The Deep
I love to have names for what I have known. A remembering of archetypes, guides, and myth lines. A coming home to my body, my soul. A bit like collecting the pieces bit by bit, Hansel and Gretel retracing their steps in the deep. Trusting one another, clinging to the edges of the world. “I don’t understand the world as it is. What I’ve been told makes little sense now, or maybe always.”
The holding of hands, with each other. The truth simmering between our fingers, clasped and rooted across the country, across the oceans. A third way.
My vision clouds black, gray edges. I know this is the portal, the liminal space; the edges of the deep. I welcome dark, the knowing that Owl and Coyote watch and protect me as I walk this way. My ancestors beckon, they’ve been waiting for me.
I call in the dark around me, as Hansel and Gretel called for protection and truth.
I call in owl, let me see with your eyes the forest.
Let me have the illumination in me, with no need for the sun or the moon to shine. Let them shine because that is THEIR scared duty, a reflection, a cadence, a grounding.
I howl and coyote opens my chest, my heart. A remembrance that I can speak to the moon and call in the tides. My voice is strong and does not crack, and as the last note of the howl escapes my lips, I can feel the expansion in my chest to match the universe unfolding.
What a gift to revel in this sacred space. To dance and play. To witness and be witnessed. To spread past the confines of what Hansel and Gretel were told. We all deserve more in the returning.
