Over the course of my life, I’ve accumulated a long list of things I like and don’t like, eat and don’t eat, wear and don’t wear, do and don’t do. A self-created box of The Way I Am, kept neat and tidy, stored safely in the corner and wrapped tight with a pretty pink bow.
On days like these, cold and rainy, I feel a pull from the deep from the dark, womb of the earth, source of all things.
I’m only just beginning to learn upon whose backs my life has been built; whose blood has been shed for mine to live; who has been displaced for me to stand where I stand.
Through centuries of sunrises and sunsets, there have always been women’s hips. Hips swaying under the stars, dancing to the rhythm of the wind, singing the songs of our ancestors, worshiping the very life they create.
