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Keeping Things Sacred

Song of Sophia Rosemother Eliza in her home forest in the Northwoods of Michigan


I’ve recently been reminded of the power in ‘keeping things sacred’.


Sacred doesn’t always equate to private, but I notice that it often does. These mushrooms are on the land between my cabin and the cabin of my first spiritual elder. She was a crow woman and a weaver; a widow in the woods.


As soon as I could walk, she taught me how to tend the forest spirits, how to be with the fae, and how to keep it all sacred. She was a fierce protector of the land and animals.


To keep it sacred meant that the magic couldn’t be altered by coveting eyes. She often wrapped her hair up like a hive and kept within it feathers, bones, and jeweled adornment.


Where no one could see.


I’ve had a desire to invite dreamers to my childhood home for amanita work. I mean, it’s just Incredible. I know this forest like the back of my hand, and I have acres and acres of magic mushrooms.


I mean, hundreds if not thousands of them… many bigger than my head. The feelings that come from laying in the forest here are pure ecstasy. The medicine is so strong; constantly attuning and teaching me in the otherworld realms.


Realms that make others twist and turn are my soft blankets and cradle.


And through this acknowledgement, she has asked, “Can we keep this between us?”


She’s asking for intimacy, for privacy. To take the medicine and distribute it, but not to bring anyone to the source. I am meant to keep this forest for me, wrapped up in my hair. At least for now, if not for quite some time.


And that does feel good. To keep her sacred; primal body pulsing strong, in the veil.


To have worlds on worlds that are asking just for me is a holding I’ve been needing.


It seems the medicine is usually asking to be shared and so completely transparent. My plants and house are open for students, my temple has people flowing in and out, and some of my most sacred relationships are shared too… I’ve been completely dissected by people’s pain.


This past year, the medicine I share has contained lessons on scavenging. I ask for privacy and to keep medicine sacred, and the boundaries are repeatedly broken.


And still, the message is to feed the hungry. The money, medicine, and beauty that flows to me, I return.


So my body fortifies in a powerful way as the forest sings a song for just me and her. The trees shine brighter, and I am rebuilt. What is a poison becomes a sweet nectar.


Is there anything you are being called to keep sacred? I salute you.