The Archetype of the Wise Woman in the Woods
The archetype of the Wise Woman in the woods has always captivated me.
Sometimes portrayed as a crone, other times a witch, she’s been driven to live in relative seclusion, surrounded by nature, wrapped in mystery.
Except, I wasn’t born an 80-year-old sage. Obviously. Nor was I raised in the woods by wolves or surrounded by toadstools.
A descendent of settlers, I was raised on a paved stretch of agricultural land– traditional unceded territory of the Coast Salish peoples.
Devoid of any connection to nature or the Unseen, my experience wasn’t about awe or reverence. It was about survival. Soul-splitting experiences combined with no foundation of faith, sparked a life long exploration of philosophy, mysticism and the sacred.
My spiritual vacancy held the space for me to zig, zag, and sometimes wander in circles, before eventually connecting with the ways of my pre-Christian ancestors.
It began with an inexplicable longing to celebrate the changing of seasons and harness the phases of the moon. For nearly three decades I have studied ancient Hermetic principles and I apply Universal Law as I walk the Wheel of the Year- an annual cycle honouring the solstices, equinoxes and the midpoints between them.
I had created a one of a kind business…
Ensnared In A Never Ending Cycle
Of launching, promoting and registering offerings, while trying to appease the algorithm to capture the viewer’s attention. I was exhausted from what felt like having to make 30,000 decisions every day from an entrepreneur.
Social media marketing began giving me the heebie-jeebies. There was so much noise, and contributing to that frenzy no longer felt congruent for me.
Suddenly carrying an unexpectedly enormous amount of grief, while juggling a couple of personal and familial crises, I brought everything to a close, honoured my contracts, and then shut it all down. Praying that if there was an aspect of service I had been providing that I was meant to continue with, that it would eventually float back to me amongst the storm.
Things that unravel:
A plotline or narrative,
a mystery.
A sweater, spool of thread or shoelace.
An identity.
Me.
I had come undone.