Magick lives in the wild

There is something deep and primal that moves inside me when I work with the herbs and plants I grow in my own garden. The pleasure of planting bulbs and seeds, talking to them as I go, sharing my intentions with them and asking their spirit to work with me. Making offerings and gifts of thanks to the nature spirits. Watching them grow and become as they live out their dharma providing food and medicine. Watching the pollinators busy with the flowers. I feel their pleasure as I harvest them, again sharing my intention with them, whether it be to use them as food or medicine, always asking permission, which they give willingly, after all this is their chosen life path, just as we chose ours.

As I wander amongst the trees and along the hedgerows this familiar feeling echoes inside me again, it feels ancient, this relationship I have with nature, It soothes my spirit like a balm on sunburned skin. My overthinking chaotic mind stills, my breath deepens with no effort on my part to change it. My movements slow, my senses open as I become more alert, more aware, noticing. I feel myself surrounded by the spirits of the land and my own ancestors, I feel them nodding, smiling in approval, encouraging me. Here I am at home, one with the land, here I am able to receive guidance, messages, knowing. My ancient feral soul set free, here she remembers. Here she is no longer caged inside my body, inside the constraints of the 21st century, here she remembers who she was, she remembers a time when women held power, were equal, revered, respected. At times the memory of patriarchy and all its damage fills her with rage, a deep dark rage making her want to roar and scream. At other times she feels peace, the deep peace of knowing her connection to nature and the universe is much bigger than any political or man made construct, here amongst the wild things I too am free.