Healing the Sister Wound

The Circle is Ancient. 

Your ancestors knew this shape well. 

Circling around a fire as we dance to drums,

Circle of men surrounding a boy bloody from his first kill - chanting his name as he's welcomed into Manhood, 

Circle of women holding hands around a newborn child and mother, 

Circle surrounding an ancient storyteller as she skillfully weaves her tale, 

Circle of the moon and moon blood shifting from empty to full to empty,

 Circle of the seasons - traveling round and round again.
The Circle is a space of transformation and healing.

The Circle is a ritual space. 

I've devoted my life to the Circle.

Yet, we live in a culture that has largely forgotten the mysterious intelligence of the Circle in favor of the violence of a straight line.

This forgetting is a wound that keeps wounding.

I spent the last few weeks in a Circle of wise women in the forest. 

The nourishment of this Circle was a vital spring from which I drank to quench my thirst for hope.

We shed the performance of femininity and remember our primal authenticity.

We break ancestral trauma patterns of losing ourselves in the needs of others.

We remember the ancient art of speaking from our heart, our womb, our root.

We stop judging ourselves as not good enough as feel the necessity of our uniqueness to the wholeness of the Circle.

We grow stronger through our raw tenderness.

We dream bigger.

We remember how much we need each other.

In Circle, wounds transform into medicine.

The Circle helps us remember so we can heal the wounds of forgetting.

What is your experience reclaiming feminine traditions?