Life can be like a bed of roses, beautiful in bloom however surrounded by prickles and thorns – a metaphor perhaps, pruned back regularly so we can each germinate and continuously grow and flourish all the years of our lives.

Her name was Grace, she had an iridescent ora around her, she was old but deceptive in age, her face was inviting and her eyes deep and dark, experienced, astute and full of wisdom, her hair was grey with strong white aspects, neatly placed above her head with two paint brushes holding it in place away from her face. She was dressed all in white even her slip on clogs, all apart from a navy apron covered in paint splash backs, a large pocket full of miscellaneous and her hands speckled in the remnants of the latest creation.

Grace embraced me strong, her body frail but firm, her grip had meaning, purpose and a welcome.

You will be pleased here – she reassured.

Since her own life experience, Grace had created a haven of serenity, tranquility, security, acceptance and certainty. Her companionship was willing, evidence of travel and unique exploration she had been a doctor but now was known as the white witch of the wild.

“Within every woman there is a wild and natural creature, powerful force, filled with good instincts, passionate creativity, and ageless knowing. Her name is wild woman, but she is an endangered species. Though the gifts of the wildish nature come to us at birth, society’s attempt to civilse us into rigid roles has plundered this treasure and muffled deep, life-giving messages of our own souls But wild woman, we become over-domesticated, fearful, uncreative, trapped.”

Grace smiled and gathered up some of the abundance of the plantation, refreshment and lunch she suggested, allow yourself to be – she concluded, open and share your story, allow the healing to progress but firstly accept and forgive.

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