Witches, Here Are The New Books You Need

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

I am fortunate to receive tons of wonderful books on a wide range of topics, but some of my favorites include those by talented witches and magical beings whose books approach magic in accessible, inclusive, radical, and fresh ways.

I am always on the lookout for books which a) present an updated look at magic and witchcraft to a modern audience, b) frame witchcraft in a way that is inclusive and holistic — meaning it addresses systemic issues in society, and c) blend and blur genres — books of narrative non-fiction alongside research, poetry entwined with spellcraft, or divination techniques alongside storytelling.

Personally, I love books that can be read through an open-ended and intuitive lense, and approaches that permit those of us from even an eclectic or secular background to take part. I think all of the below books make space for the witch, the feminist, the curious, and anyone in between. So, for witches and non-witches alike, these are the books I’ve been reading as of late:

THE GLAM WITCH

I LOVE this book. Michael Herkes’ voice is a dream. His passion is palpable, lifting out of the pages and into your hands and heart. It looks at how the goddess/archetype Lilith has for so long been worshipped and feared, and walks readers through how they can create a relationship with Lilith, as well. In fact, it’s called The GLAM Witch because Herkes explores the Great Lilithian Arcane Mysteries (GLAM). Through luminous text, you’ll find astrology, ritual, and a magic that is steeped in power.

INITIATED: Memoir of a witch

Amanda Yates Garcia — known as the Oracle of LA — writes a potent story of becoming and reclamation in Initiated, which shows how she became a High Priestess, and how she tapped into her inner power. With her shedding light on feminism, culture, earth, sex work and poverty, the underlying message here is one that matters most in today’s world.

Also read: 7 magical & inclusive new books witches must read

TAROT FOR TROUBLED TIMES: CONFRONT YOUR SHADOW, HEAL YOURSELF, TRANSFORM THE WORLD

In Theresa Reed and Shaheen Miro’s Tarot for Troubled Times, we see a radical and transformational text that uses shadow work (a throughline of the book), archetypes, reflections, and prompts to reframe the power of tarot. I can’t get enough of this one. And I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Theresa (The Tarot Lady) for quite some time. Her generosity, support, wisdom, and love for magic is a continual inspiration to me.

HONORING YOUR ANCESTORS: A Guide to Ancestral Veneration

As someone who has always been interested in ancestor veneration in a specific sense — more in my writing practices than anything else — I have not read a book on the topic that has so deeply and beautifully spoken to my needs. Mallorie Vaudoise’s book does not go into the topic lightly, addressing plenty of the big issues — like not knowing who your ancestors are, for one. The book explores everything from making ancestral altars and spell-work to mediumship. It’s splendid and healing.

Read also: 4 witchy podcasts you need in your life

REVOLUTIONARY WITCHCRAFT: A GUIDE TO MAGICAL ACTIVISM

In Sara Lyon’s work, we find a potent and necessary look at how we can make magic in a world that is too often broken by hatred, fear. It is a world that needs transformation, and witches have that very power. I have always thought that the witch was a political figure, whether or not one intends or feels that way. Witches have long stood for the marginalized, the forgotten, the invisible. And power, as Lyons says, is political. With topics ranging from history, magic (ancestral magic, sigil creation, and spells), ally-ship and the natural world, this book is a must-have for today’s practicing witch. I also love its inclusion of the Trans Right of Ancestor Elevation, which is a ritual for trans and GNC witches to honor their ancestors of spirit killed by murder.

CAT CALL: RECLAIMING THE FERAL FEMININE

I have long been a fan of Kristen Sollée’s work (and her person) and I am indebted to her for the knowledge and support she has given me, and the magic she has brought to my life (and all of ours!) through her words. As an intersectional feminist and a witch, her books (do yourself a favor and also read Witches, Sluts Feminists) speak power into my world. In Cat Call, she brings the histories, superstitions, stories, and mythos of the feline to life, and weaves all of that into how we understand (and can better understand) sex and femininity and taboo. Fuck yes.

TAROT FOR SELF CARE: HOW TO USE TAROT TO MANIFEST YOUR BEST SELF

I love Minerva Siegel’s book for its simplicity and care. It walks readers through the tarot with care and ease, feels inclusive and avoids culturally appropriative terms, and addresses some of the big obstacles to our self-care practices. It frames the book so that it covers mental, physical and spiritual self-care, while walking you through each card and its magic.

OTHER BOOKS I’VE BEEN READING OR LOOKING FORWARD TO READING:

Pam Grossman’s Waking The Witch, Theresa Reed’s Astrology for Real Life, Astrea Taylor’s Intuitive Witchcraft, Apocalyptic Witchcraft by Peter Grey, Gabriela Herstik’s Bewitching The Elements, Juliet Diaz’ Witchery, Working Conjure by Hoodoo Sen Moise, The Door to Witchcraft by Tonya A Brown, The Astrology of Sex & Love by Anabel Gat, Weaving The Liminal by Laura Tempest Zakroff,

IAlso recommended: Catland Book’s Monthly Reader’s Coven (which I subscribe to, and which delivers gorgeous books to my door, monthly).

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Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine--a popular magazine focused on literature, magical living, and identity. She is the author of "Light Magic for Dark Times," a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices, as well as "The Magical Writing Grimoire: Use the Word as Your Wand for Magic, Manifestation & Ritual." She can be found writing about trauma recovery, writing as a healing tool, chronic illness, everyday magic, and poetry. She's written for The New York Times, Refinery 29, Self, Chakrubs, Marie Claire, Narratively, Catapult, Sabat Magazine, Healthline, Bust, Hello Giggles, Grimoire Magazine, and more. Lisa Marie has taught writing and ritual workshops at HausWitch in Salem, MA, Manhattanville College, and Pace University. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University.

Working Out As Magic & Ritual: A Witch's Comprehensive Guide

BY MAGDA KNIGHT

I never used to go to the gym. Now, somehow, I do. I’m happy to call myself a health-goth, but as I’ve eased into what the gym means to me, I’ve discovered great joy in seeing it as a blend of physical and deeply internal progression… and I’ve incorporated so much magical practice into my physical self-training, too. 

Physical activity (in whatever way your body can accomplish, given that we all have different mobilities and abilities and some of us manage a disability or chronic illness) is a celebration. When we carry out magical acts, don’t we do it to flourish — rather than to shrink and feel small? We can pour ritual into how we use our bodies, and we can use our bodies to add a deeply physical element to connect us with our spirit, too. 

Going to the gym can be a way for magic positivity and body positivity to dance together to a shared rhythm. I’m not going to the gym in order to watch numbers on a scale go down, but to acknowledge and love the body I’m in — and to work it in the same way that I work my spirit when I carry out any magical practice. 

In this piece I’m going to look at ways in which some elements of going to the gym might be incorporated into magical work. And I have to share a revelation that’s very dear and important to me – that I’m not alone in this thinking (nor am I an expert).

I’m on a journey, as are we all.

When I first mentioned I wanted to write something like this, a sort of love letter to physical exercise and magic, I was amazed and gratified to discover how many people had already made the connection. So many people related, and they shared their own wonderful perspectives on how they flow magic into their physical activity. So this piece is a celebration of all the transformational ways in which physical and magical work can be made as one, and a testament to all the wonderful people who are finding their own paths to make it work. Some of what’s written here may echo with you, but there is so much more to say and discover, and your own personal journey is so, so important. 

My personal journey is only important to me. As it should be. 

Dear heart, if you are reading this, do it your way. Your personal journey is everything.

Ritual attire

When does the ritual begin? When going to the gym (or using some household items while watching a YouTube fitness video, for example), you don’t need to set out your magical space. That’s already done for you. You’re perhaps more likely to start getting your magic on when you don your ritual attire. 

Clothes that make you feel comfortable in your body and like you don’t have to think about them? Check. 

Anything else you need to wear for ritual purposes?

No.

Unless you wish it.

Gym-wear can be viewed as ritual attire because it may be something you don’t wear on a regular basis. You wear it for the gym. If desired, you can select clothes that match or enhance your gym persona. I feel good about myself and my physical practice if I wear specific colours to the gym – black and red are the colours I’m drawn to. You may feel like light, bright colours inspire you more. Colours and designs are important if you think they are. If you don’t, they’re not. 

At the moment, the gym is the one place where I feel safe wearing tight clothes. It’s almost as if I’m naked, fully in my own aspect, with nothing to hide. Regardless of my physical appearance and what normative society might think about that, in my tight clothes in the gym I feel empowered to walk tall. And this is just my own deeply personal viewpoint – the only truly important thing about your ritual gym attire is that it makes you feel right in yourself!

As you progress in your personal development, you may choose to add to your ritual kit. I’ve recently added sportswear gloves for lifting weights, to avoid blisters. When I put those gloves on, I’m ready to go. But I didn’t get them straight away. And I still don’t wear any special sportswear on my feet – just some average sneakers that do the job and feel fine to wear. Another practitioner might feel that specific gym footwear is essential. They may feel they need the swoosh emblem of Nike, winged goddess of victory, or they may feel that sportswear earbuds mean business and the use of sound helps them immerse themselves more deeply in their practice.

As I write this, it is cooooold outside. Winter weather. So, to negate the metaphorical demon of inertia sitting on my shoulder, I put on my gym attire every morning beneath my clothes. That way I’m already halfway there, and can go to the gym as an impulse, with even fewer barriers to stop me. The clothes still feel magically infused because I don’t think about them with other clothes on top. They only become ritual attire when I strip down to attend a session and they’re all I’m wearing.

Choosing and putting on your attire can make you feel like you’re energised and ready to begin the work. Your attire might be gym kit, or a swimsuit, or anything else. It’s charged with energy, and each time you engage in physical practice, it’s charged even further.

Pre-gym ritual preparation

One thing you’re very likely to bring to the gym is water. You may drink more than one bottle, but your first bottle can be charged before you leave the house. I love to cup the water, surround myself with golden light that builds with my breath, and pour energy and gratitude and intent into the water.

I give thanks to the water that will nourish me later, and each sweet sip will taste like nectar.

Entering and leaving the sacred space

In my gym, you have to walk through pods controlled by a key fob or access code if you wish to enter or leave. The door slides open, you enter the pod, then wait for the next door to slide open again to enter the centre proper. In my heart these doors represent the opening and closing of the ritual. The action that defines the transition between the mundane and sacred space. The signal that magical practice is about to take place, and the definitive moment when it ceases.

With the aid of these pods one enters the gym activated, and leaves the gym grounded.

Not all gyms have such obvious portals or gates for magical working. Entering and leaving through a simple door (or designing a space for working out in, say, your living room) can also open and close a sacred space, when done with intent. 

I don’t use changing rooms myself, but a practitioner can incorporate elements like changing or showering to begin and end their magical working in the gym.

Magic or mindfulness?

Is going to the gym a sweetly internal and holistic act of mindfulness, or a powerful magical rite? Perhaps it comes down to your practice and preference. Mindfulness certainly plays a key part in attaining a magic state in the gym. There might be a moment where you’re flooded with reverence for your body as you explore the liminal space within or just outside your comfortable limits, feeling the effects of air and blood move around your system, considering whether to spread sensation around your body to relieve a tired area, or pour your focus into those parts of the body which are working the hardest. 

You may have a million thoughts, or none, yet physical activity helps a person connect to the moment and respect how mind, spirit and body are all part of a whole.

Ritual practice

There are numerous ways to explore the gym as a magical working, too. You can use the endeavour as an offering: “I will do this next rep, or this session, as a gift or sacrifice.” One friend, Genevieve, tucks a cloth into her bra as she trains, with the intention of using that cloth in a later specific working. I love this. As she incorporates running into her practice, while running she also internally repeats a mantra aligned with the working for which she will use her cloth. You can imbue paper with your effort in this way too, and use it later for statements of intention or other written magical work. If you don’t wear a bra, you can stuff cloth or paper into your sock or footwear.

If you’re in a wheelchair or doing seated work, you may wish to place personal items like paper, cloth or threads beneath you as you sit. Some might see this as somehow disrespectful of your work, since you’re placing it beneath your area of elimination. Me, I’m always minded how Cloacina, beloved Roman goddess of the sewers, was acknowledged as the goddess of transformation and purification.

If I’m wearing my stalwart gym gloves for a whole session, I can slip a sigil in there. It’s being activated, charged and released through doing the gym session. I can seed it with intention then forget about it, because I can’t feel it in my glove. And if it gets sweaty or smudged? Well, that’s wonderful! Its outer form is becoming increasingly distanced from the conscious effort of creating it, working its way even further into the subconscious. Physical activity is such an aid in getting that balance between intent and no-mind, helping the conscious and subconscious work together.

I’ve been known to paint sigils on my body where they won’t be seen and let the physical activity sweat them out. Charge and release.

I also use thin-coloured ribbons in many of my workings, so there are times when I might charge a length of ribbon by wearing it wrapped round my ankle out of sight, or in my hair if it’s tied up.

If you work with entities or the Tarot, you can use reps or time on a treadmill to focus on a cherished entity or card in your mind, considering it from new angles. I am personally of the feeling that gym work creates space for new thoughts to flow, along with the increase in oxygen and blood movement. New thoughts may arise during the work itself, or — if your mind doesn’t work that way — you can zone out with the repetition of movement and create space for creativity and new ideas to flow into afterwards.

Meditation, contemplation, visualization and path-working

Meditation is a means to increase awareness of your body and still the monkey-mind, often using your breathing or your body. To me, any form of physical activity can get close to being a movement-based meditation. I’d be more likely to find a private gym bathroom cubicle on a non-busy day to meditate in a sitting position. I love using the rowing machine as a meditation tool because you’re nicely and safely strapped in with no chance of falling over, and no-one’s going to care if you close your eyes while you do it.

Pathworking is your chance to go on a journey through an inner landscape. I find the treadmills and rowing machines quite conducive to this. With a treadmill, you already have the forward movement, either walking or running. You have the chase, the hunt. You have yourself as a protagonist on an inner journey. It’s amazing what the mind can throw up when you seek to explore internal terrains while on the move.

Sometimes I use the treadmill and my timings on it (“for x seconds/minutes I’ll walk, or run, or rest” as an exploration of Tarot or the Tree of Life. Placing a focus on first one destination on the path, then the next. Allowing free reign to what comes up. Allowing the body to take charge, and the subconscious to seep into conscious workings.

Contemplation is ideal for the gym, as so much of the practice enables you to focus on specific images, qualities or deities. On the treadmill I might focus on the face of a cherished entity, holding it, loving it, exploring it, conversing with it, offering my thoughts to it, sometimes watching it shimmer with disco sparks in time to the tinny universal music (unless I’ve brought my own music along, which can take things to the next level. Diamanda Galas, anyone?)

Visualisation is my absolute favourite activity for the rowing machine. Maybe the ‘rowing’ nature of it leads my thoughts to water, but more than anything else, I love to strap in, set no timer, close my eyes and just row, row, row. Slipping into the stream of things. Heading with Charon down the river Styx, or swimming with mermaids in the Mariana trench, or letting the thoughts and images flow. Such release! And what comes to the fore can surprise me, or, be used at a later time in my creative work, or remind me that the divine is just around the corner, waiting for us to reach out and welcome it.

Building witch energy

Most importantly, I think physical training of any kind is such a concrete way of acknowledging and building intent, discipline and work. I see intent and discipline as being like muscles. To intend to go to the gym, then to indeed go to the gym, then to exert effort in line with your true will… each time you do this, you’re building witch energy. 

“I can do this. I will do this. I am doing this. I did this.” 

That’s so powerful, loves. 

And if we’re talking about results magic, you get rewarded for your effort at the end of every session. A delicious feeling in your body that’s one part endorphins, two parts sense of personal achievement. Immediate rewards from magical practice is such a boon when it comes to placing a focus on connecting with your will and your environment, mundane or otherwise.

Another friend, Katrin, puts it like this:

“Back when I had a weekly yoga class to attend, this was a big motivator for me - just proving to myself that I could get through this hour+ of forced concentration on nothing but my physical activity. I'd tell myself at the beginning of every session that I was going to be a Good Witch. That is, a witch who is reliable, keeps promises, does what she says she'll do. It did help my mindset in general - I'd kept my promise to do the exercise, so I'd proved to myself that I could be reliable in other ways too. And to me that's always been a huge part of what magic is about - the commitment and self-discipline and consistency.”

And what about grounding in a ritual? The minute you stop and your body thanks you is, to me, a moving and grounding experience. The drink of water, the quick towel-down. Taking that moment to connect my feet to the earth, the floor of the gym, the world. And then heading back through the gym portals to fully close the sacred space.

Ritual and symbolism

Perhaps everyone who goes to the gym has their own versions of symbolism and ritual, whether or not they choose to view it in these terms. As mentioned earlier, the doors to a gym can gain ritual significance. The opening and closing of a padlock on a gym locker can act as a charged seal. If one works with the magical meaning of numbers, one can incorporate this into personal practice, with reference to equipment settings and time spent on them. Or one can go round the equipment widdershins. When you go to the gym, you can seek and find your own symbolism, your own magical moments.

A friend I was discussing this with mentioned how Ramsey Dukes/Lionel Snell turned washing a car or washing dishes into a magical act by breaking it down into tiny magical moments (turn on the tap, sense how the water feels on your hands, consider how it feels when washing up liquid is added, and when the dishes are place in the sink).

To break one large activity down into tiny magical acts gives intent and full participation to each moment. It both activates the soul to the magic of the ritual, and shuts consciousness down so that the subconscious can get to work on the overall intent.

Your time at the gym is filled with tiny magical moments; time and activity broken down into small acts of meaning and beauty. “Just another ten seconds,” you say as you hold a plank, or work a treadmill. “Just four more reps.” It’s just you and the moment, and the pact you have made with yourself to do the work.

Grimoires and books of shadows are free to all

There are so many articles on the internet. So many how-to videos and shared conversations. Navigating the wealth of information and opinion to find something that helps rather than hinders your personal work can be a challenge, but it is there. 

As there is an increasing degree of diversity among people going to the gym, more diverse forms of support and encouragement are seeping onto the internet, and our online Akashic records are heaving with information from people offering the kind of support they wish they’d had access to themselves when they were first starting out. Workouts for trans women and femmes. Wheelchair exercises. Body positivity at the gym. The support available is so much more broad, deep and inclusive than it used to be.

Self-initiation and initiation by others.

What I most love about going to the gym is how personal it is. How true-to-thee-and-thee-alone your goals are. How internal your journey to growth is. There is, perhaps, a sense of initiation and levels of achievement through dedicated practice (and, dear one, you are obviously the only one who can define what ‘dedication’ will look like in your personal practice. No-one else has the right).

So much of gym practice relates in my mind to self-initiation. When you turn up, you do the work. There is no-one who can tell you otherwise. When you achieve personal goals, whether they are beautiful yet tiny in-the-moment goals like “I will do this for another 30 seconds” or greater goals that made you state your intent to go to the gym in the first place (like “I will go caving this year”), it is possible to view such achievements as levels of initiation.

You have your own internal gym compass. You know in your heart when you’re acting in such a way that it’s pointing north, and you know deep within when you’ve reached a destination on your journey.

There is also, potentially, the idea of being initiated by another. That’s where personal trainers come in. You’ll see a number of them in the gym, all initiates who are ready and willing to share their knowledge with the community. Their ritual insignia is the branded T-shirt. They have done the work. They are there for you.

I take the path of the solo practitioner, but I have a statement of intent (“I will get strong enough to go caving”) and to achieve that goal I may save up money so that I can pay for an initiate’s guidance on practice and personal development. Any path is valid if you feel like it is the right path for you.

A sacred space must be a safe space. Not an easy space, for there is work to be done. But a safe space.

When you conduct a magical working in a sacred space, it’s your time to channel your intention in a positive way. You’ve got no time or need or desire for negative thoughts pulling your spirit in directions it doesn’t want to go.

My thoughts on the gym as a safe sacred space are deeply subjective. They are limited by my personal experience as an abled cis white woman conducting physical activity in public. My only areas of potential concern are my lack of physical practice, and my age (I’m in my mid-forties, which has its own challenges, but woohoo to being past my Saturn Return). However, I want to take a moment to talk about other initiates in the gym, and my own highly subjective view of the gym as, yes, ultimately a safe space.

I know others will have deep and valid concerns about being judged by others in the gym. I cannot and must not disregard that. I can only share my own perception of doing my own personal practice surrounded by extremely regular and well-practised gym-goers. In my heart, these initiates - who are doing their own work and not there to mentor me - hold no threat. In fact, they come across as utterly neutral towards anyone but themselves (as it should be) and I also see it as a generous gift that they are carrying out their practice in public so that I can learn from it. If someone cannot afford a personal trainer, they can look to the practice of those who are more experienced, or those who can and do utilise a personal trainer, and learn from their techniques in things like floorwork or free weights. 

Again, it is so subjective. But when I walk into the gym, I feel such a powerful sense of neutrality. The space feels clean. A blank slate to write on. Initiates have no time to judge me – they’ve got their own business to attend to. They are doing their own work; all their intent is going into that. If anything, I tell myself that they already see me as a ‘winner’, regardless of my physical aspect and how I present myself, because I have shown up. And showing up is, I believe, something they understand and respect, having been through those early days of beginner self-initiation themselves. 

Of course, it shouldn’t matter if they respect me or not. I’m not there to win the respect of other gym-goers or anyone else. In going to the gym I’ve made a personal pact with myself, and I have my own business to get on with. And yet… if there is fear in going to a gym, it may be useful to explore ways to negate that fear, if it is stopping you from doing something you really want.

If I ask an initiate for brief advice (for I do not wish to unnecessarily interrupt their work), I see very little judgement in their eyes. If anything, they are informative and supportive, recognising I wish to learn and improve. One of us, I imagine them saying. One of us, one of us…

All around me, I am surrounded by people of all shapes and sizes and backgrounds and ages. We are people. We are humanity. To go to the gym may require privilege in certain areas including ability, time and money. But there are no definites. Someone who is struggling with poverty may be considered by society to be ‘too poor to afford the gym’, or ‘too poor to afford the added expense of a pet’, or ‘too poor to afford visits to the nail bar’. But every time society deems something a ‘luxury’, an actual breathing person – not a number or statistic, a person – may consider that ‘luxury’ to be essential to functioning on an everyday basis. They may equate gym or pet companions or getting their nails done with feeling truly like themselves in tough times. There’s no room for judgement in the gym. When I walk in, I feel like everyone is there. And like I have just as much right as anyone else to enter.  And we have one thing in common: we have a personal intent, and we are doing our best to realise it.

Coming back to my friend Genevieve again, she mentioned once reading an article about viewing the gym as a liminal space where you do not need to conduct physical practice. You might find it easier to view the gym as a space where you can shower, read, check your phone, meditate… and not feel obliged to do any physical activity at all. This wouldn’t suit my own practice as defining the gym as ‘a place to get physical’ helps to shape and build my ritual work.

However, someone else might breathe a sigh of relief in hearing that ‘going to the gym’ could be treated quite loosely if desired. Perhaps those who have chronic pain or find lengthy focus on one activity a challenge might love the idea that they can go to the gym and do what they want there. In a nice big gym, you’ll see people doing the most random things anyway. You won’t stand out. There are people already looking at their mobile phones, perhaps checking their fitness app or looking for health advice or video exercises. There are people chatting to their friends. There are people staring into space, either considering their practice or having a rest and not thinking anything at all, especially with the rise of interval training where you do a bit of activity then stop.

If you want to go to a gym and just chill, I don’t think anyone will stare at you. They’ll be too busy staring into themselves.

But: If you have had negative experiences in the gym, I am so sorry. It is vital that gyms must evolve as safe spaces, as awareness of body and identity positivity grows. It’s important.

Drawing out the toxicity of gym culture

I honestly didn’t know where best to discuss this. First or last? Wherever it’s placed, it matters.

If you’re planning to use the gym or any other physical activity for any self-healing, the last thing you need is toxicity. That poison needs to be addressed. To this day, medical practice has the wand of Caduceus as its symbol – two snakes coiled around the winged staff of Hermes. Without getting too deeply into snake mythology, so many of us think of the snake as a symbol of transformation and healing, its venom used as medical treatment. The snake can also be viewed as responsibility. The snake represents freedom and choice, and with that comes the responsibility to own your choices. Just as the medical profession owns its responsibility to take care of others.

When you work magic, you have such freedom. And you are making a choice. And you are taking responsibility for your practice.  And there need be no toxicity with any physical exercise you conduct on your own, whether it’s swimming or going to the gym or walking in the woods or streets.

My friend Ken has, in his own practice, recently been exploring how the Homeric tradition of competition was toxic at its core, as someone had to lose in order for another to be declared the winner.

When you exercise on your own, there is no-one to vanquish. You are already winning. But negative thoughts can creep in, and how can they best be dissipated? I don’t like to think of it as vanquishing negative thoughts – the very word ‘vanquish’ suggests there is a battle involved, and someone might lose. My subjective approach is to avoid self-talk of vanquishing or banishing negative thoughts around my practice – like, say, punishing myself mentally because I didn’t go to the gym when you said I would, or not going because I didn’t want to be ‘seen’ in a public space, then feeling ‘ashamed’ of ‘letting negative thoughts get the better of me’. 

Wow. Look at all this self-punishment. 

This talk of losing.

This pain. 

The kind that doesn’t make me stronger. 

When I think like this, I stop. Listen. I consider how I’m using language and doubt to retreat into the idea of treating exercise as punishment, not celebration. I’m putting myself in the frame of mind where the gym is a battle and I could lose.

Naturally, ‘winning’ is by no means the only form of toxicity that can seep through gym culture. Sexism, sizeism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, racism… it’s all a potential issue, and a valid concern. Yes, increased gym attendance means there’s far more diversity in gym-goers, which can help. But the way in which culture views physical exercises and is prone to judging people who do it is still far from ideal. 

Whatever you fear most… please know that you are not alone. There are others out there that feel the same way you do. However, there is a chance you are more likely to find people in the gym you can immediately relate to, who make you feel safe and part of a greater whole. And you can find information online written by people who share your experience, and can offer support that relates directly to your concerns and needs.

You are not alone. Together, people are working to draw the poison out.

It’s going to take time. And energy. And courage. And if you choose not to go to the gym, because you need to feel safe, that is important. You need to feel safe.

Perhaps there are other forms of physical practice you can explore. Give yourself the right to seek ways to freely and safely love your body and do the work.

Attaining a magical state of mind.

What a magical state means to you is such a personal thing. You may be seeking a release from the burdens of the world, or a connection with your body and all the elements of the beautiful creature that is you. You may be seeking a moment to charge and release and intention, or a conversation with the divine. You may be seeking a specific goal, that defined line between not being able to do a pull-up or half marathon, then one day being able to do one.

There is no set rule as to whether you have or haven’t achieved a magical state when you go to the gym. But you know what? When you feel it, you feel it. You might feel it for a moment, or it might carry you for days. All those magical moments add up. They remind you that your work and your intentions are important, and that you can work towards them, and that you can achieve a state where you and your intentions are one, not separate things held apart by doubt.

Ritual physical activity doesn’t need to occur in a gym.

Pool sessions, caressed by water. Chair-based exercises, acknowledging what your body needs to be safe as well as worked. Whatever your practice, you can choose to perceive and shape it as a magical act. The gym can be a sacred space, but it’s just one option for ritualising your physical activity. 

If you attend hula hoop classes, grasping that hoop is a magical act, as you feel the energy coursing through you – you’ve put some of your soul into that hoop, so that when you grasp it, it gives you soul energy right back. 

When you climb into the familiar saddle of your beloved bike, the one you love so much you may have named it, you know it’s your steed, your companion, helping you progress to where you want to go.

You have your body. You have your spirit. Your body and spirit have such great beauty. They are the very embodiment of raw and nuanced power.

Physical/magical work is an opportunity to acknowledge your body and seek to make it an extension of your spirit. It is a beautiful act, filled with love. And all acts of beauty hold magic at their core.

If you can move, you can explore a way to exercise. 

If you can feel your spirit, you can work magic.

If any part of this made you think “yes, this is useful to me”, I am so glad. If it didn’t, I have much to learn. We must never cease to learn, try, test, explore. 

You have your own, valuable, truth and perspective.

In the absolutely fucking immortal words of Wesley Snipes in Blade Trinity…

“Use it.”

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@MagdaKnight is the Co-Founding Editor of Mookychick. Her YA fiction and other writings for adults, children and changelings have been published in anthologies and in 2000AD. She thinks you're great.

This Is How A Witch Is Born

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

There is a young girl named Jolene.

She’s got violent blonde hair and eyes too clear to be trusted. Pretty and vicious by 12, Jolene trained a whole pack of followers to move 10 paces behind her, their mouths open and drooling.

Jolene and her pets are sitting behind me in gym class kicking my lower back, which is covered in a soft spill of dark Mediterranean hair. [Lovers today call it beautiful.] I’m so quiet I barely exist. I’m wearing cheap sneakers my grandmother picked up at the church flea market she sells nail polish at on weekends.

My sneakers are white and goofy and too heavy; I look like a twig in them, the tongue heaving over my tiny ankles. I’m supposed to be wearing the Filas everyone else has. I’m supposed to be everyone else.

From where I sit or hide or cower, it seems like everyone else has dinner at home at 6. Has school photos. Has all of the other accouterments of a teenage palace of cruelty. Popularity is my Queen but I won't sit on my knees at her ugly throne. I am daggers. I am full of poverty and mouths sewn shut. I am instead the town seer. I see the mediocrity of youth that will bleed into adulthood. Sometimes I still want to be mediocre. I want to be loved.

By 6 I’m at home alone with my brother, half my age, wondering where my mother is. Sometimes we walk a mile to my grandmother’s senior citizen center where she says those girls are just jealous. I say, but grandma—they’re pretty. You’re pretty, she says. Pretty girls are jealous of pretty girls.

I am raised in a land where pretty is economy. Where being a young girl means fitting into easy sentences and rules. I put on the FM radio in the bathroom and Nair my lower back. Which only makes Jolene siphon more of me, more of my weakness. I remove my body, my hair; I remove myself.

I want to be like Jolene and her pack but I’m not like them. On my head, I have black hair that gives no fucks. When it rains my hair grows fangs. I’m poor and my clothes smell like the local laundromat. Gin and dust and metallic-something—something like something I’m not supposed to smell like.

Jolene says it’s old people I smell like. I laugh stupidly and awkwardly, boldly, in her face, but I know it. I sleep at my grandmother’s tiny apartment a lot. I cry often into her shoulder; between us, there is a silent question blooming; why is her daughter—my mother—not coming home? She braids my hair, paints my nails, goes to bed early.

I sit up alone for hours perched at the window waiting for my mother to come home. To bide the time, I pull out two books: a 1970s pictorial on covens and sex magic and a book of spells, it’s Wiccan, made for teens, I think—I’ve wrapped both in the dust cover of other books, although I know my mother wouldn’t care if she caught me, but I was raised Catholic and am embedded with a certain fear of the devil consuming my soul for all eternity—and I read them quietly to myself, believing in my whole wide heart that magic was swirling out there, ready to be captured, pocketed, possibly brought to middle school.

I want to wear the capes. I want to draw a Pentagram. I want to understand what I’m reading and become all-powerful. At first, sadness drives me toward ritual, but then I take flight on my own.

Behind my grandmother’s house, behind three huge dumpsters, there is a very, very green sort of open space. Fences surround it and separate it from neighboring backyards and they’re covered in ivy. This green leads down to the local river—Rahway River in New Jersey—which is filled with tiny, people-sized islands and moves through the town, circling through neighborhoods where people have given up on themselves. My whole town is broken. Everyone either dies or is dying or hooked on drugs, and all of us kids have either taken on one of two protective stances: be the bully or be bullied. It depends on your heart; sometimes I hate my heart.

Even if some of us come from decent homes, there is always something rotten in this town. Always a secret. A disguise. An animal searching through the wood. No one is untouched.

RELATED: To Be a Witch: The Balancing Act of Embracing Darkness & Light

I tiptoe to the edge of the river and look down into the rocks. My feet get muddy, I smell the earth; copper, moss, summer water. Across from me—at this point the river is hallow, trickling, maybe 100 feet across, dotted by a shower of flat stones—is the back of three stores: a glass shop, a small pub, a dilapidated house. No one can see me, so I step further toward the water and sit at the edge. I wonder what they would think of they catch me.

My book says I need to look for the mushrooms—that’s where the faeries live. I could maybe befriend them but don’t expect them to be kind, exactly. I could maybe ask them to be my friends.

My book talks about drawing down the moon. I stand in the middle of the green, at times glimpsing behind me hoping my grandmother won’t come out and see me, and call on the sky. I open my palms and stand quietly, feeling the power of the earth rise up through and into me. I look into the shadows of my life and find peace knowing I always have myself, these green places, this water.  

I have nothing to distract me. No phone, no real friends, no curfew, no Internet. I only have the earth and the sound of water pulsating. If I close my eyes I can hear my own heartbeat.

I whisper into the blue air, "Please protect my mother." The wind moves; she takes my request.

***

By twenty-five I struggle with my beliefs. It’s not that I don’t believe in anything, it’s that nothing makes sense. Something is out there, I think. I call myself a staunch atheist; I mostly am. 

I won’t meet my lovers or my mother in the afterlife. I won’t be consumed by fire. I won’t reincarnate, I think. But I might just evaporate into the mist of the cosmos, become starlight or a patch of bugambilias. My dying body will be the universe exhaling; it’s exhaled a million times today. The world gets bigger, smaller, bigger, smaller. And it means everything and nothing at all.

I find the word "witch" again and again. She follows me in and out of my life. I find myself always standing at the riverbank or wading through the sea, piling aside my sorrow. I find myself washing my hands in blessed rose water. I find myself in dark rooms, in a circle, pulling something out from my chest and putting it into existence. I create rituals I don’t talk about, fearing I’ll be misunderstood.

If I am seen as a witch, I am seen as other. Rebel, dreamer, enchantress, want-er of things bigger. Want-er of more. Maker of light. Purveyor of shadow.

If I am seen as a witch, I’ll be classified, boxed-up, differentiated. 

If I am seen as a witch, I won’t get a job or be taken seriously. I won’t be seen as rational. I won’t be seen as me.

And yet, if I am seen as a witch, I’ll be seen for what I am. I’ll be seen as someone who respects nature, respects myself, respects my body. I’ll be seen as someone who resists the complacency of the status quo. I’ll be seen as someone who resists acts of warfare against other humans. I’ll be seen as someone who questions simple answers and seeks something deeper. I’ll be seen as someone who wants to create a life of intention and autonomy. I’ll be seen as someone who, when the palace of night washes over my life, will be able to strike a match in the dark. I do dream. I do rebel. I do exist as a natural thing. I am not separate from the earth. I am not a cog. I am not a mime. I am tending to a careful garden where, throughout time, others have come and gone, tinkering in the magic of self.

A witch is born of trauma. A witch is born of solitude. A witch is born of watching. A witch is born of listening. A witch is born of light. 

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Lisa Marie Basile is a writer and founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine—a diary of darkness and light, literature, identity, and magic. Her book of rituals and practices, LIGHT MAGIC FOR DARK TIMES, will be released in September 2018. She has written for The New York Times, Narratively, Grimoire Magazine, Venefica, The Establishment, Refinery 29, Bust, Hello Giggles, and more. She's also the author of a few poetry collections, including the forthcoming Nympholepsy. 

The Magic That is The Self: On the Solitude of Practicing Witchcraft

Magick comes from the power within, but to access that power you must open yourself to nature, to intimate connection, to vulnerability. 

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The Ardorous, Marie Zucker

BY EMILY NEIE

I was drawn to magick because I believed in myself. The idea that I needed to rely on an ethereal, probably-not-real deity to guide me and plan out my destiny seemed absolutely absurd. I had a good head on my shoulders, I did well in school, I had a clear vision for my life, and I was perfectly capable of making my own decisions.

At church, I felt the most spiritual when I was soul-searching and building my own self-confidence. It's a feeling that a lot of other people interpret as God, or the spirit, or whatever else you'd like to call it, but it's hard for me to see it that way—I believe in me, my humanity, my own consciousness. My vision and drive comes from within, not from a desire to end up in heaven or paradise. I am perfectly happy and motivated to make the most of my life and to put good energy out into the universe before my world fades to black simply because I feel that is the right thing to do, not because there will be a reward in the afterlife. 

I often laugh at myself for seeking out magick and witchcraft, because my independence is what most often prevents me from connecting deeply to my magick. Magick is full of paradoxes, and this is probably the biggest one: your magick comes from the power within, but to access that power you must open yourself to nature, to intimate connection, to vulnerability.

Even if you believe your magick comes from a connection to a deity like the Goddess, you have to break down emotional barriers around your soul in order for that power to inhabit you. Those of us who sought out magick because it meant we didn't have to rely on a God or a church find ourselves in an especially sticky predicament: once you strip away the walls of the Church, you're left with the walls inside yourself.

Being a witch is an essentially solitary thing. Even in a coven, you spend a lot of time practicing on your own. You cast spells alone, perform rituals alone, create glamours alone, hunt for treasures and supplies alone. So much of magick demands our undivided attention and separates us from more socially accepted religious circles. At my old youth group, setting a visual example for others was huge. We were constantly in groups, watching how we prayed.

"This girl has her eyes closed and her hands raised in the air...she must be feeling this more than I am" is an ACTUAL thought that crossed my mind. More than once. I can't help but look back and feel that we were acting for each other, trying to use our bodies and words to be the most-holy, aka holier than the rest of you.

It felt good to pray together, in groups, because I'm naturally drawn to community, but my actions and beliefs felt forced. Many religions create community, but magick cuts deeper than the superficial emotional fluff that singing songs around a retreat campfire creates. Witches don't often get the emotional fluff. Witches spend most of our time digging into our own neuroses, our inhibitions, our insecurities, to find substance and fodder for our magick. 

I build walls. I am convinced that in a former life I lived somewhere out in the woods, and didn't talk to anything but rabbits for 30 years. I am quite social and happy to be around people, but I often feel like I am simply performing emotions because it's what will best suit the situation and person I am talking to. I get feedback all the time that I come across as perfectly poised, prepared to take on any challenge, and relatively knowledgeable and capable of handling anything that comes my way.

While those traits are excellent for business and career building, they completely stunt my journey to magick. Magick is performed, but not performative. Magick can see through your bullshit, see when you don't really connect with a spell you're casting, see when you're just setting up your altar or reading tarot cards for the aesthetic qualities. I love Instagram. I live for aesthetic. I constantly battle these sides of myself in my journey to know myself and strengthen my practice. 

Magick isn't supposed to look a certain way. It doesn't have picture-perfect moments that need to be captured in order to be validated. I am an anxious perfectionist who dreads the moment when people catch my mistakes or shortcomings, and magick bombards me with these things all the time. It is a necessary struggle, and the breaking down of my pretension is what will build me into a truly magickal witch one day.

A couple weeks ago a friend called me "magickal" in a completely serious way, and I cried. It meant so much that I was finally able to inhabit my magick in a way that outwardly presented itself as part of my being. I'll probably always have the right words for most situations, and people may always view me as the responsible, collected Capricorn that I've always been.

My hope is that one day I start hearing people call me "genuine," too. And that I will always access that strength – the strength of the genuine – in my craft.

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Emily Neie is a secular witch living and practicing magick in Austin, TX. She survives the demands of corporate professionalism by walking her dog, picking up rocks and feathers, and blogging at her magick blog, The Literateur.

Exploring the Season of the Witch: Are We All Witches Now?

Witches are not consumeristic; to be a witch is not to be diseased, or infected. So what makes them so relatable? Why the craze?

Practical Magic. <3

BY KAILEY TEDESCO

For most of my life, I’ve found myself defining generations by the supernatural creatures that surround them. High school was hands-down the era of vampires, and college was the zeitgeist of zombies. It always begins with a cultish art form: the publication of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight, or Robert Kirkman’s The Walking Dead comic books, respectively. The interest in such works slowly breeds fan-fictions and blog posts among niche audiences. Soon Hot Topic brand “I Run with Vampires” t-shirts become available (which I, uh, totally do not own) and mainstream films cash in on the craze. Before you know it, your fave monsters are mainstream. And now, in the latter half of the 2010’s, it seems to be the season of the witch.

The entities we follow and often fetishize always carry moral and political philosophies. Vampires and zombies are consumers; the former is simply sexualized while the latter is not. At some basal level, we as viewers, can relate to brainless walkers and lusty vamps and understand that their general fate is in some way realistic. Who hasn’t walked aimlessly around Target for two hours, sipping a latte and staring blankly at their phone screen? Now, as witches infiltrate underground and mainstream media new questions arise. Witches are not consumeristic; to be a witch is not to be diseased, or infected. So what makes them so relatable? Why the craze?

We, in reality, can very plausibly choose to be a witch at any time. This choice is equally represented and enforced within the media. Television shows like the once again popularized Buffy the Vampire Slayer show women coming upon witchcraft the way one might come of age. It’s a natural progression where a woman first finds a spellbook, and then delves deeper into magicks until a new understanding or self-awareness is achieved. My Instagram account is flooded with woman much like Willow Rosenberg, the main witch of BTVS, who are strong-willed and fantastic. Divination is now a mainstream party game and crystal healing can be as quotidian as popping a Tylenol. The ultimate gain of these practices stems, I believe, from a sense of community. Whether the practitioner is Wiccan, a long-time witchcraft enthusiast, or simply someone who had their tarot read once on the pier, there is a new sense of camaraderie and cultish understanding among these witchy women.

The interest in New Age practices and aesthetics extends far beyond spiritual belief. You don’t have to label yourself a witch to partake in the culture; it’s everywhere. For example, if I wanted a flowy, midwife inspired skirt five years ago I’d have to order from my Pyramid Collection catalog, or travel to Salem, MA. Now, “witchy” fashion is trending in what seems to be an amalgamation of pre-existing festival aesthetics mixed with subdued Victoriana. If you scroll through any look-book, you’ll surely find the bell sleeved, choker-clad beauties that you can easily picture hunched over a herb garden.

The contemporary film and performance industry has taken full advantage of such trends. In many cases, revitalization of former witch narratives have become extremely popular. Robert Egger’s newly released film The Witch offers a revisionist look at Winthrop era society. Likewise, Broadway has just released a slightly modernized version of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible with A-list stars like Saoirse Ronan and Tavi Gevinson. As mentioned before, television shows like Charmed and Buffy the Vampire Slayer are resurfacing, while films such as Practical Magic and The Craft are becoming more culturally relevant as well.

In each of these pieces, we are presented with what might superficially look like an outdated dichotomy: the good witch and the bad witch. For example, the aforementioned Willow Rosenberg would easily be considered a “good witch.” In other words, her actions stem from a place of love. However, her personal emotions often cloud her judgment causing her to act irrationally. A major consideration in Willow’s narrative is how much power one can ethically maintain over another. Conversely, Nancy Downs from The Craft uses her power in order to justify her own hatred and insecurities -- a classic portrayal of the “bad witch.” However, the witch’s relevance in today’s culture deconstructs that dichotomy entirely by positing that it never really existed. Willow and Nancy alike are young adult women who carry the moral and emotional implications of your everyday young adult women, hence our ability to relate to them on such a strong level.

Essentially, the witch is female, or human, and contains the same implications of such a  person and persona. People can be vengeful; witches can be vengeful. People can be peaceable; witches can be peaceable, etc. What’s interesting another dichotomy true of witches and women alike: either have been argued to be “supernatural” or “natural” beings. While the presented powers of the witch, and the sexuality of the women are often viewed as otherworldly, the means to achieving such powers and the allegory of them is anything but. This harkens back to second-wave feminist theories, specifically stemming from Sandra M. Gilbert who posits that the same supernatural/natural divide has been applied to woman by oppressors.

In Gilbert’s theory, she states that every woman is split into what society wants to see of them (the natural self) and who they actually are (the supernatural self). To be supernatural is to be othered, but the witch deconstructs this notion by instead empowering (quite literally) that otherness. Witch culture unifies this divide, making room for acceptance. While society considers sexuality, consent, and LGBT concerns more vocally, it makes perfect sense that we would laud the archetype of the witch.

Of course, any time an “other” is presented, a portion of society will seek to oppress or victimize out of fear and paranoia. As this victimization is already a well-ingrained part of witch history, the witch is again made topical in contemporary discussion. As previously oppressed groups are achieving progression, society balks and hegemony occurs. The portrayal of the witch in mainstream art forms acts as a relevant reminder of what can happen when fundamental, or totalitarian mindsets ensue. Genocide and senseless death is the somber reminder and warning carried by the witch a la The Salem Witch Trials among other tragedies.

The season of the witch is at large now for all of the right reasons. What differentiates this being from monsters past, is that she (or he) is not a monster at all. The moral and political implications of the witch are not a warning against what an individual can become, but instead an encouragement for the individual to be all that they can be.

To be a witch is be in charge of the mind and body, and I could not think of a more relevant didacticism to reflect the climate of 2016.

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Kailey Tedesco is a full-time poet and a part-time taxonomist of vintage collar dresses. She will soon receive her MFA in Creative Writing from Arcadia University, and she's the co-founder of Rag Queen Periodical. On any given day, you can find her musing on the Season 5 finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and munching on French pastries. Get to know more at ragqueenperiodical.com or follow her on Twitter and/or Instagram: @KaileyTedesco.