A Dance for the Fecund Queen of Secrets

This year, more than any other, the time between Yule and Candlemas has felt like the Schroedinger’s Cat of witchcraft.  Paused in tension.  A place in time where all possibilities exist, perfectly posied, waiting for actualization.  A hush before the bursting forth of a new season.

It’s as though the Land Herself waits to feel the first stirrings of new life within Her womb, before committing to the possibility of another Spring.

So, in honor of the season and all it represents, a Dance for the Fecund Queen of Secrets:

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Imagine.  We stand in a ring, hands clasped, around a cauldron turned over to cover a bulb, the hope of new life.  We rush in, raising our arms, then back, straining to hold on to each other.  Again.  And again.

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Sacred Queen.

You whose deep nights are filled with secret pleasure,

You who have opened to the Horned God’s embrace.

Let life take root and quicken within you —

Seed to bud

Bud to fruit

Fruit to the belly.

Knit the borrowed stars released by death’s decay.

Weave us bright new bodies.

Filled with light.

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Bright lights

A year’s worth of candles for Bendith y Cyrn.  What a lovely bunch of swag!  It seems aspicious to me that we had a full moon in perigee for our Candlemas festivities.

To all of you who, by whatever means, celebrate Candlemas — here’s wishing you a bright one!

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