The stars look very different today

David Bowie has died. It's dominated the news all day, and no wonder. He's one of those rare people who did exactly what he wanted, morphed into different personalities and was completely and utterly himself.

This is such a rare thing. We're all so constrained by expectations - of society, our parents, our spouses, our friends, ourselves. We grow under the weight of what others expect from us, and it shapes us all in ways that will conform to the standard.

'Coming out' as a pagan is still something I feel strangely about. There's the sense that I have betrayed the teachings of my youth - I grew up in a very devout, Catholic home, and I never did tell my mother (rest her soul) about the call I've felt from my earliest childhood to the pagan gods, the magic and mystery of the old ways. Even now, when it's (somewhat) more socially acceptable to not be Christian, I seldom talk about my beliefs in public or even with friends. There's the ones who think you're the deluded and the ones that fear for your soul and the ones who think you're very cute with your hipster New Age nonsense, and all of it serves to keep my mouth shut. Of course, if you follow me on Facebook you've seen my links and pictures shared from witchy and pagan websites, so I'm not hiding it - but this is the first I've talked about it openly.

The truth is, I love being a witch.

The power of plants, stones, symbols. The wisdom of the old gods, of the power of the earth and the elements, of the ancient cultures who have given us our modern civilization, have been speaking to me since I was a girl. Why fight it?

I've always been drawn to plants, flowers, gardening. I seem to get it from my grandmother, who tended dozens of plants. I don't remember her much - she passed away when I was seven - but I heard more than one tale of how she talked to her plants, and her mango trees gave fruit the size of softballs.

It must skip a generation, because my mother never had live plants. She'd always buy the silk ones (which are even nastier to dust and clean than the real thing, if you ask me), and wouldn't buy real plants even when I promised to be the one to look after them.

I myself have always had a green thumb. When I was in second grade, my father died, and my homeroom class gave me a plant in commemoration. It was a beautiful little philodendron and I had it for ten years, until it abruptly died one summer for no apparent reason.

In any case, it doesn't matter why. It just - is. The path I have trod has led me to this door, and having opened it, I am free.