WITCHCRAFT DEFINED
By: Joyce Luciano
Prior to 1974, a few relatives and close friends knew I was a witch. At that time, it was not a subject that was openly discussed. Astrologers, psychics, tarot card readers, and others were considered to be loonies or fakes. This resulted from the big crackdown back in the 1920's when Harry Houdini exposed the mediums of his day.
After the exposure, people began to view anyone who did predictions as charlatans. This idea continued well into the early 1980's. Even today, a great deal of people believe this field to be comprised of con artists.
By the early 80's people began opening up and not feeling embarrassed to have scheduled a psychic reading. Meanwhile, some psychic fair were developing nicely through the efforts of the woman who began the concept, Shirley Ann Tabataneck. Shirley is a topnotch astrologer who like most astrologers, studied it for the sole purpose of debunking astrology; so do I.
Shirley took the course in college. I was dragged kicking and screaming by my cousin who taught the subject. I also did psychic fair and found it was a great way to give exposure to new tarot card readers to help them build a gradual clientele. Shirley’s and my Readers were rigorously tested before they were hired.
In 1974 after constantly seeing articles in magazines that read something like, study witchcraft, and learn to cast spells, I had to do something. Not only were the fees stupendous, it was fraudulent misrepresentation of witchcraft.
The local newspaper ran the initial story about me in May, 1974. It is on my website. After the city of Paterson, New Jersey digested the idea of a witch, I went to the town council. The final word came from the Mayor (Pat Kramer) who gave me the title of the Official Witch Of Paterson.
I had told the good Mayor, “I need a title. I can’t bear the thought of people wasting their money and let’s face it, if I don’t have a title, who’s going to listen to me?” He agreed. I began by clarifying witchcraft and making people aware that it is not something that can be studied. It is all in the blood. A witch is born, not made.
There are no covens in true witchcraft. The witch burning trials centuries ago, included more than one witch thus, the absurd idea of the coven.
Sadly, they were not witches; they died because they owned viable land. The witch hunters of yesteryear were the forerunners of predatory lenders that are currently infesting our country as foreclosures rise. It would not surprise me in the least if one of J.P. Morgan’s (JP Morgan Chase Bank) ancestors was a witch hunter.
This is an excellent opportunity to deferentiate witchcraft and wiccan, they are not the same. Wiccans enjoy calling themselves witches but they are not. They are wiccans.
La Strega, A Memoir (The Witch)
The following is an excerpt from my forthcoming book, whose current working title is La Strega, A Memoir (the Witch).
My sixteenth birthday was October 17, 1955. (Libra with an 08 degree Aquarius Ascendant, Mars Rising, Scorpio MC). My Mom believed the party should be on the same day as the birthday.
By October 15th she was busy preparing food. The kitchen was already decorated with white, pink and blue crepe paper. Streamers hung in the center of the room where she had connected the ends from each corner of the ceiling to twist them around the light fixture. A bright red and blue sign hung on the back wall reading “Happy Birthday Sweet Sixteen”. I loved birthday parties, especially my own...gifts were coming! Turning sixteen was a big deal.
Late afternoon on my birthday Mom said, “they’ve been forecasting storm warnings for the last few hours and I hope it doesn’t reach us, they say it’s a tropical depression, coming in from Hurricane Katie.” She mused, “it’s the opposite of the day you were born.” I was a month premature. Half of the city had been in flames when I was born.
The storm headed up the east coast. We weren’t expecting much of anything, Jersey usually got the tail end. Guests were due to arrive at seven. Grandma was already in the kitchen by four o’clock helping Mom with the final food preparations.
It was almost six o’clock when the power went out. By seven-thirty, Mom asked me and Gram if we wanted to eat. We declined. My Dad was hungry and ate while cautioning me now and then to stop letting candle wax drip on my finger (I was bored). The telephone lines were down, we had no way of reaching anyone.
By eight-thirty, we were resigned to the fact that it was definitely going to be a no show. The weather was bad and driving was dangerous.
At 9:15 P.M. Grandma said something in Italian to Mom and then said to me in broken English, “Joe-cee (she couldn’t pronounce, Joyce) you come now to Grandma’s house I have to give you some things.” “What kind of things Grandma, you already gave me four presents” I said.
She explained these were not conventional gifts, they were, “something else” that she had to give me. I was perplexed but didn’t think much of it, she was full of surprises. Grandma was an Aquarius, we learned to expected the unexpected. I grabbed my jacket from the hook near the kitchen door. She kissed and hugged Mom, then called out to Dad, “good night Tony.”
It was windy outside, not cold, just a little brisk. We walked slowly. It was as if she wanted to take advantage of the walk to her house, utilizing the time to tell me something. Grandma was detached and more serious than usual, she had a great sense of humor. I loved her stories about the Old Country but, that evening she was different.
We continued the five block walk to Grandma’s house in complete silence. Halfway there, she said in a somber tone of voice, “Grandma not going to be here too much more, time for me to go pretty soon, so I give you something tonight on your birthday.” I was upset and indignantly asked what she meant by, “she wasn’t going to be here too much more.” “Your health is good Grandma you haven’t been sick,” I pointed out to her adding, “are you?”
“Stop, she said sharply, stop these words right now, what, you think your Grandma stay here forever?” She didn’t wait for me to answer.
“I’m eighty-three years old, I lived my life already and saw my grandchildren grew, now it’s your time and you to not cry for Grandma, understand?” I wouldn’t answer and turned away from her. “No more of this, she scolded, no more! You understand?”
“Yes, Grandma. I said halfheartedly, I understand, but it doesn’t mean I like what you’re saying.”
A few minutes later we arrived at her house and went into the big kitchen. Grandma said, “I'll be right back, Joe-cee, sit down.
She went into the “spare room” which was off limits to everyone. Nobody was allowed to go into the “spare room” whose locked door opened with a four-inch rusty old key. I sat down at the big wooden table. Her kitchen was filled with curios from the old country and her favorite “knick-knacks” lined the shelves of a large glass cabinet.
The room was dimly lit with a fifty watt bulb in a ceiling fixture centered over the square table. Having lived half her life with kerosene lamps and candles as the only source of light, a fifty watt bulb was more than bright for Grandma.
I distracted myself by looking at the pictures on the walls of my aunts, uncles, cousins, parents and myself.
I heard her twist the key in the spare room. She returned with a large tapestry bag that opened by pulling two long strings apart. I watched, completely immersed in fascination as she carefully emptied its content’s one at a time.
I shifted my gaze from the tapestry to look at my Grandma. Her long silver hair was always combed neatly, swept off her face into a tight bun on top of her head. She never seemed to be in her eighties and was still agile and full of energy. Grandma was the same height as Mom, about four feet eleven inches tall. Mom said, “when the babies were born, a few days later, if it was winter, Grandma would be outside chopping firewood for the stove. The thought of never seeing her again was unnerving.
Having emptied the huge tapestry bag, she sat down at the table and asked if I knew what a Strega was. “I heard the word but don’t know what it means, I answered.
“In English, she said, it means witch, a woman who has power.”
I was extremely upset to be informed that this was in my blood according to Grandma. “Your aunts, no have this and nobody else in famiglia Joe-cee, just you,” she said.
I had not realized my mouth was wide open until she told me to close it. It had been a long, strange day; the rain, wind, hurricane warnings, power failure, my cancelled party, the shock of Grandma saying she wasn’t going to be with us much longer, was still upsetting me.
This was the imperfect finish to an already bad day, I thought. The idea of being a witch was intolerable. It was just too much to comprehend. I was convinced this was a realistic nightmare and I would wake up any minute.
To believe I was a Witch was preposterous. I would awaken and talk about my dream and laugh. I reasoned that I had fallen asleep at my party table.
A sharp tap on the top of my head jolted me back to reality. Grandma said loudly, “Joe-cee, this is no dream.”
I had little desire to ask how she knew what I had been thinking, followed by an intense urge to bolt out the door screaming through the streets. I’m a weirdo, a misfit, a witch.
She managed to calm me down, telling me to take deep breaths and count to ten. “Out loud, I asked.” “No to yourself, just breathe slowly, while I make us coffee,” she said.
I sat there wondering what I would say to my friends if they discovered my unspeakable, distressing, secret.
Grandma said, “when you were born there was a big fire,” I immediately interrupted to tell her, “I knew all about the fire.” She looked at me with piercing eyes which meant: do not talk again until I’m finished and tell you, you can talk.
She continued, “the big fire was a sign before you were born that you were the one to take my place, I knew you would be a baby girl.” She drew a deep breath and said, “You left the last life by fire and made a promise to return the same way. This makes no sense to you now but someday I promise, long after I’m gone, you will understand.”
“Long ago way back in time, Grandma said, there were secret groups of women in Salerno who lost the right to practice medicina, (medicine). In the 1500's they began practicing again but it was different, the oppression continued against them, they began learning about power until they understood how it worked.”
“Knowledge by itself Joe-cee is power. My aunt made me a gift and passed her power to me,” she said, then paused for a few minutes before speaking again.
I was completely disconcerted by her words which for me, should have been reserved for a story in a book of Fairytales.
She turned her head to face the window, as if looking for a sign in the blackened sky then said, “you must understand this cannot be passed unless there are many signs.”
“Tonight, was the final sign, the hurricane on your birthday,” she said. “There have been signs for many years, some physical ones too like the split on your nose. The people who come to visit you and the other ones that only you can see.”
I was confused but did not defy her by speaking and wondered how she knew all this. I had never mentioned it to anyone. Grandma continued talking for the next four or five hours. When she ended the conversation I was no longer embarrassed but avid for her to continue with this secret for, “the unlocking of energy and power.”
Grandma said, “three-thirty, way past your bedtime, time to go to sleep Joe-cee.” She pointed to the bedroom off the hall. I had no desire to sleep. I wanted to know more but she said, “this was enough for now,” while gently nudging me toward the bedroom.
She handed me a white linen nightgown that she had crocheted with intricately designed ruffled trim on the neckline and sleeves.
I wondered if the design had a meaning and was about to ask. She put her index finger to her lips to silence me and turned down the bed covers.
“Go to sleep,” she said gently. Then kissed me on the cheek, Grandma leave the nightlight on for you.” “Night Grandma,” I said.
I was wide awake remembering the formerly unexplained experiences that began when I was about seven years old. They were small things that I thought everyone could do. Tonight I realized they couldn’t. I had a way of willing things which could be either helpful or hurtful.
Grandma explained earlier that as a small child, energy was more difficult to control, but as I grew older I would need to implement certain tools, for lack of a better word. She cautioned that it was wise that I learned to control anger warning that it could bring the same inability to control energy.
I awakened feeling completely refreshed, even though I had slept only a few hours. Breakfast was already on the table, and a crocheted brown bag was placed neatly on the back of one of the chairs. Grandma said, “this belongs to you now all my things are inside, you will use them and never replace them, they are your magic.”
I reached for the bag to open it and look inside. She told me to wait until I was home and to eat my breakfast before it got cold.
There were similar evenings with Grandma. She told me it was important to utilize our time together while she was still on this Earth. She talked about the old country, the persecution of witches in the past, the abuse of power, the regeneration of the soul.
Grandma said, “there will come a time in your life when you will be forced to tell people you are a Strega, you are a good-hearted person, it will upset you, make you feel sad when you see too many people trying to make money through witchcraft.”
“This is not good, you have to do your best to help and keep witchcraft clear,” she said. “Right now, she continued, are people who make a mockery of what we are, they make us look silly.” I had no idea what she was talking about and asked her to explain.
Grandma said, “there were Englishmen who wanted to capitalize on innocent people and one was attempting to revive a belief in goddesses. “This will become widespread, she said, because people will become dissatisfied with religions and want a more personalized version of belief.”
She disengaged the subject and went back to the memorizing of her incantations, but not without reminding me to treat this (witchcraft) with respect and never misuse the power of a spell. “Once any spell was begun, there was never a way to reverse it, the effects would be disastrous,” she continually cautioned during our discussions.
She instructed me to meditate for three days first, rest in between, then repeat the process using her special words. Should I feel certain I wanted to continue and cast a Spell, only then would I be able to begin. If I did not practice the procedure, I would be prevented by a force which would turn against me.
I have never tested the process, Grandma said this with such conviction that I knew it would be foolhardy to jump into casting a spell.
Four months after my sixteenth birthday my Grandma said she felt content that her gift to me was in safe hands and she had given me all she could.
She hugged me... (TO BE CONTINUED)
Copyright 2006 All Material Contained, Joyce Luciano
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