For all those who died - stripped naked, shaved, shorn.
For all those who screamed in vain to the Great Goddess, only to have their tongues ripped out by the roots.
For those who were pricked, racked, broken on the wheel for the sins of their Inquisitors.
For all those whose beauty stirred their torturers to fury; and for those whose ugliness did the same.
For all those who were neither ugly nor beautiful, but only women who would not submit.
For all those quick fingers, broken in the vice.
For all those soft arms, pulled from their sockets.
For all those budding breasts, ripped with hot pincers.
For all those midwives, killed merely for the sin of delivering man to an imperfect world.
For all those witch-women, my sisters, who breathed freer as the flames took them, knowing as they shed their female bodies, the seared flesh falling like fruit in the flames, that death alone would cleanse them of the sin for which they died - the sin of being born a woman who is more than the sum of her parts.
Anonymous 16th century poem.
Once upon a time, this would have been the fate of a woman like me, back in the days when the Lynch-Mob ruled and any spiteful individual with a pointing finger could end the life of another.
The gift of magic has always, by turns, been feared and prised; feared by those who are threatened by such power in a woman; prised by those who would recruit it for their own purposes.
A wise woman is forced to navigate a safe path between these two extremes, defending herself against the superstitious and the fearful, who would hang her from the tallest tree if they thought they could get away with it, just because they feel threatened by her presence; and protecting herself from those who would exploit her gifts for their own ends.
Fortunately the power of the Lynch-Mob has long since waned. These days we have laws to protect us against discrimination, prejudice and hate crime. But there will always be certain groups of people who think they can act like a Lynch-Mob and get away with it; who think that they can band together to tear you down just because they have taken a childish dislike to you.
They can't.
Because Karma is a wonderful thing.
And a wise woman knows how to invoke it.
Blessed Be - The Old Hanging Tree
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