I am the mistress of the red door, which sits in waiting in the quiets of the vast desert. There embedded in the wild rock, a portal painted over through centuries. Over and over it has dried under the blazing sun light and cracks appearing like antique arteries reveal themselves.
I am the weaver of braided veins, a ribbon among those voices which rise into unison. I spread like the roots of the redwood through the most precious parts of shared ground. Each layer of bark falls away with the fidelity of time’s cryptic indifference. There are secret markings in the tracks of the footsteps I follow.
I am the red river in the moonlit hollow. There are carved symbols of planets and coded poetry along the length of the polished branch....
This is the time when the sweetness of desire is enlivened, and aroused by the the wild light that dances in its embrace. It is the time when the Maiden of the Spring and the Wild Green Man meet in the hot, ripened fields to unite with the kiss of life in harmonious union. The Maiden Goddess has reached her fullness and the young Green Man falls in love with her and takes her hand. Life is flowering all around, the thirst of the Earth quenched by April showers, and the land alive in full expression. This is the May King and Queen coming together in sacred marriage within, the Sky and Earth, the Sun and Moon, the Magician and High Priestess, the Masculine and Feminine. We celebrate abundant fertility, sensuality, and wild creativ...
When the heroes and heroines of fate have fallen dead to the Earth in a mess of red orange, and the icy wave has come and gone, and now Spring peaks aroused and almighty, laugh wickedly and stay with palms pressed firmly to a warm hearth.
Hear the voices of your ancestors calling from the warming stream that pools by a seductive faerie ring.
Push aside the cobwebbed layers of clothing that spell out memories on a distant branch.
Cast a glance at the way each foot melts into the moist terrain and grows like the trees into long porcelain proportions.
Your hands move in a melting motion like raw tapped syrup over your chest to hold the hallowed mountains.
Taste of the dewy oracle as your tongue passes over your lips.
Deep in your womb lives a spiral, goddess. It is the subtle movement of memory where love made its first impression on your inner maiden. It is the curling rhythm of liquid life in the cauldron, moving through the thickness of years inwards towards understanding. This space is held sacred in universal memory as the goddess temple, when the shadows of sisters were dancing silhouettes against flame lit walls. The shedding of fragmented feeling falls away as the eroding walls of the oceanic cave. Each inspection revealing thrusts of mighty waves where memory is held like treasure in the dark of the dragon’s lair.
Deep in the spiral, sounds of chanting move in motion with hands held and wisdom interspersed with decided safety. Yes, y...
Sister, there may be a time when you feel your blood burning hot with rage and disillusionment. A confusion swirling like an ancient tornado in the depths of your belly. In the great arcane cycles, there are messages of death recurring.
It may have before been blissful waves when each moment felt like making love with divine essence in the form of sweet raindrops or the sensual caress of the wind. It may have been like reaching a wicked height of bliss only to reach the top of the tower and find yourself leaning over the edge pleading for death of that part of you that has somehow once again awoken.
Know that as you open to your intuitive gifts, you must burn away what no longer serves you, by the guidance of the Dark Goddess. You...