History of a Sith Rebel Witch (Can I bury that long lost blog) My not so secret past

While I like to pretend that I am a good guy, a Star Trek type of guy, I am not.

A work in progress--nice disguise, right?

In reality, if you talk to anyone who knows me, Billie Bones, the Great Gherkin, Catherine Mock, Amy Harper, you know, the people that have banned me under Safe and Sober, he's harming both adults and children, showing up falling down drunk, never once contributed to the community . . . nice, got a screenshot of that Facebook libel and slander . . . I am a dirty Sith, as was my mentor, Maggie Moonstone; and we fought an Open War to destroy their groups, the only communities that should have any say in the future in occultism and paganism. We, Maggie and me, unfairly targeted them with our criticism. 

After all, these Holy Leaders can do whatever they want, Do Wilt They Wilt to their communities without informing their membership, including banning spiritual teachers for not kissing their ass well enough at an OFM (Open Full Moon), and cite safety. 

The Safety Patrol has only driven at least three Wiccans out of state, out of the religion, and out of the Open Full Moon Fridays. All Hail Catherine Mock! All Hail Amy Harper!

I am Sith. Not Star Fleet. Sorry. I contribute to the community by revealing the truth. 

The punchline for those who do not know my history with Denver Capital Hill Open Full Moon Friday's is that Catherine Mock is the very witch who invited me to the OFMs. 

Context being everything, I was annoyed employee that day.

Isn't that you, every day?

Context being everything, I was more annoyed than normal because it was the fall of 1996; and I had just been stabbed in the back by the Loco Gyro Brothers.

"You need to be trained by a Loco Gyro manager before becoming one."

I just trained my superior.

Then Speed Racer conned them into believing that his motorcycle racing was adveritising the restraurants. Maybe, it did. Probably not. Any business we saw at my location, we gave away. Eye witness. Speed Racer gave food away to his racing buddies. Typical.

My only saving grace was that I had insisted on getting back on hourly. District Weasel agreed because he planned on firing me. Speed Racer didn't because he needed me.

Hence I soaked them for Saturday overtime.

Bear that in mind, I have money to burn in wallet. And my Jewish Goddess that I serve knows this. Oh, and I was given the restaurant, the job that I wanted, for nine months.

Yeah. Nine months. Laugh with me. So Edgar, my good New York friend, bless him wherever he is, he kept me out of prison, dropped into a situation where one day I find myself being the owner-operator of this location untrained for nine months. 

Right after I was clear of Buddha Burger, once my two weeks was done, they pulled Dimitri from the location. Whatever I did not know, I did not know. I had keys. Thanks.

"I am calling about the produce order. Is it ready?"

That's how much notice I had that I was the man on the spot. There were no training wheels. I found myself politely asking the woman on the other end of the phone, if she could call back because I was new at the job--I needed to locate the order form first. 

I knew that there was an order form.

Many of my initial relationships, supply company, bank, main office, started off with me apoligizing that I had no idea what I was doing. We developed processes. I don't drive. I can't. Migraines. Can't even do the bus. So I lived though the fax, and the post office.

We saw the real owners twice a month, for maybe ten minutes. Once, they got used to me.

They were nightmares at first. Thought that the Strange Priest would burn the place down. Couldn't replace me. Too many quittings elsewhere. "Why are our managers quitting?" Because you ran that manager three months straight, seven days a week to save money. He told me that. You bastards. Loco Brothers would have done it to me.

If the Goddess would not have blessed me. That location was a Blessing. My Shop. 

For practical purposes, my Goddess had me serve as that food court's High Priest from September 1994 (start of December proper) to October 2004. 

Edgar was a New Yorker; he understood that a manager could live in a shop for a decade.

Edgar understood my side business. That I was a pagan/Wiccan Priest (minister), a "Jewish" (for "dirty profit") publisher just looking for a bloody book label. A Mojo Man.

The Loco Gyro Brothers did not like me, or Edgar. He left for greener pastures. Me, I got lucky. Because they kept damaging the Tree elsewhere, the Brothers never had time for me. So both me and Speed Racer realized that as long as we did our jobs (faxed in the dailies, etc.), kept our heads down, the worst would not rain down on us. Peace reigned.

Because I got nine months running the place, whenever possible, I preferred a buffer between me and the Brothers. Oh, your nephew's in charge. Great, three days in classes . . . let's not count the days that I am doing the paperwork. Where has Dimitri been for the last three months? Nice to know that he's responsible for my labor problem on Saturday.

Because, damn it--he's supposed to be working half of the Saturdays--not me, therefore, he's damn responsible (on some damn level) for my bloody labor problem. 

It was a great week, then Saturday ate us alive because the food court requires us to be open. I am going out of my mind, imaging all the ways every one could die. The joke being that the first Saturday we are finally not open, that Sandwich Shop Employee, Big Mike, will kill his secret girlfriend, the Security Guard. I miss it, by good fortune alone.

Still ended up having to eat part of that ghost.

Anyways, my life seems to always to be complicated--and Catherine Mock just walks into it one day, orders the IRS Worker special (gyro, fries, soda--cheap price--you should see the sizes of the Brothers' houses) . . . notices my pentacle, invites me to the Open Full Moon Friday. It's a special one to match my special mood of being stiffed by nine months. 

Yes, it was special.

The very first one that they would holding in a Building.

The very first Open Full Moon since the Denver police told them that if they were going to attract more than a hundred witches to a public ceremony in City Park, they needed a permit. Plus event insurance. Turns out that someone discovered that it would be cheaper to rent out space from an UU Church; that person saved the Wiccan Church. 

Catherine Mock had been recently added to the board of the community church Fall 1996.

On the night of my first OFM, I counted the crowd twice--I would have done it thrice, but a woman named Alia Denny stopped me--there were one hundred and two (102) witches. 

I had never seen that many witches in the same room before. As a potential shop owner, a Jewish publisher, a dark witchcraft author, I knew that had to be a lot of hidden witches. But to see a hundred witches openly say that they were witches, that was new.

And it wasn't a party event where you could dodge behind, "I am only pretending."

No, Alia Denny, "Unlike many private covens, we ask you not to enter in Perfect Love and Perfect Trust, for there you do not know that well; but rather to enter with Open Mind, and a Willing Mind, leaving your differences at the door." I laughed at this. We did.

I was standing right next to her. We were. Me and my ghosts.

This woman was a walking mountain. I feared not. I answered honestly.

"Because as my dead dad just joked, Merchant Peace, we don't stab you because we might want to sell you something someday--blood splatter might lower the market value."

I was fortunate that someone laughed. As a future shop owner, it helps to be funny.

Not everyone laughed. Alia made introduce themselves. Evil woman. Prideful. 

It seemed that each and every Wiccan and pagan was more successful than the last. At the time, I was unaware that I had stumbled into a Gathering of Villains. Small Press. Coven leaders and teachers. Oh look, the current owner of Herbs and Arts. 

I take notes. Rudely. I don't trust my memory. No, pagan writer's group. Notes now. 

Joke . . . will become "Morgan Drake Eckstein" first byline . . . pagan small press . . . also made me a Hole in a Stone author very last issue, makes you wonder what I could have written if I entered the community earlier. Oh well, today, Catherine Mock says that she erred in ever inviting me into the Open Full Moon Friday community. 

I end up, by chance, being the last to introduce myself that first OFM.

"Hi, I am Morgan. Guess, I am the person to talk if you have questions about Aliester Crowley, and the Hermetic Golden Dawn. I am an initiate--haven't been vaulted yet. And for fun, I occasionally sell erotica short stories for twenty-five dollars. Blessed be."

I had a hundred and one people to thank about my bio. 

Plus, me and my Honored Dead started working the room once we shook hands with Badger. Lady Martial Artist, 50s, painter, herbist, guitar, drums and keyboards. Working.

I am not saying that me and Catherine Mock became sworn enemies OFM One, Fall 1996.

Are you allergic to kittens, children, and big hats with feathers?

No, I am saying that a delightful woman by the name of Maggie Moonstone, a Sith, found me, praying up on the Christian pulpit, after the OFM. With my eyes closed. To Jesus.

"Dear Lord, some of those Board members serve not the community, but themselves."

And while I want to flee this community because I can foresee the aftermath of the death of Alia Denny, the end of Merchant Pax with me among these people--ah  ye too, Amy Harper--"Many people will remember him falling down drunk!"; this dear woman argues that our duty is to fight a Sith war with the Jedi that I just met. Yeah, a war of Darkness.

My war with the board of BaneFire Community Church ended with my last "missed" business meeting on August 28, 2019 a September 13th--yes, a Friday OFM, and a Monday resignation when I got to the question, "Can we do away with Kid Friendly?" Seriously?!?

Oh, you want to prescreen every volunteer's ritual for safety and culture? Using me as your reasoning? You bitches. Amy Harper has never finished a ritual script in her life. 

Yet, Catherine Mock can skip eighteen events (she's an officer of the Church's Board) to claim that a long line of people, "important witches," are boycotting the OFMs. Scared of me. That's why your attendance is down. Why you have no articles. Me, I am to blame. 

Seriously, I am the reason that the church was tanking?

How are you doing now?

Guess what? I don't have overhead.

Open Full Moon Saturdays Denver Colorado 80205 (2025 schedule--free to attend, child friendly, medical marijuana minister)

July 12 (Hotdogs, popsicles, and pools--blame Khari)

August 9

September 6

October 4

November 1 (Day of the Dead--again, Khari's idea)

December 6 (Yule ornaments)

Location: 2727 N. Cook St., Denver, Colorado 80205

(It's residential, just north of the Denver Zoo and golf course.)

Time: 6 pm for potluck; 7 pm for Open Full Moon; we close at 10 pm.

We have Two Ritual Areas. One in front; one in back. Several scripts. Votes.

Over the years, in the course of that church, from Fall 1996, almost every OFM (Open Full Moon), the Friday of, or before the full moon, until September 2019. I did math; it was a high number of rituals that I attended that I must now erase from all memory. 

Because someone in power has declared that I was dangerous, and never once contributed to the community when Alia Denny asked for help. Because only that world mattered. No one else. Any other work that I did does not matter to her, or Amy Harper.

No, only service to the only Wiccan Community Church that matters should be counted.

Which means that all of my work in the APAs (Amateur Press Associations), the Pagan Small Press, and the Esoteric Blogs must be ignored. 

Let's toss in that charity Hermetic Golden Dawn work, it's not for Wicca. 

Along with any paid work that I have done. 

Yes, that means both Catherine Mock, Amy Harper, or anyone that they choose to make part of that community church's board automatically is more of an elder than I am.

Just ignore that horror known by various names. 

Gleamings.

Gleamings from the Golden Dawn.

What was I going to rebrand it before your Meltdown Girl destroyed my business? Oh yes, The Magical Witch. From July 16, 2007 to December 2018--I lived on that damn blog.

One thousand, five hundred blog posts. 

If you ignore that, along with three years that I did three OFMs (at a time when you were supposed to wait six months in between OFMs), the newsletter articles, small press clippings, you are right--I contributed nothing, especially compared with your portfolio. 

I don't know how someone would find it, but according to readers' figures--the 2022 Fireside Open Schedule was viewed six times last week on that old blog. Heaven forbid that I decide to go "full nuclear" in my advertising, sisters. The structure is still there. 

Everything that you ignored back when I was Public Relations, that me and Maggie talked about, which Catherine and Amy ignored, is still there, working for Khari and her event.

How do you like those apples? I love them. "The July event is popsicles and kid pools."

Yeah, we can do this because we can have a "water and BBQ event" 

Without a Denver City Park event permit. 

Everything that me and Maggie worked and dreamed of--with Khari's help--and BaneFire's out of the game because you didn't want to play nice with me, or her. 

Just remember that your overhead, that damn building rental, will take you out, sooner or later, along with your "You must kiss my ass, if you want to perform an OFM" attitude.

I will outlast you, simply because I embrace the fact that I am truly Sith. I don't have to pretend to be Jedi to sleep well at night. I know that I am a child of the Empire, not innocence; your Star Fleet ideals are pretty--but admirals, to an one, are corrupt tyrants. 

Maybe less time, coloring with Jesus and the Saints?