A Proclamation

Ancestors In Purple

We don’t have much time you and I, so I’ll get to the point.

There is a “debate” going on in your community of what is appropriation.

There are those of you who carry the medicine, the title of:  Babalawo, Santerio, and Shaman.  Though your Ancestral Roots do not “carry this medicine.”

This medicine was never yours to own, it was being leased, and the lease is now up with:  four, five, six hundred years interest now due.

YOU came down here at this time, in THAT SKIN and body, AT THIS PLACE AND TIME for ONE PURPOSE!!!  To stand with the Descendants of the people whose medicine you hold as Allies for the times we face!!!

These “terms” were given to you at the time of your “initiation!!!”

But you have allowed your TRUE PURPOSE to be consumed by your “perceived privilege.”

That’s where I come in…

I call down the Ancestors of the people who originally occupied this country.  The people your Ancestors:  Murdered, Raped and pillaged their sacred lands.  The people whose descendants are STILL FIGHTING for Their Sovereignty.  The People you allow to be mocked and ridiculed while THEIR MEDICINE and CULTURE you consume as if it WERE YOUR BIRTHRIGHT!

I call down the Ancestors of the Stolen People.  The people that your Ancestors: beat, raped, stuffed into the hulls of ships brought over to a foreign land where Their Descendants are STILL BEING MURDERED even today and Their PLEAS FOR JUSTICE Muted…

And you consume THEIR MEDICINE/THEIR BIRTHRIGHT and tell them… “Watch your tone.  Be patience.  Your time of Justice is not now.”

I call down the Ancestors of those people who you call:  “wet backs and illegals,” whose labor helped built this country.  Whose TRUE HISTORY you have buried as it highlights the savagery of your own!!!

I call forth ALL the Ancestors who have watched Their Children/Their Descendants suffer under the “yoke of white supremacy.”

I call them forth to feed on the:  hearts, minds, and souls of those that continue to keep Their Children in the bondage of oppression.

May the “medicine” that you have hoarded, become the poison that drives you mad, where you destroy all that YOU value and love.

And when you FINALLY awaken to the destruction of your own making…I will be there…

Debate Over!!!




Danika’s Awakening

blue flaming sword


I killed a man last night


In my dreams

I have killed him time and time again

And this night…this night was different

I heard the door below me…the front door being banged upon-…

And with each knock that grows progressively louder

I feel my heart sync with the pounding on the door

I feel myself sit up in the bed

And I become

A little girl

Clutching my Stuffed Panther, Michael

The Panther from my days of pigtails and Mint Tea with my Nana

When I lived with my Nana

There were no nightmares

No knocks at the door

There were long summer days in the garden

In the orchard

Talking to the Spirits

Talking to the Angels

Going to the places humans fear to go

I curl up

I cry for my Nana

She was the only one

The knocking

The banging

The Man


I feel myself leave my body

When I am dragged back into it



Tonight is the night

Take Back Your Power

Take Back the Night

You Are a Child of the Night

You Fear No Things

You Are the Thing Others Fear

My Eyes Are Guided to My Altar


Archangel Michael

Has been my protector

My confidant

Since my Nana passed

When the Knocking

When the Nightmares came


Told me that I Was a Child of Michael

That I was an Avenging Angel

Like Michael

I was to protect the weak

The helpless

Those that others sought to exploit and hurt

I’ve always had an altar to Michael

I’ve had it hidden under my bed

In my closet


The Knocking

The Nightmares

Couldn’t Get To


Didn’t keep the nightmares away

But he allowed me to remain…sane?

I’m no longer sure of what that is…


I hear the front door burst in…




Never were enough





Footsteps coming up my stairs

I feel my breath begin to catch

I feel I can’t get control

I feel my Spirit leave my body

I feel myself losing


Losing consciousness


I feel her with me…

The Sweetness of My Lost Youth

Smelling of Honeysuckle and Love

My Querido

Both your Nana and I are here

Tonight, we stand with you

Tonight, you end the nightmare

Once and for all

I turn to my Michael Altar again

I see the knife next to his statue

I remember while touring in Venice I saw it at the antique shop

There was something about the way it was molded from

Gold, Silver and Cooper

The blade itself reminded me of the Flaming Sword of Michael

The blade that cut down the wicked

The blade that protected the helpless

The blade forged in Heaven and Hell Itself Feared.

I felt myself guided to the Altar

To the knife

I picked it up

And it was no longer a knife

It was my salvation

My redemption

My release from the bondage of fear

And the fear that I was

The Fear that I had

Only a moment ago

Was absorbed into the knife

And in my Third Eye

Witch eye

Spirit Eye

I saw it Consumed by the Blue Flames now shooting from the Sword

I Felt My Nana

And I Felt my Beautiful Long Departed

Murdered Mother

On Either Side of Me

I Was Ready

To Take Back What Was MINE

The foot steps stopped at the front of my bedroom door

I Moved to Meet Them

I unlocked the door and took a step back

The door knob slowly turned

I felt a smile crest my lips

The light was off

And my sight had never been greater

More vivid

More Aware

The figure of a man became silhouette in the hallway

Between my door frame

I knew he could not see me

Though I could see him Very Well

He reached for the light switch

But there was none

I never installed lights in the places I slept

It was one of my “esoteric” request as a Diva

No lights in the bedroom

Memories would not allow it

He walked further into the room and I stepped out of the way

This was to be savored

Like the fine rum I kept in my study below for special friends and times

He never had good eyes sight

Especially in the dark

The lights were always kept on in ever room in the house

24 hours a day

7 days a week

Money didn’t matter to the richest man in all of Central and South America

And now I could see why

This man

This Knocking

This Nightmare


“You are what others fear…in the Dark”

I felt myself Inflate with that Knowledge

With That Power

He could not see me

And at that moment

At this time

His body

His Essence

His Soul


The carpet was thick and lush

And I

Slight in frame

Made no noise

And I

Train from a young age

To move making little noise

Making no disruption in the force

Bringing no attention to myself

For I learned attention after my Beloved Mother died

After My Beloved Nana died

Brought Bad Things

Bad Things from The Man NOW



Fear feeding Terror

My Nana told me

Like my Mother and Like Her

This man had The Gift

And This Man decided to use His gifts to Make Money

To Gain Power

To TAKE What Wasn’t His

To Murder

To Abuse

To Destroy

This Man Who Had Dominated SO MUCH of My Life

This Man Who Had Shaped Me, Raped Me, Beat Me…

This Man Whose Armor I Thought Was Impermeable

Was Finally Revealed Before Me

Like a live chicken who has been plucked and ready for the Kill

This Man’s Fate/Soul Was MINE

I stayed perfectly still

I felt my heart beat slowed

I felt my pulse slowed

I felt my breath slowed

I felt myself become almost invisible

I was there in my bedroom

With The Man

But Not in my bedroom with The Man

I was between the world

I was still of the world

I was a Spirit

I was a Ghost

I Was An Avenging Angel

At that PRECISE Moment

I FINALLY Remembered Who I REALLY was

Who I’ve ALWAYS Been

This Man

My Prey

Turned towards me

And in a speed of movement

I never thought I had inside of me

I plunge my Sword of Blue Flame into His Belly

This Man

The Knocking

The Nightmare

Fell at My Feet

I grabbed his head and pulled it back

So, he could look into my eyes

At that moment every light in my house came on

No words were spoken

No words were needed

I knew he had been lead to ME

Like the lamb to the slaughter

This Man I had not seen since I finally escaped when I was 16

My uncle finding a boarding school far away from this man’s power and influence

Where I was finally allowed to be whole again

And like all circles the ends had finally met

I was about to close a very important and painful chapter in my life

I saw a mixture of emotions cross This Man’s face

Terror, Anger, Betrayal, Resistance and Finally Resignation

I twisted the knife in deeper and I felt his spinal column at the blades edge

I twisted the knife again

And I felt the spinal column severe

We stayed like this for a while

The two of us

Blood running down my hand, my arm

Restoring My Soul

Taking back what had been so cruelly stolen form me and from too many others

I felt the Souls, the Lives This Man Had Feasted Upon be Released

They silently gathered around my room waiting for the next part of

The Ritual

I felt that I didn’t have much time

I felt his Spirit trying to Break Free

Knowing The Fate that Awaited it if it didn’t break free soon

I calmly removed my knife with a satisfy release of blood and gore

I walked over to my Altar

To Michael

I lite the candle to Him and called Him in the language my Nana had taught me

I allowed the Blood from Michael’s Flaming Sword to pool in the Angelite Crystal Bowl I found in Vienna

I poured the wax into the blood

Chanting the Ancient Words

Drawing the Sigils whose meaning had been lost millenniums ago.

The Lights Went Out

It was done

I walked over where the one light was left on

The one on my night stand

By My Bed

By the Man Who Laid Dying

The Man Whose Soul I had just Cast to the Spirits Still Waiting In My Room

The Soul

That Would Become Food

To Make Them Whole Again

So, They Could Finally Move On

I sat

Indian Style

Besides the Man

His Eyes had been Looking around the Room

Perhaps remembering all the Spirits who awaited

Their Retribution

One Thing I knew for sure

He had no Remorse

This Man was Evil

This Man was the Primal Definition of Evil

I moved to stare down at him

His eyes red from the blood starting to pool behind him…

And Somehow He Found A Way to Form A Smiled

A redden smile of blood and Evil

And at that moment

I got on my knees

I lean over and gave him

The last kiss he would ever receive

I breath back the last bit of my soul

He had stolen from me

I Took His Last Breath From Him

I moved back

And the Spirits came down

And while This Man’s Body Was Dead

His Soul was Very Much Still Alive

I Heard The Scream of the Damn

And at That Point

I Knew He Had Finally Learned

True Remorse

And Better Yet

He had finally Learn Real and Utter Terror and Helplessness

This Man

This Man’s Soul Was Condemned to Be Fed On

By Those He Had Wronged

For All Eternity

And That

That Had Been By My Hand

I Went to my Altar and Thank Michael

For Igniting the Power That Had Laid Dormant In Me

The Power That Had Just Been Waiting to Be Restored

I Turned and Thanked My Mother and My Nana

For Being with Me

To Celebrate My Awaking to My True Self

I Killed A Knocking Last Night

I Killed A Nightmare Last Night

I Killed A Man Last Night

Last Night I Killed My Father

Taken From the Private Journal of Danika Guiterrez





Mini Breakdowns Major Break Throughs

Frustrated Black Woman

So, I haven’t written anything in a bit. Like a lot of my friends, most of whom are on the “front line”, I had my own “mini nervous breakdown.” You see when you are an: educated, aware, awake, empathic Black Woman in today’s society, you are going to have “breakdowns” sometimes. I like to think of it as shedding another layer of “disillusionment” to become more present and aware of my environment and the conditions I am currently living in. It happened as I was on my way to my Feri class in Berkeley one Sunday. I had been feeling “on the edge” all day. My good friend and I had been shopping and I found that little things were pushing me closer and closer to “the ledge.” We were at one of my favorite places to shop, “Berkeley Bowl”, an employee co-op own market that has an excellent selection of organic produce, large bulk dried goods section, and a grand butcher section. Yes I eat meat!!! I’m gluten free and I’ll be damn if I don’t enjoy some of my old pleasures! I’ll probably go back to be a vegetarian, but for now I’m indulging in the flesh!!!

Anyway, there I was with my shopping cart and I start noticing how many people would just park their cart blocking all avenues of passing through. Now for locals, Berkeley Bowl is a wonderful resource for fresh organic alternatives, but their aisles in their stores are very, very narrow and maneuvering them is not only a skill of space measurements, but of patience. The latter seemed to had been in short supply for me on this particular day. I noticed that a great majority of the “blockers” where people with a noticeable lack of melanin in their DNA. By the sixth cart that I had to politely moved my patience was null and void, and when the middle aged woman was about to say something rude to me for adjusting her cart so I could past, she stopped having seen something in my eyes that said, “Lady not today!” and mumbled a terse apology and went on her way.

I know that in the past, I had a fiery temper and a cutting tongue. Part of my Spiritual work these past few years, has been to cool my head and sweeten my heart. Working with my Guides and Spiritual Allies I have accomplished a lot. And their work with me has been tested a great deal due to the state of affairs in our nation and the world. The deaths of Black Women, Black Men, and Black Children and the lack of justice aka value of those lives was starting to take its toll. I was caught between: “I can’t do this anymore, I just want peace”, to “I will kill a MF that looks at me the wrong way!” Neither one was my true self or a viable option! So I told my friend when we were done shopping to let me off in the middle of down town Berkeley and I spend the next few hours walking the streets trying to find my grounding root and release the toxins that had attached to my Spirit.

Of course class helped as my Feri teacher rocks, shout out to Hillary, and I was able to meet a new Guide that gave me clarity on my work, and why I was so affected by what was going on. I’m lucky in the respect that I do have a deep spiritual connection. I do have resources that help me find my grounding root and my core shelf. I am blessed that I have begun to surround myself with amazing people of all colors and spiritual believes and backgrounds who feel what’s going on in their souls, and know pretending it’s not there or going back to sleep is no longer an option!

I guess am writing this because I just read how there is another “hashtag” #KevinAllen a Black man who was shot in a library by the Lyndhurst, NJ police department. This hits home for me. Whenever I have needed to get away, to think, to read, or to find some book to escape in and have been short on funds, I have gone to the nearest library. With my library card I was able to connect to the internet if I couldn’t afford internet connection at home. The library has provided me with reading material if I couldn’t purchase the latest book by my favorite author. The library was a safe place to hang out and not be harassed by anyone. The homeless, the student, and those between jobs were all respectful to each other and everyone else around them. We all saw this as a place of refuge. A place of refuge that has been tarnished and the harsh reality that we (meaning Black folk) are not “safe” anywhere, not the library, not in schools, not in our favorite bars or eating establishments, and especially not in our own homes! I recently got a reading on who I would be initiated to when I take the path towards initiate in my chosen tradition. I need to sit with this as I was told I have a fiery temper that needs to be cooled, and a passionate heart that needs to be sweeten to do the work that I am to do. I understand, and I get that…but for now I just want to rage and rage and shake people who refuse to wake up and tell them, “You are letting them kill us! You are letting us die! And you have to know when they are done with us, you will be next!”

Ase, and Kevin Allen what is remember lives. Rest and rise in peace and know that your death will not be forgotten and is one more that fuels are prayers and work for Justice!

P.S. For those who know me as “Earth Loving Mother”, she will be back same time next week, but for now, I needed to “Keep it 100.”

Taking Care of Oneself as A Spiritual Warrior


So I recently put my soul back into the movement! Not only am I older now than the last time I got my feet wet, I would like to believe I’m wise! I am a more grounded witch and have a stronger connection to my higher self. I would love to believe that I am immune to the anger that I feel boiling up inside of me sometimes and truth be told I’m not. My biggest fear is that I absorb the angry and hateful energy in our society that we are constantly bombarded with and it contaminates me, and I lose the ability to have benevolence for those I see as my “enemy.” How can you be a “Spiritual Warrior” stay strong, and still be someone who stands tall in their integrity and compassion?

This is something I have struggled with most of my adult/activist life. My first memory of this dilemma was living with my boyfriend when I was in my early 20’s. He was an ex-Marine who loved to hang out with other ex-Marines, most of whom were from the Vietnam War. Common sense taught me to make myself scarce during their “get togethers” as they were all intense men, with intense energy, and I had no desire to be around them when the alcohol and stories would flow. One day out of boredom and an intense inquisitiveness, I hung back in the background and listen and learned a tad about the human psyche. The stories they shared were heart wrenching and terrifying. Some I have erased from my memory. I discovered they used alcohol to numb the pain and to silence for a moment the nightmares. I finally asked one of the gentlemen I knew when sober was actually a gentle giant, “How could you do that to another living person?” The gentleman looked at me and replied, “You wouldn’t! You could never do things like that to a living person! What you have to do is forget whatever humanity you see in them, and start to see them as a thing of loathing. A thing that needed to be destroyed before it would breed and spread its filth! I choose to see them as cockroaches! I did my job, and I felt nothing!” I knew that wasn’t true because in that moment I saw the pain, the guilt, and the wounds that would not heal. But his words stuck with me.

A few decades later, a good friend and I worked ourselves up to go see, “Hotel Rwanda.” We both watched with tears and fits of sobbing. It was hard not to, being that the carnage shown was real and could have been prevented by my own government, but that’s fuel for another fire! One of the things that shook my very soul was the part when one of the Hutu war lords was talking to the hero of the story, Paul Rusesabagina, and he defined the Tutsi as cockroaches! Looking at the horrors that were inflected and the lives lost it made so much sense! How many atrocities have been committed when we stop seeing “other” as human?

A very well respected magikal teacher of mine once said, that she could no longer sent those that worked to destroy her and those she loved energies of love and light, and I have to say neither can I! And yet, how do I stay strong in the battle for justice, and still see those that seek to destroy me and those I love as human? How do I making sure to keep my soul in the very integrity that I am working so hard to bring forth in the world?

In the beginning of the 21st century, the British Columbia Witch Camp’s myth was on Mary Magdalene and Jesus (Yeshua). I had walked away from the Catholic Church in 1988, and I left behind a lot of my beliefs and tools I learn in Catholicism. That said, I felt a strong allure to this particular camp. Little did I know it would change my life!

In Vancouver I not only reconnected to Mary and Jesus in a way “different” than what I learned in school, and church; I was “gifted” with prayers of a rosary, The Rosary of Mary Magdalene. At the time I was going through a very painful breakup, and on my vision/journey to The Magdalene I asked for help letting go. She gave me the words for the Rosary and later told me to not only share them with others, but to understand that it could be used to heal a broken heart, or a heart that had been poison with betrayal and hatred.

Since the New Moon, Spring Equinox, Solar Eclipse I have been saying the Rosary to help me cleanse and strengthen: my soul, spirit and mind. I have given workshop on its use, and I wanted to share it with ya all.

I have seen in my own communities of:   activist, Pagans, Pagan Activist and friends the anger and misunderstood feelings begin to pop up. As empathies, those who can feel another’s energy or have the ability to draw in another’s pain, it’s hard not to become polluted with the energy that we are barraged with every day. We have the power and it is our responsibility to cleanse ourselves by all manners available and comfortable to us. We have to care for ourselves as each and every one of us is too important to “cast aside” because their energy has become too uncomfortable for us to be around.

I think we all will be needed a lot of tools to get us through the times ahead! I hope you can appreciate the benefits of The Mary Magdalene Rosary as much as I have. I personal find it works well when I say it out loud and let the words echo through my spirit. I usually anoint myself with some of my special meditation oil. I do it either just as I wake up to prepare myself for the day ahead, or just before I go to sleep to ask Spirit to guide my dreams to what I need to know and to cleanse my spirit before bed. I invite you to find out what works best for you!

For those of you unfamiliar with a Rosary, the prayers go as such: 1(GCR), 1(BMMC), 1(BY), 1(BMMC), 3(BM), 1(BMMC), 1(BY) 1(BMMC), 1(GCR), 1(BMMC), 10(BM), 1(BMMC), 1(BY), 1(BMMC), 10(BM), 1(BMMC), 1(BY), 1(BMMC), 10(BM), 1(BMMC), 1(BY), 1(BMMC), 10(BM), 1(BMMC), 1(BY), 1(BMMC), 10(BM), 1(BMMC), 1 (GCR), 1(BMMC), 1(BY), 1(BMMC), 3(BM), 1(BMMC), 1(BY), 1(BMMC) and finally 1(GCR).

(GCR) –Guardian at the Cross Roads

(BMMC) – Blessed Mother, Maiden and Crone

(BY) – Blessed Yeshua

(BM) – Blessed Mary

You do not need to use a Rosary as you can use regular prayer beads. The one thing I would ask as it was the request when I received the prayers from Mary Magdalene Herself is that you remove the crucifix from the Rosary before using it for her Prayers. While it is a sacred item for some religions, it still holds a lot of pain and grief for the Magdalene. You can replace the crucifix with a rose, any symbol of purification, protection, or love that you might have.

And if you do have any questions you can reach me at: SpiritualWarrior009@yahoo.com.

P.S. – If you would like a listing of all the prayers on one page for easy access, please contact me at the above email address and I would be happy to sent it to you!

Bright Blessings and Ashe!!!


Guardian at The Cross Roads (GCR)

Guardian at the Cross Roads walk with me on the journey into the shadows of my soul. Work with my Goddess/God Self and help me identify the patterns that I need to change to allow true love to come into my life. Become a beacon to light up the darkness in my soul so I can cut away and remove the weeds that have begun to smoother my soul and have become a barrier to allow the nurturing sunlight of healing, love and beauty into my life.

Guardian at the Cross Roads Be with me now and Always!

Blessed Be/Ashe

Blessed Mother Maiden and Crone (BMMC)

Blessed Mother, Maiden, and Crone Help me connect my heart, soul & passion and by doing so I reconnect my innocence, love and Goddess/God Self. Facilitate my ability to move beyond the place of fear, anger, and self-loathing.

Blessed Trinity of the Feminine remind me that I am your descendant and have the power of your Spirit running through my veins to help me navigate my passage through the river of healing, to know that love is my birthright and we will reconcile again someday.

Blessed Mother Maiden and Crone be with me now and always.

Blessed Be/Ashe

Blessed Yeshua (BY)

Blessed Yeshua Lover and Beloved of Mary, allow me patience and tolerance of those I would dismiss as unworthy of my compassion.  Allow my eyes to see the Beloved God Self In all that I come in contact with, whether they see it in themselves or not. And allow me to be In my God Self even when anger, pettiness, hate and vengeance feels easier.

Blessed Yeshua, Lover and Beloved of Mary, grant me peace and love in my heart and soul as I journey on the river of healing to reclaim my passion.

Blessed Be/Ashe

Blessed Mary (BM)

Blessed Mary full of love the Goddess lives in you.  Blessed is thy abundant heart which Is capable of enduring love, compassion and forgiveness.  Help me forgive myself and others who offend me, and help me love myself and all of my parts as I learn to love the shadow in others and by doing so learn to love my own shadow

Blessed Mary Lover of Yeshua, teach me to love my beloved self as I make room for my own Beloved

Blessed Be/Ashe

An Angry Black Woman Speaks


An Angry Black Woman Speaks

It’s been a little over a month since Pantheacon ended. For me it ended on a high, if not sensitive note. Wounds that I thought would never be reveal, discussed or even recognized as needed to be healed came forth. For those who are unaware, Pantheacon is a once a year Pagan Convention that occurs on President’s Day Weekend. It is the largest indoor Pagan Convention in the country. And unlike other Pantheacon (P-Cons) in the past this one had a very familiar under current of tension. I admit to being a Pagan who comes for the: shopping, seeing old friends, catching a workshop here and there, but mostly just being Pagan for the weekend with others Pagans. I have learned to numb myself to some of the latent and not so latent stupidity that I have witnesses over the years. This year though…this year was different. I had been “feeling” the energy for the past few months…OK years that Blacks had been under attack for as long as we have been in this country, and that it was once again hitting “critical mass!”

You see, my forefathers and foremothers came over on those lovely “cruise ships” ya all purchased for our “holiday” that last forever! And after such a lovely voyage all you asked was we work off our room and board for the next few centuries/generations, but hey it was the least we could do right? Now things were going well, for at least one party in this “agreement”, until those pesky Northerners decided to stick their nose in things and declare slavery might not be the wonderful scenario once thought. War between the States and all that and we Black folk found ourselves “free”…well not exactly! See there were some of ya all that thought we Black folk shouldn’t be running “free” and all that. We might decide to act out and call down some justice of our own. So your noble ancestors decided to form a wonderful proud organization called the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) that began at the beginning of the emancipation and has survived to this very day! Their job was to keep us in line…by any means necessary: lynching, rapes, hell destroying whole towns were within the realm of their reality to protect the Amerikkkan way.

Now in that time thousands upon thousands of Black Men, Black Women, and Black Children lost their lives.  When you add up all the Black lives that were lost during the Middle Passage (aka the cruise ship thang) and Slavery itself it starts looking a bit like…do I dare use the word?  Genocide! Oh and all the fun wonderful ways you found to dehumanize us which we can still see in the racist culture today that left scars on both our psyche!  Hell even the “so call” father of Gynecology, J. Marion Sims, was a deranged Satanist who loved to perform operations on Black women with no anesthesia, because after all we were not human!

But there was a time that your kind had empathy for my kind. In the later part of the 20th century, when things got particularly ugly and lynchings became so prevalent that they could no longer be ignored. When Billy Holiday and Nina Simone sung the potent song of, “Strange Fruit” and images drifted up from the South of some of the horrors that had been “visited” upon my people for centuries the brave and decent of you came forth and cried enough!!! Some even rode the bus through some of the most insane parts of the country where those brave souls were dragged off and beaten to the point of death. Black and white blood mixed in the streets released by the very folk that were willing to kill to ensure Black and White children would never go to school, play, or live together. Oh and others were horrified on September 15, 1963 at the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama when: Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Carol Denise McNair, four little girls in their Sunday finest where blown to pieces by bombs planted by those whose hate had destroyed whatever humanity they might had been born with! But let’s not stop there! Selma, Alabama, March 7, 1965 on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, named after a grand wizard of the glorious KKK, we marched, Black and White, for us Black folk to have the right to vote. It seems we had not given enough of: our blood, our lives, our very souls! We would never be good enough in some of your eyes. And so with the entire nation watching we were attacked with guns, tear gas, dogs, night sticks, but most of all with hate that went through your very core! We would never be good enough! We were less than! We would learn that or die!

But thank the Gods the majority of you watched these horrors and were sicken!!! You cried to your President Johnson that enough was enough. This had to stop! Blacks deserved the right to vote and so after all that was sacrificed we got the right to vote and we all lived happily ever after! Not so much! We have heard the names ring out over and over again in the news: Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, Tanisha Anderson, Yvette Smith, Miriam Carey, and so many more. The President recent signed a law that will force police departments all over the country to start collected data on police involved arrest and shootings by race, so we can finally see in actually data how bad it really is.

I think of my friends who have Black sons and I fear for them, and yet I have a Black daughter who is not immune from this sort of madness. Recently there was a police involved shooting in Madison, WI where my daughter lives. I felt a fear in my heart. I wanted, needed to talk to my daughter. To confirm that she and her friends were fine and safe. I found out the next morning that the shooting occurred six blocks from where my daughter lives. Some friends were out to dinner and saw the young man on the stretcher as EMTs worked to save his life in vain. I found out from my daughter that the shooting happened in a very hipped part of Madison and the young man was a “good kid” from a “good family” and a “good neighborhood.” See, when we get shot we have to justify our existence/our children’s existence. They were “good kids and honor students with bright future ahead of them.”

I say all this because there was a lot of energy around “Black Lives Matter.” Some asshats decided that they would do a “satire” of our pain which has been going on for over four hundred fu.king years!!! Please pantycon people…please do not get on board as my ally…Your support hurts too much!!! If it causes this much pain it’s not funny!!! PERIOD!!!

Moving on… There are some “Pagans” who feel their Spirituality doesn’t compel them to speak out on the injustices in our society. That’s between your deity and you, AND I want to invite you that the same argument was use in one form or another in Germany via the 1930’s. “Hey, it’s really horrible what is going on with: the mentally ill, Gypsys, Jews, not so much the Homosexuals, though I do know some pretty decent sorts out there. But it’s not my problem! I am a good Christian and I go to church. I don’t agree with this Hitler fellow, but I will pray for God to show him the ills of his ways.”

Now I do wish it worked like that, and believe me, my people have been on our knees praying and begging for you all to have some empathy, some heart, some friggin humanity! And they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome!

I had wanted to stay out of the fray. I have been an activist since I was 13 years old. Friggin Sagittarius Sun and Leo Rising demands I stand up for Justice for all not just a few. And that Gosh Darn Cancer Moon means I feel the pain of the world! Perfect storm of an activist! But like all good activist that have their eye on the prize, and didn’t understand the meaning of self-care, I burned out…hard!!! I look around me at some of the amazing young men and women, and “more seasoned” activist, and I feel the call of the battle! There is a caveat! I know I can no longer deal with “once borns!” Amber K defines once borns as those who have lived many live times and have not retain an ounce of memories (aka Common Sense) of the lessons from those lifetimes. They are destined to live the same lifetime and make the same mistakes over and over again. With that said I reenter the Social Activist movement knowing that I can and will only work with those who understand the Crisis/Danger we all face. Black Lives Matter because we have never mattered in the history of this country and our predetermined value is dropping fast! We are no longer willing to justify our children’s lives by what they were able to contribute in the short time they were here before they were murdered and stolen from us! You need to come to my table knowing our shared histories! I don’t want your guilt! I want your commitment to work with me to fix the state of this nation! To rid us of the poison of hate and racism that has plagued our country for long enough!

Today is a Dark Moon, Solar Eclipse and Spring Equinox. This is a time of lighting up the Shadows and to take a long hard long at what we need to release and release it! It is a time of planting seeds for new begins. Will you sow the seeds of hate, apathy, and the need to “let sleeping dogs lie”? Or will you awaking with the Judgement card and call down the energy of the “Ancients” to bring forth the change we will have one way or another!!! Know and understand this. I am a witch from a long line of witches, shamans, and root women. I work with my Ancestors who are tired of seeing their descents beg for what they died for so many centuries ago. I will not watch my grandchildren go through the pain, and humiliation that I and those who came before me have. Will you be the tick that drains the blood of my people or are you warriors from another tribe united in the fight against our common enemy? Your decision…your fate! Ashe!!!

Healing the Wounds…



First off I would like to thank Crystal Blanton from keeping me from going off the deep end, and Thorn Coyle for spurring this piece. Once again Thorn, you were able to stir something in me that I was trying to bury in the anger, that was really so much more, and hopeful will touch more people than the blog I was going to write.
We have all been rocked by the truth that finally broke about a member of the community, and we have all been struggling with the news. There have already been so much written and discussed. I want to come at it from another prospective. A survivor.
I was raped by a family friend, a black minister, when I was three years old. Now you have to understand what that meant. I was three years old in 1966. The civil rights movement was just gaining legs. All eyes were on the Black community. We had to all be “sparkling role models.” No one could see any flaws we had, and like all communities we had flaws.
The minister in question was the husband of a woman my mom had got to babysit for me while she worked. My normal babysitter was my Godmother and first teacher of the craft, and she was very sick in the hospital. My father and mother had separated a few months before, and I suppose like a lot of predator victims I was ripe for the taking. I missed a male influence that I could trust to show me attention and love. That love part turned into something a three year old could not and should not be made to handle. We were “caught” by his wife, who then called my mother from work to come back to the house.
It’s funny, I don’t remember much of what happened between me and the minister, but I do remember the fear of my mom finding out what had occurred. I remember the doorbell ringing and my mom stepping in. I remember the look of horror she gave me when their version of what happened was explained to her. I remember the anger on her face and the slap she gave me. I remember the wife giving my mom a wooden spoon to beat me with that soon broke. I remember my mother grabbing and ripping the cord from the phone and beating me, beating me until I admitted I was evil, and that it was my fault I had done what I did to the “poor Reverend.” I remember that the wooden spoon wasn’t the only thing that broke that day. I remember that the three year old part of myself decided to survive, to continue to live, she had to suppress what happen, she had to find an excuse or reason for the scar on her right thigh, she had to forget what had occurred in that “parlor room.” She had to “move on.”
Over three decades later, I found myself in a Bay Area Women Against Rape training session. I had volunteered after a good friend of mine relied to me that there was a shortage of women of color to serve the community. A Black woman walked in who was about my age. She sat down and proceeded to tell her story of how she had been “groomed” by her minister. How she had grown up without a father and how she had wanted a positive male influence in her life, and how that turned into so much more that her young self could not handle. How she had turned to those in the church and in her family and they had turned on her, calling her a whore and a seducer. How that affect her and her relationships throughout her life. And the more that she talked, the more that she revealed her story; the angrier I got. I found myself pushing away from the table, and digging into the wood with my nails. I wanted to tear her tongue out. I wanted her to stop her lies…she was lying, she was fucking lying. And then it hit me…her story was my pain. The pain that I had suppressed, buried, moved on from to survive. Surviving being a life of pain, faux love, a divorce and countless broken relationships. Survive by trying to connect and always having an invisible wall between me and those I loved. Survive by having a black hole where a soul should be. Survive throughout several suicide attempts. And in that moment I realize that I no longer wanted to survive but thrive and live.
I share all this not for sympathy or tears though those might come. I share this to compare situations. In the Black community we do not want to shine a light on anything that will make our men folk look less human. Lord and Lady know that is what the media does on its own. We see over and over again in films and television how Black men are animals who kill and rape with no conscience or no thought. We are constantly taught as young black women that our lives are not as important as those of our male counterparts. Hell, you even see it in the music that has been forced down our throats. Sound familiar?
I get it that “heaven forbid” Pat Roberson finds out about our “situation” and devotes a week on the sins of the Pagan community. That we harbored a pedophile for decades and turn the other way as he continued to do his work. Well, I don’t really see that happening as it seems there is no spiritual/religious community that has been unaffected.
I also know from recent information that has come to the surface in my family that my mother had a reason to react the way she did when confronted with her baby being raped. She reacted the way she had been taught or conditioned to. I invite those who “looked the other way, or even covered up” for the perpetrator what wounds you might have to heal.
My hope, my prayer, my wish, my work as a Spiritual Warrior is to find a way working with community to create a template, a working model to remove and handle predators in our community and to protect the innocent and those whose voices are not always heard.



It’s a little after 6am, Friday, February 14, 2014 and I and four other amazing women/Priestess will be taking the stage in a little over 12 hours.  It has been an exhausting roller coaster of a ride these past few weeks, and I have nothing but love, admiration, and most of all respect for the women who have taken this journey with me. 

I speak of the play I first wrote a little under 10 years ago called a Black Women Speaks, which I create from a monologue first performed by Beah Richards back in 1951.  Ms. Richards entered a poetry contest sponsored by the Chicago Women for Peace.  The guideline was to write a piece on how, we as women, could work for peace.  Ms. Richards was one of many contestants who made the finals and was invite to perform, she explains in a documentary about her life, that after she had finish women were heard to scream, cry, embrace each other, and basically lose their f…cking minds!  I don’t necessarily see that happened tonight, though what I do wish is that the women present can open up their minds, hearts and yes even souls and see that there is major work to be done to heal and take back this gift of a planet we call Earth and first we need to heal ourselves of the poison of patriarchy.

My play takes Ms. Richard’s monologue and breaks it down into five parts:  Beah Richards, The African Ancestor, The Slave, The Higher Conciseness of White Women, and The Descendant.  I have made the play a ritual of enlightenment and hopefully healing.

I have been an activist since I was a Catholic School teenager.  I first got involved against the Briggs Initative aka Proposition 6 which would have banned all Homosexual teachers from schools.  I had just done a history report on the European Holocaust of World War II, and one of the quotes that stuck with me was the quote by Pastor Martin Niemöller

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out– Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out– Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out– Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me–and there was no one left to speak for me.

Even though I had been raised Catholic all my life at that point and had been taught “the evils of homosexuality” I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that someone could lose their job and be branded a deviant simple on the fact on who they were attracted to and who they might love.  Thank the Goddess the Proposition failed, barely, and for me it sparked my determination to fight for equality for all! 

From that I have been a part of various organizations that sponsor, promote and protect civil rights.  In1992 I joined the National Organization for Women, and soon found myself on the opposite side of everything I was taught as a child:  abortion, gay rights, equality for women, etc., but I did not find it as difficult as one might think because I continue to use not only Pastor  Niemöller quote, but also what I had learned from the bible:  “Man had been poor with free will and no one had the right to interfere with that free will.”

A few years later we all remember the infamous Bronco chase down the freeways of Southern California.  O.J. Samson was on the run for the possible murder of his ex-wife and her friend.  A woman by the name of Tammy Bruce who was the President of Los Angeles NOW went on national TV making racially bigoted remarks about O.J.’s children, the feminist movement, and a lot of other things.  All of sudden, women who I had worked with, marched with, stood up to misogynistic bigots discredited my concerns, my pain, and my feelings.  The women of color and their allies demand that Ms. Bruce be censured aka could no longer speak for the organization as her rantings went against everything that the Organization stood for.  The debate went all the way to the National level.  Hateful things about women of color were said and made known.  I eventually wrote a piece in the local news later stating, “Although I am not Gay I have and always will fight for Gay rights.  Although I have never had an abortion I have and always will fight for a women’s right to choice.  Cannot my white sister fight for my right to feel safe and heard in an organization we both have built and continue to serve?”  During this fight I was reminded of something my Godmother told me…”you can only trust white women so far, as they will always stand up for their own.”  Eventually Ms. Bruce was censured and now is a featured “personality” on FOX news and a touted Tea Party member. 

We saw last year that the war against women has been turned up to a temperature that we can no longer pretend is just our imagines.  As a Black Woman I have felt the heat for as long as I have been on this planet, so it is no surprise the venom that is being used against us woman.  I saw in the Occupy movement the ignorance and arrogance of the “new left.”  Marching down West Oakland invading neighborhoods chanting:  “whose streets our streets”, in a sea of faces that look nothing like the ones staring out the windows and patios of the really “occupants!”  And the Occupy movement wonders why it lost?!!  What must be understood that trust, respect, loyalty is not something that is given lightly but something that needs to be earned!  We are at the 11th hour, and all is not lost…yet. 

At a spiritual retreat a few years ago I was tasked with creating a main ritual.  While working with spirit I was given the message:  “Heal yourselves, Heal your communities, and then Heal the World.”  That same message was later shared by the Council of Nine Grandmothers.  This play, this ritual is my Valentine to my White Sisters.  We need to work together, and first we need to heal the pain and wounds in each of our lives, “our houses”, and then and only then can we begin to heal the world.  Time is running out!  Will you join me?Image