Cleaning out my purse is a weekly ritual for me, because I can’t stand digging through unnecessary items to reach the one thing I need (usually, it’s my car keys). Receipts tend to accumulate more than anything else. I buy something and shove the receipt down in my purse, as I’m grabbing the handles… Continue reading The Receipts We Carry
I am at ease in your velvety darkness that covers and heals me in places the light cannot reach, because I am much too weary now for all that blinding brightness. Under the supple, lustrous rays of the moon, I stare into the swirling black void of the cauldron that you stir and stir, seeing… Continue reading Cauldron of Cerridwen
Adirondack Mountains, Photo Credit: Stacy Mojica How can we not be moved by the changing seasons? I’m sharing a lovely, inspiring poem from a friend and guest poet, who is enjoying the fall foliage of upstate New York. The Engagement of Gaia and the North Wind by a Maple Tree by Stacy Mojica Dawn awakens the world with… Continue reading Gaia and the North Wind
I remember chatting with a friend at a coffee shop after a period of intense cosmic energy that had left us a bit flabbergasted. We were getting mighty tired of feeling like pinballs in the inscrutable game of life, and both of us were wondering when things were going to feel lighter, easier, or at… Continue reading Laughing Out Loud: Goddesses of Mirth and Revelry
A SONG of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets; A song of farms—a song of the soil of fields. A song with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers handle the pitch-fork; A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk’d maize. –Walt Whitman, “A Carol of… Continue reading Lughnasadh: Honoring the Space Between
We drank the wine, and broke the bread, And ate it in the Old One’s name. We linked our hands to make the ring, And laughed and leaped the Sabbat game. Oh, little do the townsfolk reck, When dull they lie within their bed! Beyond the streets, beneath the stars, A merry round the witches… Continue reading Reclaiming Ecstatic Ritual
Can you recall the exact moment when someone stripped you of your voice? How did that one incident affect your self-expression and creativity? What did you do to heal yourself?