When women come together in the forest magic happens. When our skin comes in contact with wild forest air we soften and open. We sink into primordial memories of homecoming and begin to feel the masks slipping away, the layers of protection on which we had come to depend begin to be stripped away with every belly laugh, wail, tear, howl and roar and at our core we find a universal current of connection, compassion and love.
We remember how to break through to our hearts core, to smash through the barriers we have created to keep our soft centres hidden from view. And in rediscovering our softness, we at the same time rediscover the immense power that lies in our vulnerability and with each cracking open we deepen into our capacity to hold ourselves and others.
Each tear releasing the shit that holds us to the past, each tear another drop in the collective ocean of emotion that fills and lifts us up and away from suffering and allows us to surrender to the ripples, tides, storms and waves that make our wild lives worth living.
Women have a capacity to love that is built into our DNA, we are the caregivers of the planet. We know this to be true but when we come together in the wild we come to know it in our hearts and bones. Our blood and bones are sewn together with threads of interconnection, our hearts and minds are made to hold, hear and heal, our wombs are made to weave wild magic.
The forest is our home, the ocean feeds our souls and the moon, stars and sun connect us all as one. As we begin sister by sister, tribe by tribe to remember the homecoming scent of earth and pine, the rhythms of our bodies, primordial time, may we remember that we are whole, we are wild, we are free beyond our wildest dreams. May we remember that we are never alone and each and every one of us is just one paw print away from the next on this wild crazy path of life.
‘Here is the promise from the wild psyche to all of us. Even through we have only heard about, glimpsed or dreamt of a wondrous wild world that we belonged to once, even though we have not yet or only momentarily touched it, even though we do not identify ourselves as part of it, the memory of it is a beacon that guides us toward what we belong to and for the rest of our lives. In the ugly duckling story a knowing yearning stirs when he sees the swans lift up into the sky, and from that single event his remembrance of that vision sustains him’ ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run with the Wolves
Wild love always,