Dear Wild Woman,

A letter from me to you

 

I am called to rise into the primordial depths of what it means to be human. I break the barriers, smash the beliefs, struggle with the norms and qualify for expansion.

 

It is the depth I rise into, the searing truth that bites my heart and grasps at straws when she thinks she’s at the end of her rope, when really, she’s just at the beginning.

It’s the awakening into the all, the extinction of what we were suppose to be like, the unraveling of truths that lead the very ground I walk on.

 

I am Wild Woman.

 

I carry with me the knowing of what was, and yet the wisdom to navigate what is placed before me. I know where I am when I put my foot on the ground and move one, in front of the other, one at a time.

 

I walk the wisdom path.

 

The path where the wild ignites into her senses and all is called on for the journeying into her wildish nature.

The why is not my question. It’s the ‘how’ that lives in the wise woman’s darkest places and holds her heart with the gentle hands of the wisdom of a mothers love.

Her hearing sharpened, her searching and seeking a clue that she still lives, that all is not over.

 

She needs all her 1000 eyes.

 

When they awaken, it is clear that she is not going back and she can not go on any longer without them. For they are her. Her wisdom. Her intuition. Her knowing. Her guiding light. it is here that the cosmos opens to her.

I know, because I have opened, when I had no idea I would. I have seeked when others did not want me to or know the way.

A woman’s issues of the soul, can not be shaped into what you think it should be so she can be more ‘acceptable’ to the unconscious culture that surrounds her, nor is she led by so called leaders. No, this is not her path.

 

Her path is that of retrieval of what lives in her bones.

For it is there, her psyche is alive.

 

Rock bottom is her treasure chest filled with golden Presence. It is in her treasure chest, she finds gifts and maps and stolen treasures that free her from the shackles that held her.

She finds seeds to forgotten dreams and flowers of lived wisdom, that got buried beneath and lost in the caves of the old memories that know her story, that are her medicine, and that live her magic.

For me, these places came first in my rock bottom. That place of treasure that needed to be opened.

 

They looked like anxiety attacks.

 

They looked like being hit by a car at 29 and having my life change at the blink of an eye.

It looked like dying from pneumonia, only to come back when I heard the souls say “it’s not your time”.

It looked like a family that is wounded beyond repair and lost in their culture. (a story not for the internet, but rather, for the in person to person tangible places where we sit face to face and get real, for they know not what they do.)

It looked like Basil coming in a bottle at the Safeway Store, when really it was a plant in the ground.

It looked like staying in the city, when really it was braving the heart to go to a place I didn’t know anything about and live on my own in the woods and by the sea, knowing not a soul after my first, adult, down on my knees prayer.

It looked like my mother dying. One day at a time, while I cared for her and allowed her to become my baby. The closest and most intimate I ever was to her, with the exception of the day I was born and was a baby myself.

 

It looked like not having a family when really the world was my family.

 

And it looked like I was lost, when really I was where I was suppose to be all along.

 

I remembered. And that is my wish for you.

 

To remember. To remember who you are. To find the force that shapes your every cell and helps you find her visceral, wild and most natural Self. You, who know your way, who are mother to everyone and no one and yourself all at the same time.

By remembering her, we name her. And when we name her, she is no longer lost. And in an instant can poof into the ‘She’, the one you find when the Wild Feminine is resurrected and she begins to breathe back her life.

 

Then she can howl at the moon as if she owns it.

 

Cry by the sea as if she is it. Laugh under the sun as if she knows it. And heal in the Earth as if she was born from it.

She can fall into the centre of her being, and feel the expanse and fall into the contraction that comes so naturally as if she is the Universe her self.

 

She can practice the knowing of the soul.

 

Because it is a practice. Where she can find her instinctual life where her deepest knowing lives. Her Wild soul, the heart beat of her existence where she will find the one that loves her so. (Because your wild soul loves you so).

And when you find her, life begins to love you so much it can burst your heart open and light it on fire. And all that is alive sings and incredible magic dances and wise medicine heals. And peace, as well as happiness, is known.

 

It is here, that she finds her knowing.

 

Because the truth is, as a woman, we need the wild. This is when we really live. And yet, the wild, also needs us. Or else she dies. We need both in order to thrive

And that is why I do what I do.

Love,

Elizabeth MacLeod