I’ve been in a transformative slumber and I can sense a new path emerging – but not just yet. I’m still in hibernation, as is this nation, with stirrings of spring beginning and midday looking bright, yet Cailleach’s wintry grip remains tight. It’s cold, it’s bare. And though many animals appear confused at the push and pull of nature’s wheel this season, the intention for me is clear: rest, for now.
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Attempting to piece myself
Back together
With the fragments of your love
And found objects
Sacred objects
As sacred to me
As you
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The thrill of the hunt pulls me in. There is nothing but solitude and sea as I stand tall and drool at the vast landscape of pebbles and stones and shells before me. This will be fun.
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The veil thins and the spirits swirl, drenched in fog as fallen leaves curl. Plunging into the dark half of the year, Samhain begins and winter is near.
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A cyclic state in tune with the moon. She gazes down upon me as I lay open and bleeding and tender and grateful. Life force energy flows from between my thighs, a phenomenon as old as time. Feminine beings across the earth have bled in sync with Mama Nature since existence began. I bask in this oneness and stand before my altar to begin my ritual.
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The Earth begins to wake again. This festival of Imbolc marks the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, the ending of winter and the return of the Sun.
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The fields this morning – sharp to the flesh but thick to the eye, a pinching chill with a heavy fog.
Continue readingAnd just like that, the birds within began to sing.
I have felt ‘off’ for a while – existential unrest, stuck in a rut. I’ve felt out of touch with myself, a sort of dissonance, so to speak. I hadn’t been able to pinpoint it ’til now.
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Brian Froud was a fundamental part of my childhood. His whimsical drawings and fanciful characters filled my soul with a joy like no other, his books are magical compendiums that tap into my imagination and ignite my soul fibres. Not a single one of his fantastical drawings disinterest me, they are an exact expression of the imaginary lands in my head. Someone got me, someone understood.
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The Ancient Magpie 