Warning: This blog post may contain rambling thoughts, incoherent sentences, and random bursts of sadness punctuated by tears
The Race By Terry Lynn Pellegrini ©2017 From the crossroads I run Bare feet striking hard packed dirt, Jarred bones, ragged breath, arteries pumping. I crash through the waist high weeds at the roadside heedless of the stinging of the nettles, the thorns stabbing my legs. They follow. Fetid breath upon my heels, bone
It’s Friday evening and you stumble home from another grueling work week. Your brain has assumed the consistency of tapioca pudding and the tightness in your neck and shoulders is showing no sign of letting up. Oh, no. You suddenly recall that tonight is the full moon. Your magickal mind immediately turns towards ritual and
Harvests come in many forms. For many this season of Mabon has become one of spiritual harvests.