A soft breeze is a wonderful thing, especially during the summer months. The summer is a time, too, to recharge intuitive powers. All that warmth and sunlight just invites a fresh perspective and a lighter outlook! The body feels a natural ease.
To hone my intuitive powers, I engaged a “Rule of Three” spell guided by the tenent that the energy put out will be returned three fold. The intention here was to call upon the spirits of the North, East, South, and West, requesting blessings and clarity. In particular, I made a request to receive messages to guide me in developing deeper intuition and to open a pathway toward knowledge.
Three by Three Rejuventation Spell
Prepare: Find a bird feather (if you are vegan, you can use a craft feather) and tie it to the end of a ribbon or string. The feather is meant to elevate the spirit, and also to carry messages from upper realms. Secure the ribbon in an outdoor space in which it can receive wind from all directions (in other words, make sure that nothing blocks the flow of air in any direction).
Spell: Observe the feather. When it moves strongly in a cardinal direction, turn to face the source of the wind (so, if the feather blows toward the North, face the South and offer your chant to the South). Repeat the spell three times, holding your intention in mind.
[Eastern] forces share with me Leave no secrets, make them free Wind and spirit, three by three Restore peace and knowledge to me
May this magick rejuventate you and brighten your sacred intuition!
Summer is an excellent time to harvest herbs. With a surplus of wonderful-smelling plants everywhere you look, this season tells of untold pleasures especially for the kitchen witch, green witch, an Earth elemental witch, or any witch who works with nature.
I dry herbs and plants such as thyme, chammomile, angelica, sage, mint, lavender, and red clover for use in smudge sticks or in my apothecary. These plants are easy to come by where I live, and I am learning more about forraging and identifying plant species here.
There are quite a few ways to dry your herbs but I like to have them hang upside down from hooks and tacks in my bedroom.
Winter is always wintering
It covers up its wilderness
The hour before bedtime and the minutes
It freezes bodies in the pantomime of quietus
A flicker of breath.
Fogging the darkness is the only sign of life,
Reaching out and pulling back.
Everything is prevented from blooming
Except in the flash fires that burn a kingdom
Around periwinkle cold skies,
A cry escapes — deafeningly silent.
He remembers her eyes were like ice:
The crop of tears hanging heavy from the tree.
Harvested, homes are made
That melt in Spring.
I am carrying the light of the Autumn to travel between this and the next World and the worlds before as if I am with my husband of epochs Swaying within a forest-cracked verandah to timbres evergreen, immortal
Heads of red snapper flanked by still-green callowed boughs that haven’t turned Down the comforter yet to climb in for winter to marvel in lime brown whimsy We touch, with wonder, each other amidst
Scarlet noses buoyed up as two cold vestibules that feel the breeze more
And the bud of transformation more – we could have instead been stars and missed vermillion Instead of side by side, braving together, bracing what the other trees haven’t the intuition to feel What is us
We descend limb by limb to forage porcupine Chaga in the full-throated sunbeams cast through Leggy new-growth forest, not at all like ourselves
But relish the sip of the soulful side of crimson umber
If there were no trees at all our hearts could take their place, and have In time gone by.
Beneath the canopy of a weeping Beech Wearing its molten roots like a dress Its thin skin carved into with names of elapsed loves Lump torso bowed and overthrown but held by metal crutches Ordained by some idealistic Harvard undergraduate
Even the most coached head
Cannot help but to fall to the stomach as if rolling Down through the throat of the heart Just being in the presence of that kind of onus
I emerge winded, merge To fuse our souls that blossom like a flower of life Free of crutch
Miraculously so Celestial
We rove Oaks and striated Corks Ropey emotion of the artist itself These dresses swallow water to suckle the furthest sprig Propelled by some electricity, The very same It must be That stirs you and me
A passerby overhearing this eclogue Would think that weeping was only an emotion in need Of supports And not a telluric invitation To unlock the index of remembering Love