I GO TO THE RIVER.
I GO TO THE WOODS.
I GO INTO MYSELF THAT IS THE ONE SELF.
I GO INTO MY HEART THAT IS THE ONE HEART.
The woods knows the way of things.
She knows how to merge into the dark.
She knows that all falls and fades.
She knows the mystery of whisper and bone.
And so I listen for the raven's call.
I bend low to listen to the moss tell her stories of mist and hollows.
I praise the lichen. I kiss the ground.
I gathered some medicine from the woods for you.
Deep pockets full of birch bark and tears, apples and undulations, pitch black silence and fire crackle.
And songs. Healing songs to carry us through, you and I.
So let us grieve what needs grieving.
Let us shed what needs shedding.
Let us see through the shadows and heal our haunts.
And let us descend into the womb-tomb of our remaking.
But first, a blessing with feather and sage.
It's always a good place to begin.