Emergence

Silence.

How to begin again?

With a wee story.

Cundrie

A darkest midwinter moon for my birthday week and a quick release ritual in the biting cold.

65, and I’m ready for something new.

Elemental and directional creatures and angels are called into the circle - burning what I’m done with and the goblin whose horse they rode in on - vanquished. I speak it, so it is.

An aged elixer is poured over the firesnow. Dried nettle leaves from a spring day for a purification and salt to cut the goblin cord. Forever.

Wrap it all in a satchel of gratitude, if you please. A satchel of both coarse and golden threads.

A complexity of gratitudes commingled with the recognition of the wise, shapeshifting, terrible Cundrie who metes out healing through harsh deliverance. My visitation with Cundrie has been long and uneasy. But still, I am grateful for she has been by my side as I wrestle with dark thoughts and feelings. Yes, still am I grateful.

And now I emerge. Crawling up from the underworld,  somewhat unsteadily, yet with a determined forward gaze on beauty. My heart tenderized by the raw beauty I found in the darkness.

What next? I will rest and dream as the winter hag queen demands. I’ll drink tea and whiskey and read strange tales of faeries. Maybe I’ll learn to dance with Bianca.

With a nod to Dr Martin Shaw who  guided myself and a cluster of other folk through the legend of Parzifal this past week. And also recommended some stunning whiskeys. 🙏