Grief

I’m Back. Welcome to Witch ‘n Bitch.

Dear Gentle and Sexy Reader,

VOTE, y’all. Are you registered?

You’ve noticed I’ve been away for fucking ever a couple years. And that I’m no longer over at askdrding.com but over here, on a big-ass fancy professional website. It took me a minute, but I finally fully launched myself all the way out of the broom closet of being a semi-anonymous, sweary, shit-talking psychologist blogger who wrote in the third goddamned person for reasons unknown even to myself, to finally officially revealing myself as a the straight up Tarot reading witch and shamanic practitioner I’ve been, well, pretty much forever. I’m assuming you’re not totally shocked.

I’m over on IG a lot. And I have a cool af intersectional witch group forming over on the AskDrDing FB page, called Witch ‘n Bitch. But, you ask, “How do I know if Witch ‘n Bitch is my jam? I don’t own an actual cape or BoS, you see.” Excellent question!

First off, this is non-binary space. IDGAF about your genotype or phenotype or if you identify as male or female or have transcended the gender binary altogether. C’mon over. Tell us your pronouns.

Second: you don’t have to be a big boss witch, a Wiccan, or a witch of any kind. I’m a retired Catholic, a former altar girl at St. Patrick’s who still digs a lot of the traditions I was raised in, and in fact, it’s where my interests in mysticism originated back when I was a fake nun. We talk about what being a witch means, or doesn’t mean. In the end, it’s the results that matter to me most, so if you resonate with the group but don’t consider yourself a witch or a believer in the otherworlds, cool.

If you’re someone who’s into using magic/k, witchery, energy work, shamanism and/or other embodied spiritual practice to help fix the flaming pile of used diapers that is this country right now, including room for “deep trouble/good-hearted” hexing* along with healing…

If you’re someone who groks #blacklivematter, #POClivesmatter, #ibelievesurvivors, #resist, #LBGTQIA, and #bodypositivity along with #ableismexists …

If you’re able to dialog with others in a respectful way about spiritual and metaphysical topics and be willing to examine the ways these intersect with the lived experiences of oppression and patriarchy in your own life and in the lives of others…all while conspiring (literally “to breathe together”) to heal some shit in the right-now…

If you are an intersectional feminist who maybe secretly digs “woo” or who ain’t quite sure about the rest of it, but is open to learning…

If you’d also like to trade old-timey or newfangled spellwork, recipes, rituals, charms or invocations, discuss healing techniques, explore your spiritual/intuitive gifts, share stories of boldness, love, empowerment, healing, awakening, and grief…

You get the idea. Psychology, a discipline which used to encompass soul, mind, and spirit, has spent the last 50 years or so trying to forcibly separate the soul from the mind, and my stance in WnB is that I’m here to help make reintroductions and hold space for folks interested in limning these deeps. I expect the group to function independently at some point, like when I go on vacation or enter my hibernation cave in the winter.

You absolutely must answer the questions three to get in. Fact. This space must remain not only safe, but sacred. I’m not here to argue about it. My house, my rules, but the rooms inside are yours.

If I’m teaching anything, it’s along the lines of rediscovering and nourishing aspects of the Self and its ways of knowing that have been disallowed, fractioned off, suppressed, oppressed, or devalued. There are many Ways of Knowing. Multitudes. Not just the ones we’ve all been taught in textbooks and by the culture at large, or even in classes. Deeper, older ways that can be helpfully integrated with modern understandings if we have but eyes to look; ways, that, if applied over time, can result in a return to wholeness, to original blessing (as opposed to original sin), to singing the tired old bones to life again, and make them stronger from the breaking.

I am here to lovingly affirm that we can learn through joy as well as pain. We can regain power that seems forever lost to us at the hands of oppressive structures and forces. Every human being, I believe, has this ability to call their spirit back when the shit comes down.

I’m deliberately letting the ways and means of this group coalesce in a natural way. We are still “forming and norming” what this group is going to be about, because I had that “storming” part covered, around the time of the autumnal equinox and Aries moon, when something deep in my marrow finally arose and plainly spoke: ENOUGH.

Enough.

I’m turning 50 in a few months. This is a time of great change and even turmoil, the realization of unfinished business and incomplete mourning, of deeply knowing the certainty of death and the finitude of earthly time. Midlife can be, and is for me, the second adolescence of the psyche and body, and a revisiting of the awful and also glorious truths of life as revealed by the turning of the wheel.

It’s go time, baby. Let’s make it count. Tell your friends. Only the ones you know will be into it, though, ok? I’m weary of arguing with those who do not seem to be able to recognize that everybody matters, or nobody matters. Let’s create a cauldron of healing, of dreaming a new future where this gobshite diaper-fire patriarchy is a thing of the past and burnt to bits, and a healthy world is invoked and dreamt awake, where the Sacred Masculine and the Sacred Feminine coexist right here, right now, in real life, in real time, for earth and all her peoples. Blessed Be forever.

*Hexing = to bind and thereby neutralize harm, render harmless, dissipate, ward off, protect against, etc. You get it.

Smell Ya Later, Houston

adiosamigos

So guess what?  The Beyoncé and I are moving back to Denver, from whence we came.  In 17 days.  We’ve both given notice.  We’ve posted it on Twitter and Facebook so you know it’s o-fficial.

The Beyoncé and I, as it turns out, have fundamentally different approaches to the process of moving.  I prefer to do as little work as possible and hire packers and/or movers.  The Beyoncé insists that the entire thing be a DIY project, and not in a sexy hipster, devil-horned-crocheted-cap sort of way, either.  Oh no.  Read on.

Since I don’t see patients on Mondays I was tasked with procuring cost-free cardboard boxes.  I had already magnanimously agreed that a) we would pack our own shit and b) we would use U-Haul to schlep said shit.  Feeling quite impressed with my ability to compromise, I headed out this morning on a quest for boxes.

I courageously went to two liquor stores, one grocery store, and Office Motherfucking Depot.  And what did I get for my trouble?  Blank stares, uncomprehending gazes, a little bit of drool, and NO BOXES.  After this unstinting bitchazzness, I called The Beyoncé to inform him that I would no longer be scrounging boxes like a common, well ….box-scrounger.  Oh no, not this queen.

I then spent 45 minutes driving in circles in downtown Houston, trying to echolocate the U-Haul store using sonar clicks and trills.  Bupkes!  GoogleMaps had failed me utterly and all seemed lost when suddenly arose the U-Haul sign, like a great orange beacon against dark stormy seas, luminous on the horizon!  After much careful deliberation I emerged victorious, my car full of boxes of varying handy sizes.  I even got tape.  Impressive!

When all this broke-dick tomfoolery is finally over, we will be in Denver.  The Beyoncé has hisself a pretty cool job, and I will be doing the same sort of long-term care stuff I’m doing now, only for a smaller company.

I will miss Houston–I recently rekindled some friendships with people I’d known way back when I was in gradual school in Lincoln, NE and I’m very sad to have to disconnect from these awesome people AGAIN.

And of course there’s the truly hawesome Houston Twitter community….far too many to name individually….which has led me to several incredible friendships I wish I had more time to develop.  I’m hopeful that living in a more hospitable climate with close proximity to mountains, skiing, and did I say mountains? will lead to LOTS of visits from our Houston friends.

Houston has really grown on me, and not like some kind of post-Ike mold, either.  When we first moved here I thought it was all noveau-riche bitchez wearing fancy jeans and driving Lotuses.  And it kinda is.  But there’s a lot more to Houston if you can look past the wretched excess, hurricanes, and stifling humidity.  There’s a vibrant arts community, tons of museums, cool ethnic neighborhoods, accessible professional sports, some of the best restaurants EVER, fascinating history, and lots of economic growth.  Good stuff.

I will miss this place.  I will miss these people.  It’s my belief that nothing lasts forever, and if it’s meant to be, our paths will cross again.  May the silver go-go boots of GirlJesus™ bless you and keep you all the days of your lives, y’all.

Reinventing Dr. Ding

mojo-hand.jpg

Don’t worry, chilluns. Dr. Ding ain’t going anywheres. I remain as obdurate, apophenic, and (according to me dear Irish mudder) “raunchy” as ever.

I just stumbled across this cool post on the subject of grieving at ReinventingErica and wanted to share it with y’all.

I discovered Erica O’Grady (note: good Irish name, by the by) on Twitter, and while I confess to not always being 100% sure of what it is she exactly does, I know enough about Social Media to cleverly deduce that she’s a big kahuna. Giant mojo hand here, people. Check it out.

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