#witches for black lives matter

[the-blueprint]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Ebony Jasmine Harris (@thejasminesgarden)

[gent-illmatic]

The time is NOW. 🪄🌿🥔🌾🃏🫗👻🙏🏾💨💭💀✊🏾

[sadderbutwisergirrl]

I cried then I got mad. Let’s go.

[iridesca-conjurecraft]

Made somethin

[crazycatsiren]

Some of y'all are just intimidated by black women in positions of power and authority, and you're scared.

Pathetic.

[thashining]

We are watching history!💅🏾

And its only just getting started👏🏾🙌🏾 Start activating that inner Aquarian Energy yall!♒️♒️

Pluto in Aquarius

[deathofthyego]

Taste, feels and smells like the beginning of a very abundant summer

[theevenusianwitch]

i’m a black queer witch bitch and there is NO place for TERFS or radfems or anyone who literally wants to murder me and anybody like me for existing on this blog. you can get the fuck off here immediately

this blog is safe for everyone except you!

trust you will be dealt with

[spiritusnocturnus]

Introduction Of A Rebel

Since my current incarnation on this planet , I have always questioned the state of living and went beyond societal traditions and trends. The daily status quo of the institutional, religious and political foundations that we are founded upon especially here in America. I've always wondered why do we have to have landlords, why do people have to work long hours every single day or night, where you come home having to repeat the same thing the next day for what they call a minimum wage where it's not even livable but basically chunk change scraps, and more frankly, why is it even nesscary to have money at all as a need to live?

Thinking of current living arrangements and seeing the state of world would only make someone hope for something higher. Growing up in a Christian home, there was always thought for some merciful master (who was good to some who were deserving )sitting watching and waiting and some Jesus figure coming back. Though some things never added up to me upon the Christian path and some things I've outright disliked. Though that all changed upon my spiritual awakening. As I was going through my state of depression I've started deeply involving myself with the Occult and around this time I became very close to the state of death. I became reborn!

I became more infuriated after I seen how the mainstream religions was a tool to keep people in line praying to some hostile entity and to some who think a big white man with a curly beard who lives in the sky who sees and controls everything, how these systems that made me at one point pledge allegiance to a Red, White, and Blue Imperalist flag and how they acted with furious rage when I decided not to stand in school.

When I became more enlightened I understood that we was never taught our true history because not all colored people came from Africa as most if us was already here known as Native Indigenous In the land of what they would call Amaruca , or Amarucanapana (Amaruka) which wasn't named after the Colonizing bastard Coloumbus or Amerigo. Amaruca was known as the land of the feathered Serpent

Us Natives was already here and we had our own spiritual ways, traditions and more. Though to reconnect the dots and see how it has thrown us off track through the Cenus act, spiritually and more. Though the White man's systems where we now pay rent through this Capitalist system, where we have to pay for water and food and where they even profit off our sickness and suffering in healthcare. It didn't make sense to me as a kid and it damn sure doesn't now. Nowadays it's no wonder why I am what I always was unknowingly at a time -A Communist.

Although not following every though from the white Marxist , I am more Spiritual Communist and more of a Spiritual Anarcho Communist that is my true nature and the ways of my Native ancestors. Not the way of the Colonizer Christian who's god is oppresive and surely not the way of a racist bigoted Darwin who is a materialist. I aslo seek Revolution just as my ancestors and others who practice Afro Carribean Spiritually do the only difference is there isn't need for Saints as I deal with those who are Ancestors, Lucifer and what they would call Demons. I am a proud Luciferian and I suppose you can call my Leftist thought and way Spiritusism.

You see instead of always dealing within a failed decaying state of matter, I invest time into what is everlasting to override matter. Not in every case because footwork and action is expected to happen in the means of Revolution and to also to overthrow the Rich Capitalist oppressors and their pawns of the State who are the pigs. I operate more on a higher Quantum and Astral level that is outside the realm of matter. Their god of matter the Demuirge

In fact their Abrahamic Faith's god who goes by many names such as Yahweh, Allah, and as I know it as Yaldabaoth, the Demuirge. That god and it's followers have demonized our Native spiritual practices, Witchcraft, and ways because we wish to be free. Though there is yet another who is demonized within their own Bible who is known as Lucifer. Lucifer according to the Christians is evil being who torment souls in hell when actually the ancient ones known as Gnostics among other from Kemet seen him as a liberator who set Adam and Eve souls free giving them wisdom and power in the Garden of Eden .

I started to understand the Xtians god is the one of flesh and time, he is the true male oriented patriarchal being their god maintains a strict order, wishes to kill everyone who doesnt worship him, kill every first born of Egypt and demands worship. This earth is as he says is his foot stool and his followers were known to oppress throughout history. Whether it was the Catholic Church, Chruxhes, Nazis, KKK or now Maga. This is not the god for the oppressed only for those who are petty Bourgeois and White racist. As John Herny Clarke says how can a slave pray to the same god as his oppressor? It just doesn't make sense. Holy is Political invention from the Church and it is best to be Unholy!

He is not the true omnipresent one because he couldn't even find Adam in the Garden of Eden and furthermore their is source who is over everything including Yahweh, that doesnt demand worship and where all life originated. Sophia -The Monad . The Great Spirit and the life we currently in is of physical dense matter and by default we are not in a true state but in a state of suffering and torment and we must seek to liberate ourselves from the Archons of matter and not see Reincarnation as much as a good thing but this is why it is a must to raise hell against their god, against the Archons whether spiritually or politically especially in this fascist America where they seek to implement Christian Nationalism.

[florida3exclamationpoints]

I have to pick my magic band for Disney and unfortunately little customizable things like this are my favorite things ever so this is one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make in my life

[trials-of-a-spirit-worker]

The Ancestors

I really want to tell y'all something really validating, especially as a Black witch though it's a little sad too. 

You know how we just choose our ancestors? We decide that on these people of the past, the Black people we remember and such, they're our ancestors now?

They do the same to us. 

I was 13. Walking the same footsteps that many slaves had on Washington's plantation. Seeing these little shacks that could barely hold up. Those were where our people slept, spoke of freedoms, whispered fears. That is where they stayed and we're forced to reside. I looked at the fields that our people used to be in.

Spirituals rang in my head that day, songs I've never heard before while I was lingering behind the group. Sounds of whispers and the feeling of eyes laid on me.

Eyes of wonder, amazement, curiosity. They didn't know me, I didn't know them. But in that moment, they understood we had prospered, we were thriving. In that moment, I was their child, I was beyond their wildest dreams. 

Small black girl, cuddled up in warm clothes, not confined to labor, free of chains. Staring back into how far we have come.

As far as I know, I have no connection to that plantation. I don't know where we came from, and I doubt I ever truly will. 

Understand that they had to deal with their friends and families being split apart, sold to another who would brutalize and torture our people, creating hell on earth for us. 

They know we can't find our specific ancestry! They know and just as we reach out to them without a care of how they are connected to us, whether we are truly related or not, they don't care either. They see us, and call us kin and cheer on our prosperity because we are their legacy regardless. 

 We do not claim them. They do not claim us, we just reached and grasped the other side. So if you're willing, reach.

[magicalcrystalsproject]

#Representatividade: Garotas Negras e Empoderadas!!

Eu posso ser uma Garota Branca,Hetero e padrão mas como escritora e fã de franquias para garotas eu percebi que existem pouquíssimas Personagens Principais que são Negras! E quando tem elas tem pouco tempo de tela e isso é revoltante sabe? Então vendo essas situação Eu pensei por que não criar uma personagem Negra que não seja estereotipada e sim uma personagem com uma personalidade real e bem escrita e que represente diversas garotas Negras e que elas se sintam alegres e representadas vendo personagens fortes e independentes!Eu quero criar uma história sobre fadas que todas as garotas se sintam representadas sabe? Quero que independente da Cor,Etnia,Sexualidade e etc... as garotas vejam e digam meu Deus essa personagem me representa eu sou como ela! Isso é mágico e é uma conexão incrível!

[creepymagickshop]

There are no wildlife conservations, those lands are all owned by KKK personal families who defrauded a nation and other nations. Out of their own black supremacy and personal issues, the black supremacists lost everything including their own land because they became extortionists.

[nightshadelemonade]

Let's make this clear and seen for everyone.

I'm lesbian and I support my trans brothers and sisters.

I believe black lives matter.

Autism doesn't make people terrible fucking people.

Most importantly, I'm a witch. I got into paganism and witchcraft back in middle school and picked it back up during the winter solstice, or Yule, as it seemed to call me back during that time.

I wear a pentacle proudly and daily and I do not support the government.

[thetarotman]

Going Forward

I need to keep going forward, moving forward, because I simply cannot stay in bed until 2028.

Are you feeling disappointed in humanity after the Presidential election in the United States? And if you live in the United States, have you begun making plans to leave? Has your faith in humanity vanished? This post is to serve as a beacon of hope, as a reminder of your strength, your resolve, your power. First, I cannot over-recommend you do everything possible to take extra special care of…

[girl-lostconnection]

Hear me out

Bloodhound Knight Johnny x Witch!Reader.

Johnny who lived his whole life being a good instrument for his master, being a proper weapon in other’s hands.

Johnny whose training strips his words from him, his dignity, his honour. Dogs don’t have honour after all.

Dogs hear “bite” and they bite. Dogs hear “run” and they run.

Dogs return to their owners no matter how cruel the hand feeding them is. Because that’s what dogs do. That’s how it works.

Johnny who gets his knee injured badly and suddenly after years of servitude and being a good weapon he’s useless. He’s broken. No one needs a dog that can’t run. No one needs a dog that can’t hunt for its master.

They drop him off somewhere in the wilderness, not letting him keep even his sword, the weapon that became part of him, the weapon hilt of which is soaked in his blood and sweat and tears.

It’s his bloody sword! It’s his weapon! He earned it! Why can’t he keep it? Why isn’t he allowed to keep at least this much?

Why isn’t he allowed to keep anything?

But he’s dropped off in the woods and he doesn’t even know where the fuck he is. He doesn’t know what to do — shame and humiliation choking him out, pain in his knee agonising whenever he tries to hobble somewhere.

Dogs in the wild either die or become feral. Johnny isn’t sure what is better for him. He doesn’t have anything left in him to fight more.

He doesn’t have a reason to. Nobody tells him to bite or to run or to break himself piece by piece.

He’s feverish from pain and he’s hungry, god he’s so fucking hungry.

He hasn’t been so hungry since he was a wee thing and his mum couldn’t feed them more than once per day.

Family too big in a place that’s too cold and too barren to feed them properly. Family without men other than him.

Johnny closes his eyes, looking up at the sky, lips chapped and dry.

He doesn’t really mind dying. But he doesn’t want to be hungry. God he doesn’t want to die hungry, he let people break him to fit in the dog hide so he doesn’t die hungry.

And at the brink of it all. You find him.

You smell like herbs and something citrus-y, sweet and homey scent. Warm scent. Delicious scent.

Johnny tilts his head, not sure whether it not you are another hallucination of his feverish mind. Maybe you are. Well, at least that’s something.

Small mercies for a useless dog like him.

You say something, brows furrowed and eyes wary but Johnny doesn’t have any more energy to attack. There’s no fight left in him.

But you tug on him for some reason, you make him drink something — sweet and tangy, his empty stomach clenching with renewed hunger.

“Look at the state of you. Come on, knight, it’s no place to die. Come on, you need to get up”, you hiss at him, forcing him up and make him drink a little more of whatever you have in the flask of yours.

It dulls his pain a little, it sobers him up, his jaws clacking together, almost biting the tip of his own tongue.

It’s humiliating. He’s been his master’s best dog, the leanest hound, the favourite fucking weapon and now he’s just a broken toy that reeks of sweat and blood and infection, knee throbbing.

You should just leave him here. You should let him die.

But you don’t.

You force him to walk, hissing back when he clacks his jaws at you — his leg making the hobble a right bloody adventure but you are relentless. Pouring your drink down his throat, pulling him further in the woods.

Johnny thinks he blacked out for a while because the next time he’s out of delirium he’s lying on the bed, fire cracking in the heath.

His armour propped on the chair next to the bed.

You didn’t take it away. Why didn’t you take it away? He doesn’t deserve it. He’s a bad dog, a weak dog, a useless dog.

Can’t you see his knee? Don’t you know that he won’t be a good weapon for you, witch? What’s use to save him if he’s not useful?

But you don’t allow him to wallow in his own misery, spoon feeding him your weird fucking medicine, making him eat and pushing out of the house so he sits on the fallen tree.

“Some fresh air will do you good”, you hum matter-of-factly and he snarls at you, but it’s half-hearted at best. More for the show and you know it so well it’s infuriating.

You thrust watering can in his hands when he’s out of the woods and no longer risking to fall when he stands up too fast. Johnny looks at it, bewildered and looks back at you, earning himself an exasperated sigh and “water plants around yourself, you big oaf. Yeah, these ones near the log you sit on”.

Johnny feels fucking ridiculous sitting on the bloody log and watering plants around himself. Who the fuck is he? A garden gnome?

Johnny who doesn’t know what use he is to you but you come up with tasks for him and even if he finds them ridiculous…he’s not gonna turn his nose away from work.

You feed him, you house him, you patch up his clothing and make a polish for his armour. You save him for some unknown reason so if you say “water the rosemary, oaf” he’s going to water the rosemary.

His knee slowly gets better but the damage unfortunately is irreversible. He doesn’t lose his leg entirely but you quietly announce that he’s not gonna be able to run again.

Johnny nods, swallowing down his anger and bitterness, back of his throat hurting and spasming, bile rising up.

It’s not fair. He was a good dog, he was the best dog. It’s not fair that he won’t run again.

But you still push him to move, lending your shoulder when he awkwardly stumbles and limps, making ointments for his knee, teaching him how to bandage the thing properly.

He lives through the whole summer with you — sleeping in your bed, eating food you grow, watching you silently.

It’s not until first snow he starts speaking again, the first time scaring the living day out of you — his voice a raspy and wrong thing.

He haven’t used it in 20 years.

But he does now. Starts with clipped “yeah” and “nae”, building up to “thank you” and “morning”. He doesn’t talk much but he does talk and that’s already more than before.

More than he was allowed.

You teach him proper sheep shearing and with your combined efforts he gets himself a warm winter cloak. Then a sweater. Then another one.

It’s foreign and the clothes are warm, keeping him from shivering in winds that grow colder when he cleans the pathway to your house from snow.

You keep him warm.

The thought is a sharp thorn that grows in his mind, poking from inside, something long forgotten inside of him watching you with new intensity.

He still sleeps in your bed with you taking a small cot in the kitchen which wasn’t an issue during summer but winters are cold and when he notices the slight shiver that goes through you…

You keep him warm. It’s only fair if he repays the favour.

You wake up warm and fuzzy from sleep, mind hazy, eyes bleary and you aren’t sure why are you so warm, kitchen cools off during the night. Usually you are shivering when you wake up.

Someone’s breathing tickles your ear and you freeze, turning your head — Johnny’s impossibly blue eyes staring right back at you. Watching you with the same intensity hounds do when they lock in on the target.

With the same quiet obsession stray dogs that adore their owners have.

“What are you doing?”, you murmur quietly, voice husky from sleep, eyes squinting at him.

“Nothing”

Johnny isn’t sure what to do with the hot shiver he feels at the sound of your voice, so he just nudges you back under the blanket and to his absolute delight you comply.

Face pressing into his chest, dozing off in a matter of seconds.

Johnny wraps his arms tighter around you, warm and comfortable. You are soft in his hands, his fingers sinking in the softer parts of your body and god, you still smell good.

Herbs and dried citrus. Homey. Delicious.

Johnny guards you while you sleep, starting to move only when you stir awake. You got your rest. Wonderful.

Johnny nuzzles in your neck, lips mouthing at soft skin and he’s not sure what he’s doing or where he needs to go from there. But you make a soft breathy sound when he licks a wet stripe on your skin and he growls in appreciation.

Maybe it would’ve been better if you were like his previous master. Maybe it would’ve been better if you told him to bite or to run.

Maybe it would’ve been better if you chose his new purpose for him.

But you didn’t. So he chooses it himself.

Johnny’s palms slide under the thin fabric of your shirt, his body nudging your legs open so he can settle in between — slowly sliding under the blankets.

Yeah, he chose alright. Maybe his pretty witch doesn’t need a weapon. Or a dog. Or an instrument to use.

But he needs you.

Johnny rumbles out “bonnie” when he looks back up at you, eyes heavy and hungry.

Didn’t you know that hounds sink their teeth into their prey and don’t let go? Should’ve known better.

Now you aren’t getting rid of him.

Continuation