gave their life-force so that humanity may be sustained. I am grateful for your presence and assistance. We are blessed and released in peace.”
The moon’s silvery rays washed over her. She felt thankful to be.
It didn’t take long for the poppy and pentacle to vanish from above. “I am grateful for the time we shared. Go in peace and may peace be with you,” she whispered.
The wind whipped up. Avril quivered from the cold. She stood within the circle on the back porch. Avril thanked Guardians of the Four Quarters for attending and their support. She stood at the North Quarter then slowly moved to West, the South and the East, to return North and extinguished the candle flames by pinching the wick between her moistened finger tips. She reached down and picked up the black handle athame. With the point of the blade of the magical knife she pierced the magickal circle around her. The energy of the ring surged into the blade and handle as she walked widdershins till the circle was dispersed. She picked up her magickal tools of the trade and put them back into the basket. The bare branches of the trees creaked with the fierce wind. Avril’s cheeks tingled icy cold as the frigid air brushed across her face. She blew the Full Moon a kiss, then slammed the door behind her when she went back indoors to her warm bed.
The World’s Most Famous WAR MEMORIAL POEM
By Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead: Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved: and now we lie
In Flanders fields!
Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you, from failing hands, we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die,
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields