traversing, four footed

our stories are our maps back to self + centre

&we are all map makers of the soul

Traversing, four footed, through brush and bramble, following the scent, the sense, (re)connecting with the wild wolf, letting them lead, letting the feeling of being lost, of loss, come, then go, then come, shifting shape, together, undone, skin snags, fur, stains, blood & burr, who you thought you were and who you are begin to blur, fire in the belly, stirs, the wax, the wane, whiplash, a crescendo of all your pain of all (y)our lifetimes, & then….

& then

a clearing

a clarity

rushes in from deep time, from somewhere close, ancestral clan felt through the padding of our feet, through paw, blood line & blood memory

a pause

catch the story

as it pulses through you, through us

as it weaves through the webs of our fingers, our fins, our tails, our wings, bubbles up from our abdomen, a sacred well, through throat and mouth, we taste it on our tongues as we tell it, as we sing our stories, the hum, the hiss, the howl, bringing us back into being, reminding us of who we have been and who we are becoming