A dear friend of mine, Eugene, takes monthly instruction at the time of the new moon, for a task of deepening and learning needed at this time. This month’s instructions were to journey with the Wounded Witch Archetype. Archetypal energies have a more generic effect that resounds throughout the species, through time, space, culture and community, as well as the effects being felt on a more personal, individual level. Working from a place of deep connection, as is the way with earth based spirituality, it was no surprise that his learning journey would run in parallel with my own. In fact the teachings he brought forth helped me to recognise that I was healing the Wounded Witch with in me, and in order to bring her home I would need to meet the wound of her sacred masculine and sacred feminine aspects and bring them back into relationship.
I strongly believe that the troubles we see around us in the world today are caused by the imbalance and distortion of our fundamental archetypal energies, the sacred masculine and the sacred feminine. This “corruption” manifests in many ways on many levels and is, in my opinion, sorely misunderstood and misrepresented. Many of the methods used to treat the wound, unwittingly cause an even deeper one. It had been my plan to run a weekend workshop, around this very subject and to take a deep drive into the heart of these energies to find a better understanding. However, due to circumstances outside of my control, these plans did not come to fruition. It would seem instead that an alternative route for this exploration was to be provided for me.
It began with an undeniable pull to go to the sea, to feel the wild wind spraying salt water upon my face, and the energy scrub you feel from the ionised air. I didn’t just want salt water though, I needed to be near wild fresh water too and the still, deep, calm of the wellspring pool. I felt drawn to the coastal waters of North Devon, in particular to a headland called Hartland, not far from where I grew up. It also transpires that I have ancestral connections with the area. I had been feeling stuck for sometime and knew that something needed to shift, a block within my energy field, the wild waters of land and sea would be just the remedy I needed, of this I was sure.
Firstly I found an ancient well that had been bound by stone and iron, held fast by the holy man that had given it his name. A 5th Century hermit monk called St Nectan had once blessed, then cursed this well and banished it from human eyes. As I stood and gazed upon its waters, reaching through the iron bars to cup them to my brow, throat and chest, I found myself offering blessings for liberation and freedom to the waters. A deep sense of their stagnation through dogma fear and greed so mirrored in our outer world today. My heart felt into the ancientness of this water spring and the power that lies within the land, shackled and closeted and knew that it is time to set them free, to wake them up and release them from our human tyranny.
The water here was dead, no sparkle of essence, flat and green, the path neglected, the little glen forgotten, old metal gates propped upon each other to provide a barrier baring entry to the woods, the wooden doors that once shut out prying eyes no-longer hung upon their hinges. There was no love here, no nurture, no nature even, hemmed in on either side but concrete walls and tumbling garden sheds. No shred of reverence left, abandoned, neglected, disconnected from original source. This was the mirror of the sacred masculine reflected in the Wounded Witch, crippled by dogma, iron bound and boarded, blind and disconnected unable to find his way.
Next I was to find waterfall, where wild water meets wild sea. I had thought that I would find it here at Hartland but that was for another day. I did however make it to the cliff tops of the headland, where I sat fully in my fear. This whole day I had felt very liminal, not grounded, unearthed, spaced out, but I sat with it on the cliffs and stared fully into the face of my fear. As I walked the coast path, past the tower constructed by the monks as a bell tower or light house to safe guard sailors and protect the monastery in the valley below, I had flashes of memory. Maybe mine from a life lived before or maybe tapping into the collective witch wound, but we had definitely been thrown from the tops of those cliffs in front of that tower and cast to our deaths for witchery, I felt the burning flesh from within the pyres and throats burning with water as they drowned us in the wells. And thanks to the postings of Eugene’s parallel journey and the honouring work that he was doing, I was able it sit with all of this and sing it into the sea, release the wound and welcome me back with soul song soothing me home.
As a Sacred Fire Keeper I have been looking for my Hearth Stones to protect and surround my ceremonial fires. These journeys with the Wounded Witch to bring the Sacred Feminine and Masculine into right relationship, the fire and the water, I was sure would bring them to me. It did not surprise me then to find the first of these in the rubble of the ruined tower, the perfect representative of the wounded masculine being brought home to build a new fire, a new hearth and a more balanced way of being. My day on Hartland had been an experiential dive into the Masculine Wound of the Witch and I was finally beginning to bring her home. Tomorrow would be a journey into the Feminine wound to discover what lay there.
For this iconic place, Tarr Steps, to be the place to work with the Sacred Feminine in my Wounded Witch is apposite indeed. This bridge, with origins dating back to the Bronze Age, is indicative of mankind’s slow but steady divorce from it’s connection to nature. I believe that our separation, our disconnection, began with the ascent of farming, when we no-longer worked with nature as an integral part of her, but worked on her bending her to our will in service of our needs. Chopping and clearing, hacking and slashing, digging and up rooting we no-longer lived in the landscape at one with it, but we began to live on the landscape in-animating it. We stopped seeing a living vibrant ecosystem of life, our planet became nothing more than a dissociated lump of rock at our disposal. The Sacred Feminine in her distorted form. And this is where my Wounded Witch had led me.
Lying just inside the Somerset boarder crossing the River Barle, this has been a place of pilgrimage for me for many years. I used to bring my children here regularly, but oh how it has changed over the years. It was once a wild and remote place with limited parking and a sense of being visited by those whom felt a connection. Sadly in more recent years it has been taken on by the National Trust with a large carpark and constant footfall that allows no rest and recuperation. The tiredness of the place is palpable.
I used to river walk against the current here and swim in the deep bathing pools on the Barle’s snaking bends, pools that were teaming with fish. This once mighty river can not muster enough water to cover my body, even prone, and that is not merely down to the expansion of my girth. There are no fish to be seen leaping for the gnats that hover on her surface. And with her tears of tiredness I cried mine, connecting in with the feelings that haven’t been felt, silenced, smothered, suppressed not allowed. It was then that I realised how afraid I have been to be me, this is the wound deep at the heart of woman, the Witch with hand over mouth and throat, silently screaming let me be, LET ME BE and so I let her in, I let me in and then finally felt land beneath my feet and my roots dug into the earth. Now it is time to Be.
And so finally, in bringing this un-wounding work to it’s close, one last journey, one more stone for the hearth and a deep connection to bring this Wild Witch home.
A gift of wild water and sea, I was taken to Woody Bay, another place that felt that thread of ancestry, kindly driven by a friend of mine as coastal roads grip my belly in anxiety and hold terror in my chest. The weather was hanging, grey, still and silent as we walked the cliff path, amongst ancient oaks, down to a hidden cove. We sat and appreciated natures art as we ate our packed lunch. A clan of robins darted back and forth making their guardian presence known, this was their cove and respect should be shown. I made sure to leave them offerings, sharing grain and sproutlings from my sandwich.
It wasn’t until I got home and saw this photo that I realised who the Robins had been guarding. Before leaving this magic cove I wanted to meet this waterfall, after all the original pull had been to find where wild water fell into wild sea and here it was. Something in me, though, was acutely aware of the need for humility when making my approach. I held a submissive posture and asked permission to draw close, to give offerings and gratitudes, to seek cleansing and clearing. Each footing was carefully chosen and I went no further than it felt was acceptable. In retrospect, seeing the power of the spirit that dwells in this place, I am so grateful for the grace I have been given. And another Hearth Stone for my sacred fire.
As if this weren’t enough, Robin came to offer conversation as we left. We took a moment to sit by the old lime kiln and listen to the fluttering of the leaves as the trees above released them in orchestrated flurries. I noticed one of the Robins perched upon the wall directly opposite me and as I watched him I realised that he was bobbing his head at me, asking if he could come closer and join me. I bobbed back in return, accepting his request. There followed a good 20 minutes of close conversation between myself and the Robin, he moved all around me, all but hopping onto my hand. I do believe he would have if we’d had a little longer time. And now I feel a sense of peace, of power and connection, enough to let this wounded witch find song and solace and substance, so that she may find her place and her home.
with respect and gratitude 🙏❤️🔥
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