Burn me Alive, Why Don’t You

Witches and the Paralysis of Fear

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A Journal entry from may 10, 2025

The grief of losing everything.

That is what my body, my cells, my memory is grappling with right now.
Sifting through it so it can let go as it needs to.

What does it mean to lose everything?

Why is it that I feel that so deeply in my body, like the echo of a gong from lifetimes before?

The Persecution wound.

The memory of being flogged and dragged through the streets surfaces.

The memory of being humiliated for my gifts, my ability to read the stars, to create remedy with plants. There are parts of me where that memory is still alive. It lives on.

And yet, at such a distance in this modern-day lifetime. That was ages ago. Cycles ago.

Every cell of my body still remembers.

Blossoming will bring me pain.

This is more than a fear of ‘coming out’ as myself — of blossoming in the Springtime of my life. These are real, witchy, ancestral chains that bind me. These are deep. pervasive.

The memories feel so visceral, so close to the surface, they hold more logic and weight than any modern anxiety that plagues me (will people show up? will I fail in front of everyone? am I prepared?)

This is the root of fear within my body. In the memory of lifetimes ago. The fear of persecution is ever so much more laden with rippling memory of loss and destruction.

Entire towns burning.

Babies lost.

My daughter lost.

Humiliation and sickness and infections and all sorts of atrocity sweeps across the landscape of human life.

This is where the fear lies.

And interestingly, as I zero in on the tragedy of lifetimes ago, I feel myself come back into my body for the first time in days. I feel my arms that feel heavy and the waist that feels thick with cortisol. The legs that feel laden from carrying a weight of two hundred years. Of lifetimes, carried over.

This is deeper than just seeking rest. This is more than ‘feeling the fear and doing it anyway.’

To move forward here is a rebellious act against all things that have kept us quiet.
That have kept the healers quiet.

This is the rising.

The tide where we swell and drown the energy that has kept us oppressed for centuries. This is where we spread our wings and step into the centre.

It is not about feeling courageous in the face of fear.
It’s about feeling feral.
It’s an all-out war-cry to what has kept us down, kept us in the dark, kept us silent.

This is where we rise.