I have a sister born on my second birthday whom I love dearly. I have also been blessed to have a family at LIFE Publications with an extended family including sisters. But tonight I want to tell you about about a group of about 100 sisters who form my spiritual circle. Some I have done ritual with for more than a decade, others I have yet to meet in person. They are my soul sisters, my moon sisters, my wild woman sisters. Together we form a web that empowers, supports and celebrates each other. We care. Connections are deep, and come with perfect love and perfect trust. There’s no judgement, no competition, no lies. There is an immense power, lots of hugs, and laughter. Being with them is safe and affirming. They often reflect back to me beauty I don’t see in myself.   

Sark says of such a group, “The circles of women around us weave invisible nets of love that carry us when we are weak and sing with us when we are strong.” 

I had been feeling like a caged animal for most of the five weeks I’ve been here. I have not felt wild and free, nor very magical in this parking lot. My circle has sent healing, love, hugs, comfort and encouragement. After much frustration and anger, I had at last came to accept I will be here as long as the universe wants me to be here, that everything is just as it is meant to be, that I’m not being punished. I stopped struggling. While I would really like to know why this had to turn into such an extended stay, I also surrendered to the fact I would probably never know. 

Today, a sister sent love and hugs and a question: "Have you checked the property around you for plant, animal, or mineral friends with wisdom to impart?”

When my knee was happy, I’d walk the property often, and about all I found magical were two metal stars on an old truck hood. So, I took the scenic route while bringing my garbage to the dumpster. I paid close attention to several green plants that dared to grow around the edges of the parking lot, noticing they seemed to be thriving and happy in the warm sun. I saw a bird far overhead, stones pressed into the sandy soil. Staying silent, I could not hear them speak. I circled around to the lounge where I must live when the bus is jacked up, noticing more green weedy ground cover and then made my way between and around trucks to get back to my bus. And as I approached, down to my left, a daisy-like flower caught my attention. I went for my phone. It was 11:11. That was a sign that the flower was the sign, that it had some wisdom to impart. I could feel its simple beautiful, untroubled, unapologetic, innocent wildness reach out to me, inviting me to be the same. 

It occurred to me a wild women is not defined by her surroundings. I am free to be wild here. I might not be free to drive away, but I am not a caged animal. I can dance sky clad under the moon, sing to the rain, melt into the sun and get lost in the stars. I can dream, take risks, celebrate each moment, practice the Craft. This simple, little flowering weed was showing me how to bloom were I am, and, on the 41st day of my stay, to stop being obsessed with not being here. It was a magical moment that continues to stay with me twelve and a half hours later.