How Woo Are You?

And do you stand in the place where you live.

How did that solar eclipse go for you? Did you feel some waves? Are you still looking for your ride to show up? Or did you go “meh” with a perfunctory glance upward and then go make a smoothie?

Right, it’s just a celestial maneuver that scientifically can be known, so not super special. Or is it? Kind of depends on how deep you woo.

Woo-woo is generally regarded as a term that describes someone “relating to or holding unconventional beliefs regarded as having little or no scientific basis, especially those relating to spirituality, mysticism, or alternative medicine.” It’s in the flippin’ dictionary, I am not making this up.

I’m sure you can add to this list of things that might be considered woo-woo: Essential oils, reiki healing, psychics, energy crystals, spirit guides, sound baths, the power of kale, tarot readings, The Force, and so many other witchy things.

Generally, when someone brings up the idea of someone else being woo-woo, it’s typically not a compliment. Often, it’s a straight up insult: You know she’s kinda woo-woo, right? «insert motion of finger swirling the air by the head »

But here’s the thing, and the thing of it is: Many of us grew up believing in things unseen, like Santa, wishing wells, Andrew Ridgeley of Wham!, and the Bermuda Triangle. It was encouraged even. Until it wasn’t. Sure sure, grow up, learn science, figure out a fat man can’t fit down so many chimneys AND have your mom’s same hand writing.

Friends, I am guilty of telling my youngest about Santa because I thought he was being ridiculed by his pals who knew. I hate that my lesson was: to believe in something magical when you get older is shameful.*

Because on a scale of one to WOO, I’m pretty woo-woo. And in our culture, that can be a rough road to walk.

Over the last few days in Tepoztlan, nestled in the mountains 90 minutes south of Mexico City, I felt quite at home. In 2001 it was named one of three Mexican Magical Cities, which, in 2024 number 177. Yes, that’s a bit of tourism marketing, but there are reasons Tepoztlan was a first thought. It’s thick with mystery.

Just north of the village center, one of the mountain peaks still holds the ruins of Tepozteco, a pyramid built by the Aztecs about 700 years ago to honor Tepoztecatl, god of fertility and the fermented drink known as pulque (Aztec moonshine). The region is also said to be the birthplace of Quetzalcóatl, the Mesoamerican feathered serpent god of winds and rain, and the creator of the world and humanity.

But Jesus is here too. The Dominicans built a massive monastery in the 1500’s. Each neighborhood, or barrio, in the village has its own church (our barrio was named for the church of Santo Domingo) but also its own spirit animal. So I often turned a corner and saw a Catholic shrine which featured the Virgin Mary AND a frog. Hey, the Mormons don’t want to be left out either.

Our friend Karen, a former Minnesotan who has lived and raised a family there for more than a few decades, talked about the time when her daughter was young girl. She of blue eyes and white blonde hair was a something of a charm to the locals who always wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder or arm. Karen was advised to let them otherwise the need would go unfulfilled and pass negatively to her. She told me about an egg cleanse as an Indigenous tradition used to clear her of this negative energy, that she’s had many over the years. Next time I go, I’m all in for that. Plus the Aztec steam baths or sweat lodges known as temazcal. Sweat it out, baby.

I haven’t even gotten to the aliens.

But on one of our strolls through the market, I stopped to look at some bracelets. The seller turned to me, explaining about the powers in the crystals. He said the fff sound in my name (Estafania) led him to a particular bracelet, which he placed inside my hand before asking me to gently close my fingers around it. He then told me I was a witch (confirmed), that I had high intelligence but also a childish side, and as he floated his hand above my head, he asked if I could feel the energy. I looked to my friends for verification that he was touching my hair, because it felt like he was. They said no, his hand was well above my head. There was a vibe.

He said I whip into states sometimes, I forget a lot of things, and when I get really frustrated it centers in my gut. He asked me what I do. When I said writer, he said, “See? A witch!” He quoted me a huge price for the bracelet, which would focus my words, and I suddenly felt sheepish. Oh yeah, this is transactional. One of my friends gave me a small head shake, not worth that amount.

I said I would think about it, we still had to buy itacates and cilantro in the market, we’d swing back through. We tipped him for the reading and never went back.**

Opening up your belief system to something challenging or different, clearly puts you in line for ridicule, but it also means you might fall for a ruse. Weirdly though, there’s no protection from that on either side, traditional or unconventional. Please refer to a certain snake oil salesman and his holy week bible.

So then the option is what? Not believing in anything? I think I’d rather woo.

Curiosity comes with the itch to write, let’s call it a witch itch. And nothing has spurred that curiosity more than the simple and beautiful act of aging. All that is unspooling in front of me isn’t framed with a panicked need for context, it’s more of complex tour into possibility. For me, it’s expansion. I can’t understand how it would be better to close off and settle on one answer, I find no comfort there.

So I’ve been confirmed an Episcopalian and I have tattooed an I Ching hexagram on my body. I’ve participated in a shaman’s ceremony at Warmiwañusqa in Peru, and I’ve participated in therapy. I have a psychic on speed-dial and a daruma doll helping me move towards a lofty goal. I get estrogen for the body, and do Small Universe for the mind.

It’s all frogs and Mary, none of this is at odds for me. Though, they may be for you, I’m not trying to convert or tread on anyone’s choices. Where you put your trust, invest your heart and mind, is maybe the realest choice you ever make.

To some, this may sound like I am lost. And yet, I feel found in a million more ways. If you want to derisively call me woo-woo, it won’t work as an insult. For me, it boils down to a badge of courage: Willing to sally forth with eyes open and palms up.

As the fine witches of my 20’s once said, “the less I seek my source for some definitive,
closer I am to fine.”

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* Giant Baby is fine, he is not scarred from SantaGate. In fact, he’s a Religious Studies major which goes to show his belief in magic as an adult is quite solidly intact.

** Yeah I regret not getting the bracelet, especially considering that this post was accidentally deleted once, and is later even still. Whammy!