It is official, the light is receding and darkness grows with each passing moment. Now we coil inward with snake dance spirals of well-loved hips. Enter the cave of the priestess and the seer. Gaze into the prophetic flames and inhale the smoke of cedar and mugwort. Now is the season to revel in dreaming , weaving and the slow-burning ecstasy of shadow walking. Now is the quivering universal release after the exquisite cresting peak of summer's lush ardency. Le Petite Mort. And as we take shelter in this cave of reflection, in this hall of smoke and mirrors, what inner truths will be discovered during the season of release and relief? What wounds need licking? What broken parts need comfort? What worn down piece of your soul is up for restoration? What piece of you is asking for simple acceptance? Offer these to your inner priestess as a feast for her long winter's rest. Allow them to be consumed, digested, transmuted by spirit into fertilizer for new dreams and weavings. Let your ego die to be born again. This is the season of dark and wild gatherings, of long dreaming and liminal travels. This the space between spaces and the cave at the center of the labyrinth. Enter at your own risk.
image by Nutmeg Photography