This fall, I had a dream.
I lived in the woods. In the dream, I did not see any house that I lived in, I just knew that I lived there, and I’d emerge from the woods, walking, with my dog by my side.
Over and over again in the dream, my dog and I came from the woods to visit a man; the man I loved. We would visit his home, remove our shoes in the pile by the door. I spent many warm and rapturous nights in his bed. His arms a tent around me, strong enough to allow me to move, to climb and quake.
His kitchen full. Providing. Meals were had together.
But then something happened, and a habit was formed, even amidst our intense love. He wasn’t fully aware of the consequence of the pattern he was allowing. A knock would come at the front door of his home. And every time, my love would slither out the front door, pulling it closed behind him, to stand in the front of the house and talk. Women were out there. They were not immediate threats to our intimacy, but they were women with power - the wrong kind of power, the power he had given to them by deflecting his own. They were not good, kind women, for they had forgotten the tender nature of their natural feminine force and had instead replaced it with a harsh and wounded tone. They earned their power by manipulation and control. Many women do this. And many men, trying to be good men, relinquish their power to this type of woman.
Mother, former wife, colleague; they continued to come. Women of influence of the wrong sort. They had established their power over him over time. He did not know how to tell them to go away, because he was a loving man. He did not know how to introduce us - we were so very different. And out the back door I would sneak, while he was performing, while he was meeting someone else’s demands, while he was denying the mighty power of what he felt while inside his house with me.
Time and again, I heard their voices, and my dog and I would leave. Back to the forest. Back to the soft ground and the pine needles. Back to the canopy. To leave felt like a loss, but I was forgiving, trusting the true nature of what we shared, and the forest was a comfortable place to come back to, and so my dissatisfaction was slow to grow.
I was in the woods, and then I would leave, and then I would return again. I would leave for a man, and return to my own home because I did not have his full attention. He did not know how to give it. In time I became a bit lost - for I loved him, but I always returned alone.
And then one day, I remembered. The knock came at the door, he chose to go, and I knew I no longer needed to feel displaced.
Because, you see, I remembered. I do not live in the forest. It is not a place I simply seek refuge. It is not where I build my house - which is why my dog and I never saw my house in the dream. It is not where I retreat or hide.
Being in the depths of the forest is home. It is warm and full, it is life and death, it is plush and providing. It is the mother wrapping us all. It is not fleeting, it remembers all stories, and it does not scorn. It envelops light and dark and integrates them both. It is home. It is me. I never need to leave again.
You see, I am the fucking woods. I am the sacred and wild feminine itself. The feminine and wild nature are one in the same.
That was the dream. Then I awoke to truly remember, and over the months that followed, my dream became prophecy. I am the woods. I am inviting, I am warm, I am strong. I have established systems within me, a divine integration of light and dark, of soft and hard, and I provide all the solace in the world. I am the feminine. I am the trees and the dirt and the pine needles. I am the mother, the divine lover, the great host.
There is no bed, there is no house, there is no front door. To imagine that there is anything other than the truth of the divine, that we found in our union, is to look to the false and wounded constructs that society has built for answers that only come when you stop looking elsewhere. You built your house on the foundation of truths you had before you at the time, but in your bed, you found a new kind of woman. A new kind of union. A new kind of permission.
You are welcome to join me, but I will not entertain false guests with you at your front door.
I have done so, on my own, for long enough. I have in my past forgotten the divinity of my nature, as so many women have, and now, I have no choice but to reclaim it. You assumed I’d be content to stay in your arms, in your bed, but you did not know that I was the forest. Indeed, I had also forgotten.
You did not know that I represent what we both need in order to let go of the power of old ways. That is what the divine feminine’s role is at this time on the planet. We hold the space and shape of love divine. Most men will not be able to meet us here and it will require choices of women - great patience or independence, or a combination. We will be patient and inviting, but we will hold a standard. We will be boundaries. We will not be held back, we will not be hidden by men any longer, we will not forget our truths, and as we remember, a power shift will occur. We are no longer looking to men for permission or even reclamation. The reclamation needs to happen within each woman. Men will have to stop addressing the knocking of ill-willed callings. They are used to responding, to knowing, to making decisions, to maintaining power-over. That time is now over. In my dream, in my life, but my experience mirrors the greater unfolding. That time is collectively coming to a close.
Dear Man, I am the forest. What is your force? Where is your divine strength? The forest, too, has a compliment; a counterpart. Be it. And if you do not know it, come to me, and together, we will discover you own wild nature. But this time, you must come to my forest home.