13.06.2020

To the child who always knew

the world contained magic and wonder

beauty and goodness, even when the pain was

enough to swallow her whole.

To the small young one I used to be,

I owe so much to her heart that

never gave up hope.

She didn’t let the adult me

completely cover my heart in concrete,

she kept the ancient song

that whispers in my bones,

alive.

When this human world was too painful to be in,

she knew that this natural landscape;

inside and out,

still contained strength,

courage, medicine and tenderness.

And now I come back to her

more and more with each day,

full circle;

with gratitude beyond measure.

Poem by Brigit Anna McNeill

via The Cosmic Dancer

Poetry Sunday dedicated to all the little ones that still live inside of us, aching to be seen and heard. Shadow work gathers them together, pulls them to your soft lap and lets them finally speak.

Listening is learning.

Photo of my favourite witchling dancing with the sunset.