I have an invitation for you: come into your heart space.
Where do you go when the world is loud and its edges sharp?
To whom do you turn when the anger is overwhelming, the grief unbearable?
I want to introduce you to someone.
To find her, you need only to step behind yourself. Imagine gently lifting the hem of your own shirt and running your fingers up the knobs of your spine until you find the vertebrae closest to your heart.
From there it’s just a few fingers over until you feel a tiny indent too small to see with the naked eye, but your fingers know this place. Your first finger dips, pushing lightly on the hidden mechanism which opens the doorway to your heart.
You step inside, pausing to let your eyes adjust, before stepping into you.
Breathe in and take in this beauty that lives at the core of your being. It’s a chamber or a grove, a grotto or the hollow of an old tree. It surrounds you and holds you.
… and feel the warmth of your inner-hearth fire, this place you can always be at ease.
… invite your wisest self—your inner-witch or wild goddess—invite her to sit with you.
Perhaps you’ll just be together, leaning close like two trees touching, silently sipping your tea of rose petals and hawthorns, laced with sweetly scented linden or the bite of mugwort.
(That’s often what I need when the world feels harsh.)
Or perhaps she’ll have something to share: words, a song, a bit of dandelion fluff or the seedpod from the Acacia tree.
Don’t worry if she’s fuzzy in your mind’s eye, if you can’t make out her hair color or hear her words clearly. Feel her. Know her.
And through her know yourself.
Let the world recede, let it become a distant susurrus on the shores of your heart.
This is the space I go to when things get senseless, when I lose my roots, when I feel lost. This woman—this inner-witch, the high priestess of my soul—meets me there. She holds my hands and pats my cheek until it’s time to straighten my spine, unfurl my roots, and return renewed.
May you come to know her well.