I flip over the first card. A bat stares back at me, wings folded around himself like a cloak, red eyes steady and intense. Hanging, impossibly, right-side up. The Hanged Man, reversed. Tears well, my chest swells. What am I ready to release? “Everything,” I whisper.

I haven’t done ritual work since Lammas. My altar has sat unused, the fountain’s water quietly evaporating. I had to refill it before casting my circle tonight. The school year is coming, the panic of not having prepared has fully infused my system. Starting has felt impossible this year, planning anything at all has felt impossible. I am not sure why. One last trip for the year this weekend, one more family vacation to grin and bear, and then I’ll have no choice but to buckle down and just do it. Maybe I’ll even get some planning done while on vacation, it’s not like I’ll be playing pickleball with everyone else. It might happen, right? My brain feels unwieldy as a landlocked, pregnant elephant seal. I’m waiting for something, and all I want to do is lie here until it happens. But the days are peeling away, the season dying in bursts of vibrant wildflowers. It’s already September, and I can’t afford to continue lying down on the job. I need a jolt of fresh energy, spiritual caffeine, a mental butt-kick. Perhaps it is this ritual that I have been waiting for.

Two days away from a Third-quarter Moon; twenty days away from Mabon, the Fall Equinox and Third-quarter of the year: this is, in every sense, the waning gibbous season. Of this season I once wrote:

This is a time for turning inward. Reflect on your New Moon intentions. What went well and what was a struggle? For any intentions that did not manifest, is there a better way you can approach them next cycle or do you need to let go, at least for now? What possessions/habits/relationships need to be cut back or shed to make you lighter and brighter? Cook and Roux’s1 affirmation for this time is: “I am generous.”

I am generous. I don’t feel generous. I feel small, used up, withered. A branch felled in a sudden storm. I have nothing left to give.

But what does it mean to be human if not to try again, anyway? I sit. I call the elements to create my sacred space. My fountain for Water: May I flow with my feelings and not block them. May I be fluid, accepting of whatever the cards reveal. An unmarked candle for Fire: May my passion and life-force illuminate my way. May I find the courage to burn away that which I no longer need. A smoldering sage bundle for Air: May my thoughts be clear and discerning. May this space hold me safely throughout this ritual. Two crystals, clear quartz (for clearing negative energy) and black tourmaline (for boundaries and protection) for Earth: May I remain grounded in who I am, who I have been, and who I am becoming. My roots are deep; may they ground and sustain me throughout this ritual, and guide me back into my body and reality afterwards. I am prepared. I write my first question in my tarot grimoire, the only one that has come to me so far: What is it that I am ready to release?

It is unusual for me to start a spread without knowing what questions I will ask, but it feels right tonight. I don’t feel like I can see beyond my outstretched hands right now. I don’t even want to stretch out my hands to find out. A lifetime’s worth of pain has converged upon me in the past few weeks. I am awake; I feel it all. How have I survived so much for so long? How have I managed to function as an adult— parent, educate, socialize, build a life for us? I can feel myself straining under the weight of trauma heaped upon trauma. Like a real-life magic trick my brain shatters, reforms, shatters again. Daily this happens, sometimes. And I just keeping going anyway. I’m a goddamn walking miracle. I’m a quivering sliver of humanity, forged from the scraped-together leavings at the bottom of the cauldron of life, nature’s own Frankenstein’s Monster. I’m an inspiration. I’m a cautionary tale. I am…so fucking tired of trying to explain myself, even to me.

All of it, I am ready to let it all go…The pain is mine to hold, and mine to release. It has made me, forged me, but it does not define me. The choices I make every day define me.

Today, I choose to let go.

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I am calling this: The Season of Bread. It is a hopeful choice. Bread has been a symbol of sustenance and bounty for probably as long as it’s existed; nearly every area of the world has some kind of bread-like dietary staple. As a gluten-intolerant person, however, that dietary staple that I used to take for granted has taken on near mythic proportions. It’s just so damn hard to find bread that tastes good and doesn’t cost a fortune. And of course, in this economy, everything costs more than it should, so who wants to splurge on decent bread when you could buy two dinners’ worth of meat for the same price? Thus, for the past several years I have been—quite literally—settling for crumbs. No more, I say. This is the season for bounty.

Lammas, the festival of bread, began the season. Actually, it started two days before the festival, when my cousin and his fiancé drove down for an afternoon of tarot, bread making, and talking to trees. I had found a very ambitious looking recipe for gluten free savory brioche, and despite my misgivings (not to mention the fact that I had never before managed to create gluten free dough that one could actually handle let alone shape) we dove right in. Maybe it was the magic of the season, but it actually turned out perfectly. Both loaves. Amazing. That first piece made me emotional. I cannot be held responsible for any sounds I might have made during the consumption of that delectable loaf. It was buttery soft with the pull-apart texture of the challah I used to make for festivals, so much like gluten dough I would not have believed it wasn’t if I hadn’t made it myself. That smell! Warm, rich and yeasty, redolent of the garlic, basil, and sun dried tomatoes that made up the filling. Bread. Real, wonderful bread. Perfect bread that I could eat. And I had made that little miracle myself. It was heaven.

On August 1st, the actual day of Lammas, the first of the Fall Festivals, I dressed as the Corn Mother (a harvest goddess) and spent the day wearing a golden dress and a straw hat crowned with rye stalks, parading around the Great Lakes Medieval Festival with all the other wonderful weirdos. Being there fills a need as keen as the desire for good bread after three years of crumbs. At the Ren Faire I am cool. In the body I have. With the odd, crafty talents I have. My weirdest, nerdiest, witchiest, most colorful version of myself—that is cool at the Faire. I walked in and realized that I wasn’t sucking in my gut, or worrying about my posture, or wondering if I’m “too much.” And I looked around at all the weird, queer, nerdy, passionate people around me, all of them being just the right amount of a lot, and I was home. The vendors are amazing. The shows are fun. But I go for the people. People who make me feel seen without even looking at me. People who don’t make me want to crawl under a rock and sleep for a hundred years. Social interactions that aren’t overwhelming, and even feel enjoyable. We went twice this year. It is always a long, hot day, and it is always so hard to leave. I miss it already.

Since then I have made sandwich bread, lush and springy real sandwich bread. Twice, so it wasn’t just a fluke. And today I made naan that actually rolled out and puffed up when cooked. Gorgeous. The secret seems to be the psyllium gel base used in the recipes from theloopywhisk.com. Her instructions are very detailed, but if you follow them exactly you get perfect results every time. I am now a big fan. So many more bread recipes to try, and the season is only begun.

It is true that going without something makes you appreciate it more. Lately, I have found myself catching my breath when I look at my girls. They are growing up so fast, and they are so, so beautiful. Incredible, funny, intelligent, kind humans. And I get to know these cool people better than anyone else in the whole world—for now, I do. How lucky am I? And my guy. When the house is dark, and the girls are asleep, and the cats are wreaking havoc…somewhere, but it’s otherwise quiet…I lay my head on his chest, and everything, everything, EVERYTHING is OK. No matter what kind of day we had, or if my brain and body are letting me know—again—just how much shit we’ve been through this year, for a few precious moments our tiny world is perfect. And every relationship that has imploded in the past year makes me treasure the ones that have survived the fallout that much more. I happen to know some truly amazing people, many of them just as weird as me. Most days I still don’t feel like my usual, vibrant self, and it’s not always easy to uncurl enough to engage, but my therapist says to start with what doesn’t feel awful. So, when I’m practicing being social with someone, and I don’t feel like unzipping my skin and spontaneously combusting—that’s a win. I’ll take it.

I am learning in this season to recognize and name the emotions that feel good in my body. The taste of good bread, the savor of an interaction with someone who gets me, the comfortingly familiar sight and smell and feel of my little clan…that feels like gratitude. So much of life feels hard right now (and don’t even get me started on trying to plan the school year when my brain is staunchly refusing to reboot after crashing from the move), but it’s the good kind of hard, because I’m not alone. And not being alone is all I’ve ever wanted.

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Hello again. Here I am, back in front of a computer, typing words unto paper that has no substance. It has taken a great deal of patience and rest for the entire exercise to mean something to me again. If you are still here, still reading, thank you. It’s taken longer than I expected to crawl out of the Somewhere Else.

“There are gaps in the mesh of the everyday world,” writes Katherine May in Wintering, “and sometimes they open up and you fall through them into somewhere else.”1 I think, perhaps, I need to read that book again. Transitions are liminal times, and liminal times and places create those gaps May describes. When I am Somewhere Else, I can feel the world turning around me. I go through the motions of engaging in Life. I function as an adult, a parent, a spouse, all while feeling like a wraith masquerading as human. I lack substance; life is a play in which I was not cast. I drift, I watch, I wait for the gap to reopen. I try to summon the energy to pull myself back through.

When I awoke our first morning in the new house, the window above our bed was open and all the trees in the backyard were waving and whispering “hello.” Shadow branches drifted over my resting form like a benediction. I lay there for a good long time, savoring the novelty of having nothing urgent to do. Our lives had revolved around this displacing of ourselves for so long that I couldn’t quite imagine us post-goal. But that first day it didn’t matter. We rested. We unpacked enough of the kitchen to prepare food. We took it slow.

But the next day came, and the next, and the boxes…the boxes really had to go.

There is no sensory overstimulation for me as bad as living in an environment that is crowded and uncomfortable and unfamiliar and where I can’t even find a damn pair of scissors to open that box that I really hope is hiding that other thing I actually need. A new house smells wrong. My internal navigation is way off. I don’t know the underlying pattern of sounds. I can’t orient myself according to anything familiar, because all of the familiar things are arranged in unfamiliar ways. The sun rises and sets on different sides of the house. The traffic noise is coming from a different direction. But worst of all, I can’t freaking find anything I need. My brain responded in a perfectly reasonable way to such ridiculous levels of overstimulation: by shutting down. If I have to continue functioning, I can do so half asleep and strung out on massive overdoses of caffeine and audio fiction. It got me this far, didn’t it? We got through the move, now we just have to reinvent our lives here. The easy part.

I made it through the first week, through Z’s first post-move work trip, and half way to the airport to pick him up before I started hyperventilating.

This wasn’t the easy part; something had to give.

Time. I wanted time to adjust. I wanted a beautiful house, and a beautiful life, and a brain and body capable of creating and appreciating both. The gap opened, I fell through…and had nothing but time.

There is no luxury I know like giving myself permission to spend hours reading, or walking, or lying outside under a tree, drinking tea, accomplishing nothing at all. I puttered around the house. One box disappeared, then another. I went slow. I had time. The girls claimed their play area downstairs, unpacked their rooms too quickly and got overwhelmed. They unburied their carpets again, slowly. The cats found new favorite haunts and napping spots. They fell off the too-narrow windowsills. They jumped back up and reoriented. I discovered every wrong way to get to the grocery store. There was time for getting lost and finding my way home again. Time is a capitalist construct anyway. Like my transplanted herbs I was being very dramatic about having been dug up and replanted. I was regrowing roots; that takes time. And tea, lots of tea (the coffee wasn’t helping the anxiety). The world went on, and I let it. The time would come to step back in when I was ready.

I wasn’t ready, but the time had come to leave home for a trip to Tennessee to be with an old friend. As I was loading the car the morning we left I found a strand of bright red yarn stuck to my shoe. On a whim I picked it up and tied it around my wrist. A red thread is a powerful symbol of connection and protection. During the trip, whenever I felt anxious about the animals or the house or being away from home, I tugged on that thread. It helped. I was reminding myself that I did have a home, a place to belong, that I was, indeed, regrowing my roots. It helped.

My friend was grieving a great loss; we grieved together. Shared grief expressed and experienced in safe ways is a powerful catalyst. I am alive, I thought. I want to live my life. We swam every day: in water that touches rocks and places far away; or down, down deep; or with trees overhead, or sand. Lee exfoliated my arms and legs with handful after handful of wet sand and it felt like a spa treatment, like shedding a too-tight skin. We swam, and I filled my lungs and floated. I could almost feel the stress melting away into the water, feel myself becoming calm again. I cried. I breathed. I let the sun tan my face. I swung on a rope swing over sharp rocks and jumped off into deep water. I was scared, I did it anyway. I resurfaced, gasping, hands stinging from where they had slipped on the rope. I swam back to the edge, climbed up, swung again.

There is a second-hand bookstore we always visit in Chattanooga, called McKay’s. I was perusing the “alternative spirituality” section when my eyes landed on a title written in green, Celtic-inspired script. The Mist-Filled Path: Celtic Wisdom for Exiles, Wanderers, and Seekers, by Frank MacEowen. I had never heard of this book or this author, but I swear to you that the moment I pulled it from the shelf and held it in my hands, my eyes filled with tears. It was like a piece of my soul had found its way back to me; it felt like a gift. I can’t explain this. I have decided I don’t need to. Days later, back home again, I opened the book and found a poem written by Rumi, this poem, the one I have sprinkled between the sections of this post. I thought about floating on my back, tranquil at last. I thought about the Hobbit Hole that my sister painted on our friend’s kitchen wall while we were visiting, that green door beckoning like a portal to Middle Earth itself. I thought about the trees out back; our name for this new home, “Whispering Glade;” the shadows of branches dappling morning light. The words resounded through me, a clarion call.

The gap opened; I gripped the edges and heaved.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. 
Don't go back to sleep. 
You must ask for what you really want. 
Don't go back to sleep. 
People are going back and forth across the doorsill 
where two worlds touch. 
The door is round and open. 
Don't go back to sleep. 
        ~Jalal-ud-din Rumi

Goodbye baby jumping spiders, and the three crows that caw me awake, and the mourning doves keening for the day gone by.

Goodbye chorus of frogs. Goodbye wood duck family paddling through algae to shelter beneath the peace pines. Goodbye pond we skated last winter, swinging foraged hockey sticks and slipping over, laughing…laughing.

Goodbye raspberries and apples, nearly ripe. Goodbye tangled beds of herbs, leaves soft and bright and waiting to be steeped.

Goodbye daisy fields, hotball courses, gogi berry bush. Goodbye Grandmother Maple, Sister Apple, Little Locust growing tall. Goodbye Lord and Lady Pine, Gentle Oak, Old Friend Hemlock. Goodbye patient red pine, Queen crabapple, orchard pears. Goodbye black walnut where the red wings roost. Goodbye patch of softest barefoot grass. Goodbye wild black raspberry brambles. Goodbye violets. Goodbye rich, deep earth. Goodbye quince who shelters our dear, departed pets. Goodbye garden…garden, garden. Goodbye trees that taught me how to breathe. I will not forget.

Goodbye azure tile counters, hand-carved kitchen door and trim. Goodbye rough-cut beam where two generations of children traced their growth. Goodbye balcony the cats jump off, our gaming table spot. Goodbye wide, Western windowsills that midwife my seedlings every spring. Goodbye puddles of sun where the cats nap, window screens they tear up chasing birds and bugs. Goodbye sunset views, and children playing, and firefly show that’s only just beginning. Goodbye window altar, ivy stencils, the poem I painted off the bedroom wall. Goodbye moon I learned to cycle from broad front step, and yoga on the scratchy livingroom carpet, and the corner with the couch where we finished every Harry Potter book and movie.

Goodbye yard with the view of the solar eclipse. Goodbye mantle I drape with boughs each Christmas, a miniature forest inside where it’s warm. Goodbye library, chiropractor, Nickle and Bean, and the mystical meadow we found just this spring. Goodbye familiar places to walk, and shop, and hike, and meet. Goodbye sea of billowing grass, and the thud of apples falling in the wind, and the constant song of birds. Goodbye house, goodbye home, goodbye to we who lived and loved and learned here.

Wind lift us up, carry us to places new and scary and exciting.

We are adrift.

We are

going…

…going…

…gone.

We have become necromancers. Every week we dig Happy Family out of their shallow grave. Hug them. Feed them. Chatter about sports and politics (and everyone’s least favorite witch). We smile, laugh, show teeth white as old bone. Look at us, enjoying each other’s company so much it hurts. Look at us. Look…but don’t smell.

It was once a tradition, so I’ve read. When a loved one died they were not always buried immediately. The rest of the family needed time to come to terms with the reality of death, that the person who once shared their lives no longer inhabited that form. In some cultures, bodies are said to even have been unearthed for special occasions, to rejoin the people who loved them for a time, perhaps in an attempt to summon their spirit. I can understand the impulse. I have brushed the hair of my dead sister, picked out a tiny outfit that only the funeral home people will ever see my daughter wear. I’ve grieved with a ferocity that terrifies, afraid I’m going mad. I have gone mad; grief is a form of madness. The mind simply cannot cope. There is no logic in the words, she is gone.

Am I still here?

I can disappear. In my family, that is how I show up. Five months ended us, killed the family we were. During that time I dissolved; cooking, dishes, errands, problem solving. I was there…and I was not. I missed it, those last precious months. I never really said goodbye. There was always too much to do. “Regret” is practically another word for “grief.”

But this…I can’t with this. The people I fled to when I was broken…the ones I called my chosen family…the hands that held me as I rebirthed myself, now hold Wanted posters with my name written in bold. I don’t recognize myself in the picture they’ve drawn. That green, warty face. That menacing, gap-toothed grin. Those shifty eyes. They pass them around while smiling so bright where anyone can see. And if I take notice? If I object? They hold up a poster, sigh, shake their heads. Didn’t we say? Such a shame. That’s just like her.

And if I don’t? If I ignore the whispers, the crinkle of hideous lies? If I focus on the ones who AREN’T trampling my reputation in exchange for social currency? That’s when I cease to exist.

How did it come to this?

It starts out as a feeling. Not, this is too good to be true. Not that simple, not that cynical. Not words at all. A sense of…wrongness, an imbalance of power. Someone draws attention to it, and they are pitched off a cliff. Sudden, violent response. Blink. What? That can’t be right. I must have imagined it. Or…did I? Little things don’t add up. And then, they do. The cracks form a pattern. They spell out three names, three untouchables, the Holy Trinity. Call one of them out. Say another word out loud, “Misogyny.” Refuse to apologize for any of it. Refuse to be guilted into backing down. Refuse to be manipulated into submission. Have the sheer gall to be right, to be supported by others who have seen the same patterns, the same holy names written in stone…and you’re done. Five months ended us, killed the family we pretended we still were. History has nothing on appearance. There is no blood as thick as self-delusion.

One gasp, and then…

There is no clearing my name. I have come to terms with this. Not when “talking it through” means gritting my teeth through a maelstrom of grievances flung at me without a chance to actually be heard. Not when I’ve already shallowed my fury and my pride and expressed myself as softly and clearly as anyone could—only to be willfully misheard or misunderstood again and again. Not when the only choices given me are: repentance or eternal condemnation. Ask me how many times I’ve already been faced with that choice, and I’ll tell you about all the churches I’ve walked away from. This witch doesn’t burn easy.

I have stayed away because I’m not a masochist, I’m a normal human with a sense of self preservation. But Memorial Day, for me, has always been a time to honor the beloved dead—necromancy be damned. For better or worse, some places will always hold a piece of my heart. As far as a third of the people there were concerned, I might as well have been a ghost; an unwelcome, unpleasant chill in the room. For others, I was a Mission: winning me over would prove that I’m wrong and everyone here is good and kind and loves each other (…right?). So be it. I enjoyed the sunshine (a little too much). The food was good, I think? I didn’t really taste it. Those posters hang heavy. It is a very strange feeling knowing that people who once made up a large part of your world now actively wish you ill. That is a very strange feeling indeed.

I came home exhausted, wrung out, sunburned, and wired. My clothes felt gross, the jeans I had chosen too hot, my bra restrictive. I tore them off, flung myself into the shower, scrubbed until my tender skin gave me pause. The sunscreen I had put on too late to do any real good was a greasy scum on my skin, a miasma. Some frenzied creature seemed to be sharing the tiny shower space with me, its heartbeat a chant in my head, off, off, off, off, offoffoffoffoff. I had left behind the beautiful, handmade sweater I had worn with such pride. My breath came like sobs, the cool water of the shower slid down my face in lieu of tears. I had done it. I had faced the mob.

…for what?

let them

There are other ways to grieve. Wailing. Rending clothes. Telling the bees. Airing the abyss within each of us through journaling, art, song, dance, writing. This is a process I have been through before. I can do it again.

The next morning I lay on my yoga mat, breathing through the end of my flow. All at once I became keenly aware of the push of the floor against my body; and, beneath the floor, Earth. She holds us all up, doesn’t She? My food, clothing, shelter, the rain and the sun, the soft kiss of moonlight—all of it gifts from She Who Provides. There is no network on earth as unfailing as Earth Herself. I am supported, I whispered to myself. I am supported.

I am here.

I do not walk alone.

Over and over again in the last few weeks, as the tide of collective female rage in our country seems to be nearing a crest, lionesses have stalked into my social media feed. These images and videos have been circulating as symbols of female power—the fiercely protective kind that makes would-be predators afraid of the dark. The mother lion staring down, and then smacking down, the alpha male who thought he could get away with hitting a cub; the lioness feeding her family, the way mothers do; the pride of lionesses driving off the unwanted male. The message is clear: You men have gone too far this time; SHE is waking.

I have a complicated relationship with lions. “Lyons” is a family name, the origin of which is a matter of debate among the relatives. Is it Croatian, or a derivative of the Scottish Lyon clan? Was the name given my ancestors at Ellis Island, or did it belong to them? There’s nobody left who can say for sure, but the lion was our unofficial family “crest” nonetheless. Being raised Judeo-Christian, lions were a common symbol anyway—but always, and only, male lions. I’ve seen hundreds of representations of the shaggy-maned “lion of Judah,” some fierce and some gentle, all undeniably powerful. But never a female. Only once have I seen a female lion used in a religious setting: a pastor’s wife I knew shared a meme of a group of zebras (labeled "the church”) and a lone zebra (representing a person outside of the church) being chased down by a lioness (who, naturally, represented the devil). Coincidentally (or not), this was shared right around the time we left—actually, were driven out of—her church. Ironic, no?

The power of the lioness symbology that is (re)surfacing at this time is equally undeniable, and I was not at all surprised to learn that the lion was a symbol of the Goddess—and specifically her destructive power—long before the Jewish people ever told the story of Adam and Eden. What did surprise me was just how widespread this symbol was in the ancient world, and how often it was associated with solar goddesses, not Earth or Moon goddesses. Here are some of them:

• Inanna— Ancient Mesopotamian goddess of love, war, sexuality, fertility, victory, and betrayal; Inanna is one of the original “Creator/Destroyer” deities. Her name literally means, “Queen of the Sky” and she “is often depicted standing on the back of a lion.” She is associated with the planet Venus, the evening and morning star, and one of her symbols is an eight-pointed star. Inanna has become a very popular deity among modern witches and neo-pagans, as her mythic descent into the underworld and victorious return (a story told eons before Jesus was ever conceived, by a virgin or otherwise) is heralded as prophetic of the loss and reclaiming of the Divine Feminine and our female power.1

• al-Lat—Ancient Arabian goddess that predates Islam, she presided over war, peace, combat and prosperity. Her consort was a lion. The Quran speaks of Muhammad sending men to destroy her idol at Ta’if, in the same way that the Bible speaks of destroying the sacred sites of the Goddess Ishtar/Asherah.2

• Astarte—Ancient Semetic goddess of beauty, love, war, and hunting; she was a later incarnation of the Mesopotamian goddess, Inanna, and the Northwest equivalent of the Eastern Semetic goddess, Ishtar. Astarte is the Hellenized version of her name, Attart. Her worship began in the Bronze Age and was widespread among the Canaanites, Phoenicians, Amorites, and into Egypt. She is thought to have reemerged later in Greece and Rome as Aphrodite and Venus.3

• Bastet and Sekhmet—two ancient Egyptian goddesses that took the form of lions. Bastet, or Bast, was worshipped as early as 2890 BCE in Egypt, and may have descended from earlier Nubian mythology. Originally a fierce warrior goddess of the sun, Bastet later came to be associated more with the domestic cat and with pregnancy and childbirth. She is a protector of women and children. Sekhmet, sometimes called “the eye of Ra,” is also a solar warrior deity. One of the most important and widely venerated goddesses, Sekhmet was divine wrath incarnate. She held power over disease, and her breath was the harsh desert wind. Her worship included ecstatic dance and drunken revelries to commemorate the time that the gods barely stopped her from destroying the world by tricking her into drinking deeply of the blood-red water of the Nile…which had secretly been turned into beer, not blood. Hatshepsut, one of Egypt’s few woman pharaohs, built a veranda for Sekhmet’s devout revelries onto an existing temple dedicated to her. Sekhmet’s name literally means, “She who is powerful” or “One who has control.” Sekhmet was worshipped as a creative and destructive force, one who held power over life and death.4

• Cybele—Anatolian “mother of the gods” who rides in a chariot pulled by four lions. Another goddess of life and death, she was worshipped by ecstatic dancing to the music of tambourines and other instruments, and by sacred mystery initiations enacted in caves. She was later brought into Greece, then Rome, and eventually merged with the (originally Minoan?) mother goddess, Rhea.5

• Durga—Indian goddess of power, strength, protection and motherhood; she is one of the most important deities in Hinduism. Called “The inaccessible One, The Impenetrable One,” Durga is usually pictured riding upon a lion. Another creation/destruction goddess, Durga has many hands—between 8 and 18—each holding a weapon. Yet, she usually looks serene. Layne Redmond, in When the Drummers Were Women, notes that the lion upon which Durga rides is not merely a symbol of power, but a physical manifestation of her own divine wrath. She has mastered her anger; it takes her where she needs to go, but she is not controlled by it. Redmond writes:

Durga, riding on her lion, drums the world into being…lions and other felines have been represented in ritual context dating back to the Paleolithic. All of these lion goddesses are associated with the drum that leads the initiate deep into the labyrinth of the mind, in search of expanded states of awareness. At the threshold of the descent stand the great feline guardians.6

~

This list is not nearly complete, nor could it ever be. Too much of what women once knew has been lost to history, dying out with the last initiates into the deeper mysteries of the Goddess in Her many forms.

What we can know for sure is that She is rising again—rising like a crouching lioness, with a keen eye and a growl deep in Her belly.

She is rising to defend the defenseless, to restore ecological harmony and social-economical balance.

Woe to the man who stands in Her way; She comes to destroy the power structures that exist only to serve the few at the expense of the many, to destroy so that a better way can be found.

She has many names and many faces, and even more numerous are we who are rising up with Her fire in our eyes and Her fury in our bellies.

The time of the Goddess has come.

We will not be stopped.

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“No.”

“Pleeeease?”

“It’s cold!”

“Come with us, Mommy!”

Damn. Rena has unfairly effective puppy eyes for an 11-year-old. She proffers the gigantic black umbrella, the one with the tag still dangling from the edge; Minnie Pearl chic. I start to feel like the old curmudgeon in the scarecrow coat and hat from “Klaus.”

“Augh…Fine,” I surrender with ill grace, climb out of the warm confines of the car, and immediately fold my arms against the damp chill. It’s 50 degrees, rainy. Chilly even before the sun went down. We’ve been killing time for hours while our house gets inspected for the new buyers. Shopping. A shivery-quick picnic dinner. Checking out the new thrift shop in town. Rena scored a swimsuit and sandals she desperately needed, I found a few pairs of yoga shorts (for the warm weather that will eventually return) and a new-ish pair of slip-ons for the dumbass who packed her sandals (guess who?). Finally, finally, it’s time to return…except they’re still there. We drive past, turn around in the next town, drive back. Lee asks to drive around the pond we like to walk to. Some smartass decides it’s perfect weather for a walk, and no, I’m not allowed to sit in the warm car and crochet. Thus: curmudgeon.

This is decidedly not Beltane energy. Hell, I haven’t even caught my breath yet. This time last week we were celebrating having completed the process of getting our house on the market and waiting for the listing to show up. It did, and…sold. 24 hours later we were signing. Just like that. The buyers want a quick close.

We. Are. Moving.

Like, now.

We found a house last weekend, 5 acres and alllllllll the character; made an offer. No deal, no house. One weekend left to find something before we risk having to dump our shit in storage and park our butts somewhere temporary until we find something decent that hasn’t already sold. It’s a buyer’s market, they said. Selling’s the hard part, they said…

Deep breath.

DEEPER BREATH.

And one more because I really fucking need it.

Friday. Friday we go house hunting again. Friday is Beltane, or May Day; the final spring festival; the last blast of vibrant, passionate creative energy before summer settles in. Coinciding with the full “Flower” moon in Scorpio, a sign that brings deep transformative energy and a revealing of things previously unseen. Rena and I have decided that this timing is very auspicious. May it be so.

To help usher in this auspicious energy, I’m preparing a Sacred Fire tarot spread for Beltane-Eve.1

Sacred Fire Beltane spread

Nine cards spiraling out CW from the first card in the center.

1. What is kindling within me in this season?

2. What energy, resource, or truth will feed this fire?

3. What action do I need to take to ignite momentum?

4. What illusion, fear, or distraction is clouding my vision?

5. What needs to be released, cut off, or burned away in order to realize this potential?

6. What passion, pleasure, or power wants to move through me this Beltane?

7. How can I keep my energy grounded during this time?

8. What message do my ancestors have for me right now?

9. What gift will this Beltane season bring if I am able to welcome it in?

Glancing back through old posts from this time of year, I land upon a gift: a Beltane list from 2023. Here it is:

With the season of Maying starting off slow because of the rain and mud, it is giving me time to think: what brings me bliss? What can I do to encourage absolute abandon in myself in safe and constructive ways? This Beltane, how can I channel my inner goat?

Here’s what I have come up with so far:

1. Play music that makes my feet tap, or makes me so wistful I want to melt.

2. Get outside and spend a few minutes with the sun on my face. If there is no sun, light a candle and watch it flicker.

3. Touch a tree, or the grass. Find something achingly beautiful and spend a few moments just drinking it in. Breathe out, appreciate.

4. Create something beautiful. Work on a project, write, bake, make a perfect cup of tea or coffee, pick flowers and arrange them, do my hair or the girls’ hair, put on makeup.

5. Read, alone, just for fun, with a cup of something hot and sweet.

6. Hug a bunny, my daughters, my husband, a friend, or myself. Hold on for at least 30 seconds. Then do it again.

7. Take a shower and let the warm water wash over my face, run down my skin. Pay attention to the weight and color of my hair when it’s drenched, then watch it lighten and spring back into curls as it dries. I freaking love my hair. I can own it.

8. Eat something that makes me close my eyes and moan, even if it’s just a bite. Hold the taste, savor it. Ahhhh.

9. Play a game that requires me to think, plan, strategize.

…‘Tis the season to go a little mad, to unleash the crazy and fall ravishingly in love with life...

This spring has been hella stressful, but this is the time to shake it off and just…be. We’ve come so far. We SOLD OUR HOUSE!!! The next chapter of our lives is just a page-turn away.

Here goes…and may the favor of the Goddess go with us!

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~

For more Beltane reading, see these posts from Beltanes past:

Our lives are filled with “last times” right now. Last weekend we did our last Easter egg hunt and tree blessing here (late, I know, but the weather was glorious). This has become our tradition. I fill the eggs with strips of cloth instead of candy, and after all the eggs have been collected we circle the property again, tying a strip or two to each of our favorite trees. It has been a wonderful way to reconnect to the land after being house-bound for so much of the winter. This year’s tree blessing was particularly emotional. It felt like saying goodbye. We have signed with an agent, pictures have been scheduled, the house is looking less and less like ours. As I walked with my sack of eggs I was overtaken by a memory of me walking this same path years ago, sealing this land to us, under my protection. I can’t control what happens to it after we go. I can only hope that it will be cared for as we have done.

The cat has moved on, the girls collapse in the grass next to me to pant out details of their game and pick a few violets to eat and some for my cup. Lee quickly grows impatient of the break and tackles her older sister. They run off again. I will miss the familiar sight of them running across this familiar space. Monday evening, after dinner, the girls and I walked up the road. “Remember the summer of the owls?” I said. A few years ago now there were owl babies learning to fly in the patch of woods near that road, and we went walking most nights in the hopes of seeing them. They made a noise like a broken squeaky toy. None of us will ever forget it. Or the red shouldered hawk that likes to hunt from the top of that black walnut tree. Or playing ice hockey on the pond last winter using broken brooms and branches as hockey sticks. Or the spot under the quince bush where all our pets have been buried. This place is a part of us. But even more so are the memories we will carry with us from here.

Here is the violet syrup recipe I use:

And here is my original post from the first day I made it:

My altar is gone. The desk that it used to grace has been moved out into the newly transformed family room, leaving behind an empty space littered with potting soil, dried plant matter, an old hatless acorn , a forgotten glass gem. Every day our home is changing, a bit more of us erased as we transform the space that has loved and held our family for seven years into a temptingly blank canvas. Each night the cats emerge to creep around their once-familiar territory, taking stock of the damage. They have become quieter, more subdued. Hunkering down as though weathering a natural disaster. I would say that we are doing the same, except that we’re the ones causing it. Long days, late nights. Moving is so much work. But that’s the easy part.

“What if we’re making a mistake?” I sobbed to my husband last night. “What if we can’t find anything we like, and the house sells, and we’re stuck? What if the house doesn’t sell? What if we buy a house and move, and we don’t like it?” Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif…

I can’t control this. I can’t control anything about this process, apart from the packing and cleaning and rearranging and fixing and painting we’ve spent countless hours doing over the past several weeks. And it’s freaking me all the way out.

My husband held me until I calmed down. He said a lot of reassuring things, too, but I wasn’t really listening. I just needed held and petted. I’m basically a cat without fur. As long as I have cozy spaces to curl up in, sunshine, outdoor spaces to let me feel wild, playful ways to go feral when the desire strikes, running water, food on demand, all the yarn I can find, companions who don’t mind my claws, someone to cuddle me when I need it—and nothing ever changing in my environment unless I make it change…I’m good. That’s all I ask. Not so much, really. Except that everything is changing right now, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. And far too many of those changes are outside of my control.

Today being the Full Moon, I decided to try a Full Moon tarot spread from Stephanie Campos’s Seasons of the Zodiac. Her New and Full Moon spreads are each seven cards, arranged in a triple goddess moon symbol: cards 1, 2, and 3 forming a waxing crescent on the left; 4, 5, and 6 forming a waning crescent on the right, and the 7th card in the center. Here is her Full Moon spread:

Card 1: What should I recognize and celebrate under this full moon?

Card 2: What am I ready to let go of under this full moon?

Card 3: What hidden truths are available to me now?

Card 4: What advice does my Spirit team have for me during this lunation?

Card 5: What is my lesson during this lunar cycle?

Card 6: What’s the best way to support my desires under this lunar cycle?

Card 7: What should I focus my energy on next?1

Most of what came up for me in this reading centered around the move and the internal battles I’ve been fighting while packing, cleaning, painting, and systematically erasing the territorial markings that have allowed me to feel safe here. Such as:

“What am I ready to let go of under this full moon?” (Death). Control. I am ready to release my need to control everything in order to feel OK. There is also safety and security in trust.

“What hidden truths are available to me now?” (9 of Wands). We’re so close! I’ve begun doubting that we’re making the right decision in moving…but we’ve come so far, and I need to focus on that. We’re almost there. Hold fast. Keep climbing. It will be worth it!

“What advice does my Spirit team have for me during this lunation?” (8 of Cups). Let go. Everything I have learned here, all the memories, the ways in which I have grown—everything I need I will be carrying with me to the next place, the next phase of my Becoming. Be grateful, and let-the-fuck-go already.

“What is my lesson during this lunar cycle?” (5 of Pentacles).Worry is making me sick. I need to breathe, to meditate, to spend time in my body, and still. I must make this a top priority. I need calm, and grounding. My body won’t hold up well if I don’t. Breathe, my love. We will be fine.

“What is the best way to support my desires under this lunar cycle?” (The Fool). I need to embrace the curiosity, wonder, and adaptability of my inner child. Play. Explore. Allow the mistakes to be part of the process. Try again…Hope. Believe in magical possibilities. What if it all works out?

“What should I focus my energy on next?” (Son or Knight of Wands). Dare to believe that my best is more than good enough, and perfectionism is overrated, anyway. Most of all, that! Perfectionism is sabotage. Let it be, and move on. We’re doing great.

My favorite YouTube yogi, Charlie Fallows, does a 30 day challenge during the month of January each year. This year’s challenge was a 30 minute “Flow” routine, different each day, that was more challenging than my body could cope with back in January. But I can do it now. Each morning I stretch and flow with Charlie, and it is one thing that I can control. It is one way that I am finding balance amid the chaos. Today, for the first time I can remember, I was able to focus on my breath without forcing it. Seriously, never as an adult have I so much as trusted my body to breathe on its own without forgetting to make it breathe. Now, I can simply follow it. In and out. This is progress.

Over and over again, from several directions at once, I have been getting the same message: You need to start a meditation practice. It’s time. And I keep answering: Where the hell is that “time” supposed to come from, eh? So, I’ve decided to keep it simple. Each morning as soon as I wake up, and each night as I am falling asleep, I will take a few minutes to breathe and practice the Gratitude Breath from Ashley Neese’s How To Breathe.

THE PRACTICE

Find a comfortable position lying down.

Set your intention.

Breathe in and out through the nose for a minute to settle in.

When ready, take a long, gentle breathe through the nose.

On your exhale, say one thing out loud that you are grateful for.

Repeat this practice for several minutes until you have exhausted your list.

Rest for a minute.

Close your practice.

Journal.2

My altar is now packed neatly in a pretty, seashell-patterned box that used to hold keepsakes. The box used to reside on a dusty shelf in my closet, but now I get to see it every day, right there on my bedside table. Inside it, my candles and incense. My wand and Goddess figurine. My chalice, smudging sticks, crystals, sachet spells. So many things that I have made and collected, the tools—and evidence—of my practice. I can access them whenever I want to (thanks to the box’s tidy, magnetic lid), but they are ready to go. When we leave they will come with me, ready to be put to use cleansing and dedicating the new house. The box has become a symbol of sorts. I am in transition, untethered, rootless…and that is an OK place to be. Something must always die before something else can be reborn.

Hold fast, keep going. You’re doing great.

Today is the New Moon, the beginning of Pisces season, the final sign in the zodiac year. Pisces is a dual sign, symbolized by two fish in a kind of yin/yang configuration. As a water sign, it is emotional, introspective, and “fluid,” making it easy to be swept away in the energy of this season. Thankfully, a chance for grounding is right around the corner: Friday is Ostara, the beginning of Spring, and it is all about the Earth as she comes awake after Winter. It is unusual for the end of the zodiac cycle to coincide with the vernal equinox in this way. This lunar year began with a Blue Moon, a kind of bonus lunar month which serves to realign the lunar and solar years. This means that the entire lunar cycle is a month behind the standard dates I’ve been using to learn the astrological year. Not confusing at all. For the past few months I’ve taken a break from following the astrological cycle, leaning into tarot or other rituals at the New and Full Moons instead. Today, though, I picked up Seasons of the Zodiac to perform my New Moon tarot spread. Afterwards, I flipped through to the end, Pisces Season, and found exactly what I needed to hear at this time.

Pisces Season Affirmations

(From Seasons of the Zodiac by Stephanie Campos)

“It is safe for me to set boundaries.”

This is huge for me right now. I have recently and rather suddenly realized how entangled many of my close relationships are, or have been; and how much of my relational, mental, emotional, and even physical suffering is, and has been, a direct result of weak or nonexistent boundaries. Once I see a problem like that, I cannot rest until I have fixed it (hello, High Functioning Codependency1). Like boundaries are something you can get a prescription for (wouldn’t that be nice?). The problem is that many of these relationships are close relationships, and when you suddenly start enforcing boundaries where there were none before, people tend to react as they would if their house cat suddenly transformed into a (presumably) man-eating lioness. You might say that the energy…shifts; if not for the worse, certainly towards the less comfortable. Having generally experienced rather extreme examples of this common phenomenon, safety in boundary setting is crucial for me. Tonight I’ll be recharging my Boundary Boss2 Morrigan mala3 with the softly powerful energy of the New Moon. I got this.

“My Heart is my compass/I trust my intuition.”

In this evening’s New Moon tarot card spread I pulled the Son of Wands (also called the Knight of Wands, or, colloquially, the “white knight”) in response to the prompt: “What support is available to me?” The phrases, “Trust my instincts with a confidence bordering on arrogance,” and “The path ahead lies in following my passions,” came as interpretations of this card. Finding these Pisces Season affirmations so soon after the Reading feels like confirmation.

“Creativity and inspiration flow through my veins/Spending time in my own energy recharges me/My depth and vulnerability are my superpowers.”

Another confirmation from my Reading. In response to the prompt: “Which of my gifts should I be relying on (right now)?” I drew the Daughter (or “Page”) of Cups. Emotional, creative, a very gentle soul, easily hurt by conflict. A common theme in this Reading seemed to be strength through softness, not through hardness or combativeness. The idea that, instead of reacting when I feel threatened, I might be better served to sink in, to sit with the feelings and let them simply exist inside of me. Flow, not fight. This is only possible if I can, as Terri Cole says, “stop letting other people spend [my] energy.” She suggests a practice she calls an “energy zip.”4 Draw a line with your fingers from your pubic bone straight up to your mouth, then twist to “lock it in.” Now your energy belongs to you, and only to you. This practice has not worked well for me, so I have created my own in which I visualize each exhale as forming a kind of bubble of shimmering air around me. Different method, same results. My energy is mine and I decide how, when, where, and on whom to spend it.

“I choose to trust in the highest timeline possible.”

We’re moving. This means we have to prepare our house to go on the market, open it up like a showroom display for strangers to walk through and inspect while still packing, (hopefully) sell it (hopefully) around the same time we find and buy another house…

Need I go on?

Choosing to trust doesn’t mean I’m blinding assuming that everything will go exactly as planned (it won’t) but that I’m making the choice to embrace my favorite mental health affirmation of all: “What if it all works out?” What if it actually does?

“I witness miracles each day.”

It’s Spring! Even if there’s still snow on the ground and it’s been butt-ass cold for the past few days…on Friday SPRING WILL BE OFFICIALLY HERE!!! This affirmation reminds me of my Ostara post from last year, “Sacred Play.” Check it out for ways to celebrate the festival and love on your inner child:

“Love is the greatest gift I can give/We are all connected.”

In my experience, love tends to come with strings attached. This is just the way it is. In my Reading today two cards fell, one atop the other, in response to the prompt: “What am I shedding and releasing?” The first was The Empress (the Goddess/Great Mother of the tarot deck), the second was the the Daughter (or “Page”) of Swords (Swords are action-based cards, but this one is about active watching and the tendency towards being critical of what you see). Together, they hinted at the need to heal my relationship with nurturing, or “mothering,” love; specifically, my tendency to distrust nurturing love because of the all-consuming, self-dissolving ways in which I have been “mothered” in the past. The Empress loves freely, “without binding.”5 To help me with this process, I am considering the following “Cord-Cutting” ritual from Seasons of the Zodiac:

There is no better season than Pisces season to be extra protective of our energy. Our visualization skills receive a cosmic boost during Pisces season, so we’ll use that momentum to engage in a cord-cutting visualization to remove energetic connections that no longer serve us. Here’s how to proactively protect your energetic field and release toxic ties to strengthen your boundary-setting skills and regain some energy.

1. Set the mood: Play some serene music, lay down, and get comfortable. Visualize a person, place, or thing [or idea!] that you feel overly fixated on. Pick someone or something that you feel is holding you back in some way. If that energy wasn’t in your field, you know you could thrive even more.

2. Imagine a cord connecting you and that person, place, or thing [or idea]. What does the cord look like? Are there thorns on it? Is it a dark or dim color? Where does the cord connect to your body? For example, if the cord connects to you through your heart space, you might want to consider doing some heart chakra meditations for the next few weeks for some extra healing, cleansing, and protection.

3. Imagine the cord almost has a heartbeat and feel it pulsing between you and what you’re ready to release. Gently send warm and bright light and compassion through the cord. As you do this, visualize the slow disintegration of the cord. Know that as the cord disappears, the connection is released.

4. Affirm: “I release this connection so that all affected can reach their highest intention and timeline, with love and gratitude for what I have learned and who I am choosing to become.”6

My favorite quote about boundaries is: “Boundaries aren’t meant to keep people out, but to keep them in.” (Sorry, I don’t remember where I heard that or who said it. Please comment if you know!) They are a way of saying, “I want you in my life, AND this is what I need from you in order for me to feel safe keeping you in my life.” Setting and keeping a boundary with someone is an intensely vulnerable exercise—no wonder it’s so hard!

In learning about codependency recently, I am discovering that codependents tend to form unhealthy levels of attachment to the people they care about. So, let me be clear: You can ritually “dissolve” that unhealthy attachment or fixation—on your part, their part (if a person or relationship), or both—without necessarily dissolving the relationship between you and that person, place, thing, or idea. For example, if your unhealthy fixation is food, you aren’t going to solve it by starving yourself. In fact, that’s likely to make the fixation worse not better. Healing a fixation will generally take more time than a few minutes of visualization (and ideally professional assistance), but it can create some space between you and your obsession. Once you are able to see yourself as separate from your obsession, that is when healing can begin.

“My Spirit team guides and protects me/The Universe is full of infinite blessings headed my way.”

Hope. Light. The return of the sun, figuratively and literally. Choosing hope. These are also themes that come up in tonight’s Reading. In her description of “The Star” card, Kim Krans (creator of The Wild Unknown tarot, the deck and guidebook I use) writes: “It is not about actions or situations. It’s simply about connecting to the part of you that is hopeful and serene.” No matter what my circumstances are, no matter how scary life might feel right now, I can choose hope…just for the sake of hoping.

I choose light. I choose positivity. I choose peace of mind. I choose hope.

As we enter Pisces Season and Spring, almost at the same time…as we anticipate Friday’s moment of perfect balance…as the light begins to increase each day after, and our earth bursts back into abundant life…may we find ways to celebrate and cherish this precious life we have and all the magical ways in which we are changing. Be well; have hope.

For additional reading about Ostara, the Spring Equinox:

When I was about ten years old, my dad made me a loom. It was about two feet long and fifteen inches wide, solid wood, with a dead-straight line of shiny picture nails running along each shorter end to hold the warp. It was beautiful. I still have it.

It was also a lie.

I don’t mean this literally, of course. The loom was real enough. It functioned as a loom. I made some cool rugs and blankets for my dolls. But as a symbol of autonomy in weaving one’s own destiny? It was an illusion.

You see, in a healthy family, each member has their own loom. While they might co-ordinate colors and patterns, and help each other out as needed, each individual is ultimately responsible for creating their own tapestry. Of necessity, the parents do quite a bit of weaving for each child when they are very young, less and less of it as they gain the will and vision to work on their own, but the uniqueness of each individual work is prized above—for instance—how well they look hanging side by side on the living room wall. Healthy cohesion is built through championing independence (while deliberately creating a safe space for all), not by forcing uniformity.

In an enmeshed family, the individual looms are all combined to create one big loom. Everyone’s threads are woven in together, tangle-twist, until nobody’s really sure what belongs to whom. Colors and patterns that don’t “go” are rejected, left in a discarded pile on the side. While the result might appear from a distance to be the very picture of familial harmony, if you get too close you’ll begin to hear the vibration of too many threads put under too much strain. Eventually, inevitably, those threads will begin to snap. And the sooner the better.

According to The Attachment Project (an online blog promoting relational healing through attachment theory awareness), “Enmeshment is a psychological concept first introduced by Salvador Minuchin in the early 1920s. Minuchin used ‘enmeshment’ to describe family relationships struggling to balance independence and connection.”1

Writing for Simple Psychology, Dr. Saul McLeod defines enmeshment as: “a psychological term describing an extreme form of emotional closeness where personal boundaries become blurred or non-existent.” In such a relationship, Minuchin notes, boundaries become “diffuse;” resulting, as Dr McLeod puts it, in individuals becoming “overly involved in each other’s lives to the point that they lose a clear sense of their own identity and autonomy.”2 While this dynamic was originally identified in parent-child relationships, enmeshment can also occur in romantic relationships. “In such cases,” Dr. McLeod writes, “partners become so intertwined in identity and emotions that they struggle to distinguish their own feelings and needs from those of their partner.”

I remember once, back when I was fairly newly married, sharing a short story I had written with my writers’ group. The story was about a new wife reacting to a disagreement she and her husband were having by obsessively texting him and hovering over the phone until he responded. A refreshingly blunt older woman in my group quipped, “that girl’s neurotic.” I was shocked (and very glad that I hadn’t mentioned the autobiographical nature of this particular story). Having been well trained in enmeshed relational dynamics, I honestly thought that this was a perfectly reasonable way to respond to an argument between partners. Cringe. This is how far I have come.

“Enmeshment is super sneaky,” writes therapist Dr. Zoe Shaw. “On the surface, it can just look like closeness. It often gets praised in families: ‘we’re just super tight,’ ‘she’s my whole world,’ ‘we don’t keep secrets.’ But underneath that closeness is a loss of a sense of self.”3 This loss of self occurs because, in enmeshed relationships, differentiation of self is low. “Differentiation refers to an individual’s ability to maintain their identity while staying emotionally connected,” says Dr. McLeod. “Enmeshment represents low differentiation, where partners become so emotionally fused that their sense of self depends entirely on the other’s presence and approval.” (See: Neurotic Young Wife, above.)

If you’ve never had your fictionalized younger self called out for your enmeshed behavior patterns, how are you to know if this diagnosis applies to you? Dr. McLeod wrote a super helpful “symptoms” cheat sheet that I think is too good to paraphrase, so I’m including the entire list..or most of it. Here it is (slightly abbreviated and with a few format changes):

Signs of Enmeshment:

1. Blurred or No Personal Boundaries

   • At the foundation of enmeshment lies the breakdown of personal boundaries.

2. Loss of Individual Identity

   • Individual values and ambitions disappear into the relationship.

   • Personal preferences get suppressed in favor of shared ones.

3. Overwhelming Emotional Dependence

   • Individual emotional experiences become impossible to separate.

   • The relationship becomes the primary source of emotional regulation.

   • Partners lose the ability to self-soothe or process emotions independently.

4. Fear of Separation or Independence

   • Constant contact becomes necessary for emotional stability.

5. Limited Outside Relationships or Interests

   • The relationship gradually dominates social life

   • Individual friendships fade or disappear.

   • All friends become “our friends”.

   • Family relationships outside the couple weaken.

   • Social activities occur only as a pair.

   • Independent social connections are viewed with suspicion.

6. Difficulty Making Individual Decisions

   • The inability to function independently manifests in decision-making.

   • Simple choices become overwhelming without partner input.

   • Career decisions stall without partner approval.

   • Personal preferences get buried under partner’s opinions.

   • Independent judgment weakens over time.

   • Decision-making ability atrophies from lack of use.

7. Over-Adapting and People-Pleasing

   • The relationship maintains itself through unhealthy adaptation.

   • Personal needs get consistently sacrificed for partner’s preferences.

   • Conflict avoidance becomes the primary relationship strategy.

   • True feelings and opinions remain unexpressed.

   • Self-sacrifice becomes a daily pattern.

   • Personal well-being deteriorates in service of relationship harmony.4

Whew. That’s a lot to take in. Here’s a few examples that I have witnessed or experienced, in case they prove helpful:

• Whenever my mother gets really upset at one of us kids, my dad steps in to communicate her upset to us and to let us know that we need to fix things with her. This exact same thing happens with my in-laws, but the roles are reversed.

• Growing up, internal emotional regulation was required of us kids from far too young and age, but it was never modeled. If our parents were upset, it was our problem to fix; immediately, and by any means necessary. I cannot to this day sense that my mother (or my husband, I seem to have transferred this pattern) is upset (even if I don’t have a reason to believe that I am the cause) without feeling an almost overwhelming impulse to “make them be OK.” I don’t act on that impulse as often anymore, but it’s still there.

• Having friends outside the family was strictly prohibited when I was still living at home. If my parents didn’t know them (and like their parents), they weren’t to be trusted.

• In both my family-of-origin and the family I married into, getting together with only a few members of the family without including all members of the family (especially if it’s the parents that are excluded) is considered a betrayal.

• I once accidentally triggered a friend by saying: “My mother only believes in inconveniencing family members.” She knew exactly what I was talking about. People outside the family are only to be called on if you have no other choice. Family is who you go to first for help, and you had better NOT say “no.”

• My dad literally sent my mom and us kids old enough to vote to the polls with a handwritten list of exactly who and what we were to vote for. Every. Single. Election. It was taken for granted that we voted as a family or we didn’t vote at all.

• Conflict is to be avoided at all costs. This is still true in both of our families. We don’t talk about or draw attention to differences in values, beliefs, or lifestyles. If a difference is pointed out, it is politely ignored or brushed past as quickly as possible. If the difference is offered as a challenge, all holy hell breaks loose. Challenges are, unsurprisingly, few and far between. Maintaining the illusion of perfect family unity is paramount.

If you’re thinking, wait, isn’t this codependency? Are they not the same thing? you wouldn’t be the only one. I started researching enmeshment because I had been using the terms to mean essentially the same thing, but started questioning the validity of that once I began learning more about codependency. Dr. McLeod notes: “While similar to codependency, enmeshment differs in that it reflects a systemic lack of separateness rather than a pattern of one partner consistently prioritizing the other’s needs.” Dr. Shaw simplifies it even further:

Enmeshment = identity entanglement. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

Codependence = behavioral overfunctioning. “It’s my job to fix you.”

Both can be factors in the same relationship dynamic. And, “both,” she writes, “share a common root: a lack of boundaries rooted in fear.”

Fear is the common factor, the root cause of both enmeshment and codependency. An article published by O2 Counseling expounds on this idea:

Enmeshment often occurs in families and marriages as a way to maintain closeness and control…This behavior can stem from a desire for emotional security, fear of abandonment, conflict avoidance or a history of trauma that leads individuals to seek excessive control and unity.5

Because of the way that enmeshment masquerades as familial love and devotion, calling out the behavior can feel downright shitty. As my mother once, tearfully, said to me: “This is just how I love!” Rejecting the BEHAVIOR PATTERNS can feel, especially to an enmeshed person, exactly like rejecting THEM—which is probably what the enmeshment was subconsciously designed to prevent all along. They aren’t “bad” people, or parents; they’re just scared. BUT. That does not excuse the behavior, and it is not a good enough reason to stop you putting boundaries in place that protect your sense of self.

Here’s the thing about growing up in an enmeshed family: you can’t even begin work on your own tapestry until you have first picked out the threads of YOU that were woven, without your consent, into that of the Family Collective. If it feels sometimes like you’re behind the curve in establishing your own sense of individuality—your sense of self—it’s because…you are. Not by choice or fault, but simply because, while your peers from healthier families were starting on experimenting with their own individual style, you were experimenting with pulling on the first threads you could identify as yours from the family morass. It was hard. Your parents’ threads tend to be sticky as spider silk, and All The Powers On Earth Help You if you actually managed to untangle a thread and pull away juuuuuust that tiniest bit. Hell hath no fury like an enmeshed parent sensing rejection. It’s messy. The more you disentangle, the more gaps you will leave behind; it’s impossible not to…and the more you’ll be blamed for “ruining” the Picture Perfect Family. There will be chaos. There will be drama. Family events might start to feel like navigating a minefield, and greater distance might be necessary as you establish your sense of self independent from the family. Sometimes old patterns will reassert themselves, the guilt will set in, and you’ll start to question why you’re doing this and if it’s really that important.

It is.

As Dr. Shaw concludes, “Let’s be clear: enmeshment is not love. It can feel like love because that’s what you were taught, but it’s fusion masquerading as loyalty.” The price of enmeshment is your very identity.

Is it worth the cost to preserve relationships intact and unchallenged?

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Today felt like spring. My silly children shed layers like it was April and cavorted around the yard in shorts and tee shirts, only pausing to ask me if I was hot in my sensible hoodie and leggings. I wasn’t, but I probably would have been if I was racing around like a filly finally let out to pasture. Running didn’t appeal, my joints felt rusty. But, the sun was so warm, the thawing ground sloppy underfoot, with the hopeful shoots of bulbs peeking through the dead grass: onion grass, drooping star of Bethlehem, daffodils, irises. Buds are beginning to swell on the trees. All around me I could hear the prickling of snow melt working its way down into the thawing ground. Imbolc is past; spring is coming. It is. It is.

I feel the quickening of the ground in my own body. For months I have craved the darkness and cold and the intimate isolation of winter. Now, I crave sunlight and fresh air. With my face turned to the sun I feel like I am absorbing the light, letting it melt away all my ills. It feels good. Like nothing can hurt me and all is right with the world. My body is stretching, my spirit unfurling. I am ready to meet the world again.

Almost. Almost ready. There is one more thing I need to do.

Tonight, the newly emerging moon looked like the horns of Goddess. I’ve never before seen a crescent moon that nearly horizontal, and it called me into ritual. I had been feeling the pull last night, but I was exhausted from a day spent fighting with a child who still seems to think that getting an education is optional. Doomscrolling Threads last night brought up several references to the New Moon, and a particularly powerful New Moon at that. Yesterday’s New Moon was also a solar eclipse, the first eclipse of 2026, and the Chinese New Year, Year of the Fire Horse. There was a lot of astrological rambling about a specific conjunction of planets, and how the last Year of the Fire Horse was 1966, an important turning point in society’s collective awareness; but, because the planets are better aligned this time, we’re about to fulfill the prophecy of 1966 and complete the change that started then. Color me skeptical, but it sounded good. It sounded important. It sounded like a good time to get back into ritual work.

Tonight I chose a New Moon tarot spread from Stephanie Campos’s Seasons of the Zodiac. I did her Full Moon spread a couple months ago, and covered it here:

Tonight, I wasn’t feeling the ceremony I leaned into last time. My bed has become my usual tarot spot, and it felt right for this one. I tucked my legs under the duvet, spread my gray and purple “moon altar” scarf out in front of me, and lit a brand new candle. I poured this candle last year, I think (maybe the year before?) on Imbolc. I think. Anyway, it was blue, and calling to me. I had used an essential oil blend called “valor.” It felt perfect. My hand trembled a little as I lit it. Please make me brave. Lighting a brand new candle feels like serious shit now. Like I really mean it. You only get to light a new candle once, and it kind of becomes infused with the energy first imparted to it. I placed the candle sensibly on the bedside table at first, but I missed having it visibly part of the ritual. So, I put it right on top of my scarf on top of the bedspread. It’s a small candle in a round container with a nice stable base. I judged it would be fine. Don’t try this at home, kids. (Actually it was fine, but gave both cats and both kids quite a surprise when they all inevitably interrupted me). I took out my tarot deck, envisioned the triple Goddess symbol I was invoking with my cards, and started shuffling.

New Moon Tarot Spread

Card 1: What am I shedding and releasing?

Card 2: What is emerging with this New Moon?

Card 3: What obstacles or challenges should I be aware of during this process?

Card 4: What advice does my Spirit team have for me during this lunar cycle?

Card 5: Which of my gifts should I focus on during this lunar cycle?

Card 6: What type of support is available to me during this lunar cycle?

Card 7: What is my immediate next step?1

Like last time, I placed the cards in a triple moon pattern, three on each side and one in the middle. Interestingly, I pulled the exact same first card that I pulled last time (the Five of Wands, “scattered, lack of focus, lost”), but with a different spin on it this time (that I am ready to release my inner conflict). Also like last time I pulled four minor arcana cards (from the suits) and three major arcana (or “power”) cards—two of the major arcana cards were even in the exact same position (cards 4 and 7) although they were all different cards this time, except the first one. Several of the cards I pulled made me cry, even the deep-release kind of messy sobs that used to come only when I was taking a bath or out in the middle of the woods by myself. I have noticed that I cry much more easily now than I used to. I think this is progress. I don’t see crying as weakness anymore. One important phrase came to me in connection with the 4th card:

“I am not ruled by my emotions. They are trusted advisors.”

Let that sink in for a minute.

I think I grew up with this idea that there is only two ways to approach emotions: bury them, or be consumed by them. I was never taught to find balance, but I am doing it anyway. I can trust that my feelings give me important information about my current state of being without defining myself by those feelings. I am bigger than the biggest, messiest feelings—and I always have been.

As the world begins to stir, I find myself treating my body and mind with more care and nurturing attention than ever before. Winter is the season associated with the Earth element, a fact that did not make sense to me until this year. But of course, when the earth is hibernating and outwardly “dead,” that is when she can heal. Earth gathers her energy during the long winter sleep, concentrating her power for the burst of spring. Ever since Fall I have been doing the same. Now, beneath the warming sun, I feel the seed of something new and vital crack open and push out a tentative, questing root. Whatever that seed is, it will find fertile ground. For now I am ready.

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I spent Sunday evening all alone, a rare treat. It was Imbolc, the half-way point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. Imbolc is a fire festival, a day of cleansing in preparation for the coming spring. Fields and garden implements would have once been blessed on this day, and the candles made for the coming year. In past years I have made candles on Imbolc, but this year I spent the afternoon painting the bathroom instead. It’s one of the major projects that we’ve been tackling in preparation for putting the house on the market. Once I’d finished I gathered a few materials before dropping, utterly exhausted, into a kitchen chair. There are many types of rest, I now know. And a festival is a day for seeking spiritual rest.

Without much ceremony I lit a yellow pillar candle I had been gifted for Christmas, tore a sheet of notepaper in half, took up a pen, and began writing. On one side of the paper I wrote a series of old beliefs about myself, each of which I immediately tore from the page and burned before writing, on the opposite page, the new belief about myself that I want to replace it with. When I was done I had a half sheet full of writing and a tiny cast iron cauldron full of gray flecks of ash. I hadn’t set any specific parameters around this ritual, but it didn’t feel quite complete yet. So, I took out another sheet and began writing and burning other things I wished to be free from or cleansed of. Tears flowed. The flame burned steadily, unwavering as the eye of a goddess. I literally fed my troubles into it and was restored.

My practice of witchcraft began with a candle. During the summer of 2020 my family was falling apart for entirely different reasons than the rest of the world. My sister had just died, my five-year-old daughter was grieving with a violence that left my husband and I physically and mentally exhausted and emotionally ravaged on a daily basis, and my in-laws—normally my refuge in times of trouble—seemed to be collectively imploding. And I had a toddler who had not yet outgrown the impulse to explore her world through taste. I was New Orleans after hurricane Katrina. It was all I could do to get through the day, each day. By way of reclaiming my sanity I had begun exploring other religions, ordering library books on Taoism, Druidism, paganism, and others—including witchcraft. Somewhere in my reading I came across a simple ritual: light a candle, gaze at the flame, imagine yourself feeding all your excess emotions into it. Keep going until you find calm.

This simple practice sparked something in me. I had always loved watching flames, even as a child. I tried the practice; it helped. I decided to teach my daughter. I had been naturally enchanted by all things magical throughout my childhood, even though any magic not ascribed to God by a trusted spiritual authority was immediately categorized as evil by my parents and summarily disavowed. But I was the parent of my daughter. I was the one managing her outbursts. I was desperate enough to try anything. God hadn’t saved my sister, but maybe magic could save my daughter and me. It did. That simple ritual changed all our lives.

I’ve told this story before, many times. Every time I am struck anew with just how bad things were. At the time I was just surviving, perspective was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Now, I am filled with so much compassion and admiration for that grieving, desperate mom who dragged her family out of the rubble of one life and into a new beginning. Whenever I feel like something important is ending or changing in my life, whenever that old desperation resurfaces because I feel untethered or out of control, I light a candle. Sometimes that’s all I do. Sometimes it’s enough to gaze into the eye of the flame and feel my insides settle in response. Other times I come with a laundry list of shit to burn. The one thing that is always the same, no matter where or how or why or what candle I light, is the way the flame calls out my inner Maiden.

Imbolc is most closely associated with the Celtic goddess Brigid, or Bride (often pronounced Breed or Breet and Bry-dee), although there are more variations in her name and the pronunciation of her many names than I would care to count even if they had all been well documented over the generations. To the ancient Celts, Brigid was the goddess of the sacred flame and the sacred healing well. Her eternal flame was tended by young women dedicated to her service. So popular was she that, when Christianity invaded Ireland, the church adopted “Saint” Brigid and her sacred places and festivals rather than attempt to smother her. Perhaps more than any other Celtic deity, Brigid, the maiden goddess of spring and healing and renewal, the flame of justice and female rage, has lived on in the hearts and imaginations of her people. Imbolc is the time of year when the calves and lambs would be born and the precious supply of milk renewed. It is a promise that spring is coming; hope to hold on to through the lingering hard days before the thaw. Embodied in her sacred day, Brigid is literally the light in the darkness. One of the original eternal virgins.

I have a very complicated relationship with the word “virgin.” Probably every woman (and many men) raised under Christian purity culture does. “Purity” is another word that I tend to veer away from, thanks to Christian connotations. But Brigid of the eternal flame offers a different interpretation. “Virgin” was once used to refer to a woman who had chosen a different path for herself, one that did not include fulfilling the expectations of marriage and motherhood. A virgin lived for herself, not for others. It had nothing to do with sexuality, or a lack thereof. Similarly, the word “pure” does not necessarily mean “untouched.” It can refer to something that has had its unwanted components burned away, something rendered down to its core; and more valuable for having been through the process. It is this seed of devotion to the divine within me that a candle’s flame calls me to.

And so, this Imbolc, I found myself with the rare opportunity to embrace maidenhood for an evening, and ritually cleanse myself through fire. I emerged calmer, more centered and certain, and with a deeper appreciation for the body and will that has carried me though so much.

Light a candle. Find the divine spark within you, and breathe it into flame. Let it warm you through these last frigid weeks before spring. Let it burn away that which you do not wish to carry into the next season. Let it become a symbol of the self that is just for you, and only you: your “maidenhood.” This is the sacred ground from which every version of you, past, present, and future, have grown. Honor it. Sit with it. Plant the next seed, and wait.

Blessed be.

Dear Vibrant Soul,

Trust yourself. Trust the journey that has led to this next step. Set your feet firmly upon the body of Mother, feel her energy warming you from below and her great consort, the sun, warming you from above. This is exactly where you are meant to be.

That doesn’t mean that it’s always going to be easy. Once you work up the courage to declare yourself a witch out loud, people will not always react as you might wish. Witchcraft no longer carries the stigma it once did; we can thank the generations of women who served the goddess in secrecy and obscurity for the freedom we now have (not to mention the vast numbers of books we can learn from). But, some will still recoil. Some will curse you, shun you, or try to save you. Let them. It has never been about you. And just when you start to feel completely alone, another one of us will find you. Thus has it always been. Like calls to like. You have never been alone, my love.

From the very center of your being stretches a glowing strand of light. Mine is a rich honey-gold. What color is yours? Following the light is what led you to this decision, and it will continue to guide you. And thank Goddess it does, because you have entered an entirely new world filled with unfamiliar words and symbols. It’s been almost four years and I still couldn’t tell you what it means if a planet is in retrograde, or when you should use an oracle deck instead of a tarot deck, or even why you should care. Nor have I ever quite decided whether I’m a Green Witch, a Hedge Witch, a Kitchen Witch, or a Celestial Witch. Or, something else entirely. Or a bit of all of them. I’m not really sure it matters to me anymore. You will have to decide for yourself.

To deity or not to deity: that is the question. Who or what do you believe in? Are there many gods and goddesses, or merely different manifestations of the same divine energy? Is there any source of magic and divine energy beyond the natural world itself? Should you chose a patron deity, saint, or spirit? An animal spirit guide? Do you prefer to seek the guidance of the ancestors? Does an established spiritual path—such as Wicca, paganism or druidism—appeal to you; or do you prefer, as I do, to find your own way?

Let me tell you the one thing that has freed my soul: there are is no “right way.” No straight and narrow. No wrong answers. All you will find here are paths to explore; an endless library of books that you can pick up and read and put down when you are ready to try something else. Allow your curiosity to lead you where it will. You will find no demons lurking in shadows waiting to pounce as soon as your guard is down. If something feels warm and good to you, then it is. Trust your judgement. You can do that. You’re allowed.

Healing is found in reclaiming space: your body, your brain, your physical surroundings, your emotions, your spirituality. The more present you are the more sacred spaces you will encounter. When you find a place or a moment that feels sacred, pause there. Lean into it. Discover what it has to teach you. Be there, one with the sacredness. Believe that you, yourself, are sacred space, and worthy of being treated as such. When you encounter people who do not, shake them off and move on. They cannot diminish your worthiness with their inattention. When you find yourself treating you as less than sacred, stop. Hug yourself, metaphorically or literally, back into awareness of your sacredness. You are worth the time spent doing so.

If you wish to walk a less lonely path, broaden your definition of “like-minded.” Show me two people who believe exactly the same things and I’ll show you how they were cloned and the vacuum they were raised in. This is especially true of witches. There is the potential for endless discussion where differences of opinion exist. Not every witch will be a soul-friend, and many people who are not witches will turn out to be. If you sometimes find that you are unable to follow their spiritual reasoning, or they are unable to follow yours, well then; the human experience is mysterious indeed, is it not? I’ve always enjoyed a good mystery.

In the moments when you doubt yourself and this journey, when you begin to wonder if the naysayers are right and witchcraft might be dangerous after all…invite that doubt in and ask it to stay for dinner. Be calm and courteous, make it comfortable, ask it all about itself. Chances are it’s just the ghost of old religiously instilled fears and lacks the substance to engage with you in any meaningful way. If this path is not the way for you, your soul will guide you in another direction. Trust it. Trust yourself. Above all else, trust yourself to know the right way for you.

The Wheel turns. So much serious intention, so many possible rituals and festivals, so much history and mythology, an entirely new way to view the world. Play with it all, like a child with a hoop. Experiment. You will not be punished for “not taking it seriously.” There are no heretics here. The only sacrilege is a failure to respect others or the Mother herself. Create your own rituals and traditions, for yourself or with others. That is how it should be. Be patient; reinventing yourself in any way takes time.

And then, one day, you will look in the mirror and see wisdom, and recognition of all you are and all you’ve been through, and real appreciation of and respect for the person looking back at you. Not because you’ve achieved spiritual enlightenment, or had all your flaws airbrushed away, but because you finally accept that you are enough. Not perfect, not done growing, but enough. And that is what you were searching for all along.

Blessed be.

Hello again. I’m back. Slowly, slowly, I am awakening from the post-holiday hibernation, shaking off the detritus of many celebrations and long restful days, getting back into the rhythm of “real life.” Tonight, for the first time in a good while, I took a night walk. The air was damp and chilly but not truly cold. I miss the moon. The sky has been so overcast recently that I’ve almost entirely missed this lunation, the season of Capricorn. Only a single bright star or planet tracked my progress around the yard through a break in the clouds. My feet easily found their familiar path, whisper-silent on the soft ground. The last few days have been warmer and rainy, enough to melt all four or five inches of snow that fell around the New Year, although not enough to entirely melt the ice on the pond. Over the weekend we discovered that the ice was thick enough to bear weight, and celebrated with the world’s most slap-dash game of backyard ice hockey, played without a single piece of actual equipment, refereed by the younger and more eager of the outdoor cats. We laughed a lot (and, thankfully, nobody got hurt!). It was the perfect way to end our break.

There was less laughter than usual over the holidays, and a lot more tension. Under Capricorn’s clear-eyed gaze, fissures are revealed; spiderwebbing the glittering veneer of holiday joviality. Every conflict-avoidant group seems to follow the same pattern: All of the issues are stuffed under the proverbial rug, the top smoothed over again and again, the building pressure and increasingly unstable footing ignored until somebody can’t take it anymore and rips off the rug…and the whole mess goes off like a July 4th finale. This reinforces the collective believe that conflict is BAD, and as soon as the latest Great Conflagration subsides into hurt and furious silence, the rug is replaced and everyone goes back to stuffing like what’s left of the relationships depend on it. Ad infinitum.

This pattern is not established to undermine the integrity of the group, but because it works…sort of. Most members can navigate the lumpy floor with practice, learning through trial and BOOM where not to step, which threads of nostalgia and shared interest can be pulled when the pressure starts to build to reinforce feelings of unity, and which tribal buttons to push to maintain a semblance of cohesion (usually spiritual, social, or political). Gatherings and events can be got through with a minimum of stress as long as everyone plays along.

Right?

Right?

RIGHT?????

…

I blame the moon. The Full Moon this month was in Cancer, and it was all about honestly evaluating relationships. As author Stephanie Campos writes in Seasons of the Zodiac:

Relationships of all sorts—family, romantic, platonic, or work-related—are up for review under these moonbeams. Do we feel cared for and protected by those we work so hard to protect?…We’re also asked to reflect on generational patterns that exist within our family line and ancestry. Think about the habits and patterns in your biological or chosen family and how they might manifest in your own actions. You may start to recognize how your family’s expectations influence what you once aimed to achieve in the world…Now is a profound time to release old stories, habits, or memories that keep you playing small.1

Three days into the waning phase, the moon is now in Virgo; organization of the chaos is essential if we are to feel secure, and grounding is critical if we are to remain clear-headed. I needed that walk tonight—needed to feel my feet upon the body of Mother and breathe the cool, damp air, needed to order my thoughts and gauge my physical reactions. The old adage, “The truth shall set you free,” hits like mockery to anyone trapped in a conflict-avoidant dynamic. The truth might set you free…but at what cost? Is that freedom worth the potential loss of relationships? Are you willing to pay that cost? Am I? If the rug-stuffing is the only way to maintain any connection in some relationships, is the cost to my authenticity worth the risk of losing them altogether?

This is an incredibly personal and situational question, one not to be answered lightly. As tempting as it can be to point fingers when things get tense—it’s her fault, he started it, how could they—the uncomfortable reality is that, while patterns can be determined by a few with greater power, it takes the compliance of a group to maintain those dynamics over time. Changing well-established patterns cannot be done without:

1. The majority of the group agreeing that the dynamic needs to change,

2. The majority of the group agreeing on how that change is to be accomplished, and

3. The majority of the group following through with the agreed-upon changes and actively maintaining them until the new patterns have become ingrained in the collective psyche.

This is not easy. There is no quick fix. It requires a lot of difficult and vulnerable conversations, the kind of communication that not everyone in every group is willing or able to participate in. If that critical mass of willing and able participants is not reached, the old, unhealthy patterns will continue. This I can say with certainty.

The moon does not show her face tonight, but I feel her pulling on me like the tide. The waning moon is for letting go, releasing that which no longer serves. The Wheel has turned, a new year has begun. My steps have become more purposeful the longer I walk, my eyes accustomed to the dark. Out here, tonight, anything is possible. Anything at all. What is it that I need to release during this phase? What growth can I make room for? In what ways can I show up authentically regardless of the dynamics of whatever group I am in?

Most importantly, will that be enough for me if its the only thing I can “fix”?

Two years ago I posted this outline of the moon’s associations and the significance of the phases of the moon. Since I have recently been taking comfort in leaning into the rhythm of the lunar cycles, it felt worth reposting that information again, updated with the dates and occurrences of the lunar cycle for the coming year. I hope you enjoy revisiting this post with me!

As the Summer Solstice is associated with the Full Moon and high noon, this time of year is associated with the New Moon and midnight…The moon, with its softer glow, its monthly cycles, and its association with the water element, is closely associated with women, feminine energy, and the Divine Feminine. It is also associated with magic and mystery, especially at the New Moon, when its light is fully concealed behind the earth’s shadow.

Just as the sun is reborn at the Winter Solstice, so is the moon reborn at each New Moon. Month after month we watch her grow to maturity and then lapse into old age before being born again. Following the energy of the moon can help with intention setting, which is particularly important at this pivotal time of year. Aurora Kane, author of Moon Magic: A Handbook of Lunar Cycles, Lore, and Mystical Energies, writes:

By definition, an intention is a determination to act in a certain way. The Upanishads, ancient Sanskrit texts contained in the Vedas, tell us: “You are what your deepest desire is. As your desire is, so is your intention. As your intention is, so is your will. As your will is, so is your deed. As your deed is, so is your destiny.”1

The eight phases of the moon are:

1. New Moon. This is a time for cleansing, starting over, setting new intentions. Fiona Cook and Jessica Roux, authors of The Wheel of the Year: An Illustrated Guide to Nature’s Rhythms, say: “Embrace the darkness. Reflect in your journal. Sleep. Set intentions. Light candles…Affirmation: I learn; I grow; I release what I do not need.”2

2. Waxing Crescent. This is a time for acting on your intentions as the growing light of the moon increases your energy and ability to see what it is that you desire. Cook and Roux call it: “A time of increase. Plant seeds. Voice your needs…Affirmation: I am open to receive.”

3. First Quarter. As your intentions come into focus you will be better able to channel your energy most effectively. Cook and Roux call this: “The Equinox of the Moon cycle, halfway between New and Full. Tend your goals. Consider balance…Affirmation: I am patient.”

4. Waxing Gibbous. Excitement builds as you see your efforts beginning to bear fruit. You’re nearly there! Cook and Roux say: “Prepare for Fullness. Build your strength…Affirmation: I am ready.”

5. Full Moon. You did it! Celebrate what you have accomplished. Express gratitude, to yourself and others. Bask in the fullness of the lunar energy. Make moon water3 to drink or bathe in. Mourn and let go of disappointments. Cook and Roux say: “Manifest your dreams. Trust your instincts. Harvest, eat, and enjoy…Affirmation: I am full; I am whole; I am seen; I have what I need.”

6. Waning Gibbous. This is a time for turning inward. Reflect on your New Moon intentions. What went well and what was a struggle? For any intentions that did not manifest, is there a better way you can approach them next cycle or do you need to let go, at least for now? What possessions/habits/relationships need to be cut back or shed to make you lighter and brighter? Cook and Roux’s affirmation for this time is: “I am generous.”

7. Last or Third Quarter. The light is decreasing, and so is your energy. But you have enough. You are enough. Cook and Roux call this: “Another Equinox, halfway between Full and New. Organize your belongings. Make room…Affirmation: I am protected.”

8. Waning Crescent or Balsamic. Let the darkness come. Let it bring dreams, reflection, rest, and renewal. The cycle is about to begin anew. What might the next moon cycle bring you? Who will you be by this time next month? Cook and Roux call it: “A time of decrease. Say your goodbyes. Clean. Let go…Affirmation: I am free.”

Tomorrow marks the third quarter of the final moon of the lunar year, called the “cold moon.” What are you creating space for in this season? Where are you seeking better balance? How might you need to rearrange your life in order to feel enough, to feel protected and safe? This close to the holidays, that enough feeling can be hard found, but all the more precious for it.

In case you are interested in adding the moon phases to your calendar, for ease of reference, here are the dates for each phase of the moon for the next lunar year (Note: times are listed for my area, central Ohio, and might be different where you live. Check online using your address if you want exact times relevant to your area):4

New Moon: December 19th, 8:44 p.m.

First Quarter: December 27th, 2:10 p.m.

Full “Wolf” Moon: January 3rd, 5:04 a.m.

Third Quarter: January 10th, 10:49 a.m.

New Moon: January 18th, 2:53 p.m.

First Quarter: January 25th, 11:48 p.m.

Full “Snow” Moon: February 1st, Imbolc, 5:10 p.m.

Third Quarter: February 9th, 7:44 a.m.

New Moon: February 17th, 7:03 a.m.

First Quarter: February 24th, 7:28 a.m.

Full “Worm” Moon: March 3rd, 6:39 a.m.

Third Quarter: March 11th, 5:41 a.m.

New Moon: March 18th, 9:26 p.m.

First Quarter: March 25th, 3:19 p.m.

Full “Pink” Moon: April 1st, 10:13 p.m.

Third Quarter: April 10th, 12:55 a.m.

New Moon: April 17th, 7:54 a.m.

First Quarter: April 23rd, 10:33 p.m.

Full “Flower” Moon: May 1st, Beltane, 1:24 p.m.

Third Quarter: May 9th, 5:13 p.m.

New Moon: May 16th, 4:03 p.m.

First Quarter: May 23rd, 7:12 a.m.

Full Blue5 Moon: May 31st, 4:46 a.m.

Third Quarter: June 8th, 6:03 a.m.

New Moon: June 14th, 10:56 p.m.

First Quarter: June 21st, 5:55 p.m.

Full “Strawberry” Moon: June 29th, 7:58 p.m.

Third Quarter: July 7th, 3:30 p.m.

New Moon: July 14th, 5:45 p.m.

First Quarter: July 21st, 7:05 a.m.

Full “Buck” Moon: July 29th, 10:37 a.m.

Third Quarter: August 5th, 10:22 p.m.

New Moon: August 12th, 1:37 p.m.

First Quarter: August 19th, 10:46 p.m.

Full “Sturgeon” Moon: August 28th, 12:19 a.m.

Third Quarter: September 4th, 3:52 a.m.

New Moon: September 10th, 11:27 p.m.

First Quarter: September 18th, 4:44 p.m.

Full “Corn” Moon: September 26th, 12:50 p.m.

Third Quarter: October 3rd, 9:26 a.m.

New Moon: October 10th, 11:50 a.m.

First Quarter: October 18th, 12:13 p.m.

Full “Harvest” Moon: October 26th, 12:13 a.m.

Last Quarter: November 1st, Samhain, 3:30 p.m.

New Moon: November 9th, 2:02 a.m.

First Quarter: November 17th, 6:48 a.m.

Full “Beaver” Moon: November 24th, 9:55 a.m.

Third Quarter: December 1st, 1:10 a.m.

New Moon: December 8th, 7:52 p.m.

First Quarter: December 17th, 12:53 a.m.

Full “Cold” Moon: December 23rd, 8:29 p.m.

Third Quarter: December 30th, 2:00 p.m.

The moon hangs over our house, round and shimmering, laying a track of golden light across the frozen surface of the pond. I am halted by the picture it presents; this final Full Moon of the year, the Cold Moon, the last of the supermoons of this Fall. With the moon in Sagittarius and the Full Moon in Gemini (a combination that focuses on information, truth, and self-expression), this seems like the perfect time to try my newly budding tarot skills on a Full Moon spread. Ambitious, I know; but I have a tendency to jump in with both feet once I set myself a new skill to learn. So, here goes.

I am using the Full Moon Spread from Stephanie Campos’s Seasons of the Zodiac: Love, Magick, and Manifestation Throughout the Astrological Year. This is a seven card spread laid out like a Triple Goddess moon symbol: cards 1-3 in a New Moon shape, cards 4-6 in a Waning Crescent shape, with the seventh card in the middle (where the Full Moon would be). Before I begin, I take my time setting up. The only window in my house with a view of the Full Moon is the living room window, so I set up a small table in front of it for my incense burner and wand. On the floor I spread a scarf to serve as my altar, with a cushion before it to make myself comfortable. A large tarot spread like this is going to take a while. I make sure that I have everything I need so I won’t have to interrupt the ritual.

• Tarot deck and guidebook (mine is The Wild Unknown, marvelously drawn and hand-lettered by Kim Krans1).

• Incense burner, charcoal disk, and tongs

• Incense (Frankincense and Myrrh are recommended for Full Moon manifestation work, so that’s what I’m using)

• Matches

• Wand, to cast and close my circle for the ritual. A way of “containing” or focusing the magic.

• Seasons of the Zodiac book, open to the Full Moon tarot spread page.

• Phone (for taking a picture of my spread)

Once I have everything, I light my charcoal disk, place two pellets of resin incense on top of it, and watch the smoke writhe like the wispy clouds that skitter across the surface of the moon. Then I take a breath, staring up at the moon. I’m waiting for 6:14, which is supposed to be the exact time of the Full Moon. With a minute left to go I cast my circle. I am ready to begin.

There is a technique to shuffling a tarot deck, I am learning. Holding the cards in my non-dominant hand, I split the deck with my dominant hand and gently work the deck back together again. I repeat the process, focusing on my intention for the spread, until the cards tell me to stop. All that is required is the focus necessary to maintain my set intention as I impart it to my deck, and the receptiveness to know when they are ready. I am getting better at this, but it still makes me nervous. When the cards are ready to be split, I allow the deck to fall into three separate piles, then combine however feels right. This also makes me nervous each time. The act of recombining the deck determines which cards I will pull. It always feels momentous. With the deck whole again, I am ready to pull my first card.

Full Moon Tarot Spread

Card 1: What should I recognize and celebrate under this full moon?

Card 2: What am I ready to let go of under this full moon?

Card 3: What hidden truths are available to me now?

Card 4: What advice does my Spirit team have for me during this lunar cycle?

Card 5: What is my lesson during this lunar cycle?

Card 6: What’s the best way to support my desires under this lunar cycle?

Card 7: What should I focus my energy on next?2

~My spread~

Card 1: What should I recognize and celebrate under this full moon?

Card 1: Five of Wands...”Scattered, lack of focus, lost”

I am coming to realize that I cannot reach my full potential—creatively, spiritually, physically or relationally—as long as I allow my mind (which is my greatest asset) to continue to wander and ramble withersoever it wills, un-minded and uncared for. Drawing this card for this position in the spread seems to me to be less a warning than a wakeup call. I am ready to utilize more structure in my mental life and curious to see what changes I can make and what goals those changes might allow me to achieve. I already have all of the tools I need; all I require is the desire and discipline to make it happen.

~

Card 2: What am I ready to let go of under this full moon?

Card 2: Three of Wands...”Envisioning the Future”

When it comes to actively manifesting my dreams and desires, I have a tendency to choose the easiest road with the least risk. I hold my dreams tightly in check, like wild horses that might stampede if given their head, too afraid to let them have their way with me. Doing so may have protected me at times, but it has not left me with much sense of fulfillment. Perhaps it is time to change that. The Three of Wands in this position seems to be telling me to let go of my hold on the reins, to surrender control, and release my ideas of what the future may hold for me in favor of a braver, wilder, and more mysterious future.

~

Card 3: What hidden truths are available to me now?

Card 3: Five of Swords...”Self-destruction”

A clear warning. I have been allowing myself to be drawn into conflict for the sense of power that I get from it, and this is a toxic habit. Fighting is not always the solution to a problem, even if it’s what I’m good at. By continuing to engage in unnecessary conflict I am harming myself, first and foremost. I do not always have to fight in order to be seen.

~

Card 4: What advice does my Spirit team have for me during this lunar cycle?

Card 4: The Magician...”Self-empowerment, Action”

I am more powerful than I can even imagine. I can trust my power, trust that I will use it wisely and well. I need not fear it, or myself. If I can learn to embrace my power, to harness and use it, I will be amazed at the problems that I can solve.

~

Card 5: What is my lesson during this lunar cycle?

Card 5: Father (or “King”) of Swords...”Fair, Analytical”

I have been allowing my emotions to cloud my judgement. It is time to take a step back, to reevaluate matters with fresh eyes, to bench my ego and check to be sure that my actions are aligned with my values. What truly matters to me? Is being “right” the most important factor? What does justice look like in this situation?

~

Card 6: What’s the best way to support my desires under this lunar cycle?

Card 6: Death...”Closure, Transformation”

Something is coming to an end, and I need to let it go. It’s going to hurt. The process might be messy and uncomfortable. But the rewards will be great if I allow the ending to come and see it through. I am ready for something new, but that next thing can’t begin until I have turned the page. I wonder what this next thing might be?

~

Card 7: What should I focus my energy on next?

Card 7: The Fool...”Spontaneity, Innocence”

Something is about to begin. It’s not all going to go smoothly. I’ll make mistakes, and possibly fall flat on my face a time or two, but I will get back up and try again. I will learn, and I will grow into whoever this new venture requires me to become. I am endlessly adaptable. Watch me fly!

~

Bonus question: Am I interpreting this spread correctly?

Card 8: The Moon...”Vivid Dreams and Fears”

“This is The Wilderness, the realm of creatives and spiritualists for as long as we have existed. Ask not for confirmation, simply explore. This realm is yours by right of entry. Where there are shadows, there will always be imagination.”

Reading tarot leaves me energized, often in a slightly unsettled way. I am left with more questions than I started with, and with answers that I am uncertain about. That final card, with an interpretation that came to me as though it were spoken aloud by the Moon Herself, suggests that this is how it should be. Tarot is not a map that can only be read by mystics, but a mirror—one that allows the self to view the shadow that stretches behind. Tarot offers perspective through the wisdom of ancient archetypal images and the way those images stimulate the imagination. The only magic the cards possess is in their ability to connect us to our own inner magic. I am far from being a skilled reader, but I have learned just enough already to know that I very badly want to learn more. And each time I read a spread, even the single card pulls I have been starting my day with, I do learn more. I learn more about myself, my life, and what I need to focus on now in order to set myself up for success in the future.

Tonight, I close my circle, breathe in the lingering aroma of the incense (which is actually giving me a headache…I seem to be having a reaction to one or both of these resins. I’ll need to try something else next time), and look up, again, at the moon. She has been my touchstone throughout this ritual. I don’t know what I expected. I don’t feel profoundly…anything. But, I do have information that I didn’t have before. I have a lot to mull over, and some difficult decisions to make. As the moon wanes and the darkness lengthens, from now until the Winter Solstice, I will sit with all that I have learned. And then…

Who knows? Isn’t that exciting?

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Tonight it’s too windy for a night walk. I can hear the rushing of it past the windows and through the branches of the trees, can see the swaying branches in the glow of house lights. The possibility of falling branches has me confined to the house, but my mind reaches out into the night anyway. I am grateful for the dark in this season, and for my walks at night. The walking has kept me limber as I recover from an old back injury flare-up. My massage roller has helped reduce the muscle tension and allowed me to sit again. Stretching helps me recover when I do sit and loosens me up after waking. I am grateful for what I have learned about my body and its needs.

I am grateful, also, for the weeks of seemingly endless pain and tension that kept me aware of my body and of the ways in which my self-talk takes a very dark turn when I am forced to operate at less than full capacity for any length of time. I think I have made some real progress in healing that negative self-talk pattern this time around, and that helps me to trust myself that much more.

I am grateful for my family, for a life partner with whom I can safely share so much of myself, and two magical daughters who are growing up way too fast. I have the best sister and the best BFF I could imagine. They see me, they know me, and they hold space for me when I forget how to do it for myself. I have friends with whom I feel I am building solid connections, and family members who appreciate having me as part of the family. I have a comfortable home, the ability to travel as necessary, good food, all the essentials. I am grateful for this feeling of gratitude, that the gloom of the past six weeks or so has abated. I feel lighter as I walk in imaginary loops of the yard I love, now dusted with wind blown snow. It is Thanksgiving, and I am feeling thankful.

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There are nights when writing feels like catching fireflies. The air is warm and welcoming and full of glowing, magical phrases for me to grasp and gathering into a jar. There is a thrill in seeing them sparkle together, in making them briefly mine before I release them, again, into the ether. I can imagine them carrying something of me along with them as they wing their way on to encounter other humans. Sometimes writing feels like magic.

Sometimes writing does not feel like magic. Sometimes, writing feels like walking alone into a forest in a pea soup fog, trusting only my feet and my instincts to carry me out again.

This is one of those nights.

So: here goes…something.

Have you ever just…had enough? Like, you go years being not-so-blissfully unaware of and complicit in unhealthy relationship patterns, then more years of becoming aware of the patterns but not sure how to break free of them, then months (or maybe more years) of withdrawing and observing the patterns as a kind of increasingly uncomfortable bystander; until, one day, you can’t anymore. And that’s it. You can no longer silently observe, let alone participate. After years and years, the same old patterns suddenly feel like a clear and present danger. You wonder: how did I not see this before? How could I have ever been OK with this? Why is EVERYONE ELSE OK with this?!? Suddenly, out of a clear sky, you’re pointing at a tornado nobody else can see and screaming like Chicken Little. And somehow, you’re surprised when they react…exactly as one might expect.

It isn’t always clear what triggers the enough is enough. Sometimes there’s a clear final straw. Sometimes, you just get too tired. Tired enough to maybe just say the thing that’s been bouncing off the inside of your head. Tired enough to stop caring what you have to lose. Exhaustion can feel just enough like reckless bravery to be really dangerous—or incredibly useful, depending on your anxiety level at the moment.

It’s in the silence that follows—rank with whispers, shared glances, and shaken heads, that you’re faced with a choice: you can either keep yourself—your integrity, your Knowing, your ability to trust and rely on yourself—or you can keep your long-cherished sense of belonging.

Not both.

Let me tell you what choosing yourself feels like.

It’s like walking into that forest in the fog, knowing there’s a cliff somewhere ahead and you won’t be able to see it in time to stop. But, you keep walking anyway because you made a choice, dammit, and all the stories say that Doing What’s Right is its own reward.

Except, it’s fucking lonely out here. And cold. And damp. And…wonder of wonders, all the trees have THORNS (why not?), and the farther you go the denser they become, as if they are deliberately crowding you.

But, they can’t be, because that would just be weird.

Then, you touch one of the thorns, and it zings straight through you, synapse to synapse, like it’s a live wire and you just closed the circuit. You pull away, of course. And back right into another one. Zing. Even worse. And now you’re sure of it: the trees are closing in. You can’t escape the nerve thorns anymore, they’re lighting you up like a fucking circuit board, and each time they do you get a jolt like a memory of something warm and good is being rewritten with the words: it was all lies. They never really loved you. How could you have been so blind?

And that’s when you realize what this thorny forest actually is:

This is the place that once felt safe.

These are the connections that used to ground you, the people you thought had your back, the landscape of your imagined belonging that allowed you to believe, for a time, that there was a space for you in this lonely world and that someone would always be at the table before you to save you a seat.

And this is what that place has become for you.

So you stop fighting, and you stop running, because it all just hurts so much…and where were you trying to go, anyway? What is there to find?

And as the thorns close in, as the pain that you brought here with you bursts from your body in ragged sobs, as you brace yourself for the rending away of all the versions of you that grew within this once-garden, as you prepare to pay in blood for the love you gave and received…

They don’t…

They aren’t…

Those aren’t thorns at all.

You were once connected to this place, these people. You severed those connections. And with them, all the pieces of yourself that you thought belonged to them because you gave yourself away. And all the love. All of it. Crawling back to you. Because, the one person you can never, never outrun…is yourself.

It hurts. Goddess above, it hurts. Each returning piece strikes a nerve white-hot. The price of love is pain; that is the bargain we make long before we understand what it means. And once we do, we keep making the same bargain anyway. How can we not? To love is the proof that we exist, and that it matters.

And just when the pain is at its worst, and you’re not sure if you’re even breathing anymore, and somehow you don’t care because—dammit!—it should hurt! Your love was real, and precious. You valued that love. You thought they valued your love. You were wrong. It should hurt to watch something beautiful wither and die…

…just then, the once-garden crumples like ash in the wind, and you fall.

And, why is this the better choice of the two?

Because, as you fall, you can feel the wind of your falling breathing a wild desire for freedom into your clothes and hair. You can feel the damp beading up on your warm skin. You can feel your heart beating, beating, and the uneven gasp of each breath…and you remember a time when you couldn’t. You remember, as you fall, years and years of nothingness. Of forced exile of yourself, from yourself. So far away that you could barely sense your living, breathing, really truly real self at all. All those years, lonely but too afraid of being alone to admit it. Too afraid of being abandoned to face the fact that you had already abandoned yourself. Too weak yet to survive without the entwined network that was also stealing your light, your space, your air.

Until…the moment that was always going to come. The moment you had been growing towards all along.

There was no final straw. No thing so bad that you couldn’t un-see it, un-know it.

You had simply grown enough.

And so…

The fog.

The woods.

The thorns.

The fall.

And then…

Like magic. Like the universe is watching with baited breath. Like your ancestors have been chanting in your bones, all this time, the incantations of evolution.

Shafts of love. Vanes of connection. New muscles, hollow bones, pain-forged sinew. Powerful.

One breath, and you are falling.

The next, and each returned piece of you has knit itself into twin constructs, unfurling from the middle of your back.

A snap, they catch the wind—

And you are no longer falling. You can never fall again.

And as you rise, you do so knowing:

You had to lose them, had to fall.

For you to know that you would have your back.

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“Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.” (Genesis 1:2-4, NIV)

In the beginning was darkness. It doesn’t matter how you tell the story, or which version of myth you invoke, or if you’re speaking in purely scientific terms: life begins in darkness. It is the light that had to be made, or formed over time through a process we don’t fully understand. Light can be destroyed, the dark simply is. Even God seems to fear it, for the first thing he does in the Christian creation story is make light. Not even God can work in the dark.

I am reminded, on my night walks, how hard humans try to defeat the darkness. House lights and car headlights gleam at me from all directions, preventing my eyes from fully adjusting and muting the stars. How did I ever think of the outdoors as being too dark to navigate? I find myself seeking the dark while indoors as well. When I take a bath at night now I forgo my usual candle, preferring the soft darkness. I turn on houselights less often, and have been wondering what changes would occur in our lives if we stopped using any lights at all after, say, 10 p.m. Would we talk more? Go to bed earlier? Get more rest because we can’t do that one last thing? Would we get so accustomed to the dark that we would begin turning off the lights even earlier, or not turning them on at all? Would that be a bad thing?

Perhaps not. Both Katherine May in Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times and Clark Strand in Waking Up To the Dark: The Black Madonna’s Gospel for an Age of Extinction and Collapse, cite the same 1996 study by Thomas Wehr that explored the phenomenon of the “midnight watch.” Wehr and his colleagues studied the affects of what is believed to be an ancient wintertime sleep pattern by depriving his subjects of all light for fourteen hours each night. May describes the results:

After several weeks, the participants fell into a pattern of lying awake in bed for two hours before falling asleep for around four hours. They would then wake up and enjoy two or three hours of time characterized as contemplative and restful, and then take another four hours of sleep until morning. Most interesting of all, Wehr observed that the midnight watch was far from an anxious time for his subjects. They felt calm and reflective in these moments, and blood tests revealed elevated levels of prolactin, the hormone that stimulates the production of breast milk in nursing mothers. In most men and women, prolactin levels tend to be low, but the watch seemed to have “an endocrinology all its own,” which Wehr compared to an altered state of consciousness similar to meditation.1

Of this meditative state found in the midnight watch, Strand postulated that people in ancient times (or at least those who lived prior to the commercialization of electric lighting) viewed nightly hours spent in a state of altered consciousness as their “birthright,” something so commonplace that few bothered to even record it.2 May quotes historian A. Roger Ekirch who, in his book At Day’s Close: Night In Times Past, writes: “‘Families rose to urinate, smoke tobacco, and even visit close neighbors. Many others made love, prayed, and…reflected on their dreams, a significant source of solace and self-awareness.’” Connections can be made in the dark that cannot happen in the light. I find it sad that we have come so far from this way of being with the dark that we have ceased to even wonder what we’re missing.

One thing that we are definitely missing, according to Clark Strand, is the root-deep belief in our interconnectedness. This desire for interconnection has risen to the forefront of our cultural consciousness in recent years, especially in the aftermath of the pandemic. While many blame internet relationships and the loss of centralized community for the lack of connection (and that unquestionably plays a large role), Strand traces the origins of our current interpersonal woes back much, much farther than the dawn of the internet age. All the way back, in fact, to the beginning of Christian time.

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