I have walked through fire — not once, not twice, but again and again — until the woman I once was burned down to ash, and the woman I am becoming rose like a golden flame from the center of those ruins. On the sacred weekend of November 22nd, I stood in circle with thirteen women and watched every version of the feminine wound — the mother wound, the sister wound, the witch wound, the ancestral wound — rise to the surface in our bodies like old ghosts asking to be witnesse
