As the bright Sunday sun shines through the pale red curtains, I sit down to write about a thought that came to me recently, though in truth it has always been one of my guiding principles:
Do not deny yourself.
Most of us stupid animals, called human beings as part of some vast cosmic joke, are not what we truly are. We are only what others-our families, friends, spouses, employers, or society-want us to be.
We hold back our words. We try to get along and behave sensibly. We try to do the right thing, even when what we truly want is to douse that workplace asshole or idiotic neighbour in petrol, set them on fire, and laugh our arses off.
Most of us miserable creatures are nothing more than sheep.
Then there are wolves among us.
Wolves do not allow others to dictate their actions or opinions. Wolves do what they want. We wolves are hated and respected. Some of us are feared for no reason, while others are feared for very good reason indeed.
Whatever we are and however we behave, we feel a need to emphasise either our good qualities or our bad ones for the sake of other people — partly because of what we want them to think of us, and partly because of what we imagine they already think.
As a rule, we truly are miserable creatures: a wretched excuse for existence upon this beloved and beautiful planet, which we destroy simply to satisfy our own arrogance.
In one way or another, I constantly meet witches, witch-like people, and people who desperately want to become witches, all loudly declaring their various rules and golden principles: that one must always do what is right, or that everything you do will return to you threefold.
Bullshit.
When you see a wolf leap upon a sheep, it is not ruled by the Rede or by any other equally pointless set of rules.
It is what it is.
It is a wolf, born a wolf and destined to die a wolf.
Far too many of these so-called human beings deny themselves. They try to become what they believe they ought to be, or what others want or expect them to be.
They are not what they truly are.
I am not one of those people.
What, then, am I?
I am a genuinely kind, friendly, and extremely helpful asshole who would have no difficulty burning down your house or your car. I am a thoughtful and empathetic psychopath who takes sadistic satisfaction in the suffering of those who have wronged me or the people I love.
I am a law-abiding, honourable, thoroughly unpleasant old bastard who will launch himself at you like a deranged madman, without giving a damn about the law, should the situation demand it.
I am myself.
I do not pretend to be anything other than what I am.
I am a complicated, difficult, and wonderful human being. Some people care for me, and some people hate me. I gladly help others, and there are others whom I would just as gladly make suffer.
I weep for the grief and fates of some people, while for others I become the cause of grief and fate.
I am not a hypocrite.
I am myself.
And because of these things, I am also a good witch.
Because I recognise myself—my darker side and my brighter side, my good and harmful strengths, my kindness and my sheer bloody-minded nastiness—I am deeply at one with the world that listens to me, speaks to me, and walks closely beside me.
I have no need to lie to others about what I am or what I am not, and through that honesty I earn the respect of nature and the Gods.
Even when the world tries to frighten me into retreating into my shell, all I need is a larger war axe with which to break that shell apart.
Then I am myself again.
I am Unenkulkija.