Daffodil Moon

It was a Full Moon on St David’s Day, and there will be another Full Moon before the month is through, and that makes this a rare year indeed – two Blue Moons, the second of which occurs in the month of my birth. If there ever was an auspicious time for a Welsh Witch to return to her Self, this is surely it.

Sometimes I have to withdraw from the world and be still, until I remember who I Am. The more flashy, dramatic, and distracting the world is; the more I have to let it go. It is only in silence that you can hear the still, small voice of who you are, tugging on your sleeve, reminding you to return to your passions; the blood of your existence; your reason for being.

The reality of my Self is not one that everybody likes. But I like her. I like being a Witch. I like knowing which plants kill and which plants cure. I like being chaotic, and running outside at night. I like to be free. I love to live wholly, and wildly. And I love to travel, wherever my heart and the Wind takes me.

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March’s Full Moon is the Chaste Moon – for the Earth is yet as a Maiden, dressed in white and grey, trembling at the first touch of the gentle Sun like a snowdrop shivers as it opens its petals to the cold. Apart from such early blooming flowers as this, the land is still void of life; beautiful, to be sure – dressed in winter’s whitest lace – but as of yet, incapable of bearing any life but the fragile snowdrop.

And then – here comes the daffodil of St. David, springing up while there is still snow on the ground – and there could not possibly be a more apt symbol of the sun’s lengthening hours and increasing strength than this bright yellow flower cropping up overnight, flooding the landscape with golden light. This is what the daffodil of March ultimately represents – sunlight, and the promise of abundance.

There are no daffodils where I live now in Los Angeles, although they are plentiful just a few hours north in Santa Barbara. Nonetheless, I meditate on them now – their bright yellow light, after the long winter months.

But one of the reasons that daffodils grow in such easy abundance is the fact that they are harbingers of death as well as life. Most animals will avoid eating them, for they are poisonous (so always be careful of your curious cats and dogs when you bring them into the house), and their stems secrete a fluid that kills other nearby plants. Humans with sensitive skin should also beware, as the sap of the daffodil  can irritate the skin and aggravate existing skin conditions.

It is the nature of our strange and mysterious world that life and death walk hand in hand the way they do in this beautiful flower – and I find it natural that life and death walk hand in hand within me as well. Yet again, it only adds to the deep symbolism associated with the Sun, which both warms us with its golden light and feeds us as it brings our crops to grow – and by the same hand kills us if we linger too long beneath its rays.

Thus the daffodil is a powerful flower to meditate upon as I move towards the Vernal Equinox – but it is probably safer not to make any potions or elixirs from it.