She came to me during a shamanic-style expressive arts journey one day and whispered her sorrows and grief.

I had forgotten about her, but she came to visit me again and again these past days as water levels have been dramatically dropping in places, and risen in others; as climate chaos have been wrecking havoc on this beautiful Being upon which we all rely so heavily, yet take for granted.

Has she finally decided to take flight?

Her reappearing in my dreams lately reminds me that this story is not mine to keep.

And so here, it…here is what she had whispered to me…

~ * ~

She was the goddess of the water and she once roamed the night skies from mountain top to mountain top, pouring her self into the rivers, feeding the land with her tears and her liquid hair. Everywhere she went she built a fire where anyone could come to warm their weary bones.

But no one came.

They use to come. Walk the sinuous paths up the sacred mountains, footfalls led by drum beats, hearts led by song, soul led by the rising full moon. They’d rise to the mountain tops and find the caves where her fires roared and burned hot, calling them to warm their chilled bones.

There they would gather and sit and tell stories and wait… patiently listening for the rustling of her feathered wings slicing the night skies; listening for the soft thump of her feet as they landed; listening for her prayers and songs announcing the water’s fall…falling to the rivers below.

And there they would pray in gratitude for her gifts that kept their lands green and fertile.

But no more.

No one came anymore.

Alone she sat on that ledge pouring her liquid hair, her soul, her self into the rivers, wondering to herself, “Why do I even bother? Why not use these wings to fly far away?”

One day, as she rose to do so, thunder and lightening tore the night sky, burning her wings, her beautiful wings…

She cried and cried for moons and moons. Her cries heard for miles. Her tears flooding the lands for years and years. And there she stayed, mending her wings, tending her fire, pouring her tears, her self, her soul into the earth’s rivers.

~ * ~

(many moons later)

Full moon on the rise Dark skies A fire burns in the hearth at the top of the mountain where no others dwell but I, the woman of the water. I pour myself every night into the river. I long to fly but I… but I what?

I’ve stayed on this ledge, in this cave, tending this fire, tending this river for as long as my heart can remember. Waiting for my broken wings to mend, waiting for a sign to show me the way, whisper the way. I’ve been waiting so long I’m not sure I even want to leave this warm fire, I’m not sure I even remember how to fly.

My wings are mended now. I could take flight. Any time. What keeps me on this ledge? Why do I remain to tend a fire no one but me finds comfort in? Why do I keep pouring my self into this river?

The sky is calling. I can sense it. I can hear its call, louder every day. Yet here I sit, pensive, contemplative, dutifully being the water this river needs. Moon cycle after moon cycle…

What if…what if I took flight, just for a moment? Surely no one would notice… surely this fire would light my way back when I’m ready to return? 

~ * ~


Interested in journeying with the expressive arts to tap into your own inner wisdom and perhaps be the channel to something deeper? Visit my home page to access some of my offerings. I also offer New Moon journeys, Full Moon journeys, women’s circles, 1:1 mentoring and therapy, on demand group programs and more.

Reach out to me here. It would be my honour to be your guide and walk by your side for a time.

You can also find me on Facebook (Business Page; Personal Page; Facebook Community for Women)