Recording artist, novelist, and drag priestess Alexis Blair Penney sheds light on his Wiccan ways.
For years I was a spiritual wanderer. I dabbled in Wicca when I was young, but was discouraged from it by my mother before I was confirmed in the Methodist church. At 18 I lived with a would-be cult leader who informed me he was an envoy from the 15th dimension sent to teach me how to levitate and time travel, but I had to kick him out after two months—he was definitely psychic but also a mess.
My life changed when I stumbled on Starhawk’s 1977 neo-Pagan treatise The Spiral Dance, in which she eloquently and matter-of-factly describes a revived but ancient tradition of connecting with the rhythms, the elements, and nature, embodied within the immanent metaphysical Goddess. Wicca means to bend, shape, or move. The ritual process is diverse and open to interpretation, including movement, song, meditation, and visualization, for the purposes of uniting the disparate parts of the self in union with the natural rhythms of life.
I realized I’d been practicing magic for years without knowing it, entreating the universe in various ways to shape itself to my will. Once I even masturbated onto a sigil I drew of my ex-boyfriend’s name and the words “Come back” and sealed it in a box of his things. Miraculously, the worst thing that happened was I developed a spontaneous and never-before-seen mole in the exact private place where he also has one. I took it as a warning. Wiccans forbid the use of magic for selfish or malicious ends, insisting that everything you put out into the world will eventually return.
Following my new passion, I found myself the only male in a dark ante-room off of an occult bookstore on a chilly spring day in Bushwick with several mostly older women of various backgrounds. I was attending a workshop series on creating ritual in the Reclaiming tradition, a collective which Starhawk helped to found. We were led by an experienced priestess appropriately called BrightFlame, who, for four weeks, with a soft voice and appropriately flashing eyes, taught us how to ground and center our connection to the earth, cast a circle, open to divine guidance, and craft and practice Wiccan ritual, guiding the energies of the elements for creative and restorative purposes. The experience was invigorating and powerful, but my practice remains mostly solitary. I track the cycles of the moon, pray and burn offerings to the Goddess, and generally try to invoke and connect with Her and the elements in everything I do.
The full moon just happened this Monday past. It was a heavy one, and I know I’m not the only one feeling the ramifications of all the tumult and upheaval in the world. This Monday, though I didn’t get time to practice ritual, I was lucky enough not only to have sex with an infrequent booty call, but also share energy with the audience at my favorite drag show, lip-synching and belting my lungs out about lovers I’ve wronged and who’ve wronged me, all while mostly nude. But it’s been over a week since I had some time with Her, so tonight I’ll sit before my altar, light candles, burn some cedar and sage, and cast a circle; move energy through me and my tools—wands, stones, a ritual dagger—to cleanse and purify myself so that I may more fully be Her vessel.
In Wicca we affirm the interconnectedness and sanctity of all life, and are passionately committed to enact the Goddess’ work on earth, guiding us someday back to the principles of equality, connection, and love. The interconnectedness of all beings can often manifest as stress, too, so as the moon wanes, fee
For years I was a spiritual wanderer. I dabbled in Wicca when I was young, but was discouraged from it by my mother before I was confirmed in the Methodist church. At 18 I lived with a would-be cult leader who informed me he was an envoy from the 15th dimension sent to teach me how to levitate and time travel, but I had to kick him out after two months—he was definitely psychic but also a mess.
My life changed when I stumbled on Starhawk’s 1977 neo-Pagan treatise The Spiral Dance, in which she eloquently and matter-of-factly describes a revived but ancient tradition of connecting with the rhythms, the elements, and nature, embodied within the immanent metaphysical Goddess. Wicca means to bend, shape, or move. The ritual process is diverse and open to interpretation, including movement, song, meditation, and visualization, for the purposes of uniting the disparate parts of the self in union with the natural rhythms of life.
I realized I’d been practicing magic for years without knowing it, entreating the universe in various ways to shape itself to my will. Once I even masturbated onto a sigil I drew of my ex-boyfriend’s name and the words “Come back” and sealed it in a box of his things. Miraculously, the worst thing that happened was I developed a spontaneous and never-before-seen mole in the exact private place where he also has one. I took it as a warning. Wiccans forbid the use of magic for selfish or malicious ends, insisting that everything you put out into the world will eventually return.
Following my new passion, I found myself the only male in a dark ante-room off of an occult bookstore on a chilly spring day in Bushwick with several mostly older women of various backgrounds. I was attending a workshop series on creating ritual in the Reclaiming tradition, a collective which Starhawk helped to found. We were led by an experienced priestess appropriately called BrightFlame, who, for four weeks, with a soft voice and appropriately flashing eyes, taught us how to ground and center our connection to the earth, cast a circle, open to divine guidance, and craft and practice Wiccan ritual, guiding the energies of the elements for creative and restorative purposes. The experience was invigorating and powerful, but my practice remains mostly solitary. I track the cycles of the moon, pray and burn offerings to the Goddess, and generally try to invoke and connect with Her and the elements in everything I do.
The full moon just happened this Monday past. It was a heavy one, and I know I’m not the only one feeling the ramifications of all the tumult and upheaval in the world. This Monday, though I didn’t get time to practice ritual, I was lucky enough not only to have sex with an infrequent booty call, but also share energy with the audience at my favorite drag show, lip-synching and belting my lungs out about lovers I’ve wronged and who’ve wronged me, all while mostly nude. But it’s been over a week since I had some time with Her, so tonight I’ll sit before my altar, light candles, burn some cedar and sage, and cast a circle; move energy through me and my tools—wands, stones, a ritual dagger—to cleanse and purify myself so that I may more fully be Her vessel.
In Wicca we affirm the interconnectedness and sanctity of all life, and are passionately committed to enact the Goddess’ work on earth, guiding us someday back to the principles of equality, connection, and love. The interconnectedness of all beings can often manifest as stress, too, so as the moon wanes, fee