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Memoir of the Oak-Lover’s Dedicant: An Unwashed Be...

Memoir of the Oak-Lover’s Dedicant: An Unwashed Beltane Confession of the Green Erotic

the house of twigs thot withcraft verses of the wild witch

The silver tongue of that thinning moon was licking me in just the right places, and I crept from my bed like a lust-drunk and lonely wolf leaving the solace of her too-familiar and colorless den. My favor was for the wild and strange, you see. My hackles were raised in the name of beastly pleasure and creaturely delight. The Beltane fever was upon me, and I remembered what it meant to crawl close to the earth, to seduce the pale green blades to rise and penetrate the soft wet of ground, destined to wail with ecstasy when the first beam of dawn strikes them. I remembered the blush of the stretching petals and the virility of the thorns.

 

Can you hear them, those hungry unfurling ferns and hot pink aching buds? Theirs is such primal poetry, such hedonistic hymns. This is the night of the midspring huntress, and I’ve set my ear to those slow-thrusting songs of breath and body, of groaning branch and thirsty root.

 

Just at the witching hour, I’ll press the bones of my bare back hard into bark and fall into that mad sort of short-lived love with a knotty, naughty oak. She’ll heave with the wanting of my exhale, and I’ll hiss long and deep into her shameless veins. On and on it will go. I’ll breathe and get breathed, slow like the lapping of the calmest waves on forgiving sand then with all the surging erotic fury of a summer storm.

danielle dulsky the house of twigs thot erotic witchcraft

Photo Credit: Jessica Manns Photography

Just before that arrogant sun rises, all will go lightning-bright, and that boiling blood of mine will turn to lava. My ancient lover will swallow me whole, and I’ll become the holy, howling pulse of heathen memory.

 

Here, I am bride to the forbidden, and my feeling flesh is a pagan altar to the oldest devotion, to that long-forgotten love between the human animal and these green, gruff gods. I am wordless prayer. I am whole-soul reverence, and I belong to these wilds. I am a living, wide-hipped, wet-lipped incantation. I am a breast-to-bark sculpture with a slow-searching and adventurous tongue. I am unsweetened, raw, sharp-clawed demand, then I am the billowed and precious sugar of surrender. I dream. I am dreamt. I dream. I am dreamt. I die into a dark and dancing sea of perpetual, primordial yearning, and all is alive within me. I am alive in all.

 

I am a sweat-beaded skin-drum thundering a ceaseless song. I am a willing offering to these hallowed grounds, to my beloved dead, and to her, my ancient enchantress, my twig-handed lord. I’ll sleep satiated on her moss, my ribs caressed toward a dreamscape at long last by her thin-limbed shadows, and I’ll wake just in time to see the evening bale fires burn.

 

 

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Danielle believes in the power of the wild feminine and human-to-nature intimacy. She is the author of The Holy Wild: A Heathen Bible for the Untamed Woman (Coming September 2018, New World Library) and Woman Most Wild: Three Keys to Liberating the Witch Within. She translates the wild feminine into motherhood, magick, multimedia art, and teachings of embodied spirituality, writing, and movement alchemy. Danielle is a Celtic free-style Witch, a lover of Irish Paganism, an E-RYT500 and YACEP through Yoga Alliance, a mist-dweller, and a shadow-walker. May all beings come home to the wilds.
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Danielle believes in the power of the wild feminine and human-to-nature intimacy. She is the author of The Holy Wild: A Heathen Bible for the Untamed Woman (Coming September 2018, New World Library) and Woman Most Wild: Three Keys to Liberating the Witch Within. She translates the wild feminine into motherhood, magick, multimedia art, and teachings of embodied spirituality, writing, and movement alchemy. Danielle is a Celtic free-style Witch, a lover of Irish Paganism, an E-RYT500 and YACEP through Yoga Alliance, a mist-dweller, and a shadow-walker. May all beings come home to the wilds.

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