The witch wound welcomes us to root our worth within, as opposed to what we can get. It’s fed by giving, by the generosity of Spirit. (Lay down and have a listen to the Mother of the Sword podcast above to sink into the somatics of this particular liberation.)
How we do pray towards what we don’t know?
We all need ways to empty the story that we are carrying in order to be able to perform what is most soul nourishing, liberating and authentic.
Some people water fast; I write—not to impress, but to anchor myself, to locate where I am, alive. To return to the body from the suffocating fog of fear that inevitably rolls in while navigating this beautiful, tragic world.
I write because, right now, as we speak, the wild feminine is unfurling herself across the universe. And it’s the least I can do to add to the cauldron of transformative love.
She has long, gray hair twisted into messy braids, and strands of white shimmer against the deep black of her crushed velvet blazer. She turns her head away from you and spits, simply because she must. She sings to her long-dead lover, for she knows impermanence in her ancient, aching bones. She is willing to stand, resolute, within her humility and her power. She understands she already possesses what she desires, and so she has committed herself to the pleasure of serving others. She tosses despair into the cauldron of joy that she serves to the world.
Her song, so fierce and sincere, has the power to summon torrential rains in barren deserts. It rained in LA because she prayed so hard, regardless of who was on board with her witchy welcoming, and it fucking rained, in thirsty Los Angeles.
She the. calls to the lightning, urging us to cast off our ghosts and awaken to life once more. She screams into your face, Feel your fucking freedom!
So, where—oh, where—has my wild feminine gone? Let us look and see, shall we?
Perhaps your father abused you as a child. Or your Mother as she grew you in her womb. The signs are there, etched in the fabric of your being, worldless and wild. It is painted across the grotesque, bloody canvas you once believed was your life. But then, one day, you awaken and realize that even on your hardest days, the only thing you have to offer now is light. The dark fertility of the Great unknown you have grown to love. Sometimes, this truth fills you with rage, for a part of you still yearns to embrace the unworthiness, how bad you are. How unimportant and unlucky you secretly like to be.
That is what they taught you: born of ignorance, destined to remain in it.
For her own protection, this is where the wild feminine chose to hide.
I have traveled great distances to find Her, and continue to. Even in my rest I find myself having to effort, to stay inside ease.
As I press my palms together in the presence of the sacred, living feminine energy inside and all around me, I find the hand I had been seeking, the one I had longed for, for what seemed like a thousand lifetimes.
Before that, I would place anything in that hand I had waited for—wine glasses, joint after joint and American Spirit between my fingers, the cocks of men who didn’t know how to care, about anything, at all. The tenderness of a woman’s body, so deeply admired, I wished it could become my own. The hollow emptiness of my own hand, still felt, grew heavier with presence each passing day orienting to Her.
At times, I sense it in my mouth as well. My teeth go numb, my jaw feels locked open, and I long to feel something—anything—inside it. It took time to understand that it was a silent cry, an invisible scream—the longing for a love that could not be filled by any human. An endless love. A love that no other person could ever provide. One that would stay with me even as I died.
This is why I use my mouth to sing, why I bang on a drum, and why I type the raw truths of my heart with my thumbs. If I don’t release it, I risk leaning into the shadows of my mind. So I sing, I speak loudly with authority (my natural voice tone in Italian,) and spend sacred time in silence too. I feel my mouth open wide, yearning to harness the power within me that I know exists.
What is difficult to swallow becomes a vast channel through which love can emerge, if I can just keep singing. Speaking in ways that help us find ourselves here, home. In the heart of this body.
I sustain myself by sharing this love, this fire that burns within me, it is meant to be shared. This is the essence of the wild feminine’s emergence. She plays, she sings, she spits, and she screams—but she makes you laugh and reminds you that you possess a soul by sharing hers. My soul loves to love, and my soul thrives in singing these songs that draw me into a remembrance of all I have ever been and all I can become.
Mostly to pull me into the presence of where we are, now. Emptying to fill.
So, we sing…
.PS. I am taking on two new 1:1 clients singles or couples that want to dive deeper into love, sex, relationship and intimacy in all her forms. Email me back to inquire and apply.
🌹 If you're interested in joining a group this summer in New Mexico, we have our annual God Vow: Women’s Spiritual and Somatic Sacred Theater Retreat on a Rose Quartz Mountain. Miracles and madness await—transformative experiences that will change us all for the better, enhance our service on Earth, and invoke more authentic connections and love.
https://www.bodytemple.church/temple-of-shakti-retreat
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