I never imagined I’d see the day when the moon became trendy. In the early days of my witchy explorations, I had to learn about working with the lunar phases from books and from other witches. There were websites, but the Internet was young and barely crawling at dial-up speed. It was hardly worth the… Continue reading Is the Moon the New “It Girl”?
I’m terrible at being my own cheerleader. I really am. I’ll accomplish something I’ve been working on for months or even years, and I’ll be like…meh, that’s done. Next? I don’t know how to celebrat… Source: The Pep Squad of the Tarot
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