_Every circle has a keeper of the flame. Ours is The White Witch._ ![[tarot - white witch jesse.png]] Somewhere along the way, I lost touch with who I really am. I know I'm not the only one. When I was young, I learned pretty quickly what parts of myself triggered shame and discomfort in others. I learned pretty quickly how to hide those parts within myself and conjure a persona that was more conformed. More likable? Definitely more palatable. Which worked for a while. The problem is that the longer you live an outward facing life that's not aligned with who you really are on the inside, you start to disconnect psychologically from yourself. We move through life. And quite quickly we learn what parts of ourself to hide. What parts of ourself generate shame and discomfort in others. So we do hide them. Deep. Buried. Somewhere underneath in our being. # The Prompt Before you write, feel into your body. Close your eyes and take a breath—slow done, and once you're done, continue, reading. Notice what happens when I ask this: _What part of you are you unwilling to feel?_ That question is usually where [[The Witch Within]] lies—the truth deep within you that you've build your whole identity around avoiding. The anger you keep on a leash. The grief you never let yourself have. The part of you that still wants to be chosen. Now write from that place—not about it, *from* it. Let that version of you speak. What does it want? What does it fear? What would it say if it trusted that nothing inside you was wrong? Again: what would [[The Witch Within]] say to you if they *knew* that nothing inside you was wrong? We spend so much energy managing perception, trying to be seen a certain way. But freedom comes when you can sit in the discomfort of being seen _as you are._ So don’t write to be understood. Don’t try to fix or analyze anything. Don’t even write to heal. Just tell the truth. Let it be messy, contradictory, tender. Let it be raw, erotic, uncomfortable, and true. Admit the parts of you that love being misunderstood, that savor the tension of unfulfilled desire, that feed off the pain of staying small. Notice how often you’ve traded authenticity for belonging, or truth for harmony. Write about the parts of you you’ve hidden not just because the world wouldn’t approve, but because _you_ wouldn’t. The impulses, cravings, jealousies, and secret thrills you pretend aren’t there. The places where you’ve said, “I don’t want this,” while secretly getting off on the drama, the rejection, the control, the chaos. We all learn to shape-shift—sometimes to survive, sometimes to be loved—but at some point, the performance becomes its own prison. I want you to write about the parts of yourself you’ve hidden in order to stay likable. I want you to write about the parts of yourself you’ve learned to hide in order to be loved. The parts you edit, mute, or perform over so that you can belong, be chosen, or avoid conflict. We all do this—it’s how we learned to stay connected. But over time, those adaptations become a cage. Write to reveal what’s true right now—especially the thing you’d rather not admit. As you write, imagine sitting beside [[The Witch Within]]—not to rescue them, but to listen. Ask: *What have you been trying to tell me all these years?* True intimacy requires the willingness to be fully seen—and that means being willing to disappoint someone else rather than abandon yourself. Write until you’re turned on by your own honesty. *Note: what you write will never be read aloud or seen by anyone in [[The Circle]] unless you offer it up to them.* Where did you first learn that love required performance? --- And years go by. And sometimes that buried self speaks to us. I call that self [[The Witch Within]]. Psychologists call it the shadow. It's our dark side. I've hosted parties for as long as I can remember. The presence I had—even as a kid—with others was such that it cut through the nerdy theater clicks. I have always been fascinated by what happens when people gather. Strangers become friends. Conversations deepen into confessions. A night that begins with laughter can end in transformation. Over time, and many times, I've found myself in the role of the one who could create [[The Circle|a Circle]]. Someone who makes it safe (and fun, hopefully) enough for others to reveal what’s real. And as a queer man raised in an oftentimes unaccepting religious environment, I know what it's like when things feel unreal. To feel separated from myself. And with that—unable to fully step into that most powerful self. My rebellion was to push away everything that sensed of religion. The collateral damage was ritual and spirituality. And that lasted for a long time. But in learning about so many various disciplines—psychology, philosophy, theater, film, somatic and nervous system practices, and social fitness—I ended up circling back to where I started: the sacred. Only this time, it arrived not as dogma, but as an identity: _The White Witch._ The White Witch is one part shaman, one part shadow, one part mirror. And she reminds us that wholeness comes not from perfection but from integration. That a gathering is more than a party—it’s a portal. That shadow is not an enemy, but an invitation. That laughter and grief can live in the same breath. She continues to reveal her gifts: safety in chaos, laughter in grief, beauty in darkness, and a map for those willing to wander. She is both guide and mirror, conjured in me and felt by all those in The Circle. A [[The Witch Within|witch exists within]] all of us. And The White Witch calls everyone—myself included—to help us reveal them. That is when we seek her—not as a savior, but as a guide, holding the lantern, whispering: _You already carry the fire. Let me help you see it._ Because sometimes the way back to ourselves is too clouded, too heavy, to walk alone. With love, Jesse (The White Witch) --- **Questions to ponder:** - What does your tarot card bring up? - What does your archetype card bring up? - What are you coming with this weekend? - What could this weekend with shift, shed, or reveal for you? - What is the part of you that you speaks to you but you don't listen to?