MeMe's Manifestation Doll's & Jar Spells

05/05/2026

Omg I love her! ❤️ As soon as I saw her I knew she would be mine! Vintage Naber Rita the Witch. She is hand made from wood, has a wooden mask, hat, cape, and broom.

04/22/2026

💫🪶🌳

04/21/2026

I love ❤️ sitting out here every evening hanging out with the chickens. 🐔 Awhile ago when my daughter was out here there was a bird chipping in the tree and all the chickens ran up to the fence and was trying to chatter back at it. 😅

04/21/2026

🌸🌸🌸

04/20/2026

🩵🧡💚

04/19/2026

❤️💙💚🧡🩵

04/18/2026

The Crone is the most misunderstood aspect of the feminine cycle. In the Maiden–Mother–Crone triad, she is the final phase often associated with age, endings, and death. But in myth and tradition, the Crone is not decline. She is completion.

Figures like The Cailleach in Celtic lore embody winter, storms, and the shaping of the land itself. She is ancient, powerful, and not bound by youth or beauty. Her role is to strip the world down to its core. What cannot survive her, was never meant to.

The Crone does not nurture like the Mother.
She does not seek like the Maiden. She sees. In many traditions, she is the keeper of thresholds the one who stands between life and death, illusion and truth, past and what comes after. This is why she is often linked to witches, seers, and those who live on the edges of society. She has nothing to prove.

Nothing to gain. Nothing to lose. And that is what makes her powerful. The fear of the Crone is not really about age. It is about what she represents.

A version of the self that no longer performs. No longer seeks approval. No longer hides behind softness or expectation.
She is the phase where identity is no longer shaped by the outside world. Only truth remains.

In myth, winter always comes. Not as punishment. But as a necessary end to what has run its course. And the Crone is the one who brings it. Not to destroy.

But to reveal what is strong enough to endure.

04/18/2026

She arrived in New Orleans at 39 years old. No fanfare. No following. Just a woman from Meridian, Mississippi, who had quietly decided that her life was about to become something else entirely.
By 1970, she had opened her first occult shop in the French Quarter — the Witch's Workshop on St. Philip Street — where she sold oils, floor washes, spell kits, and dried bats' hearts, because, as she once told a journalist, "it's important to sell the whole bat so people know it's real." Authenticity was everything to her.
But Mary Oneida Toups was not content with a shop. She was building something larger.
On February 2, 1972 — in the American South, in an era when witchcraft was still widely feared, mocked, or condemned — she walked into the Louisiana Secretary of State's office and chartered the Religious Order of Witchcraft, the first witchcraft organization to be officially recognized as a legal religious institution in the state of Louisiana. No disguise. No apology. Just paperwork, a seal, and a woman who had decided the world needed to catch up with her.
She gave talks at luncheons. She wrote letters to newspapers defending her faith. She published her only book, Magick High and Low, in 1975 — a work that eventually found its way into university collections and earned praise from scholars of religion and the occult. She was not a performance. She was a foundation.
Mary Oneida Toups died in September 1981. She was 53. Her grave has never been found. Most of the Order's archives were swallowed by Hurricane Katrina's floodwaters. What survived was a single oil portrait — pulled from eleven feet of water in Biloxi, untouched, eerily pristine, as if even the storm knew better than to erase her completely.
Lineages are complicated things. They pass through imperfect hands. They get lost, diminished, and sometimes — if someone says yes at the right moment — they are carried forward again.
In 2017, I was asked to carry this one.
I said yes before I fully understood the weight of it. I said yes because some callings don't wait for you to feel ready. Some paths don't ask for your confidence. They only ask for your commitment.
Mary Oneida Toups didn't wait for the world's permission to build something sacred. Neither will I.
Some women don't just make history. They make room — for everyone who comes after.

04/14/2026

Here’s the thing
no one tells you
until your mascara's half-cried off
and you’re knee-deep
in peanut butter cups
wondering if anyone
has ever actually survived
being human:

You don’t heal
by pretending it didn’t happen.
You don’t grow
by faking serenity.
You certainly don’t evolve
by out-optimisming
the dumpster fire.

No, love pie.
You get better by sitting down
next to the thing
you swore you’d never touch—
the grief,
the shame,
the blistered ache you carry
from being alive and awake
in this world
with a soft heart
and armor made of empathy.

You scooch over
on the picnic bench
or the bar stool
and let the worst parts of you
sit down.

You offer them a cup of tea.
You don’t fix them.
You don’t sage them.
You just say:
“Well hell, I guess we’re in this together.”

And somehow,
by the grace of mismatched socks
and second chances,
the ache starts to breathe.
The jagged bits
don’t jab so hard.
You remember
you’ve always been a little holy
and a lot stubborn,
a little feral
and sometimes kind
and maybe that’s enough.

Radical acceptance isn’t sexy.
It’s not an Instagram filter.
It’s more like hugging a porcupine
because it’s lonely
and so are you.

But it’s the doorway.
It’s the cracked-open window
where Love sneaks in
with a bag of tacos
and says,“Let’s start here.”

**********************
poem by Angi Sullins - from "The Fragile and the Fierce" FREE SHIPPING : https://angisullins.com/shop-3-2/

This page is my tribe's Red Tent Blanket Fort, and I write to find all the misfits and weirdos who belong in here with me. We have snacks. Spread the word! More about the fort: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1393715445036560&set=pb.100031943546696.-2207520000&type=3

Times are dicey out there, friends, and free speech has gotten quite expensive. Please stay in touch with me by joining my mailing list here https://angisullins.com/get-your-muse-letter-2/. It’s the way I can reach you to tell you about public appearances, live readings, and any chance we have to get together as a tribe in person. It’s the best way to keep our independence in tact and the power to communicate alive, protected from being silenced.

Art by Omar Rayyan

04/14/2026