The Bone Deep Remebering: A Tale of the Sacred Return

There was a time, not so long ago, or perhaps centuries past, depending on how you measure time - when I found myself walking the edge of something I couldn’t name.

The outside world would’ve called it burnout. Maybe sadness. Or perhaps a “spiritual awakening,” wrapped up in hashtags and candle smoke.

But it was more ancient than that.

It was a calling back. A summons from the marrow of my bones.

It began quietly.

A heaviness in the mornings.

A restlessness that no to-do list could satisfy.

And a whisper… like wind in the trees of my soul.

Not in words, at first - but in sensation.

A knowing.

A hum.

I came to realise it wasn’t depression. It was disconnection.

From my body.

From the Earth. From the sacred fire at the centre of my being.

We are not meant to live in fragments.

But most of us do - spread thin across expectations, old wounds, ancestral echoes, and the quiet ache of forgetting who we really are.

And so I did something that looked simple on the outside, but was a rite of passage in its own right.

I stopped running.

I stopped trying to “fix” myself.

I lit a fire. I brewed cacao. I cried into the soil. I let my hands move without reason, creating from a place that had no agenda.

I sat in silence, long enough to feel my spirit crawl back toward me, slow and shy, like a wild animal unsure if it could trust me again.

It was there - in that space between the old stories and the new, that I remembered.

Not in a flash of enlightenment, but through the sacred rhythm of returning.

Returning to breath.

To body.

To the womb.

To the woods.

To the wild pulse of the unseen.

This is the space I hold now.

Not from theory, but from lived experience.

From crawling my way through the underworld of forgetting and being reborn through the flames of truth.

When I invite you into a circle, a ceremony, a clearing, it’s not to teach you something you don’t already know.

It’s to help you remember.

To midwife the return.

Because deep down, you already carry the map.

You are the witch and the weaver.

The priestess and the portal.

You are not broken.

You are blooming.

Sometimes quietly.

Sometimes wildly.

Always in divine timing.

And if no one’s told you lately, let me whisper it now:

Your longing is sacred.

Your tears are holy.

And your path - no matter how tangled, is not a mistake.

This is the season of returning.

And the doorway is open.

Come in, sweet soul.

The fire is lit.

The earth remembers you.

And I do too.

– Lizzie x

The Kind Living Space