by Zoé d’Ay
A chance conversation on the 8th March reminded me again of something I had been stirred into writing after the last Glastonbury Goddess Conference where the maiden in us and the maidens among us were being lauded and applauded – yet something deep inside my soul, a kind of susurration, a frisson of discomfort, was rising to voice something then inarticulate. I went home after the Conference, the puzzle still on the threshold of consciousness – you know that odd feeling you get when you know you know something – but actually can’t put words to what it is? Well, I woke the following morning and followed the thought until it ran all the way home. It was ME I was sounding. The story unfolded just like this:
Once upon a time the wild maiden danced free and bright over the pathways of the dark hollows following the damp tracks of badger, hedgehog, fox and vole. For the longest time she walked, until she walked right into the fire and the fear; a fugitive, forgetting her future as she lost her past. Fire burnt her motherboard; fear short-circuited her software – and she forgot. Hundreds of years walled up against her and she lost her voice.