Honor Your Truth Volume 2 :: Issue 1

Welcome to Wild Woman Rising

Volume 2 Issue 1 of Wild Woman Rising is calling to you. No longer held down by convention or restrained by tradition, we are voicing our own truths. We are women choosing a new way.

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Embodying Beauty

by JoAnne Dodgson

How is it we’ve come to believe that there are some people who are beautiful and others who are not? Does it really make sense that measuring tapes, bathroom scales, clothing sizes, and calorie-counts hold the power to determine whether or not we’re worthy of love? What drives us to spend countless hours and dollars to recolor, reshape and resize our bodies, over and over again? Why has the beauty of who we are become so difficult to see?

The mother earth has something to say about beauty that’s free of judgment and unburdened by fears. Elephants don’t worry about the shape of their bodies. Dragonflies aren’t distressed by the size of their wings. Aspen trees don’t attempt to look more like the pines. Vultures aren’t hiding behind pretenses, pretending to be something other than who they are and doing what it is that they do. The mother earth reveals beauty that’s filled with integrity, that honors the rich diversity in the remarkable web of life.

Beauty sings out from the sunsets and echoes in the wind and rains down from the moon and dances in the sea and whispers on wings and howls with coyotes and weaves webs with the spiders and lingers in the scent of the sage.

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by Samantha Moore

It is unlike me to transmit so brazenly
Or is it?
Who’s to say what primal forces have been released
within my cells
Rebirthing me
Into something at once
Gentle and Powerful
Of Love and Light
Of dirt and grit
With space to breathe
And gifts to bring

Why not?

How We Gather

Part I: Shelter

by Emily Rose Michaud

Shelter is one of our most basic needs, made for protection against exposure to the elements, noise, threat of danger, as well as for privacy. Some are temporary and designed to be carried around, whereas others may stand for years. Last September, we saw another use for a temporary shelter. As part of a larger political statement, tents occupied Zucotti Park in the financial district of Manhattan, to shelter protesters, reclaim common space and take action towards a larger social movement. Matters woven into this piece refer to the intersecting and overlapping stories of the Social uprising currently happening throughout Quebec, as well as to the Occupy movement occurring Internationally.

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Boundless Woman

by Vanessa Codorniu

Beckoned to soar passed stars
as night lowers her silky indigo skirt
I spring forward without care
my heart as always

Awakened to flakes of desiccated star dust
surrounding me,
a crackling and faded corset
that no longer adorns
my earthly flesh.

I turn away
only to sway and sway
and sway…

Embodied freely
I am the night

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Toni Morrison

by Bonnie Gloris

“In order to be as free as I possibly can, in my own imagination, I can’t take positions that are closed. Everything I’ve ever done, in the writing world, has been to expand articulation, rather than to close it, to open doors… I don’t subscribe to patriarchy, and I don’t think it should be substituted with matriarchy. I think it’s a question of equitable access, and opening doors to all sorts of things.”

— Toni Morrison

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It’s Time To Leave The Garden

by K Lenore Siner

Wax and oil paint on glass . 23″ x 21″ . 2010

I Know We Didn’t Break It

by Kim Zunner

I know we didn’t break it.
It was given to us this way,
So we grow up thinking
this is the way it’s supposed to be.
But at some point we realize it doesn’t feel right.

The cogs don’t move as smoothly as they could.
The grinding of this reality against our soul
starts to take its toll,
And the only way to save our self
is to fix this broken machine.
But we don’t know what it looked like
when it worked properly,
It’s been so long.
All we have are bits and pieces of ancient manuals
That correspond to a different model.
Maybe it’s time for a new design…

I know we didn’t break it,
But if we don’t fix it, what are we leaving
for our sons and daughters?
We’re passing on the stone that grinds us down
Until we forget that at one point, we could fly…

And every moment we are reborn with the chance
to remember our wings.
Every moment we are given the opportunity

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Fragmented Goddess

by Aradia Lunabella

To me, it makes sense to understand the Goddess as a kind of person, fully embodied in the world.

“Fragmented Goddess” is inspired by the fear of change that can leave us feeling lost, confused, and torn between the need to take action and doing nothing. But, it’s also about waking up from a dream and seeing the Goddess as a personal presence, a power that I invoke in prayer and ritual. The more I create my art in Her image, pray to Her, and invoke her name in my daily life, the more certain this conviction becomes.

Paper collage and watercolor.

December 3, 2013 . New moon cycle

Coast Salish Style Woven Storage Box

on Swinomish Channel

by Mary Snowden

Detail image of a handwoven basket.


Build a Strong Foundation

by Paula Jones

Mixed media . 14″ x 11″

Pectus Carinatum (Pigeon Chest)

by Michelle Price

To the woman who loves flesh
Bones are essential
Whether woven or lameller
Bones above all else
Hold the deepest of secrets
Revealing age and ancestry
Pathology and plight
Or whatever it is we as humans
Fail to disclose in our waking hours
With words and wrinkles

Protrusion, overgrowth, deformity
So many names for the way your sternum
Grew wild and brambly
Perhaps meaning only to protect
The droplets of blood
That ran through your weary heart
And your bones being wise
Must have anticipated the coming of loss
Thus building a fortress
For the emperor of all your organs

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Are you inspired by our publication? Would you like to make a deeper connection? Do you want to weave this magic into your life?

Wild Woman Rising is gathering resources from across the web to help you find your voice no matter where you are. See our events calendar.

Do you want to feature your event in the next publication of Wild Woman Rising? Contact us for more information.

Inevitable Change,
Inevitable Intimacy

by Barbara Heile

I woke up this morning and knew, “I am going to write about my time in the cabin.”

I trust I will meet all manner of critics on my way to the end of this assignment.

This is what I have to do next.

Easel painting has not been calling me the same way it used to. For over forty years it was my way to express love, to be in love.

I was painting a sycamore from my window, last week, from life. It felt like we were letting go of one another, painting and me. I was saying thank you for how it has held me so long, it has given me a way to be. It may not be enough, I am growing.

I didn’t want to grow like this, out of the familiar way of being myself.

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I Can See

by Bellavia

Mixed media

They Sent Us Their Blood & Bones

by Nicole Adele

From the one-woman presentation “Into the Dark Forest.” Inspired by a dream.

Heart Warrior

by Alisa Muñiz Blanchard

At the cross roads
I pause long enough
to hear the voice deep
in the depths of purpose

When all my senses
burn like fire
I listen and take hold
of the inner course
coursing through me

I choose a path of yes,
agreeing to keep myself safe
by knowing with clarity
boundaries and
saying no if I must

Below the tip of my tongue
I gird my sword
where it will rest
napping tenderly

The heart will cut through
shadow and doubt

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Exit, South Dakota

by Raven Redfox

Acrylic . 24″ x 24″

Making Pine Pitch Salve
from Piñon (Pinus edulis)

by Sarah Morgan Haydock

When we first arrived in New Mexico we set up our tent on the crest of a hill in the National Forest outside of Santa Fe. The mountains that surrounded us were still capped with snow. For about a month we explored that little part of the mountain where we camped – it was so different from anything I had ever seen! So open, so dry, so powerful!

It was here that I fell in love with the pines.

There were two types that I came to know: the Ponderosa pine growing majestic with long needles and large cones, the tallest tree by far on these arid mountains, and the piñon growing low with its twisted branches and bristly needles.

The piñon were everywhere. They made the shade that we sat under to cook our food. They lent their twisted branches for us to hang our clothes and diapers on to dry and so I discovered their abundant

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White Bean Soup

by Rachel Shapiro


1/2 lb dried white beans
2 bay leaves
1 medium onion
1 medium carrot
1 TBSP dried sage
1 TBSP coconut oil
2 ripe tomatoes (or one 16 oz carton)
4 cups veggie or chicken stock
4 cups water
1 cup fusilli pasta
salt and pepper

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by Debbie Weber

Acrylic on rock . 3.5″ x 4.5″

Southern State

by Rand Hall

oh my beloved south
where the hair pin turns
are tighter than my ass
as the side of the road opens
to a sheer mountain drop
bald knob, white face, cedar mountain
devils kitchen
where 15 MPH means it
roads wrapped in foliage
open suddenly to reveal
a horizon of mountain crests
stretching up from the earth
like a sleeping woman’s curves
and even at mid-day
the mist snuggles deep in her valleys

i went out west
to new mexico’s orange and blue
but shrunk in that land infertile
without “life support”
god forsaken . . . i ached
to come home to the south
green and alive.
forest so dense
it tries to eat the road

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Eyes Closed Opening

by Mel Shapcott

Watercolor and ink . 12″ x 16″ . 2013