From Sacred Fire, 1996, by Nancy Wood From the deep blanket of winter, I am. From the fertile seeds of spring, I am. From the unfolding leaves of summer, I am. From the ripening fruits of autumn, I am. If winter's song is one of sleep, sing it. If spring's song is one of anticipation, sing it. If summer's song is one of fullness, sing it. If autumn's song is one of change, sing it. What you are, I am. What I am, you will be. Where summer goes, I follow. Where winter goes, we walk together. The longing of this old woman is satisfied by the loving of that old man.
Sacred Fire
The Fire of Women – December 2022
From Sacred Fire, 1998, by Nancy Wood
We are the eternal, we who have borne the pain and grown old with only half our song being heard, bodies aching from desire never satisfied from mere mating with a man. We meet adversity head-on, desiring recognition of our natural ways. We accept the confused words of men who are strangers to our souls. Our pulse throbs with messages from grandmothers fooled by dreams, like us. In our bones is bred the patience of women who stayed with men who did not love them, and the ache of women who died of heartbreak. Women learn from the anguish that precedes calm, remembering how a child bursts headlong from the womb, and with its very first breath begs to hear our song.
Daughters of the Earth – October 2022
From Sacred Fire, 1998, by Nancy Wood
Daughters of the Earth, your path is strewn with stones sharp enough to sever determination from your bones. Nothing is as it should be anymore. Our hearts are on the ground. Our inheritance is shattered. Daughters of the Earth, your spirit is in danger of suffocation. Old ideas will crush it. Indifference will rob your house of meaning. Men are deaf to your songs, but you must sing them anyway. Daughters of the Earth, wisdom will save you from being swallowed by conformity. Do not grieve for the world of your ancestors, but create a new horizon from the gifts they left on the pathways of your mind.
Why the Earth Spat Fire – August 2022
When the Earth calmed down
from the long agony
of her waterless birth,
She spat Fire, and certain possibilities emerged.
The bones of animals,
the fins of unborn fish, and
the blood of scavenger birds
Were waiting for shadows to become durable
and for dust to recognize gravity.
From the ash of Earth’s spent energy
cooling moss crept forward.
Seas of salt ate up shorelines, and
rock defined the essential boundaries
Of ancestry. Fire devoured
land to make it habitable.
All along the shores and deserts
and mountaintops, everything
developed eyes and hearts
until Fire was finally satisfied.
The Breath of Fire – February 2022
From Sacred Fire, 1998, by Nancy Wood
The sacred mountains call to me when life becomes
too hard to bear
and all that stands between me and despair is
a little waterfall. With each mile I climb,
my sadness melts away
and I feel my old self returning.
The sacred mountains cure my anger
and replenish my will to resist
those who would diminish me.
In wildness, I am made whole by beauty.
In wildness, I am humbled by majesty.
In wildness, I am content to find
eternity in a buttercup
and courage in a drop of rain.