images - Natalie Ving You are nobody's first choice. You are easily forgotten. You don't matter enough to be wanted. You are easily replaced. Sound familiar? For as long as I can remember, I just wanted to be someones first choice. The thought would hit me like a tidal wave of loneliness where my self worth plummeted under the riptide, causing tears until my lungs ached. The beginnings of feeling that I as a person was replaceable are not difficult to pinpoint; that despite

Mother of Babylon Thy speak of sinful flesh falls short of my lips Your scornful nature taps against the skull My flesh burns with indignation But not from any punishment you can mete out Heartless is the memory of men Seeking to bind and conquer and rule To besmirch the powerful and capable Any crown forged and welded... bled for To speak of many heads monstrous They are afraid and their words reek of it I turn my bare throat and growl Hiss between my teeth Such d

original image - christian-felices-citrus-tree-photography-the-crow That’s the thing about the Crow eyed women With their lips bedecked in otherness You might think for a moment they are infused with whimsy But Morrigan made them with steel bones We endure beyond the point of breaking And underestimate us at your own risk We speak for the heart of the wild ones Teeth bared to raise up a snarl Magick without heart is autopsy The mask of the cruel slips and falls Ho

The bitten lip That moment of unyielding need Tantalising Swollen with longing Timeless in the mist of wanting Venom in the first bite Mercy in the second Hungry in the darkness Vigilant lidless eyes watching Such a wild thing you are Staring back unabashed Your bones aching and shivering In the midnight release When all truths spill out onto the altar of yourself Unquenchable in your uniqueness The scent of blood in the air Intermingled with primal need

These Dark yet Holy things Etched into the very bark Teach us from a pool inked onto the world Forgotten towers of mislaid bricks That once revered were scattered And laid to waste The Raven crackles in the storm Inciting venomous lessons There is knowledge in boldness and in blood Reaching out far beyond the walls Graves of our forebears are not silenced By the passing of the beating heart An echo ripples backward remembering We were one once with the night - Jo

Image – Anton Yeroma This beautiful imagery summarizes how I feel the New Moon energies align this December; with the Dark Goddess Lilith at the forefront; she slips in, serpentine, and asks if we are quite done resisting this transformation by fire yet? The venom in transformation is needed, and necessary; it can course through our veins, making us ache and resist, making us painfully aware of our short comings, where we perceive our weaknesses to be. December has already be

Image source Memories in dirt trod places An ache of something soul wired Screeching across field and foe The rankling of oppressive chains Ripped and charred Once a story learned by rote No longer spoken but on the wind Only the memories we carry Claws in the darkness, teeth biting, Burn it all to ash and starch the bones Sing to them, sing for them, bleed into them, All those forgotten souls, honourable, wise, less so Death is not a quiet whisper A story is not

Scales in the void, the eternal ellipsis of rebirth; vilified, demonized and feared. Lidless eyes peer into the depths of our souls and we, as humans, flinch at the ‘otherness.’ In times long past the sand and earth parted as the side-winding symbol of deeply connective Goddess energy imparted wisdom to those willing to learn, and the snake symbolized fertility, healing, sexual liberation, and rebirth. But as a culture of sexual repression and shame rose up in the dregs of h

Image – Obscurity – Natalia Drepina Witches wear many masks. There are those masks we wear to elevate ourselves through our magick; placing void fabric against our bare skin in order to peer into the in-between spaces, seeking to understand the lessons of our ‘Other eyes.’ Then there are the masks we wear built from our own shadows; carved from our fear, jealousy, and resentment. Adorned in our weakness, we project outwardly from a place of spiritual insufficiency; projectin

“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 – Lost in the Darkness by Natalia Drepina How beautiful is the Darkness, where our shadows are simply part of us without separation, and we breathe in the essence of the Universe in void; in potential, in endless possibility… As Alban Hefin (Midsummer) approaches I become more acutely aware of the Darkness; as the brightness takes over, the blinding light scorching through the curtains disturbing sleep, and as a result my heart yearns to be cocooned once again in