In my window right now is an old style but beautiful witch. I was given her as a gift (it puzzled me as I do not collect them). As October dawned I hung her in my front window facing out. Yet as I sat here meditating and doing my daily practice I looked up and saw her smiling at me. As soon as I got her I named her Dorothy, or Dot, after Gerald Gardener's teacher Dorothy Chutterbuck. Now as she came from Pendle maybe Alice might have been more fitting but Dot she became. I have had her a few years and I didn't really know what to "do" with her. She is pretty enough, but she never really was mine somehow. I don't know why but the gift felt weird and she irritated me rather than bringing me a sense of gratitude. I can not really say why particularly. She isn't old but she is I suppose older. She isn't ugly but she isn't classically beautiful. She looks a bit like a Mother-in-law, somewhere between 45 and 55 and at just 30, I was a bit insulted I think.
"Saw this and thought of you.."
I know if came from a place of over simple logic and from what I gather was an expensive gift. Had it been a hippo or and elephant I might have had the same feeling, though I might have taken it better. Yet here she still is smiling at me gently. As though to say
"I was 34 once too, it isn't so bad you know."
She probably was and was probably better looking than I am too.
I like my "mother" space, emotionally, spiritually, I am unsure I want to leave it behind.
Yet the time to come will be for myself as well as for others. I am growing into myself, not out of myself.
I have meet a few very old witches, in pastel knits and matching pearls and they are fabulous. Kind and wise and knowing, still dancing the spiral, still drinking too much sherry. I don't know why the old witch bothers me but she does.
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