I sang a song from the rawest place of myself. Only a tune a wild woman could know. The remembrance of something so instinctual, so sensual, so pure that it emerged from my bones and I was shocked and awed at its grandiose outpouring. I released my spirit from the grips of my ego and fell sweetly into the surrendered field. The earth welcomed me like a sweet child, drenched in honey, bathed in milk. There is yet another form, another version of me arising. From deep within the wound, she springs. Perhaps fiercer than ever. Potent and dripping in blood, quenched with tears and blazing like the hot sun yet cool like the generous moon. She who emerges is the embodiment of all goddesses before her. She is not separate. She is delicate and she is unbreakable. She is coming. She is pouring sweet nectar from the most sacred and sought after parts of her. She unfolds and she unfolds and she unfolds. Her heart beats the hymn of all women. Her eyes, her hips and her dancing limbs allow for greater gateways for a soul untamed. She is wild. She is remembering who she is.