Out in the wilderness around the fire, I sat with Walking Bear. Underneath was the impression of a mundane meal. As he was about to eat, he laid a piece of food as offering on the table but around the fire he handed me the small lifeless body of a robin. There was something special about the logs in the fire.. I had the impression they were fortuitous. The banshee came at me from behind, shoving my face in the dirt as I stuck my arms back in supplication. At the table, I started to leave but instead I forced myself to still. Back at the fire I asked the banshee, “what does she want?” I struggled to my feet as the banshee started choking me.
My husband woke me that night before I found the answer. I had been making choking sounds in my sleep. It was the eve of the solstice, around three in the morning.. always the threes.
I had stepped away from many things and had endured what I thought to be a decent amount of upheaval.. funny how thought works out. Yule passed, marking the last witchling gathering and I spent my 12 days in meditation with plans to tidy up some final decisions. The Cailleach shook out her cloak and what came with the snow was a deceptive quiet.
The new year had just made its rounds when the wheel took a chaotic spin and damn if all my tidy little decisions flew up into the air. Once again I found myself back at the place of hard decisions, and my twisty path was no longer clear. I found myself a bit unsure of where I might put my foot down and other than a few little inklings, I find spirit to be stubbornly quiet on the matter.
Do I trust in the beginning, taking the fools first step once again into the unknown of possibility. Do I stay the course and, much like the hanged man, surrender to the in-between to chance what is hidden. Or (*cackle), do I succumb to Baba’s comforting embrace.. stark as death, shutting tight the doors to sink into the quiet once again. Finding my thoughts in a jumble, I hover half in and half out of my hut with one foot in the air.. waiting.