The Harvest Moon- The Darkening, The Fallow and The Doorway


The Wild Unknown  Tarot

The year is darkening, the Sun is still hot, but the nights are growing colder. Soon the days will grow cold too, and the land will grow heavy with spirits and the need to sacrifice at the time of the Red Harvest.

A few nights ago, Old Crow came to me in a dream. He comes and goes as he pleases. He tends to become louder during the darkening, closer to the Red Harvest, or the Barren months, but maybe this year winter has come early for me, darkening my thoughts and seeping into my bones. Maybe it is because my birthday is less than a month away and it is the big 2 7. It is supposed to mean something. It is 9. An ending, the culmination of all that has come before, a harvest.

In the cards, it is the Harvest that covers me.

It is also 5. The Hierophant- Old Crow himself.


I felt at great peace on the Equinox. I did nothing grand up until the evening, when I braved calling on the Devil, the Phouka. My Sunday morning was spent taking the Hellion for a walk and spending time with The Hedgehog. At the park, I came across the feathers of Goose, and the rarest of finds, a feather of Owl. Sometimes it can feel like the whole world is falling apart, like nothing is in place, like nothing is right, but when Owl and Goose come together at once, like the Sun and the Moon, for a moment, I can feel the Three threading the way.


My relationship with The Phouka is still very new, there have been offerings of rotting and overripe fruit, there have been libations of wine, cane and spirits, but on the Equinox, I offered absinthe, his very favourite. He came. The Hellion went ballistic, and I could feel his breath upon my neck. The harvest has come and I must tread the mountain.


I have projects in the making, a book which needs writing. But I am covered by my own thoughts. Why does the darkening make me so depressed? Why can I not see the way?

The Devil is the doorway. He is the horned gateway between here and there. He is the ride. I need to let go of the how and walk through the flames with him as my guide. The letting go is difficult, because being stuck is what I have always fallen back on. It is easier to not move forward than to go digging into that wild, unknown place. Or at least, that is how it seems. How easy is it to live a life in the fallow?

I am beginning to dream of the Old Goat more often, his hoofs pounding away in my head like a ticking clock, like a drum beat. The Red harvest is coming and there are tithes to pay.


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