Delicious fiery destruction of fear.

Burn it down. Rise from the ash.

This keeps repeating in my head. Like a new mantra, but also a message.

A message for me. A message for you.

How do I want to burn? Feral. Wild. Like rum on a fire. Leaving new growth in my wake.

I don’t know what that looks like, yet. I don’t know what container it needs, yet.

I do know it’s a feeling that won’t go away. I thought it would. I thought I could just let things go, do a little painting, a little writing and that somehow, the deep ache would fade away.

It’s not. It’s digging it’s claws in.

I work with fire, tornadoes and raging floods. This is deep work. Hard work. Scary work. This is healing work. It’s the healing that comes from downing a couple of shots, cutting open old wounds, digging out the shrapnel, sterilizing the infection and stitching yourself back together. Then going out for strippers and ice cream.

It freaks me the fuck out. What if I’m not good enough to do this work? What if I can’t escort you through the fire?

If this is how I serve as a Priestess, I must have faith that I can do this work, faith that the Goddesses know what the fuck they are doing.

I’ve been uncertain about where to begin, how to fill this space, but I have to start.

I have nothing to sell you. But I’m burning away. Feverish with desire for the work. I burn for you when you can’t burn for yourself, when your fire has been smothered. Not in a way that keeps your fire from you, but like Bridgid’s sacred flame helping you kindle your spark.

Burn it down. Rise from the ash.

I’m going to be listening to what the Goddesses tell me and doing my best to do what they are asking of me. So this is where I start, with an imperfect beginning.

In the beginning she was formless, flowing, expanding, like lava weeping from deep within the earth.

How do you want to burn?

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