I loved my altar. It was nestled away in the corner of my room, but it was never far from my thoughts. It was dedicated to The Lady, who I also loved, but more than that, it was a physical representation of who I was. Elaine. Witch. Priestess. Sorceress. Diviner of fortunes. Caster of spells. Weaver of charms. Daughter of The Lady.
It was constructed out of an old wooden chest, in which I stored all my ritual paraphernalia; my robe and cloak, charm bags, tarot decks, crystal ball, runes, dried herbs, magical oils, bell and drum. The top was covered with a brightly coloured cloth and decorated with flowers. On top of that I had numerous candles, each with their own unique purpose, as well as stones, crystals, feathers and incense. In the centre was a chalice of water next to which was a small dish of salt.
The main point of focus though was a tattered postcard which I had framed, showing a stone statue of a woman, grey in colour but stained with age in places. However, her robes were still clearly defined, as was her expression of “knowing”. Her long wavy tresses cascaded from beneath her hood down to her waist. Her face was youthful and a hint of a smile played on her lips, though her eyes betrayed her true age and strength. She was standing in what looked to be a forest, making her appear shrouded in a blanket of varying shades of green.
This is how I envisaged The Lady. Queen of nature, timeless, enduring, possessing power beyond my comprehension. She was the Mistress of the Mysteries, Keeper of Wisdom, Bearer of Secrets, the ultimate wielder of the earth’s magic. The Lady commanded the elements. Air, Fire, Water and Earth did her bidding, and the Moon and Stars which were her symbols, served as a reminder that in the dark there is always light. Always.
It was to The Lady that I dedicated my altar, my practice, my magic, myself. I was Elaine, Priestess of the Lady, honoured by her ceaseless blessings, and her servant for all time.