Singing the Magic: A Welsh Witch's Journey with Mhara Starling
When we think of witchcraft, many of us conjure images of cauldrons, spellbooks, and perhaps a black cat. But for Mhara Starling, a Welsh witch and author, the most powerful magical tool isn't something you can hold in your hands—it's your voice. In a fascinating exploration of Welsh magical traditions, Mhara reveals how the very act of singing can be one of the most profound forms of spellcasting we can perform.
The Welsh language offers us unique insights into magical practice that have been overlooked in mainstream witchcraft discussions. Mhara explains that in Welsh, the word for witch isn't simply one-dimensional. While "gwrach" (which has negative connotations related to disgust) is commonly known, there are more nuanced terms like "Swynraeg" (a woman who practices enchantment) or "Gwyddan" (one who understands the wisdom of trees). These linguistic distinctions remind us that magical practitioners have always been diverse in their approaches and relationships to power.
What truly sets Welsh magical practice apart is its deep connection to bardic traditions. Unlike many cultures that primarily recorded their magical knowledge in written form, Welsh tradition passed its wisdom through spoken word, poetry, and song. Mhara describes how "awen"—the force of divine, poetic inspiration—flows from the otherworld into ours like a breeze. When we breathe it in, we can birth something profound and transformative. This powerful concept underscores why using your voice with intention and power isn't just performative—it's deeply magical.
The relationship between witchcraft and the natural world takes center stage in Mhara's practice. She speaks eloquently about living in accordance with "the wisdom of the forest," noting how trees communicate, protect each other, and exist in diverse communities. This forest wisdom offers a powerful metaphor for human communities as well, suggesting that diversity brings richness rather than division. In our increasingly disconnected world, Mhara suggests that returning to our trees—both literally and metaphorically—can help us combat the disenchantment of modern life.
Perhaps most provocatively, Mhara challenges us to recognize the inherent queerness of witchcraft. Not necessarily in terms of LGBTQIA+ identity (though that's often present too), but in the broader sense of that which does not conform, that which exists in opposition to what's normative. Just as nature defies our attempts to categorize it neatly, magical practice at its core is transgressive, existing beyond societal constraints. This perspective offers a refreshing counterpoint to more rigid, binary approaches to witchcraft that emerged in the mid-20th century.
For those seeking to deepen their own practice, Mhara's advice is simple yet profound: listen to your community's stories. Some of her most valuable magical knowledge didn't come from books or formal training, but from overhearing conversations between her grandmother and mother about local healers. These everyday exchanges revealed traditional healing practices that included both herbal components and magical words—knowledge that might never have made it into a published grimoire.
As we navigate an increasingly digital and disconnected world, Mhara's Welsh witchcraft reminds us that magic resides in our voices, in community wisdom, and in our relationship with the natural world. By singing our spells with conviction, seeking out local folklore, and aligning ourselves with the wisdom of the forest, we can rediscover enchantment in a disenchanted age. The cauldron of transformation is always bubbling—we need only be brave enough to look inside.
