Category: Lineages of the Craft

She stood at the gallows and refused to convert.

The British colonial authorities had captured her after two years of eluding them across the hills of Mashonaland. They had tried her for murder, found her guilty, and sentenced her to hang. They offered her, as they had offered her ally Sekuru Kaguvi, the possibility of a Christian death — the consolation of a new religion, the last rite of the civilization that had invaded her land, confiscated her people’s cattle, and imposed a tax on the very act of existing in one’s own home.

Kaguvi converted. Nehanda did not.

She is reported to have wept at his conversion — not out of fear for herself, but out of grief that he had, in her understanding, abandoned his people at the last moment. She died as she had lived: as a medium of the Nehanda spirit, as a Shona woman who had organized a national uprising against the most powerful empire in the world, and as someone who understood that her death was not an ending.

Her last words, as recorded across oral tradition: My bones will rise.

In April or May of 1856, a fifteen-year-old Xhosa girl went to fetch water from a pool near the mouth of the Gxarha River.

When she returned, she told her uncle that she had met the spirits of three of her ancestors.
The spirits had given her a message for the Xhosa people. If the people destroyed their crops and killed their cattle, every last head of livestock, the foundation of their wealth and their food, the ancestors would rise from the dead. New, uncontaminated cattle would come. New grain would fill the empty storehouses. And a great wind would rise and drive the British settlers into the sea.

The people would be free. The land would be restored. Everything that had been taken would be given back.

Her name was Nongqawuse.

And the story of what happened next is one of the most complex, most devastating, and most theologically significant events in the history of African prophetic tradition.

The oldest culture on Earth is not a museum piece.

It lives in the red country of central Australia, in the knowledge held by Anangu elders, in the healing practices of ngangkari who work today in both remote communities and city hospitals, in the songs and stories and law that have been maintained across tens of thousands of years of continuous human presence on this continent.

Aboriginal Australian spiritual traditions are, by any reasonable reckoning, the oldest unbroken spiritual practices currently in existence.

In 1921, a fifty-eight-year-old British Egyptologist published a book that changed the history of witchcraft. Not because it was right, but because it arrived at exactly the right moment with exactly the right idea, in exactly the right voice.

The book was The Witch-Cult in Western Europe: A Study in Anthropology. The woman was Margaret Alice Murray. And the idea, that the accused witches of the early modern witch trials were not deluded, hysterical, or innocent victims but actual practitioners of an ancient pre-Christian religion that had survived underground for centuries, was, as subsequent scholarship would show in some detail, largely wrong.

And yet.

She rises from the water at night.

She is impossibly beautiful. Her hair is long and falls loose around her shoulders. Her eyes hold the particular quality of deep water, dark, reflective, suggesting depths that the surface does not reveal. She may wear a snake coiled around her body like living jewellery. She may have the tail of a fish where her legs should be, or she may appear entirely human, more human than any human you have ever seen, which is itself the sign.

She is Mami Wata. Mother Water. And she has been present in the spiritual life of West and Central Africa, and the African Atlantic world, for longer than any written record can reach.

She is not a goddess in the distant, untouchable sense. She is immediate. Capricious. Generous and dangerous in equal measure. She takes lovers and brings them fortune, or she takes them entirely. She heals. She curses. She appears to those she chooses, often without being asked, and the encounter changes the person forever.

To be chosen by Mami Wata is not

Before Confucius. Before the dynasties that gave China its recognisable historical shape. Before the texts that would define Chinese philosophy and religion for millennia – there were the Wu.

They danced in long-sleeved robes until the spirits entered them. They spoke in the language of gods and communicated the will of the dead to the living. They performed rain ceremonies, healed the sick, drove off malevolent forces, interpreted dreams, and predicted the future through divination. They were called to the oracle bones, the ancient Chinese practice of writing questions and submitting them to flame. And their voices were recorded in the inscriptions that survive as some of the oldest writing in the world.

And they were, predominantly, women.

The wu (巫) ~ the word translates as shaman, sorceress, spirit-medium, or ritual specialist depending on context and century,

Her name evokes images of dark magic, seduction, and betrayal. Morgan le Fay, or Morgana, Morgaine, Morgen, stands as one of the most complex and misunderstood figures in Arthurian legend. Today she’s often portrayed as a villain, depicted as a witch or enchantress, the antagonist to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. But this wasn’t always her story. The truth is far more fascinating. Morgan le Fay began her literary life as a powerful healer, a divine feminine figure, and Arthur’s protector, only to be systematically demonized by medieval male writers who couldn’t reconcile themselves to a woman wielding such extraordinary power.

This is the story of how a goddess became a witch, and what was done to one of the most powerful women in Western mythology.

The Ancient Roots ~ Goddess, Fairy, and Divine Healer
Morgan le Fay’s origins trace back to Celtic mythology and legend, first appearing in writing in the twelfth century but likely based on much older figures from Celtic folklore and mythology.

Her name itself offers clues to her divine origins. “Morgan” may derive from the Welsh “Morcant” (meaning sea-born or sea-circle) or connect to “Mor-rigan” (great queen), linking her to the Irish goddess Morrigan. A powerful deity associated with sovereignty, prophecy, war, and fate. She has also been linked with the supernatural mother Modron, derived from the continental mother goddess figure Dea Matrona and featured in medieval Welsh literature.

In the shadowy corners of Scottish folklore lives a figure both feared and revered, Nicnevin, described as a witch or fairy queen who rides the night sky at Samhain, leading spirits, witches, and the dead in her wake. She is Scotland’s dark goddess, the hag queen, the mother of witches. Yet her story has been nearly lost to time, fragmented across centuries of poetry, witch trials, and whispered warnings.

The Mystery of Her Name
The origins of Nicnevin’s name remain debated, with multiple theories emerging from the linguistic fog of history. Some scholars suggest it derives from the Scottish Gaelic Neachneohain, meaning “daughter(s) of the divine” or “daughter(s) of Scathach,” while others propose NicNaoimhein, meaning “daughter of the little saint.”

Another interpretation links her name to the Gaelic Nic an Neamhain, “Daughter of Frenzy”. A fitting title for a goddess associated with the liminal chaos of Samhain night. Some scholars have even connected her to the Irish war goddess Neamhain, one of the Morrigan’s triple aspects, or to water spirits like the Nixie and Nokke.

The multiplicity of her names reflects the complexity of her nature. She is not one thing, but many things at once.

In the annals of New England folklore, few figures loom as large or as mysteriously as Eunice “Goody” Cole of Hampton, New Hampshire. Her story represents one of America’s most enduring tales of witchcraft accusations, community fear, and the tragic consequences of superstition in colonial society.

A Life Marked by Suspicion
Eunice Cole arrived in Hampton sometime in the 1640s with her husband William. From the beginning, she was viewed with suspicion by her neighbors. Perhaps it was her sharp tongue, her poverty, or simply the misfortune that seemed to follow in her wake. But Goody Cole quickly became the community scapegoat for any unexplained illness, crop failure, or maritime disaster.

The accusations against her were typical of witch trials throughout New England: livestock dying mysteriously, butter failing to churn, children falling ill after encounters with the old woman. In a time when scientific explanations for natural phenomena were scarce, fear and superstition filled the void.

Trial and Punishment