The Wolf Moon shone bright last night, luminous despite the rippling clouds surrounding her. A huge halo crowned the sky, with Jupiter glowing close to her side. I gasped up at her as I stepped outside, and she greeted me as if to say: thank you for coming to witness me. As if she knew what the past few moons and the year of the Serpent had done to me.
As a priestess, I sometimes forget that I am also human. I lead, I hold, I endure… but winter always reminds me: I’m still flesh and breath. The solstice shakes me to my bones. It rearranges the furniture of my life whether I ask it to or not. Every year’s end becomes a bearing down. A held breath. A labor I only recognize in hindsight.
As a mother bears down to birth her child, so too have I labored inwardly these past months. Wrestling with thoughts, squeezed by last year’s serpent, shaken loose from everything that no longer serves. When you’re in the midst of it... all else falls away. There’s no time for distractions. There’s only the held breath of survival. The dissociation. The pain. Even today, I write with bleary eyes and shallow lungs.
I see you, too, beloveds. Carrying weight you never asked for. And while your strength is beautiful, and I know your catharsis is necessary… still, I weep for you. I wish you rest. This solstice was relentless. Jobs ended. Relationships evaporated. Even I couldn't outrun the quake. But when the shedding stops, clarity finally comes. Sweet, blessed clarity. Relief. And only what matters will remain.
So take a breath, beloveds.
The Year of the Horse is upon us.
Yes, there may still be dark days ahead.
But pressure is a gift. It clears. It makes space.
If you haven’t yet released what the serpent shook from your hands, that’s okay. Do it in your time.
If you haven’t written your intentions for the year, don’t worry, there's time.
It’s not too late. It’s never too late.
Horses like movement, but go in your own time.
In your own way.
Don’t forget to rest.
Don’t forget to breathe.
And when the plans come… when the fire returns…
Kick his ribs. Set your horse in motion.
Let your spoken or written intentions guide the reins.
As always, your priestess is here.
Take her words and fold them into yourself.
We are all one — and when you hurt, she hurts.
When you rejoice, she sings beside you.
Let her talismans remind you:
You are sovereign.
You are sacred.
You are ready.
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