Winter Witch, Burn Your Vision Board: Misbehaving Under The Wolf Moon.
The new moon’s birth in January is heralded by the primal pitch of a wolf-mother’s howl, and you have heard this with your womb-ears.
In the deep darkness of your Winter Witch’s psyche, you let this sound rip through your carefully orchestrated objectives and unearth your neatly nested seeds. Woman, burn your vision board, for She has other plans for you.
The Wolf Moon begs you to roam your inner forest, so overgrown, so scented with the loam of dying dreams that never served you, and quietly sniff out that which no longer belongs in your sacred, secret place.
Not all goals were meant to be achieved in the time allotted, and She wears no wristwatch. Surrender to Goddess Time, and misbehave under this Wolf Moon. Woman, forgive yourself for last year’s shortcomings by giving them another name.
Rest assured, there is a time for the masculine vision; this active time allows the returning sun to shine its aggressive beams on that which you most desire, to dismantle obstacles systematically, and to move with purpose. This time is soon, but it is not now.
Winter Witch, move now in the shadows, carrying the dimmest of lanterns. Allow your footsteps to fall as they will, and trust that your true path lies hidden under the snow. Make your plans if you must but be fearlessly open to what comes. The feminine is receptive, intuitive, and womb-wise.
She cackles at your to-do lists and color-coded calendars when you meet her hooded figure in the night.
The Crone’s laugh-lines are deep from your years of pressing on, pushing against, and, most of all, from your attempts at perfection.
She tells you this, hot breath fogging in the cold: You are already the feminine power embodied, Young One! Give up your self-criticism. Lay down your devices. Witch, all that you are is perfect!
And She knows. The Old One knows of your perfection because She’s been with you, in you, since the day of your birth. Let the Wise Woman teach you to let go under the Wolf Moon. Follow Her now, as She beckons. Let Her teach you how to dance in the cold without reward or recognition.
She has mastered the art of womb-presence, and She lives in alignment with the seasons of this great Earth.
Winter Witch, now is the time for judgment-less reflection and seed-selection. Look in the dark for what you really, most authentically desire, but see it with complete objectivity. Don’t even label it, for your language does not do justice to your soul-desires.
Witch, reject with all that you are these things they have told you: In order to achieve, you must first strategize. Your schemes must be structurally strong. Cut out your weaknesses, for they will be your downfall.
These rules are the stuff of the uninitiated masculine; worse, they are the hallmarks of war.
Winter Witch, I tell you that your wounds may well be your greatest resources, and that surrendering to the Mystery sometimes serves you better than the most up-to-date map or tried-and-true formula. Qualify if you must, but do not quantify.
Your dreams may have no category as yet, so let them rest in the darkness until She tells you it is time to act. For now, under this Wolf Moon, do precisely what they tell you not to do.
Now is the time for misbehaving, and She watches you from the oak trees’ shadows encircled by Her wolf familiars. You put your lantern down in the snow, and you wait, and you wait, and you wait.
Finally, your night vision falls on a sapphire dream glinting in the snow under the full moon’s light, calling you with a too-sweet siren song. You nod, making note, but you resist the indoctrinated urge to run for it, to snatch it, and to make it your own.
The Wise Crone smiles and hisses: Yes. Yes, more, please. Another diamond dream, bigger and brighter, rolls so close, crunching on the hard snow and stopping just in the glow of your lantern’s fire. It would be so easy to pull this one close, but you sense this jewel is not for you.
Listening now to your womb-voice, so quiet, you can hear it whispering, discerning, telling you not to fall for this dream’s glamorous promises of fame, fortune, true love, whatever it may be.
Say this now, Winter Witch: I want what’s for me, and only what’s for me.
The Old One howls in delight, and Her wolves join Her in singing your praises. You see, in winter’s dark, it is your soft, lunar, womb-voice that needs to be your guide, and you cannot hear it when your thinking mind, so loudly logical, is screaming for attention.
The Wolf Moon lights something else for you now, and you would never have noticed in your younger years; a misshapen bit of blood-red clay rests without the beauty of symmetrical lines or glitter.
It will be a hike too, but you move toward this physically unbecoming thing now as the Wolf Moon sets behind you.
The Crone and Her creatures fall quiet, figures frozen in anticipation and eyes fixed on you. You, with your so-honed hearing, hear Her heartbeat quickening, syncing with the beat of your own heart-drum. Yes, She wants you to do this.
This pulsing heart-vibration resonates so deafeningly that your footsteps are silenced by comparison, and you move without expectation toward this thing.
You resist — Winter Witch, so wisely you resist — the urge to define. You have no words for it. You have no patterns for it. You have no tidy box to put this bit of un-beauteous clay, but you pick it up anyway. Resting so magick-ally in your hand, you call this thing nothing but your own.
This, Woman, is for you. Would you have thought to look for it had you grasped first at the shinier dreams? You look back now, and these dreams are gone. They were not for you, and you know that now.
The Crone stands steadfast, wrinkled face beaming with the approval of a proud grandmother, and she speaks: So wise you are, dear one. Return to your day-world now, having seen in the dark. Listen from your womb, and misbehave under this Wolf Moon; its light may well fall on dreams that they will tell you are supposed to want, but only you know what is for you. All else is distraction. You see now. By the Wolf Moon’s light, you see.
Stop now, Winter Witch. Stop wherever you are, and look. Can you see her? She stands near you, I am sure, grey hair wild and robes muddy. She waits for you. She waits for you to be still long enough to join Her.
Take her paper-skinned hand, and follow her into the dark where you can hear your deepest, truest voice. Under this Wolf Moon, let Her be your guide.