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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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 Ancient Magpie 