Last Saturday was Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement. Growing up, the main thing I knew about Yom Kippur was that it was the day everyone fasted. I always assumed fasting was about repentance and guilt, punishing yourself for all the messed-up things you’d done the previous year.
Thankfully, this isn’t the case, and I hope it’s clear why: harming your own body doesn’t right any wrongs you’ve committed. Rather, most Jews see fasting as a method of exercising self control, which leads one closer to God. For the past few years, I’ve fasted as a way to nurture empathy for those who go hungry. One can know on an intellectual level that hunger is bad, but actually experiencing it leads to a whole new level of understanding. When I fast, I don’t just feel hungry. I feel tired, irritable, fuzzy. I get headaches. For the first half of the day, until I get my second wind, I can’t stop thinking about food.
I know what you’re thinking. Empathy is great, but how are headaches and irritability supposed to get you closer to God?
I know, right?
When I first started practicing Witchcraft back in the 90’s, there was a permeable sense that anything smacking of patriarchal religion, including ascetic practices, was contrary to our worldview. Honestly, you couldn’t blame us. We were trying to rescue the human (especially female) body from its prison of scapegoating and self-loathing, and no matter what the rationale, practices like fasting can’t help but look like punishment. Your hunger is bad. Your body is bad. You are bad. The world is bad. Lately, though, I’ve become interested in another aspect of fasting. What if leading one closer to the Divine isn’t just a metaphor? What if refraining from food can literally take your spirit to a different place? Like, say, the Otherworld?
Yes, I’m talking about shamanism.
It’s well-documented that fasting is a tool in the shaman’s toolbox. It fosters altered states. It induces visions. (For an excellent overview of fasting’s potential in Witchcraft, see Inanna Arthen’s essay in Fireheart.) Seen in this light, emphasizing acts of love and pleasure to the exclusion of any practices that cause discomfort actually does a disservice to our magic. Physically uncomfortable techniques endure because they work.
With that in mind, I decided to make my fast this year an explicitly magical practice.
At sunset on Friday, I took a glass of water up to my patio and, under the moon, declared my intention: at sunset the next day, I would journey to the Otherworld to seek guidance on how I could better myself, my community, and my world. Rather than atone for things I’d done wrong, I decided to experiment with being proactive, and finding ways to do good throughout the coming year.
The next morning, I had to take my daughter to a birthday party north of Los Angeles, and by 10 a.m. the temperature was in the 90’s. A Yom Kippur fast usually entails refraining from both food and water, but I decided to stay hydrated. Even so, I began to feel worn out much more quickly than previous years. When my daughter got tetchy and I felt a migraine coming on, I realized I’d have to end the fast early.
Under better conditions, I might have been able to keep going. But even in a city with a large Jewish population, the world doesn’t slow down simply because you’ve stopped eating. At the party, someone quipped that the best time to book a venue is on a Jewish holiday. And it’s really hard to fast when no one in your household is doing it with you.
So, as lovely as a ritual in the liminal space of dusk might have been, I went up to my altar around 3:00. I cast the circle and performed my invocations. I put some drumming on my iPod and turned the volume up. And I went to the Otherworld.
What happened there was, as always, very personal. I formally accepted a new spirit helper’s offer of companionship. I briefly visited the lower, middle, and upper worlds. I had some conversations. There were some startling moments–those gems of trance work, when you’re pretty certain that you’re not just making it up. I’d hoped to come back with a new tool, some tangible reminder of the commitments I planned to make, but instead one of my current tools was imbued with new power. If you want to get a coffee with me, I’ll gladly tell you all about it, but it doesn’t feel right to broadcast my journey on a blog.
So, did the fasting make a huge difference? Did it give me freaky visions? Did it make me feel like a super amazing shamaness?
Well, no. But I wasn’t expecting anything earth-shattering. After all, I’d fasted for less than a day, when many fasts go for weeks. And techniques don’t work the same way for everyone.
Yet I think even my teensy mini-fast had a subtle effect. Symbols that didn’t make much sense during the trip are starting to click into place. Afterwards, I felt a sense of energy and well-being that felt like a direct result of the magic I’d worked (and no, it wasn’t just because I’d eaten something). Before the trance, I’d fretted a bit about ignoring atonement in favor of action–because what if I did something crappy last year and didn’t want to face it?–but throughout the rest of the afternoon, I was able to connect my new insights to behaviors I’d been engaging in that weren’t useful. Again, it was subtle. But its potency is still unfolding.
I will share one detail from the trip. At the journey’s culmination, I received a very simple message: “Weave your magic.” The deity repeated it over and over and over again. When I came back, I thought of the spells woven by Christianity and capitalism and patriarchy and white supremacy: spells that convince us that we’re weak, worthless, powerless, and dependent. I understood how vital our own magic is. Witchcraft isn’t a fad. It isn’t a kooky hobby. It is real, and it is powerful, and it can reshape the world.
Safe travels, everyone. Weave your magic.
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