feminism

Being Licked Alive: Wolf Moon Revelations.

 

Your visit is a timely one, my love. Come inside and stomp the snow from your boots. The tea is hot, and there are so many stories swimming around in my ancient blood.

First, let me tell you that last night, just as the Wolf Moon was rising, I drifted to sleep thinking of you. An ancestor’s disembodied hymn lulled me into the shadow-world of dark-horned desire and lucid dreams; it was here I met you, my wild sister, and it was here I learned of our destiny.

Let us bathe in sage smoke while I tell you of my revelation, for it is doubtless we collected many long-nailed demons on our wayward travels.

In my dream-vision, you were riding a pale horse while I followed close behind reciting verses of the Holy Feminine and leaving bloody footprints in the snow. We wore red hoods and thought ourselves invincible, but our shaking bodies reminded us of our humanity. Battered by a Winter come too soon we were, but we pressed on, fueled equally by perpetual hope and a refusal to go home.

Our spirits were still young and innocent, but our souls had seen far too much. At the start of our quest, we were so naïve, and our carved, muscled bodies were the Maiden’s temple. We knew — with all the certainty anyone anywhere has ever had, we knew — precisely how to get to our destination.

Our chins began sagging as the nights grew colder though. Our skin grew soft, and the lines around our eyes spider-webbed out in all directions, slicing our face with chasms of long-forgotten emotion and the beauteous scars of a life well-lived. We were moving so slowly now, sudden Crones that we were, and I could hear my bones creaking with every step I took.

You looked back at me every so often with empathy in your eyes, and you promised to hold me in your arms when it was all over. In our darker moments, you listened while I howl-prayed to the Mystery to let me die, to take my blessed breath from me so I might better serve the collective evolution.

Take me! I bellowed. Surely, my soul has grown as much as it can in this life. Surely, there can be no greater gifts than those I have already been given. As surely as this Wolf Moon rises, I am all that I will ever become. Grant me a new body; this one is old and aches for youth!

It all happened at once then; my last words trailed off into the dark just as these so-distant harbingers began their hopeful howling and your horse stopped moving. I collapsed into the snow, waiting for warmth by way of death or another salvation, and I felt your arms around me, my love. You cradled me like I was a bright-skinned infant and not a skeletal shell of a woman.

You pulled me close to your soft-breasted heart and wrapped your cloak around me.

Do you remember what you said to me then, just as the wolves encircled us? I know it was my dream, not yours, but surely you must recall the wisdom that poured from your lips in that moment.

We are all holy Crones in Winter you said. Tonight, let us die and wait to be licked alive again by the Primal Feminine. Tonight, let us surrender completely to the black Mystery, and trust so deeply that tiny pin-prick of light shining forth in the distance. Do not resist your wise-woman ways.

We will lie wounded on the frozen tundra, and our warm blood will carve smooth tunnels in the snow below us, dripping into the soil and nourishing the roots of the stirring Mother.

Have faith in the spiral dance of time you whispered, just as the beauteous creatures began sniffing and snorting against the soles of my bloody feet. Give yourself over to them you said. The Ancient Feminine wants you not to hurt so badly. Let them lick away the pain of not-knowing. Let this be your annual death ritual. Your sleeping mind handcrafted this ceremony for you to mark your transformation.

Cling not to your outmoded ways of being. Let them die with you now, as the rings around the Wolf Moon glow indigo, and let this long night’s journey end here.

The last sense memories I have are the musk of their fur, the slick warmth of their tongues, and the sound of your voice, my Witch sister, my Priestess, my lover. You sung me into the deepest sleep I have ever known with a mournful, harmonious dirge. This morning I woke safe in my bed, a smitten Maiden who longed for her death doula to romance her into the world again, and here you are!

My grateful heart is not wasted on you, I know, for you have seen me at my worst. I am in love with you now, forever and irrevocably, but all I want is to sit with you by the fire and hold your hand. Tomorrow, I want to dance with you across the Crone-to-Maiden bridge, skipping blissfully from the fallow Winter to the fertile Spring; not today though.

Today, all I want is to share the warmth of my hearth-fire with you, and daydream of green fields in bloom and visions made manifest. Thank you for being here with me, my love. Your sisterhood means so much to me. May we always know the merit of heartfelt belonging, and may we never feel abandoned by those we crave most.

By the milky light of the Wolf Moon, so mote it be.

***

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Danielle Dulsky

Danielle Dulsky

Danielle Dulsky is a heathen visionary, Aquarian mischief-maker, and word-witch. Author of 'Seasons of Moon and Flame: The Wild Dreamer’s Epic Journey of Becoming', 'The Holy Wild: A Heathen Bible for the Untamed Woman' and 'Woman Most Wild' (New World Library 2020, 2018, 2017), Danielle teaches internationally and has facilitated embodiment trainings, wild circles, communal spell-work, and seasonal rituals since 2007. She is the founder of The Hag School and the lead teacher for the school’s Flame-Tender Facilitator Training and online coven, The Hag Ways Collective, an E-RYT 500 and YACEP, a Fire-Keeper for Ord Brighideach, and a dedicant to Irish-Celtic spirituality. She believes in the power of wild collectives and sudden circles of curious dreamers, cunning witches, and rebellious artists as well as the importance of ancestral healing, embodiment, and animism in fracturing the longstanding systems supporting environmental unconsciousness and social injustice. Parent to two beloved wildings and partner to a potter, Danielle fills her world with nature, family, art-making, poetry, and intentional awe.
Danielle Dulsky