“I’ve had so many lives since I was a child, and I realize how many times I’ve died.”

I am an acclaimed psychotherapist, although few outside my field have heard of me.  My services are exclusive, reserved for a coven of one, an influential witch named Dita.

In the mid 1980’s the woman who would become my only client began suffering from chronic soar throats that were affecting her voice, jeopardizing her livelihood.  Doctors performed multiple tests, but results came back inconclusive or ideal for a healthy young woman in her twenties.  Worst of all, despite the countless treatments, nothing soothed her pain…  Dita’s symptoms appeared to be psychosomatic, her imagination.

By the time I began treating Dita in 1989, her life was unraveling.  She was hounded relentlessly by paparazzi and fans alike, attempting to balance fame and a very public divorce.  Amid the chaos, her throat was getting worse.  Speaking, let alone singing, had become unbearable.  She found it difficult to breath at times and began experiencing night terrors, where she’d wake up gasping for air and holding her throat.

Trauma can remain dormant in the subconscious for years yet manifest physically.  From the onset of Dita’s treatment, I frequently used hypnosis.  I’d hoped to isolate a forgotten memory or fear.  Instead, I discovered what I initially thought were multiple personalities.

Over several sessions, I noticed that when hypnotized Dita’s accent was starting to change.  She was sounding more Russian.

I questioned the change.  When awake, Dita didn’t recall or understand why she’d spoken with a Russian accent.  When hypnotized, she just ignored me all together.

But then one session, when the accent was thickest, instead of asking why Dita sounded Russian, I asked, “Who am I speaking to?”

Dita didn’t reply at first, but I noticed her smirk.  A few seconds later, she revealed, “My name is Anastasia.  I am twelve of thirteen.”

…

Over the two decades I treated her, twelve past lives surfaced in Dita, all members of an exclusive coven of one.  Most were historically significant, famous women with polarizing reputations.  All had secrets they wanted to tell, records they were eager to set straight.

The collective life span of the coven of one dates back to the origins of man… and witch.

Through Dita I discovered a place called Eden. I’d learn a woman named Eve was murdered in her garden, and a despondent God, mourning the loss, left Earth to Adam.

Sigmund the Spaniard

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.

Respectfully,

Man on the Moon.