07/02/2026
United We Stand
As we approach Americaโs 250th Fourth of July, my heart keeps returning to the women. The women of every generation.
The women who stood in doorways and fields, in kitchens and cabins, in circles and sacred spaces, beside rivers, beneath old trees, and under skies that held both sorrow and hope. The women who carried babies on their hips, grief in their bones, songs in their throats, and entire bloodlines inside their hearts.
Some of them were feared for their wisdom.
Some were stolen from their homelands.
Some were forced from the lands of their ancestors.
Some were silenced, shamed, used, judged, hunted, or forgotten.
And still, somehow, they endured.
This piece is for them, and I call it "United We Stand"
For the grandmothers whose names we know, and the ones whose names were never written down. For the mothers who kept going when there was no softness given to them. For the daughters who inherited wounds they did not create, and still found ways to love, protect, create, heal, and survive.
As a witch and spiritual practitioner, I believe memory is sacred. I believe the land remembers. I believe the blood remembers. I believe women carry stories in ways the world has often failed to honor. We carry them in our hands, in our voices, in our instincts, in our grief, in our courage, and in the quiet knowing that comes from those who walked before us.
In this piece, three women stand together, hand in hand, heads bowed in reverence.
A witch.
A Native woman.
A Black woman.
Each one carries her own ancestral story. Each one represents generations of women who lived through fear, loss, judgment, survival, and change. They do not stand apart. They do not stand in competition. They stand together as sacred witnesses to the women who came before, the women who are here now, and the women who will come after us.
Behind them, the flag rises as a symbol of a country still becoming. Within it are memories that should not be forgotten: the witch trials, where fear turned womenโs wisdom into accusation; slavery, where Black women were stolen, sold, separated from their children, and forced to survive the unimaginable; and the suffering of Native women, whose families, lands, cultures, and sacred ways were wounded by conquest and loss.
These are not easy memories.
But they belong to the story.
And to honor the women of generations, we cannot only honor the pretty parts. We must also honor the tears, the trembling hands, the babies held close, the meals stretched thin, the herbs gathered, the songs remembered, the graves tended, and the strength passed quietly from one woman to the next.
That is what this image means to me.
It is not about blame.
It is about remembrance.
It is about reverence.
It is about the women who carried history on their backs and still found a way to keep love alive.
In magick, we know that before a blessing can be placed, the space must be cleared. Before healing can begin, the wound must be seen. Before the future can be called in, the old grief must be honored with honesty and respect.
At 250 years, America is not a finished spell. It is still being written. Still being shaped. Still being tended by the hands, hearts, choices, tears, hopes, and lived wisdom of those who walk this land.
And so much of that tending has always been done by women.
Women who mended what was broken.
Women who protected what they could.
Women who remembered the old ways.
Women who buried their dead and still rose the next morning.
Women who made homes out of hardship.
Women who taught, healed, cooked, comforted, created, and carried on.
So this Fourth of July, I hold space for them.
For the women who were feared.
For the women who were stolen.
For the women who were displaced.
For the women who were silenced.
For the women who survived.
For the women whose strength still lives in us.
May we remember where they were.
May we honor what they endured.
May we carry their wisdom forward with softer hands and braver hearts.
And may the generations still to come inherit more than pain. May they inherit compassion. May they inherit truth. May they inherit unity. May they inherit a future shaped by remembrance, reverence, and a sacred respect for every woman who helped carry this story forward.
๐ ๐ด๐ฒ๐ป๐๐น๐ฒ ๐ป๐ผ๐๐ฒ ๐ฏ๐ฒ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ๐ฒ ๐ฐ๐ผ๐บ๐บ๐ฒ๐ป๐๐ถ๐ป๐ด
I am sharing this piece as a sacred moment of remembrance, reverence, and reflection. My intention is not to open the door to political debate, but to honor the women, the pain, the strength, the hope, and the history that brought us to this moment.
Please help me keep this space respectful and centered on the heart of the piece. I ask that comments remain kind, thoughtful, and in the spirit in which it was created.
๐ ๐ฑ๐ผ ๐ป๐ผ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ป๐ ๐๐ผ ๐๐ฒ๐ฒ ๐ฐ๐ผ๐บ๐บ๐ฒ๐ป๐๐ ๐ฎ๐ฏ๐ผ๐๐ ๐ฝ๐ผ๐น๐ถ๐๐ถ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐น ๐ฝ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐๐ถ๐ฒ๐, ๐ป๐ฎ๐บ๐ฒ ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐น๐น๐ถ๐ป๐ด, ๐ฏ๐ฎ๐๐ต๐ถ๐ป๐ด, ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ด๐๐บ๐ฒ๐ป๐๐, ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ฑ๐ถ๐๐ฟ๐ฒ๐๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ป๐ ๐ธ๐ถ๐ป๐ฑ. ๐ก๐ผ๐ป๐ฒ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐ถ๐ ๐๐ถ๐น๐น ๐ฏ๐ฒ ๐๐ผ๐น๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐๐ฒ๐ฑ, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐๐ฒ ๐ฐ๐ผ๐บ๐บ๐ฒ๐ป๐๐ ๐๐ถ๐น๐น ๐ฏ๐ฒ ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐บ๐ผ๐๐ฒ๐ฑ. If you choose to share this to your own page with your own thoughts, that is completely your choice. Here on my page, I ask that this post remain a place of reflection, not debate.
๐๐๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐๐ฟ๐๐ถ๐๐: Larae Maraney | The Spellbound Witchery
