The Simple Tales of a Happy Magical Life

Castle in the Trees

There I was just walking up the stairs, to my castle in the trees; where princesses and queens come from all levels of class. Where gowns are made from curtains and masks are our only ID's.

Soul Searching

There's an empty space inside my body where my soul belongs, wandering among the clouds, searching through all the stars. She is not to return to me, I don't want to see her because she protects me all too well. I forget to fight knowing I can fall behind her; she is my wall. I told her to get lost in this world, to find another body. I told her to leave me behind, to trust she's raised me well. I wonder how she's doing, if she's seen enough. I wonder where she's been, who she's seen and touched. There's an empty space inside my body, where my soul once was. She's out there somewhere counting all the shooting stars and flirting with the moon.

Trip to Salem

     My dearie and I recently took a trip to Salem, Massachusetts. We'd both been wondering what she had in store for us. I've lived here in Massachusetts my whole life, but he moved here from Ohio only a few months ago yet we were both itching to visit. While historically not much still stands, the shops did hit home for us. We drove to Gallows Hill (a park now), where the "witches" met their doom, and to our surprise there were no plaques to commemorate the trials, or anything really to show that it was more than just a few hills. In fact part of it was turned into a skate park for the kids, and the other part separated into baseball fields. In between the two were the highest of the hills, and after the reading I had done on the trials it looked to me like it was the only hill eligible to have held the hangings. Though again there was nothing there to guide us. None the less we walked around, getting a feel for the area and studying the trees, wondering which one it was that had been used to end lives. 

     After the slight disappointment in Gallows Hill we headed more into town. It was clear that Salem attracts many tourists because there were thick red lines painted all over the side walks and streets guiding people to shops, museums, cemeteries, and statues all relating to witchcraft. Along the paths were subtle hints of Paganism, more so towards the souvenir aspect but we did come across a bundle of great shops, owned by fellow Pagans/Wiccans. There were many places neighboring each other that held tarot reading and other types of divination sessions. It was actually like a small part of the town was designated to witchcraft; the streets that these stores surrounded were all blocked off with kiosks in the middle of them, such as there would be for a city fair. Both of us found our wands in the shops here, very opposite wands at that; mine being dainty and feminine and his being bold and masculine. I personally loved the way the woman who worked in these stores dressed; with long robes and hair, over excessive amounts of jewelry, pentacles, and bright colors, they found their comfort zone and they were happy. It was beautiful.

     At one point we had the opportunity to attend a small reenactment of one of the trials; that of Goody Proctor (the accused) and Mary Warren (the accuser). You would be surprised how many people even to this day after all the false accusations and lack of physical evidence, still believe that these men and women got what they deserved, still believe that they are witches guilty of crime. I say this because we all sat in pews as they showed us the mini trial. It was clear that Mary Warren had made up her tale, the accusations were simply improbable, that was actually what was intended; we were supposed to see how ridiculous the entire thing was, yet at the end of the skit, when asked "Do you think she was guilty?" many folks shouted out "yes" and other derogatory phrases towards them. After watching the reenactment we were taken on a tour of a replica dungeon where at least 150 convicted people were held. It was terrible. Prisons had a better deal. Here, people were forced to pay for their stay, their food, their water, and even for the chains that held them. You were placed according to wealth, meaning the more money you had the more inches of space to breath you had. If you had no money, you were kept in a cell that could only hold one person, imagine how small that is. In that cell you had one or both hands chained to the wall, and a window the size of your head, with bars across it. Woman, men, children, elderly, all had the same deal. Some women even gave birth in the dungeons. Birthing alone was a bit of a separate matter; if a woman were to be convicted and found guilty while pregnant she was spared death, until after giving birth. It was believed that while the mother may have been corrupted by the Devil the infant inside her had not. Our tour guide explained to us that while staying in the dungeons residents were met with flooding, flooding that made it up to their waists. It seemed to me that death was not the worst part of being accused of witchcraft. In the dungeon that we visited they had a piece of the original dungeon; a plank of wood that was once the top of a door way. The original dungeon was torn down and replaced by a phone company. Many of us history freaks think that's the worst thing ever, but during the time that it was torn down witchcraft was still misunderstood, and frowned upon more so than ever. There were also no Historical Societies in the area at the time. I will say that if you take the trip, it is worth seeing.

     A little further along was a cemetery. It was called The Burying Point. The cemetery held a few key people to the town, the trials, the fishing industry and so forth, but what caught my attention the most was the script on the ground at the entrance. They were pleas from the convicted. They read:

• My life lies now in your hands
• If I would confess I should save my life
• Oh Lord-help me
• I am wholly innocent of such wickedness
• God knows I am innocent
• I do plead not guilty
• I can deny it to my dying day
• I am no witch

When I was reading them I could literally feel and hear the peas, the desperation, the sobbing, and the anger of all parties. That was what truly touched me during the whole trip. Video of the scripts (just sign into facebook)

Over all it was a lovely day, we saw the shops, the boats, the dungeon, the museums, the cemetery, walked around the town, took pictures of paintings of the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone, and we saw some beautiful people who were free to express their practices.

Mithing tooth

I'm having trouble thpeaking, 

thinthe I lotht my middle tooth,

Jutht yethterday my tooth wath fine-

today it wiggled looth.

At firtht I thought it thilly,

when my tooth fell out today,

but no one theemth to underthand

a thingle word i thay.

I athked my mom to clothe the door,

she thaid "I cannot make it. The door does not like wearing 

clothes;

it's happier when naked."

I athked if I could have a mouthe,

I promithed I would feed it,

"Another mouth to feed?" she athked,

"I'm certain we don't need it!"

I wonder if you can underthand

the thircumthtanthe I'm in.

I told her I was feeling thick

she said "you're looking thin."

At latht she thaw how mad I wath,

ath if I may thtop breathing.

She laughed and thaid she didn't mean it-

She wath only teething.

I Am a Gnome

I am a gnome and I am home,

in my comfy chair.

I have my TV changing wand

and fuzzy slippers there.

I roam the world and see and toil

in my gnomish way.

Then I come home, my gnome sweet home,

and gladly end my day.

'Tis lovely sitting in my home,

'Tis warm and light and cozy.

Come visit me, and we will smile,

and get a little dozy.

You'll find that you are welcome here;

believers in the gnome, 

and never will you feel you're welcome

more than in my home.

Ah well, our time to part draws near, 

and sad t'will be the leaving

but remember friend, as you go,

there will always be next evening


-Louise Stubblefield

Once Upon a Time

I first came into Paganism when I was very little, of course then I didn't know what it was called. I was the typical girl; fairy tales, dragons, princesses, fairies, gnomes, knights in shining armor, talking trees, dancing flowers at night, the tooth fairy etc. I knew that while I couldn't really stand next to a tree and get loud, clear, verbal responses that there was some kind of understanding between us. I knew that what I believed had to be true, someone before me had thought of the tales that had driven me to believe in it all, and someone before them. When things got rough at home I would find a new book, and escape. I'd read about women healing their children's sicknesses with nothing but a few home remedies. Women who hung charms around their house to attract fairies, who came in the early morning to bless the plants. Women who had all kinds of "potions" on shelves in the kitchen. Women who baked pies for no special occasion, and made their own cookbooks. I read how women synced themselves with the elements, worked with fire, with air, with water, and the Earth itself. I couldn't put the stories out of my mind, I couldn't stop thinking of them, it got to the point where I would skip homework and not study for tests just so that I could finish the stories, read the last bit of the chapter, see what happened next. And that was when I realized that I didn't have to let them go, I could live them. No, I don't have dragons in my backyard and fairies don't make my breakfast for me, but I can feel the elements, I can hear the trees talking, I can feel my sisters' feelings, I can sense the moon's energy, I can feel the strength of the God and Goddess when I cast my circle, and above all that I can love every single being and mineral in this universe and all others, I can forgive and I can understand. I live knowing that whatever I do has a consequence, another path, a "what if". I live knowing that there is no sense in holding grudges, in being angry, or in frowning. And because I live this way I want to help others see it too. I want to always have a small tale to tell that puts a smile on someone's face and a rhyme in someone's head. Life is simple, once you open up your senses. I've started this blog to share my fairy tale with the world. Join me in my journey. If not, I hope to catch your attention in the next life.