February 27, 2015 § 2 Comments

I have been told that dreams are the seeds of the unconscious.
And as my nightly seeds are planted, my waking Self takes her visions to tend.
Sprouting in the pre-dawn, the time-before-time, the ether of this land,
I am commanded by a guide.
It is one that I have known for many seed cycles, yet not one that I have begun to
Embrace fully.
She is of intimate source,
& That is her precise lesson.

Blinders on, driving fast, unaware of what is to come.
White and dark brown swirling over my windshield. Leaving no choice but to
Talons grasp the nearby Maple, naked in January’s frost.
Barred owl beckons.
The winged ones have begun their dance.

Who am I to decline?

She soars to a clearing, a motion of effortless purpose.
Instinct becomes me as I follow. Body leading breath, movement before thought.
There is no separation. I am four-limbed womyn, stalking by sensation, fueled by
A distinct thirst for what lies beneath. Owl perches once again.
I am close.

She swoops over the field, illuminating red earth from the purity of white cover,
Unveiling an unlikely Empress. The queen of spirit initiates my sight.

I begin to see that this is no ordinary visit.

The criatura is lying on her back, spanning the length of wood to river.
A kingdom gathering around as if her being lends for celebration.

Red Tailed is in death.
A body of feathers lying still, flesh & bone, not unlike the Human form.
Fawn, Fox, Rabbit and Squirrel make their way to her.
Pupils dilating, heart pumping. I can no longer remain on the surface.
Yet confusion halts.
A brain brimming with the swirls of Falcon, of Chickadee, of Vulture,

Who am I to stay?

Red fox appears. Communicating save language, she tells me, my Dear,
You must join our Feast.
It is the only way. 
For you, dear one, you are a part of Her, as she is a part of You.
& It is time to Dance.

After all have eaten, I am gifted the wing.
Little fox tells me to put it to my lips. To suckle on her feathers, to simply
With each one, plucked from origin, I grow.
Budding feathers from shoulder blades,
Transmuting a death into life.
Taking me back, propelling me forward. Caught, free, trapped, and liberated.

An echo of her cry emerges, and we are One.

I can still taste how I stripped her wing of earthly comforts.
Alabaster bare, glinting new, gleaming Northward.
Crazed, perhaps. Feeding on feathers is not an act of casualty.

But I know that I am not special.

It is merely a truth revealed, one that is dormant in many of us.
The sacred has a name. One that is older than our primordial thoughts.
One that feasts on twilight dreams, sustains on wild imaginings at dawn,
In the place where sprouting seeds come to oxygenate ~

Where dreams come to Alchemize. 


Lindsey Erin Luna

Collaboration with the lovely visionary Lindsey Erin Luna //
| Check out her transformative creations here |

A Shifting of Elements

February 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

When I began this blog, I intended to use it as a chronicle to “track my progress”.

I forgot that progress often cannot be seen in a linear fashion. That evolution is a slow, steeping practice of transitory moments. Moments strung together, circuitously and crosshatched into alchemical form.

This past travel-filled autumn & contrasting still of winter has been a time of deep visioning ~

Delving into herbal magick, dreaming of midwifery, developing my yoga teaching. Yet perhaps the most potent form of expression for me is alive within my writing.

With the passage of Imbolc, midwinters gestation, I am bursting with desire to share my work. To extend a series of amalgamated prose both raw and refined. Formatted as a chronicle for reflection, as I believe all artistic work is.

I’ll begin by sharing my latest piece of fiction for Over the Moon Mag.

What Does It Mean To Be A Woman Without A Lover 

& if this post awakens anything within you, here is a previous related article ~

Redefining “Strength” for Women 


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Where Am I?

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