There is something different about the month of May. The air softens. Trees thicken with green life. Flowers open without apology. The earth itself seems to exhale after the long restraint of winter. Every year, I feel it in my own body—that subtle stirring, that ancient reminder that life wants to bloom. This is the season of Beltane.
Beltane, celebrated at the turning of spring into summer, has long been associated with fertility, passion, abundance, and sacred union. Fire festivals were lit across hillsides, people danced through the night, and communities honored the creative force that moves through nature and through ourselves. To me, Beltane is not merely an old holiday preserved in books. It is a living invitation to remember that desire itself can be holy.
Many of us were taught to distrust desire. We were told it leads us astray, that pleasure is dangerous, that longing must be disciplined or denied. For transgender people especially, desire is often tangled in shame. We are told our bodies are wrong, our love suspect, our joy too much. The world can make it seem as though wanting anything deeply—love, beauty, authenticity, touch, freedom—is selfish or forbidden.
But Beltane tells another story. Beltane says the flowering tree does not apologize for blossoming. The bees do not repent for seeking nectar. The sun does not ask permission to warm the skin. Nature is not ashamed of its longing to create and connect. Why should we be?
When I speak of desire, I mean more than sexuality, though sexuality can certainly be part of it. Desire is the force that moves us toward life. It is the hunger to become ourselves. It is the yearning for intimacy, for joy, for beauty, for expression. It is the spark that says there is more waiting for you. Desire is sacred because it calls us forward.
As a transgender woman, I understand desire now in ways I never could when I was younger. Before transition, desire often felt confusing because I was trying to know myself through layers of fear and misidentification. I wanted men, yes, but I also wanted to become. I longed for softness, femininity, recognition, embodiment. I did not yet know that desire was trying to guide me toward truth.
That is one of Beltane’s great lessons: not all longing is lust. Sometimes longing is revelation. Sometimes what we ache for is not another person, but our own becoming.
In my Faerie Wiccan practice, Beltane is a season of bright energy and playful power. I light candles to welcome passion back into the home. I decorate my altar with flowers, ribbons, rose quartz, and symbols of beauty. I open the windows and let fresh air move through the rooms. I wear something that makes me feel radiant. I allow myself to be seen by myself. That, too, is ritual.
The sacred fire of Beltane is not only the bonfire on a distant hill. It is the fire in the heart that refuses extinction. It is the warmth of self-love after years of shame. It is the courage to flirt, to dance, to laugh loudly, to wear the dress, to speak the truth, to kiss with presence, to begin again.
For those of us living in difficult times, this matters deeply. In a world where anti-trans voices try to make our existence political controversy rather than human reality, joy can feel hard to reach. Desire can feel dangerous. Pleasure can feel frivolous. But Beltane reminds me that delight is not trivial—it is medicine. To celebrate the body, to honor love, to choose beauty anyway—these are acts of spiritual resistance.
There is power in allowing yourself to want what nourishes you. There is power in saying yes to your own aliveness.
This Beltane, I invite you to ask yourself: What is trying to bloom within me? What longing have I mistaken for shame? What desire is asking to become sacred fire?
Perhaps the answer is romance. Perhaps it is confidence. Perhaps it is transition, creativity, healing, sensuality, or freedom. Whatever it is, tend it gently. Feed it oxygen. Let it rise.
The world has enough voices telling us to shrink. Beltane belongs to those who expand. To those who dance. To those who love with open hands. To those who become.
So light a candle. Open the window. Put flowers on the table. Speak kindly to your body. Follow what calls you toward life.
The fire was never your enemy. It was always your guide.