A lovin’ coven…a pack of wild women…or a kaleidoscope

We came together under a waning crescent moon, symbol of the wisdom of the crone: a wisdom hard earned and hard learned. The golden hour of evening fluttered, coloring the scene Autumn. Tonight was our Samhain/Dia de los Muertos celebration.

I stepped out of my car, uneasy. I only knew a few of these women. Would this be like a re-run of the 1970’s “Mean Girls with Farrah Hair Laugh at the Tall Weird Girl?” I looked over the crowd…no Farrah hair, no Jordache jeans, and thank the Goddess, no fucking pom poms.

Today I was the Völva, my own fierce version, covered in runes of protection and symbols signifying I was a magical being. I tacked on my fringed veil and placed the antlers on my head. Already I felt safer. Then I grabbed my staff…my masterpiece. One of my talents is that I find bones. I don’t necessarily go out of my way looking for them. I just seem to run across the most perfectly bleached bones while I’m walking my dogs. And this was a perfect wild pig skull. The Universe nodding her head then gave me a perfect branch, almost six feet tall, angled at the top. This staff was designed by Gaia and glued by epoxy.

According to many sources, the Völva was a seeress, a female practitioners of Seidr. The name actually means staff-carrier so the staff inspired the entire “costume.” The blood of Vikings and Germanic Heathens – powerful pagan women – ran through my blood. I’d always known it but in the last few years I was remembering.

A few years ago I took part in a guided meditation to commune with my feminine ancestors on Mother’s Day. In my vision I found myself surrounded by a circle of women – all sorts, all ages. One in a red dress, dancing and spinning. Several swathed in furs, casting bones. The older women draped furs over my shoulder, warming me. They held me in love…pressing small divination bones into my hands, whispering comforting words I didn’t understand. (and until this very moment as I write this, I didn’t realize the theme of bones that seems to repeat).

And today I was again surrounded by a wild array of women. La Catrinas danced to Nancy Sinatra. A mermaid gracefully swam by to her music. A crystal princess presented me with a magical stone while a lovely witch read my cards. Laughter, the song of the Goddess Iambe, tinkled like windchimes. A group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope… and that is the most appropriate term I could imagine for this gathering of Divine Feminine Forces…a kaleidoscope of feminine energy and color.

The evening grew to night and we danced, ate, and laughed, joining our energies together in a way only women can. Monarchs travel alone but in the evenings they rest together, clustering in roosts to stay warm. Anybody who has ever encountered hundreds or thousands of butterflies dancing together on the wind will never forget the experience. Samhain Eve was like that. Clustered together, my kaleidoscope of swirling, dancing sisters warming each other for the long journey ahead is a memory I will never forget.