In First Nations tradition, this moon was known as the Snow Moon, because the heaviest snows fell during the last part of winter, in February. Last month, in January, we referred to the Full Moon as the Snow Moon, as 28 inches fell over Faerewood and surrounding lands. This is another whisper of the transformation of our weather patterns, and the change of climate.

Change can be challenging and difficult, and this one certainly will be, for the rest of our lives.

Most of us would prefer to have more control over the changes that sweep us from year to year, even as we understand that this is not possible, and She changes everything She touches. Take in a breath, and let it go, and see yourself releasing the need to control every portion of your life. Releasing the fear of uncertainty, settling into a deeply rooted understanding of your place in the cosmos, and your work in this lifetime.

Take in a breath and let it out, following it inwards to your belly, and outwards to touch every part of your world. Take in another breath, and hold for a moment; see it moving into every part of you, and as you release the breath, release tension. Settle into your own rhythm of breathing, pausing, breathing again.

With eyes shut, you sense rather than see a cool curtain of sparkling mist create itself before you. In your mind’s eye, move forward until you feel the mist curtain sparking against your face, and step through it, to a bright and silent plain of grass, with a single mighty oak tree at the top of a slight rise, several hundred yards away.

You walk towards the tree on its hill, feeling the grasses swish against your legs, and the cool air move past your skin, without a sound. You can see that this plain stretches on for miles, but have no sense of the space – it could be painted on a sheet standing only a few yards off.

As you approach the small hill, you see the oak tree loom larger, and soon tower over you, like a 30 story building. Its trunk is wide, as wide as a street. As you begin to step up the small hill, you begin to see a shape on the trunk of the oak. Closer still, it becomes a door of heavy planks, set into the trunk. In the center of the door is a round ring; a handle by which you might pull the door open.

When you arrive at the base of the mighty oak, it is as if you are in a room indoors, you and the tree trunk. And the door, which you now see is painted green and gold, overlaid and darkened with age. You reach out and touch the handle ring – it is cold bronze, and touching it sends a shock like a spark through your whole body. You grab the ring and pull, and it does not yield. You turn it within the door, and it seems to move the door a little, and suddenly the door pops open, and you see the top of a darkened stairway leading downwards, into the hill. There is a torch in a holder, and you take it up, and begin to descend the cold stone stairs.

As you move deeper into the earth, your feet upon the stone steps are like a drumbeat echoing your heart. The air feels colder, and the echoes of your footfalls bounce forward and back, creating an odd melody. The torch in your hand illuminates just far enough ahead of you that you can move fairly quickly, without think too much about where you are going. Until that thought enters your mind, and you slow your steps, and stop, listening.

The silence is thick about you, broken only by the blood rushing in your ears and the occasional hiss of the torch in your hand. The stairway is silent, but you have a sense of how far you have come, and how far you have left to go, to reach the bottom. You begin to hear something from below; uncertain, you move a few steps forward, listening.

The faint sounds are accompanied by a breath of air, that carries a suggestion of decay, a whisper of rot. A few more steps, and you being to hear music from below, from instruments you do not recognize. You begin to descend again, not as quickly as before, but with purpose. The scent of the air changes as you move, from the redolence of decay to the sharpness of early spring growth. You notice the light is stronger, even as your torch gutters and fails.

Quite suddenly, you step out into a sunlight glade in early spring, naked trees rising on all sides, green herbs sprouting from the forest floor. You step forward into green growth, smelling the herbs crushed beneath your feet. You notice a plant with tiny leaves, and tinier white flowers like stars growing everywhere, and as your gaze lifts from the star-like flowers, a Maiden stands before you. She is young and comely, and armed with a bow and quiver on her back. But she is focused on the green plants, and both hands are full of plants plucked from the ground.

She holds them out to you, and you take them, and eat them. They taste like your first love, like the recognition of your power when you were young and the world was newly born. Your vision explodes as the room becomes huge and the walls move out of your sight. Quite suddenly, your world becomes endless and exciting, anything could happen at any moment! You come back to yourself a little, and see the Maiden smiling at you from the other side of the glade. She nods and turns to go. You start to follow, and pause: She is within you, and you can choose your own path.

You turn to retrace your steps to the stairs, and the oak tree is before you, it’s doorway open wide. Stepping through the door, you find yourself once again on the crest of a low hill in a grassland, but now it is drenched in sound and color and brilliant sunlight. Birds and insects are singing, plants are growing and you can hear them stretch and reach. A family of deer move by on their way to feed. You can see the roots of the grasses spreading through the soil, and the clouds winging past your hill. You close your eyes, and feel the abundance of the space around you. Eyes closed, you feel the caress of the sparkling mist on your face, and step through it to return home.

Breath in, and feel the power of the Springtide fill you, and enliven your very core. Feel your fingers itching to dig in the earth. Return to yourself.

As the Wolf Full Moon rises to its peak this evening, we are enjoying the drama of a blizzard outside our windows. (enjoying especially since the power is still on!) Our plans to visit with the Goddess Arianrhod in Her crystal castle this evening, in ritual, are put on hold for the time being, but She is still very near in my thoughts.

The Welsh myths that describe Arianrhod portray Her as cruel and deceptive. She was to have been the ceremonial virgin to serve Her uncle, the King Math ap Mathonwy, but was magickally impregnated (in theory) by Her brother Gwydion. She bore two sons but rejected them, placing three curses (geis) on one of them. Gwydion tricked Her into giving this son—Lleu Llaw Gyffes—his birthright name, weapons and a wife. I suspect that thousands of years of patriarchy have cast a pall over the original story—the idea of a wife being one’s birthright anchors this firmly into the category of male privilege.

What if we see the birthing of Arianrhod’s two magickal children as miraculous instead of shameful or deceitful—as we have seen in other myths? One child, Dylan, flew directly to the ocean, his home, a mystery in itself. The other, who would become Lleu, was stolen and imprisoned by Gwydion, who imprinted the creature with his own ideas of what a boy child should be. Upon seeing him, Arianrhod laid Her curses on the child, saying he would not pass his important milestones without Her help. The story tells that Gwydion tricked Her into providing that help twice, and used his own magick to create a wife for Lleu Llaw Gyffes.

In discussion with our Assembly Elder Michael Smith, I learn that Arianrhod is a Goddess of love and honesty, although it certainly doesn’t seem that way at first glance. From the myth, a virgin is portrayed as a woman who has not had intercourse with a man, rather than a woman who is Her own person and wields Her own power. Being required by King Math to “step over the magickian’s rod” (ahem), She is discovered to be pregnant, filled with Her own magick, and therefore not a blank slate, untouched, for the King’s purposes. Arianrhod does provide Her son with the gifts, but these are things that he already possesses; his true self (name) and his ability to use his own power (the weapons). Who can blame Her if She looks at the situation with anger and bitterness? Gwydion has taken Her magickal potential, and turned it into a creature under his own control.

To approach Her in Her castle requires the strength of Will to move past the forms and structures built by others for their own purposes, and arrive at the very Center of True North. If we approach this Goddess with the intention to understand Her more fully, we should start with the desire to understand what our own gifts and skills are, without any overlay of belief that has been applied to us by others. Ask Arianrhod to help you look at yourself with honesty, unflinching, and reveal your gifts to you from a place of truth.

And don’t be too surprised if this Full Moon in Leo turns this all into a huge production!

Audio version:

You are walking on a forest path on a moonless night. Above you is a vast field of stars broken by the naked branches of trees. The night is cold, and the taste of the air in your mouth is like a drink of cool sparkling water. You walk, not knowing your destination, knowing only that this is an important path, not on the journey of feet, but on the journey of soul.

After some time, the stars ahead are obscured by a bulk of darkness. As you draw closer, the dark shape looms high overhead. Your feet encounter rocks, and you nearly stumble several times. Go slowly—there is no hurry.

Within several more steps, you begin to feel a damp breath on your face, colder even than the night air. There is a smell of earth and other, more subtle odors. You shuffle forward and your hands touch rock, dank and slick with moisture. Hands before you, you feel your way into what seems to be a cave. The opening is wide, but soon begins to narrow and constrict in height, forcing you to stoop. The unknown lies ahead, but your will is strong. This alone carries you forward.

Ten, twenty, thirty halting steps, and suddenly the cave opens to a chamber whose size you can only guess from the echoes of your steps. You pause, and listen.

From some distance away, you hear footsteps, and rasping breath. Not daring to move, you wait. A shuffle, an echo, a cough. Then, in an instant, a voice from right in front of you, “Seeker, why have you come to this place?”

In the darkness, you can barely make out her form. Her eyes, level with your own, glow with an unearthly blue light, like that of the hottest part of a flame. You answer her question as best you can, but you really don’t know why. She stops you, saying, “This is the darkest night, the darkest Moon. This is my time, and I have drawn you here. I am the Crone, who stands at the crossroads between darkness and light. Come, we must walk.”

She takes you by the hand and leads you deeper into the cave. The darkness gathers around you until it is complete. Your world narrows to the sound of steps and breath, echoing from the cold rock. You must trust in the Ancient One who holds your hand in hers.

After some time, the path begins to narrow and descend. She leads you, your hands on her shoulders, down and down, as the way turns to an endless set of stairs, winding down into the Earth.

At last, the stairs end, and you are once more in a larger chamber. Dim light filters from an unknown source, and you see that the space is dominated by a dark pool of water. The Old One bids you to shed your clothing, then guides you gently to the edge of the pool. You slide into the water. It is not cold, as you expected, but heated to a warmth that soothes and relaxes you. You find that you can float completely immersed in this gentle place. You rest in its depths, without thought or care, for an endless time.

Presently, you feel the touch of a hand, and you are drawn upward into the chamber. You come to your feet, and the Crone stands before you with both of your hands in hers. Slowly, before your wondering eyes, she begins to change. Her dark and withered form becomes straighter, her aspect more youthful with every breath. What once was the most ancient of beings is now a radiant young woman, fair of hair and clothed in flowing white.

“I am the Maiden. With each turn of the Moon, I grow and mature into fullness, then wane again into my ancient self. You have come to me at the moment of my rebirth, and through this, have yourself been reborn. Know this wisdom: you contain within you the power to be reborn endlessly, if you would only realize it. Remember this moment, and carry it with you into your daily life. This is the gift of the Moon, blessed one.”

With that, she leads you once more, ascending now on stairs and path, retracing your journey. Her gentle radiance illuminates the way, and it seems your return to the surface takes no time at all. She stops, and touches you on the shoulder. You kneel, and receive her kiss on your brow, the place of your inner sight. You rise, and depart into the outer world.

Low in the sky, you see the slimmest crescent of light. It is the Old Moon in the New Moon’s arms. The Maiden has returned, bringing hope and light to the world.