Embrace Your Wild
Honouring the first Luna of 2023, aptly named the Wolf Moon with a wee blog post celebrating the lupine in us all.
Wild Women into the forest we go, with a nose to the wind, walk with me among ponderous Pines and whispering Birch. We shall sit a while beneath the Mother Tree and feel the ancient beat of her heartwood. Merge with warmth of the undergrowth as we talk of old tails in new skin.
For stories are medicine but fairytales deceive. As Nikita Gill writes "I guess to them, it's a terrifying thought, a Red Riding Hood that knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in."
You were wild once too, feral, a half-human creature thing; with a kiss that birthed and toppled nations. Our essence stitched into the fabric of time. Woven in contrasts of dark and light. An expression of Nature both benevolent and ferocious.
Goddess. Daughter of the Cailleach. Child of Kali; the cosmos itself. The Mohicans say that at the birth of the sun and of his brother the moon, their mother died. So the sun gave to the earth her body, from which was to spring all life. And he drew forth from her breast the stars, and the stars he threw into the night sky to remind him of her soul.
Unruly women are always witches.
No matter what century we're in.
- Roxanne Gay
madadh-allaidh is Scot's Gaelic for wolf, it's presence in these lands sadly missed and long since exterminated. Men fear what they do not understand. Hate what they can't understand. Kill what they hate. In Women Who Run with Wolves, Estés writes "both women and wolves have been hounded, harassed and falsely imputed. The predation of wolves and women is strikingly similar."
Pre-Christianity women were worshipped as goddesses. The sex act considered a sacred communion, the merging of two cosmic energies, the vulva revered.
But that power came at a price and it allure became the Church's eternal struggle. And so desperate were they to kill their lust, they set snares and set us ablaze. Yet perversely, society was taught to fear the witches and not the people who burned them alive.
Growing up, I was more than a little feral preferring the outdoors, bare feet and freedom. As a young woman the doctrine corseted and caged me; and I stopped running free. But with age comes Crone and I have since replaced constraints with the sable beat of my wild. The shadow that trots behind me is definitely four footed.
We have lost our connection with Nature and thus ourselves. But she is not a distant place outside our realm as they would have you believe. Mother Earth resides within us all. Remember you are cunning and in spite of their malaise; thrive. For we are the granddaughters of the witches they couldn't burn.
So this year instead of resolutions, think revolution. For we are the cunning folk. Destroy what has been sold you about gender. Of femininity and masculinity and let it heal the wild parts of your heart. Let's sharpen our instincts together and with bared teeth, tear the System apart.
Blessed Be 🖤