We might have memorised a few spells from the internet. We may have remembered a dozen rituals or prayers from books we read. We may have googled what our dream may have meant, but none of it has any meaning unless our heart and soul is speaking through it.
When I’m not star weaving, mapping, tracing angles and degrees of celestial planes, decoding the language of earth-side arrivals with ecstatic fingers, I’m outside, walking through the fields, following trails and tracks that lead to my innermost wild.
For the last 6 years, I have let my menstrual cycle be my teacher. No, I haven’t actually read a single book about how to navigate my way through my Moon time.
I am not a soft woman. I am rarely tender, and if you have witnessed tenderness in me, you are one of very few. I am not a woman who oscillates when making big decisions. I make them. Full stop, with an ordinate and thriving will.
Familiar faces, they’re coming and going. The people who really know me are few and far between and I don’t see that as a deficit. I feel incredibly different. It’s in the way I talk, the way I walk, the way I hold myself.
I am absolutely done with the idea that only positive people are nice to be around. Fuck that facade right off. I don’t want nice. I want honest. I want magick.
Stop apologising. Apologies mean nothing when they’re said too often. With mindfulness and meaningful intent, sorry is a powerful word, but sometimes we blindly ask for pardon upon a trigger that isn’t even our own.
I have always been a fierce individualist. A rare bird. Loud mouthed, contrary, and superbly self-willed.
It’s time we stop. That we put an end to the defamation of women and the labels whispered in the rise of the feminine and the awakening of the witches.
The following information contains the old ways and wise words of our ancestors in the Southern Hemisphere here in South East Queensland, Australia. It is a wild, ancient lore and belongs to no single person.