The Witching Year: A Memoir of Earnest Fumbling Through Modern Witchcraft

by Diana Helmuth

The wind curls around me. As it always does. Because we are on a cliff’s edge. And that’s where wind does poetic things like curl around the hair of privileged women who are desperate for answers to why they aren’t happy, when by all accounts they should be.

In Wicca, we were no longer ribs. Here is Goddess, created in your image.

We wish we were following the glow of lantern light toward a circle of cloaked figures in the misty woods. Instead, we are following the glow of computer screens toward teenagers with opinions.

He looks unsettling. He looks happy to have unsettled you.

This seems to answer all my questions about how Indian nag champa incense, Italian tarot, the Chinese goddess Guanyin, and a tapestry of the Celtic Green Man all seem allowed to rub shoulders in the occult shops of America today. Perhaps this is the real meaning of Witchcraft: grab whatever resonates and doesn’t run away too fast. This should be a fun, uncomplicated year as a white person.

Some of these branches share holidays and founding members. Some of them will call you racist if you conflate them with one another. Some of them were made up by thirteen-year-olds last year. I am trying to pay attention to the differences. I also feel like I’m reading a dissertation from an audiophile who’s taken it upon himself to educate the masses on the subtle nuances between screamo and metalcore.

As I was growing up, the unspoken assumption I got from my family’s lack of stories about where we came from is that we came from nowhere special, and we had nothing to be proud of. As time went on, and I learned about Native American genocide and slavery in the early United States, the beguiling void of where I came from turned into an ecru rainbow of white guilt. Then, around five years ago, my curiosity got the better of me and I did what every modern woman does when she feels the urge to discover herself: I mailed my spit to strangers.

“We are creatures of story. Storytelling was one of our earliest magics. These stories became myths and legends… and science fiction is also mythology. It’s the mythology of the future, in which we’re telling stories of what might be: both positive and cautionary tales.”

what do you think makes a spirituality legitimate?” “Well, whether it works for the people, obviously,” he says, as if this is the simplest thing in the world. “I mean, that’s kind of the only criteria. If people find meaning and significance. If they can draw life lessons and shape their lives and are inspired by the stories that make it legitimate. I mean, what else? How else would we judge legitimacy if not by actual ability?”

“Energy” is potentially the greatest word in the English language. It has the depth of “mystical,” the friendliness of “vibe,” and the versatility of “fuck.” It can mean almost anything, or nothing, depending on who is using it and how.

despite neopaganism’s frequent portrayal as a bacchanal of flower-crusted socialism, there is a rather large expectation of discipline here. I persevere.

However, my final defense is that crystals feel optional. Cars and computers don’t. I don’t need cassiterite on my altar to be a functioning member of society, but I do need a smartphone. How else am I supposed to lie in bed all night and look up everything I’m supposed to feel bad about?

At least she's self aware.

There was indeed an alchemy in those late-night teenage tarot sessions. The cards allowed us to transmute what would otherwise be interpersonal judgment and gossip into productive conversation and therapeutic advice. It didn’t matter if we could read the future. It mattered that we now had a gentle and empowering way to tell someone their boyfriend sucked.

I default to thinking of Witches and neopagans as the liberalist of all liberals. The Witchcraft I’m most familiar with was born on a tie-dye carpet at Woodstock and fed pure hash resin until it could graduate from Sarah Lawrence to make a living in Portland selling discount crystals to runaway trans kids. But the truth is Witches are found across the political spectrum, sometimes even hurling spells at each other.

Imagine if Lara Croft and Matilda Wormwood had a baby, but the baby grew up on Backstreet Boys and then got really into permaculture. Kim was a gifted honors student who composed her own piano solos, belted Christina Aguilera in the shower, and nursed a hobby obsession with the Freemasons and the Knights Templar through most of her early twenties. She’s a passionate environmentalist and has a mixed relationship with the occult. In high school, I would wake up occasionally to the sound of her screaming. I’d get out of bed, open the door to her room, and chase out the “ghosts” that terrorized her while she was half asleep. Because of this, I was surprised when she responded with an exuberant yes after I asked if she’d like to pack her bags for a six-hour flight to one of the most haunted cities in America.

Which brings me to my final, and most fatal, point: I don’t think my ancestors would like me. I’m not sure I can heal them, because I’m not sure if they want to be healed.

I don’t know why I was so worried about indulging in fantasy when I began the journey into Witchcraft, or why I was so concerned with the idea that I would be tempted into playing make-believe. The deeper I get, the more and more I find myself staring into the unwashed face of reality.

I plop myself down into the circle, close my eyes, and start to think about my intention. I really, really think about it. I think about justice. I think about how I don’t get any joy from malice. I think about King Solomon. I try to think about what it means to have “an understanding heart.” Then I open my eyes and try to summon a demon.

I was no longer interested in men who had zero career motivations, no hobbies besides video games, and had not yet realized that hating everything isn’t, in fact, the same thing as being intelligent. I wanted someone who had found the optimistic side of nihilism, someone who loved his family, had a job (literally any job, just a job), a creative hobby or two, and no addictions except perhaps coffee. I was cursed with success.

I don’t think that requires my faith to work. I think that’s a bit grandiose, actually. Like I might be an agent of change, but I’m throwing pebbles in a pond. How I feel about throwing pebbles in the pond is not significant.”