There is always a circle. Beneath the first moon, the women gathered. They stoked the fire wrapped in robes. They raised the temple & oathed their honor. We shall tend to the divine & to each other, they pledged.
Stories of the circle are ancient & loud. They resonate in our very bones. Because the circle herself chants & beckons, “sister we wait for you”. Birthed as woman we are fated to the circle. It is only when we follow the unseen steps that we find our way. The mirror within is the mirror without. The invitation written in our blood must be roused by our soul.
You will always arrive whether it be in this go round or next. Your turn comes when you step forward, arms to your sides, hands & fingers awaiting the clasp from left & right. The gentle heart lingers in the corridor, trembling, until the circle pulses from one woman to next hands woven together tight. The divine descends & ascends wholly; body, mind, spirit. The rush blows through, up, over around & devours us in one big bite. we are sky in, no longer remembered to our former selves. We’ve loosed the binds, splintered the veil & hit the dirt.
The circle is eternal same as us. The terrain is more lovely & raucous every time we make our way back. The glimpse emboldens our reality once again & we stand with our sisters, tending to the earth, tending to each other & tending to the goddess evermore. There is no going back. The forbidden learning lives inside each one in the round.