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.

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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.