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Tis the season of the witch, of sex and death, of life and soul, and of autumnal intimacy!
Hello loves xxx
Tis the season of the witch.
The quiet calls us. The pull inwards, to listen.
Intimacy. Dropping. Staying with.
Starting to shed, the leaves that though glorious in their plumage, now give way, effortlessly, to reveal the bones beneath. The branches. Undressing slowly. Do they become shy as they slip off their coat? To begin to bare their nakedness? No rush. Steady. Slow. All in the right time. All in sync with the cycles of the seasons. But first they burn, they show us their fire.
Maybe Samhain (Halloween), the Celtic end of the year, is akin to the ego beginning to shed, dropping what has acted like a mask. The mask, our sun, shining out into the world. Perhaps Samhain is the initiation, the doorway to the underworld, to soul, where we are invited to enter unclothed, disrobed, of all that hides our skin and bones.
To be intimate with soul we must be willing. We must be willing to stand without identity that plays out, in all its roles and frolics, in the worlds above. There’s…
