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,...

August 7, 2017

In the beginning, there was Darkness. And the Darkness, was lonely. Thus the Darkness spoke, and there was Light. And Darkness loved the Light, and the Light loved the Darkness, and their love was so strong that their bodies came together and Created All That Is. 

Then, from All That Is that was Created through their Love, there were new gods and spirits that formed as the planets and the stars were shaped, as the mountains spat fire and creatures rose from the vast seas to walk the land that was the body of even older sleeping gods. 

One day, one of these Beings, one of these spirits looked at their body, and the body of their comrades, and looked to the earth. They took up blood that came from the sacred place between their legs, and mixed it with the clay of the earth, and formed the People of the Earth in Their image. 

They set the People of the Earth a task: you are of the earth, not apart from it. It is your place to protect all things, it is your role to honor and worship, to give...

July 31, 2017

Wild thing

Fox haired

Feathered wing

Teeth bared 

Broken thing

Wild haired

Tethered wing

Skin bared

Dreaming thing

Soft haired

Mended wing

Soul bared

 "That line belongs on your face," the Lady Ram said to me... 

Dream on, wild things

Juniper Wren

Original poetry and photos by Aileen 'Juniper Wren' Peterson / Femme de la Foret 

Please include this page or my Instagram to give credit when sharing, in full. 

Pheasant wing hair clip by Necromancy Creations 

July 19, 2017

Yesterday I began recounting dreams that I have had of late, speaking them out loud and recording them to be written down later on: 

I dream of a sea at night. Gray water crashing against dark rocks, of swimming. Of an old midwife walking with me through a sun-lit forest down to the water's edge and an orca rising up to meet us. I dream of a storm coming, and running, of the storm passing and surviving. I dream of a friend together with me and our children but I can't remember the words she shares with me, I wake from the dream and find she's gone into labor. I dream of another friend walking across a meadow to meet me where valerian and yarrow are growing together, our hands moving aside flowerheads and being brushed by feathery leaves while we speak of the heart. I dream of riding horseback, of a budding romance and a lover's gentle touch. I dream of a lodge built of thick tree trunks in a pine forest and a man calling me to ceremony... 

I dropped. Deeper, deeper, deeper...

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 27, 2017

Stepping onto the rocky sand,

the waves sucking at my feet

Water Biting, numbing in its coldness,

toes lose feeling, gooseflesh rises on skin,

nipples harden

The water roiling, dark, foreboding--

it calls me deeper, deeper

Siren Song calls, it vibrates in my long bones

and swims through my veins like fish--

I hear it bouncing off the cliff face,

do they hear it too?

Standing on the dark, slick rocks, toes gripping,

arms outstretched and eyes closed--

wind whipping hair, fog brushing naked flesh

I feel the pull, the Call-- Home, they sing, Come Home,

this is your power place, your Soul Home

But I have not my sealskin, I cannot live beneath the waves--

and yet, still here, my power rises and knows this place,

these waters

A longing, dark and deep,

like the drop-off hidden just past the curling waves,

haunts me always

A desire for returning to,

becoming again of the Sea 

Ocean Blessings to my fellow Sea Witches + Sea Creatures,

Juniper Wren 

Poem & Photos (Shoot Location: Northern California Coastli...

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© 2017 by Femme de la Foret // Aileen Peterson

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