Holy Wild, Poetry & Music, Rite & Ritual

Holy Adoration: Fire as Prayer

It is enough to show up to this act of intention. Without the need to grasp what cannot be grasped. Without the need to name what cannot be named. To hold my heart like a candle wick, steady, upright, held open to the presence of my gods. Read more...

Holy Wild, Muse In Brief

A Leap Day Altar (and more)

"There are two paths to transformation: the way out-beyond and the way deep-within. Either way will work. But it's no good to stay here wavering between the two, weighing which one asks the least of you." A leap day altar, and more excerpts from my altar-a-day challenge...

Holy Wild, Muse in Brief, praxis

A Leap Day Altar (and more)

"There are two paths to transformation: the way out-beyond and the way deep-within. Either way will work. But it's no good to stay here wavering between the two, weighing which one asks the least of you." A leap day altar, and more excerpts from my altar-a-day challenge...

Holy Wild, Poetry & Music, praxis

Goddess Withdrawn

It takes a long time to understand why she left. She'd arrived one day with a burst of rain, a glint of sunlight on wilting ice. She'd come with mud and wind and trampled dogwood petals pressed into the cracks of the sidewalk, with quickened breath and light, with the smell of cheap wax candles burning well past midnight... And then one day, just as quickly, she was gone again.

Beloved Dead Candle
Featured, Holy Wild, Mythology & History, Rite & Ritual

Honor for the Dead: Crafting Relationship with the Ancestors

There is always pressure to either romanticize or demonize the past. As it recedes into the distance of memory, its complexities are all too easily lost in the mists. The veils of time fall across our vision and we glimpse only vague impressions of a landscape, a culture, a handful of faces on the edge of our perception that seem to change and fade when we turn to look again. What does it mean to part this veil, to honor the ancestors?

Holy Wild, Rite & Ritual

Frost and Stone: Grounding Energy in Winter’s Dark

There is ice in old Earth Mother's blood these days, and everywhere the ground is as hard as unyielding stone. The winds are biting cold. The sunlight, though still low on the horizon, is bright and sharp. It glints off the edges of every surface, refracted, scattered in a thousand directions. I sit in the shadow of a great evergreen tree outside, struggling to root, straining to bring the manic energies back into balance. The whole world seems to be cold fire and frenzied air. This won't do. I have to find another way...