The political cartoon by Bill Borders in last week’s issue did elicit a chuckle from me, and as I gave it ground in my mind’s eye to see the house falling, the socked feet curling and all of Munchkin Land rejoicing, my chuckle grew to a hearty laugh.
A few moments later, I became bothered by my own expression. I asked myself; What is this feeling knocking at my door? Shame? Guilt? No, it didn’t exactly feel like that. I know, how insensitive of me. It was something closer to a state of panic in my heart space caused by the terminology of “witch hunt.”
“Witches” have typically, throughout history (herstory), been the healers of their tribes, villages, cultures. The midwives, the herbalists, the foragers of necessary edibles and medicinals. For these abilities, knowledge, wisdom they were hunted down and executed.
Not just in this country, but globally and for generations.
This man is most certainly not a witch. It is in my opinion that such a title does not befit his current qualifications. He may feel hunted, and alas for him, it is the hunting season for sordid, divisive denigrators, but may it never be the hunting season for witches, as they, healers as they are, are part of the solution for this out of balance madness.