I summon them, these women I was told to shun, and I take my seat at this Last Supper of Holy Whores, this so solemn Samhain celebration that is my highest ritual.
The deadliest sins of the wild woman are far more loathsome than those committed against any external deity, for they are those she commits against herself.
She can accept the ugly shadows as parts of her but not this cosmic blessing kneeling before her. Still, she does as she is told, nourishing herself with the Shadow of Divinity; she tastes like sacred nectar and ceremonial chocolate. She tastes like holy water and the body of the Magdalene.
I don’t know who started the chant, but soon there were millions of voices crying out into the night, "We are taking back our children, and we are rising! We are rising! We are rising!" The clouds started parting, and when we saw the moon, we knew we were fulfilling a sort of planetary destiny.
And this, my love, this is the hearty bread of fem-fire; it has been baked in the blazes of our funeral pyres, smoked in the houses they burned, and seasoned with the ashes of the holy healers burned at the stake. This is the taste of righteous rage. Don’t eat this before bed, or you will not ...
A strong September wind tosses her untamed hair, and she knows it is time. This is the night of her soul-reaping, and she will be covered in the Witch’s war paint of dirt, sweat, ash, and blood before it is all over.
Tonight, you will be visited by three spirits, my lost creature, my kin. Together, these wild ghosts will bring you home.
Here, we wake every morning knowing our role in the Holy Feminine’s return, and we pin the scarlet letters of unabashed sexuality to our bare chests. We need no absolution, for our very blood is blessed, and we will stand up for those who cannot stand on their own.
Pure electric prana erupted in her guts, a volcano of soul-renewal, and her spine arched as the foundation of her sex-spirit bridge was thickly poured by the She-Gods themselves. She pulled her hood down, letting the first raindrops fall on her knotted hair and scratched cheeks. She was ready.