Fairy Tale

 A Modern Craft Fairy Tale
 ========================= 
by Mike Nichols

Once upon a  time, there were two  Witches.  One was  a Feminist Witch and the other was a Traditionalist Witch.  And, although both  of them were deeply religious, they had rather different ideas about what their religion meant.  The Feminist Witch tended to believe that Witchcraft was a religion especially suited to  women because the image of the Goddess was empowering and a strong weapon against patriarchal tyranny.  And there was distrust in the heart of the Feminist Witch for  the Traditionalist Witch because, from the Feminist perspective, the Traditionalist Witch seemed subversive and a threat to "the Cause". 

The  Traditionalist Witch  tended  to believe  that  Witchcraft was a religion for  both men and women because anything less would be divisive.  And although  the  Goddess was  worshipped, care was taken to give equal stress to the God force in nature, the  Horned One.  And there was distrust in  the heart of the Traditionalist Witch for  the Feminist Witch because, from  the  Traditionalist  viewpoint,  the  Feminist  Witch  seemed  like a late-comer and a threat to "Tradition".  These two Witches lived in the same community  but each belonged to a different Coven, so  they did  not often run into  one another.  Strange to say, the  few times they did meet, they felt an odd sort of mutual attraction, at least on the physical level.  But both recognized the folly of this attraction, for their ideologies were worlds apart, and nothing, it seemed, could ever bridge them. 

Then one year the community decided to hold a Grand Coven, and all the Covens in the area were invited to attend.  After the rituals, the singing, the  magicks, the  feasting, the  poetry, and  dancing were  concluded, all retired to  their tents and  sleeping bags.  All  but these two.   For they were troubled by their differences and couldn't sleep.  They alone remained sitting by the  campfire while all others around them  dreamed.  And before long, they began to talk about their differing  views of the Goddess.  And, since they were both  relatively inexperienced Witches, they soon  began to argue about what was the "true" image of the Goddess. 

"Describe your image of the Goddess to me," challenged the Feminist Witch. The Traditionalist Witch smiled, sighed, and said in a rapt voice, "She  is the embodiment  of all  loveliness.   The quintessence  of feminine beauty.  I picture her with silver blond hair like moonlight, rich and thick, falling down around her  soft shoulders.  She has the voluptuous young body  of  a  maiden in  her  prime,  and  her clothes  are  the  most seductive, gossamer thin and clinging to her willowy frame.  I see her  dancing like a  young elfin nymph in a moonlit glade, the dance of a temple priestess.  And she  calls to her lover, the Horned One, in a voice that is gentle and soft  and sweet, and  as musical as a silver bell frosted with ice.   She is Aphrodite, goddess  of sensual love.  And  her lover comes in answer to  her call, for she is destined to  become the Great Mother.  That is how I see the Goddess." 

The Feminist Witch hooted  with laughter and said, "Your Goddess  is a Cosmic Barbie  Doll!  The Jungian archetype of a  cheer-leader!  She is all glitter and no substance.   Where is her strength?   Her power?  I  see the Goddess very  differently.  To  me, she is  the embodiment of  strength and courage  and wisdom.   A  living symbol  of the  collective power  of women everywhere.  I picture her with hair as black as a moonless night, cropped short for ease  of care on the field of battle.   She has the muscular body of a woman at the peak of health and fitness.  And her clothes are the most practical  and sensible, not slinky  cocktail dresses.   She does not paint her face or perfume  her hair or shave her  legs to please men's  vanities. Nor does she do  pornographic dances to attract a man to her.  For when she calls to a  male, in a voice that  is strong and defiant, it will  be to do battle with the repressive masculine ego.  She is Artemis the huntress, and it is fatal for  any man to cast a  leering glance in her direction.   For, although she may be the many breasted Mother, she is also the dark Crone of wisdom, who destroys the old order.  That is how I see the Goddess." 

Now  the Traditionalist  Witch hooted  with  laughter and  said, "Your Goddess  is the antithesis of  all that is feminine!   She is Yahweh hiding behind a feminine mask!  Don't forget  that it was his followers who burned Witches  at the stake for the "sin" of  having "painted faces".  After all, Witches  with their knowledge of herbs were  the ones who developed the art of cosmetics.  So what of beauty?  What of love and desire?" 

And so the argument raged, until the sound of their  voices awakened a Coven Elder  who was sleeping nearby.   The Elder looked  from the Feminist Witch to the Traditionalist Witch and back again, saying nothing for a long moment.  Then the Elder suggested that both Witches go into the woods apart from one another and there, by magick and meditation, that each seek a "true" vision of the Goddess.  This they both agreed to do. 

After  a time of invocations, there was a moment of perfect stillness.  Then a glimmer of light could be seen in the forest, a light shaded deepest green  by the  dense foliage.   Both Witches  ran toward the  source of the radiance.  To their  wonder and amazement, they discovered the  Goddess had appeared  in a clearing directly between  them, so that neither Witch could see the other.  And the Traditionalist Witch yelled "What did I tell  you!" at the  same instant the Feminist Witch yelled  "You see, I was right!" and so neither Witch heard the other. 

To the  Feminist Witch, the Goddess  seemed to be a  shining matrix of power and  strength, with courage and energy  flowing outward.  The Goddess seemed  to be  holding out  her arms  to embrace  the Feminist Witch,  as a comrade in arms.  To the Traditionalist Witch, the Goddess seemed to be the zenith of feminine beauty, lightly playing a harp and singing a siren song of seduction.   Energy seemed to flow towards her.   And she seemed to hold out her arms to the Traditionalist Witch, invitingly. 

From opposite sides of the clearing, the Witches ran toward the figure of  the Goddess they both loved so well, desiring to be held in the ecstasy of that divine embrace.   But just before they reached her,  the apparition vanished.      And the two Witches were startled to find themselves embracing each other. 

And then they both heard the voice of the Goddess.  And, oddly enough, it sounded exactly the same to both of them.  It sounded like laughter.