“Bewitched, but not Bewildered”
True witches don’t observe Halloween, but it still may be the perfect night to cast a spell.
by Patrick Folliard THE WASHINGTON BLADE
When a witch feels cramped after living for 20 years in her small New York apartment, she naturally petitions the goddess of love and luxury for help.
“I did a killer apartment spell,” says Lexa Rosean, sitting comfortably in the garden of her spacious new place. “I stuffed my petition for an apartment into five oranges, and concentrated the entire spell on a specific type of living space.” She gasps when her cat interrupts her with the presentation of its morning kill, a cardinal, but then Rosean remembers that a witch must accept the forces of nature and resumes contentedly.
“In exactly one year,” she continues, “a Manhattan apartment with fireplace, garden, and indirect view of the Empire State Building virtually fell into my lap. It was very magical.”
Working spells, glimpsing the future, and communicating with ancestors are all part of a day’s work for Rosean, a Lesbian who is also known as ”The Supermarket Sorceress.”
Her new book, The Supermarket Sorceress s Enchanted Evenings, is a pocket-sized work equally at home on a rack at the grocery checkout or in bookstores. It contains 75 spells requiring simple ingredients that can be found in the grocery store, all designed to help in ‘achieving a pleasant evening. There are spells to prevent accidents, for sexual stamina, for a gigolo’s success, or simply for a silent night. There are spells particular to each evening of the week: Saturday is a good night for a spell using brown candles and cranberries, designed to achieve a committed relationship.
The “Ellen’s Night Out” spell, presumably named after Ellen DeGeneres and designed for women who want to meet other women, can be worked any night of the week: It requires constructing a small altar and then rubbing fruit allover one’s body before eating it. (No one said it was going to be easy.)
Another spell, called “Rasputin” in honor of the monk who gained disastrous influence over Russia’s Romanov dynasty, will appeal to social climbers.
“Eat squash constantly, in all its varieties” Rosean suggests, “if you aspire to climb to great social heights and ‘squash’ all those on ground level as you ascend.” The spells in her book, Rosean says, are both traditional and invented, “based on the components’ properties. In all cases, spells are modified to include easily found, although appropriate ingredients.”
For an old New Orleans love spell, for example, Rosean substitutes lemon juice for “essential oil of lemon,” and rose water for “essence of rose.”
“I am trying to bring the old tradition of kitchen magic into the modem world,” Rosean says. The odd, spooky ingredients in old spells (eye of newt, and so on), she believes, were actually nicknames for plants growing just outside the ancient doors; whereas today, the field of cultivation for most people is the Giant or Safeway.
As a girl, Rosean enjoyed consulting her Ouija board. She went to the library and borrowed books on witchcraft – with the approval of her mother, who was an amateur prescient and occasionally read Tarot cards. But after she entered her teen years, Rosean says, things changed.
“My family became born-again Jews and joined the Hasidic community,” she explains. “At [the age of] 15, I was excommunicated, essentially, because I was Gay. Other Hasids crossed the street when they saw me coming. It was really awful.”
In search of a new spiritual path, Rosean began studying witchcraft at the age of 20, joining the church of Wicca in the mid-1970s in New York City. Wicca (old Anglo-Saron for sorcerer) is a reconstructionist religion, harking back to the pagan practices of preChristian Europe. Its rites and beliefs are closely tied to the earth and its seasons. In addition to an unnamed higher power, witches recognize a god and goddess.
”The goddess is a poet, seductress, warrior, and mother,” Rosean explains. “In my family, the path for women was wife and mother.” As a Lesbian, Rosean found, she was welcomed in the church of Wicca. “With witches,” she says, “I found a place where you are loved for being Gay.” Unlike some other religions, Wicca does not require its adherents to mingle strictly with other adherents.
“I’ve had girlfriends who were witches and some who were not,” Rosean says with a chuckle.
A four-year relationship with a born-again Christian woman inspired Rosean to write a play, entitled I Married a Lesbian Witch.
“In the first act,” Rosean says, “it’s from her character’s viewpoint, and in the second act, it’s from mine.”
Rosean’s current girlfriend, who lives in Berlin, is not a witch. She’s of German and South American descent, Rosean says, and has a tattoo of an Incan god on her shoulder. .
“To me,” Rosean says, “that’s very pagan. Although she has no interest in studying the Craft, she’s -really very open to it, and her friends certainly are not shy about asking her to ask me to work spells for them.”
True witches don’t observe Halloween, but it still may be the perfect night to cast a spell.
by Patrick Folliard THE WASHINGTON BLADE
When a witch feels cramped after living for 20 years in her small New York apartment, she naturally petitions the goddess of love and luxury for help.
“I did a killer apartment spell,” says Lexa Rosean, sitting comfortably in the garden of her spacious new place. “I stuffed my petition for an apartment into five oranges, and concentrated the entire spell on a specific type of living space.” She gasps when her cat interrupts her with the presentation of its morning kill, a cardinal, but then Rosean remembers that a witch must accept the forces of nature and resumes contentedly.
“In exactly one year,” she continues, “a Manhattan apartment with fireplace, garden, and indirect view of the Empire State Building virtually fell into my lap. It was very magical.”
Working spells, glimpsing the future, and communicating with ancestors are all part of a day’s work for Rosean, a Lesbian who is also known as ”The Supermarket Sorceress.”
Her new book, The Supermarket Sorceress s Enchanted Evenings, is a pocket-sized work equally at home on a rack at the grocery checkout or in bookstores. It contains 75 spells requiring simple ingredients that can be found in the grocery store, all designed to help in ‘achieving a pleasant evening. There are spells to prevent accidents, for sexual stamina, for a gigolo’s success, or simply for a silent night. There are spells particular to each evening of the week: Saturday is a good night for a spell using brown candles and cranberries, designed to achieve a committed relationship.
The “Ellen’s Night Out” spell, presumably named after Ellen DeGeneres and designed for women who want to meet other women, can be worked any night of the week: It requires constructing a small altar and then rubbing fruit allover one’s body before eating it. (No one said it was going to be easy.)
Another spell, called “Rasputin” in honor of the monk who gained disastrous influence over Russia’s Romanov dynasty, will appeal to social climbers.
“Eat squash constantly, in all its varieties” Rosean suggests, “if you aspire to climb to great social heights and ‘squash’ all those on ground level as you ascend.” The spells in her book, Rosean says, are both traditional and invented, “based on the components’ properties. In all cases, spells are modified to include easily found, although appropriate ingredients.”
For an old New Orleans love spell, for example, Rosean substitutes lemon juice for “essential oil of lemon,” and rose water for “essence of rose.”
“I am trying to bring the old tradition of kitchen magic into the modem world,” Rosean says. The odd, spooky ingredients in old spells (eye of newt, and so on), she believes, were actually nicknames for plants growing just outside the ancient doors; whereas today, the field of cultivation for most people is the Giant or Safeway.
As a girl, Rosean enjoyed consulting her Ouija board. She went to the library and borrowed books on witchcraft – with the approval of her mother, who was an amateur prescient and occasionally read Tarot cards. But after she entered her teen years, Rosean says, things changed.
“My family became born-again Jews and joined the Hasidic community,” she explains. “At [the age of] 15, I was excommunicated, essentially, because I was Gay. Other Hasids crossed the street when they saw me coming. It was really awful.”
In search of a new spiritual path, Rosean began studying witchcraft at the age of 20, joining the church of Wicca in the mid-1970s in New York City. Wicca (old Anglo-Saron for sorcerer) is a reconstructionist religion, harking back to the pagan practices of preChristian Europe. Its rites and beliefs are closely tied to the earth and its seasons. In addition to an unnamed higher power, witches recognize a god and goddess.
”The goddess is a poet, seductress, warrior, and mother,” Rosean explains. “In my family, the path for women was wife and mother.” As a Lesbian, Rosean found, she was welcomed in the church of Wicca. “With witches,” she says, “I found a place where you are loved for being Gay.” Unlike some other religions, Wicca does not require its adherents to mingle strictly with other adherents.
“I’ve had girlfriends who were witches and some who were not,” Rosean says with a chuckle.
A four-year relationship with a born-again Christian woman inspired Rosean to write a play, entitled I Married a Lesbian Witch.
“In the first act,” Rosean says, “it’s from her character’s viewpoint, and in the second act, it’s from mine.”
Rosean’s current girlfriend, who lives in Berlin, is not a witch. She’s of German and South American descent, Rosean says, and has a tattoo of an Incan god on her shoulder. .
“To me,” Rosean says, “that’s very pagan. Although she has no interest in studying the Craft, she’s -really very open to it, and her friends certainly are not shy about asking her to ask me to work spells for them.”
A coven with room for all
Gays weren’t always welcome in the coven. In 1956, anti-witchcraft laws were repealed in England, prompting a man named Gerald Gardner to write about witchcraft and to practice it more openly. Gardner then founded a coven in Kentucky, and later, one in New York City. In his sect, a year and a day of study leads to initiation, followed by three additional initiations to become a high priest or priestess. Traditionally, Gardnerians hold rituals in which the god or goddess is drawn down to a priest or priestess, and they believe that this feat can be accomplished only via male to female connection.
Some believed otherwise. By the 1960s, two Gay male high priests and a Lesbian high priestess in New York City found during the course of their research on ancient Minoan culture that separate mysteries for men and women had been maintained. These witches incorporated what they learned into the Gardnerian framework and formed the Minoan sisterhood and brotherhood.
“We have male and female sides, and it’s just a matter of finding individuals, of the same sex in many cases, with whom we connect,” says Rosean. “That’s what the Minoan founders believed.”
The Gay men and Lesbians commenced to meet separately, but sometimes intermixed on the full moons (espats) and the great Sabbaths, Rosean says.
“During the’ 80s, the brotherhood was wiped out by AIDS,” remembers Rosean. “As the sisterhood grew, straight women and some men wanted to join. After much discussion, we thought it would be hypocritical to deny admission, so we decided, ‘If you don’t have a problem with your own sexuality and your energy is right with the group, then OK. ‘”
Today Rosean calls herself not just a Wiccan high priestess, but an initiated (non-hereditary) neo-Gardnerian, Minoan witch. As a high priestess, she organizes her own coven, a circle that cannot number more than 16. She works at Enchantments, a white magic store in New York City.
“My relationship with Judaism is basically healed now,” says Rosean, who sometimes calls herself a “Jew witch.”
“Judaism has many pagan roots. There was a goddess there at one time, but they’ve done a good job ‘at covering her up. At least Christians have allowed Mary to stay around.”
Many modern witches were once Christians. Craft elder and co-founder of the church of Wicca, 67-year-old Yvonne Frost, describes herself as a “recovering Baptist.” She is married to Gavin Frost, who in 1972 convinced the Internal Revenue Service to recognize Wicca as an official religion.
“Don’t call him a warlock, call him a witch,” Frost insists. Warlock, she explains, is old Scottish for traitor, and her husband is a true witch.
A true witch, Frost continues, does not observe Halloween, just as a Muslim doesn’t observe Christmas. Her holiday is Samhain (pronounced sow-en), one of the witch’s great Sabbaths. It is celebrated on the full moon nearest Nov. 1 (this year, that will be Nov. 4).
“Before Christianity overrode northern Europe,” Frost explains, “Samhain (later Christianized as All Hallows Eve) was the night when people herded their livestock indoors for the winter. With very little feed or shelter, all non-breeding stock were slaughtered, and as any butcher will tell you, when you slaughter at full moon the bleed is heavier and therefore the meat quality better. Incidentally,” she interjects in a motherly tone, “never schedule elective surgery close to a full moon.” Then she continues to explain the origins of the Samhain holiday.
“With the abrupt liberation of so many animal spirits from their bodies, the humans dressed in funny costumes and beat on clay pots to jar the animal spirits and encourage them to go to their next place,” says Frost. “At Samhain, the Lady, deity of the harvest, gives way to the Lord of hunting and fertility, later to return to her place of prominence on May Day (or Beltane).”
Samhain is a night of mystery and reverence, Frost explains, when the veil between this world and the world of the ancestors is thinnest.
“We meet in circle, outdoors if possible,” Frost says, “and affirm our intent to live in harmony with the will of the elder ones as best we can perceive it.”
Witches in circle today tend to look like average people. The stereotype of the green-faced, wart-covered crone evolved from long ago, when northern Europe was forested-over and people lived in tiny hamlets in the woods.
“Someone had to be responsible for the peoples’ body of knowledge – how to heal wounds, use herbs” and midwife,” Frost explains, “and that duty often belonged to an older woman. She most likely lived alone in a hovel where a cauldron of herbs was constantly brewing. She traveled on healing errands, using a broom not only as a walking stick, but also as a weapon, with a sharpened point dipped in an infection-inducing preparation. She was unwashed, sallow, and probably a bit eccentric; and resentful villagers grew suspicious when a plague or crib death baffled the healer.” Today, Frost says, there are more Wiccans celebrating Samhain than most people realize.
“Many witches stay in the broom closet,” she says, “because they fear rejection from family and reprisals at the work place or with landlords.”
Contrary to another stereotype, Wiccans do not consort with the devil on Halloween or any other night. “If you want Satan,” Frost advises, “go to the Christians, because we don’t do Satan.”
She also eschews black magic, citing the laws of karma.
“We believe that what we put out is what we draw to ourselves,” Frost says. She defines magic as an attempt to influence the future, always within an ethical framework.
“Goddess knows,” says Frost, “I’ve had enough surprises in this incarnation, and don’t want to attract anymore.”
Rosean agrees: “Although we’re entitled to protect ourselves through spells, I encourage readers to be positive when working a spell to be rid of someone. There’s a difference between visualizing an irritant to ‘drop dead’ or to ‘get a life and move to L.A.'”
“Although I tilt toward benevolence and compassion,” says Frost, “a wide variety of behavior, including rather naughty behavior, is accepted among Witches. Our ethical creed is ‘If it harms none, do what you will,’ and of course if one does harm, he alone suffers the consequences.”
Wiccans come in five genders, according to Frost: “heterosexual male and female, homosexual male and female, and bisexual” In her wise estimation, “There is room for all”
Rosean (perhaps not as pure in her practice as Frost) always observes Samhain on Oct. 31. “This year, after doing a radio show, the coven will meet in ritual,” Rosean says. “We’ll call down the goddess and see what she has to say, and we’ll set a table of offerings for our ancestors.” At the ritual, Rosean will offer a plate of crabcakes to her younger brother Jory, a chef, who died in a car accident last December, and she’ll furnish a Foster’s beer for her deceased friend Jeffrey, a witch known as Lord Hermes.
“We’ll do divination and try to talk to our ancestors,” continues Rosean, noting that the partly solemn, partly jolly ceremony often results in the reception of specific and comforting messages from the other side.
“For me it feels good to celebrate the rites,” explains Rosean. “It helps me with life to be in rhythm with the earth, and to know that after celebrating harvest I need to keep a certain amount of reserve until the arrival of Beltane.”
“I think it’s a misconception that witches have a lot of power,” Rosean continues. “Spells are our form of prayer – sometime they work, sometimes not. My brother’s death challenged the idea that I should foresee the future. I wouldn’t want to have known his fate unless I could have prevented it. A witch understands that nature throws us curves.”
Gays weren’t always welcome in the coven. In 1956, anti-witchcraft laws were repealed in England, prompting a man named Gerald Gardner to write about witchcraft and to practice it more openly. Gardner then founded a coven in Kentucky, and later, one in New York City. In his sect, a year and a day of study leads to initiation, followed by three additional initiations to become a high priest or priestess. Traditionally, Gardnerians hold rituals in which the god or goddess is drawn down to a priest or priestess, and they believe that this feat can be accomplished only via male to female connection.
Some believed otherwise. By the 1960s, two Gay male high priests and a Lesbian high priestess in New York City found during the course of their research on ancient Minoan culture that separate mysteries for men and women had been maintained. These witches incorporated what they learned into the Gardnerian framework and formed the Minoan sisterhood and brotherhood.
“We have male and female sides, and it’s just a matter of finding individuals, of the same sex in many cases, with whom we connect,” says Rosean. “That’s what the Minoan founders believed.”
The Gay men and Lesbians commenced to meet separately, but sometimes intermixed on the full moons (espats) and the great Sabbaths, Rosean says.
“During the’ 80s, the brotherhood was wiped out by AIDS,” remembers Rosean. “As the sisterhood grew, straight women and some men wanted to join. After much discussion, we thought it would be hypocritical to deny admission, so we decided, ‘If you don’t have a problem with your own sexuality and your energy is right with the group, then OK. ‘”
Today Rosean calls herself not just a Wiccan high priestess, but an initiated (non-hereditary) neo-Gardnerian, Minoan witch. As a high priestess, she organizes her own coven, a circle that cannot number more than 16. She works at Enchantments, a white magic store in New York City.
“My relationship with Judaism is basically healed now,” says Rosean, who sometimes calls herself a “Jew witch.”
“Judaism has many pagan roots. There was a goddess there at one time, but they’ve done a good job ‘at covering her up. At least Christians have allowed Mary to stay around.”
Many modern witches were once Christians. Craft elder and co-founder of the church of Wicca, 67-year-old Yvonne Frost, describes herself as a “recovering Baptist.” She is married to Gavin Frost, who in 1972 convinced the Internal Revenue Service to recognize Wicca as an official religion.
“Don’t call him a warlock, call him a witch,” Frost insists. Warlock, she explains, is old Scottish for traitor, and her husband is a true witch.
A true witch, Frost continues, does not observe Halloween, just as a Muslim doesn’t observe Christmas. Her holiday is Samhain (pronounced sow-en), one of the witch’s great Sabbaths. It is celebrated on the full moon nearest Nov. 1 (this year, that will be Nov. 4).
“Before Christianity overrode northern Europe,” Frost explains, “Samhain (later Christianized as All Hallows Eve) was the night when people herded their livestock indoors for the winter. With very little feed or shelter, all non-breeding stock were slaughtered, and as any butcher will tell you, when you slaughter at full moon the bleed is heavier and therefore the meat quality better. Incidentally,” she interjects in a motherly tone, “never schedule elective surgery close to a full moon.” Then she continues to explain the origins of the Samhain holiday.
“With the abrupt liberation of so many animal spirits from their bodies, the humans dressed in funny costumes and beat on clay pots to jar the animal spirits and encourage them to go to their next place,” says Frost. “At Samhain, the Lady, deity of the harvest, gives way to the Lord of hunting and fertility, later to return to her place of prominence on May Day (or Beltane).”
Samhain is a night of mystery and reverence, Frost explains, when the veil between this world and the world of the ancestors is thinnest.
“We meet in circle, outdoors if possible,” Frost says, “and affirm our intent to live in harmony with the will of the elder ones as best we can perceive it.”
Witches in circle today tend to look like average people. The stereotype of the green-faced, wart-covered crone evolved from long ago, when northern Europe was forested-over and people lived in tiny hamlets in the woods.
“Someone had to be responsible for the peoples’ body of knowledge – how to heal wounds, use herbs” and midwife,” Frost explains, “and that duty often belonged to an older woman. She most likely lived alone in a hovel where a cauldron of herbs was constantly brewing. She traveled on healing errands, using a broom not only as a walking stick, but also as a weapon, with a sharpened point dipped in an infection-inducing preparation. She was unwashed, sallow, and probably a bit eccentric; and resentful villagers grew suspicious when a plague or crib death baffled the healer.” Today, Frost says, there are more Wiccans celebrating Samhain than most people realize.
“Many witches stay in the broom closet,” she says, “because they fear rejection from family and reprisals at the work place or with landlords.”
Contrary to another stereotype, Wiccans do not consort with the devil on Halloween or any other night. “If you want Satan,” Frost advises, “go to the Christians, because we don’t do Satan.”
She also eschews black magic, citing the laws of karma.
“We believe that what we put out is what we draw to ourselves,” Frost says. She defines magic as an attempt to influence the future, always within an ethical framework.
“Goddess knows,” says Frost, “I’ve had enough surprises in this incarnation, and don’t want to attract anymore.”
Rosean agrees: “Although we’re entitled to protect ourselves through spells, I encourage readers to be positive when working a spell to be rid of someone. There’s a difference between visualizing an irritant to ‘drop dead’ or to ‘get a life and move to L.A.'”
“Although I tilt toward benevolence and compassion,” says Frost, “a wide variety of behavior, including rather naughty behavior, is accepted among Witches. Our ethical creed is ‘If it harms none, do what you will,’ and of course if one does harm, he alone suffers the consequences.”
Wiccans come in five genders, according to Frost: “heterosexual male and female, homosexual male and female, and bisexual” In her wise estimation, “There is room for all”
Rosean (perhaps not as pure in her practice as Frost) always observes Samhain on Oct. 31. “This year, after doing a radio show, the coven will meet in ritual,” Rosean says. “We’ll call down the goddess and see what she has to say, and we’ll set a table of offerings for our ancestors.” At the ritual, Rosean will offer a plate of crabcakes to her younger brother Jory, a chef, who died in a car accident last December, and she’ll furnish a Foster’s beer for her deceased friend Jeffrey, a witch known as Lord Hermes.
“We’ll do divination and try to talk to our ancestors,” continues Rosean, noting that the partly solemn, partly jolly ceremony often results in the reception of specific and comforting messages from the other side.
“For me it feels good to celebrate the rites,” explains Rosean. “It helps me with life to be in rhythm with the earth, and to know that after celebrating harvest I need to keep a certain amount of reserve until the arrival of Beltane.”
“I think it’s a misconception that witches have a lot of power,” Rosean continues. “Spells are our form of prayer – sometime they work, sometimes not. My brother’s death challenged the idea that I should foresee the future. I wouldn’t want to have known his fate unless I could have prevented it. A witch understands that nature throws us curves.”