By Danielle Dulsky
Wildest Witch, a shock-white and high-fire time exists, a time for the invocation of holy, heart-centered Mother-Goddess energy that will infuse your sacred work with diamond-light and generative creativity.
So, too, there is an erotic time to harvest the divine and sensual Maiden energy, igniting your passion, purpose, and nature-lust with pink-glitter prana. And yes, there is a time, a time so near I can taste the smoked spice of it, for surrendering to the wise Crone’s transmutation, pulling the woollen hood overhead and sinking into the shadows to claim your rest and plan your next wild hunt.
Samhain is none of these and yet the potentiality of all. It is the hallowed fallows. For now, my wild lover, we rest in the void, and we seek out nourishment for the primal parts of ourselves that crave the dark. We give a sharp nod to the Reaper and relish the impermanence of our soft, animal flesh. We crush our eyes shut and let the divined visions come, and we know the agony of deep feeling. For now, we wallow in the mud-dust ash of our disintegrated past, we grieve for what we ourselves have burnt to the ground, and we howl moonward.
For now, we acknowledge our shared depression and collective feminine wounds. We go into the night alone and without fear. We frame our solitude as sacred and our relationships as holy communion. We write our own Books of Shadows, and we slather the healing salve of moon-blood over the parts of us that still ache. For now, we honour our directionlessness by bowing deeply to Hekate’s wolf as it stands at the crossroads, and we howl moonward.
Just for now, give yourself a permission slip written by your own hand to forget the words to your favourite song. Know, at once, nothing and everything for sure. Give fierce and out-loud validation to every one of your nonsensical feelings. I see you, meloncholy-at-the-party. I feel you, subconscious-serenity-while-the-house-falls-down. Be guiltless in your Autumn irrationality. Forget not only who they told you to be but who you think you are. Do not look for any context other than this venerable void where nothing is tangible and everything is tinged with shades of sepia. Be limitless now when the veil is so thin every breath you take is a small death ritual. Your fluid identity will be there tomorrow for you to reclaim it, but, just for today, sink your paws into unsteady loam and howl moonward.
Get lost in the fog today and trust you will remember your way when the time is right. For now, let the wayward ghosts seek you out, offer their messages, and move on. You are a wolf-woman who is full, fed, and on the verge of a great Winter rest and rebirth; treat yourself accordingly. Pay homage to the parts of your world that are fading to a wrinkly brown and losing their juice. Clear your fields, bury your dead, and clean your dusty root cellar. When you are finished your work, lift your chin and howl moonward.
This is the great between-time, and we are pulled into our depths.
To the woman who mourns the dying afternoon light, I say light a candle and howl moonward.
To the young Witch who has made her last apology for nonconformity, I say raise your middle finger and howl moonward.
To the one who has packed liberation in her duffle bag and left the relationship, lay a hand on your fragile but still-beating heart and howl moonward.
To the exhausted mother who has no village to help her, step outside, let the Earth hold you, and howl moonward.
To the wisest sage among us who professes no concrete truth, curl your fingers into a nameless mudra and howl moonward.
To all of the wild ones who feel their fire is cooling and their desire is waning, howl, howl, and howl again. Howl until your whole body hums with the sound of your holy hymn then sink your fangs into something raw, red, and forbidden.
Feed on the feminine primal now when we are a coven-pack thriving on our blessed instincts alone. Drift to sleep praying to your ancestors, dream of the Mystery that is birthing our world into being, then wake and howl moonward.
All blessings be.
Sip a little more from Danielle’s magic:
➵ The Wolf-Woman’s Book Of The Dead: A Samhain Benediction
➵ Invoking Artemis: The Liberation Of Our Wild Spirituality
For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends Women Who Run with the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype.