Spoonie Witch Magic and Wordcraft

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

I spend a lot of time thinking about disability and accessibility in our sacred or creative practices, and how our lives are affected by, informed by, or intersected by our bodies and our wellness. A few examples: Do places of worship offer a wheelchair ramp? Can we modify more meditation classes for folks who can’t sit down at all or for long periods (me!)? Do we feel encouraged to create altar spaces that are tiny, portable, and simple...so we can take it to bed during flare-ups? Do poetry conferences or literary reading spaces make accessibility a priority?

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I believe that we should all feel encouraged and inspired to practice, pray, or tap into sacredness in a way that works for our minds and bodies — and to use our body/pain/individual experiences as a strength or energy source?

These Spoonie Witch ideas, insights, and prompts are intended to get you thinking about your magic and your power — in ways that work for you. They are designed to help you send love to yourself and reclaim your narrative. Whatever that is, and wherever you may be in the process.

PS: I live with ankylosing spondylitis, a degenerative spinal disease that affects pretty much everything, from my heart to my gut. I can’t POSSIBLY speak to everyone’s experience, but this comes from my own.

My next book, City Witchery, is coming out later this year — and deals largely with finding accessible ways to tap into sacredness in a city environment, and inside of an apartment/shared space/small space.

finding empowerment

Where there are perceived or real limitations, there are also opportunities for growth. Pain often gives us empathy. Loneliness can make us creative. Frustration can drive real social change. Using that big, potent energy in your own magical practice can create change and push toward transformation. Isn't that the goal? To change, to grow? To lean into the power? Don’t be afraid to transmute those big feelings — frustration at broken systems, social isolation due to chronic flare-ups — into your magic.

Sometimes, when the feelings are overwhelming, I work with candle magic — pushing all those ideas into the flame, watching them dance and flicker and turn into something stronger.

tuning into the body

Spending so much time tuned in to your body — and tending to its needs — can be exhausting. But it also means that you are damn good at tapping into your body more readily. Where do you feel energy, anxiety, power, or sensuality? Where do you feel anger or empathy? Pull from that source and use it in your spells or visualizations.

finding what works for you

What form of magic feels right to you? Some of us can't move/perform/concentrate, etc like others. That is okay. Make a list of what feels right to you. Is It breathwork, sex magic, visualization, concentration, writing? Embrace the notion that YOU can adapt rituals or practices to your strengths. You have the right to choose.

creating accessible altars

The idea that we need certain tools or fancy objects or an immaculate, rose-adorned space to perform our sacred practice is outdated. Not everything is Instagrammable; that’s just not realistic. Make a small box or bag and fill it with a few power Items (a candle, tarot, salts, or stones). Keep your journal or grimoire with it. Keep it at your bedside for flare days. That's more than magical enough. Shout out to Ryn’s Ramblings for their awesome ideas around magic and chronic illness (and Altoid box altars!).

shadow working pain

We all hate pain and discomfort. What if we listened to it, gave it compassion, and gave it attention (rather than seeking distraction)? This is a form of shadow work. The pain is not separate from you. It Is a part of you. This gives you the ability to notice it, transmute it, use it, and find strength in it. Pain can be an energy source; you get to choose when and how.

body poetics

Write a poem to your body, to your brain fog, to your Insomnia, to your limited mobility, to your grief, to your reflection, to your bruised arms, your shaking legs, your scars, your distracted mind. What would a love poem to yourself look like? What would a rage poem sound like? How would an ode to your beautiful neurodiversity read? What does it sound like when we write the narrative, and when we reclaim our story?

Read it aloud and feel the power in your words. 

Need some inspiration? Be sure to work through these chronic illness journaling prompts I’ve created right here.

A note on magic and wellness

While ritual can help us center ourselves and find empowerment, autonomy, and magic, it is not a cure for chronic illness. Reach out for professional help. Seek medication. Know that social and political oppression can directly affect you in ways that spells or prayers can’t vanquish. Take care of your body. Seek community. And know that you’re not alone.

—

Lisa Marie Basile (she/her) is a poet, essayist, editor, and chronic illness awareness advocate living in New York City. She's the founder and creative director of Luna Luna Magazine and its online community, and the creator of Ritual Poetica, a curiosity project dedicated to exploring the intersection of writing, creativity, healing, & sacredness.

She is the author of THE MAGICAL WRITING GRIMOIRE, LIGHT MAGIC FOR DARK TIMES, and a few poetry collections, including the recent NYMPHOLEPSY, which is excerpted in Best American Experimental Writing 2020. Her essays and other work can be found in The New York Times, Narratively, Sabat Magazine, We Are Grimoire, Witch Craft Magazine, Refinery 29, Self, Healthline, Entropy, On Loan From The Cosmos, Chakrubs, Catapult, Bust, Bustle, and more. She is also a chronic illness advocate, keeping columns at several chronic illness patient websites. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University. You can follow her at lisamariebasile.

Poetry by Mandy May

BY MANDY MAY

I want people to think

I want people to think that I said what I meant and I
meant what I said because I did.

I want people to think that I bled dry for those I love
even though my tone was flat.

When my breath vacates my chest and my skin
settles into the earth, I want the world to take my
exhale as champagne in a plastic magenta chalice
from Target clearance.

I want people to think of pigeons—and doves. I want
people to think of pigeons as doves because pigeons
are doves. I want people to think of perception.

I want people to think of the moon: a chunk of lemon
glued to a punch-drunk sky moon; a spooky moon;
suede grey sky and marbled clouds with orb-light
clipped and blooming moon; harvest moon, bronzed
pregnant belly of the sky moon; blood moon spilling out your mouth moon.

I want people to think of cats and majestic
and whiskers.

I want people to think of the body’s resilient failure,
rising from bedspreads of fire and ash screaming “I
eat men like air” and then I did.

I want people to think of the warmth of sugar in the
blood; how humans can be sweet with disposition
soured with its exhaustion; the slow death of fatty
tissue; blushed shins.

I want people to think of the rigidity of backbone,
softened by nothing, clenched
knuckles like clenched teeth, perfect in its twisted flex.

I want people to believe that I got at least one thing right.

Let’s talk about the moon

Let’s talk about the moon: to be aware of your body
is to be in pain is the cracking
of a petrified spine is my back
flowering with spidering blossoms
of wrecked muscle flushed.

Let’s talk about the moon
no, let’s talk about menstruation
let’s talk about ebb & flow
let’s talk about iron
let's talk about shedding
let’s talk about the pooling
of aches leaking
dripping between the knees
let’s talk about wreckage.

Let’s talk about the moon —
barefoot, skin exposed,
breathing all the night sounds
night smells:
A/C hum and honey suckle.

Let’s talk to the moon
let’s talk to the moon
let’s talk to the tune of dial tone
let’s talk to the tome of uterine ache
let’s talk to the moon of my pain,
to the rune against shame, to the sigil
for relief burned into the blood bright night.

Sick Girl

Blood sick girl

Sugar sick girl

Womb sick girl

Spine sick girl

Curve sick girl

Gland sick girl

Sad sick girl

Can’t sit still sick girl

Get mad sick girl

Flip a table sick girl

Make you want to weep sick girl

Fly in the air sick girl

Still strong sick girl

Bi sick girl

What kinda bi sick girl

Yes sick girl

No sick girl

Inflammatory sick girl

Endometria sick girl

Rotting organ sick girl

Solitary sick girl

Basement carpet cry crawl sick girl

Clutching crystal sick girl

Sweet rose magic sick girl

Patient sick girl

Spine curl sick girl

Sleep forever sick girl

Forever ever sick girl

Make it halfway up the stairs sick girl

Psychosis sick girl

Ghost music in the room sick girl

Teeth grind sick girl

Needles in the skin sick girl

Deck sitting sick girl

Fluid sick girl

Pant suit sick girl

Thicker than liquor sick girl

Make love to yourself sick girl

Bedridden sick girl

Bed pearl sick girl

Nervous tick sick girl

Gonna be alright sick girl

Just wanna die sick girl

Make the same mistakes sick girl

Don’t want to be called sick girl

Over analytical sick girl

May magic sick girl

Felt tip pen sick girl

CBD sick girl

Sick of your shit sick girl

Shoulder check you into traffic sick girl

Abandoned sick girl

Clarifying sick girl

Horror movie sick girl

Diabetic sick girl

Type one sick girl

Carrot curl of ginger sick girl

Want to live in your palm sick girl

Balance seeking sick girl

Flesh curve sick girl

Thunder ocean sick girl

Cradled in the moon sick girl

Double twisted mermaid sick girl

Bloated belly sick girl

But you don’t look sick sick girl

Manhattan cherry sick girl

The expensive insurance sick girl

Coven 1207 sick girl

Serial single sick girl

Oak tree sick girl

Magnolia bloom sick girl

Sob sick girl

Cat peppered deck sick girl

Difficult kid sick girl

Middle child sick girl

Libra sick girl

Aries moon sick girl

October sick girl

Say what I mean sick girl

Mean what I say sick girl

Amethyst lipped sick girl

Magic sick girl

Witch sick girl

Mad sick girl

Guilt sick girl

Manic twitch sick girl

Dumpster fire sick girl

Pharmaceutical sick girl

Sick girl sick girl

Epic of a love sick girl

Not faint of heart sick girl

Not for the faint of heart sick girl

Carried by my legs sick girl

Flushed sick girl

Fall out sick girl

Fall risk sick girl

Hospital bracelet sick girl

Puritanical work ethic sick girl

Bohemian sick girl

Black shadow throat sick girl

Couch sink sick girl

Tea tincture sick girl

Sigil in my bra sick girl

Magic throat sick girl

Scream into the void sick girl

Standard transmission sick girl

Sick is a brand sick girl

Sick in chapters sick girl

Episodic sick girl

Stuck in liminal sick girl

Ghost skin sick girl

Moonsick sick girl

New moon ovulate sick girl

Get lit quit sick girl

Break onto the roof sick girl

Write this forever sick girl

Outside in the light sick girl

Wet feet on creek rocks sick girl

Open river soak sick girl

Soak sick girl

Wade out to the island sick girl

Out bathing in the lightening sick girl

Moonlight hour sick girl

Thunderstorm chest sick girl

Does what she wants sick girl

Worth the work sick girl

Let the storm roll in sick girl

Ready for your shit sick girl

Take up space sick girl

Waste away sick girl

Mandy May is a Baltimore MD based writer and designer. She earned her MFA in Creative Writing & Publishing Arts from the University of Baltimore. She is the author of the poetry chapbook Magic: Moon Tides Sing Violet Petals (Babe Press) and co-curated Nasty: an anthology celebrating dark spirits (Babe Press). Her work can be found in Journal Nine, Yes, Poetry; Ghost City Review; Moonchild Magazine; Breadcrumbs Magazine; The Light Ekphrastic; Baltimore Fishbowl; and elsewhere. She believes in ghosts, magic, and the splendor of a body failing. She has three cats. Follow her on Twitter @mayqueenofbees and Instagram @mandiesel.