image - Adam Bird Photography "It hurts," I cried.
"I know," replied the Witch of my soul, "And look, the Forest beckons."
So it did, once more, a thick underbrush of reckless vines, criss-crossing the broken parts, stitching them anew.
The churned Earth seemed to crumble underfoot, loose and unstable, broken down from all the wandering back and forth, back and forth, without real rest.
"The roots remain, deeper down," she croaked, knowing what was in my mind of course,
Here’s to the forgotten ones,
The lonely hearts,
Those who feel like they’re nobody’s first choice,
Who feel like outsiders all day long,
Misfits who can’t seem to relate,
The fragmented puzzle pieces,
The ones who silently observe wishing someone cared,
The not so popular anti conformists with loud opinions and bigger hearts,
The ones who stick out like sore thumbs,
The broken but thriving,
Those who aren’t ever given as much as they give,
The non in
"I know my Worth. I've paid dearly for every ounce of it." - Alfa Black soot stained feathers brush across my cheekbones, dappling ink across my flesh.
Experience is worn, painted on, from the dusty remnants of burning the defunct remnants of a former life, a constant reminder when the sting of memory fades and the tears are all spent. The Goddess Badb will always bring me back to myself, time and again, even when I find myself ashamed in the recalling.
Her crow-like shrill
image - Cristopher McKenney. Samhain is almost on us, (leaving arguments concerning moon phases versus calendar dates aside, and mentioning that I have been performing rituals for about a week already,) and for the first time in a long time, there is more heavy reverence, somberness, and sadness in the air. Lessons are salty and sweet, with salt from bitter tears wept at the altar, balanced by the perfumed dew from the rose petals as those tears fall. Freedom is such a gift,
image - Helen Warner There were two important and deeply personal spiritual mysteries that remained on the tip of my minds' eye this year.
One was heard, a whisper on the wind, "to crown yourself in roses," the other was felt, an internal chaos that wrecked havoc within and was only later understood; the phantom death.
Both were elusive, like the strands of red thread woven together by the Norns, sisters to the Goddesses of the Underworld.
It felt as though the Nordic God
This may well be the weirdest energetic lead up to Beltane that this Witch can remember, and not necessarily in a good way.
The energies are less lustful fiery goodness and more murky water questionability, with the general snark of this year seemingly still in full force, be it snide remarks or downright frightening socio-political events, there seems to be a sliding scale of anti-empathetic behaviour all around. The weather and Earth does not seem to be where it usually i