I ran, desperate, from the center of the city to the outskirts, in search of a place where I could breathe and worship as only untamed women like myself are meant to do. I could not go far, but still, found a small green patch of paradise to soothe me.
I needed my own little spit of land with trees, grass and soil.
A parcel all my own on which I could walk dance and chant; a barefoot wild child with bonfire blazing in the circle of stones strategically set so the moon can be seen through the trees and the deer can creep past me as they go out into the night to the things that deer do in the dark.
I craved this turf of mine for I needed to send my roots down into the earth to soak up the visions, passion and power that pulses from deep within her core, the very heart of our Mother, Gaia.
My land, from which I will harvest the vegetables and herbs I've grown, and tend the flowers I've lovingly coaxed into bloom and where the bees come to drone lazily from flower to flower, their legs bedazzled with pollen.
And on that night of each month when Luna lolls fat and bright in the sky, I will stand in the middle of my tiny, fence-lined field, bare breasted and howl to her, My Moon Goddess, and the women nearby who hear me - some will secretly long to join me, remembering some long forgotten primal past life memory. Others will sniff haughtily and return to their knitting but still within them, the little fire will flicker, remembering.
This is the witch's time, and this here, where I stand, is sacred space, blessed by the blood, sweat and toil of my love and labor. As such, be warned...
Disturb not a single blade of grass on my property, for I will know it. The crows will tell me.
Harm not one creature in or near my domain. These creatures are my brethren. I have intimate conversations with the rabbits each morning from my window, and tell jokes to the squirrels, whisper secrets to the bees and watch with quiet glee for hours as the dragonflies cut paths back and forth across my clover-rich lawn.
I am fearfully protective of our Mother for though she can be a cruel and temperamental mistress at times, throwing wrathful tantrums that shake buildings to the ground, and sends towering walls of water into impoverished villages, she is also a kind and nurturing parent.
No, you say? Who do you think sends the faint rushes of warmth and spring rains to call forth the first shoots from the surface of her flesh?
Who calls to her lover, the Sun, and asks him to warm you after a bracing swim in chilly, swiftly flowing rivers?
Who sends up tender green stalks, rich with buds, and flowers, herbs and plants that feed you, nourish your body and blanket the earth in a finely woven sheath, all this from the meat on her bones?
Pay her, the mother of us all, to whom we will all return to in the end, the respect and reverence she deserves, as I do. Show her the grace and care required to sustain her so that will in turn sustain us, and then I will invite you, neighbor, into my world. You will be welcome to join me as I howl at her silver shining counterpart in the night sky.
We will sip the spicy brew I've made from the herbs my garden gifted me, and feel the grass and clover of my land between our toes. Later, in the wee hours of the morning, you will go home with the smell of wood smoke and sage in your hair and clothes, giddy from a night of reveling around my fire, mead and magic in your blood.
Join me friend, and reconnect to our beginnings, and allow your roots to sprout from your heels, and dig down deep into the earth, to the heart of it, to her.
For she is me, and I am you, and you are She.
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