SERIES | NOTES FROM THE INTEGRATION FIELD
Ephemeral musings| longing, becoming, rewilding
I am drinking red wine and smoking damina on fridays again. I am painting under dripping candles and writing poetry. I am wearing clothes I want to wear, not because they are flattering but because I fucking want to. I am becoming and I am releasing. I am no longer who I was, and I am not yet who I will be. I am furious and fiercer than I have ever been and I am softer and more loving.
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The integration field is abstracting time and taking me on a journey through the spiral medicine of my ancestors. I am, in real time, experiencing time folding in on itself with the potency of hindsight and the realisation, that I had foresight. I speak in tongues from my motherland but to me the words are so foreign. And yet I weep at the texture of them rolling out of my mouth. Will I ever be able to say a full sentence without my heart quaking?
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The ravens are watching my every move. I speak and they answer. Hail An Morrigan.
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I found the word that perfectly described the feeling of being called to by the land. The word is dùthchas. It describes the feeling of intimate relationship to place. I dont feel it is an easy word to fully translate and it defies any distillation into a single english word. It is an ecosystem, encompassing place, emotion, ancestral rooting in the land itself and the deep belly knowing of animate connection and responsability as part of that tapestry. I have my own felt sensation of dùthchas in being called by the Cailleach one winter ago. It was more than a call to place, but a call to responsability as a tender of lineage.
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Listening to Hozier while burning dank juniper under the full moon and singing “ `cause with my mid-youth crisis all sai and done, I need to be youthfully felt, `cause, God I never felt young” is a spell. I wil not elaborate.
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The beasts of 2025 taught me that my wild must be integrated if I am to be whole and at first I did not want to uncage my wild because I believed that would mean loosing control but then I learned that idea is a learned social construct imposed upon women in order to control them and it unleashed a holy rage that melted even the unmeltable bars on my wilds cage. I now worship the flame of my wild, tending her embers so that she may keep my vision clear.
I reject purity culture. This includes the projections of those that are still harbouring it. I am unclean. I am dirty. Muck sits under my unmanicured nails. Modesty is trending and it makes me fucking sick to my stomach. Modesty? You want your women modest so you can fetishise her purity. Woof.
A Witches blessing
May your coffee be strong,
May your candle be bright,
May the light wrap around you this here night.
May the flame of your hearth warm your finger and toes,
May all mistruths warn the tip of your nose.
Draw down the North of winters bone,
Open eyes to the East, Otherworld hail welcome!
Root into the south of elevated well in spirit ancestors,
Open arms to the West, Guardians of the betwixt hail welcome!
May you stand in the centre with great mother Void.
Blessed be
Invitation to join me for a free workshop on The Caudron Of Warming on February 1st 6pm EST.
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