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Blood Moon Offerings: Prophecies of the Hag

Blood Moon Offerings: Prophecies of the Hag

These bones of mine were restless, and I was half-dreaming
of an eyeless crow gnawing away at my storyteller’s lips. I woke with a
quickening heartbeat just before midnight, just as the Harvest Moon turned to dark,
and I left you, my sleeping lover, to wander lonely ‘neath these slow-to-shine
stars.

I found her in a sycamore tree then, that blue-skinned hag,
naked and straddling a low branch, grinning and mindlessly kicking her skeletal
legs like a child unaware of the wounds of this sacred ground. I thought her a
prophet, truth be told, and I asked her to show me the moment of my death.

She spit on the ground then and hopped down from her perch
with all the spryness of a feline ghost-sprite, and I rethought my journey to
this haunted place. Her skin was covered in a thin-layer of ice, holding her
sagging bits in place, and her teeth were stained as red as the centers of her
eyes. She cupped my face in those chilled hands of hers and pulled me close, hissing
an ancient incantation that sparked memories of ritual fires and sacrifice in
my ancestral mistlands, and I saw in her eyes the dark and thumping womb of the
world.

danielle dulsky the house of twigs thot witch hag crone ritual portland pdx

I saw in her eyes the promise of revolution, a land licked
clean, and a vision reborn, and I saw the primordial expanse of the void inside
the glassed-over red and black mirrors to her aged, holy soul. I saw the severed
mother-lines of our magick fused together by sheer will and collective rage,
and I saw the wisest ones shrugging and showing their innocence, sighing and
conceding they know nothing at all during these harrowing, hallowed times. I
saw it all, the swelling and the thinning, and she sucked away my most crushing
fears by showing me my own fragile, feeble reflection within the great,
intergalactic swirl of dancing alien worlds.

One hundred black-winged birds landed then, encircling us
and cawing unmelodious hymns to the Morrigan, and, I swear, that Blood Moon
dawned just when it was meant to. Just when I was sure this wicked hag was
going to swallow me whole, just when all my warmth had gone and my own flesh
began to frost over in white-blue spiderwebs, that thin-sliver of a lunar
mother woke and whispered that all would be well.

That wild-eyed crone kissed my forehead like a soon-to-die
grandmother, and I thanked her for her fiercer medicine. She pointed me home,
bid me get back to bed with a sharp click of her tongue, and her small, stiff body
was carried away by those silk-feathered ravens and knowing crows. I spit on a
red leaf and left it right there as an offering to whatever land-elemental lives
and rules these wilds, and I looked to the new moon to light my way home.

magic hag with ritual crone crow the house of twigs thot danielle dulsky

I don’t remember the journey back, if I’m being honest, but
here I am. I woke late with a reborn sense of solace welling beneath my ribs,
and there is a potency to that hag magick I was gifted. I’m spilling milk on
the ground for the Fae tonight, and I’m carving secret sigils into squash in
the name of my dead. I’m carrying on, is what I’m saying, and I’m writing Blood
Moon prayers of infinite hope and undying faith that the oldest gods still walk
among us even now, even at this time of rising and turning tides when our
prophets are few and our fears are many.

Moon of blood, moon of
crone

Strip our flesh down
to bone

Take our ire, send it
deep

As we’ve sown, shall
we reap.

  • Author Posts
Danielle is a heathen visionary, Aquarian mischief-maker, and word-witch. The author of Woman Most Wild and The Holy Wild., she teaches internationally and has facilitated circles, embodiment trainings, communal spell-work, and seasonal rituals since 2007. She is the founder of The Hag School, the lead teacher for the Flame-Tender Teacher Training, and believes in the emerging power of wild collectives and sudden circles of curious dreamers, cunning witches, and rebellious artists in healing our ailing world. As an Irish-American, Danielle’s witchcraft is deeply rooted in Celtic philosophy and Irish mythology. She believes fervently in the role of ancestral healing, embodiment, and animism in fracturing the longstanding systems supporting white-body supremacy and environmental unconsciousness, is committed to centering the voices and teachings of POC and LGBTQIA+ folks in her work as founder of Living Mandala, LLC and The Hag School and supports organizations and initiatives that do the same. Parent to two beloved wildlings and partner to a potter, Danielle fills her world with nature, family, and intentional awe. Find her praying under pine trees, wandering through the haunted places, and whispering to her grandmothers’ ghosts.
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Danielle is a heathen visionary, Aquarian mischief-maker, and word-witch. The author of Woman Most Wild and The Holy Wild., she teaches internationally and has facilitated circles, embodiment trainings, communal spell-work, and seasonal rituals since 2007. She is the founder of The Hag School, the lead teacher for the Flame-Tender Teacher Training, and believes in the emerging power of wild collectives and sudden circles of curious dreamers, cunning witches, and rebellious artists in healing our ailing world. As an Irish-American, Danielle’s witchcraft is deeply rooted in Celtic philosophy and Irish mythology. She believes fervently in the role of ancestral healing, embodiment, and animism in fracturing the longstanding systems supporting white-body supremacy and environmental unconsciousness, is committed to centering the voices and teachings of POC and LGBTQIA+ folks in her work as founder of Living Mandala, LLC and The Hag School and supports organizations and initiatives that do the same. Parent to two beloved wildlings and partner to a potter, Danielle fills her world with nature, family, and intentional awe. Find her praying under pine trees, wandering through the haunted places, and whispering to her grandmothers’ ghosts.

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