Wicca Rocker

[Sheila Widdershins]

Wicca Rocker

When passing by, one can notice a number of things about me: the first, obviously, is that I’m a rocker. The other is that my pentagram is not inverted, and if someone pays close attention, the little trinkets here and there like my rings and other jewelry, all have a meaning, something to say. I’ve been asked many times why I where a right-side-up pentagram if I’m a rocker, and my answer is that I’m a wiccan. ( Let me interject here for a moment: a popular misconception about rockers are that they are all Satanist – khm, correction: not all rockers are Satanist, the term “rocker” refers to people who listen to (gasp) rock music. The rockers, like myself, who listen to metal, are also such because of (gasp) the music… which doesn’t dictate the religion.) Their next question is what is that, and my answer is that it’s a nature religion. From that point on I can’t help but smile at the utter confusion on their faces – wait, wait, that girl with the spiked bracelets and Cradle of Filth shirt is part of a nature religion? I’ve always believed that what is on me reflects a part of me, so I have ‘representation’ of them all on me: my pentagram for obvious reasons, my unicorn rings for my love of fantasy, my gothic style rings, my black clothes to represent my musical taste, and I could list a dozen more. (My glasses for having inherited my father’s myopia.)

Generally speaking, wearing a pentagram around here isn’t such a big thing, as I had at first expected. The truth of the matter is, no one around here (perhaps thankfully) really knows much about wicca, and they know even less what the pentagram represents. In a way, I’m glad for it, though even those who did know what it meant could not fully comprehend what this pentagram means… in its heart lies embedded an amethyst, and that being one of my power stones, represents my emotions. You could say, ironic, considering that I got it on my visit to England, which had been at once the most beautiful, and the most painful experience of my life, and it is times like these that I thank the Lady and Lord that I’m wiccan, because without that comfort… I don’t know where I’d be, if I would be. What happened to me is irrelevant to the purpose of this essay, and yet it bears meaning: having gone to England had not only been for sight-seeing, or the initial purpose of my quest; in a way, it was my pilgrimage to what I call the “Wiccan Mecca” – Glastonbury. Some of you might laugh, but going there, every step of the way I kept telling my mother that I’ve died and gone to the Summerlands, because this is my version of heaven, from the Glastonbury Tor, through the shops, and to the old buildings which – let me say – really hit the spot, I could have said that this place was made for me to find. Perhaps you could call me starved of ‘New Age shops’, but that was only one very small detail. It’s true, what in Hungary one calls “esoteric” has become corrupted and influenced by dark energies. It’s all a market by now, and everyone is into it for the sake of being a little “flexible” and open to new and exotic things – and when they meet me, they either don’t have a clue about what I’m talking about, or they start listing wicca as another “new and exotic” thing to try, which doesn’t mean that I’ve just found someone with a potential for the path – this means that they’ll get a number of books which I’ve suggested as good reading, and start offhandedly “using” whatever material they find. Perhaps later to be discarded in the “doesn’t work” pile. Those “open minded” people have no idea what they’re getting into… and it’s been years since my coven and I haven’t been under some attack of evil forces, because of being in touch with people who let in everything, regardless of shape, form, or intentions.

Yet… wearing a pentagram, even though things are the way they are, gives me strength, confidence, and calmness. It is a reminder to me every day of my life that I am strong, that I can do good, and that I can make my own happiness. Why? It isn’t only because it happens to be a pentagram and I happen to be a wiccan; it’s also because of a summer heartbreak, where my only true solace was to know the fact that I am a witch. I survived so many things, and as one of my poems points out – I’m still standing. This is what my pentagram means for me, but it is also very important to note the manner of this strength, for there are many ways to walk as a warrior, and this is where the amethyst comes in: I’m not closed and cold hearted, I haven’t shut down my life functions and live in a half dead manner, I’m alive and I can feel, I experience all my emotions and face them. It’s my way of manifesting love, and it acts as a symbol for myself to keep my heart true, and to keep true to my heart. My pentagram and I never part, even the spare few moments in the shower make me long to wear it.

That is the personal side of it. Of course, I am open to any questions anyone might have about wicca, but it doesn’t really surprise me that I get no questions to answer. It might be that I get little feedback on what people think when they see me, but the ones that I do get, however, sometimes startle me – perhaps because I’m out of practice of handling people who actually have something to say about the five-pointed star hanging around my neck. Just the other day for example – and I might note here that I don’t believe in coincidence; this happened just around when I was beginning to write this essay – I had been sent to the local store to buy some milk and coffee (the two most important to me off the shopping list), and I met with one of my friends, a middle-aged woman who had once been my teacher who helped me prepare for an exam, and who I found was remarkably like myself in thinking. At the time, since I was suffering from heartbreak, she helped me bring back hope into my life, all the while teaching me how to organize the knowledge I already had. So naturally we began to talk, and we ended up walking together, stopping at the intersection where our paths would part. After saying our goodbyes, I promptly put my headphones back on, took out my lighter, and I noticed that an elderly man on a bicycle was pedaling towards me. When such things happen, I usually expect one of these two scenarios: one is that he is lost, and is asking for directions (which I doubted somehow, because he was riding a bicycle, and we’re talking Kesztölc – the middle of nowhere), and two was that he was interested in me. I hadn’t received such unwanted attention ever since I openly started dressing rocker, thankfully, so naturally I was startled that despite my appearance, the man still came up to me. The very LAST thing I expected however, was what I got: the man stopped next to me, and after I hastily took the earpieces out of my ears so I could hear him, he asked me whether I was local, I said yes, then he asked whether or not I know this guy named Krisztián (something like “Chris” in English). My first thought: “umm… er… what?!” I said that the name rings a bell, but I’m not sure. He looked me up and down, and said that he dresses in the same Satanist manner – I gaped at him, wondering what in Nine Hells he was talking about. From this I deduced that this Krisztián must also be a rocker. Initially, I was confused, I thought that maybe he doesn’t know where he lives and wanted to know whether I knew (maybe he decided to ask me because I’m also a rocker, and if anyone, I’d know where he lives), but then the man gave me his street address; now I really didn’t have a clue what he wanted from me. For a moment I stood there, looking blankly at the street at which the man was pointing to, trying to sauce what he could possibly want from me.

Then, out of the blue, he asks me whether or not I know what ‘that’ means – and he nodded in my general direction, eyes fixed on my chest – where lay peacefully my pentagram. I looked up at him and I nodded, saying that of course I knew. I wouldn’t be wearing it unless I knew. The man spoke as if he knew exactly what it meant, but then he asked me whether this was a Satanist symbol. A bit outraged, but keeping calm, I patiently explained that no, it is not, it is a wiccan symbol. “The difference?”, he asked – well, if it were upside-down, it *would* be Satanist, but like this it is *wiccan*. Duh, the next question… what is wicca. No surprise there. He wasn’t really paying attention to me however – I said “nature religion”, but he was already ranting on about something else, then he spontaneously asked me whether I knew what a Satanist was. It felt quite surreal all of a sudden, that here I am, dressed head to toe in black with my Dani Filth sweater, spiked bracelets, three-piece ring, Cradle of Filth blaring from my headphones, pentagram shining on my chest against the black, sack on my back full of food and my CD player – talking to a (widowed) man who “passed 40” (seemed more around late fifties to me), drilling me off a bicycle in the middle of the street, about Satanism. I raised an eyebrow, thinking of saying to him that of all people, I’d know – if not the most knowledgeable about it, one of the very few people who *would* know in the whole town.
In the usually uneventful life here in my town, this was perhaps the very last thing I expected to happen. Struggling to open my mouth and say something, trying to shake off my initial shock, I began saying that there are two types of Satanists, those who are a little perverse and don’t know anything about it, and those who actually follow the religion. (I began feeling like this was some weird interview for a TV show.) The man kept asking me – but what IS a Satanist? They think about themselves, don’t they? – unsure of what he wanted to actually hear, I began sketching what I knew about the religion, which is not much, but basically that they don’t believe in God, they believe that everyone in and of themselves are Gods. Apparently, this was what the man wanted to hear, because he went on lecturing once I had uttered that statement. At this point I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh or whether I should cry, or perhaps politely excuse myself and rush off. I decided to remain, and listened to his philosophical explanations about how no one has any proof that what the Bible says is true – I was struggling not to smile – and that maybe what they say is true, maybe it isn’t. What makes it true, however? Rhetorical question answered: well, for 49 years he ‘lived in darkness’, he had no idea what he was missing, but then he found the answer – in the meantime I pondered simply telling him that I’m glad he found the way to his faith, and just take my leave of him – and the answer? Everyone had been telling him that God lives in everyone, that Jesus lives in everyone, but what makes a soul a good soul?

Again, caught completely by surprise at the sudden and seemingly random question, I opened my mouth to speak, but he continued before I said anything; the soul is not a physical thing. Then he asked me how can I tell that a person has a soul? In myself, I was thinking that this was beginning to be ridiculous, maybe this man was fanatical and just a little bit crazy. He didn’t, however, attack me for wearing a pentagram or dressing the way I do, merely continued his lecture on his philosophical – or more accurately, spiritual – finds. Now I really had trouble not to just grin – I stood there nodding, saying that “yes, that’s true” occasionally, and all the while wondering whether he really grasped the idea that I am not Christian. Again, the question came up, of how can I know that someone has a soul, after he told me about some responses that he got from other students (it turns out that the man does this almost as a hobby, stopping ‘students’ and asking them the same, random questions). Again, I didn’t know whether I should really tell him my opinion – as he seemed like a devout Christian, and my explanations of my own spiritual finds would most certainly not agree with his. Answering his own question again, he started explaining what happens when a person, or an animal, dies. The “life goes out of their body”, and sails into the sky, I noted, as he gestured towards the clouds above. He said that the person in question could go on living – he or she still has a mouth, but doesn’t use it, they have eyes, but they can’t see – so what makes someone dead? Their soul leaves their body!

Next utterly random question: what makes a soul a good soul? (Thoughts: “er… why am I standing here…”) I shrugged and waited for his explanation, trying my very best not to smile, and merely tolerantly and seriously listen to what his views were. I didn’t want to flat out state to him that “listen! I’m not a Christian, ok? I don’t think that way!” As it turns out, his definition of what a good soul was (how did I not guess that from the beginning of the conversation) that one should trust God, and find Him in ourselves. (At this point I was getting a little edgy, thinking ahead to the possible reprimanding that I would get for being out so long, when the elders needed to leave.) I’d already second-guessed everything about what he was driving at after that, and like some sort of spiritual revelation I discovered that the only way to escape was to agree with him completely and just take my leave. (Earlier on in the conversation I would have found it amusing to start telling him about the beauties of worshipping a Goddess and a God, not just THE God he spoke of, but by now I was only bent on departing.) Finally, after a long and serious talk about how he found God, and that all this Jesus-worshipping was making him sick (no comment – the Christian going on about that, what has this world come to…), and that I should take care of myself, and not let Satan coax me into sin, because I’ll go to hell and I’m too bright and beautiful for that (I seriously pondered on telling him that I don’t believe in hell), he departed, and I gratefully started to step onto my own street. After that I practically ran all the way home, thinking this the most curious day I’ve ever experienced.

In my early days of being wiccan, before I even had a pentagram, some classmates of mine would ask whether or not I have a religion, and I hesitantly replied that I’m wiccan, and I was always astounded that they didn’t look at me oddly nor suddenly think me a rabid animal, but I learned soon enough that people here just don’t know what it is. I listed a couple of synonyms like “nature religion”, “doing magic”, and that it had a little to do with “witchcraft” – at that they finally clicked… but still didn’t look at me like a rabid animal. Which, to my relief, was something that I kept on finding out again and again. That is the good side of living here, I have complete religious freedom (true, it is through ignorance).

Maybe because of this, my pentagram is a personal thing, even more so because no one looks at me as though I’m labeled as “witch” or whatever, it’s just something that I know deep inside. Of course, if I were stripped of my pentagram I would still feel that feeling, because wicca is my home. To me, however, to be able to wear it reminds me of the importance of being wiccan, it reminds me to always follow the rede – there are moments when I would lose my temper or whatever, and I just look down and grasp onto my pentagram and realize that yes, I am wiccan, and I shall harm none, no matter how much they provoke me.

(This essay isn't really completed... but this is what I have so far copyright, da, da, da... the usuals... it was written on inspiration to the former essay topic of "symbols" on Witchvox, but completed --or not completed-- too late.)