A crowd of ancient Romans roar with applause as a simple laurel wreath is placed upon the head of a victor --so begins the history of the flower crown.  Awarded to heroes and emperors to signify respect and success, this simple crown of leaves soon became a powerful and regal symbol.  You can see it today across our museums, a halo of marble or bronze resting atop names that have lasted throughout history.  

Not to miss out, the plebeian masses of our ancient world donned these natural crowns and added flowers to honor their Gods and Goddesses during special occasions.  Upon May Day, flowers ringed the heads of youthful maidens as the Romans celebrated Flora, the Goddess of flowers and fertility.  When us modern Pagans wear a crown of flowers during our May Day rites we harken back to these early festivals.  

As the sun falls across the hilltops of Edinburgh, modern Pagans come to celebrate a different kind of May Day festival.  Capturing the beliefs of the ancient Celts, this modern Beltane celebration helps to bring the sun out of it’s winter prison.  A great bonfire is made in the center of the circle as followers dance along its perimeter.  Those brave enough jump over its flames in hopes that it will grant them protection throughout the year.  Special garments are worn, or perhaps taken off, to recognize and appreciate the fertility of nature.  This celebration also contains a reenactment of a marriage ceremony between the God and Goddess--a reminder that our fertility too is tied to the fertility of the Earth.

These ancient May Day celebrations have morphed and changed throughout time as they incorporate different cultural traditions and histories.  Here in America our May Day still persists in our larger society, yet it holds on by mere threads.  As young girls wear flower crowns and entwine their ribbons around the Maypole they are, possibly unknowingly, participating in a modern form of a these fertility rituals.  Perhaps if the Pagan nature of May Day lore was better known these celebrations might cease even further within our larger society.  How do we balance maintaining the symbolism and intention of these festivals yet be able to incorporate and include a wider subset of our population?  Or perhaps, Pagan rites should continue to be confined within our community.  Such questions are often on my mind during these seasonal celebrations.

Part of the joy for me personally in reclaiming these great festival days is to once again bring to life these ancient customs. While our contemporary interpretations often deviate heavily from their origins, I still view our modern festivals as a way to connect with our Pagan ancestors.  

Many of us experience history by visiting ancient sites and monuments.  I call for a more immersive approach.  Let us don these crowns of flowers and celebrate with remembrance around a great fire.  Let’s take history out of the museum and toast it together as we dance amongst the stars. Such beauty and elegance should persist throughout time and such moments of revelry and merrymaking should endure.

Should you make your own flower crown or build a bonfire this May Day, take a moment to smile with the thought that you are actively connecting with both nature and our Pagan history and are helping to keep it alive for future generations to come.  

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How to Make a Flower Crown

1. Take a piece of floral wire and form it in a circular shape.  Rest it atop your head and size it so that it fits comfortably.  Tape the circle shut with floral tape; you may want to wrap the tape several times around the ends of the wire.

2. Choose your greenery and flowers.  I recommend starting with some greenery and forming it along the whole circular wire so that you will have a base to add your flowers on.  Attach the greenery to the wire circle using your floral tape.  

3. Cut the flowers so that they have a stem of at least 2 inches.  This will make it easier as you tape the stems to your crown.  You can add as many or as few flowers to your crown as you like.  

A Review and Reflection of Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman

We are all brought up with the classical myths of Ancient Greece and Rome.  We can recall their stories, visualize the characters, and visit their ancient temples and sites.  By comparison, the Norse myths seem shrouded in mystery and misunderstandings.  They somehow feel more foreign, more ancient, and more inaccessible.  With Norse Mythology, Neil Gaiman takes us in hand and guides us through these powerful tales.  He does so with a narrative prose that makes these myths feel familiar and relatable.  Relying upon the Poetic Edda and it’s various translations, Gaiman weaves a collection of tales that introduce us to these larger than life figures and the many worlds they inhabit.  

Many of us are already acquainted with the mighty Thor.  A generation of children, including Gaiman himself, eagerly followed the adventures of Thor as a superhero through his comic book series.  Despite the comic's mythological and historical inaccuracies, it helped bring the world of Asgard and its divine inhabitants to life.  The recent Thor movies additionally help contribute to widening the audience for this mythology.  

The comics and movies, however, provide only a sliver of light onto the vast world of Norse mythology.  Gaiman is on a quest to deepen our understanding and as he guides us through Yggdrasil and it’s nine distinctive worlds, one begins to understand the complexity and richness of this web of gods, goddess, frost giants, elves, and dwarves.

Gaiman gives the Gods and Goddesses personality and thus brings them to life.  As I read through these tales I found myself joyfully laughing at Thor’s wild antics and smiling at Loki’s cleverness.  I felt concern when lovely Freja was about to be wed to an ugly giant and I felt triumph when Thor recovers his stolen Mjölnir.  These stories sometimes balance on the absurd.  You will read of Loki giving birth to a giant horse, Thor dressing as a bride to disguise a thieving giant, and Odin transforming into a Snake in order to sip the mead of poetry.  Instead of being jarring, these moments become believable through Gaiman’s brilliant storytelling.  

The tales go beyond the humorous and absurd.  They are touching, imaginative, and contain themes that translate into our present day.  Loki gains complexity with each tale as his intelligence is both admired and vilified by the other Gods.  As a half giant, Loki represents the ultimate outsider.  He’s not even supposed to be in Asgard with the others and no one knows how he ascended to their realm.  He vacillates between being an agent of chaos and risking his life and dignity to assist those who may never truly accept him.  Loki is a villain we can all see within ourselves and thus we too can both admire and scorn his actions.

Watching over these realms is the All-Father, Odin.  Odin gave his eye for wisdom and hung himself from the world-tree, Yggdrasil, for knowledge of the runes.  Odin understands that knowledge is power and has sacrificed himself many times over to achieve it.  His thirst for knowledge is insatiable, and he even enters our world dressed in disguise to see things from our point of view.  Odin sends his two ravens, Huginn and Muninn (‘thought' and ‘memory’) to travel the realms far and wide so that they might bring him new knowledge and perspective.  It is honorable that the leader of the Norse Gods should have such respect for knowledge and understanding.  With each story Odin becomes more mysterious, more complex, and more worthy of our admiration.    

Many question why mythology is important and if it still holds value in our modern tech-focused society.  I exclaim a resounding ‘YES’ to such questions.  We humans are storytellers.  The stories we tell define our culture and bring us together in common knowledge.  The great myths of the old Gods reference a world we could only dream of, yet their wisdom gives us guidance and comfort.  These ‘tall-tales’ illuminate our imagination and kindle our compassion.  Such stories are worth preserving and sharing among generations yet to come.  With Norse Mythology, Neil Gaiman helps these deities maintain their immortality and refreshes their stories for a new collective of storytellers, big-thinkers, and adventurers.  

The melody of spring softly soars above as I begin my walking meditation.  The steady drum beat of the woodpecker mingles with the chipper notes from the morning doves and wrens.  A glorious prelude to the birth of spring in the city.  Along the lakeshore cardinals dance through the trees, their red feathers beating like hearts as they flit in and out of view.  Squirrels erratically run from tree to tree trying to remember when they've hidden acorns and a solitary chipmunk peaks it’s head up from underground.  

I walk steadily along the pavement as I focus on my breathing.  I inhale the scent of petrichor and pine and exhale my internal tension and anxieties.  Approaching the edge of the lake I reach a deep state of relaxation and feel more at peace with myself and my place within the world.  As I walk along the edge of the lake I let the sound of the waves soothe my senses.  The lake glimmers in the morning light and radiates a golden glow.  I spend several moments gazing out at the horizon feeling gratitude for this beautiful moment.  After a whisper of thanks to the spirits I begin my journey home with a renewed positive outlook and an extra spring in my step.  

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Tips for Walking Meditation

Location: Decide where you plan to walk before you begin.  You should be focusing on your breathing while walking, not which direction to turn.  Finding a relatively secluded spot is best so you will be less distracted by others.

Timing: Plan for at least 15 minutes for your walking meditation.  I personally find walking meditation easier to do for extend periods of time as opposed to seated meditation.

Walking: Spend the first few minutes finding a steady rhythm for your walk.  Be sure to stand up straight with your shoulders and neck relaxed.  You should walk slower than your normal pace and focus on staying present within the moment.  Notice the sensations of your body as you move.  Feel the confidence and strength in your bones and muscles as they propel you forward.

Breathing: Inhale deeply through the nose and exhale through the mouth.  Try to line up your breathing with the the rhythm of your walk.  Focus on breathing in the clean air from the atmosphere and breathing out any tension.  Should your mind begin to wonder, simply return your attention back to your breath.

If you have any additional tips for walking meditation, please comment below.  Blessed be!

The Wheel of Fortune

The rocket of time pulls the wheel as it makes another round. The heavy wood crackles and pops as it continues to cycle, heavy with the weight of our fortunes.  We rest on its edge, as our hopes, fears, and dreams dance precariously around its perimeter.  With a sudden jerk of movement, we are pulled upwards.  Stretching, reaching, growing till we reach the top in a riotous conclusion of ecstatic joy and fortuitous fortune.  We stay but a moment.  The scent of time carries on the wind and the inevitable decline casts a shadow of impermanence on our face. 

And yes, our fears are answered with a large crack as the wheel starts and the movement continues. Down the wheel we go to crash in a crucible of tribulation.  The weight of the wheel carves a trench deep into the earth and our hopes, once so true and tangible, get ground beneath the wheel into a dust.  A ghost of our former joy escapes to carry in the wind.

All is not lost, however, for down in the darkness, our hope remains as a flicker of light.  The flame slowly grows until, with sigh of relief, we hear that great crack again and begin to be pulled upwards.  The despair is momentarily forgotten as we remember what we have ahead, what we have to look forward to.  So again we reach high, forever upwards.

And so it goes, a Sisyphean cycle of triumphant success and morose depths.  Yet we carry on knowing that even in those dark times, the wheel will turn and hope will eventually come within reach.

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This is the first in a poetry series I'm working on about the Major Arcana.  I would love to hear what you think, so feel free to leave a comment below.

If you'd like to learn about my tarot services you can click the button below.  Blessed Be! 

I feel that void too.  A vacuous emptiness caused by the lack of connection within our current society.  Dating has been reduced from a serendipitous adventure to a swipe of a finger on a tablet.  True connection has been superseded by a selfish need to prove one’s worth through vacation photos on Facebook and carefully manipulated profiles on LinkedIn.  The pressures of our culture have warped our relationships and clouded our desires.

I believe such unfulfilled longing to be symptomatic of a disconnect with our own ‘humanity’ and our place within nature.  In our world of big data it seems that every aspect of our life has been reduced to a statistic used to further our own unhappiness.  What could be more sterile and inhuman than a number?  In the undercurrent of my daily activities lies a treasure trove of data to be used by others.  What I purchase, what sites I visit, all recorded to help companies decipher my ‘desires’ in order to sell me more.  How Orwellian does our society need to become before we realize this does not make us happy?

Paganism is my antidote.  Paganism is raw, unstructured, and unorganized.  Even among other Pagans we rarely find consensus and agreement deciphering our path.  There is no book of rules other than the ones we write ourselves.  The pagan practice is unabashedly human.  It is oftentimes illogical, holding conflicting ideas in equal reverence.  It is the opposite of data, it is the opposite of sterile, and it is gloriously sublime.  

Dig your hands into the dirt in glorious rebellion.  Dance naked under the stars in riotous defiance.  Be illogical.  Be impractical.  Wash off the prescriptive conventions of happiness and venture back in the woods to reconnect with our own divinity.  Scream at the sky if you need to.  Once you let it all out you're ready to connect with what you’ve been missing all along.  Lay upon the ground and let the leaves tangle in your hair as you ground yourself and relax your mind.  Whatever your individual practice might be, we are united in the sense of sublime we feel when we connect with this energy.   

I feel this sublime energy throughout my rituals.  I feel it when I call upon the elements and discover the rush of wind, the swell of water, the burst of flames, and the strength of earth.  I feel the tingling of frisson catapult through my body when I cast a circle.  I feel an almost inhuman exhilaration as I dance around the bonfire beneath the stars.  At these moments I experience the height of human emotion and connectedness to the divine.  It makes me glad to be alive and reminds me that our essential humanity is something that cannot simply be measured and contained.

Such transcendent acts are in wondrous opposition to our daily lives and yet I feel they are needed more now than ever.  A reminder that we are not numbers, we are not statistics.  We are part of this Earth and that means something, regardless of what wider society might preach.

The Rose.  A regal flower used for centuries to attract love, enhance femininity, and assist in seduction.  Such exquisite beauty is made even more profound due to its impermanence.  A few days of heightened refinement surround your space when the flower is at its peak.  However, like all life, such delicate beauty is temporary and will eventually fade.  With roses, the artistry of decay haunts the passing of this beauty.  I keep my roses in their vase as I watch the petals shrivel and the color dim.  A most exquisite momento mori expressing our connection to the cycle of life.

Still, us humans desire to hold on to our beauty.  We grasp at it, reluctant to give up its power.  As such it's only natural that we have a long history of preserving rose petals and incorporating them in our lives.  These delicate, yet beautiful dried rose petals permeate our homes, championing our control over decay.  

I use rose petals in a variety of ways in my Pagan practice. I lay them atop my altar during Ostara to welcome spring.  I might covertly carry a pouch filled with red petals in my purse during a date to enhance my desirability.  Additionally, ground-up rose petals feature as a common ingredient in many of my spells.

I regularly create a ritual bath mixture using crushed dried rose petals.  Bathing in this aroma infuses the power of attraction deep into my skin and enhances my confidence.  In this way, ritual baths can be used as a powerful form of glamour magic.

I pampered myself with a rose ritual bath as part of my beauty routine before attending Carmen at the Chicago Opera House.  I strode into the theater with a confident smile across my lips and a secret gleam of magic shining through my eyes.  A refined grace enchanted my walk as I made my way through the corridors greeting fellow music lovers.  

 Enjoy this wonderful magic yourself by creating your own rose ritual bath using the recipe below.

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Rose Ritual Bath

To make a rose ritual bath combine the following ingredients and mix to combine.

1-1/2 cups epsom salts

1/2 cup sea salt

1/4 cup baking soda

1/2 cup dried rose petals (I dry my rose petals by laying them in a single layer atop a paper towel and microwaving for a minute.)

Place a cupful of this mixture in your bath water and reserve the rest for future use.  

While bathing, visualize the essence of beauty seeping from the rose petals and swirling atop the water.  Focus on your skin soaking in this essence and feel the light radiating through your body.  At the end of your bath, you will feel confident in your beauty and grace and ready to take on the world.

How do you incorporate the enchanting power of the rose in your practice?  Share below in the comments.

A review and reflection of The Devil’s Dozen: Thirteen Craft Rites of The Old One by Gemma Gary

One should not judge a book by it’s cover, yet I am often guilty of such an act.  How could anyone merely pass by this book without flipping through its pages, anxious to discover the mysteries contained within.

The aesthetics are striking.  A small black tome, only slightly larger than a hand.  The cover gleams with with a bronze shimmer that looks like fire when reflecting light.  The front contains no title.  Instead you’re greeted with an eerie image of a goat head with horns cradling a assemblage of shining candles.  The spine of the book reveals the title and author, The Devil’s Dozen: Thirteen Craft Rites of the Old One by Gemma Gary.

To get past the first page of this book you will need to face your fears.  With this book Gemma Gary attempts to reclaim the concept of the Devil, something I don’t think many contemporary witches would have the gumption or desire to do and I commend her bravery for attempting to do so.  

Gemma Gary gives us not a book but a poetically beautiful instruction guide.  Using traditional witchcraft and folklore practices as inspiration she has created thirteen unique rites.  All with the intent to bring us closer to the Devil.  You might be questioning why anyone would want to develop a personal relationship with such a sinister creature.  Before delving deeper you need to first ask yourself some difficult questions.  Who is the Devil?  How has this character been defined by religious history?  Are you able to look past preconceived notions and open your mind?  Do you even want to open this pandora’s box or would you rather keep your concept of the Devil closed and contained in a box with all your other dark fears.  Gemma gives us a helping hand by first making a distinction between Satan, a creation of the church, and the Devil, an embodiment not of evil but instead the protector of our personal power, sexual freedom, and desire.       

This book is after all a call to action so philosophizing on concepts of Satan vs. The Devil will only get you so far.  Gemma asks us to seek out into the wild to experience these ideas, not just merely read about them.  To perform any of the rites in this book you need bravery.  You will have to hold steadfast and push out any remaining Christian guilt that might try to creep in.  

While I was not brought up Christian, I still faced her first request with trepidation.  I stared at the words: Nema. Reve dna reve rof, yrolg ehy dna, rewop eht, modgnik eht si… She was asking me to read the Lord’s prayer backwards.  I see why she wants us to do this.  One must first undo any previous religious indoctrination in order to become an empty vessel and thus ready to take forth communion with a significantly different sort of deity.

It took me several days before I felt brave enough to do it.  Christian guilt and fear still permeates our society to some extent and even I, a practicing Pagan for over 13 years, still felt the trepidation.  What if my pagan beliefs are wrong? What if hell really does exist and this is the point where I cross that line?  A whisper of fear beat a steady drum in my heart as I said the words slowly but carefully.  I’ll admit it, the perversive nature of the act was exciting and afterward I greedily sped through the next pages, excited about what I might be asked to do next.  

Each rite contains beautiful black and white artwork that sets the tone for the ritual.  Gemma Gary begins with an explanation of the concepts and the historical context for the traditions and tools that will be used.  She then proceeds to tell how to perform the ritual yourself, giving instructions on where to go, what (or what not) to wear, what tools to bring, and what to say for the ritual.  The words she asks us to speak are dark and sensual poems that exemplify and enhance the experience.  These unnerving rites are filled with dark dedications in churchyards, dances to raise the Devil’s power, conjurations to awaken the spirit, and full nights spent alone in the woods.

As I read each rite I couldn't help but wonder how many, if any, people have performed these rituals.  I began to think about making a trip to the woods myself and which ritual I might choose to perform.  One rite asks the witch to find a secluded old barn where one would not be disturbed and draw a pentacle on the surface of the ground.  After laying five candles around the points of the star you disrobe and lay nude alone and unmoving for an entire night.  Eventually the fear becomes ever more consuming until you enter a trance where your spirit leaves the body and merges with the spirit of the Old One, becoming a vessel for the powers and wisdom of the night’s mysteries.

I shivered with exhilaration considering what it would be like to perform such a ritual myself.  I also questioned why I found this all so exciting.  There’s a reason many people enjoy the perverse pleasure that comes with fear.  It’s why we seek out scary movies and haunted houses. People like being scared because it makes them feel alive.  It reminds us that we’re human in a society that too often tries to make us into robots.  

Maybe this desire to feel human is part of why I was drawn to Paganism in the first place many years ago.  A desire turn away from the cold city sidewalks of modernity and run back into the forest.  A desire to feel the fear and exhilaration that comes with dancing round the fire under the stars.  

Paganism is refreshingly unsanitized compared with the abrahamic religions that permeate our society.  A catholic mass contains social norms and rigid procedures, all within a safe and enclosed space.  An Esbat, by comparison, is wild and unstructured.  You are not safe.  You are in the woods with all of natures creatures, facing a night sky that reminds you how insignificant you are within the cosmos and by extension how much a miracle it is to be here in the first place.  It makes the concept of reveling in our human desires not something unclean, but something religiously profound.  Gemma Gary exalts these concepts and expands them to their height.  She asks us to cultivate a relationship with our fear and in doing so develop a connection with the untamed spirit of The Old One.

The wild and raw power is out there for the taking.  Gemma Gary implores us to be brave enough to seek it out.

From the Poetic Edda:

Thor awoke with a start. His hammer, the mighty Mjöllnir, was missing. He shook his shaggy head, and his beard bristled with anger as he groped around him.

He shouted to Loki, "My hammer has been stolen! No one in heaven or on earth can know what a loss this is for me!"

Forthwith they rushed to Freyja's shining halls.

"Freyja," said Thor, "will you lend me your feathered coat to help me seek my hammer?"

Freyja said, "I would lend it to you even if it were made of gold or silver."

Then Loki put on the feathered coat and, leaving Asgard, winged his way to Jotunheim, the world of giants.

Thrym, the lord of giants, sat upon a mound, smoothing his horses' manes and twisting golden halters for his hounds. He said, "How are the Æsir? How are the elves? Why have you come to Jotunheim?"

Loki said, "It is ill with the Æsir; it is ill with the elves. Tell me, have you hidden the Thunderer's hammer?"

Thrym said, "Yes, I have hidden Thor's hammer eight leagues deep in the earth. No one can win it back from me, unless he brings to me fair Freyja as a bride."

Loki flew away, the feathered coat rustling. He left behind the world of giants and winged his way back to the world of the gods.

Thor met him there in the middle court. He said, "Were your labors successful? Tell me the tidings before you land. Sitting causes one to forget, and lying causes one to lie."

Loki said, "Yes, my labors met with success. Thrym, the lord of giants, has your hammer; but no one can win Mjöllnir from him, unless he brings to him fair Freyja as a bride."

Forthwith they rushed to find fair Freyja. "Dress yourself in bridal linen," said Thor. "You and I are on our way to the world of giants."

At this Freyja foamed with rage. The halls of Asgard shook with her anger. The necklace of the Brisings broke apart. "You may call me man-crazy, if I go with you to Jotunheim," she said.

Straight away all the gods and goddesses gathered to discuss how they could recover Thor's hammer.

Heimdall, the fairest of the gods, like all the Vanir could see into the future. "Let us dress Thor in bridal linen," he said, "and let him wear the necklace of the Brisings. Tie housewife's keys about his waist, and pin bridal jewels upon his breast. Let him wear women's clothes, with a dainty hood on his head."

The Thunderer, mightiest of gods, replied, "The gods will call me womanish if I put on bridal linen."

Then Loki, son of Laufey, said, "Thor, be still! With such foolish words the giants will soon be living here in Asgard if you do not get your hammer from them."

So they dressed Thor in bridal linen, tied the necklace of Brisings around his neck and housewife's keys about his waist. They pinned bridal jewels upon his breast, and dressed him in women's clothes, with a dainty hood on his head.

Then Loki, son of Laufey, said, "I will accompany you as your maid-servant. Together we shall go to Jotunheim."

Forthwith the goats were driven home to be harnessed. The mountains trembled, and the earth burned with fire as Odin's son rode to Jotunheim.

Thrym, the lord of giants, said to his kin, "Stand up, you Jotuns, and put straw on the benches. They are bringing fair Freyja, daughter of Njord from Noatun, to be my bride. I have golden-horned cattle grazing in my yard. They are pure-black oxen, a joy to giants. I have treasures aplenty and rule over great riches. Freyja is the only thing that I lack."

Day soon became evening, and ale was brought to the giants' table. There Thor ate an ox and eight whole salmons, in addition to all the dainties that were served to the women. Furthermore, he drank three measures of mead.

Thrym, the lord of giants, said, "Have you ever seen a bride eat and drink so heartily?"

The maid-servant wisely answered thus: "Freyja was so eager to come to Jotunheim that she has eaten nothing for eight nights."

Thrym stooped beneath his bride's veil, wanting to kiss her, then jumped back the whole length of the hall. "Why are Freyja's eyes so fearful?" he said. "I think that fire is flaming from her eyes."

The maid-servant wisely answered the giant thus: "Freyja was so eager to come to Jotunheim that she has not slept for eight nights."

Then a poor sister of one of the giants came in and dared to beg a gift from the bride. "If you want my love and friendship then give me the gold rings from your fingers," she said.

Then Thrym, the lord of giants, said, "Bring me the hammer to bless the bride. Lay Mjöllnir on the maiden's lap, let the two of us thus be hallowed in the name of Vor, goddess of vows!"

When Thor saw the hammer his heart laughed within him, and he took courage. He first slew Thrym, the lord of giants, then he crushed all the giant's kin. Finally he slew the old giantess who had begged for a bridal gift. Instead of coins she got the crack of the hammer. Instead of rings she received the mark of Mjöllnir.

Thus Thor won back his hammer.

A large expanse of trees guarded the entrance to the forest.  There was a small path, almost hidden from the snow that snaked through the wall of pine.  Before entering, I glanced one last time back toward the city.  The skyline was just barely visible.  It appeared as a dark blur against a grey overcast horizon in the distance.  Wrapping my scarf tighter about my body, I continued my path away from the great hive of the city and towards the wooded wild.  

The snowfall was gentle and my footsteps were light atop the sparkling surface. I made a serpentine weave of hip, thigh, and toe as I glided, step by step, along the path.  The columns of trees were hulking green sentinels directing me to go further, to continue forward into the woods.

Minutes past as I trekked deeper and deeper.  The visibility became worse and I had to continuously wipe snow from my glasses in order to see.  A deep howl of wind broke the brittle silence and a large snap followed as a heavy branch fell in the distance. Startled, I picked up the pace.  My body heat didn’t so much leach out slowly but seemed to abandon me immediately and caused my nose to turn numb and my toes to shake within my boots.  My winter coat seemed like a joke as wind blustered through the fibers with absurd ease. Just as I was thinking about heading back, the trees thinned as I reached the head of a clearing.  

A small creek, now frozen over, became visible, and I headed towards it.  The winds had formed snow into great monolithic dunes of ice and frost upon the waters edge. My feet sunk deep in the snowfall as I moved closer and my coat grew heavy as it gathered snow upon its hem.  Upon reaching the mouth of the frozen creek, I breathed a sigh of relief.  I could see it off in the distance. A few more minutes yet.

With a quickening of step, I hurried towards the cabin.  Dead plants and shrubs, ghosts of what once must have been a lively garden surrounded the small wooden structure.  There were many bird feeders strung about, a feeble attempt to bring life to this winter wasteland.  Upon seeing thick smoke rising from a chimney, my toes began to ache in anticipation of being warmed by the fire.  In the middle of the door was a heavy knocker made in the shape of a lion.  I knocked it three times. The resounding sound of lead knocking against wood caused the surrounding birds to take flight in alarm.  

A gnarled hand punctuated by thick arthritic knuckles appeared as the door creaked slowly open.  She was slightly hunched over as if to maintain her balance and moved slowly as she gave me space to enter, as if each movement required monumental effort.

“Come in” she announced.  “I have been expecting you.”

It appeared she was prepared for my arrival for the cabin was a bastion of warmth and comfort against the cold.  A fire was roaring in the hearth and a steaming teakettle sat atop the stove in an adjacent kitchen.

“Thank you for having me over this afternoon.” I replied as I took off my heavy boots and winter coat.  My hair slowly began to defrost and streams of melted snow began to pool atop my shoulders.

The old woman gave me a large smile and as she did so her face widened, cheeks forming into deep valleys of wrinkles.  Her eyes, also smiling, were twinkling blue orbs bracketed by laugh lines atop a face punctuated with constellations of liver spots. “Please warm up” she offered kindly, pouring me a cup of tea and directing me to a comfy armchair by the fire. “It must have been a cold journey from the city. I know my home is not easy to get to.”  

As she slowly moved about the cabin, the waddle of her neck jiggled and the puff of grey dandelion that was her hair swayed humorously back and forth.  I cracked a slight smile in amusement.  

“Yes, it is a bit of a ways away.” I chuckled.  “But your place is wonderfully cozy, I can see why you live out here.”  I took a sip of my tea. The taste was bitter in my mouth, but the warmth seemed to seep deep into my bones, making me question whether she might have added a bit of whisky to the brew.

The old woman took a seat in a rocking chair beside me and placed a blanket atop her lap.  

“So, tell me why you are here today.”  She spoke slowly and clearly as she rocked in her chair.  

“I’ve been studying the old ways for a while now.”  I paused to take another sip of the warming tea.  “The high priestess of my coven mentioned you might be able to teach me something about the vale”  

“Hmmmm.” she murmured softly and stared into the fire a moment as she rocked back and forth in her chair.

The crone turned to face me, “One cannot be taught about the vale.”

“Why can one not be taught? I’m sorry, I’m not sure I fully understand.”

“Most don’t I’m afraid.” She had a forlorn expression on her face as she spoke and her cheeks sagged towards her thin lips.  

She stared towards the fire for a few more seconds then seemed to jerk out of her morose meditation and turned to give me a mischievous smile.

“Luckily us witches need not worry for we can experience such things in person.” She glanced towards my left wrist and gave a slight nod.  

I followed her gaze and saw a thick black line creeping out from the tip of my sleeve.  My heartbeat jumped to my head as sudden confusion and alarm pounded through my veins.  

Grabbing my sleeve and pushing it up my arm revealed strange groupings of thick lines snaking up to my elbow.  The shapes seemed to morph and change as the lines lengthened and retreated beneath my skin.

“What is this?  What’s going on?”  I gasped, jumping from my chair.

It was like she didn't hear me or was refusing to answer as she just continued to stare into the flames of the fire.  

Noticing the cup of tea to my left, I remembered the strange warmth I felt upon first drinking it and the fear of realization hit me.

“You poisoned me, didn’t you.”  Glancing back at my arm, the lines were still morphing and were now beginning to grow, moving down past my wrist and blackening the tips of my fingers.  Drops of sweat began to crawl like bugs across my forehead.

“I’m hallucinating, I must be. The forms of black shapes snaking beneath my skin mesmerized me.

“What’s going on!” My shout ricocheted throughout the small room, filling each corner with my fearful urgency.  Yet, the crone still sat motionless staring into the fire.  

“Tell me what’s happening to me,” I pleaded, bending down till we were eye to eye.   She finally turned from the fire to face me.  

“Don’t worry, that symbol will protect you.”  The Crone said this nonchalantly as if strange markings appearing on your body were an everyday occurrence.

“Protect me from what?”  

“Time” She said this slowly and gently as if caressing a note through her mouth.  And as she spoke the floor seemed to shake, books fell from their shelves and utensils rattled in their kitchen drawers.  Once again she turned from me and towards the hearth.  But the fire was no longer there.  In the hearth, there was now a large mirror contained within a golden brocade frame.  The edges were tinged with soot and bright embers of coal simmered at it’s base.

Staring into the mirror I could see the crones reflection.  Yet I could not see my own despite standing right in front of it.

The reflection of the crone stared back not at herself as it should have done, but instead stared directly at me.  I was terrified but for some reason I could not look away.  The crone’s reflection stared at me for a moment, then the reflection began to change: the lines in her face lessoned and smoothed.  Her hair grew out from the root and changed from mothball grey to a deep black.  Her frame lengthened and slimmed so that there was no longer an old crone before me but a beautiful maiden.  

The maiden looked like a heavenly statue brought to life: long flowing hair, porcelain skin, and eyes of clear blue like slivers of ice.  Yet, her beauty was made uncanny in its lack of imperfections.  

“Do not be afraid.”  The reflection said to me. “The change is temporary.”

A prickly feeling raised the hair on my neck and glancing to the right I saw that I was now alone.  The crone no longer sat next to me in her chair.  All that remained was the reflection in the mirror of her younger self.  

The realization that I was now alone in the room caused my body to jolt with fear.  There was a momentary stillness as my stomach dropped, and then a sickening feeling of bile rose in my throat followed by an incessant pounding in my head.  I tried to turn away and go towards the door, but something in my body seemed to mutiny against departure.  All my body seemed to be able to do was to stare ahead at her.  The uncanny maiden in the mirror mesmerized me.  

“Where did you, or the old version of you, go?” I asked her.  I was shaking and the quake of my lips slowed my speaking so that it was in rhythm with the pounding of my heart.

“You did want to learn of the Vale, did you not?” She asked in a hypnotizing soothing voice.  Her hair framed her face and swayed as if there was a quiet tempest beginning to form behind the mirror.

“Yes, but not this way.  I thought I was maybe going to be lent a few books or something, not start hallucinating.”

“You are not hallucinating, you are experiencing knowledge first hand and it’s too late to turn back now I’m afraid.”  The lullaby cadence of her voice contrasted with the dark implications of her words.

‘What do you mean it’s too late to turn back’ I thought.  Before I could speak my fears I began to see a second shadowy figure in the mirror next to the maiden.  It was hazy at first but seemed to become clearer as the seconds past.

I was afraid of what I would see if I continued to look at the figures in the mirror so I looked away and that’s when I noticed my hands.

The lines in my knuckles were deepening by the second and my skin was becoming thinner and paler.  Taking a lock of hair in hand, I watched it turn from gold to a white sliver in mere moments.  My clothes became heavier as I felt my frame shorten and thin.

“What’s happening?” I cried, “Make it stop.  Make it stop”

I put my hands over my eyes to catch the tears.  I didn’t want to see my face in the mirror, I was afraid of what I would see, ashamed of the hideous appearance that was sure to greet me.  

“To understand the Vale you must be close to it both physically and in time.  Like I said before, the change is only temporary and fear not, for the sigil upon your body will protect you during our journey.”

“What do you mean, our journey?”

“Open your eyes and see.”  She commanded.

Wanting to confirm that the black protective marks were still there I removed my wrinkled hands from my eyes.  Yes, the marks were still there, but it appeared everything else had changed.  I was no longer in the cabin but in an expanse of silver mist.  Turning around I realized with a shock that I knew where I was.  Behind me I could see the room of the cabin, but it appeared within the brocade frame, just out of reach.  I knew that I was now on the other side of the mirror with the maiden.  That second shadowy figure that was appearing in the mirror had been me and as it became clearer within the mirror I must have blurred within in the real world till I had somehow transitioned fully to the other side.  

Engulfed with confusion and fear I ran towards the bright cabin room within the brocade frame but the maiden grasped my arm and pulled me away from the light.  I tried to break away but realized with humiliating defeat that I was now weak, and she was now strong.

The brief struggle made me breathe heavy and I inhaled the smoky haze of the new atmosphere.  The air felt somehow charged, like how it feels right before a storm.  The misty air didn’t make me cough, but the electric nature of it caused my lungs to prickle slightly with each gulping breath.  

My muscles relaxed as my resolve faltered. I surrendered to the fact that I was utterly defenseless in this foreign space.  

“Ok” I said to the maiden.  My shoulders slumped defeated and she let go of my arm.  Five red marks where her fingers had been shone bright against the paleness of my skin.

“Lead me then” I said, hopeful that her words were true and this was indeed all temporary.  

I followed her further away from the light of the mirror, deeper into the mist.  I could make out rows of trees but all else was obscured by the silvery wisps.  The mist was thick and I could barely see as if layers of gauze obscured my vision.

“Where are we?”  I blinked my eyes hoping it would improve my sight yet all I could make out was the green of the pines that surrounded us.

“These trees are familiar, are they not?  And this path beneath our feet?”  She asked.

“We are in the forests beyond your cabin.” I remarked with realization.  “But it looks different in this heavy mist.  And the temperature’s different.  There’s no snow and the air is warm.

Are we beyond the Vale?”  I started to connect the dots. “Does this mean… are we dead?”  

“We are not dead, and we are not beyond the Vale, we are within it.”  

“We are within it...What does that mean?” While I still felt fear, it now simmered down in the base of my stomach as a new sensation started to swim through my brain.  Curiosity began to sharpen my eyes and flow waves of energy through my body.  As I walked with the maiden it seemed as if I glided over the surface of the ground and I started to relish in the sublimity of the experience.  My legs felt like liquid yet my body felt light as air.

“We are in the in-between.  A place that exists without time.”  The maiden gestured with her arm upwards and the mists moved and swirled around her slim frame.  “From here, you can see and experience both realms.  Though I don’t recommend we stay long for there are those that get lost in the mists and end up on the wrong side.”

As she said this I heard a rustling noise from my left and jumped with the sound.

“What is that?  Are there others here?” I took a step closer to her hoping that she had brought some kind of weapon.  Looking at her tight fitted dress, I thought probably not.  Yet she didn’t seem afraid.

“Yes, there are many that linger here.”  She reached towards her left sleeve and pulled it up to reveal a black sigil identical to mine.  

“I drank the tea before transforming just as you did.”  She smiled warmly.

“What did you put in it?” I asked

“Oh, just a combination of bay laurel, angelica, and perhaps a couple of other secret ingredients.” she said with a wink.

“And this will protect us? Protect us from what, from who?” I asked looking at the black lines that dancing beneath my skin.

“Ah, those are questions for another day I’m afraid.  Besides, we are not here for them, we are here for something else.”  She continued. “Tell me, why did you fear the aging of your body?  Why were you afraid to look upon your own face.”

I wanted to ask more about the mysterious sounds in the distance but I didn’t want to press the one person who would be able to, hopefully, take me back.

I considered her question for a moment.

“I guess it’s because I’m not ready to be old.  I have too much to do.” I replied.

“Is that truly your answer? She asked.

“Yes” I said stubbornly.  “I don’t want to give up my youth and beauty.  I need strength and youth to accomplish my goals.  I can’t be just be some little old lady struggling to carry her groceries home.  When you’re old, you’re weak and need to rely on others.  Age strips away your independence and your dignity”

“Do not be sorry for those that have lost the strength of their body, be sorry for those that have not yet built up the strength of their mind.”  She scolded.

“I’m sorry, you’re right.  I didn’t mean to offend.”  I replied.  

“I’ve caused you to experience age to show you that it is not a punishing sentence.  It is not something to be feared or disgusted by.  Age is power.”

“What power? Do you mean the power of wisdom?” I asked.

“Ah, that is a common misconception.  Just because one is old, it does not mean they are wise. What I speak of is the power of perspective.  Only those years away from moving beyond the vale can look upon their life with perspective.  Those that have achieved this perspective have a greater sense and understanding of time.”

“How so?” I asked

“Just as I aged you and provided myself with youth, time within one’s life can be manipulated with perspective.  One can mold years of time into chunks of unimportance to be forgotten as if that time never occurred.  And indeed, as they are forgotten they cease to exist.  Just because this process occurs in your mind does not make it any less real.  On the other side, you can take a positive memory and form it into a foundation of your being, making that moment exist not in the past, but as a living entity that vibrates through your body in a continuous state of timelessness.  You are the master of your own time and can form it to your will.  As one ages they slowly begin to realize this perspective, understand the moldable nature of time and how they can consciously manipulate this force.  This is why, when anthropomorphized, time appears as an elderly ‘father time’ or the female equivalent, a wrinkled crone.”

The maiden turned from the main path and headed along a smaller side trail.  

“Where are we going?” I followed several paces behind her as I contemplated her words.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

After a few moments the mists began to thin and a large pond came into view.  The color of the water was unlike anything I had seen before.  It was a clear light blue, almost white and it produced a slight glow that rippled beneath the surface.  Bright sparks of golden light glimmered atop its surface like stars.

“This pond is just a shadow of the understanding one receives beyond the vale.  Reach in and touch the waters.”  She said softly.

I bent down and plunged my hand beneath the glassy surface of the water.  The water was cool to the touch and felt light, as if it was a combination of smoke and liquid.  Beneath the water I could see that my hand was once again youthful with taut skin and the nail polish I had applied just that morning. Yet, when I took my hand out of the water, the skin and bones became old once again.  

I glanced up towards the far side of the pond where a great stag had approached the stream to drink.  As he drank the waters, his horns slowly retreated into his head and he began to shrink, finally forming bright white spots atop his thick coat.  Noticing my glare, the stag, now a small faun, stopped drinking and leaped back into the forest.

“This pond.. this pond is full of Time isn’t it.” I asked.

“Yes, these waters are but a glimmer, a reflection of time.” The Maiden said.

“It’s beautiful” I exclaimed.  I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”  

The maiden smiled  “Would you like to take a drink?”

“Will it make me young again?” I asked  

“Yes.”    

“Does that mean I must leave?  I want to stay and learn more of this place.  How far does the Vale extend? What happens when we cross it and what happens after?  What other knowledge, and people, and creatures are here among these trees?”  My current appearance was forgotten as my curiosity took hold.  So many questions, so many thoughts floated through my mind.

“Those are questions for a crone to ponder, not a maiden I’m afraid.  Answers such as these must be earned.  For you, your time here is running out.  For you are still a maiden in heart.  The crone you see in the waters reflection is but a cloak of age, a vision of your future.”  

The maiden reached towards the ground and took in hand a silver goblet that had been lying by the water's edge.

“Drink the water and return.”  She said.  “I ask but one thing.  I ask that as you age you will remember the wonder and curiosity you feel now.  And in that way you will find comfort in age and greet time as an old friend.

“I will remember. I promise.”  A took the silver cup in hand and dipped it into the water.  Touching it to my lips I closed my eyes and I felt the cool rush of liquid flow down my throat.  A strange happiness invaded me.  It started in the base of my stomach and flowed down my thighs till even my toes seemed to be experiencing joy.  All the fear I had felt before was forgotten and I felt a warm comfort.  

Upon opening my eyes, I was no longer next to the silvery pond with the maiden by my side.  I was back in the cabin in the armchair.  In the hearth, there was no longer a mirror, and checking my arm I found no black sigil.  My youth was fully restored.  

I turned to my right, hearing a noise coming from the kitchen.  The woman, now returned to her crone form, was putting cookies on a plate as if nothing had happened.

“How long were we gone?”  I asked

Still recovering from the sublime rollercoaster of emotion I was a bit unsteady on my feet as I walked towards the kitchen.

“Oh, just a few minutes.  Just long enough for the cookies to be done upon our return.”  She smiled and gave me a wink.

“Be sure to take one on your way back, it’s a long journey back to the city.”

“Thank you.” I said taking a warm chocolate cookie from her plate.  

The sense of beauty, fear, and wonderment still swam through my brain but just I tried to hold on to that feeling of exhilaration, it began to slip away like the remembrance of a dream.  

“Will I see you again?” My face flushed with hope as I buttoned my winter coat.

“Maybe” The crone smiled and gave me a wink “If the time is right.”