She isn’t just a woman who moans and howls, although she can.
She isn’t just a woman who wears feathers in her hair and paints ink on her body, although she can.
She’s a woman who knows how to connect to her instinctive nature. This is the wild in her. This is her power and her beauty all in one.
A wild woman isn’t crazy, yet she’s gracefully untamed. She moves like a cat, she smells like the sweetest flowers, she glows like the moon and breathes like the wind.
A wild woman, like an animal, is a woman who knows how to be in her own body with ease.
She’s as strong as the roots of an old tree, yet as exquisite as its spring blossoms.
She’s soft, tender and juicy like the ripe pickings of summer fruit.
She’s as vast and as majestic as the mountain ranges that greet the sky. And as free and flowing as the waters and lakes streaming off them.
When you meet a wild woman, you meet a woman who knows where she comes from.
A woman needs to spend time in the wild to access this part of her. To walk barefoot on the earth; to bathe under the moonlight; to feel her skin touched by the fire of the sun; to immerse herself in the ocean; to grow her own food; to chase butterflies and to listen to the songs of birds.
In doing so, she starts to hear a voice. This is the voice of her own knowing. This is the voice that guides her home.
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