Open your palms, look moonward, and breathe in the raw, red musk of dying leaves, smoking pine wood, and ever-cool, so potent spectral mists. Know that this is what the primal feminine smells like. Embody the long-nailed and black-mirror-eyed demoness you were taught to fear during childhood. These are the days of the Great Purge, when the Witch is tasked to dig up her cobwebbed secrets and put them on unapologetic display, to befriend the very shadows that make her bones quake, to strip off and burn every mask she has ever worn, and to do it all in front of her ancestors’ ghosts as they encircle and honor the brave-hearted and strong-willed Priestess she has become.
Light your bonfire and gather your wild community, be it twelve hooded and purposed prophets or a flock of oil-winged ravens. Go to a place where the branches are twisted and the land is haunted by the loving dead. Take only your soft body and authentic voice, and, when ready, proclaim these vows strong and true:
I am a Witch of the Blood Moon, and I rid myself of spiritual shame. I have been born in this shape to cast spells with my footsteps as I walk on sacred ground, and I will no longer hide the Sorceress that I am. I will no longer cower in corners while braver beasts strut about with a certain pride, and no more will I play the glitter-pink good girl by day and become the sharp-nailed temptress by night. I am one woman, whole and complete, forever and always.
I am a Witch of the Blood Moon, and I am the living antidote to the vile objectification of the feminine, the insidious neglect of the Earth, and all manner of subtle, blatant, and pervasive oppression affecting the global community at large. Activism is my birthright, and silence is my wound. No more will I work my magick solely for solitary gain and ignore the power I hold in my palms to rally and rage for what I know to be right. My spellwork is my conversation with the world, and every circle I cast is a microcosm of the world in which I want the children of the future to live.
I am a Witch of the Blood Moon, and I invoke a fearless and loud-mouthed authenticity. I am here, and I am staying. Beneath my feet, the corpses of hunted women toss and turn in their unmarked graves, and my words are their vindication. I bid their bones claw through the centuries of layered soil and climb my legs so I can carry their unruined souls into the warm and restful ether on my bare back. These are the days of the strong-spined Crone, and I am Her.
Blessed be these Witching Moons of darker days, and blessed be the unmasked wild woman who has honed her night vision. By the light of the Blood Moon, all blessings be.
Author: Danielle Dulsky