I wrote a little thing about Oz this morning and it started a conversation with my buddy about the Witch, what it was and how to deal with Her. I had mentioned that laughing in the presence of the witch tends to diminish her power. She takes herself very seriously. Was thinking about what I meant. In that can be quite verbose at times, I will attempt to be brief. To that end, we shall attempt a definition using normal people words. They have more power than the ones learned in school. Then on to a real life example.

The witch would be any relationship, person, or event that has been experienced, interpreted, and re-experienced again and again in a negative, shaming, belittling fashion. Also included in the description would be an experience of feeling powerless in the presence of what it feels to be larger than life with unquestioned power. The sense of being enthralled or held hostage. Like a spell had been cast and was continually seeking to recapture the object of the witch’s attention. This sets up a pattern of relating based on fear and avoidance of anything that remotely resembles or stirs feelings brought on by the event.  Counter measures are employed and designed to conceal and protect the soul. Patterns are established that are repeated on the material plane and in relationships. These forces are the whirlwind that takes sleeping Dorothy or Don into the land of Oz.

Note that I am not thinking about the actual historical event or person, but rather the interpretation of the experience which then is projected onto the screen of a person’s experience. That projection creates a temporary sense of safety and distance between the person and the event, but in that it is “out there,” it begins to take on “supernatural” powers. And the illusion of security depends on avoiding the witch. In a similar way as the school teacher and the betrayal by Dorothy’s folks became the Witch which fueled the action in Oz.  Shame drives the action. The nature of the spells and counter spells keeps Dorothy connected to the witch. And try as she might her attempts to avoid still bring her into contact with her dread.  Soul knows that the only way to break these spells is to face the witch.

There are many horrible, and some not as horrible things, that can happen to people. I have the occasion to hear many stories and witness the struggle of souls with what has happened and their projections and interpretation of it. It can be heart wrenching to witness and remain connected during this process. One of the most powerful of these spells is the sacrifice of sexual abuse. There is a weird transaction that seems to take place. The !@#$%$$!!! puss drinking !##^&*($ers seem to be able to transfer all of their self-loathing and doubt weakness into an innocent soul. For a moment or two they are able to reverse, relieve, over power their tragic pitiful existence at the altar of innocence. They call it PTSD but I call it dark witchcraft. This ritual leaves its victim under the spell that they are loathsome and dirty and wrong and somehow guilty of the sins of the world. Their identity merged with the conjurer. These undead predators feed like vampires. This practice is as old as people; still present in all levels of society. It is part of the broader control system.

I was talking with a young lady. She presented as tough, not giving a shit about anybody or anything. I spoke with her several times, and eventually she began to tell me of her concern. I began to understand the spell of protection she was trying to cast on others. What I have learned, is that if I sit still long enough, the spell loses its power and even gets boring after a while. One day she came to see me and seemed different, her without the protective incantation. She was no longer a thirty year old in a sixteen year old body. She told me of her fears. She told me of the abuse. She told me of the pain. She told me of the feelings held inside for fear of being utterly rejected by the universe. Even that was a spell. I recognized my impulse to comfort her, to excuse her behavior. that too can be a line with a hook in it. My response when I am sane is not to comfort or judge, but just say “then what happened?”. She began to tell me of the dread she felt loathing to testify in court about what had happened.

I went a new way with her. I set the stage. The jury. The district attorney. The judge. The defense team with the perp there. The courtroom filled with family and onlookers, even the newspaper. I suggested she ask to make a statement there in front of him– in front of everyone. I said that she should stand up and say that she was not sure if there was actual penetration because his little projectile was so small, and that it had a strange shape which resembled an inchworm with a turtleneck on. Something amazing happened. She laughed! She laughed loud and long. The spell was broken! It did not erase the historical event, but it broke the spell. She began to see. She began to remember that she is not what happened to her. She is eternal; soul untouchable. She laughed in the presence of the witch and the bitch melted. It was fun. We laughed till we cried. Stay Groovy!