Bewitching : Covens of the ‘80s Don’t Match Lore Stirred by Tales of Halloweens Past

The crepe paper Halloween witches hanging from the beams of the garden center at Pierce College in Woodland Hills swayed festively on their brooms.

A few blocks away was the real thing--dozens of witches gathered in a circle on the grass, the warm fall equinox wind tugging at their robes.

Mehri, high priestess of Lorraine Coven, cast an imaginary circle on the Earth with a sacred sword. The Los Angeles computer specialist intoned: “We invoke elemental forces of air, fire, water, and earth. . . . Hail, guardians of the watchtowers. . . . Be with us now!”

With their “cone of power,” or spiritual energy, thus raised, the witches linked hands for the Spiral Dance, symbol of life, death and rebirth. Twisting slowly at first, they circled the candlelit altar. As the pace quickened, they chanted to the goddesses: “Isis! Astarte! Diana! Hecate! Demeter! Kali! Innana!”

Most Important Holiday

The ritual, part of a typical witches festival, will be repeated throughout the Southland today as witches celebrate their most important holiday, Samhain, or Halloween, when, they believe, the veil between the worlds becomes thin, making visits with spirits possible.

Mehri, who like others in this story asked to be referred to by a spiritual name, will join her coven for a turkey feast today and ask for guidance in the new year. Who are these modern-day witches, who also may call themselves pagans or children of the goddess? They are scientists, attorneys, carpenters, teachers, writers, sales people and, possibly, your next-door neighbor or boss.

Despite the current New Age religious climate that has popularized such occult beliefs as trance channelers and past-lives therapists, the public has yet to take much notice of modern-day witchcraft.

But for thousands of followers throughout the country, witchcraft is not Salem, Hollywood horror films or fairy tales. Rather, they say witchcraft is an ancient goddess- and nature-based religion that gives them vital tools to cope with the 20th Century.

There is no rigid theology among witches. Some practice rituals such as dancing “skyclad” (nude), throwing Tarot cards and patterning their beliefs after the ancient Greeks, Romans and Celts. Others keep their clothes on, use computers for magic work and take beliefs from science fiction writers. Some worship many gods and goddesses, others only a special one. Whatever the bent, modern witchcraft is growing, especially among feminists drawn to goddess aspects of the cult and among those concerned with the environment.

Witches’ Cemetery

There are goddess book shops, pagan Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, witches’ newspapers, public magic seminars, pagan performance theater, a witch politician (Laurie Cabot, who may run for mayor of Salem, Mass.) Recently, what is thought to be one of the first witches’ cemeteries was dedicated near Los Angeles.

There are organizations to promote the public image of witches, including legal defense funds to help witches fight court battles, and a Witches League for Public Awareness, which points out misrepresentations about witchcraft that appear in media and movies.

In the East, witches have also picketed stores that display ugly Halloween witches in windows. Mehri, 40, a witch for 15 years, explained the public awareness problem:

“We continually have to tell people that we don’t paint our face green. Pointed hats are out of fashion, and brooms are inconvenient because the power cords get caught in trees when flying over Mulholland Drive.”

She is joking, but there is irritation in her voice. She and other witches say witchcraft has gotten a bad rap ever since the Inquisition, when Christians mistook the horned forest god Pan for a Christian devil.

While no one is burned at the stake these days, persecution continues, they say, noting they have been attacked, fired from jobs, ostracized by families and had temples threatened with closure by zoning officials.

Sen. Jesse Helms (R-N.C.) tried last year to kill the tax-exempt status of witchcraft groups. But after complaints from many religious groups, lawmakers tabled the amendment, calling it unconstitutional.

Religion experts estimate the number of witches in the United States at 50,000, but they say the figure could be higher because many choose anonymity. And when witches do “come out of the broom closet,” as they call it, they have to explain what they aren’t, rather than who they are.

“People who should know better confuse witches with Satanists who worship Lucifer and exalt Christian sin. The notion will not die,” said J. Gordon Melton, director of Institute for Study of American Religion and lecturer at UC Santa Barbara.

Melton, a Methodist minister, added: “Witches don’t devour babies, sacrifice animals, perform black Masses, abuse young female victims or pray to the devil. In fact, witches do not believe the devil exists.”

Neither is sex a part of mainstream witchcraft. Traditionally, “the great rite,” as the sexual ritual was called, symbolized fertility of crops. But witches today insist they portray this only symbolically by plunging a sacred knife into a cup of wine.

Largely because of such misconceptions, witchcraft enjoyed a heyday in the 1970s, Melton said. But its popularity was followed by an equally rapid decline when pseudo-witches, drawn from the psychedelic generation, “found that witchcraft was not sex, drugs and old English music,” he said.

Witches say they do not practice black magic. They say it is more like a religious-oriented, self-improvement course for the 1980s, whose main tenet is not unlike the Golden Rule. Ritual items such as candles and wands are used to create positive change in themselves.

For example, Mehri said that when she wanted a new home, she wrote the wish down on paper, burned it and placed the ashes in a pot with a rosemary tree. “Every time I looked at the plant, it reminded me to work harder.” Months later, she got her house.

Others do not know that it is a way to understand oneself better, she said, recalling a man who threatened her while she read Tarot cards at a fair. “He screamed I was doing the work of the devil until a guard marched him away. That’s why we aren’t anxious to say, ‘I’m a witch.’ ” The need for anonymity has made networking difficult, said Lady Artemis, an aerospace worker, and Lord Ra, a technical writer, who created Seekers Circle, a North Hollywood study club to help witches meet. Those who attend the weekly potluck dinner agree to strict rules, including no alcohol or drugs.

‘Magic Thrown In’

Another group, Pagan Alcoholics Sober Together, meets weekly in Los Angeles. Lizard, a 30-year-old gardener who credits witchcraft for his sobriety, said the 15-member group is patterned after traditional 12-step programs, “with a bit of magic thrown in.”

Other witches keep in touch through dozens of publications. Most are small newsletters, but the quarterly Circle Network News has a circulation of 7,000. A recent 24-page issue had articles on lucky charms, uses of the herb mugwort, witch meetings and pagan court battles. Passages, a column listing births, deaths and handfastings (weddings), included an obituary for “beloved cat Nefer, who went purring into the welcoming arms of Bast July 8.”

Witches around the country use another way of connecting. They wear special buttons so other witches can recognize them. The style is changed often so the cover is not blown.

Many witches make careers of their religion, providing therapy and magic seminars. There are scores of occult book shops nationally, including about a dozen in the Southland. Babetta, a West Hollywood witch who owns The Sorcerer’s Shop, sells such items as green candles (burned to attract money), orris root (burned to attract love), and assorted other oils, incenses, and herbs.

Noting that she has made a modest living from the shop and her candle-burning and witchcraft classes, she adds, “I built the shop as a way to preserve the consciousness of pagan religions.”

Witches traditionally met in covens of up to 13 people (representing the new moons). But recently they have organized on a larger scale to upgrade training, preserve writings and improve public image.

One such event was the festival in Woodland Hills where witches took classes in alchemy, ritual dancing and midwifery. Paul Beyerl, who runs a school for witches in Minnesota, led a seminar on how to survive as a witch in the 20th Century.

Working Within the System

The 42-year-old minister of witchcraft, dressed in black leather and who was bald save for a long pigtail hanging down his back, encouraged working within the system.

“If you live your life well, the public will know that it’s OK to have pagans in the neighborhood,” he said. “Vote in school board elections. That’s your environment as much as the forest is.”

He also called for better training for witches. Many apprentices study a year or more before being initiated. At his school, which has 14 students who pay a tuition of $7.50 a month, classes include counseling, healing, astrology, public speaking and comparative religions.

One of the festival draws was Selena Fox, who with her school psychologist husband run a retreat, newspaper and computerized witchcraft information network at Brigham, near Madison, Wis. The American Civil Liberties Union is defending them in a battle with Brigham town officials over the right to have the church on their farm, which is zoned for agricultural use. The complaints came from neighbors who made no secret that they feared witches. Fox, who graduated cum laude in psychology from William and Mary College, grew up a Baptist. She turned to witchcraft while studying ancient religions on an archeological dig and gave up a corporate photography job in 1978 to devote full time to witchcraft.

“Some people call it spells; we call it magic,” she said, explaining that her favorite ritual is getting out her caldron and brewing--not bat wing or eye of newt potions--but lemon balm tea. “I harvest herbs, meditate while it steeps, then drink it slowly, imagining the healing forces. It nurtures my mind and spirit,” she said. “Magic is something we do for ourselves. We never direct it at anybody unless we have their permission.”

Wearing a long white gown and beaded headdress, Fox readied the altar for the festival’s finale. From a green Samsonite train case came her ritual tools--purple altar cloth, sandalwood incense, crystals, sacred knife.

She explained to the 200 witches that they would connect with divinity by acting out three aspects of the goddess: Maiden, Mother and Crone. Standing in a circle, the witches solemnly pretended to take aim and shoot an arrow, an imitation of the Maiden, who represents courage. They acknowledged the Mother, by raising their arms and visualizing drawing down the moon’s power. Then moving hands and arms like hundreds of pairs of scissors, they symbolically cut away all their negativities--mimicking the Crone, who represents wisdom, death and rebirth.

As the witches began to chant, “Maiden, Mother, Crone are we,” Fox exhorted them: “These goddesses aren’t wimps, so let it rip.”

Times research librarian Susanna Shuster contributed to this story.