“And the Wheel of the Year begins to whirl once more, whispering in the dreams of the dead visions of the Grail of Immortality.” (Shadowyn, The Crafted Cup, 99)
The veil is thinning dear one. The whispers in the crinkled bark make shivers up our spines, the days darken, and the cool mist of grey rain makes for an uproarious inner awakening. Grief in its most raw expression creeps in like black mold on an unnoticed fallen fruit. The red orange leaves cackle at the tickling Mystery with every footstep. We are grieving the fading self of yesteryear as the veil slips off of curious starlit eyes. We have entered the time of the Crone. It is time to let go of all that was and seemed to be, to make space to receive the wisdom of our ancestors.
We are approaching Samhain, the Witches New Year.
Reach with your ancient fingers to dislodge the thick woven webs which have taken up residence at the entrance of each orifice. Touch, taste, smell, listen, vision... All in presence. The fierce independence of soul spiraling creativity expands as within and so without as you liberate your senses of the calculated exploitation and repression. You are a soul embodied and this time more than ever you have an opportunity to banish the wicked remnants of conditioning and to reclaim your sacred circle, to enliven your inner Witch.
Our ancestors are watching. They are with us in the breath of trees, the songs of the wind, the light of the sun and moon and the encouraging push and pull of the ocean’s waves. They speak to us from the leaf’s vein-y labyrinth, from far rooted reaches below the moist Earth and from the deepest caverns in our beating hearts. They are the soft mischief of a falling star. They have carved the pathway on which we walk, and it is the time to kneel in reverence, to speak with them of the Magick that has awoken in our world.
The Cauldron bubbles with rosemary and sage, mullein, mugwart, pumpkin and mandrake. You, yes you are bubbling in the witches brew! You are entering the Cauldron of Transformation, the womb of the Divine Feminine, where death, life and rebirth cycle in an ever-expanding spiral to God/dess. You may walk as a warrior with peace as the sensual songs of nature are harmonizing with the hiss of an ivy serpent around the length of your spine.
Sweep clean the floors of your inner temple and mount your broom for flight into cosmick revelation, to travel between worlds and beyond the boundaries of time.
Take view now with your all-seeing eye, the indigo crown of the High Priestess within.
Call upon your most trusted guides, and listen with sight. Listen to your inner voice and divine the rhyme of the elegance you step forward with into time. Ask the shimmering rainbows in your crystal ball and the miniature ripples in your chalice of water, the shapeshifters in the violet flame.
Ask your cards and commune with the archetypes you carry within. Ask and you shall receive the answers you seek.
The veil is thin, and the messages are clear. You, yes you, have the power to see my dear.