I will never forget the night I met the woman, I will refer
to her as my High Priestess (HP). She
was wonderful, warm and very, very knowledgeable. She graciously took me into her home and let
me basically interview her until well past midnight one night. She dispelled all of the rumors I had heard
of her. She and her group began to
attend several of our rituals. Many in
her coven had either been asked to leave Mike D.’s coven, or had left of their
own accord. I was welcomed with open arms.
It was not long after that I began to attend rituals at the HP’s
home. The HP’s rituals were wonderful,
transfixing, soul fulfilling, and magical.
I remember telling her after my first ritual at her home, that I felt my
“magical cherry” had been popped. I had
experienced true Pagan worship, not just someone playing at it.
When Jay’s Grandmother, Momma Muriel, died she left her land
and home to us. Mike D. and his family
moved into that house in the spring of 2009.
Him living on the property, me being asked to leave his coven, and now
having a woman, he’s superiors had banished, on the property made our
relationship difficult to say the least.
Mike D. taught me an important lesson in life, that not all Pagans are
good people. He was an ass and power
hungry. Mike D. paraded around town as a
3rd degree high priest and knew less about his faith then I
did. He read no books and did no research
on his faith. Mike D. brought
destruction where ever he went.
He and I had a conversation on my front porch one
night. One of his coven members had
recently left and began studying with another coven in town. She had a very bad car wreck and was in a
comma for three days. He said to me, “you
know it is on the tip of my tongue to say that she deserved it for leaving the
coven.” I knew at that moment I wanted
him off my property and out of my life. To
curse her like that was unacceptable.
It took a while. We
encourage him, gently, to search for his own house. We helped him pack. That packing helped confirm my suspicions on
what kind of Pagan he was. His Pagan
book hoard contained two books. His
altar was covered in dust and not one of the first things he packed. Obviously it was not important to him. In fact he left many of his magical items in
the house. This was the confirmation of something I had felt for a while. Mike D. was playing at being Pagan. He was in it for the power, not the knowledge
or for the worship of the Gods. In the
end he trashed Momma Muriel’s house, stole from us and owed us money. Turns out we were not the first in town he
had done this to. We tried to sue him,
but the lawyer we used ended up getting disbarred. So we never got out stuff or our money
back.
Jay and I stayed away from PNO and the local Pagan community
at large for a long time. We were afraid
to run into Mike D. Recently he left the
area. We have since come out of hiding
and felt free enough to go back to PNO. Turns
out, we were not the only ones to do so. That night I sat with two old friends
and listened to the last days of Mike D. in this community, and it was not
pretty. His former coven is now trying to pick up the pieces and go on. He had
come here, from somewhere up north, and in the end blew thru this community
like a hurricane. He left the people in
this community broken and shaking their heads at the destruction he wrought. None one was sad to see him go.
The HP, my student took me to, was a real woman of
faith. I still love and respect her to this
day, despite what she might think of me.
She is deserving of my admiration and love for all that she taught
me. She and her coven gave me a
spiritual home when I needed one the most.
My student and I stopped holding ritual as we became absorbed into the HP
coven. My student and I eventually
parted ways. I felt I had nothing else
to teach him. He and I remained in the
coven for many years, and I was eventually initiated as a member.
There was a point that I became arrogant and cocky towards another
member. You see I had been working and
studying and I wanted to become the HP’s right hand woman. The member I was mean towards, I felt had
come in and taken my place. I was
wrong. We sat and confronted each other
one night. She was nothing but gracious
towards me. I was in the wrong. I had let my want of a position, power if you
will, take over. It should not have been
about me helping with ritual and wanting to be a leader, it should have been
about worshiping the Gods. I felt I was
being pushed out.
I am an avid crocheter and knitter. I met a woman in a local crochet group who claimed
to be a witch. Her name was
Melinda. We had known each other for a
while and I wanted her to meet my HP. I
brought Melinda to her house, where she acted rudely. She offended and disrespected the HP and her
family. I did not know this until over a year
later. I either did not notice or I was
in the other room.
The HP coven was quite large at the time. Melinda, her family, Juno, her wife, and a
few other friends decided to start our own coven. We called it Holda’s Hands. I tried to be active in both my new group and
the HP coven. Our dates never lined up,
I was always busy with Holda’s Hands while my other coven was holding
ritual. Soon I began to not receive
notices of when events were being held.
I really thought nothing of it, until Melinda when to jail.
She was arrested on an old outstanding warrant from
Tennessee. She was held for 14 days
before she was finally bonded out. Then
she came to live with me for two weeks, because she did not want to be in her
home by herself. In those 14 days she
was held I learned a lot about Melinda, including that a lot of what she had
told us was lies. She had not grown up
as a witch and had not raised her kids that way. She had not worked in places and done things
she had said she had. It did turn out that she was a con-artist and a
thief. The outstanding warrant from
Tennessee was for theft in access of $10,000.
While she was in jail, she was fired from her job. It is my guess that Melinda was stealing from
the company she had been working for, something which I cannot prove at this
time.
We had all been duped by Melinda. She had come out of jail and insisted she was
pregnant, again at 50. That turned out
to be a lie, like too many other things.
Melinda had been like a mother to me, especially when my own mother
robbed my house and then refused to speak to me. Melinda was one of the few people that ever
saw me have a panic attack that was so bad I regressed to a younger age. Part of that was brought on by dealing with
her. In the two weeks that Melinda lived
with me, I go to see her true colors.
She did everything for me and the berated me because I could not do it
to her satisfaction. She threw tantrums
when I told her, “No” and did not do as she said.
I finally insisted that she go back to her own home. It was shortly after that I cut off all
communications with her. Holda’s Hands split
over the matter. Only Juno and her wife,
Kay, stayed. Close to Mabon I made a
phone call to the HP. I told her some of
what had gone on. I wanted to know when
the next ritual was so that I might attend.
I wanted to come back home. She
was angry with me, over things Melinda had done in her home. Things I did not know about. I wanted to sit down with her, over a glass
of wine, and explain how I had been duped by this con-woman, and how sorry I
was for anything she or I might have done.
I was never given that opportunity.
A Facebook message arrived a few days later from the HP telling me to
cut and burn my initiation cords and to never step foot back on the
property. I was devastated. I never understood what I did wrong. I still don’t.
I told you that recently I went back to PNO, and sat and
talked with old friends. We shared our
stories of where we had been including the one I’ve just finished telling
you. On the ride home, I began to feel
such a divine since of grace. I felt
Holda had moved me, like a piece on a chess board. She had moved me out of Mike D.’s coven to a
place of real learning, the HP coven.
She had then moved me from the HP coven to where I currently am. I had been moved ahead of danger, years in
advance.
I could not sleep
that night so at midnight, Holda’s other holy hour, I went into my altar
room. They had been hanging above my
altar for many years. I never had the
strength to cut them as told. That night
I took my maiden belt and my initiation cord off the wall. They represented 7 years of hard work and
learning. I cut them and I bundled them
to be burned. I realized, that even given the opportunity I would never go back
to either group, because I am happy where I am now.
Ilsa
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