Mystic Mother is my crafty “middle child”… The Casual Mystic.. She’s a ferocious artist. A tender listener. I’ve yet to meet someone as deep as she is. She has this uncanny way of staring straight into my soul in the most unassuming & comfortable of ways. The unconscious is her play ground. She plucks magic out of the depth and transmutes it into sudden ceremony, powerful ritual, wild journaling, expansive meditation and powerful art. She leads us to the shadow within and helps us hold that part of ourselves up to the light. Her authenticity and fearlessness is contagious and you can’t help but let your soul shine. Trust is what I carry for this Fierce Mother Guardian. She keeps me true all while holding my hand.

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Shewolf is my “youngest”. She keeps me young. She exhausts me after days of stepping into this… primal, messy, ancient renewal energy. She teases this fire within me. She asks me to burn away everything I know about myself until there’s nothing left but unrefined nature. I’ve witnessed women strip down on this retreat. Naked and pregnant in the woods. Bare breasted in a rainstorm. Nude, floating down the river. Shewolf unveils us, to ourselves. In this raw explosion of “who-knows-what” the most tender trust between ourselves and nature is reborn. It is both a funeral pyre and a water birth. I have nothing but awe for this Wild Little Sister & her most unrefined medicine. I don’t fully understand her, but I’m not meant to- for she is her own beast & I love her even more for it. 

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Soothsayer is my steadfast “eldest”. She runs a soulful house. All are cousins under her roof and she has pulled us all together for a tidy week of festivities. She pushes tender cups of tea into our palms to sip on rough and sharp shores. I sit with her. There are no words exchanged but whole lifetimes of conversation pass between us. She is familiar- quick to share a soul story but I fear I’ll never hear them all. She reminds me that the old ways are spun within us and we only need to tug them out. Her kitchen is the heart beat and the dining table is the altar where food is the offering, herbs are the guides, and we are so deeply nourished by song, food, and each other. We speak of our dead, their stories, and our own. She invites us into the dance of honoring, resting, and receiving that which is within. Reverence is what I have for this Ancient Grandmother & being in her presence is always like coming home.

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