Choosing Freedom Over Fear: A Samhain Legend

It’s a lunar eclipse in October, falling on Samhain—All Hallows' Eve—the end of the harvest season in the Celtic year, when we turn our attention inwards and give thanks to the ancestors.

A few days before, I receive an intuitive call from the land, as I often do. The instructions are clear: I need to visit the cave—the womb cave—for the night of the eclipse. Alone.

My initial thought? Oh my. This is going to be a tough night.

The instructions come with a clear list of things to take: my professional camera and tripod, wood to build a fire, sleeping bag, my shamanic drum, a little food, water, some tea, and a red rose. The cave is quite a hike—about 45 minutes, much of it uphill. I load up my backpack and do what I'm told. I'm in a phase of not editing what is gifted to me.

But the fear persists. This will be an intense night. Probably quite difficult. Because of the time of year. Because of the beliefs around eclipses being strong endings. Because of the darkness that surrounds Samhain—commonly known as Halloween. All those terrible horror films that paint this time as dark rise in my memory.

But I'm no stranger to this root of this fear.

And I recognize it: Oh, it's you. It's the witch wound.

So I make a choice. Let me dissolve that into neutrality. I’ll approach this night alone in the cave as a night to commune—to commune with the land, the moon, and the guardians of the cave. I won't be alone. And it doesn't have to be dark.

What if I go with complete neutrality? With no expectation of what it might be? What if I just arrive empty and allow myself to be filled by the moment?

And so I do.

I prepare all my things and make my way to the cave, arriving sweaty and heavy around sunset. I anoint my third eye and face with the red and white clays as I always do before entering this sacred site, grateful for the diversity of these wild lands.

As the sun sets behind the mountain and darkness stretches across the lands, I gaze across the valley and see the full moon rising—a golden glow as she crosses the horizon.

And then the magic starts to unfold.

I turn back towards the cave. The sacred womb cave. She's shaped like a vulva—like a woman lying on her back with full lips and a triangular opening where you enter. Above it is a watering hole; when it rains, she leaks from here. And at the very top, a bush lies—her pubis.

I have visited this cave many times, but never have I seen her so mysterious, so radiant, as she is this Samhain night.

The moon cuts across the valley, somehow makes its way through the trees not far from the cave entrance. It is near impossibility that the light will reach the cave due to the angle of the rocks and the foliage. But she does—a perfect alignment that I am here to witness.

It is a miraculous gift.

As I gaze upon this sacred scene, I wonder just how rare this moment is. I slow everything down, breathing in the magic, feeling the gratitude swell in my heart. I turn to face the moon and say, Thank you for calling me here to witness this beauty.

My tripod and camera at the ready, I set her up and start taking photos.

Then the instructions come clear: We need you to be in the picture. And you need to get naked so that your skin will light up in the moonlight. Go and sit at the entrance of the cave. Not only sit, but sit as a Sheila na Gig.

A Sheila na Gig—the ancient sacred figure of feminine power, a woman squatting with legs wide, hands pulling open her vulva in full display. A symbol the church tried to shame into darkness, but who has always been a guardian of thresholds, of birth, of the sacred feminine unashamed.

I'm like, Wow. Okay. That's a big ask.

But I said I wouldn't edit. I said I'd follow the instructions.

And so I set my camera on timer and run down to the cave entrance with the red rose in my hand as an offering to this sacred cave, and I take the amazing photo that spirit has guided me to. To this moment.

Seeing the powerful image back on the screen moves something deep within me. There's a stirring, a departure from within my womb space. I place my hand upon my belly with gratitude and Grace, feeling the healing presence of the red rose deep within my womb space, and give thanks from the depths of my heart.

As the moon rises higher in the sky, the womb cave returns to darkness once more.

I feel called to sit upon a large, flat boulder at the cliff edge. It is time to reveal my drum to the moon, her white reindeer skin reflecting the moonlight in a perfect luminous circle.

The moon climbs higher in the sky. I sit facing the large grandmother stone, and she positions herself in perfect alignment above it. As she traverses the stone in a graceful arc, I watch in wonder as a full spectrum aurora appears in the clouds around the moon. What an incredible gift this night is turning out to be.

Then, as the Earth, sun, and moon align for the eclipse, she begins to turn red. I fall into silence. The sacred trinity in the heavens—marrying here below with me, the guardian rock, and the crimson moon.

I sing. I drum. I dance in the moonlight. There is so much joy, so much creativity, so much wonder to witness in the darkness and the stillness and the silence.

To be the voice of the drum calling to the moon, with the song of the owl echoing along the valley walls. Thanking the ancestors for calling me here to experience this magic.

The night is growing cold and a fire is welcome—warmth in the darkness of the cave. I get comfy in my sleeping bag and watch the fire dancing in the darkness. I sing to the wood, thanking it for its life, thanking the Earth and the rains and the sun and the moon for the light that helped it grow. I drift off into a light sleep, a deep sense of peace, joy, and calm in my heart.

Warming the drum by the fire

It is a fantastical night of magic, of light, of joy, of miraculous moments.

Sweet bird song awakens me to the new day. As dawn begins to break and I'm packing up my things, my eye is caught by something moving across the ceiling of the cave, not far above my head.

A creature who once terrified me: a giant centipede, as large as my hand, moving in waves across the rock from crack to crack.

But I feel no fear.

This creature that was once a horror is actually exquisite. I watch its legs moving in perfect synchronicity, the curvature of its body. I can appreciate its grace.

As I make my way to the top of the valley, I am greeted by the most stunning crimson sunrise. In awe, with so much warmth and love in my heart.

The fire above is the fire below.

There is always light in the darkness. There is always a meeting place of these polarities—a place of neutrality which lives within the heart.

The heart has a choice. It is energy in motion.

We can choose to see our fear as freedom. We can choose to pivot the needle of our perspective.

From this day on, whenever fear raises its fiery flags of darkness, I remember that I have a choice. And that choice begins at the point of curiosity: What might happen if I just let go? If I just allow for neutrality? If I make myself an empty vessel and make the invitation for my highest and greatest good to unfold in whatever experience is wanting to meet me?

In the void.

Becoming the empty vessel of the darkness in which the light can enter—in its own way, in its own form, in perfect sacred geometry—to illuminate a new way forward.

If this story stirred something in you...

On 11/11—a portal of alignment and sacred geometry—I'm hosting a free masterclass: Discovering the Sovereign Rose Codes

We'll explore how to become the empty vessel, how to meet the void with curiosity instead of fear, and how to claim your sovereignty in the darkness.

The red rose holds ancient wisdom. She knows how to bloom in impossible places. She knows the marriage of beauty and thorns, of vulnerability and protection.

If you're ready to choose freedom over fear, join me.