Updated: Sep 21, 2020
Burn them, they told me.
Burn them all.
Gather all of your writings and burn them on the full moon.
I am obedient to the voice of my womb spirits. So, I collected everything I was supposed to.
This was one of the most challenging first acts I had to do trusting this part of my journey.
There were years of journals and compositions printed as part of a book I was to self publish. This was my heart and soul. Now, I have to burn them?! *Shakes head in disbelief*
Burn every one because the words you wrote are countless open wounds of ancestral tongues, every woman wronged, and every woman scorched, scorned, and hung.
There I stood inches from the tall intense fire with a fist full of my journal pages. Horizontal wisps of flames reach and bend over the edge of the pit swiping my legs. This brings my attention from the past to the present. This is the moment where many stories end and new ones begin.
I crumple then toss pages one after another into the rising fire. When my hands became empty, I reached down to the thick stack of my journals and ripped pages out with heart ache like they were love letters from an ex.
At first, nothing could extinguish the fire inside me as I saw pieces of my life burn up in flames. Then, like the split logs and papers going through alchemical changes as they burn, so was I. Then, I saw them. I burned every one of those papers, I was also burning everyone- every one of those women in my family translating their pains in me on black inked pages.
My heart pounded in throbbing celebration. The pulse of life giving fire branched down my chest, my womb, my feet and I ran to gather sacred items of a offering of thanks, honor, and promise.
In my top draw, I found a small, blue suede sack. It's a little worn, but it works, I quickly convinced myself. I stuffed the sac with red roses plucked from the vase. I peel apart with the petals with a they love me, they love ringing in my head. A couple of broken cinnamon sticks added. I tear a piece of note card that I write "taking back the flame" and "thank you" on it that adds the final touch. I pull the draw stings to close the bag up tight as I briskly walk to back to the fire pit. I toss the sac into the fire as an offering. I know it's contents will go father than my voice of thanks could ever reach.
The inner fire of my ancestral wisdom was ignited and I was burning as an eternal flame. My life, my personal power, my healing is forever changed. The fire belongs to women and only to women, for we were the ones who the flame was created for in the first place.
Here's a sneak peak to a one of a kind opportunity for women to connect to her ancestral wisdom and take back the fire to burn as an eternal flame of power.