The Long Game of Witches (and Outsiders Like Me)

Sometimes I wonder if I speak a language that no one else hears. I’ve sat at tables thick with history-Valencian, Frisian, Sicilian, Euskera-where words are more than communication; they are vessels of memory, dignity, and belonging. At first, I was the outsider, attuned to the music but not yet the meaning. But I did not stay at the threshold. Curiosity, patience, and a refusal to be excluded became my keys. Over time, I untangled the threads, deciphered the codes, and appreciated and comprehended.

My life has been wide-woven across lands, cultures, and the shifting sands of circumstance. I remember the day my master of sand sculptures, Benjamin Probanza, invited me into his home. Though his father wasn’t Basque, Benjamin grew up in Euskadi, living through the Franco era when speaking Euskera was forbidden. The language of the land was forced underground, spoken in whispers or not at all. Yet, even then, the spirit of the language endured,(and the secret recipe of leche frita) waiting for its moment to return.

With time and effort, I have learned some Euskera myself—a small act of reclamation, a tribute to those who kept the ember alive through silence. “Aita” (father) resonating through the streets piqued my curiosity too long before I knew about their forbidden language, Euskera, Europe’s oldest language, unrelated to any other modern-day language.
Euskera’s origins remain a mystery: while its survival is due to the Basque people’s long isolation and strong cultural identity, its roots are still unclear. Scholars agree that Euskera predates the arrival of Indo-European languages in the western Pyrenees, but its deeper ancestry is debated. Some relate it to ancient Aquitanian and Vasconic languages, and others have explored possible links to Caucasian languages, yet no definitive connection has been established.

I’ve learned that belonging is never granted; it’s earned through effort, humility, and a willingness to listen until the unfamiliar becomes familiar. Yet, another challenge remains: the world often rewards those who master appearances, titles, credentials, the easy fluency of the mainstream, while those who have done the work of accurate understanding are left circling the periphery. I have watched as languages-living, breathing things-are desacralized by those who cannot feel their weight, reduced to mere tools, stripped of their emotional resonance.

And yet, I persist because I believe in the value of the outsider who becomes an insider by choice and effort. I believe that authenticity is not a credential but a calling. The feeling behind the words matters as much as the words themselves, and comprehension is a form of respect.

Some call this stubbornness. I call it the long game—the game of witches and wanderers, of those who plant seeds in dark soil and wait for the right season to bloom. The world may chase its short-term wins, but I, like the witches, work on a different timeline. I answer to my own code, my own intuition, and my own sense of dignity.
So I sit at the table, listen, remember, and speak.

I write, create, and reach out even when I am tired, even when the world feels indifferent. Because somewhere, someone else is listening for the feeling behind the words, too. And that is enough.

May Harmony find you,

Irena Phaedra

P.S. Oant Moarn