The Deterioration Of Symbols Is Natural. They

When Women Hear Those Words, An Old, Old Memory Is Stirred And Brought Back To Life. The Memory Is Of Our Absolute, Undeniable, And Irrevocable Kinship With The Wild Feminine, A Relationship Which May Have Become Ghostly From Neglect, Buried By Over-domestication, Outlawed By The Surrounding Culture, Or No Longer Understood Anymore. We May Have Forgotten Her Names, We May Not Answer When She Calls Ours, But In Our Bones We Know Her, We Yearn Toward Her, We Know She Belongs To Us And We To Her.

I Have To Go To The Woods, And I Have To Meet The Wolf, Or Else My Life Will Never Begin.

So, Let Us Push On Now, And Remember Ourselves Back To The Wild Soul. Let Us Sing Her Flesh Back Onto Our Bones.

Solitude Is Not An Absence Of Energy Or Action, As Some Believe, But Is Rather A Boon Of Wild Provisions Transmitted To Us From The Soul.

Nurture Is Like Psychic Wheaties.