Persephone’s Story 4/4

What shape of the story moves thru you

Finally! At long last…I feel better!

Spring sprung in the Colorado foothills, followed by two steps backwards into winter this week. Spring is a funny dance. She takes us on a back-and-forth ride in some places.

Transitions, change and returns can also be like this. Fog. And then you see the path forward. Little by little, emerging into focus, into view.

What lies ahead as you return from out of the slumber of winter? From out of the fog of Neptune in Pisces, leaving the tail end of the zodiac and entering a new beginning in Aries. Activate! Rise! Rise more! Spiritual warrior time.

Image: Unknown

“Still like air, I rise” —Maya Angelou

Persephone might have more guidance for us in these times than we realize. I do not know how she speaks through you. I do not yet know how she speaks through me. I look forward to finding out.

Some say that the name Persephone means bringer of death. Others say it means bringer of light. Either way she brings change. She brings illumination from out of the dark. She tends that which has died. She gives life to that which was hollowed. She brings us into the light again. and into the light. She is the soul, rising, taking up its destiny. Again and again and again.

No longer a maiden. Now, seasoned queen. Crowned with wisdom. Traveling between the worlds.

She is a Psychopomp. As writers, we too catch the mysteries on our pens, that double as caduceus. Our pen, transfers messages from the below to the above. Lifting words as spells to our lips. We speak what we did not previously know. We give birth to new worlds with our words.

“In the end, what we fear will not go away, for it indicates what we must go through in order to awaken, become more genuine, and live more fully. The problem is that we tend to be most afraid of what our own souls require of us. Often our deepest fear is that we might become who we are intended to be, who we already are at our core. For becoming who we truly are requires the greatest amount of change.”

Michael Meade, Why the World Doesn't End: Tales of Renewal in Times of Loss

Story with me. Friday, 4/4 at 11 am mountain time. Come sit by the mythopoetic fireside with your pen and a journal, art supplies. Bring a candle and your tea. Place a small bowl of water on your altar. Sprinkle some salt in it. Invite tears. Invite grief. Invite cleansing. Invite purification. Invite baptism. Invite the threshold of change.

Let’s write/rite/right our way through winter turning into spring; through death and into life. With the aid of Hecate’s lantern, Demeter’s longing and Persephone’s resilient shamanic soul leading the way. May they awaken our inner daughter, inner mother and ancient wise woman trinity. She who knows has things to say.

She who has longing, has words which we need to hear. She who is timeless, casts her witness on our circle, protectively.

Art: Walter Crane, Masque of the four seasons

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