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.
land-body-spirit
I am devoted to the land. Her ever-changing, beauty and pain guides my hands and heart.
I am devoted to the body. Honouring all seasons, igniting the remembrance of trust and listening.
I am devoted to the womb. The centre of creation, a portal to other realms. The wisdom carried in our waters, our blood, our tissue, this spans time and space. May we all return to this centre.
I am devoted the Feminine. The mysteries and chaos, the surrender and sensual pleasure. The decent. Spiralling down into the soil, rooting in places we can only feel.
My sister, 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 and 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.
And with death, comes birth. Birthing the knowing, the screaming call, to witness and hold those that long to remember.
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.
This journey, this decent can be pleasureful. Not always, but it can be. When cradled in arms, when howling in the rain, when feeling something that has been denied. These moments are Eros. They are life living itself.
The decent into the darkness, into meeting Death with open arms, it isn’t the end. It’s the beginning.
