Forget Me Not
—Ann Plato

When in the morning’s misty hour,
When the sun beams gently o’er each flower;
When thou dost cease to smile benign,
And think each heart responds with thine,
When seeking rest among divine,
Forget me not.

When the last rays of twilight fall,
And thou art pacing yonder hall;
When mists are gathering on the hill,
Nor sound is heard save mountain rill,
When all around bids peace be still,
Forget me not.

When the first star with brilliance bright,
Gleams lonely o’er the arch of night;
When the bright moon dispels the gloom,
And various are the stars that bloom,
And brighten as the sun at noon,
Forget me not.

When solemn sighs the hollow wind,
And deepen’d thought enraps the mind;
If e’er thou doest in mournful tone,
E’er sigh because thou feel alone,
Or wrapt in melancholy prone,
Forget me not. 

When bird does wait thy absence long,
Nor tend unto its morning song;
While thou art searching stoic page,
Or listening to an ancient sage,
Whose spirit curbs a mournful rage,
Forget me not.

Then when in silence thou doest walk,
Nor being round with whom to talk;
When thou art on the mighty deep,
And do in quiet action sleep;
If we no more on earth do meet,
Forget me not.

When brightness round thee long shall bloom,
And knelt remembering those in gloom;
And when in deep oblivion’s shade,
This breathless, mouldering form is laid,
And thy terrestrial body staid,
Forget me not.

“Should sorrow cloud thy coming years,
And bathe thy happiness in tears,
Remember, though we’re doom’d to part,
There lives one fond and faithful heart,
That will forget thee not.”

Red Wine Spills
—L. Ash Williams

I am hovering over this rug
with a hair dryer on high in my hand
I have finally, inevitably, spilled
red wine on this impractically white
housewarming hand-me-down from my cousin, who
clearly, and incorrectly, thought this was a good idea

With the help of a little panic,
sparkling water and a washcloth,
I am stunned by how quickly the wine washes out,
how I was sure this mistake would find me
every day with its gaping mouth, reminding me
of my own propensity for failure
and yet, here I am
with this clean slate

The rug is made of fur,
which means it died
to be here

It reminds me of my own survival
and everyone who has taught me
to shake loose the shadow of death

I think of inheritance, how this rug
was passed on to me through blood,
how this animal gave its blood
so that I may receive the gift of its death
and be grateful for it

I think of our inability
to control stories of origin
how history does not wash away
with water and a good scrub

I think of evolution,
what it means to make it through
this world with your skin intact,
how flesh is fragile
but makes a needle and thread
of itself when necessary

I think of all that I have inherited,
all the bodies buried for me to be here
and stay here, how I was born with grief
and gratitude in my bones

And I think of legacy,
how I come from a long line of sorcerers
who make good work of building
joy from absolutely nothing

And what can I do with that
but pour another glass,
thank the stars
for this sorceress blood
and keep pressing forward

I have finally, inevitably, spilled
red wine on this impractically white
housewarming hand-me-down from my cousin, who
clearly, and incorrectly, thought this was a good idea

With the help of a little panic,
sparkling water and a washcloth,
I am stunned by how quickly the wine washes out,
how I was sure this mistake would find me
every day with its gaping mouth, reminding me
of my own propensity for failure
and yet, here I am
with this clean slate

The rug is made of fur,
which means it died
to be here

It reminds me of my own survival
and everyone who has taught me
to shake loose the shadow of death

I think of inheritance, how this rug
was passed on to me through blood,
how this animal gave its blood
so that I may receive the gift of its death
and be grateful for it

I think of our inability
to control stories of origin
how history does not wash away
with water and a good scrub

I think of evolution,
what it means to make it through
this world with your skin intact,
how flesh is fragile
but makes a needle and thread
of itself when necessary

I think of all that I have inherited,
all the bodies buried for me to be here
and stay here, how I was born with grief
and gratitude in my bones

And I think of legacy,
how I come from a long line of sorcerers
who make good work of building
joy from absolutely nothing

And what can I do with that
but pour another glass,
thank the stars
for this sorceress blood
and keep pressing forward

Today I saw yet another post on Tumblr with a link to a site with “Free PDFs of Witchy Books!”, which had over 93,000 notes (likes and reblogs, for those not familiar with Tumblr speak).

Many of the books on this list are still in print, and the publishers are fairly vigorous about enforcing copyright and taking anti-piracy measures. Publishers share these links and lists with each other, because while we’re all competing for the same audience, we’re also trying to stay in business, individually and collectively.

If you want to read books for free, check them out from your local library. If your library doesn’t have one, ask about inter-library loan.

Check out Libby, an app that lets you check out ebooks and audio books for free from your local library.

Every time you download a book for free, you are picking the author’s pocket. You wouldn’t like it if someone stole your work, so why are you okay with stealing someone else’s work?

Speaking as a publisher, I pay a lot of money to bring a book into print and ebook form. My authors spend years writing, and the artists spend a great deal of their time creating the art.  When people pirate our books, I’m unable to cover the costs to create new books, and my authors and artists make no money. Right now, we have no new projects in the queue because, like most small businesses, we’ve been slammed by the pandemic, sales are down, and people still think it’s okay to pirate our titles.

If you want the information, pay for it. If you can’t pay for it, borrow it from your public library. But don’t pirate it—that’s theft, and what you are saying is that you are the kind of person who is okay that their spiritual practice is based on theft of others’ work.

And I bet that most of the people who pirate the books are also super-concerned about spiritual theft due to cultural appropriation.

Theft is theft.

Have a nice day.

“Stories like yours and worse than yours are all around, and your suffering won’t mark you out as special, though your response to it might.”
—Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby

Your brokenness does not make you special. Your brokenness is something that happened to you, but it is not the only thing that determines who you are.

Sometimes, we become so attached to our broken self that we refuse (consciously or otherwise) to engage in healing work because our brokenness is so tied to our identity, we don’t know who we are without it—and can’t imagine a new, healthier self.

Healing is then a frightening prospect, because it requires us to take action, to take responsibility for our well-being, and to find new ways of being and living that move us beyond our broken condition. As long as we stay broken, we don’t have to do anything except continue in our brokenness.

Our circumstances may be awful, and we may be miserable, but it’s familiar, even if it’s not comfortable.

We keep ourselves trapped in a negative comfort zone because we can’t imagine life being any other way.

Often, we’re told to imagine our best life and best self, and make those our goal. If you’re unemployed, poor, and depressed, that goal seems impossible.

Start with one thing. One achievable thing. It could be as simple as consistently doing the dishes each day before you go to bed, so they don’t stack up in the sink. Or changing your sheets once a week so your bed is pleasant. Or even just putting on shoes and walking around the block once a day so you’re not completely cut off from the world.

You’re not going to dramatically recreate your entire life in one day, but you can do one small thing each day to make a change, and those changes will accrue into a noticeable difference. And then you’ll find it easier to start working on other, larger changes. By doing one thing at a time, and letting those things accumulate, you can create a new life and a healthier self.

Choose to heal and be more your better self, and less your broken self.