Tag Archives: dream

Beltane and the blessing of the Bull

It is Beltane and I dream of cattle. No leaping through fire though, just standing together looking in the same direction, the bull and I, my hand curled around his horn, his breath coming soft and warm. He has pulled … Continue reading

Posted in everywhere you've ever been or will go takes form in telling | Tagged , , | 1 Comment


There is a woman whose body is the flight of birds. She reclines along the watery rim of the world. There is urgency to what must be done. Time moves through her in a tight whirl, a furious condensation, drilling … Continue reading

Posted in trust the parts | Tagged , | Leave a comment

How might the way be opened?

Some helpers bring the roof down on you. And maybe you get out in time and everybody’s glad, still the house lies in ruins and now there’s nowhere safe to rest your bones. What then? There is power in patience. … Continue reading

Posted in oracle days | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

storms and shelters

The Wellspring sees me studded in blue lights. The lights aren’t actually embedded in me, but hang in strands, a little off my body, running from my head to the ground, a curtain of lights. They bump and rattle as … Continue reading

Posted in under the protection of the work I set myself | Tagged | 2 Comments

inscrutable acts of love

I’m not doing nothing. I keep blowing out little globules of possibility, denser than soap bubbles, more like fish eggs, they cluster and cloud me. “Hey.” The Ferryman touches a finger to my heart, steadies me. I’ve gotten a little … Continue reading

Posted in the clutch and tear of fear and grief are the sound effects of change | Tagged | 2 Comments

in the deep

It is dark all around. Dark but translucent. Weight with space in it. I am in deep water. There is a bouyancy to being here. The water does not negate the pressure and turmoil in effect at the surface, but … Continue reading

Posted in curious kisses | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

floods and aftershocks

There is mud. Over everything. In everything. My hair, my ears, my mouth. The Ferryman takes my head in his hands, clears my eyes with the pads of his thumbs, gives voice to words I can’t make any sense of. … Continue reading

Posted in held safe in the strength of his belief | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments