“Let everything into you: Beauty and Terror.
Keep going: remember, no feeling is forever.
Don’t lose touch with me.
Nearby is the land they call life.
You will recognize it by its intensity.
Give me your hand.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Kim Rosen & Maria Krekeler
Are you willing to surrender into the hands of life and allow it to guide and support you beyond what you can imagine?
Under the Harvest Full Moon in Aries, the Wildflowers were ready to lean fully into circle—and into the fullness of their truest selves.
We followed the red thread to the center of the labyrinth, reflecting on what has changed in us since the Aries New Moon in April.
So many Wildflowers shared that they feel like totally different beings, and could see themselves stepping into seeds they planted five months ago.
What are you seeing now that you couldn’t see before?
This question led us into what we were ready to release under this Aries ignition point.
We released the threads of what once kept us safe so we could ignite a new path forward:
“I am doing it wrong.”
“I need to be the one who is easy to love.”
“I should have known better.”
“I need to check with others before trusting my own knowing.”
Fear of trying new things and stepping into the unknown.
Doubting my ability to know the way.
We wrote these words down and added seeds to represent our feminine aspects and tobacco for our masculine parts—honoring the different energies that have contributed to the patterns we were ready to release.
Then we breathed life into what we were releasing with our voices, allowing our bodies to feel the vibration as we gave these old patterns back to the fire.
Some of these are things I have been releasing for years.
And I continue to discover the deeper layers that are ready to be alchemized into something more powerful, more honest, and more mine.
I shared vulnerably with the circle that I am deeply devoted to Life and to each soul who enters this space. I also recognized another layer of an old pattern:
Carrying the weight of commitment alone.
I’m learning that this is not mine to carry alone.
There is something powerful about recognizing that devotion does not have to mean doing everything ourselves. We are not meant to create, heal, grow, or walk through thresholds alone.
This is part of what our offerings to circle represent for me.
When we make a financial offering, we are not simply paying for a gathering. We are seeding our commitment to the work we are stepping into.
That reciprocity allows me to prepare the space, tend the land, bring in support, and listen more deeply to what wants to move through the circle.
And I am continually humbled by the way the Creator moves through this circle and through the Wildflowers who gather here.
One of my dreams came true this month.
A Wildflower who first came to circle when she was nine months pregnant returned—this time bringing her baby.
Watching her little one experience the circle through all of her senses brought tears to my eyes.
She was planting the circle way of being into the body of a future one.
And I found myself thinking about my own journey.
I didn’t come to know the power of circle until I was well into my life—more than eight years ago.
My prayer is that our future ones will know this way of being because they have experienced it all along their journey.
That they will know what it feels like to be witnessed.
To belong.
To be held without having to perform.
To trust their own knowing.
To know that they do not have to carry it all alone.
And perhaps this is part of the work we are doing together.
Not just releasing what was handed down to us, but creating something different for those who come after us.
And then, the next morning, I found a snake skin next to the labyrinth on the land.
I stood there in awe.
After all we had released and shed together in circle, it felt like such a beautiful reminder from the land that shedding is part of how we grow.
The snake doesn’t become something else by holding onto its old skin.
It grows by releasing what it has outgrown.
Finding that snake skin felt like a quiet confirmation of just how much we had shed—and an invitation to trust what is emerging as we grow into our next, fullest expression of ourselves.
So, Wildflowers, as we continue moving through this season of change, I invite you to remember:
You do not have to know the whole path.
You do not have to carry it alone.
You can give your hand to Life.
And perhaps, just perhaps, you will recognize the land you are standing in by its intensity—and know that you are alive, you are changing, and you are exactly where the next part of your path can find you.
May we keep giving our hands to Life, trusting that what we are releasing is making room for something our deepest selves already know how to grow.
