Before disappearing behind a cloud, Dita replied, “Of course, Truman, Earth is your home.”
“Would you build me a bridge, if I asked you too?”
Dita understood I didn’t mean literally, so she smiled and replied, “Depends where you’re traveling, Truman.”
“Back to Earth,” I clarified with a grin. “Would you build me a bridge should I return from the moon?”
My eyes grew heavy, my thoughts effervescent. Before slipping into my slumber, Dita blanketed me with a parting spell…
“Although you are waning, when I think of you, I will start to glow…”
When I was alive, I believed that witches were loveless old hags who preyed on children and worshiped Satan. This stereotype, I’ve since discovered, couldn’t be further from the truth.
Not only are witches caring and often beautiful, they’re also extremely devoted to God… or rather, God’s return.
I wouldn’t compare witches to nuns; they live by a very different code. But I’d argue nuns look spoon-fed when compared to the sacrifices of the witch.
I’m more inclined to compare witches to warriors. While she may not wield a sword or slay her opponent on a battlefield, a witch’s wounds run deep, and her threshold for pain is unparalleled.
I was once an altar boy who aspired to be a priest. I never consider myself the haunting kind, never imagined that in death I’d be defending witches… But unique circumstances have brought me here.
This blog is a chronicle of my mystical journey, my travels through time with witch named Dita.
Our story offers a different take on the dark and a caution about the light.
This is the truth about witches, the unsung daughters of God.
“You will find the gate that’s open, even though your spirit’s broken”
There is a legend about a song that travels in the air that has circled Earth for generations. It was here before Machu Picchu, Stonehenge, and the Terracotta Army, and has endured the most brutal storms, and the rise of man. Despite its journeys, few have ever hummed this song. Men cannot hear it; they are tone deaf to the notes. And only the most powerful women, the witches among us, can decipher the chords.
When I was a boy, my grandmother told me this story while watching a lunar eclipse. I had several question, but asked first, “Who wrote the song?”
My grandmother smirked and replied, “a great soldier with a poet’s heart. He composed the song for the Queen he had sworn to protect. The song a chronicle of the 7 apocalyptic days that followed her murder… God was so moved by the soldier’s chords, the song was spared. Today, the song is all that remains of Eden.”
“Eden,” I questioned? “Like in the bible?”
“Like the bible,” my grandmother confirmed.
I flipped through the memories of my Sunday school lessons. “I don’t remember Eve being murdered,” I said.
“The bible has been rewritten many times, by many men,” my grandmother schooled. “Many verses have been misplaced and misconstrued along the way.”
“But who would murder Eve,” I asked? “I bet it was Able.”
“That riddle has yet to be solved,” she replied. “But the song is key, only Eve can hear it.”
“But she’s dead,” I questioned. “How can Eve hear it?”
Standing there with my grandmother, basking in the lunar eclipse, I though of Mr. Willard, a custodian at my school who was a photographer by hobby. Mother Superior allowed Mr. Willard to convert a cellar closet into a dark room. I loved watching stills develop. There was something magical about a landscape or smile coming to life under Mr. Willard’s red light.
When the lunar eclipse peaked that night, it was as though the world had been transformed into Mr. Willard’s dark room. The eclipsing moon ignited the horizon, casting a thousand shades of red that seemed to bring my young life into perspective.
“We keep coming back. Each of having a lesson to learn,” my grandmother said. “Eve is alive living amongst men.”
“But how do you know,” I asked.
My grandmother gave my hand a squeeze, smiled and said, “You are the song, the witch’s muse – the soldier of Eve.”
I didn’t questioned what my grandmother any further, but I though about Eve. I wondered, what would Eve be like today? What would she say…?
Although I am a Madonna fan, I accept not liking Madonna’s music or voice. People like music for different reasons, and Madonna is not the most talented musician, vocalist, or lyricist (she’s admitted as much).
Trashing musicians (let alone the most vile of them all “pop stars”) is also not exclusive to Madonna, but there has always been something especially pitchforky in the collective tone when it comes to her. After 30 years, I’ve heard most of the arguments against her, including but not limited to: Madonna is an irrelevant, manipulative, lip synching, untalented, materialistic opportunist who perpetuates the objectification of women and has forever ruined music.
Recently, however, press coverage and public discourse regarding Madonna has also had an undercurrent of “isn’t she gone yet?” with a splash of “pinch me, I think she’s irrelevant, and here’s my hour long dissertation and handout notes explaining why…”
Case in point. After originally reading the reviews of Madonna’s then forthcoming album, MDNA, I was eager to hear it. There were the typical pointed, not-so-kind reviews that seemed more personal than objective, but overall feedback was positive or positive-leaning. Consensus was that Madonna was in her element, creating good dance music again. Sold.
Naturally, the 20% of the reviews that were bad took up 80% of the coverage and 99% of the conversation. After news outlets begrudgingly reported that Madonna’s album debuted at number #1 on Billboard, the following week they were in a frenzy, stumbling over themselves to brand her an “epic fail”, because her album fell to #8 on the charts… marking the largest decline in one week sales for a #1 album in Billboard history.
Surely, the end was nigh. The hour was upon us. It was best to lock up the children.
I was struck by the jubilation in the narrative, like a battle against Medusa had just been won. Add to the media’s coverage the growing chorus of people eager to proclaim her finally a failure, and I likened Madonna to a witch being marched through a mob…
“We demand an end to Madonna’s evil disco tyranny. We will settle for nothing less than the Queen of Pop’s head on a platter!”
Fine. Let’s do this. I’m tired of fighting. But before we proceed, I just have one question for the mob…
What egregious crime has Madonna committed?
Is it her lyrics? Because if you actually listen to her music, she’s mostly singing about love and acceptance. There are worse things to condemn.
Is it her ambition? In America we honor hard work, ingenuity, and accomplishments. If Madonna were an Olympian, and ticket / album sales were a competition, career longevity was the marathon to be won, Madonna would be holding the gold. We’d erect statues in her name.
Is it because she’s annoying or offensive? Really? Look in the mirror and ask yourself, “Is my pitchfork and bad breath inviting to others?”
Is it her political and religious views? Hmmm, we may be getting somewhere…
Is it because Madonna is a woman?
Madonna hasn’t always been in her 50’s, but she’s pretty much always been written off as a has-been past her prime. She has always been a woman not to be taken seriously, because Madonna is a woman selling her sex, and by that I mean – womankind.
Whether you think she has helped or hurt the women’s movement, maybe we can agree – Madonna is an extreme, the counter Adam… Eve, the original good girl gone wild.
Madonna personifies what women have historically been told they couldn’t be (and after years of “progress” shouldn’t be): aggressive, independent, strong willed, and proud.
Madonna is living proof that it’s okay to be both powerful and girly. You can like girly things, sing girly songs, and hang with girly boys. You can be a girl that kisses girls, because there’s nothing wrong with being and loving a girl.
And in the process of being unabashedly unashamed of being a woman, Madonna committed the egregious act worthy of a mob. She became the undisputed top selling female recording artist in history… emasculating her detractors.
Admittedly, I find it odd that in my 40’s, I’m defending Madonna. Take comfort, over the years I’ve placed much emphasis on the question, why do I even care? Clearly, she’s doing just fine without my defense. But it wasn’t until recently, with ageism now added to the chorus, calls from the mob for Madonna “to start acting her age”, that I began to realize why I care…
Turns out, why I care is the same reason I’m a Madonna fan, why in my 40’s I’m still eagerly buying the optimism she’s selling. Because I hate bullies. I hate judgement. And I hate hate.
Madonna is a lesson to be learned and appreciated. She is proof that with hard work, creativity, and perseverance, a girl from Detroit can conquer the world, even when faced with a growing mob. But we don’t celebrate Madonna. She is an epic fail, a woman to be marched through the mob and spat upon, to be judged and ridiculed for our pleasure.
Ignore and discount Madonna’s accomplishments. They don’t matter. Not here. We damn Madonna for being unconventional. She is un-American for daring to be free.
Madonna is a witch, and an old one at that.
I’d like to leave the mob with a cautionary reminder about persecuting witches. Their trials tend to be less about justice and more about the mob.
Madonna isn’t an evil disco Queen feeding on youth. She is the mirror on the wall, reflecting how you choose to see her and react.
I won’t begrudge you the music that finds you inspired, the fairy-God diva that helps you envision a better you to a disco beat. So don’t begrudge me Madonna.
The Lady has earned her spot on this dance floor.
Stop being a bully. Grow up and dance.
Progressive politics and the politics of Madonna are the subject of “Guy Penn & the Gospel According to Madonna” written by Damon Wallace.
Guy Penn 