branches up, roots down

A week ago I stood before this accounting of what it takes to put on the witchcamp I was teaching at and found myself uncontrollably crying. The financial report had been casually taped up on the side of the dining hall by an organizer. There had been no fanfare, no ritual around it, and no hubbub (other than my crying). There were some questions and comments by those who looked at it, but all in all it was a very low key event. Some revolutions barely get noticed by the time they fully happen. It's a revolution that has been fermenting for years. I've played a primary part in it and because of the part I've played, I've also paid. Dearly. If anyone eventually does write a history of Reclaiming, odds are this revolution will not be recorded, or if the shift in witchcamp culture and structure does get noted, credit will probably go to those who fought it the most. Such is the nature of history. Credit, as it turns out, is not the most important thing, at least ...

In many ways, I’m still recovering from the party that was held here last Saturday night. It turned out, as the best parties usually are, to be a bigger piece of magic than expected. It was a party for prana , a party for the life force, and had a silent auction as a component, raising money for my friend Jeremy, who wants to try some experimental treatments for his cancer. I live in a huge Victorian with two large flats, the other being owned and occupied by my friend Ilyse. Like Jeremy, she’s worked for an assortment of organizations geared around envisioning and transforming bad things into good things..or at least sustainable things. At the moment, she works for MoveOn . We filled our flats with flowers and greenery, and we both put huge cauldrons on our house altars, which called to be filled with green. Money, that is. Our goal was to raise $3000. At the end of the party the cauldrons held $10,000, with another $3000 said to be still coming. Thirteen thousand dollars!...