A wayfaring witch, often depicted as a female sorcerer, is a recurring figure in folklore and mythology. These witches were known for their wanderlust and had a strong connection to nature, as they traveled from place to place. They were often portrayed as cunning and knowledgeable, possessing magical powers and the ability to communicate with animals and spirits. Historically, wayfaring witches were seen as both mysterious and feared. People believed that they had the power to cast spells, create potions, and manipulate the natural world to their liking. Due to their wandering nature, they were often associated with the wild and untamed aspects of the world, and their knowledge of herbs and plants also made them highly skilled healers.
The clerk was sitting behind a vintage typewriter, his desk piled with paper. He was an international relief worker and spoke English with a British accent. “Are you a family member?”
Heron leads her readers on a transformative journey toward wholeness using a magickal system that is a wonderfully creative amalgam of disparate philosophies and traditions. All of these people told me I had intuitive gifts, so I started to develop them by getting training in Healing Touch and teaching myself how to read the cards.
Due to their wandering nature, they were often associated with the wild and untamed aspects of the world, and their knowledge of herbs and plants also made them highly skilled healers. In various mythologies and stories, wayfaring witches were often depicted as solitary figures, living in remote areas such as forests or mountains. They would often interact with travelers and offer guidance or assistance in exchange for various offerings or favors.
Page 19 of Wayfaring Stranger (Holland Family Saga 1)
“That’s not important. Some people think our next war is going to be with the Russkies. Some people think we’d have been better off allying with the Germans in 1940 and attacking Russia. Not everybody in the camps was there because they were Jews.”
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“I’m not following you,” I said.
“Did she indicate to you that she might be a Communist?”
“She said she didn’t have any use for Communists.”
“According to both British and American intelligence, her father was a Communist representative in the Spanish parliament.”
“She’s related to Rosa Luxemburg.”
I looked at him, my face empty, my eyes flat.
“You don’t know who that is?”
“Not offhand,” I lied.
“She was a German Communist known as Red Rosa. A bunch of brownshirts beat her to death and threw her body in a river. Red Rosa’s mother was named Löwenstein. That girl you toted for miles probably gave you TB. Don’t let her mess you up twice, son.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“At a displaced persons camp not far from Nancy. She’s probably trying to get to Palestine. That’s how the Brits became interested in her.”
“How can I contact her?”
The major replaced the sheaf of papers in the manila folder and rolled the folder into a cone. He tapped me on the chest with it. “They’ll make mincemeat of you, boy. There’s justification for their actions, too. We didn’t fight a war in two theaters so Red spies could infest our system and use our constitutional guarantees to destroy us. These people are vermin.”
His eyes went away from mine, his cheeks pooling with color. He got up to go. “I’ve got to run,” he said. He picked up my hand from the bed and shook it. “I get hot-blooded sometimes. I suspect you had sexual congress with the Lowenstein woman and feel you owe her. Do the smart thing. Go back home and be a war hero. Smile a lot. Be humble. People will love you for it. Don’t get them mad at you.”
“You called her vermin? Or did I misunderstand?”
He put his aviator glasses back on. “I hope she’s worth it. Come see me in San Antone if you want to learn the insurance business.”
IN OCTOBER, UPON my discharge from the hospital, I went to the displaced persons camp east of Nancy, close to the German border. I had written perhaps ten requests for information abou
t Rosita Lowenstein to the camp’s administration, but I had never received a reply. When I arrived, I understood why. Many of the people housed there looked like shells of people. Many had numbers tattooed on their left forearm. Some stared through the wire fence with the vacant expressions of schizophrenics. Their common denominator seemed to be a pathological form of detachment; they seemed to have no continuity as a group, as though they didn’t know one another and didn’t care to. I saw none who appeared to be mothers with children, or children with mothers, or husbands with wives. I suspected that many of them were ridden with guilt because they had survived and their loved ones had not; I suspected that many of them would never tell anyone of the deeds they had witnessed in the camps or the deeds they themselves had committed when they were forced to choose between survival and perishing.
I saw a man wearing a white shirt with blown sleeves. His arms were spread on the fence wire as he stared into my face. His eyes were as white and shiny as the skin of a peeled hard-boiled egg, the pupils like distorted ink drops, his hair black and curly and uncut, his skin leathery, his teeth showing in either defiance or fear. He reminded me of the Christlike figure in the Goya painting titled The Third of May 1808: The Execution of the Defenders of Madrid. As a matter of politeness, I said hello. He made no reply. His chin was tilted upward, a question mark in the middle of his face, as though he were daring me to explain what had happened to him. I tried to hold his gaze but couldn’t. I walked away, his recrimination hanging on me like sackcloth.
Rosita was nowhere to be seen. “Where is she?” I asked the clerk in the administration building.
“She left last week,” he said.
The clerk was sitting behind a vintage typewriter, his desk piled with paper. He was an international relief worker and spoke English with a British accent. “Are you a family member?”
“No. I pulled her out of a stack of dead bodies and carried her through an artillery barrage. I hid in a cellar with her for eight days.”
“As our magick individually transforms each Witch, so our culture is transformed collectively. To that end, it has become a battle cry among Witches to ‘smash the patriarchy,’ and I absolutely understand that impulse. However, our word choices might be part of the problem. Allow me to plant this seed of thought: We cannot smash the patriarchy using patriarchal weapons. The tools of the patriarchy are fear, oppression, and domination. Smash things and we’ve only staged a coup with a change of bully regime and improved nothing.” (p. 26)
Some tales portrayed them as tricksters, using their magical powers to play pranks or cause mischief. However, it is important to note that the perception of wayfaring witches has evolved over time. In modern literature and media, they are often portrayed as complex characters with their own motivations and struggles. They are no longer solely seen as evil or malevolent beings, but rather as individuals who exist on the fringes of society, exploring the world and seeking their own truths. The archetype of the wayfaring witch continues to resonate with many individuals today. It represents the desire for freedom, adventure, and the search for hidden knowledge. The figure of the wayfaring witch serves as a reminder that there is more to the world than meets the eye, and that sometimes, embracing the unknown can lead to personal growth and enlightenment..
Reviews for "The Wayfaring Witch Figure in Children's Literature and Fairy Tales"
1. Emily - 2 stars - The Wayfaring witch figure was a huge disappointment for me. The quality of the material used feels cheap and flimsy. The colors painted on the figure were not as vibrant as shown in the pictures, making it look dull and uninteresting. Additionally, the details of the witch's face were poorly executed, giving it a somewhat creepy and strange appearance. Overall, I wouldn't recommend this figure to anyone looking for a well-made and visually appealing collectible.
2. Michael - 1 star - I was extremely dissatisfied with the Wayfaring witch figure. The size of the figure is much smaller than what was indicated in the product description, making it seem overpriced for such a tiny piece. The paint job on the figure was sloppy, with noticeable smudges and uneven application. Furthermore, the figure arrived with multiple small scratches and chips, indicating poor packaging and handling. I wouldn't waste my money on this product again.
3. Sarah - 2 stars - The Wayfaring witch figure left me unimpressed. The pose of the witch is quite awkward and doesn't exude the graceful charm I had hoped for. The base of the figure is also unstable, making it difficult to display without worrying about it tipping over. While the overall concept of the witch figure is intriguing, the execution falls short. I regret purchasing this item and would advise others to explore alternative options before settling for this one.