Now’s probably a good time to remind everyone to check/refresh the wards on your home or wherever you do this work. Be sure that you’re rested, grounded, and in a comfortable position. Maybe wrap up in a blanket or cloak and grasp a stone or talisman that matters to you. Grow your roots, send them deep into the soil, let them intertwine with, and grow small hairs to attach to, the mycelia in your own landbase.
Anchor yourself firmly to your landbase. Notice a small detail that will call you back when this working is finished.
Ground and center. Cast a circle.
As you move to our American plain on the astral plane, you can see again the safe hillock where you do your work. You can see the five giant banners, shining in the sky: Walden Pond, the Underground Railroad, the Cowboy, the Salmon, and Lady Liberty. Do they seem more defined since we began our work? Do they have anything special to tell you this week?
For a few moments, just sit on your hillock and allow yourself to become comfortable. This place should be feeling very real to you by now; we’ve been working together to create it for months and months. What’s become familiar to you? A tuft of prairie grass? Buffalo off in the distance? The scent of sand carried on the wind? You’ve been involved in a months-long magical working here, joined with magic workers from across the globe. Feel your connection to this place on the astral plane. It is always here for you, always a source of strength.
As you sit in power, cast your eyes to the North. There, the banner of Lady Liberty shines brightly in the sky. As you watch, She grows and grows, taking up the entire sky. The banner becomes three-dimensional, and you can see the giant statue, hear the sea-gulls that whirl around Her, smell the river, sense the magic. You stand up and travel across the astral to stand before Lady Liberty. She recognizes you from your months of work and gazes down on you with love.
There is a mighty sonnet, cast in bronze, that was mounted inside the pedestal upon which Lady Liberty stands. It says:
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Unless you are a Native American or the descendent of Africans who came here enslaved, you, as I am, are the child of immigrants.
What do you know of your ancestors’ trip to America?
Mine came from Sweden at a time when the population outstripped the available farmland. Often younger sons and daughters without dowries, they worked as housemaids and waiters, milkmen who rode horse-drawn carriages, and in fabric mills and factories. They came with almost no education, but they were determined that their children, and then their children, and then theirs, would get as much education as possible. They worked hard, really hard. They contributed to their American communities, playing the organ at church, baking cookies for school fund-raisers, sharing the bounty of their back-yard vegetable gardens with their neighbors, going off to war when called. They came without much English, but learned that second language as well as they could. My great-grandfather spoke a mixture of English and Swedish, sayin “tack så mycket,” for “thank you very much,” and calling my mother a little “svenska flicka.” Americans have a long prided ourselves on being a “melting pot,” a place where the Memorial Day picnic in the park is likely to include iced tea (British, by way of the American South), hot dogs (German), lasagna (Italian), bahn mi (Vietnamese), corned beef (Irish immigrant), and tres leches cake (Mexican).
But the evil administration currently in power hates immigrants. And, this week, the week when most Americans are celebrating motherhood, these Nazis announced that, for no reason other than performative cruelty, they will rip children from the arms of immigrant mothers and separate them for as long as they like. Trump picked this week to yell for half an hour at a staffer who hadn’t sufficiently “closed” the borders to satisfy his lust for evil.
As you stand before the “mighty woman with a torch,” the “Mother of Exiles,” you see her squint her eyes. You see how a mother can be anything but gentle when her children are threatened. You watch her point her “torch whose flame is the imprisoned lightening,” towards the members of this Nazi coup who enjoy hearing the wailing of immigrant children, who savor the tears of parents ripped from their children. Her torch flares, blazes bright, and cleanses this evil from our shores. You, too, find yourself with a torch in your hand. Use it to make things “too hot to handle” for these fascists. Use it to cast a light upon their sadism that no child of immigrants can fail to see and to hate. Use it to cast a comforting light in the darkness for frightened children and terrified mothers. Watch as your light, joined with Lady Liberty’s light, again welcomes those who would come here to find a new life.
What are you moved to offer to Lady Liberty and her country of immigrants? Can you volunteer to teach English at the local library? Will you write to your Senators and Congressperson, asking them to reject the Nazis’ hatred and brutal policies? What can you do to learn about, and record for your descendants, the journey that your own immigrant ancestors, “tempest-tossed,” took to become Americans? Are you registered to vote? Are the other members of your family?
As you sit on your hillock and rest, know that you are not working alone. The Resistance — both magical and in all of its mundane (phone banking, check writing, representative calling, letter writing, canvassing, voting, volunteering, tutoring, restoring wetlands, growing plants for bees) manifestations — is huge. Know that you are a powerful worker of magic, rooted in your very own landbase, working with the strong archetypes of this land, assisted by countless unseen others who labor in league with you. You are brave and growing braver. Your magic and your practical workings can make the difference. The Mother of Exiles is always available to you when you want to do magic to strengthen America.
Return to your own body, your own landbase. Open your eyes. Rub your face, move your arms and legs. Notice the detail you selected to call you back from the astral. Open your circle. Drink something, maybe sweet tea or good ale. If you like, have something to eat, maybe crepes or salmon dressed with dill.
During the course of this week, you may want to visit the bannered prairie several times in order to strengthen its presence on the astral. You may want to repeat this working. You may want to place something on your altar to help you to remember Lady Liberty and your own ancestors. Can you stare into a candle? What actions are you inspired to take for the Resistance? If you’re willing, please share in comments what happened and how this working went.