My dearest wish when I was little, was to be Samantha from Bewitched. I practiced twinkling my nose for hours with unsatisfactory results.

If you are taking the time to read my bio, there is something I want you to know that will shift your life, just a little, but enough to break a lifelong poison spell and it’s this—there is a mistaken belief that when we grow up, we must grow out of whimsy, wonder and love of beautiful things. You see, this belief has made it so the best parts of ourselves could be easily dismissed, shamed and neglected. The parts that love glitter, hobbit holes and still believe in magic.

At one time, magic was just a part of daily life. We grew herbs for cooking along with the poison Foxglove, Belladonna, and Amanita mushrooms. We knew that the balance of the functional and magical were both parts of the same enchanted life. We taught our daughters how to do fairy magic, cast spells and told them the stories of our ancestors. Part of that lineage was the ability to see our place among others, but most importantly within ourselves.

But these magical stories were stolen, erased and twisted into tales that shame, frighten and control. When a community’s stories are erased, their magic is erased too.

I believed for too long that my stories didn’t matter because they were silly, childish and pointless. But that was the poison spell talking. I was under the dark magic. But there was a tiny little voice that never gave up calling to me, whispering in my ear. She said, “Wake up dear one. Wake up. Your stories matter. We need you.” She said it over and over. And one day I heard her—let’s call her Grandmother Goose—she told me the sacred stories are in my bones. They live in my heart as a gift to be reclaimed by the grandmothers who came before me, who tucked their babies snug in their beds each night, warning them of the wolves that prowl the edge of the forest under the moonlight.

My bio is that one night I listened to the call from the grandmothers who reminded me of my magic and told me that reclaiming it means putting my stories on paper. You see, words have power. Words are spell craft. Words are the expression of embodied magic.

All you need to know about me is that I have reclaimed the lineage of my grandmothers, and that I am a spell caster and weaver. I am the keeper of the magic, whimsy and wonder so I may use these gifts to restore our power to one another.

So in the end, I didn’t become Samantha. I became Endora culling the Durwoods and holding Aunt Agatha’s hand so her magic matters too.

May you uncover your sacred magic too. May you inherit the tales of bewitching by the grandmothers. Come with me. I will show you how. There may or may not be magic mushrooms involved.

Oh, and I have degrees in Cultural Anthropology, Art History, and Writing Popular Fiction. Learning skills helps focus and uncover the truth hidden between the lines. xo