I don’t know what to say since my mother died in April, but there are words in every crevice of my life. There are ways to create signposts that alert me to what’s happened and no direction to what happens next. I know that something will emerge, that something will reveal itself in the light of the day and the night.

There is magick in the liminal.


Death is first thing I think about in the morning now. After the alarm goes off, after the day lets me know it’s ready for me, I remind myself that she is gone and that what was is not anymore.

I could compare it to the new moon, there and hidden. The life that was, that I clung to without realizing my knuckles were white with insistence. Perhaps I too was hidden and covered by the busyness of this world and its constant questioning of me, of what I could do and accomplish each day.

I forgot about all the cycles in the depths of grief. I stopped looking at the sky. I stopped watching for the peek of crescents and light.

I stopped looking up.


The light was bound to come. It knows the way. It knows where to shine into the places of memory and longing. As the sliver grows, the tragic and the beauty are revealed.

Time keeps moving forward. It moves toward the next moment and minute and hour and day. Toward. Toward.

There was a moment it felt like time really could be a healer. But the moment around the corner had other plans. It wanted to shine into the stretched spaces, where things were breaking even if no one else could see them. And it uncovered all the messy places.

All the collateral of a moment when things just went wrong and no one could do anything about it.


It was the emptiness that surprised me because it showed up in the times when I had a plan. And I dropped, or rather, threw the plan down on the ground. Too heavy, too much. I needed more space in my space.

I needed to not touch anything that might eventually fall away too.

Too full. Too empty. Like throwing a sound into a well where it disappears.


Grief falls away sometimes too. Those moments where everything is…okay or not horrible. Where I have honestly said, I’m okay in this moment.

But the next, who knows?

And I know I’m not always going to be lingering in the landscape of grief. I know I’m going to go for visits more than retreats as my heart learns how to carry it all.

It’s a cycle, after all.

I don’t have a plan for what happens next. Not in this blog post, not in the next year or decade. I can only sing the praise of phases. Where was starts will end, where what begins will stop.

I can look at the moon again now. And maybe that’s something.

Maybe it’s everything.

About the Author

I'm a Witch, a priestess, international teacher, often-vegan, invocateur, ritualist, drummer, writer, moon devotee, Sagittarius, and Reclaiming initiate. I am committed to facilitating community growth and connection through ritual creation, storytelling, moon magick, drumming, and embracing beauty in all of its forms. And I am delightfully devoted to Aphrodite, Hecate, Iris, and the Norns. You’ll often find me writing poetry, singing to the moon, crafting songs, and looking for a snack. Here, I'll be writing about the moon, ritual, rewriting personal and collective stories, and poetry. And letting inspiration take the lead.

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