Slow.
Soften.
And Listen.
Your bones ache, your flesh burns and your mind and body wander from day to day.
In this space you are safe to return. To unfurl. To unravel. There is endless wisdom wrapped up in your cells. The stories of your life are not shackles, they are guides, way-finders.
The wisdom of our bodies, our innate knowing has been silenced and severed for many thousands of years. And now, we craft and weave new pathways, listening to this long silenced power and truth.
And still, we hold, and ache, and burn.
Moving with the fierce, softness of water.
Whispered to by bones of trees in winter.
Reminded by fire, to dance in the wake of change.
And kissed by the winds, ever passing lips, grazing cheeks and tearing worlds apart.
I am devoted to the land. It is the greatest love affair of my life. And Her ever-changing, beauty and pain guides my hands and heart.
I am not disgusted by your rage, your tears and spit water my soil. I am the dappled shelter from the sun, when your days blaze and you cannot breathe. And just as the beloved Oak stands strong and steadfast, I too, will meet you in the storms.
These containers are held in deep love and reverence for all that you are, all that you wish to bring.
Grief has shaped my work. And I bow down to the rich, murky darkness of death. To have swam in Her waters long enough to befriend the faces, and shapes, that live in those places.
Within, and without.
Gnosis. The knowing, the screaming call, to witness and hold those that dare.
We must journey inward, it is path we cannot ignore or sidestep. There comes many times on that journey where another’s hands help hold the load for a moment, and in those moments, the deeper we can descend. The howls are heard and seen. The messy truth of your inner landscape - unveiled.
And it feels good.
The softness, the rose and river wishes to be met, so she can surrender and open.
The child that moans and cries, longs to be cradled, held in safety and trust.
And the wild truth, covered in mud and screaming, desires to unleash the voice that has been silenced. To be witnessed and celebrated.
Sister, I am here.
