There is a Story those of my House hold dear about the Witches' Devil, highlighting his role as Master Shapeshifter.
That after he and the Grigori Fell, he went on a Journey and over eons transformed through every "kind" of being -- passed through every spirit court (Red, Black, Glas, and White) 7 times, until he returned to the Starry Void, remembering his Wholeness completely. He became Everything, limited by nothing save for the Hand of Our Lady who tempers the Pure Bright Spirit hot with Pride. He is *all* Light and *all* matter. He therefore has no one true form or shape, and the myth has it that he even gave up his "True Name" save one syllable--The Burning Letter—the sound made by living flames, running water, blowing winds, and hissing serpents.
At the heart of this witching Story is the power of twisting and bending and writhing into new shapes and forms, so much so that we let go of who we think we are so that we may encounter our limitlessness, embodied by the Eternal Sabbat. We see the Devil as Guardian and Guide to and fro this Field of the Never-Forever.
Post-injury, I now think of strength not as force or ability to move weight or energy, but as flexibility. As the ability to weather friction while not disintegrating or breaking (or if breaking, the ability to re-knit and reconstitute), the ability to stretch, make limits more expansive, the ability to become vulnerable in the face of adversity, to split open and let the diamond-bone light of the Daimon spill forth. Here shines the rapture of the Immortal Form of the witch.
And it happens through exposure to suffering. Through a life lived in pursuit of what makes us truer and brighter, making meaning of our suffering and spilling forth Passion. That is what generates the Witchfire, like a Wheel cranking. The passage through the different Courts during one’s life, through lifetimes, through encountering and working with other beings whose similarities and differences stimulate ours. Transforming us into greater, deeper, wider expressions of Self.
May we all find our own ways to dance in the cloven hoof tracks of the Master of Magic.