In Tiny Tarot Wisdom for Spoonies, I’ll be going through every card individually and sharing mini insights we as disabled and neurodivergent (ND) witches can take from it.
“Strength” might call to mind images of bodybuilders or (like the original Rider-Waite illustration) fearless lion-tamers. But strength is also the courage to admit when we falter and need a hand. For me (and, I imagine, many neurodivergent and disabled folks) it’s terrifically difficult to ask for help or admit when I can’t do something. In Western culture we place so much value on self-sufficiency and independence that it can feel like failure when we can’t go it alone.
But everyone is interdependent, even those who like to pretend they aren’t. All of us go through ebbs and flows. All of us need help and all of us give help. ND and disabled people just might need help a bit more often than average, and that is in no way a failure. It is true, sincere courage to say, “I can’t do this without help.” Or even “I can’t do this at all.” Taking care of yourself? That’s strength. Reaching out? Also strength. Even taking steps to make a task easier for yourself rather than muscling through it? That, my loves, is strength.
In Tiny Tarot Wisdom for Spoonies, I’ll be going through every card individually and sharing mini insights we as disabled and neurodivergent (ND) witches can take from it.
Triumph and willpower aren’t words we tend to associate with ourselves as disabled and neurodivergent folks. When the people around us are starting businesses and traveling on once-in-a-lifetime trips, it doesn’t feel much like a triumph to, for instance, go grocery shopping in the midst of a bad brain day. I remember when I was first dealing with endometriosis, undergoing surgery after surgery and missing tons of time at college, my mom told me I was brave. I almost laughed at her. It didn’t feel like bravery. It felt like doing the bare minimum to survive.
But with time, I’ve been able to look back and recognize that yes, I was incredibly brave even if it didn’t feel that way in the moment. We have to fight so hard sometimes to do basic tasks and navigate daily life. What is that if not a triumph of will?
Take note of all the things that are hard for you, and acknowledge how incredible it is when you do them anyway. Don’t think in terms of what would be easy or hard for others. If brushing your teeth is a daily battle, you should be proud of achieving it. If it’s difficult for you to call out of work because of a flareup, pat yourself on the back for doing so. You are a Chariot no matter how fast you move or how hard you run.
(Note that this post contains one instance of explicit language!)
It is so excellent to see an uptick in queer-centered books on magic and witchcraft. Last year I read Outside the Charmed Circle: Exploring Gender & Sexuality in Magical Practice by Misha Magdalene and Queer Magic: Lgbt+ Spirituality and Culture from Around the World by Tomás Prower. Both were affirming and thought-provoking explorations of queer presence in/impact on witchcraft and spirituality. Both have a permanent place on my bookshelf. And this year Llewellyn kindly gave me copies of Sacred Gender: Create Trans & Nonbinary Spiritual Connections by Ariana Serpentine (which is next on my reading list!) and Bending the Binary: Polarity Magic in a Nonbinary World by Deborah Lipp.
I’m embarrassed to say that this is the first book of Lipp’s that I’ve read–this is her ELEVENTH publication! I’ll definitely be adding some of her other work to my (ever-expanding) To-Be-Read list. Overall I really enjoyed Bending the Binary, and it’s given me ideas that I’m excited to incorporate into my magical practice. But is it an accessible book for those of us in the disabled and neurodivergent communities?
Let’s discuss.
PROS
Admittedly, I never ran up against the degree of gendered witchcraft that a lot of my trans and nonbinary siblings have. I’ve never been interested in joining a traditional coven that might operate under a God/Goddess binary. But I have definitely felt out of place when witchy books or instagram posts talk about the divine feminine/divine masculine. To be clear–if this is a source of power and magic for you, that’s absolutely valid! But for me, an enby practitioner whose gender identity is best described as “void,” it’s not useful or meaningful. It sort of strikes me the same way as meditation practices that begin with asking you to take a few deep breaths “in through your nose and out through your mouth.” My breathing is borked and I literally can’t breathe through my nose much, if at all. So while it’s awesome that this method of breathing meditation works for many people, it immediately takes me out of the moment and makes me feel like I’m Not Doing it Right.
Deborah Lipp, on the other hand, came up in a very gendered, heteronormative Wiccan tradition. While she is herself a queer woman, she readily admits that she had a lot of unlearning to do when it came to the gender essentialism she was trained in. It’s refreshing to hear an author talk candidly about how they’ve grown and changed, learning to let go of exclusivity and embrace diversity more wholeheartedly. But as she says herself, she doesn’t want to throw the baby out with the bathwater–the core idea of generating magical energy through opposing forces is worth exploring and retaining, so long as you detangle it from the cissexist and heteronormative window dressings it’s been attached to.
Using the forces of masculine/feminine is but one option of many when it comes to polarity magic. Lipp offers a variety of other polarities that one could choose to work with, including self/other, force/form, and night/day, to name a few. “It’s not enough to study and learn a magical or spiritual system and follow its rules,” she says. “It has to be personal. The personal lives of the practitioners of magic have to inform the systems we use, and the systems have to allow that the impact of its practitioners is meaningful and valuable.” That is a profound assertion for ANY of us who have felt out of place in a spiritual system that didn’t seem to consider our existence or needs.
There’s a lot to love about Bending the Binary. It’s well-researched, thoughtful, and written in a down-to-earth tone of voice. There’s a TON of background information about how and why gender and heterosexuality became so baked into traditional Wicca. And for each of the other polarities she offers, there’s practical examples, suggestions, and even rituals to put the polarity in question into action. I always love to see hands-on activities alongside deep theory. It helps take the theory from the realm of the abstract and into a more three-dimensional, practical reality.
CONS
With that said, this is primarily a theory book. And there’s nothing wrong with that! But in terms of accessibility, it may be a bit of a stumbling block. As I mentioned, I don’t have a ton of experience/knowledge in traditional Wicca. So while I enjoyed learning more about it, there were moments when I struggled to maintain focus. Especially in the first section of the book, which takes you through the history of gender essentialism in Wicca. It’s definitely useful background information, and I learned a lot. But it is very dense at points, especially if (like me) you don’t have a background in Wicca. I wouldn’t even call this a con, precisely–it’s just something to know going into it. If deep diving into gender studies and Wiccan history sounds unappealing or overwhelming, it might be worth approaching this book very slowly. Break it into small, approachable bites rather than trying to marathon the whole book at once (which is what I did, because I have no self control when it comes to books). Or honestly, even jump over chapters five and six. They’re absolutely worthwhile, but if you’re mostly here for ideas about incorporating non-gendered polarity magic into your practice, you don’t need those chapters to dive in.
Something that I will point out as a con is that Deborah Lipp definitely falls into some ableist stereotypes from time to time. In the chapter about the polarity of force/form, for example, she describes force without form using the metaphor of a “kid with ADHD bouncing off the walls and accomplishing nothing.” I don’t love this metaphor, any more than I love it when picky/particular behavior is described as OCD, or when a mood swing is described as bipolar. I don’t think there’s any malice in Lipp’s metaphor here–it just feels like one of those problematic language habits that requires conscious unlearning.
Later, in the chapter on the polarity of passive/active, she uses an extended analogy that I don’t exactly know how to feel about. “Consider certain disabilities in which a person might need to passively wait to be helped,” says Lipp. “Living an active, empowered life requires dependency on a home health aide for some people, for example, a wheelchair user who needs to be assisted into their chair. They’re active once in the chair, but until then, there’s an enforced passivity that can be frustrating…it’s a polarity…I’m not telling any disabled person to be happy about a difficult situation, but it’s powerful to find that energy is there for the taking.”
I can’t speak as a wheelchair user or someone who currently needs a home health aide. But I am a physically disabled person who uses a cane and sometimes a rollator, and I do require extra help from my loved ones. And reading that paragraph gave me very mixed feelings. On the one hand, I like the idea of finding power in the liminality of disability. I’m always excited when disability is called out as a source of strength rather than a tragic deficit. On the other hand…wow, I don’t love describing disability as enforced passivity. Even in moments like Lipp describes, such as a home health aide helping a wheelchair user transfer from bed to wheelchair, I don’t see it as passive/active as much as I do give/take. If I have to rely on my spouse to help me with something, I must first actively ask for their help. That takes a lot of energy and strength. It isn’t passive. And as my partner E pointed out, no matter what your body is doing, your mind may be very active. Even if I’m having a day where I can’t move much from the couch, my mind is usually pretty busy. That’s not passivity, either. And for all you know, a home health aide (or helpful loved one) may be mentally checked out while they help the physically disabled person with physical tasks. Does that make them passive, or active?
Furthermore, this polarity of getting help isn’t specific to disabled people. Yes, we may need our loved ones or caregivers to step in for day-to-day tasks that our abled compatriots don’t. But asking for and receiving help is something we ALL do, disabled or abled, neurotypical or neurodivergent. I would have preferred to see Lipp talk about passive/active from a broader perspective, rather than using the analogy of a wheelchair user. I will say that Lipp encourages the reader to come up with their own polarities, or different methods of engaging with each polarity. She even includes an appendix at the back which lists all the facets of each polarity she came up with, and leaves space for you to add your own. If I were going to experiment with this polarity, I think I’d call it give/take rather than passive/active. And with all of that said, perhaps Lipp’s analogy rings true to you and your practice as is. That’s completely valid! It’s just one of those moments that gave me pause when I first read it, so if you decide to pick up Bending the Binary, it’s worth knowing ahead of time what to expect.
The appendix, where you can add your own polarities.
Because E is a genius, when we were discussing the book they got me thinking about movement/stillness as a particularly rich vein for disabled witches to experiment with. I don’t have the space to do it justice in this blog post, so I’m actually going to write a separate post where I explore movement/stillness polarity–perhaps even with its own spell or ritual! So keep an eye out for that in the coming weeks.
In general, I don’t think any of these cons make the book unworthy of a read. It genuinely does have a lot of thought-provoking and inspiring content, especially if you’re a queer witch. It’s a book I’m happy to have on my shelf, and one that I plan to return to as I experiment with polarity magic. If you want to deepen your understanding of magical theory in a queer-friendly way, OR if you’re an authority figure in a coven or magical group looking to make your space more inclusive, I’d definitely recommend picking up Bending the Binary. Just know that you may need to pace yourself as you read through the more theory-heavy sections, and that a few of Lipp’s analogies should be taken with a grain of salt.
Thanks again to Llewellyn for giving me this advanced reader copy! What other witchy books would you like to see me review from an accessibility standpoint?
In Tiny Tarot Wisdom for Spoonies, I’ll be going through every card individually and sharing mini insights we as disabled and neurodivergent (ND) witches can take from it.
The two words I always think about with the Lovers are choice and connections. Yes, the Lovers can appear during that dizzy, fireworks-inducing flush of new romantic love. But they can also stand for new connections of any sort, including new friendships, new collaborative relationships, etc. And they signal choices, too, such as choosing the company you keep and the meaning you find in your relationships.
The Lovers tell spoonies to fall back on their people. Consciously seek out the kinds of relationships that fill you up and recharge you. If you already have romantic partners or dear friends, carve out time to spend with them. If you feel somewhat isolated, look for ways to find your people. Online groups can be an incredible lifeline for us if going to in-person meetups is too overwhelming, physically or mentally. I’m part of a fibromyalgia discord server, and I’ve met people there who I believe will be in my life forever. What choice can you make today to start finding and fostering those connections?
During a therapy session not long after my dad died, my therapist asked what kinds of things I was doing to take care of myself while grieving. I mentioned that listening to music helped a lot, though I wasn’t sure why. She looked at me like I’d grown a second head and said, “Because it’s music!”
Point taken.
One of the things I love about music as magic (though, really this is true for any art form) is how incredibly personal it is. If you and a significant other have a song that is “your song,” you’ll feel warm and fuzzy anytime you hear it. It doesn’t matter if it’s Beethoven or Lin-Manuel Miranda or Chance the Rapper. It’s yours. Same goes for a song that you associate with a loved one’s funeral; it will likely always feel bittersweet to listen to.
With all that said, playlists can be curated for a specific type of magic or a particular energy you want to cultivate! You may already do this on some level–do you have a playlist you throw on when you’re getting ready in the morning, for example? Or one that you use during workouts? Both are a form of musical intention-setting. By pulling together the perfect combination of songs and deploying them in a specific moment, you’re summoning that energy and focusing on it.
The beautiful thing about creating magical playlists is that there’s no right or wrong. You could create a playlist with hundreds of songs, or only a handful. You could stick to a specific genre or artist, or you could go eclectic and add whatever songs Feel Right. The only guideline is to start out with an intention/energy in mind, and to choose songs that fit that intention/energy FOR YOU. Don’t worry about whether someone else would think of “Call Me Maybe” as a motivational song–if it is motivational for you, it belongs on your playlist.
Since this isn’t an activity that I can provide tons of guidance on (it’s too personal and there’s too many variables!) I wanted to at least give you a few examples of my witchy playlists and how I use them. Let’s begin!
I’ve talked about it on this blog before, but I have a lot of trouble connecting with my body. It hurts all the time, it often doesn’t cooperate with my plans and aspirations, and I’ve had so many doctors dismiss my symptoms that my default has become “ignore my body’s signals” most of the time. This can be helpful in very short bursts, but as a long-term coping mechanism, it isn’t particularly healthy. So in the last year or two, I’ve been working on mindfully connecting with my body as much as I can–checking in with it, noticing sensations and physical signs of intuitive hits, and even doing the occasional tarot spread to give my body a direct voice.
Recently though, inspired by Sleeping at Last’s song “Body,” I decided to create a playlist to help facilitate this connection. It’s very small–currently it only has six songs because I just started building it this month. As I come across more songs that fit, I’ll add them. But here’s a quick rundown of the songs on the playlist as it stands now.
“Body” by Sleeping at Last. The song that started the whole playlist. I can’t express how much this song reminds me to have care and patience for my flesh suit. “There’s magic in our bones, a north star in our soul that remembers our way home.” Beautiful.
“Bones” by Imagine Dragons. I associate Imagine Dragons with chronic pain anyway because the lead singer has been open about having ankylosing spondylitis. I mostly added “Bones” to this playlist because it has such synergy with Sleeping at Last’s “Body.” Especially the line: “I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I’m losing all control ‘cause there’s magic in my bones.” Yes, I do need multiple reminders that there is, in fact, magic in my bones.
“Don’t Carry it All” by the Decemberists. From both a physical and emotional standpoint, “Don’t Carry it All” tells me to ask for help and lean on my loved ones when needed. Just look at the chorus: “Let the yoke fall from our shoulders. Don’t carry it all, don’t carry it all. We are all our hands in holders beneath this bold and brilliant sun.” Just the instrumental backing of this song lifts my spirits, too. It’s like something that might play during a movie montage of the protagonists working together to build something important to the plot.
“This Too Shall Pass” by OK Go. From the title alone you should be able to guess what this song does for me. It helps me keep in mind that nothing is forever. The worst flareups will ease eventually. The deepest grief will soften with time. “No, you can’t keep letting it get you down and you can’t keep dragging dead weight around.” Indeed.
“Hymn” by Kesha. There’s something simultaneously spiritual and down-to-earth about “Hymn,” which means it’s right up my alley. I blasted it many a time after my dad’s death. “I know that I’m perfect even though I’m fucked up” was–and is–so helpful to hear. My body and my heart both have bruises and scars. But they’re both doing their best, which is the important part.
“Believer” by Imagine Dragons. This song is explicitly about lead singer Dan Reynolds’ relationship with his chronic pain. It doesn’t downplay the difficulty of managing chronic pain, but it also acknowledges how you can learn and grow from it: “You break me down and build me up, believer, believer…My life, my love, my drive, it came from pain.”
I listen to this playlist when I’m feeling particularly dissociative, or when I’m just coming off a bad flareup and need to reconnect with my body. The order of songs may change, and I’ll likely add a few as I go. But even with just these six songs, it gets the job done!
If you have a relationship with a deity, I highly recommend making a playlist in their honor! It can serve as an offering to them, a sort of digital altar in their name. And it’s so versatile. You can use it as background music when you’re doing any sort of work with your deity, to be sure. But you can also play it when you’re not in a good place to do involved spells, rituals, or offerings. Just listening to a few songs from your playlist while focusing on your deity can be a powerful means of connection.
My Hestia playlist is longer than my Body playlist, so I won’t go through every song in as much detail. If you check it out, you’ll notice a few repeat songs that serve both purposes for me. But most of the songs don’t appear on both playlists. Some numbers may be immediately recognizable as Hestia-related; “Come and Be Welcome” by Heather Dale perfectly encapsulates Hestia’s warm, hospitable energy, in my opinion. But some are very personal to my relationship with her. For example, “We Know the Way” from Disney’s Moana was a song that (for whatever reason) comforted me greatly after my dad died, so it gets a spot here.
This is more of an abstract one, so bear with me. In my tarot practice, the card that often comes up as my significator card (the one that represents me in a reading) is the Sun. I’ve felt connected to the sun and solar magic for years now. So to celebrate and invoke the sun’s energy, I created a playlist titled “Sunshine.” The only rule? Every song had to have something to do with the sun, light, or stars. Most of them include one of these words or ideas in the title. Scroll through and you’ll see songs like “Sunflower” by Post Malone and “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles. There are also a few songs that stretch the definition a bit, like “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’” from Oklahoma the Musical. But it evokes sunshine and the joy of a new morning, so for me, it counts.
Whew, that was a lot! But hopefully this has demonstrated what broadly useful tools playlists can be. You could curate a playlist for just about anything! What about a playlist to help you create sacred space before a spell or ritual? A playlist to connect you to a long-distance member of your coven? Even a playlist to help you wind down before bed can have a magical intention overlaid onto it.
I’d love to know what kinds of witchy playlists you’ve made or hope to make! Sound off in the comments. And consider subscribing to the blog in the box at the bottom right of this page so you don’t miss an update!
In Tiny Tarot Wisdom for Spoonies, I’ll be going through every card individually and sharing mini insights we as disabled and neurodivergent (ND) witches can take from it.
Though they are often stereotyped as the stodgy traditionalist of Old Religion, the Hierophant can also stand for simple spirituality in whatever form fits best for you. For disabled and neurodivergent folks, what little rituals can you create to help you feel centered and connected to yourself, your world, and/or something larger than yourself?
I don’t always have the spoons to do involved tarot spreads consistently (like new moon/full moon readings). But most times I can pull a card or two just before bed. I usually do this FROM bed, and then I display my card on my nightstand so I can reflect on it the next evening and consider how it applied to the day.
Something doesn’t have to be capital-r Religious or inherently witchy to be spiritual for you, either. Cross stitch and embroidery are often forms of meditation for me. Maybe you set an intention to wash away the day’s negativity before you step in the shower. Maybe you offer a spoonful of your morning coffee or tea to your chosen deity. Maybe you simply spend five minutes on your balcony (weather permitting) and listen to the sounds of nature. Whatever rituals work for you, big or small, commit to them. Don’t beat yourself up if a flareup or bad mental health day sometimes throws off your routine, but as long as you’re feeling capable, stick with it. These tiny rituals can be surprisingly comforting.
