Crone Mother at Calan Mai

Ode to LiminalityNow Summer is calling her.
And she is leaning into that liminal space.
Not spinning, not weaving, not wondering.
Standing sentient, on this holy day.

She stares at the limitless light ahead.
Squinting her sensitive winter eyes.
Pulling her cloak more tightly around her.

She reluctantly raises her tiny foot to take a step forward,
Not sure if she wants to let go of the comforting depths of winter.
Not ready to walk through the fire
before she leaps into the dizzying height and heat of summer.
She feels helpless; heavy and weak.
Her bones crack; her joints creak; her muscles ache.
She stands old and alone.

And so, taking a deep breath,
She pauses to seek the blessing of her Gods and ancestors.
She whispers a prayer for increased fertility and good health for her land and her tribe.
She blesses and purifies herself.

And she allows herself to consider the possibilities that still lie ahead.

She awkwardly kneels down and begins to rub two oak branches together
until the sparks fly
and catch in the kindling of nine sacred woods.
Her breath feeds the flame;
Her fire begins to burn.
And she can feel the music play within her witch’s soul.

She struggles to stand, and looking ahead
She can see the space between the dark and the light.
She IS the space between the dark and the light.

She steps cautiously and moves forward through the flames.
Remembering a time when her muscles were strong and lean
And she raced faster and faster,
Chasing her seed.
Swishing through the dry grasses — a greyhound chasing a hare;
Slipping and sailing through the waters — an otter chasing a fish;
Soaring boundless though the air — a hawk chasing a sparrow.

She is riding the edges of her dreams and goals;
She is navigating the world between normal and no man’s land.
And so she steps into the light
Her mind pregnant with possibilities.

Inspired by:

Image source:


Six crows swirling

Six Crows Swirling

Six crows swirling. Seven songs.
The meaning is in the movement.
Eight brings me to the double balance.
And I pause to receive the message.

The crows swoop to check a possible treasure on the pavement.
They touch down quickly, in crowded curiosity,
Hopping and cawing, poking and pecking,
Their wonder overcomes caution during this one instant in time.

In my mind I sense the Feri,
In my bones I feel the flow.

And then,
They rise up quickly, a swirl of black wings and madness,
Bringing me a message of movement and mayhem.
I hear their caw, caw, cawing fade into the distance,
Leaving me to scan my brain for clues to further meaning.

Invoking air

girl birds

We are wings;
We are feathers;
We are feathered earrings;
We are arrows.

We drink the air, we taste the air;
we are floating
on currents of air.

Our breathing is in waves; air flows in, air flows out;
It becomes the oxygen in our blood.

Our breath is everywhere;
Our air is everywhere;
We breathe each other’s air;
We pass our air in and among, around and between us.
We breathe each other’s spirit.

We inspire, we aspire, we are spires.
We are delphiniums.

We are expanding in the air;
We are open to every possibility of the air;
We are carrying hope and healing on the air.

We are the music that flows on the air;
We are the air in the space between the notes;
We beat our rhythm on the air,
We are jammin’ witches;
Playin’ strange and beautiful music of the soul.

Welcome Air.
Welcome East.

Snowflake meditation


Imagine you find yourself on the coldest night of winter suddenly floating free from your warm bed. You are a tiny speck of dust, so very small that you can slip through the crack between the frame and the pane of your frost-covered window into the black and frozen air. You are so light that you rise up; up and up, above the roof of your home, over the tops of the trees, rising higher and higher in the dark night until the lights of the world below you flicker like stars.

Still you rise, higher and higher floating through the light low clouds, passing through frosty glistening crystals of mist. Further and further, up and up until you find yourself within a small cloud.  As you move through the mist of the cloud you begin to feel a light tug and you notice that you feel drawn to the minuscule molecules of water vapor that surround you.  You affinity to them grows deeper and you begin to feel a longing to unite with the tiny water particles.  This desire grows and fills you completely.  You want nothing more than to join with the water, to have it hold you and surround you completely.

You have become the seed from which a snowflake will grow and you are poised on the edge of a fantastically beautiful winter journey.  You want nothing more than to begin the journey, but you also know that you must wait until you are ready to give yourself over completely.

And so you begin to let go.  You let go of all the cares and worries that you have brought with you from the earth below.  You let go of your sadness. You let go of your anxiety.  You let go of the pain in your bones and muscles.  You let go of your fears and even your concerns about the others that you love.  You let go of trying to constantly fit the puzzle pieces of your life together and you let go of that overwhelming feeling that you must constantly make everything work.


And as you let go you become lighter and lighter and you begin to see that the shining crystal water molecules have begun to dance and sway around you. You sigh with pleasure as they come closer to you, teasing you and then moving away, again and again. You are ready, oh so ready to join with them, but you must do more than simply let go.  And so you dig deeper into the depths of your unconscious mind and release all that is holding you back.  You release the guilt.  You release the anger and the sorrow.  You release your obligation to do what you think others want you to do and simply do this thing that is right for you and you alone.


And when you realize that you are ready, the clear and shining water molecules come closer and they begin to swirl and naturally curve themselves around you in a stunning and glorious syncopated dance. Your delight increases even more and you suddenly feel their chill take hold and you experience the sharp edges of pure freezing begin to fill you.  You delight in the clean coldness. You shiver with pleasure as the water molecules begin to hum and attach themselves around you.

You feel totally clear and free.  You feel pure and pristine and poised to transform.  And at that very moment when you finally surrender, it happens. Icy crystal slivers shoot in six identical arms out from your center.

You sigh with deep pleasure as each of your six arms form fractal shoots that end in crispy crystalline edges in perfect formation around you. You tingle with joy as each perfectly pointed arrow strains to stretch further and further in a clear a crystal line that points multiple paths to infinity.

You can feel the cold. You can taste the cold.  You ARE the cold. You absorb the clean and bitter frozenness that you have become, the icy light and the exquisite being that is you, a stunningly beautiful, totally unique snowflake that bears witness to the climax of a love that was born from the union of water with a tiny fleck of dust that strayed from the earth.

You are suddenly filled with pure joy!  You stretch your crystal arms and you spin and you dance and you float and you fly.  You join with the others of your kind.  Each utterly different than you and yet so very much the same.  You join in a magical community of snow.

And at that moment, you realize that your life is really nothing more than a delightful dance of ice and sharp edges and exquisitely glittering crystal that can float and rise and fall and flow freely in the air.

Now listen to this amazing song by Kate Bush.

Thank you.

Dancing Snowflake image source:

Winter Solstice Song for my Sisters of the Drum


Let my drum guide you
with soft steady beat
As you move through the darkness
Into the deep.

Flow to its rhythm,
Dance to its song.
Its tempo will guide you
Its sound will stay strong.

Come with me
Flow with me
Run with me

Step with your purpose.
Step with your faith.
Step into the forest.
Open the gate.

Breathe deeply my sister
As light gently fades
Leave your sadness behind you
Step into the glade.

Come with me
Flow with me
Run with me

The oak and fir branches
Will shelter your heart
The forest bed beckons
To share in its spark.

The earth opens slowly
You drift with the flow
The roots take you further
To deep earth below.

Come with me
Flow with me
Run with me

Set free your last worries
And let them all go.
Release and drop deeper
To darkness below.

Fear not my sweet sister
My drum beat is strong
Its sound will stay constant
And carry you on.

Come with me
Flow with me
Run with me

Your spirit spark travels
It enters the flow
You hear Gaia calling,
With words that you know.

Drift sure with my drum song,
Fall ever so slow
To the heart of the heart,
Let it love, let it go.

Come with me
Flow with me
Run with me

Dear mother will heal you
And soothe your deep strain
Her light burns in the darkness
She carries the flame.

And when you are ready
We’ll carry you home
Hear my drum softly calling
Know you’re never alone.

Come with me
Flow with me
Run with me

Let her love heal you
Let your heart sing
Let her open light’s door
Let the Solstice Bells ring.

Photo credit: WinterWoods XII by RealityDream

Macy revealed


They held each other in their under grounding,

And they sighed and they slipped within and without,

And they clutched and they spun below and about.

And when their skin and their bone seeped down through the stone their voices joined in a clear crystal cry that flowed to the deepest spark of the heart of the heart.

And when it was done, still attached, they drifted off to sleep while the warm-cold, damp dark and deep soil embraced them and filled every crevice and pore in their bodies with rich black loam and buzzing living green and growing peat.

And as their slumber deepened, gentle growing, pure white tendrils of roots and shoots caressed them and hummed the Mother’s deep and everlasting voice of love and longing.

Photo by Barbora Biňovcová on Fivehundredpx

Send in the crows

another-crow-by-kaelyceaIf the city folk had been more observant, they might have noticed it. But they couldn’t read the messages in the murmuration patterns of the starlings. They couldn’t hear the gossip of the sparrows who chattered about the sparks that moved through even the tiniest branches of the trees. And their hearts were not tuned in to the melodies of the songbirds who sang whole movements about each swirling eddy in the shifting energy flow that was all around them.

Yes, the birds could feel it and they echoed it in their songs and in their actions. But they chose not to question it because it didn’t seem to threaten their own sweet world of wind and trees and air and skies.

It simply was. A steady, innocuous, unobservable hummmm that flowed through the ground and up into the trees and along the streams and rivers and into the back of the peoples’ brains. It was like sound of a dryer running in the basement, or a fan in another room that goes unobserved until the very moment it stops.

Only the cleverest birds of all, the beautiful jet black crows and midnight blue ravens, wondered about it. They had heard it from the very beginning. They would cock their small dark heads to the side and try to  understand it. Their shiny black bead eyes would stare into the distance as they listened intently. They wondered about what it might mean.

During the day, the crows and ravens flew around the city, tending to their work; finding food and gathering precious trinkets: buttons and shells; bits and clips and little bells; rusted gears and green glass jewels; bone fragments, lost earrings, metal hearts; zipper pulls and other tiny pieces of art. They kept busy—as they always did—but they knew that whatever had begun to flow through their bodies and into their hearts was something important.

At first they didn’t talk about it much, but eventually it began to come up as a subject of conversation at their meetings.

Every day, about an hour before dusk they would gather together in the largest most majestic trees of the city. They would chatter and gossip and caw and titter about what they had seen during the day; bragging about their treasures; sometimes sharing where the freshest food could be found (and sometimes keeping that knowledge to themselves).

But once they began to speak about the hummmm, they could converse about nothing else. They talked about how they could feel it in the deepest depths of their hearts, how they could sense its vibration at the tips of their wings when they stretched them open and flew across the sky and how it buzzed in their claws after they swooped down and perched on the wires that were strung across the city.

They spoke about how the hummmm was all-pervading; and they argued about its colour. Some felt it as a deep shade of ultraviolet and to others it seemed like the whitest glow of a moonflower in full bloom. But one thing they agreed upon was that the hummm had begun to change. It was becoming more intense, more frenetic, it was higher pitched and growing stronger every day . . .

Listen to this song by Jo Mango about how birds speak to each other:

Image source: Kaelycea at Deviant Art:

So, the crow. A bird considered sacred to Apollo, who turned the bird black (which was previously white) for bringing him the bad news that his lover Coronis was having an affair with Ischys.