Shadow Work and Devotion. At Lunar Imbolc.

Devotion. It’s a wrought word, full with personal associations, and so I write it tenderly, for any and all that have been injured by traditions that forced or coerced dogma and rigidity, those direct or indirect punches to the developing, authentic soul. I know about those hits, personally, both from family and culture. I was…

Alchemy Thoughts, on the last week of Summer

We bonfired in person the night of full moon last week, it was the first time that the co-op I founded, and our two different Women’s Mysteries circles, gathered as one this whole fiscal year. The original of course being scheduled for Ostara, or the sabbath Rites of Spring. Which were cancelled because of the…

Dark Moon Clear-Seeing. The Power of the Hag.

Dark Moon is here, time of Mama Earth’s Shadow on Mama Moon. Monthly Time of Shadow-Reflection. This, the year of Collective Dark.  The fog and mists have been here all year.  Here, metaphysically.   And here, in 3-D form, at least along the mid-Atlantic Coast of the US. What the Buddhists would call Maya, the personal…

Prayer, to Mokosh Who is Also Death Wolf At Mutating Door

It never ceases to amaze me, I am awakened the night before last to the whir of my own stressors but watched from afar, not all the way connected, knowing I wasn’t awakened by my whir knowing there was a slam-fit hit to my solar plexus space, and like that I meandered through the day….

Women’s Embodiment: Culture & Soul. At Summer Solstice~

Two weeks or so back, on the waxing moon of this cycle at the end of my work week, I was ovulating and in need for introspection.  To be precise, la luna was moving into her 1st quarter phase, amplifying the Virgin Archetype medicine that I and others in our co-op’s Women’s Mysteries group imprinted…

New Moon: She takes up pen, again.

It’s been a million days of this I think, and as I write such words I see the gray slant of my ceiling in the morning, the days leading up to, but especially following,  Aunt Mary’s death.  Grief, which sits like a bone in the air. Its smooth, cold, calcium-yearning.  Always there, blocking the place…