• Fairy Tales Revisioned,  Introspection,  Magick

    If You Say Twin Flame One More Time I’m Gonna Puke

    I am so god damned sick of that stupid term:  TWIN FLAME.  Such a tricky, sticky, slippery little concept that it is and it’s circulating amongst the new age crowds and gatherings of woke AF persons (I include myself amongst this group because CLEARLY I’m super spiritual *said using my best JP voice*).  It’s all over the internet, there are books written about it, and Facebook algorithms have its number pinged to delightfully fill your news feed full of little tests to see if you have indeed stumbled upon this electric rainbow-colored unicorn in the dark that matches your vibrational sequence, was born of the same breath and mirrors your…

  • A.M.S.,  Introspection,  Musings

    The Voices In My Head

    I wrote this whole thing and the negative voices in my head are asking that I go back to the beginning and type a disclaimer about this not being the type of thing I usually write about. My self doubt wants you to know I’m having self doubt around writing about self doubt. Now that we got that out of the way… I watched a Facebook Live video this morning of a father wondering where his 13 year old’s self doubt comes from. Where all of our self doubt and negative self talk comes from. He said we aren’t born with self doubt, so at what point is it planted…

  • Introspection,  Story Medicine,  Wheel Of Year

    The Inbetwixt Fairy

    Snowflakes are falling outside in a blissful little dance of winter’s refusal to cease and move on.  The trees are lined with ice that looks like glass, and I’ve become a fairy stuck somewhere in between.  I should go out into the biting cold and use the glass covered trees as scrying mirrors to see what future the spring will bring, but I am feeling stuck somewhere inside.  I too am refusing to let that slumbering hibernation den go, and I have begun fluttering around in my winter abode as I start to feel the shifting mania setting in.  The switch below has been flipped to harken in the change…

  • A.M.S.,  Introspection,  Story Medicine

    These Hands

    I look at these scarred, cold, not-as-young-as they-used-to-be hands and I somehow feel betrayed by their now ever-present pain but at the same time, not in the least bit surprised as I know their story more intimately than I know any other story. These are the hands of a backwoods little girl who dug for worms, typed imaginary letters on a broken electric typewriter in her clubhouse, built Hawaii out of moss and candles at the base of a tree in her grandmother’s yard. These hands also built The House of Usher in her sandbox and got in trouble for having a real grass lawn around it. Thanks, Edgar Allen…

  • Fairy Tales Revisioned,  Magick,  Patriarchy

    Coal Miner’s Daughter

    Once upon a time, not that long ago, my paternal-line had land, they had titles, they came from an ancient clan with a crest to claim. Three generations before me they left upon the SS Anchoria, after a failed attempt to stay closer in Scotland and sailed away from the Emerald Isle in desperate search of a better life. My grandfather was 1st generation Irish, and it’s the same story told by millions of Irish immigrants driven out of their homeland through the greed of the spreading British colonialism, it was mass genocide of an inconceivable size blamed upon a potato blight. What it really was, was the creator of…

  • Magick,  Wheel Of Year

    The Winter Witch at Imbolc

    I am the Winter Witch at Imbolc and I am budding below and ready to bloom free, I am the roots grown strong ‘neath the yew tree, I am the roses that will be so fragrant in bloom, the seeds of the food that will sustain you so come on over here and touch me. Feel my strength growing, pet my thorny branches where soon silken petals will be, breathe in the rotten smell of earth where the ice has melted into mud mixed with winter’s decaying death and remember the headier scents of my love and perfume, lick the yew tree right on her forked branch and taste of…

  • Coven Work,  Fairy Tales Revisioned,  ShadowWork

    Body Prayer

    I am the North and I am cold bent hands As sunlit glitter falls from the sky I am the East and I am the breath of warm winds Blowing the smoke from her hair I am the South and I am transfixed by the dancing flame Until only the ashes of ghosts remain I am the West and I am the ebb and flow That builds the sand castles and washes them away I am drawn, trancelike, into this relentless and bitter cold land of the North by the brilliant colors just stirring on the horizon. I watch the first sliver of the red Sun God cautiously peek at…