Unbinding the womb - disenchanting the predators
The time between the lunar eclipse and the solar eclipse offers a powerful opportunity to disenchant our bondage. That which is enchanted is enchained. It's a powerful time to break those chains. I recently conducted a ritual that offered profound clarity about the nature of my chains and their direct correlation to my recently unconscious will to enchant and seduce predators.
The waxing crescent moon is prime for binding spells. The waning gibbous moon, prime for breaking bonds. Add in the power of a lunar eclipse conception with a solar eclipse completion and you have prime territory for breaking the most constrictive chains. For me, those chains happen to be sexual and predatory in nature. The deeper I step into my shadows, the more I discover that the chains that bind me are strictly forged by my own enchantments.
These enchantments are now conscious, thanks to the ritual I'll detail below. I've repeatedly spread my legs to irreverent players who either wanted to get high off of my energy, ride my coat tails or thieve my dreams. And I've often found myself in less than savory situations where "stop" registered as "more" or a riveting new love interest suddenly ghosted me after leeching my sexual gifts, leaving me feeling used and abandoned. As a lover of my fate, I must assume full responsibility for putting myself in these situations. It's come to light, via the power of the eclipses, how much I've reinforced the pattern of enchanting myself to irreverence and degradation. I'm closer to why more than ever.
I invoked both the power of the eclipse and my bleeding cunt to bring the patterns of self-sabotage to light so that they may be healed. I wanted to recapitulate each and every story I'd tucked away into my womb, every question of honor and worth, every glowing worm of shame left by predatory jizz, every compromise I'd made for blind faith in strange love. The draw of the moon beckoned my sanguine warden to search-light the shame, reveal the compromise, reveal my inclination to cast my pearls before irreverent swine and degrade the sacred integrity of my sexual bliss. I discovered that my unconscious desire to become sexual prey slowly awakened the fierce father within, to protect and heal my deepest wounds of worthiness. I'd never had a father and I needed to learn to protect myself entirely, righteously. I needed to learn to be a warrior for the love of the daughter within. I know now how much I've deeply feared that responsibility - how much I've wanted the strange world to assume that role for me.
I'll let you peek in on the ritual. The gibbous waning moon had my ready for the unbinding time. Harnessing the power of my womb, I asked my premenstrual woes to reveal the healing most needed. Morning breath-work helped me follow my body's stagnant energy to the concentrated pools in my belly. The stagnancy swamped my womb, every day. There was anger. Hot, electric demons left by the takers, jailed by the giver. The night of the ritual, I cleaned my altar and smudged my body. While masturbating, I imagined an archetype - a reverent dream-boat, fucking me proper with the love I needed to integrate my shadows into consciousness. I harvested a hefty reserve of blood and orgasmic fluid which served as a ritual medium. Candles lit, incense offered, boundaries set, I set to invoke the chain breaking prestige of the waning gibbous refraction.
Cellos played to draw out the drama in a waltzing charade of minors refracting the moon against the majors of the dawning solar eclipse. I dipped my brush into my blood and cum and observed the nature of my body's ink as it played against the high-toothed canvas amidst the blessed light of my ritual candles. My inky medium did not play like paint. They inked but clung to the page in gelatinous strings of remembrance, leaching from my brush as the predators leached from my sex. As I lifted my brush, the sanguine strings realigned to their own imprints, as if the blood did not want to find a new path.
The chains became clear. The patterns reinforced. Each line revealed the story of my own hypnosis: an inclination to sabotage, a fear of responsibility, a frivolous exaltation of a player piggy. The nature of my ritual fluid forced my patience and afforded a careful observation of the story behind each persistent line - each enchained pattern. The power of every sexual experience was revealed. Akin to pharmacopeia, sex could be medicine or poison. In order to truly heal myself, I would need to carefully observe the lover's medicine and carefully observe my own needs. As the solar eclipse draws near, I'm devising a ritual to consecrate this keen wisdom.
Soon, I'll invoke the power of the solar eclipse to help me integrate my shadow - my resistance to the responsibility of being a father to myself. The power to heal and protect myself through righteous self-love and deepening awareness will eclipse my attachment to laurel-lounging in blissful naivety to the power of my empathy.
Its taken quite a bit of inner work and blessings to get to this level of revelation. If you are inspired to dig deep into your shadows and discover your power on an implicit level, I can help you along with private coaching. We all have unique wounds to heal. Magic and ritual helps the unconscious become conscious. I'm wishing you all the best beneath this Great American Eclipse.