Yep. Hallowe’en! All Hallow’s Eve! The end of all that was for the year wheel. The 8th leg on Mother Spider. Samhain. For Celts, New Year’s Eve. The veil is thin and the opportunity to clear old karmic grievances is at hand. For me, Hallowe’en is filled with love. LOVE – not fear. And as we all know, Love and Fear are direct opposites. My heart is always full on Hallowe’en because in this one day, I see so much […]
I am the OTHER in so many ways – blonde, autistic, weird. No one has ever waited for Fred. And no one needs to. We all have managed to create our own lives – happy as possible – without being forced to include the OTHER.
This year though, this year called out something else in me. I have long felt a fascination with wolves and their spirit and their nature. So this year, I hung my witch’s hat by the door and went full out wolfie!
But no, she was as she had been at 17, their first time. And now, on her 50th birthday, they were old hands at this love business. He marveled every time at her unchanging body. Something deep in his brain ached because time had begun to map his face and body. He was dying on her.
Now I am not speaking of smaller humans, little people. Everyone is made differently and I respect that. This is a DWARF – who should not be in this realm of all things good. Who definitely should find whatever cosmic portal he dropped through and vacate my closet and my imagination. I picture him solidly in my mind’s eye: He has dirty fingernails, fangs, big angry eyebrows, a corkscrew dagger at the ready. And he has homicidal thoughts about the humans who tramp about above his crawlspace during daylight.
The Bean Sidhe is a monster very dear to my heart. She is the unbridled spirit living in every woman – the part that refuses to buckle and surrender to arbitrary rules made by others. She is that voice inside that tells us to leave a bad situation. She can only be true to her nature and call out for what is required. Transition or death. For most of us it is transition – standing up for yourself, speaking up and speaking out, voting, protesting, making your presence known.
But I am just an old crow who loves the flannel
pattern of your shirt moved by the wind.
The softest breeze carries wakefulness in
Your limbs and mystifies me. I know how soft
and warm straw can be.