So, I thought that I was done except to give the completed stole to Tom. Silly Beweaver…
Now, during that last talk with Tom I had said that I wanted to be friends. But when he threw the Christian / Cowan insult at me that changed. And every time I picked up that stole to work on it, I was filled with rage and resentment. I finished it as fast as I could and took it to him. He was/is a gardener and he gave me several plants from his yard in exchange. Great. Done. Handed it off, done. done. done.
One thing that I didn’t mention is that at the very very end, Tom brought in a woman he knew from his past. I will call her Kali. She was just as bitterly angry as he was. It was weird to be at the last ritual with them, Beltane. All those white flowers and candles and lovely faery lights and the rest of the weekend in anger and retribution. The only reason I bring her up now is because she was the nudge that began the second phase of this debacle.
I finally wrote Tom and told him of my dilemma. That I really had intended to be friends but that I found I could not. So sorry. Buh BYE.
Several months later Kali came to my house as she was in town. She was angry from a divorce but I never felt she was evil. We chatted about all kinds of things. One of the things that we discussed was Tom. I let her know about my anger while I finished the stole. Evidently he was trotting around in the stole puffed up like a big toad feeling very proud of how cool he was. I told her I just couldn’t be his friend. She said that breaking off the relationship had hurt him deeply and that he deserved to know why. And Silly Beweaver listened and wrote. Things might have died out, at least for me, at that point, but I fed the fire.
And wrote a long letter explaining the reasons for my decision. Which prompted a shit storm of abuse. Called me names, oathbreaker, liar, cowan, blahblahblahdyblah. Of course I saved both his letter and mine. Just in case. I started to respond to him and then deleted it and decided it would blow over. This was July I think. I remember it was high summer.
That summer was brutally hot. We were in our second of three years of record summer heat and drought. My house was an oven and I was sleeping with my bedroom window open. I live on the ground floor and this was the only window I could leave open all night because it is barred. I remember feeling uncomfortable about the window being open because it was so close to my bed. I remember having trouble falling asleep because I felt vulnerable. I remember being bothered by the light from the yard because I usually keep the blinds down. But I did eventually fall asleep.
Only to awake in full darkness to the sensation of not being able to breathe. I couldn’t move my legs or arms and I felt as if I was dying. I couldn’t see the ambient light, it was pitch black. It felt like someone was sitting on my chest smothering me. I’ve never, NEVER, been so terrified in my life. I tried to thrash around for the briefest moment but I simply could not move. Suddenly I thought “I’m going to lie very very still and as soon as this thing is comfortable I’m going to heave it off me.” and it disappeared.
I never did get to sleep that night and to this day I sleep with the window mostly closed and the blinds down. I can’t sleep on my back anymore. And I bought an air conditioner so I could cool down the place and not suffer from the lack of nighttime air. I did a bunch of research on the internet. Found a bunch of information about Night Terrors. Talked to my doctor. A friend told me that she had had a similar experience, woke up to find a grinning imp on her chest with a full set of sharp teeth. It fled too. I was still terrified, still having a lot of trouble falling asleep, scared of the dark and shadows and the noises of the wood of my home shifting in the heat.
Some time passed and I started to get more comfortable. I sealed all entrances to my home with seals of protection. I started to sleep a bit better. Summer turned to autumn…
And I called Doe for the first time since everything fell apart. I adored her and wanted to reconnect with her. (we’re still good friends to this day) We started chatting about our experience with Tom and this is when she let me know that she had dubbed us Uncle Tom’s Coven. And then she started sharing the news since summer. That Tom had been running around town threatening several people:
- That he was going to leave booze on my doorstep and scare me so bad I’d drink (hahahahaha. Not that it would work just that he would try, it was so small minded and petty)
- That he was going to break and enter Amber’s home and steal her book of shadows (suddenly the house cleaning took on very sinister tones and I realized he might know all of her hiding places. I contacted her and let her know. I also apologized for my part in the matter. She was kind about it but we haven’t connected since.)
- That he had sent his fetch to at least three other people, all of them 3rd degrees, all of them very pissed off about it. It was confirmed at that time that the creepy lifesucker was real, that it was sent by Tom and that he did want me harmed.
- That I had done something very brave and powerful without proper training. I sent it away. I did the right things to make that happen. I felt pretty proud of myself and it did wonders for self esteem as a woman in touch with her own power.
- That a Gardnerian trad he tried to join pre Uncle Tom’s Coven, was told by him that his trainer was dead. When they smartly checked his references they found out he was lying. They did not however share this information with the rest of the community at the time. Only later after he started his vicious tricks. Turned out he was turned away from every BTW coven he contacted in my area. THAT was why he had to start his own coven. NO ONE would take him.
I sent his email out to all the folks who needed to know and boy did it circulate. Doe’s other coven did a huge protection for me at their next full moon. I did a major warding ritual. I remember how stormy that day was. I had all the doors and windows open, the wind just blowing through but leaving the candles burning. I walked my house in the rain four times. I buried stones and metal pentagrams at the corners of my home and at my doorstep. I planted magical plants of protection. To this day my place is astrally protected by the man who held the sword in their coven and by walls of metal. Astrally my place looks like an airstream trailer, which always makes Doe crack up. But it’s true. And I’ll never forget the stormy night when Miss Mitty and I were startled by a loud “Clang” when something hit the roof. I went out and checked. My roof is low and I could tell that there was nothing on it. I feel certain that he sent his fetch a second time and that we were able to deflect it before it got in.
I did the one and only binding I’ve ever done. Or most likely ever will do. That thing, Tom, is still frozen in my freezer. I don’t know what to do with it. Some of it isn’t burnable. I don’t want to free him. When I decided to tell this story, I decided it was good he was still frozen in there. His real name in the real world is Tom. But I’m not going to say the name of his coven or coven name.
And the entire BTW witch community in my neck of the woods knows about him now I suspect. So much came to light. Turns out that the Priestess who he said was crazy? Isn’t. I contacted her original training coven to report him. They are a large group out of Georgia and what they had to say was very enlightening. If I had called at the beginning instead of the end I would not have learned as much about myself as I did. Which was a good thing but dang it was painful and scary.
They got me in touch with the “crazy” woman who gave him is first. She lived 2 hours away from me and invited me to her home for the weekend. She is not crazy. Anything but. Gracious, regal, sweet, funny, and very serious. She had refused him his 2nd. Twice. When she retired the folks who followed after her gave him his second without checking with her. Which they regretted. As you know he finally found someone to give him his third but it wasn’t anyone who trained him.
I find his entry on Witchvox to be amazing. At least he finally got someone to spell check it for him and edit it so it sounds half sane. I’m going to paste some of it here and comment. The entire thing sounds pretty good. I myself would consider some of it to be quite appealing. Not all of it but much of it. I write this to say that if you are new and someone gives you their credentials, check them.
We place a heavy emphasis on the Art of Conjuring and within our rites explore hidden mysteries unique to each of us. We weave what we learn from the practice of our Craft into the fabric of our being rather than into a flashy garment we can hang in a closet until the next Sabbat. We stress ethics, protocol, and personal discipline although we do not hold to the Wiccan Rede or any concept of Kharma.
Sounds okay. But it isn’t real. It isn’t true. It is hypocrisy at its best. Flashy garments? What about that stole? He swore to me in his written diatribe that he would burn it. But for a time, while he was still in the area, there was a picture of him on witchvox wearing the stole and ritual robe I made for him. Nothing flashy about red silk, pearls, and gem stones and silver embroidery. Not a thing. Ethics? killing through magic huh? Personal Discipline? Getting stoned in front of your sober neophytes?
(Name of coven removed) is not for many. We choose to educate those who seek mastery of our ways through mastery of Self and as such, have no time for half-hearted commitment or those interested only in collecting another initiation. Our teaching provides a solid foundational education but we see this as only a beginning and all members of (name of coven removed), regardless of degree or status, are required to continuously develop their Craft with the tools they received as students. As our ways are inherently practical, we stress the necessity of critical thinking, self-examination, and open-mindedness.
Nope, not for the man. The collector of initiations from any one who will give them to him. Solid foundational education from the man who said that blacksmiths don’t represent the four elements in their craft. Self-examination? hahahahahahahahahaha. Any time any of “his” people showed critical thinking he abused them for it. And open-minded? Yeah, whatever.
Those called to our path will understand the double edge to this blade: If you are not told what to think; you will undoubtedly have to think for yourself.
hahahahaha. Coming from the man who doesn’t want you to read anything he doesn’t give you. Which was nothing. He wouldn’t let us see anything he had. Not one thing. Slavish followers is what he wanted. I wonder if he actually has any students. He’s had 685 hits on his witchvox ad in his new location. I bet he still wears his priestly regalia. I bet he still expects his students to clean his house. I bet he still couldn’t talk to you for two minutes on metaphysics. I bet he still seethes with jealousy for those who have status, well earned status.
But I? I learned the bulk of my lessons regarding my grandiose ego. I will always need to work on that. I still had some hard lessons to learn in that area to come. I learned to always check references no matter how cool someone seems in the beginning. I learned that there are good teachers out there who thankfully did take me on as a student. I learned I don’t need initiation to validate me. I’ve had several near death experiences, I get it. I don’t need to label myself a Witch even though I do. I learned to listen better to those alarm bells. Still working on those alarm bells started by a lover, but by a teacher? No problemo. I speak my mind today. No one puts baby in a corner.