daughter of the womb

a diary of naked forest walking

The birthmark on my left heel is gashed and bleeding. It is nearly midnight, and I just came in from walking naked through the woods. I do realize this is not something one says in civilized company, but are you really going to stop reading now? Don’t you want to know if I was half-eaten by a coyote, or if this boring old bramble scratch is all I have to show for the night’s ill-advised escapade?

The truth is, I’ve wanted to stalk the darkened woods in my moonlit meat bag since we moved in two and a half years ago, so if nothing else you can be happy for a dream fulfilled. I didn’t plan for tonight to be the night. I was just sitting on the floor of the shower, as one does, feeling sorry for myself as the water ran down my face, when suddenly the thought descended upon me and made a certain kind of sense. I was already naked, wasn’t I? Being June, the weather was nice, and after all, I had a candle lit and everything. I got out, put on a robe and rubber sandals, and made my exit.

It was awfully dark, darker than I expected, and my puny little candle didn’t put much of a dent in the vast weighted blanket around me. My original plan was to run, just because it seemed the most efficient way to maximize the she-wolf effect I was craving, but when I reached the entrance and bid farewell to my robe and shoes I quickly realized that, given the blackness of the night, attempting to run might result with my face in a tree and a very unclothed trip to the ER.

So running was off the table, but no matter. The second my bare skin hit the fresh air, ideations were forgotten anyway. I was at the bidding of the night, all bone and stars and tendons. My body physically felt lighter — isn’t that something? — delicate as a fawn, wisps of atmosphere lifting at my limbs. I belonged there, as a part of the whole. Just as I was, just at that moment in time, just one creature among many.

I found a clearing and looked up between the trees at the ceiling of lights and wondered at my place among them. A galaxy of glorious mystery; a mass of existential terror. Beholding an infinite unknown is both alluring and horrifying, but I found my place and I held it.

To the sky: I am not afraid of you.

To myself: I am not afraid of me.

Moving with caution among bark and branch, I retraced my steps to return to my discarded things; slid my feet into the sandals, tied the robe around my waist, held fast to the insufficient candle. Left the forest to walk home, a daughter of the womb.

Book Updates

• Big news: I get to voice the audiobook version of The Mystics Would Like a Word! I’ll be in the studio next month to record the reading, which will be a first for me and I can’t wait. I personally love hearing other authors read their own work aloud, so I hope it will add something special for you as the reader/listener.

• The Mystics Would Like a Word was featured in a Publisher’s Weekly preview article titled, “Religion Publishers Look to the Past to Find Their Way Forward.”

• Do you enjoy supporting independent bookstores? Like helping authors get a publishing boost? Want an autographed copy of the book? Well you’re in luck, my friend. Preorder your signed copy from my local bookstore and kill multiple birds with one stone (except not, because we love birds).

  

Wishing you a week of sunshine and serotonin!

Shannon