November 28, 2017

"When energy comes up from the Earth – up from Bubbling Spring in the feet – it reaches the heart.From there it often branches left and right and becomes your wings...your ‘heart wings’. What happens here is that the energy rises to the heart and instead of going up to the next three chakras it is sent to circulate heart energy back down to the body and around again. Your heart may be very concerned with bringing light, help and assistance to the world. But as the energy builds in the heart, there comes a time when we need to take off these ‘wings’ and evolve the heart to the next level – to the throat, third eye and the crown. Then, some say, we truly become a human being. We embrace our totality.

When we let go of these ‘heart wings’ we have the potential to be truly creative. It’s not easy because often a bleakness and an emptiness takes over at first. Despair can even be part of this process. This is the shattering of bonds and patterns and the releasing of the heart and this is a v...

September 28, 2017

I'm fighting, still. At least that's something. Struggling for a hand-hold on this sheer rock wall, hoping to keep from plummeting to my death on the stones fathoms below. I rest for a few days, unable, unmotivated to do much let alone get dressed and eat and get out of the house. But then I have a rare spurt of energy and I manage to take a few more heavy-footed steps. But when I rest, I dream. When I walk, I dream. I reach for something that I know I must grasp otherwise all will be lost. I fear being consumed completely, I fear reaching the point of no return, I fear the end of existence looming its great dark self before me at last. 

I'm coming to the realization that for my survival, I need to step fully into putting myself and my needs first. For my Self, for my family, for my relationship. For my health, for my sanity, for my dreams. It isn't selfishness at this point, though that thought-demon rears its head often. It is now about straight up survival. Being able to function day...

August 14, 2017

I sit in the shaded dark of a room curtained against the late-afternoon sun, my youngest now asleep, reading the words written by another mother. A mother across the country, a mother who had a dream, a dream so similar to one of my own. A mother who now sits on the divide between the realms of earth-based medicine and hospitals, dreams and reality, the living and the dead. A mother who, in the face of the inevitable death-to-come of her beautiful blue-eyed baby boy, is still pushing on to live the New Old Good Way and share that world with her son, however long he may be on this earth before his body is laid in its embrace to sleep ever-more with the roots and the bones resting there... To live each moment reverent of every new thing he does, he learns, he says and striving to still live the dream they had dreamed for their family. 

I sit and I cry. I weep sweet tears of grief and longing, of honoring and remembering, of pain and healing. 

Tears spill forth, wetting freckled cheek,...

July 18, 2017

Every time I hear kulning songs, I have a somatic response in my body. A chill runs through me, tears well in my eyes. I want to sing too.

Today I came across a docu-series called Woodlanders, a totally crowd-sourced project documenting the forest-ways of forest-people. The episode that I happened to stumble across was on the Fäbod culture of Sweden, and explored the tradition of the Swedish people to move their cattle north to the boreal forests in the summertime, which was where the tradition of kulning arose from as a way for the, more often then not, young women to both call to each other across the forest and call in their livestock from grazing all day. It is a haunting melody, that makes me think it is not human women singing in the forest but some fae creature, perhaps a skogsra. 

My father's grandfather came from Sweden, I bear his name, a legacy of those lands and those peoples. 

My inner forest woman sees these women tending their cows and their goats, swimming i...

July 11, 2017

I went back. I climbed the mountain, I walked through the tall grass. I breathed hard and filled my lungs with forest air and birdsong. I sat under the trees and dug my toes into wet clay. I danced, and I tranced, and I drummed by the fire. I took us deeper, deeper, away from this place. I guided us down into the earth, to the Ancestors Cave. I died and was reborn. I lived. I felt life return to my flesh, I felt vibrant and whole. I felt my feet take step after step down the path to which I've been called. 

Return, the Spirits whispered. Return, croaked the bullfrogs in the night. Return, sang the birds by the pond. Return, said the fire dancing high. Return, cried the bowdrill in my hands. Return, said the wind in the trees. Return, called the Ancestors in the moonlight. 

I walked in this world and the Otherworld, always walking the line between waking and dreaming, riding the hedge day in and day out. I fell asleep to the moon and woke to the sun, I danced with the Spiri...

June 17, 2017

I recently returned from a week in the Northern California woods, surrounded by second generation redwoods, douglas fir, and a spattering of madrone, oak, blackberry, thimbleberry, and others. I had gone to gather to learn, teach, and grow with a group of amazing people from all backgrounds and walks of life connected by a red thread of reproductive justice work and activism. Though it was, in and of itself, an eye-opening experience that jump started some amazing progress as a group / collaboration / network, I took away so much more from my time spent there outside of the confines of the group itself and the topics discussed. 

Most notably of which was a reality check. I hadn't realized just how much I have shifted over the last year or so as a Being. Before the trip in months past, and especially since my cycles have returned, I have become even more highly sensitive to sensory input, energetic input, etc. and have been navigating how to manage that. Being overstimulated can res...

May 5, 2017

Motherhood isn't all kittens and rainbows, sunshine and bliss. It's bloody, dirty, tear-stained, and fucking hard. 

I find myself looking through other moms' photos on platforms such as Instagram, in particular, and see these beautiful, down-to-earth, goddesses breastfeeding their babies while sunbathing in the grass or walking together topless by the river and picking foods from their bountiful gardens. And my heart breaks, and I weep for that. Then I am angry at myself for coveting. I see these moms living the life I wanted, living the life I want for myself and for my children, the life I was so close to having and then had it ripped from me. That I am struggling to get to. I'm left with this emptiness in my heart as I sit fighting depression in a cluttered house with my kids watching TV and eating cereal because I don't have the energy (or the ingredients) to make something more nourishing and healthier for them -- not that my son would want it anyway, though my daughter is a lot le...

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© 2017 by Femme de la Foret // Aileen Peterson

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