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.
women
The Four Sisters of Everlasting Beauty – January 2023
From Shaman's Circle, 1996, by Nancy Wood
The Four Sisters of Everlasting Beauty danced on a mountaintop
in order to summon fire from deep within the earth. They
danced until flames poured from within veins in the rock,
cleansing them of selfishness and blame. The First Sister
Was the Dancing Woman of Mirth, whose direction was East. She wore
yellow, the color of awakening moments. She brought laughter,
the first necessity in a world of sadness. The First Sister said:
The spirit of laughter is the same as wind or water. It soothes
The troubled earth and makes hard edges disappear, even in the face of
sorrow. The Second Sister was the Woman of Long Experience,
whose direction was South. She wore blue, the color of memory.
She brought the imprint of fossils, also a collection of bones, the
Second necessity in a world filled with self-importance and envy. The
Second Sister said: The spirit of fossils and bones is the same as
long memory, a connection to the ancestors. It reminds the sick of health
And to the healthy gives warning of their mortality. The Third Sister
was the Woman of Unfulfilled Dreams, whose direction was West.
She wore red, the color of purpose and daring. She brought tears,
the third necessity in times when cleansing is required. The Third Sister
Said: The Spirit of weeping is nothing more than human rain, shed for loss
as well as love, and for children we never had. The unfulfilled
dreams of warriors and women, of birds taken from the nest, and of
animals denied their place in life, justify my gift of tears.
The Fourth Sister was the Retreating Woman of Consciousness, whose
direction was North. She wore white,
the color of beginning anew. She brought awareness, the fourth necessity
in a world of schemes and invention. The Fourth Sister said:
Honor yourself before all else and you will embrace
all life. All direction. All stars. All light.
And the other Three Sisters agreed.
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.
How the Universe Doubled – November 2021
From Sacred Fire, 1998, by Nancy Wood
The doubling of the Universe took place when people
were sleeping, except for a few old women
who remembered how passion was created
to save the world from boredom. In dresses
made of spiderwebs, those old women
Sang a love song, heard from star to star and tree to tree,
even from fish to fish and blossom to bee.
Those who were in tune with one another
responded, and those who were not
slept their lives away. As the old women
Watched, the heat of love expanded, on and on, with colors
so bright they singed the edge of indifference
in one night. The Universe doubled
with the passion of those old women,
who believed the power of their feminine selves
would overcome
the doubtful hearts of men.