Together, We Raise the Wand

by Robin Hood

By the Earth that is Her body

And the sacred grove that is His home…

We whisper the first call of spring from the Cascade Mountains at Imbolq. We parade our flouncy bonnets down the rural roads of a north-west gulf island at Oestera. We wrap ourselves in many colored ribbons around the cum-blessed pole felled from a yoni-like valley forest floor at Beltane. We sweat ourselves naked around the summer fires of Litha dancing amongst the red wood giants, giving birth to the gods and goddesses again and again. We return to the ‘Bush’ to hose ourselves down at Lammas in time for the year’s first harvest. We celebrate our gratitude in the rainforest by painting our dicks and tits and gorge ourselves on one another at Mabon. We enter the midnight woods to commune with the Mighty Dead on Samhain eve. We winter-over, well loved, nestled beneath the memories and dreams of so much magic, until Yule once again sparks the promise of yet another turning of the Great Wheel.

Throughout the seasons I circle with a tribe remarkable of Faeries and Reclaiming Witches. Each time we embrace, we welcome each other ‘Home.’

By the Air of Her sweet breath And the winds of His song…

For years now we have stood together as allies of social change. With the advent of Starhawk’s Spiral Dance and Arthur Evan’s Witchcraft and the Gay Counterculture, the late seventies helped mid-wife the Reclaiming witch and Radical Faerie movements. It was at the first Pan-Pagan Festival in 1980 that a band of (mostly) gay men created a nonhetero-male perimeter around a skyclad clan of womyn witches meeting in all female space for the first time. From out of this undisturbed ritual the well-known chant, “We all come from the Goddess, and to her we shall return, like a drop of rain, flowing to the ocean” was born. Witches view inclusivity, safety and consensus as sacred values; Faeries revision their world through glitterframed glasses. At another Pagan event the Rad Faes burst into the formal ritual screaming, “Attention! No spontaneity! We’re the spontaneity police!” As enchantresses all we seek “a totally different reality, a different language, a different attitude toward power and authority”1. As Reclaiming witches and Radical Faeries our way of gathering, our sacred rites and our revolutionary acts of play persist to upset heterocentric, patriarchal attempts to assimilate us.

By the Fires of Her Bright Spirit

And the heat of His passion…

On day two of my first California Witchcamp I remember walking out of the communal showers into the mysteries of Mendocino woods. To my left the pulse of goat-skinned djembes throbbed and ached in rhythms new to yearning of my own: “This is what it feels like to find my tribe, to experience beauty –to feel so amazingly alive.” my ears. To my right someone sobbed in another’s arms. In the shower a woman sang in a quiet, lilting voice, chanting the song from the opening ritual. The pungent smoke of last night’s fire still hung in the air. My heart gasped as my mind awakened to a too long buried fFaerie sex is occasionally more than just a casual sport. It is also a tool of adoration and worship. Over time my friends become my lovers, my lovers, my friends. I recall one night falling madly in love with the hungriest, hottiest, butchiest Faerie at Brietenbush. We both live with HIV. So as shamans of sex we fucked one another raw while making love to the Virus. I didn’t notice the audience that night but the smiles the next morning were their own form of benediction. As a way of thanks to him and our viewers I did a spontaneous dance number about it the next night at the Talent-No-Talent show choreographed to Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. Oh, Faerie gatherings. We bend over and make up our own rules.

We, of the Fey, have learned to find truth in shadows. One night my path teacher walked me back to my tent platform to make love to me. As he arched over me the horns he wore from the night’s ritual evoked the god Pan. I learned then that god, too, is my lover.

Sex has since become a communal pleasure. One sultry summer my witchy girlfriends set up the Sacred Whore Peep Show. My faery-witch brother, Ed and I stood guard chanting odes to the Goddess as self-selecting peeping toms and tom-girls peeked through the slats in the temple door and rubbed themselves hard. A straight-identified male witch then locked his eyes with mine. We dropped our pants and started to suck on one another’s blood-rigid cocks. I picked him up, rocked him in my arms and roared as the power of the horned god raced through my veins. From across the fire a chorus of dyke witches wept with delight -having half an hour earlier named their desire to see some man-onman dick action. Ah, witch camp. We make rules and some of us bend them.

By the waters of Her living womb, And the dew of His tears…

A hundred witches danced and drummed around those of us laid-out in the centre. For years I too danced for hours and sang healing chants. One year I finally surrendered to asking for help. Copper worked on my heart and psychic chakras. When she was done she murmured in my ear, “Just be who you are. It’s time to let go of your fear that by being yourself you can hurt others.” Asking for help is one of life’s best kept secrets. Another: ‘Just be yourself in all your complicated magnificence’.

Tonight (January 31, 2009) is the fifth anniversary of the desperate call I made to Dancing Bear, the QR of my first Faerie gathering. Despite having reached capacity I begged him to let me come to Breitenbush. I spent much of that gathering curled up in his lap as he stroked my hair and back. My partner had been battling lymphoma for two years and as his primary care giver I was exhausted. I also remember stepping onto the rock labyrinth thinking how much I enjoy its sacred healing gifts. On my very first step I began to wail. Step by step images from my tired ‘gay’ life stripped away in favour of the love and healing I felt in the arms of my Faerie family. Men approached me later with open arms having heard my cry of pain and relief from my former loneliness. And I knew then that I belonged here too. Heart circle after heart circle the magic of Faeries revealed itself. I returned home and said to my husband, the Faerie-later-known-as Crowdog, “I know I can handle anything now.”

By All that is above, By All that is below…

How does Reclaiming and Faery magic differ? Witches define their magic by Doreen Valiente’s credo: “The art of changing consciousness at will.” Rituals, path work, classes and covens we work our magic through a powerful focused intent. Faery magic is by nature more intentioned Faeries. They love us as they yawn. We always win them over by the closing ritual however -when their rusty little hearts have finally been greased open again. Faery magic is a found magic. Whether high drag or dirty skank we revel in the power of non-sense, moments split open by the unexpected, the audacious and the upsetting. We provoke ourselves awake.

And how are our magics similar? Neither Faeries nor witches attempt to transcend our reality as do monotheistic religions. We choose the path of immanence, an embodied magic, one that reveres the sacredness of the earth within us. We share many chants and sing to the deity of our dreams. We react with anger to our mutual mainstream cultural suffering. We nurture each other’s healing and growth through communal acts of compassion. We are the treasured children of the Earth–just not everyone knows it yet, nor may they ever learn.

The Circle is cast, We are between the worlds chaotic -despite some of the best efforts by the woo-woo girls (a group of us witchier-fae in which I am proud to include myself). Our Faery rituals work, eventually. First they get tested by the sarcasm and bitching of many other well- fRobin Hood is a writer, teacher of magic, ritual and social justice. He lives in his version of paradise with his husband Crowdog where they grow heirloom seeds. They host two annual gathering-ettes that bring together Radical Faeries and local Reclaiming witches each spring and fall.

Whatever happens between the worlds Changes all the worlds. So mote it be.