women’s hut
Dear sister,
I write this to you from the front porch of our women’s co-op lodge in the forest. The sun is getting low, the bees buzzing in the late afternoon rays. Courting flowers in our garden beds, some of our herbs have gone to seed. Maybe it is meant that way, maybe it is how it goes in community. Some things just grow wild. We are collecting and planting, creating and weaving. I found myself here, found myself. And yet, I was always here. I was always me, I had just forgotten. I am surrounded by my sisters who also remember. And now, together, forgetting is impossible. How can I forget about who we are, when my sister, the one with the coolest hats, speaks truth out of her heart with the sassiest Goddess laughter? How can I forget who we are, when my sister, the one with a heart of sunshine, sneakily suggests that we perhaps already know the answer? A stitch, and another one, in the blanket of all women through time, you and me, and our mothers and our daughters. Their grandmothers and their granddaughters.
Our circles weave a new world, as the cycles of time dance us forth into a shared becoming. I wish you were here. I yearn for your stitch with my whole body. Your stitch would change everything, lend to our weave your unique flavor of dark blue and tears, of beauty and heart. Your clear eyes whom pierce through the night. You who never give up.
The basket is almost ready. I have worked on it with two of my sisters. In it, we will store yarn that will tell the stories of the future. The yarns are getting prepared in the hut. I see one completed bundle of yarn in purple and white. I can tell that it will tell a meaningful story. One worthy of sharing.
Come see us, will you? There’s a seat for you around the table, and a pillow to cry into, for all the sorrows of the world that burdens our human hearts. For the unbearable beauty of a human life. We have nuts and berries and soup. We decide for ourselves here.
We. Decide. For Ourselves.
The new moon is setting behind the ridges, on a pink and purple evening sky, while the symphony of the forest and meadows greets the night. We will go inside and light candles for all the women who are still on their way home.
