image - Natalia Drepina Badb I lay across your gleaming Scythe And scream in silence I am unmade In the shivering tomb of my soul The cocoon splits Marked for the tearing of its tethering The pungent rot slops onto the floor Ripe for burning Frailty hangs around my neck like a noose Crushing my trachea before I can utter words of aimless self defeat The phantom stalks these halls Blade sparking against stone slab circles In places forgotten by man And spoken of

In the quiet aftermath of the violent Blood Moon, we clutch at a moment of respite, for we have bled out into the water having opened the floodgates to our truest selves. Who amongst us can say that we have not felt the Full Moon in Leo, with its spiritual trifecta of Supermoon, Blue Moon, and Blood Moon, clawing at us from deep within, disturbing us from our rest and screeching at us to step out from the shadows in our most authentic guise. The Blood Moon set the stage of a

Art – Bojan Jevtić Sight from the Morrigan Needle claws Across my eyes Blood drenched rivers Flow across my arms Blink to black then white Crow sight There stands a woman covered In soot and darkness dirt Blacked by the flames Of fields once quickened Rise and rise again Paid for in sacrifice Blade across the throat Screaming out Crow speak Tempered never in robes of magnetic fury Cascading in ember burnt husks of glitter Do you think you know what it means

“The bloody birth of a Wild Witch.” “Wild. Ancient. Carefree. Who were we as witches before we learnt What the world told us to be?” – Joey Morris In passing, it can seem as though the reclamation of ones inner wild self is as simple as a moment of glorious realization, following which the shackles which once chained us to personal limitation, degradation, and loss of self, release, and we are free from those controlling elements that have so tortured our spiritual journey.

Image source Goddess Badb; Shadow of Silver Birch: Or an odd journey to the Underworld with Foxes and Moths The Shadow within the Celtic path, and within the trees whom I revere as guardians, is a realm of sometimes seemingly unfathomable depths, and in order to traverse this path with company, one has to have explored the caverns appropriately and with care. There is no substitute for experience, no short cut through shadow work, and if one is to properly hold discourse arou

Image -nataliadrepina.deviantart.com There is blood beneath your fingertips Stained once more with dirt The nectar that fills your veins Reminds you what is worth The howling tale upon the wind The Crow cries out for war Tattered wings and battered things A cavern all aglow Shadows deepen calling out Reminds you what’s at stake Crashing waves against the rock Don’t break Don’t break Don’t break – Joanne Morris 2017 All my own work and design all rights reserved #