Witches have always been the outsiders, the resisters, the strangers, the dispossessed. Our very definition is that which is the Other. These are my people. We are the little folk, and our hearts have been torn from us since we came to be at the hands of the Fallen. We know the magic of tears, sweat, and blood, how the hand and the eye can conjure anything into manifestation.
And we have always known that in times of utter misery we must fall back into the body and its sacred, inalienable pleasures. We must never forget to revel. Our Lady reminds us these are her rituals.
Listen, we must turn to ourselves and each other and remember our birthrights of sex, love, and pleasure; to tread the pathways of lustful flesh and drink deep of desire. This is what quenches the empty thirst of ennui and listlessnes that wrack our souls when times are dire. Even in the face of utter desolation and genocide we must revel. For in revelry we remember what it is we live for and what gives us the courage to fight. We remember it is for each other, and this beautiful and terrible earth we live upon that is the very body of our Mother.
In other words, to quote Peaches, FUCK THE PAIN AWAY!
And keep on fighting. For me, this is what it means to have the Black Heart. To offer my whole heart to the pyre of God Herself that it burns cinder-black, burning with the eerie blue Witchfire and to take up the Sword of Our Lady of Truth, Love, and Wisdom, and keep FIGHTING.
FUCK THE PAIN AWAY. And FIGHT!
