This wind, it tastes of mid-winter: the matings of eagles and owls, frost flowers blossoming over iced river edges.
Goddess of Fire and Creation, let me say that somewhere not here, yet living deep inside me, is a sacred grove; a wild and holy presence.
Somewhere inside that grove lives a wild woman, in wordless conversation with the eternal forest.
Her mystery is mine, have I forgotten?
The forest is inside always; its ways strange, though we think we know them. We think we know ourselves also, and that is the quickest way to lose the deepest mystery of our beings, which is unknowable.
Are we not, somewhere, carrying inside still the mystery of the humans we once were—the mystery shared by every wild creature, embodied fully through fur, scales, feathers and skin?
Wordless; but speaking through the magic of grace, power, movement and gesture.
Eternal; yet beautiful in our earthiness and mortality.
Nationless; belonging only to the earth.
Entranced by and afraid of the flame.
Called by dreams, moved by unfathomable intuitions.
Conversing with creation through hand, eye, nose, ear and feet that caress the ground as we dance.
Sea changing, blood coursing to tides of joy, sadness and desire, and to the moon in the wide sky.
At times when I must hold in my thoughts, my objections, my anger, my grief and even my truth, even then I am still a wild dancer through this life.
How this dance embodies that eternal mystery...which is what art is for.