Yesterday I had my first-ever spiritual reading. I sat with a highly-intuitive, deeply profound woman who spoke to me of what I could and should expect in the year ahead – through totems, animals, and crystals. She spoke to me about all the influences and powers that are magnificently present in my life to both protect and advise. And she spoke to me about my own voice – what my own self wants me to hear, know, trust, and believe.

Before you discount my experience (if, in fact that’s your initial tendency), let me just say that I get it. I’ve been a skeptic of these types of things most of my life. My faith heritage has taught me to fear such “knowing” and because of such I’ve not given it much credence or thought. More on this later in another post. For now, I hope you’ll keep reading.

Though what she said to me was hugely significant I want to speak about her: her wisdom, her wildness, her deep knowing, her trust of her own voice, her roar. It was beautiful, magical, captivating, and called to something deep within me.

In being her wise, wild, and deep-knowing self, she showed me that I am just like her. I can and must trust what I know. I can and must speak what I know. I can and must roar.

We are sisters, this wise/wild woman and me – bound by something powerful, something that precedes our own knowledge and experience of time.

That said, there is a difference. I don’t always believe, trust, or choose these truths. The harmful, wounding result for me and others? I misplace my identity as wise and wild. My deepest voice stays a whisper when it should be a roar.

Why?

As I rode home with two other wise/wild women friends of mine, we asked this question. We talked of our deepest voices, the know-that-we-know-that-we-know places within us that get silenced, covered up, shoved down, mistrusted, and completely hidden. We acknowledged that sometimes what we hear is frightening, disruptive, unsettling – for ourselves and for others. Sometimes, no, often what we most deeply know is not cloud-with-a-silver-lining type stuff. It’s meaty, significant, life-changing. It’s a full-on roar that we’re afraid to let out and our deepest voice goes unheard. We become tame.

Not coincidentally, I’ve been reading an amazing book: Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.

When women hear those words [wild and woman], 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 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.

This is our deep knowing, our wisdom, our wildness. This is our voice. And it should be a roar!

So many things I’ve yet to explore and think about in all of this, but for tonight I just want to say (no, roar) these words:

I am a wise and wild woman.
I have a deep knowing.
I trust what I hear.
I will speak.
I will roar.

Cover your ears, or don’t.