Solstice Shadows of a Sisterhood Long-Gone

Solstice Shadows of a Sisterhood Long-Gone

On these longest days when my wire-limbed shadow stretches on for miles, when I walk on the ground a little harder in hopes of turning the Wheel of the Year a little faster, every word you ever said to me echoes in the hollows of my ribs so loudly I’d swear you were here inside my fleshy human body and not flying with wide wings through the ethereal wild. Our bond was stronger than blood, my wayward sister, and I believe our friendship has become a two-souled ghost that roams church-yards and feeds upon the mischievous laughter of rebellious little girls who know God is a woman. Every inside joke we shared, dance we poorly choreographed, and raucous anthem we sang while hiding from clergy in the bushes lives on inside this specter of sisterhood, this faceless demoness of summer who moves how I move, who goes where I go, and I wonder if somewhere you can see her, too.

On these shortest nights when all I want is a cool breeze to go along with my snow-scaped dreams, I remember you promised to take on the world with me. We were going to envelope every wound on our bleeding planet with our four, sure-handed arms. We were going to stand with an army of Witches and demand the surrender of everyone who had ever held us down, and we were going to do it all before we turned twenty-five. This friendship shadow that walks with me on these too-hot mornings is wider in the hips than we ever hoped to be, but there’s a comfort to her shape, I think. Her greyness buzzes with the ambitious passion of two temptresses born to fickle mothers and hard-edged fathers, and she has not lost her fire despite her newfound love of the dark.

On these electric afternoons when the sky promises a storm, I am bidding this dissolving shadow to seek you out and tell you how much I still love you. If I ever see you again, I’m certain this particular darkness that follows me will crawl down both our throats and infuse our cells with the sense memory of warm beer drank too quickly and sharp, unwelcomed sand stuck between the toes. The lines around our eyes will disappear and we’ll once again giggle with that wild naiveté that was our fuel. Together, we’ll atone for every heart we ever broke, and all will be forgiven just as the Solstice moon rises. We’ll sleep together then like we used to, freckled skin covered in sweat-salt and pixie-stick sugar, small bodies cocooned until morning and cushioned by the same ignorance that preserves our youth. I miss you, my love, and I’m not sure I shall I ever again be so blessed as we were when we shared the rawest version of our stories, spoken in whispers at midnight when we were meant to be sleeping. I shall let my shadow be my solace for now, while I wait for colder days to come and look for your face in every crowd.

Danielle Dulsky

Danielle Dulsky is a long-time activist for wild woman spirituality and the divine feminine’s return. She is the author of Woman Most Wild (coming May 2017 from New World Library). A multi-media artist, yoga teacher and teacher trainer, and energy worker, Danielle is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless...