I find myself partially in one or two or several worlds, always. Places where language is fluid…disjointed syntax and liberally adjusted grammar. In and out of the ether. In and out of my body. I’ve come to a point where I no longer have the energy or desire to be anything but myself, and sometimes I am difficult to pin. I don’t like introductions or “About Me’s” in the slightest. An abstract old spirit in a fun, young body. Youth isn’t always wasted on the young! The only purpose of this blog is to express…to make a little sense of my existence or at least maintain a record for myself. How else do we learn, if not from history? And about ourselves if not from our own? The moods will vary. The language will fluctuate and there will be periods of silence or just pictures or bullet point lists. I have been reborn recently; my only desire now is to continue growing as myself in the most fearless and sincere manner possible.
Pull me from the silence
From the silence I’ve been living in
From the peace that I feigned;
The solace of my ignorance
It’s slipping now, it’s wearing thin
Right up against me – it used to be gentle – heavy pressure permeates my skin
Feels like I’m dying; the release is more wild than kind and I am left hoarse, shaken
Laying by the river’s edge
Glowing with each new sound
I lay upon the quiet creature’s back
Marbled shell my wild carriage into the murky emerald deep
Calling on my ancient kingdom to awaken
To rise from its slumber and greet me as the flowers would Demeter after winter’s last frost
Hair dancing in the wind, a crown of cattails and marsh reeds, falcon feathers fall around my shoulders
Thistle goddess, bristle goddess, weaver of the long grass mats
They call me the dark marsh mother,
The obsidian-eyed wild woman, blazing priestess of Apollo
I definitely wrote these after much wine…nothing like waking up still smelling of the bonfire & finding poetry.
Impermanence reigns, and yet
I long for his calloused hands against my skin
Rewinding time until the knotted muscles are fresh
Awakening the beast within me
Every time a man touches me I feel you
And I fear I will never be myself again, without the shadow of your selfish hands against my skin
And we clung to one another like roots to the damp Earth; nails into skin, my fingers curled around his arms with the strength of some feral beast. The small clearing was no stranger to cries of passion and tonight was no different to the trees than any other. The only innocence was that we each followed instinct. He smelled of the forest and his breath on my neck was awakening some lost part of me…massaging old knots from my shoulder, a stranger giving comfort to the healer. I felt the hitch of my breath as I eased into his rough hands. No one had ever touched me so softly…no, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t soft at all, I could feel each callous on his palm, each scar on his fingertips against my skin. The moon was full and our small campfire burned brightly in the middle of nowhere that we’d chosen for rest. Without thought I turned to face the Hunter, the only kindred Spirit I’d come across in all my years. There was no fooling him and I knew he could read me clearly…I saw myself as a phantom, cupping his face in my herb-stained hands and bridging the small gap between us. The wind was picking up, my hair whipping about us both as I drew his lips to mine and released the last of my falsehoods.
I felt my facade burning away beneath the heat of his body. The ashes of who I’d made myself into for the Court were scattered with my skirts and his weapons, careless and forgotten around the hot embers at the center of our camp. We were, for a moment, more than our bodies could contain. Life and death were meeting in physical form, exchanging breath and soul. One. We were acting out an intricate dance, finding one another’s scent and chasing it. I was the prize doe, and he followed me, houndless; Cernunnos among courtesans.
I always knew she was inside of me…desperately calling out for the hunter. The rhythm of our bodies matched the forest song…chasing one another in anticipation, teasing slowly like the meandering river, coming together like the clean death-stroke from predator to prey. I leapt and danced beneath the moonlight. My brown skin was almost hidden amongst the trees, a wolf in doe’s skin. He stalked me, quiet and focused. One with his surroundings, the Hunter sought me out and snatched me between his teeth. My fight was fierce but for show, and I accepted my death at the hands of a predator greater than I.
Slight rest. Trembling together beneath the stars, our blood rushing to fresh bruises. It was a ritual, an offering to the old gods, a wordless binding. Animals don’t speak. He cupped water from the stream and brought it to my lips, sweet and cool. I could still taste myself on his fingertips, floral and sharp. Together the water and I created the fertile earth. As he bent to the river again, moonlight falling softly on arched back, I saw the aftermath of my frenzied feeding – my needs were met. The wolf’s hunger sated for now, the beast slain by something stronger. The Hunter sat back on his heels, splashing water onto his face before resting. Our campfire was naught but small embers, a glowing welcome to the sunrise and a a sign of time spent. He walked back to me, a man again. Easing to the ground, the Hunter met my lips once more before collapsing. I felt the warmth of his breath on my thighs as he eased into the deep sleep of one who had given himself entirely. Every kiss, every bite, every stroke…surrendered willingly, hopefully.
“Take it, take it, please.” Whispers from one soul to another, met with warm invitation.
I desire my own undoing
What possesses me now is a deep need to fall or crawl or fly back into the place of my conception and see myself unmade
To see myself with eyes and heart untouched by experience or conviction
I must unlearn everything!
There are no boundaries here; I am still the untamed child I was, girl-beast in pleasant skin yearning to feel the dirt beneath claws instead of fingernails
Inside of the walls I saw for a prison, endless circumstance always my jailor
I began to shrink, to shrivel like a dying star inside of myself, touching magick only gently and hesitantly.
Who was I to dive into full waters of the goddess?
In tune enough to know what I felt
Afraid, self loathing, distrustful…I allowed myself slight healing beneath the gold-green speckled light filtering through oak leaves and pine needles
But as I am reborn I yearn to rest as one with the earth, to speak effortlessly to the wind, to carry spirits with me
All that I desire is the knowledge She has to offer, the passion that He powers all with
I want to know intimately the intricacies of creation, life, death, rebirth
I should like to pass my days smelling of roses and sage, ink stains on my fingertips and a bag of bones within reach
I wanted to be someone I was not
To trade my passion for passiveness
To flow instead of destroy
I wanted to glow like the softest of angels,
Ethereal and opalescent beneath impossible constant moonlight
Benevolent beyond ability, kind instead of cunning
I wanted to be the doe, but instead I was a wolf in her skin devouring her wholly
With each season I inhabited a new costume, creating for myself the most glamorous of façades
I took my wisdom and fire, strength and desire and bundled them up in rose petals and sadness
I made darkness my sweetest ally and self destruction my secret lover, falling into its whispers of the poetry of broken souls
But I am not broken
I will not wither in the sunlight and I need no lover
The eager yearnings of a lonely and unanchored girl have dissipated,
My self imposed shackles evaporated in the heat of self acceptance
I no longer wish to be anyone’s greatest love, nor should I enjoy the station of caretaker for all
If I glow it is because my body cannot contain my soullight
I am not made of softness; I am the goddess of destructive growth and harsh healing, exposing your sadness to the bright rays of the sun
I am the fire that burns through falsehoods
I am the passion behind all of creation
I am the feral Crone, a woman in wolf’s skin with a staff of oak and bone
I am the warrior, the blood witch of old
Mistress of the forest temple, priestess of the Akashic web
I am the gatekeeper
I am unending
I remember being a child at the library, pouring over books about Greek gods with a passion I didn’t understand. At the time, Athena was the only goddess on my mind. I looked up to her!
For many years later I bounced around from love/beauty goddess to witchcraft goddess to whatever goddess (it was right at the time, they pulled me and knew me…this isn’t meant to sound callous or disrespectful). The few times Athena kind of popped up, including a WILD amount of owls & owl related things, I ignored her. I wasn’t ready to dive back into my child-self or prepare to become my adult self. It’s kind of weird…if I have ever been a child of any goddess it is Her. A few months ago she popped up in a reading I got, like literally…and I half heartedly prayed to her, but I still wasn’t ready.
Today I am ready. I’m ready to be entirely honest with myself…I’m ready to evaluate my strengths and and better my weak points, to put in the work for success. I will not presume to know the gods or how they work, what they expect of my (other than my best). I’m ready to begin from point one and start trusting myself.
She is persistent. She is stern and kind, and demands I see myself as I am instead of as I think of myself. She will not permit me to wallow or make excuses, but she will back me fiercely as I push through this shell of myself.
I don’t know what it was about today…maybe seeing Wonder Woman kick ass on screen (my all time favorite super hero) reminded me of who I could be…on one of my lowest days the Goddess used a character that can easily be associated with her to remind me of myself. My little Tiger’s Eye owl has been watching me for some time…must be her.
Tomorrow I will light a red candle rolled in sandalwood and ground clove…I’m going to work on some of the assignments she’s given me. I will be kind to myself.
Calypso’s Into Earth Witch Soup
Once upon a time I read the first of Christine Feehan’s Carpathian novels (I have yet to read the rest…library soon??) ~ anywho ~ this soup reminded me of that book. The carpathian vamps return to the Earth (beneath the soil) every so often to heal, recharge, and gather power. I was rather sick all week, so I concocted a soup plan haha. It turned out well!
Can easily be made vegan using veggie broth.
- 5 or 6 organic carrots
- One Vidalia onion (could def add shallots!)
- Half head of purple cabbage
- 6 or 7 red potatoes, halved
- 13 medium cloves of garlic, chopped (those on the smaller side can go in whole)
- 2 fingers of ginger, peeled and finely chopped
- Handful fresh oregano
- Handful fresh sage
- 13ish large white (portabella) mushrooms, halved
- 2.5 TBSP beef bouillon
- Red pepper flakes, salt, Rosemary to taste
Fill soup pot halfway with water, turn burner to high. Add garlic and ginger as soon as water starts simmering…after 5-10 minutes add fresh herbs. Wait a few minutes before adding onions and bouillon – wait for broth to come to boil, then add your peeled and chopped carrots. Stir, taste, adjust …Add mushrooms. Wait a couple minutes before adding cabbage. Cover, turn burner to medium and let simmer for 10 minutes.
**I suggest adding shallots, morels, merlot, and potatoes for a more bodied soup. In addition, onions & garlic could be browned in butter prior to making soup. Bone broth would be IDEAL.**
My greatest fear used to be dying alone. In its own way that one fear began to seep into a neighboring fear of not being enough; not pretty enough, not knowledgeable enough, not successful or happy enough. I followed that trail into what I discovered to be the obsessive driving force behind my servitude.
Don’t get me wrong! I love giving. Healing is a deep part of both my soul and my heritage. I don’t just heal, though. I dive – no, I engrain myself into families and situations until I am a necessity. I enjoy responsibility, but I make it so I bear the most. I make myself irreplaceable.
If I wasn’t enough how would I find the right person – read, win – to fall into self denying, servitudenal (is that a word?), successful non-bliss? How else would I safely and predictably construct a plain place for myself? Who would need me?
As you can imagine, I began to see several yards of thread disentangling themselves before me; there was a psychic sigh of relief, muscles relaxing and jaw unclenched.
I need me. Deep breath. I need me.
I need me. I own me. I house me. I create me. I am me. I love me. I will live for myself.
I am quite enough! For many I’m a bit too much, and that’s fine. Take me or leave me. I love myself.
I love the way I dress, the way I craft each look with personality if not always effort. I’m a glamorous witch in sweatpants and scrubs alike; I am fearsome in thigh highs or sky clad.
I love the way I give off wild energy! I love the scars and tattoos on my skin, I love the soul within the temple.
I want to travel…I want to start over up north or down south, start school and walk the area near my apartment.
I am a Goddess of wind and wonder, and I am not afraid to die alone.