Spring is here in this part of the world. The cherry trees are in bloom in DC and even here the pear and redbud and wisteria, along with the pine, oak, and gumball tree’s heavy laden with pollen… all are exclaiming that spring has truly sprung.
The blackbirds as the migrate north sing songs that remind me of happiness. The male cardinal, right red, sits above my little patio and studies me… the new gal in town… and waits patiently for me to bring him a snack of sunflower seeds. Everywhere all around there are signs of new growth emerging.
Yet, it has also been a month filled with death. A classmate from my W1 class died unexpectedly. He was 44 in what we all thought was good health. He got sick and within an impossibly short time, died. He was an exceptional fellow who had worked very hard to put some figurative demons to rest from his past. We as his classmates bore witness to his transformation. He was the one who seemed the most dramatically changed of the nine of us in the 13 months of our working together in classwork. The one we watched transform from a bitter angry soul to one filled with steady calm and an inner joy that bordered at times on glee. He was my friend.
There was also this month the opportunity to help a fellow witch, who is a medium, help a revenant cross fully over. Revenant, as in restless undead. Sounds terrifying. Like a zombie or foul fiend. And I’m not saying those aren’t out there. Nor am I saying I travel beyond the Veil. This was, decidedly, an exception, and one I’m sure would not have been possible alone. But as my witch friend was describing what had happened and how she had the young fellow (teenage boy) “held” till she could deal with him. In a series of flashes, I could sense the boy, what he was terrified of and why, and knew the answer that would help him cross over. I asked my friend if I could help and told her what I had sensed. She agreed I could come with her… and so I did. Tears streamed down my face as I knelt and held out my open palms and with mother’s love and compassion shared what I knew would help him… and then the strangest thing happened… this dog… his dog way down on the other side… yipping and barking… dancing with exuberance at the sight of his beloved boy. “Listen!” I told the teen. “Don’t you hear your dog? He’s vouched for you and sees you. Yes, he sees you! Go, go and be with your dog, ____. Go through the window there next to him. Once inside, you can’t be turned out unless you wish it so.” And off he went: a streak of gold like a comet shot away and instantly I was back in my room, staring at my hands, still saying the words to thank the ones who had both helped and received him.
Then, just this week, there has been the raccoon who decided my office parking lot was as good a place as any to slowly, agonizingly die. We thought at first he had revived. Just old or sick with parasites. I was touched to watch my CEO, my office President, creative directors, designers, editors, all try to help this raccoon. He was not mean. Was too sick to be aggressive and there was great comraderie amongst the staff as he was named, fed, watered, videod and generally made much of. He disappeared for a day and then, as I was driving to a client lunch, I saw his body and reported back to the office. Except he wasn’t dead. I came back to find him flopping about unable to stand. I fetched water. A co worker. We called animal control to come put Sir Muffins out of his misery. It was awful. Terrible. He was dying and it was not a kind death. A buzzard circled overhead. Waiting. I fetched more water. And then more. My coworker got a muffin and broke it in pieces for him. I had never been this close to a wild raccoon before. Every blade of fur. His eyebrows and sharp teeth and claws. Oh how could I help him? I took a deep breath and then another, and then began to weave, pulling strands of brown and green and pink with my breath and hand, pulling it from the earth, my other hand starting to shake softly as I felt the energetic current moving. “What do you want?” I whispered to the ancient raccoon. “Rest” he quietly replied in a voice in my mind much higher pitched than I would have imagined. Bright tears filled my eyes as I nodded. “Yes.” I agreed and let the threads do their work around the dying coon to buffer and shield him… and give him ease as his death wore on. I stayed with him awhile just breathing with him and offering him more water. My coworker sighed, “I think he got into rat poison or something. He’s drinking way more water than any animal his size should.” It seemed as good a guess as any. It hardly mattered. He was not going to recover. Animal control never came. My coworker and I stayed a little while longer and then went back inside. We had done all that we could and now could only let Nature take her course.
Life and death. Sometimes, we are lucky when it comes to death. We come right up next to it and are giving another chance at life. Sometimes, one part of us takes a hit for the “team” of our body. A valiant ear for example. Or a tooth. We endure a serious ordeal through that process. The sovereign choice to course correct our actions and thereby be given an extended stretch of days. Or not. That is our sacred right as well.
That choice will find ourselves a statistic: much to the shock and chagrin of our family and friends.
Life and death blooms all around us. It is good to be reminded of both truths. To hold them and to honor both.
Erica Sittler is a Witch practicing her craft in Mississippi where she is an active member of the Temple of Witchcraft. Her magick is in the mundane and in bringing honor and attention to those small things that build a sustainable and adventurous life. She is a Temple Mystery School student under the instruction of High Priestess Sellena Dear.