31/08/2025
Love this
I walk the path of my blood and bones
The old ones turn with me in the circle
Their breath is in the wind that guides my step,
their bones in the roots that twist beneath the path.
The labyrinth is not a symbol—
it is a living presence.
It remembers.
It calls.
It stirs the sleeping wisdom in the marrow
and sings to the stones beneath the skin.
With every turn,
the ancient ones rise within.
We walk not alone—
but woven into the dreaming of Earth herself.
