Azzurra was at daycare and Elia was out for work, but Belinda felt that, unlike in days past, she was not at all alone. The days after Christmas passed happily amidst Frank Sinatra's songs and family gatherings; they were golden, red, and true days, typical of the Christmas season. In Belinda, the need to take a step forward on her initiatory path toward esotericism grew ever stronger, toward a form of magic that seemed to bring her closer to home than ever before. The urgency to consecrate her tools was strong, but there was one step she felt she could not skip: defining her moral law.
She had spent days reading and rereading texts on folk magic and modern witchcraft. The heart of wisdom, the ethical compass that was to guide her every action, was summarized in the Wiccan Rede. Until that moment, the prayers of Anna and Caterina had been dictated by instinct and the necessity to protect; her own practice, however, had to be conscious, built on clear spiritual foundations.
Belinda sat down at her desk, opening the Grimorie at its heart of coffee-antiqued paper. On the first page, she affixed a Pentacle with a black pastel, a seal of protection against negative energies. The next page was ready to receive her solemn vow. She picked up the fountain pen gifted by Elia years ago, an everyday object she now elevated to a sacred tool for the first inscription.
The sunlight fell exactly on the page, like an invisible spotlight. Belinda closed her eyes, reflecting on the profound meaning of the heritage she was about to accept. It was not just about fighting the evil eye, but about living in harmony with the cosmos.
She wrote slowly, with elegant and decisive handwriting, letting the words of the Rede resonate in the silence of the house:
THE REDE OF MY PATH
In total trust and love, the Wiccan law you must follow.An' ye harm none, do what ye will.
She paused for a long moment, setting down the pen. The maxims were the foundation, but she felt the need to anchor them to practical wisdom and her personal journey. She wanted to link the ethics to the discretion, typical of Sicilian mavare. She continued writing, adding a code of conduct:
Keep your gaze serene, your touch light;listen much and speak little.
Now it was complete. It was a perfect synthesis between the universal ethics of Wicca and the discrete prudence handed down by the women of her land. Beneath the code, she added her personal oath:
The Threefold Law I shall remember:Whatever I do shall return threefold.
I honor the strength of Caterina (Earth and Root),I listen to the breath of Anna (Air and Knowledge),I protect the future of Azzurra (Water and Life).
My intent shall always be pure, my magic gentle.May my power be in service, not in domination.
She reread the entire page. She felt a slight dizziness. It was an act of declaration, a point of no return. She had imprinted her soul and her rules onto those pages. Yet she felt it was not enough, that all her ancestors were asking her for another act of devotion and faith. A faith different from the one she was accustomed to, a faith in the woman, in a matriarchal and feminine symbolism.
Consulting various books, among the texts she found a hymn to the Goddess and decided to rewrite a prayer in her own words for the Goddess, for herself, and for her ancestors.
Hymn to the Goddess:
Great Moon Mother Goddess, Queen of the night, shining in the sky, protect this earthly follower of yours. Protect the mother, the crone, and the daughter, as you yourself, O Triple Goddess, are. Mother Goddess who dwells in the night, wrap the silver sky with your mantle of stars. Lady of the night who protects me and guides me to the gates of day. Health, strength, and happiness, this is what I ask for here. May my ancestors also enjoy this, and may they never be forgotten.
Once she finished writing, Belinda felt hungry, a signal of her rediscovered connection with her body after the intense mental concentration. She rose to go to the kitchen.
As she was about to leave the small study, she turned and noticed that the windows were ajar. She was certain she had closed them, given the cold January air. A light but warm wind, fragrant with orange blossom, caressed the open page of the Grimorie. The Lemon Wand, resting on the table, vibrated slightly, like a musical chord. Belinda felt no fear, only a silent exaltation. Her vow had been heard, her code accepted. The Grimorie, now sacred, was ready for its ritual of consecration.