The Bone-Deep Tattoos Of The Witch In Warmer Weather.
{source}
Set your stones in the four directions, Witch of the Spring Moon, for today’s the day.
Drink in the scent of sweet mud, and fill your sacral bowl with erotic innocence. Call out sick, and then turn off your phone, for your truer boss is bidding to you to work.
There was no warning save the doves at your window, those trickster-faery harbingers of the first warm day; as soon as you heard their sultry song, you knew to clear your calendar.
The Witch in Warmer Weather knows exactly what is tattooed on her ribcage and around her pelvic curves; it is sacred vows in an ancient language, vows that cannot and will not be broken.
Your promises to love, honor, and cherish these pivotal days of seasonal transformation were made long before you were born into this life, but your soul will not let you break these primal feminine testaments to Her.
You know what this warm weather does to you, Witch, now surrender to this Spring rhythm with all that you are. Weave your crown of antlers and forsythias, my love, for the sun has already risen.
Here in the budding forest, you are the Priestess of Holy Magick. Cast and close the circle, for it is time. You are the twin queen who rules at Gaia’s side.
Hold your wand as your scepter now, carve a star in the mud, then be the most revered temple dancer of Her inner court. Wait no longer! Writhe like a bare-breasted medium for ecstatic prana.
Feel the spark-of-life magick shoot out of your fingertips. Open your heart and your legs, and birth this fertile season from your shadowy womb.
Do not discount the Goddess-channel that runs up your spine from root to crown; it is your divinity, and you have set this all in motion.
Roll your tongue around the inside of your mouth, Witch, and gather some spit. Bleed on the ground and beg the nesting seeds to sprout up beneath your feet.
Hold your body in a commanding stance, and let Shakti speak through you, for you are the Mother-of-all-things returned. Stretch your arms high, and do not shrink back when the world bows to you.
You are the one we have been waiting for, and the proof is tattooed on your bones.
The Witch in Warmer Weather can feel the same high-fire pulse in her belly that ignites the labor of the Wolf-Mother, the same tantric magick that lures the sperm to the egg. It is a moonbeam clashing with a ray of sun.
It is the fusion of helium and hydrogen in a god-star. It is the power of Woman, and it is the most praiseworthy beauty we humans have been gifted.
Lie prostrate on the ground now, Spring Witch, and bury your face in the dirt. Taste the ancient memories that live in your blood. See visions of unknown rites surrounded by megaliths and fire.
Hear the hooded ones singing, and remember your place in this scene. Look to the sun as these Old Ones did, with the reverence of the devout.
Drink in the medicine of this transformational time, and feel the fertile Spring in your very cells. Creatrix, let your body resonate with the vibration of the Summer’s cusp, and weep with the memory of who you truly are.
Every Goddess of every culture and every age lives inside of you. Your body is the softest, most sacred red temple to these Holy Ones, and you are performing their rites now as you give in to the call of the wild.
You did not come to this place to play small, so raise your voice now, Witch. Cry out to these Maidens, these Mothers, and these Crones, with righteous gratitude and a primeval devotion.
Awaken your spiritual integrity, and be liberated as the golden light warms your skin. You, Woman, are the elemental hearth-holder, and you know of your birthright.
Tattooed on your bones are the vows of the lost feminine and the dark Goddess.
Promises to walk barefoot in the mud, dance in cold rain, gaze upon the dancing flames of fire long past midnight, and inhale sage smoke, were made by you before your birth.
Easy to forget your vows is it when lost in mid-season doldrums, but on these days of transition — the first warm morning in Spring, the first thickly humid thunderstorm in Summer, the first leaf-plucking wind in Autumn, and the first bitter snow of Winter — on these days, you have no choice but to remember.
Lie on your back at the center of your pentagram now, my love, and feel the pure perfection that surrounds you. Feel Gaia’s heartbeat beneath you and the Spirit-light above you.
Know the divinity that is tattooed at your center, that which will remain long after this body has returned to ground.
Know the freedom of the wild, know your body as a cauldron for Gaia’s love spell, and know your beauteous, matrilineal magick.
All blessings be. This circle is open.
***
Danielle Dulsky is a multi-passionate entrepreneur, energy-healer, Yoga teacher, multi-media artist, and magickal mentor. She holds the highest designation from Yoga Alliance as an E-RYT500, and is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless creators of their sacred work. She is the founder and creatrix of the Living Mandala Yoga teacher training programs, a Reiki Master in the Usui-Tibetan tradition, and long-time believer in Earth-based traditions. Her work is based on sensing and transforming energetic vibrations, empowering individuals to discover their potential for authentic abundance, using artistic practice intuitively, and holding space for women to unearth their inner goddess through the magick of sisterhood. Danielle leads women circles, witchcraft workshops, a teaching coven, and psychic development intensives in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania where she lives with her partner Ryan, sons Bodhi and Sage, and pet-familiars Jeepster and Raven. She believes that all women alive today are meant to be instrumental in supporting the return of the Divine Feminine. You could contact her via email.
***
{Join us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram & Pinterest}
Comments
Latest posts by Rebelle Society (see all)
- Cemetery of Tears. - December 22, 2024
- My Identity Journey: What’s in a Name? - December 22, 2024
- Cyprus: A Magic Place That Feels Like Home. - December 22, 2024