I am a priestess.
A priestess of this land, of the cedar tree, of the waterfall.
I give offerings of heart-shaped stones.
My heart.
I am stone. I carry the wisdom of generations.
Of centuries.
I carry memories of tumbling rivers and
lava flows and
moss growing slowly,
quietly.
I come to the water for healing.
The wind lifts me
up up up
to see the grander view.
I hover over tree tops.
I am an eagle.
My vision is clear.
My wings are freedom.
My voice is truth.
There is joy here under this rushing waterfall.
There is a remembering of love,
of gratitude,
of connecting with my sisters.
My sister priestesses.
I love them and they love me.
Our temple is this body,
the embodiment of earth magic—
curves and twists and juicy flowing delicious gorgeousness
of smooth skin
hard bone
WILD HAIR and
shining eyes
and
truth and divinity and
sacred dark places
where mystery lives.
Where magic lives.
Our temple is the waterfall
the cedar tree
the muddy decay in moss and soil and pine cones.
Our temple is the sky
the volcano
the rose.
It is all holy.
It is all of the Goddess.
It is all possibility and
loving and
grieving and
HOWLING and
singing a song you didn’t know was in you.
My sacred gift is to speak,
to write,
to honor the temple of the Goddess.
To live a truth that had long been forgotten.
The heart remembers.
