We’re talking over God these days, I think.
Or The Gods, I might say. The mystical. The numinous. That which refuses to be contained yet demands to be known.
So hurried to express “ourselves” we haven’t paused long enough to reflect on what our selves are made of.
In a vision last night a white stag met me in a crisp clearing under the final New Moon of 2024. At the edges, other beings began to peek out from the tree line: animals, deities, guides and guardians. The most powerful among us, hiding in plain sight.
The Wild Gods.
Before I realized what was happening I was on my knees bowing to them, and they bowing to me in return. An agreement had been made: I would work in service of the messages and medicines of these wild ones. In turn, miraculous things would happen… but I don’t get to know what or how.
I realize I am terrified of humans. I love humans. I am terrified of them. Something about walking with the gods feels safe and clean: even the ferocity of holy rage I feel from the wild ones feels pure and enlivening. It feels safe to be in service to the holy wild.
Perhaps I’m scared of us humans because I know how much untapped, tangled up power we walk with, and I know what happens when power gets repressed or distorted for too long. Perhaps I’m not scared, perhaps I’m in grief.
Our urgency to produce is a distortion of power. Our hurriedness to self-express is a hamstringing of what we are actually capable of. Our insistence on being individually radiant is a severing. Our obsession with debating our worth is a waste of our most potent potential. We don’t know abundance because we’ve been moving too fast to regenerate.
The gods try to speak, but they whisper. Like when you are hiking in the woods and suddenly a ruthless human voice cuts through. Too loud, too sharp, un-attuned to the surroundings. Incapable of receiving anything outside of themselves. Centuries of “dominion” over nature making us oblivious to the temples of wealth we walk in amongst the trees and plants.
In our disconnection we move through the world shattering holy ground.
I made an agreement in that clearing to commit myself to re-stitching holy tapestries, sacred weavings of possibility. I don’t want to live in a world where the wild and holy beings have been sidelined, shattered, or squashed beneath the boot of “progress”.
All great creation requires a blood sacrifice, and mine in 2025 is the candy of urgency. That hit of aliveness when I feel like- for a moment- I am catching stride with the manic pace, only to be followed by the devastating comedown of falling even just subtly “behind”.
I made a promise to the creatures in the woods. Something is always given up when we make a promise.
Three questions for this new calendar year:
What pace would you have to move at this year to allow your true brilliance and excellence to be revealed?
What would you have to give up?
What would you have to connect back into?
It’s been made abundantly clear to me that I have to slow WAYYYY down in order for something incredibly meaningful to come through. I have to give up consuming fast-paced content. I have to connect back into the wild gods.
Big love, happy 2025.
Julia
PS: this New Years marks my 10 year sober-versary, my 7 year “found my person-aversary” and my 1 year married-aversary. 10 years ago a voice whispered in my ear “if you give up the alcohol, I can promise you will live a life beyond your wildest dreams”. That has proven to be an understatement. We are only ever asked to sacrifice what wasn’t good for us anyway, and the return is a boon. If you’ve been thinking of (or struggling with) giving something up- I am happy to be a 10-year-forward lighthouse and tell you: it’s worth it.