Virgo december 2019 tarot horoscope oracle daphne
Every poetic form, from sonnet to rhyming couplet to free form, is acceptable. There is no set length. Poems or stories that feature Deities from pantheons generally considered to be outside the Pagan umbrella, but which are still from polytheistic traditions — such as a poem to the Hawaiian Pele or a short story focusing on the Shinto Amaterasu-omikami — are absolutely welcome. The wider the diversity of traditions represented, the happier the editors are. We are also interested in essays which address the nature of the Deities, the mythologies of the various pantheons, folklore, ritual, et cetera and et cetera.
So, for example, we would be keen to read your essay on Hermanubis and how He relates to Hermes and Anubis. Or, your essay examining primary sources for The Cailleach. Or, a discussion of the evolution of Veles from benevolent God of the Underworld to Christian demon and how Polish and Slavic Pagans are resurrecting His worship. Simultaneous submissions are fine, but please let us know as soon as possible if your work is accepted elsewhere. Beginning with the Winter issue, we will also have a Special Feature section.
Please note that the Special Feature section is invite-only and is not open to general submissions. No gore or excessive violence. Sexual content will be judged on a submission by submission basis. No plagiarism. We trust you to be honest. And be prepared to be stomped by the Fates for your poor character. While we have no doubt that everything you have written is absolutely amazing, please limit yourself to three poems; or one short story; or three reviews per acceptance period. Please send all submissions as a. The Summer Solstice issue will be our last non-themed issue for the foreseeable future.
Going forward, each issue will focus on a different theme. Submission Period: 1 November through 1 December We want essays about Khione, Krampus, and Saturn.
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Submission Period: 1 May through 1 June Winter The Americas. Send us essays about Thelema, the misuse of Voudou in pop culture, the philosophy of Discordianism, or the polytheism of Moana ; we are particularly interested in essays in which practitioners explain little-known and deeply-misunderstood traditions. The Americas are large, with varied civilizations dating back thousands of years; as such, this is a very broad topic.
Summer Holy Days. Every tradition has its holy days, sacred festivals, and important dates. Send us short fiction set during Anthesteria, Samhain, and Saturnalia. Send us essays about honoring Artemis and Pan for Arbor Day, how to avoid consumer madness during Yule, the recognition of non-monotheist holy days by school districts, and the portrayal of particular holy days in literature.
Winter Ekphrasis. Select a work of art; it can be a painting, a photograph, a sculpture. Write a poem or short story or essay inspired by that work of art. Please note: the artwork which inspired your submission must either be included or linked to in your submission; these will be included alongside the accepted submissions when the issue goes live. Also please note that public domain works of art are preferred. We do not buy or accept submissions ahead of time.
If you are uncertain if your submission will fit an upcoming theme, yes , please query; e. If your work is accepted for the Summer issue, you will be notified no later than 10 June. If it is accepted for the Winter issue, you will be notified no later than 10 December. Yes, you will also be notified if your work is declined, and, if possible, we will provide some critical feedback; but we may not always be able to do so.
If you do not hear from us by either of those dates, please query; the net pixies may have eaten your submission, and we would hate to miss anything truly wonderful. Now for the itty-bitty disclaimer: we reserve the right to edit accepted pieces for clarity. Do we pay? You betcha. We retain first electronic publishing rights. After the piece moves to the archives and the new issue is posted, all rights revert to the author. Keep that in mind. Payment will be made via PayPal. No checks or cash. If you do not have a PayPal account, payment may be made in the form of an online gift certificate to the merchant of your choice.
If you would like to run a serial piece, please consult the editors ahead of time; we prefer to have the entire piece completed before the first part appears. Shirley Clark said:. As noted above, the submissions email address is lyradora yahoo. Chris Sarantopoulos said:. Because in the above guidelines you only mention.
Could you please clarify? Also, words ok for short story? Stories of words are fine. Anything longer would likely be serialized across two or more issues. Every night, Walter methodically plodded up and down our stairs, as if on patrol. The door of my childhood bedroom opened right to the top of the staircase, which gave me a unique vantage of the footstep phenomenon, and the absolute nothingness attached to the sound. There was also disembodied knocking from within the walls.
Lights would flicker on cue, especially when discussing the haunting. Sleep paralysis and night terrors were common. Certain rooms would give off icy chills, or the unsettling feeling of being watched. Objects would move, vibrate, throw themselves across rooms, or even disappear completely, only to reappear in plain sight months later.
Apparitions were frequent occurrences- from previous tenants, to strange and horrifying patches of living darkness, to unfamiliar characters- human and animal alike. The supernatural nature of our house was integrated into the mundanity of our lives. That was, until the Black Thing arrived. These temperatures have brought vivid and terrifying hallucinations since I was a teenager, but the first time I saw the Black Thing, it was no hallucination. I was a senior in high school and up very late with a fever, perhaps past midnight. My mother woke up to give me medicine to reduce the heat, and she had just slipped back to bed.
In my delirium, I was absently staring out my door and into the hallway, when the darkness seemed to gather and coalesce, densely and thickly, like ink in water. The seething blackness gathered into a vaguely humanoid shape with arms and legs- well over six feel tall. The Black Thing took what could be called a step forward, and placed what might have been a hand on the frame of my doorway, using it to let itself in. It then appeared to crouch next to my bed, staring eyelessly into my face. I summoned my strength, flicked on my bedside lamp, and called for my mother as loud as I could.
Its presence spread an uneasy air through the house, and seemed to affect the mechanics of our interpersonal interactions, as well as the original haunting in the home. We fought more as a family, and felt driven apart. I fell into an acute depression. It became so severe that my mother tried to exorcise it herself once when my sister and I were at school. She used burning herbs and sea salt to begin cleansing the house, but only got so far. In the middle of the process, she recalls the TV flicking on to static and then shutting off, after which she fell violently ill, vomiting in the kitchen sink until she was exhausted and could not continue.
She was still visibly shaken when we returned home that afternoon. That week, I took a free period to cross the street from my high school to a Passionist monastery, where I consulted a priest on the issue. He blessed a crucifix for us that I still have in my home, sent me on my way with some holy water and a pat on the head. I took these objects home, and while they seemed to help us set up stronger boundaries with the Black Thing, it never fully disappeared, though never troubled us so severely again, either.
Could it have been a demon, or something more sinister? Was it the spirit of a person who had died? Had it ever been alive? I was nostalgic for my youth, and wanted to curl up in my old bedroom and spend a night feeling at home for the first time since I moved out. But as I looked up and through the windows that peered from the porch into our old living room, sure as shit, there they were- as if I had just interrupted a tea party.
There were several faint and humanoid shadows, facing me, all leaning at odd and unsettling angles like crooked teeth. And smack in the middle, of course, was the towering Black Thing. They were all just as I remembered experiencing them, and now seemed a bit harmless- maybe even welcoming.
There was something very familiar in that moment that erased anything that might have been spooky for someone else. We always shared that house with other worlds, and it felt almost nice to come home to a spectral welcoming committee. I called for my friends and helped them through the window, and when I looked back, the ghosts were gone. Maybe they were just for me to see, who knows?
You are here
We turned on our flash lights and I opened the unlocked porch door, which swung open into familiar darkness. I was blessed to be able to spend one final night exploring the haunted house I grew up in before it was demolished. It takes place after sundown on October 31st, as a midway between the Autumn Equinox and Winter Solstice and the start of the dark half of the year. For many, this day is regarded as a liminal time when the veil or barrier between the seen and the unseen world is at its thinnest, and communication or travel between the two realms is most possible.
Samhain hinges between two celestial polarities- light and dark, warmth and cold, life and death- and in this way, acts as a portal to spiritual worlds, bringing communication, initiation, travel, and contact. The spirits who manifest themselves in this place could be family members, ancient ghosts, or even a host of fairies and supernatural creatres referred to in Irish mythology as the Aos Si. To keep these spirits at bay, great bonfires are lit as a cleansing and protective measure, and offerings of food and drink are left out to appease the spirits in hopes that they will act as protectors during the cold winter ahead.
Pumpkins, or more traditionally turnips, are carved into toothy grins, filled with candles, and carried or placed at the door as talismanic objects to protect its owner from these spirits. Celebrants wear costumes and masks to blend in with the wandering spirits, so they may safely travel the night among them. For witches, this time is particularly useful for engaging in spirit work, ancestor veneration, exalting the earth, or connecting with the Otherworld.
Liminal spaces have been regarded as portals to other realms across history and the globe, and are a common theme through many traditions that seek to walk between these realms. Below are a few brief and inter-traditional rituals for accessing different aspects of the Samhain season. They should be accessible to new witches but also engaging for experienced practitioners, and provide access to just a few of the spiritual treasures that this festival has to offer.
I encourage you to enter them with a pure heart and a willingness to explore, as both are required to breech these other worlds, and the spiritual, uncanny landscapes beyond. To initiate contact with these spirits, prepare a suitable offering. This could be a feast of natural, earth-based foods apples, spirits, fresh bread , a beautiful altar decked with objects from your home or neighborhood, beeswax candles, or something simple like sweet smelling incense.
Set this in a prepared space and turn out all of the lights in your home. Prepare an strong herbal bath. I tend to use cedar boughs and birch bark when I work with spirits of place, but you may find it more useful to prepare a brew of local plants, stones, and sacred herbs. Strain this brew and either add it to your bath, or add it to temperate water in a large pot and pour it over your head, baptism-style. This water should be patted off gently and not dried thoroughly, and bathing should always occur by candlelight.
If you would like to dress afterward, have clean, comfortable clothes prepared. On leaving your bath, approach your altar space and light any candles or incense. Sit back and allow the darkness of the room to cloak and envelop you. Speak your name into this place, and your intentions for fostering these relationships. Let these spirits know they are welcome, and how they can best make themselves manifest to you. Ask them if there are offerings they like, or methods of contact that are most effective. Ask them how you can be of service to them, and how they can be of service to you.
Talk all night if you like, or simple share communal space with one another. When it is time to leave, I like to break bread. I take a piece of bread or fruit and break it in half, eating half and leaving the other on the altar. I leave the candles and incense burning all night, and in the morning, I carry leftover offerings and wax to a crossroads, riverbank, or the edge of the forest being careful not to leave inorganic materials in nature. The term refers to millennia of births and deaths that lead to your existence. This can also refer to non-blood ancestors, such as the lineage of witches in your tradition.
Initiating contact with these spirits should be easy because of lineage, but also may be difficult in the event of ancestral trauma. These spirits usually have a lot to say, and it is best to listen closely and with reverence. My ancestor altar is a permanent installation in my home, and is made up of several parts. I have many old film photographs of my family, dating back three generations. My preferred offering to familial spirits is a glass of water, a piece of chocolate, and small dish containing honey and olive oil, but these will vary family to family.
I also encourage you to build a physical place for these spirits to reside. This could be a clay jar, a ceramic skull, a wooden box, or a wax poppet, but the role is to create a vessel for spirit to be housed and live in your space. These vessel can be filled with your personal concerns hair or blood are nice choices , red thread, necromantic herbs marshmallow root is my fave , white eggshell, soil from graveyards particular where family is inferred , frankincense, and other non-perishables that seem appropriate.
You may interact with this object as a physical extension of your ancestral spirits, and feed it when appropriate. You may also find it useful, especially if there is strong ancestral trauma in your lineage, to employ the assistance of a psychopomp, or a spirit that can cross between worlds.
I often use my childhood dog for this purpose. You may choose to veil this altar when it is not in use, as it can be intensely personal. Black or white are good color choices, and any natural fabric will do. I use white vintage lace. In my experience, these relationships like most family gain their richness over time and repeated interaction. Offer them a portion of your dinner each night. Share the joys and the sorrows of your life with them. Ask for advice and favors, but be sure to return the favors when given. Work to investigate and heal ancestral trauma where it is present.
Seek out the other witches in your family line. Map your family tree. Stay engaged in the work of maintaining both your living and dead family, and the rewards of support will amaze you. The Samhain season is an excellent time to begin this sort of work in preparation for both the literal and symbolic winters ahead. Just as darkness and light can simultaneously inhabit the container of Samhain without judgement, so too can we hold space for both of these aspects of our selves, and examine them without fear or shame.
It is the nature of liminal spaces like these to hold space for opposites, not to force moral values on them, and harnessing this potential is incredibly useful. There is a quote by a medieval Christian monk who said that at night, angels and devils would appear to him, but sometimes the devils would appear as angels and the angels would appear as devils. The same is true for these two parts of the self. The voice of the intuitive nature is soulful and deep. The voice of the shadow self is driven by fear and anxiety, and seeks revenge, dominance, isolation, and judgement of others.
When the soulful voice speaks, we are called into action, we are moved to passion, and we fall in love. When the shadow self speaks, we worry, we tremble, and we lose sleep. In a modified version of this ritual, the practitioner should sit in as much darkness as can be gathered, particularly in a place that inspires a little bit of fear. Basements or closets work well for this. The practitioner should enter a meditative state, and call into this place all the things they fear most- people who have wronged them, deepest fears about themselves, traumas, demons, wrathful gods, serpents, spiders, lions, tigers, and bears.
They should focus on calling these creatures into their space, and inviting them to feast on the practitioners spirit and body. The practitioner should focus on visualizing this feast in detail, and hold space for the feelings that arise. Cry, scream, and agonize through the experience. In my experience, there comes a breakthrough point at the crescendo of fear when a new voice emerges.
A soulful and light voice, that cuts through the chaos of the others. It understands the soulful self as independent from these ego-driven terrors, and banishes them. It is self assured and possesses the capacity to offer the deepest healing. Crying may turn to laughter. The participant should stay in this place as long as they would like, until they feel ready to leave. It is nice to have prepared a drink and small snack after ritual to help the participant return to their bodies. Journaling, drawing, or automatic writing can help process the experience, but the important takeaway should be the discernment between the two voices that both inhabit the self.
You will always know them by how you feel when they leave you. I've always had a soft spot for a good ghost story. From a slow-burner like The Others , to the fun and quirky The Frighteners , there is just something about the genre as a whole that has always appealed to me. The first offering is Ghost Story , a film directed by John Irvin and adapted from a story written by Peter Straub. Without spoiling anything, I can tell you that it is about a group of college roommates brought together as old men after the death of a friend who then forced to come to terms with the horrible secret that has tormented them all.
While recovering, he discovers the dark connection between the two events. There is a bond formed between Frankie and the victim that is endearing as he seeks to bring her killer to justice. I watched it swallow as much of my town as I could see and it scared the life out of me! My last recommendation is from and was directed by Guillermo del Toro. It is a gothic horror set in s Spain at the tail end of the Spanish Civil War and follows the relationships between an older couple who run an orphanage sheltering the children of the military and government, their younger employees as well as a newly arrived resident who begins having visions of a ghostly orphan.
All of these suggestions can be viewed on YouTube, Amazon Prime, Vudu, Google Play and many other sites, so if you can, squeeze one, two or all of these onto your Halloween Movie watchlist and enjoy!
Tiffany Sciacca is a writer who has recently moved to Sicily from the Midwest. When she is not learning a new language or trying to blend in, she is reading horror anthologies, binging on Nordic Noir or plugging away at her first Giallo screenplay. The sky is black milk and the clouds are ash. Along one side of the road, the trees are indistinguishable from the stone hills rising behind them.
On the other side, the dark mirror of the sea. When the tire goes, I careen onto the shoulder and shudder to a stop. No problem, I tell myself, remain calm. The jack suspends the car and I work the lugs off the tire. As the headlights crest the hill, I have to shield my eyes. The car slows. It pulls up behind me, also on the shoulder, and the shape of a man emerges from the passenger side. Isolated as we are, he seems too close. He takes a step towards me. I will the flares to make a barrier between us.
I come to tied to a bed beside a dead woman. Her throat is a red aperture, but her eyes are open and staring at me. Our wrists are lashed to the headboard, our ankles to the foot of the bed. Her blood swamps the mattress, still warm. My body convulses upward, arching away from the wet bedclothes. I force myself to look around the room, breathing deep and slow even though I can taste the drowning copper of her blood. There is a lamp on a nightstand beside the bed, chintz wallpaper, a mirror on the opposite wall that reflects our image back to us.
My companion is not looking in the mirror, her eyes still fixed on me. To my left, a door; to my right, a window. If I hold my breath, I can hear the sea. Downstairs, a radio plays sentimental songs. I can hear someone moving around, voices fluctuating softly. There she is, scudding along the ceiling like a lost cloud. I might soon get to find out. Through the floorboards, she observes our assailants dancing a waltz.
They seem very much in love, she says. Sometimes even killers need a little human touch. One of them, the one who spoke to me, the one who is not a man but a dark shape, is drinking slugs of isopropyl alcohol. If anything, it makes his stomach flutter, like nervous excitement—butterflies. Not because I get the knots loose or anything. What happens is my hands change size. Then I can sit up and undo the ropes around my ankles. Beyond the stony hill is a soft dark beach and, beyond that, the sea.
I tread carefully across the bare floor. The door is not locked, but it comes away from the frame with a groan. I hold my breath. Their heads lean close. Just a little more and I can slip out, my blood-wet dress catching on the tongue of the lock. Edging down the hall, I approach the stairs.
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In my stocking feet, I am quiet, but I crouch down to make myself quieter and smaller still. If I could, I would shrink down entirely, the way my hands changed size, but that portion of the evening seems to be at an end. The music is louder here, and more sentimental, too. One of the men, the one who knocked me down, appears quite moved. Big, fat tears seep out of his closed eyes.
The stairs let out onto the front corridor, in plain view of the living room. Scuttling back against the wall, out of sight from the first floor, I close my eyes and breathe carefully in and out. No problem, remain calm. There must be another way out. As I crawl along the floorboards, splinters wedge themselves into my knees. Back in my room, I stand up.
There must be something in here that could help me escape. The corpse watches me search the room with reproachful eyes, while her spirit follows me around, bumping against the ceiling like a balloon. The bureau drawers are empty, except for a case of tarnished war medals.
Maybe the killers were brothers in arms. Or maybe the medals belonged to someone they killed. Maybe they came with the house. We went to elementary school together, remember? We played hide and seek in your attic and you kissed me through a length of gauze? Yes, that must be it. I remember the shape of your jaw. With what? Not the war medals, surely—but the lamp has promise. I ignore her.
The lamp lets me unplug it from the wall, and I carry it over to the window. I cradle it. The lamp smashes through the window with wonderful force, arcing through the night to shatter on the rocks below. I am so proud of it, but only for a moment, because then I am listening to shouts of alarm from downstairs. I hear the killers run outside to see what the commotion is. I can hear them blundering around in the dark, yelling at one another.
Down the stairs I go, my stocking feet slipping, skidding in the hall, and then I am spilling out the front door, down the walkway, running, running into the night. The dark is absolute, and somewhere behind me I can hear the killers shouting, pursuing me, but I will run. I will keep running. We were getting to be such good friends!
I have been thinking a lot about the final girl this year. Gloat over it. Feed on it. Are nourished by it. Shudder and cling and cry out - and come back for more. In her Introduction, Holland lays out the reasons why she wrote this particular collection at this particular time, and unsurprisingly, it has a lot to do with our current political climate. Since , we have all become final girls, on a national - on a global - scale. What a time to be alive: We are so connected, so informed, so savvy.
Every bit of human intelligence, all our art, all communication: At our fingertips, constantly. My privilege allowed me to naively believe that we were beyond all this hatred, all this ignorance. That perhaps we were simply too smart for all this. That we were too wise, in short, to be oppressed. I have learned that no one is too wise.
Shoot it, stab it, send it out a second-story window. It always ends in terror. This was a Laurie who was ready to do battle. End this monster. Take the power for herself. So to honor Laurie Strode —to honor all final girls— here is a spell for this Halloween season. An image of your favorite Final Girl, or any woman who inspires you with her bravery and survival. Incense - I like sandalwood, but it should be a scent that is meaningful and beautiful to you.
Before you begin the spell, affix your Final Girl to the glass of your jar candle using the glue. This will be functioning as your meditation candle. What qualities does she possess that helped her to survive? Do you see those qualities in yourself? Allow your mind to clear and wait for the answers to find you. Next, ask yourself what you would like to overcome. Nothing is too small or too great, from a recent breakup to a professional rejection to deep-rooted childhood traumas to the patriarchy itself.
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When you have it in mind, write it down on the piece of paper. It could be one word or an entire essay. Just express what you need to express. I call upon the final girls I call upon the flames To give me strength and take from me This pain which I have named. Light a corner of the paper on fire and allow it to smolder before extinguishing it in the dish of water. Then, light the incense and envision the smoke removing any remaining negativity while you repeat:.
Sisters, we are strong. We will survive. We are the last ones standing. Allow the incense to burn until it goes out on its own. Dispose of the remnants of the paper in whatever way feels most empowering to you: Bury it in the soil, tear it up, throw it out. It is not yours. It never was. You are more than that. You have survived the blade and come out stronger and wiser on the other side. For this Halloween and beyond, my dearest hope is this: Every woman a witch.
Every girl a final girl. Until, finally, we no longer have to outrun, outwit, outlast, outmaneuver. Melissa Pleckham is a writer and performer living in Los Angeles with her husband and their tuxedo cat. I simply cannot fucking say enough good things about Gabriela Herstik. I now consider her a friend. She does such a service to the witches among us, and sets such a great example of someone approaching witchcraft ethically and creatively. LMB: First up: can you tell us a little more about how you discovered your inner magic?
What did that process look like—especially because I know you come from a traditionally religious family, and when did you decide you were a witch? I grew up with a Mom who has been into different esoteric practices crystals, meditation, yoga, energy since the 80s. I discovered witchcraft after getting a deck of oracle cards when I was This led me to another book about witchcraft and suddenly I remembered going to Salem, MA on Halloween three years prior and learning about witchcraft at the museum, seeing a ritual.. I knew that I was a witch but still had to go through my bat mitzvah even though I knew I was pagan.
I was so young so my practice has evolved a lot. It got more serious when I left for college and started combining my love of fashion and tarot into a series of blog posts for my then - fashion blog that were looks based off the wild unknown tarot cards. Around this time, I started studying yoga more seriously and taking my practice more seriously. Now I celebrate pretty much every full and new moon, and holiday. LMB: You write a lot about witchcraft—were you always a writer, or did you become one to express your love of witchcraft?
Did they sort of bloom hand in hand? I wanted to be a writer in second grade, and I remember loving my schools essay contests. It helps me get things out and transmute all the junk in my head to something else. Was it important for you to differentiate it in some ways from other books? Gabriela Herstik: Thank you so much! From my own experience as a witch who grew up in the Deep South without much of a community, who really learned from Books, I knew the things that I wanted to include; things I wish I knew!
Also, thanks to my column for Nylon, I have a steady stream of people asking me questions about the craft. I knew that my publisher and I agreed that I should include tarot, astrology and crystals. Everything else kind of stemmed from my own practice and what I felt was a well rounded approach to what this practice can look like. LMB: When people think of the Witch, what are they getting wrong today? And what are they getting right? Witchcraft is rooted in folk magick, found across the world in so many different ways. LMB : I think we both get asked a lot about the intersection of social media and magical living or witchcraft.
Stuff like that. What do you think about that sort of talk? Gabriela Herstik: I think that to dismiss social media as frivolous or as all bad is really hurtful! Obviously I think, like for anything, boundaries are important. Obviously putting your worth in social media is harmful. But I think that used consciously and with intention, social media can be a way to connect, to learn, to find community. Years ago, I would post photos of my altar and talk about the spells and rituals I was performing. Sometimes I post photos of spells as part of the magick- having likes and other peoples interactions infusing energy into the spell.
Like anything- this has to be a relationship you cultivate for yourself! What prompted you to create that space? What sort of things draws you to the dark? Why Venus? I had just begun my exploration with kink and she was like this shining light to me- like if Venus was a dom, If pleasure for her was trasnsmuted through pain. Venus is my matron, so I started working with this archetype by incorporating bdsm into my rituals and I created a shrine for her as well. I post about cannabis, sexuality, and just use it as a personal expiration of darkness and self. I am a very positive person but I have hella Scorpio placement including my moon and north node so exploding my shadows has always been important to me.
My first muse was the death card. Gabriela Herstik: So my background is in fashion writing, which I studied in college. Five years ago I started a series of outfits based on tarot cards for my blog, and wrote about that. That was when I first started exploring the intersection of spirituality and style.
My first pitch and freelance piece was for The Numinous on how the death card inspired my style. Then I started writing for nylon, my first piece for them was how to make your wardrobe actually witchier. Both sides of my family were in the garment industry so it feels really special to connect my spiritual and physical identity in this way. Fashion is Dying is my latest incarnation of this. I love the intersection of glamour and identity. Is there a different sort of magic in these cities?
A different kind of witch? Gabriela Herstik: Yes absolutely!! So I think LA is more of like… a wild witch who does shrooms on the beach and has crazy rituals in Malibu and NYC is more of an organized coven or solitary practitioner more rooted in the occult. LMB: What do you think is the most radical and important thing a person can do to honor and care for themselves today? And to choose love. To love deeply and wholly and fully.
To make the effort and set the intention to know themselves and honor themselves. To be okay with not being okay and to ask for help when they need it. LMB: What are some of your favorite books and resources for beginners and seasoned practitioners? LMB: Aw, thank you! Can you tell us one secret about the writing process for your book? I love, as a writer, knowing these little tidbits. Figuring out how many chapters I needed to write a month, breaking that down to what each chapter needed to include, and then literally having a spreadsheet of what I needed to write each day to meet my goal.