Snake Oil
from ‘Mother Witch’ by Lynae Marie
I’m sourcing ingredients for snake oil. I have my great-great Grandmother’s recipe in my hot little hands and I’m not stopping until I’ve brewed the most potent batch of Lilithian cure-all this wicked world has even tasted. And I don’t care if I’m called a ‘fraud’, ‘phony’ or ‘imposter’... for we wise, womxn-folk have been called much worse over the years in an attempt to stamp out our healing magick.
Yes, this is an elixir for the ages. A soothsayers liniment, with the potential to sear the wool from sheep’s eyes and elicit a new-found, deep-knowing in the masses. It goes without saying, I’ll need to triple the recipe…
I’ve tucked both my babes into bed for the night and I see the Long Night’s Moon has become full, which means it’s time for this Mother Witch to discard the prosaic mask-of-the-day that got me through errands and around-town niceties, and draw all my energies inward, bringing my focus to this Yule-time craft.
I’ll sit here near the hearth, as these antique, mercury-glass bottles sit on the windowsill, each collecting a single drop of frozen moon milk. This is the first ingredient. And as I wait, I’ll be whisper-chanting the song my ancestors taught me near Samhain. They told me this melody was medicine and I may use it to infuse all my deeper workings with the vibratory essence of blood, bone and ash from my matrilineal line. And so I do. And so they sing with me. And like snakes intertwining to procreate, our lilting song slither-weaves into every vessel, filling it ¼ full, not a bit more.
What’s next? Ahh, yes. It’s time to visit my ‘bottled tears’ collection. Hmmm, oh yes, here: I’ll need a dash of childhood trauma tears, some teen angst, most of the heartbreak tears and all those shed for the collective ache of the mother wound and the rage-cried ones against the patriarchy. That ought to do it. The recipe says to fill halfway, but you have to do it WHILE your familiars are frolicking with the house ghosts, in order to properly stir the spirits, so I’ll just sit and hand-poke sigils of blessed-longing into the corks while I wait.
Now, the last ingredient is my favorite. It’s also the most elusive additive, as it can only be wild-harvested from the metaphoric pages of one’s personal mythologies. It is the dust off of every womxn who has gotten back up and shook it off. It is the prowess they have exuded when they finally walked away. And it is the righteous glory they have known as they shed their skin and rebirthed into the promise of Spring that awaited them on the other side of the void. (It just so happens, I collect such stories).
Combine all ingredients, filling just to the rim. Insert charmed-cork. Shake gently.
This is the heart-crafted gift I am offering all the wild ones and witches of the world this Yule. 100% pure snake oil, heals instantaneously! May you Ssssslather it on thick or slowly sip this lunar decoction, letting the medicine coil pensively around your heart.
(For blindness, try my scorpion tincture).
Blessed be and howl to thee.