October 2006
VOL XIV, Issue 10, Number 163
Editor: Klaus J. Gerken
Production Editor: Heather Ferguson
European Editor: Moshe Benarroch
Contributing Editors: Michael Collings; Jack R. Wesdorp; Oswald Le Winter
Previous Associate Editors: Igal Koshevoy; Pedro Sena
ISSN 1480-6401
INTRODUCTION
Laura Stamps
CONTENTS
Laura Stamps
MARRIAGE
POST SCRIPTUM
Laura Stamps
This is a chapter from my new novel-in-verse WHITE WITCH. The main character,
Ravena Riley, is a solitary Wiccan Witch, who successfully approaches her
catnip business, feral cat rescue, perimenopause, and fibroids with magick,
spellcrafting, and herbs. But when her husband Odell suddenly sinks into the
angry depths of a mid-life crisis, Ravena realizes she will have to conjure
the greatest spells of her life to determine whether her marriage is worth
saving. In this chapter she has taken a trip by herself to the Blue Ridge
Mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, for 3 days to sort through her
feelings, spend time seeking advice from the Goddess, and hopefully make a
decision about whether she will remain married or file for divorce. This is
the fourth novel in my series of novels and novellas-in-verse with
Pagan/Wiccan themes. In all of these books my desire is to portray Wiccans
as they go about their everyday magickal lives in our society today, and I
also include real spells and chants from my own personal Book of Shadows.
In WHITE WITCH, I wanted to address the two questions I am asked most often
by my women readers at bookstore book signings. Namely, 1.) how I care for
and socialize colonies of feral cats and 2.) how to shrink fibroids naturally
without surgery. So it was great fun to give the character Ravena Riley a
past history of fibroids and a life-long love of feral cat rescue. She was
a fun character to live with as I wrote this book. Of course, by writing
this novel and all the others in verse I hope to introduce fiction readers
to the wonderful world of poetry and to help them to overcome their fear of
it, since it is such a versatile, enjoyable medium.
Laura Stamps
MARRIAGE
~~~~~~~~
Sometimes the cool fingers of
sadness grip Ravena's heart,
and she mourns the plans she
holds for her marriage that may
never come to pass. Other
times tears cling to her lashes,
even though she looks away
and closes her eyes. She scolds
herself for this, but knows she
cannot stop. It's as if some
part of her life has fallen into
the dark folds of the night,
and only the ache, grief, and
empty space remains. A nap
helps, and she often awakens
refreshed but a different woman,
tears always the great motivator
of change. "Women work so
hard in a marriage," she sighs.
"Women work so hard." She
brushes away the sudden tears.
"How many pieces of myself
will I lose in the course of
this marriage?" Ravena asks.
"And how many new parts
will develop, eager to be
discovered?" Again she
sighs, knowing this sadness
only intrudes on her joyful
life after she's stumbled over
one of Odell's angry moods.
And then other days flow as sweet
and smooth as a stream of honey.
Ravena recalls an afternoon in March
when she sat on the sofa, reading
a book, Cherry curled in her lap, while
Odell watched a ballgame on television.
He glanced at her and then turned
away quickly when she noticed.
"What were you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing," he replied. "You were
looking at me," she said. Odell smiled.
Can I look at you if I want to?" he
asked, his eyes twinkling. "But what
were you thinking?" Ravena continued.
He stared at her. "You look very
pretty right now," Odell said. "Are
you happy?" Cherry rose, stretched,
and whirled herself into a sleepy knot
of fur. "Yes, I am," she replied. "I
was thinking how much I love you,"
he continued. Ravena laughed, thinking
about the maddening hills and valleys
of marriage that follow no sensible
track. "I love you, too," she said.
But the next day his mood blackened
for no reason, and she found it easier
to talk to the cats than her husband.
Ravena's hotel sits between
a national forest and one of
the oldest, wealthiest neighbor-
hoods in the city. After dinner
she drives along a quiet street
winding through the forest
toward a cluster of stately homes.
Suddenly a deer bursts through
thick foliage, running next to
her car, its sleek body tawny
and finely muscled, its coat
sprinkled with flecks of sunlight.
Then it disappears into the
forest, as if it were only a dream
or maybe a trick of the evening
mist. Before the deer's appearance
Ravena had been thinking about
the forest, the way tall pines
stand cleanly on a floor of needles
carpeted with little underbrush,
and of her girlhood, times when
she would wander through the
Blue Ridge on her way home from
school. Out of the quiet two or
three deer would instantly appear,
dash before her, and leap up a
wall of rock in one fluid stroke,
a wall higher than the tallest man
she knew. They would dart and
disappear as quickly as they'd
come, disturbing nothing but pine
needles and the beat of her heart.
Occasionally, Ravena's customers
ask how she catches feral cats and
socializes them quickly for adoption
or a visit to the vet. Those easily
tamed with Goddess chants and
faery spells she picks up and carries
inside the house to a tiny half bath-
room. Rather than scruff a feral cat,
she grabs it under the arms, swinging
its back legs to prevent scratching
from frantic paws. But scaredy cats
require a different method, and for
these she uses a big dog taxi, which
she places in the middle of the feeding
area, usually the patio or porch. She
leaves the door open and throws dry
food in at mealtimes, so the cats will
feel comfortable walking in and out
to eat. After a few days the taxi no
longer threatens, and the cats ignore
it. Next Ravena sets the food bowls
in front of the taxi, forcing all the
cats to eat in front of it. Then
it's just a matter of waiting until
a scaredy cat turns its back to eat.
Quickly Ravena grabs the cat under
its arms and tosses it into the taxi,
slamming the door. A few hours
later, after realizing it cannot escape
by gnawing on the door or sides of
the taxi, the cat calms enough for
Ravena to crack open the door and
slip in a litter box, food and water
bowls, and a soft towel for sleeping.
Some cats adjust quickly and enjoy
the situation, realizing they no longer
need to compete with the other cats
for food. A scaredy cat in a taxi
can only be feed until its vet visit
arrives, since it isn't tame enough
yet to touch. However the cats in
the bathroom receive more personal
care. These Ravena trains to use
a litter box. She prefers a mix
of newspaper litter and pine litter
rather than dusty clay. Often when
training feral cats she cuts up pine
needles from the forest to sprinkle
on top of the litter box, making the
transition easier for the cats. Then
she visits them throughout the day,
singing to them, pushing them to
tolerate her presence, stroking their
fur until they purr every time she
enters the bathroom. Each of these
cats receives a bath and a dose
of herbal antibiotics if injured or ill.
Those with eye infections Ravena
treats with goldenseal tea. She
empties a capsule of the powdered
herb into a cup of lukewarm water,
then places a paper towel over an
empty mug, carefully pouring the
mixture over it, straining out chunky
clumps of herb. She soaks a cotton
ball in the clear tea and gently dribbles
it into the cat's eyes twice a day,
soothing away any irritation. Within
a few days the cat heals completely,
and begins to bounce around the
bathroom, anxious to be released.
On Saturday morning cumulus
clouds swing from the sky,
their shadows slipping over the
mountains like slow, gray boats.
Standing before the bathroom
mirror, Ravena studies her hair,
possessing no obvious control
over her bangs. Organic hair
spray helps, yet she can never
tell from one morning to the
next how each blonde curl will
twirl, winding to the whim of
three natural cowlicks. She
could spell them into obedience,
yet prefers to save her power
for more important tasks. Each
morning begins not so much
as a quest for perfect hair, but
for one golden moment she
freezes in a light mist of spray,
a moment that will stay with
her throughout the day. In the
bathroom Ravena feels like an
artist creating an abstract painting,
one that follows no rules and
offers no warning when complete
until that anointed moment. This
morning standing in a bathroom
laced with steam, she patiently
combs and styles and waits.
An hour later Ravena turns onto
the Blue Ridge Parkway, a ribbon
of asphalt flowing like a lazy river
through the mountains of western
North Carolina and Virginia. In
May wildflowers crowd the sides
of the road and climb up into the
rocks. Scenic lookouts speckle
the route, as the highway begins
to creep like a cat over the crest
of each mountain. Hundreds
of yellow butterflies swirl among
spears of goldenrod, shimmering
in front of her car like sun crystals.
Crows continue to accompany
her on this trip, and now two
pose atop a pebbled marker
at the first lookout, as if they
were faeries watching over her.
Once again she thanks the Goddess
for her Wiccan faith, a spiritual path
sparkling with life and the divinity
of nature. When most people would
see only a lovely panorama of trees,
Ravena peers beyond to another realm,
a world entwined with the Fey. Each
tree, flower, and plant houses a faery
of its own, responsible for its care and
growth. Through Witch's eyes Ravena
sees a world bubbling with life, and
traveling the Blue Ridge Parkway only
heightens this awareness. Bedazzled
with the beauty of this area and the
glamour of faerie magick, she begins
to sing her driving chant, enjoying the
five elements and their mystical dance:
"Fierce Durga, Great Goddess of Travel,
protect me whether I drive or amble.
Bless this trip with abundant success.
Lead me safely, guide my steps."
As her car climbs higher the road
narrows, curving sharply in some
places with little room for two lanes,
winding back and forth like the snakes
she knows sun themselves on the flat
surfaces of boulders pressed into the
mountainside. Jagged rocks burst
from corners, and trees grow side-
ways from tiny crevasses, bending
upward at the base, reaching for the
shaft of sunlight they've been seeking
since seedlings. Five thousand feet
above sea level Ravena stops the
car at a lookout. Yellow jackets
and bumblebees, dazed by the drop
in temperature, bump into trees and
cling to spring leaves as she climbs
the rock path. At the top she stands
before a waterfall curling down the
next mountain. The water drops at
a deafening speed, crashing through
trees for several hundred feet, its roar
the only sound she hears until two
hawks circling in the valley below
begin to shriek. Yet a sense of calm
blankets this moment. Just the sound
of the water hurling down the mountain,
the hawks, and the breeze. Nothing
else. Ravena begins to gather power
from the silence, breathing in crisp
air and the intense green of pine trees,
breathing out emotional weariness
and fatigue, until a retired couple
from Illinois scrambles up the stone
steps of the lookout. They talk
for a while, exchange stories from
their home states, and then Ravena
returns to her car feeling refreshed.
But at the next curve in the road
her worries return, rustling their
dark wings, wrestling with her
again, asking their ever-present
question. "How can I be so happy
with my life, while Odell wallows
in misery?" she wonders. These
days her husband reminds her
of high-strung friends she left
behind years ago, his anger and
neediness draining her energy
like an emotional vampire. This
thought unearths another painful
memory, the few people from
her past she refers to as feeders,
those suffering from low self-
esteem who siphon her power
in subtle ways, leaving her
depressed and hopeless. She
shudders, happy they no longer
plague her, the Goddess as
relentless as a mother cat when
it comes to running feeders and
emotional vampires out of her
life. "These people must want
to be healed," she muses. "No
one can make this decision for
them." She always keeps a few
rose quartz and satin spar selenite
crystals in her handbag for those
times when she meets a feeder
or an emotional vampire in need
of healing. She cheerfully gives
these gifts to them, knowing
her only responsibility lies in the
magickal way she lives her life.
Her actions, her words, her faith.
"But where does this leave Odell?"
she mumbles, truly mystified.
Her right hand grasping the cool
steering wheel of her car, Ravena
draws the rune for peace in the
air with her left hand, and instantly
feels its relaxing power swim
through the bunched muscles
threading her shoulders and neck.
The slopes and valleys of the
Blue Ridge loop around her, spruce
needles twinkle under the bright
thumb of the sun, and she smiles.
"Thank you, Durga," she sighs,
"for your protection and peace."
Laura Stamps is an award-winning poet and novelist. Over seven hundred of
her poems, short stories, and book reviews have appeared in literary journals,
magazines, anthologies, and broadsides worldwide, including the Louisiana
Review, the Pittsburgh Review, Poetry Midwest, The Wheel, Big City Lit, Poesy
Magazine, American Writing, and the Chiron Review. Winner of The Muses Prize
Best Poet of the Year 2005 and the recipient of a Pulitzer Prize nomination
and six Pushcart Award nominations, she is the author of more than 30 books
of poetry and fiction. Her archives are housed at The Poetry/Rare Books
Collection of the University Libraries, State University of New York, Buffalo,
NY, and Special Collections at James B. Duke Library, Furman University,
Greenville, SC. A Wiccan, she has been involved in feral cat rescue for many
years, and currently cares for four housecats and a feral colony of nine cats.
More information about books by Laura Stamps can be found at
www.KittyfeatherPress.blogspot.com. For a free catalog of poetry books and
novels-in-verse by Laura Stamps email laurastamps@mindspring.com.
All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is
prohibited.
YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993 - 2006 by
Klaus J. Gerken.
The official version of this magazine is available on Ygdrasil's
World-Wide Web site http://users.synapse.net/~kgerken. No other
version shall be deemed "authorized" unless downloaded from there.
Distribution is allowed and encouraged as long as the issue is unchanged.
COMMENTS & SUBMISSIONS
* Klaus Gerken, Chief Editor - for general messages and ASCII text
submissions: kgerken@synapse.net
Or mailed with a self addressed stamped envelope, to:
