Soul Searching and Door Knobs: Witchy Symbols and the Passage to Womanhood

Soul-searching is a fabulous business, especially when witches are involved. This is a tale of the October feeling of shivering when the wind is screeching and the crispy air is inviting everyone to the remembrance of old times past.

Back in the day, when I was roaming the woods with my cousin Atlanta, we came upon a covered area in a clearing. The witches had been there too, as we could see remnants of tiny bones in one place among the ruffled, dried-up leaves. We were not scared, as these sights were usual at those times. What surprised us the most was a small silver bell left as if by mistake or perhaps forgotten.

The forest was quiet; there was suddenly no more sound, no movement, not even the stir of an insect in the grass.

I picked up the bell, but Atlanta hesitated. She was afraid that ringing it might evoke the spirits that lingered in the woods. I marveled at the delicate craftsmanship of the small, shiny object. It was intricately designed, with swirling patterns and tiny symbols that we couldn’t quite decipher. This bell seemed out of place amidst the eerie surroundings, and its presence intrigued us.

As I held it in my hands, a soft, melodic chime echoed through the woods, sending a shiver down our spines. The bell had a magical quality, and I couldn’t resist giving it a gentle ring. The sound that emanated from the bell was unlike anything we had ever heard before. It was as if it held the essence of the ancient forest, the whispers of long-forgotten secrets, and the laughter of woodland creatures.

We observed a small door knob stuck in the soil as the echoes of the bell ringing faded. It was there, an unassuming portal to the unknown, tempting us with an aura of mystery.

A red wooden door.

Its elaborate design, encrusted with time symbols, hinted at unknown stories.

With trembling hands, we reached out to turn the aged, wrought-iron knob. The door swung open just a tiny bit with an eerie creak, revealing a slit of a passage. The air grew cooler, and we sensed some trepidation. As we looked through the slightly opened door, the tunnel’s dimly lit interior gave off an aura of timelessness, as if it had been untouched for centuries.

A flowing current made us shiver; the scent of old, dusty, and decaying paper could be felt. The passage was cloaked in delicate yet dense spiderwebs, spun with care and precision, covering the secrets of the underground world. This mystery triggered a wave of unease. What lay at the end of this corridor, we wondered?

Despite our curiosity, fear held us in its grip. We were merely two young girls alone in this place, and the prospect of exploring further was too much to bear. The idea of running back to the comfort of our home, where the boundaries of the known and the unknown were safely defined, seemed more appealing by the second.

To our relief, the aged door knob wouldn’t budge any further, refusing to reveal the secrets hidden in the depths of the tunnel. We couldn't push the door open to see more. The knob remained blocked, like a stubborn guardian. With hearts still pounding and minds filled with both wonder and hesitation, we decided to leave, suddenly realizing dusk was settling over the forest.

That memory of the bell and the door knob still lingers in my heart.

Twenty years later, I hold in my hand the same shiny object, a keepsake from our childhood forest trips. Atlanta moved abroad, and she no longer believes in magic or ancient spirits of the woods.

I, however, keep wondering if the ringing of the bell might have unveiled the doorknob and the secrets stirring underground that fateful October day.

Meanwhile, I have been researching all things witchcraft. I can’t help but feel a profound connection to my feminine lineage, harking back to the women in my family who, through generations, have been the keepers of ancient wisdom. Their practices involved using herbs, chants, and an intuitive understanding of nature, portraying the spiritual connection in our family.

In this voyage of self-discovery and reconnection, I find myself remembering my grandmother’s stories. I remember her telling of her mother’s aunt, Vasilika, a woman known for her magical wisdom and protective rituals. My grandmother would tell me how this remarkable ancestor had a little bell, similar to the one I now have. It was thought to have the capacity to resound against malicious spirits and ward off negativity. With each gentle chime, she would create a sacred haven where love, light, and positive energies reigned over everything.

As I continue to delve into the esoteric world of witchcraft, I can’t help but wonder if this bell I’ve discovered has any significance.

Bells have old sacred meanings relating to human reproductive functions, according to Judika Iles’ findings in the Encyclopedia of Witchcraft. In this context, the body of the bell represents the vulva, while the clapper represents the phallus. The body of the bell might sometimes represent the womb, with the clapper representing the existence of a kid within it.

Was the bell of our childhood adventure a symbol of our upcoming adolescence with all its womanly traits and struggles? Was the door the passage we needed to go through to become women? Our hearts were still intertwined with the dreams of our younger selves, but the world outside was calling us to embrace new roles and responsibilities.

The door was a metaphorical passage, a threshold to be crossed on our journey to womanhood. Perhaps it held the key to unlocking the wisdom and strength that women of generations past had passed down, with their herbs and chants, their secrets and stories. The door symbolized the challenges and uncertainties we would face on this path, reminding us that the journey ahead was not always clear but held treasures waiting to be discovered.

We ultimately decided to turn back and return to the warmth and familiarity of our home, leaving behind the door and its mysteries. Our journey toward adulthood continued, characterized by the allure of the unknown and the comfort of the familiar. The resonating sound of the bell stayed with us, serving as a reminder of our transition. The red door remained closed, waiting for the day when we would find the courage to metaphorically turn its knob once more and embark on the adventure it promised.

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***I originally published this story on Medium.***

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