... She is the Life/Death force, she is the incubator. She is intuition, she is far-see, she is deep listener, she is loyal heart.
She encourages humans to remain multi -lingual; fluent in the languages of dreams, passion and poetry. She whispers from night dreams,
she is ideas, feelings, urges, and memory. She has been lost and half forgotten for a long, long time. She is the source, the light, the night, the dark, and daybreak.
She is the smell of good mud and the back leg of a fox.
she is the one who thunders after injustice. She is the one who turns like a great wheel. She is the maker of cycles. She is the one we leave home to look for.
She is the one we come home to.
She is the mucky root of all women. She is the incubator of raw little ideas and deals. She is the mind which thinks us, we are the thoughts that she thinks.
Where is she present? where can you feel and find her? She walks the deserts, woods, oceans, cities, in the barrios and the castles.
She lives among queens among campesinas, in the boardroom, in the factory, in the prison, in the mountain of solitude.
Where does she live? At the bottom of the well, in the headwaters, in the ether before time.
She lives in the tear and in the ocean.
She lives in the cambia of tress, which pings as it grows. She is from the future and from the beginning of time. She lives in the past and is summoned by us. She is in
the present and keeps a chair at our table. She is the future and walks backward in time to find us now.
She lives in the green poling through snow, she lives in the rustling stalks of dying autumn corn,
she lives where the dead come to be kissed and the living send their prayers.
She lives in the place where language is made.
People may ask for evidence, for proof of her existence. They are essentially asking for proof of the psyche. Since we are the psyche, we are the evidence.
Each and every one of us is the evidence of Wild woman's existence, but of her condition in the collective. We are proof of this ineffable female numen
Our existence parallels hers.
The fact that we are bereft in her absence, that we long and yearn when we are separated from her, these are the manifestations that she has passed this way...
- from Rowing songs from the night sea journey: contemporary chants, C.P. Estes