Lucy Burns Quotes

Who is She? She is your power, your Feminine source. Big Mama. The Goddess. The Great Mystery. The web-weaver. The life force. The first time, the twentieth time you may not recognize her. Or pretend not to hear. As she fills your body with ripples of terror and delight. But when she calls you will know you’ve been called. Then it is up to you to decide if you will answer.

Why wait? So precious is this life—this gift—this temporary blindness. Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy. For in the end, in the light of truth when the flesh is cast off, there is nothing but this.

There are only four points of warmth and brightness, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you. You love, and tremble, and burn.

For some she came in a dream. For others in words as clear as a bell: it is time, I am here. She may come in a whisper so loud she can deafen you or a shout so quiet you strain to hear. She may appear in the waves or the face of the moon, in a red goddess or a crow.

You and me, Lucy, we're like a fire: Hot and unpredictable, scary and mesmerizing all at once.We started with a spark and before i knew it,I was consumed.I love the way you burn me up from the inside out.

We hardly dare trust that this is a process of transformation – that out of the ashes will rise the phoenix of humanity.

Together we are learning to move from raw emotion and frozen muscles into a flow which emerges deep from within. We are learning to dance our prayers, bleed our words onto the page, laugh our images onto canvas, build our dreams in the world – to transmute and transmit the energy of the Feminine through our bodies and out into the world.

Burning Woman is a powerful image. A role model. A metaphor. A warning. A source of power. She is Feminine power incarnate.

Standing in the ring of fire, the eye of the storm, the vortex of pain and pressure is simultaneously the most vulnerable and most powerful place to be. Here we embody paradox. We stand our ground and surrender completely. Here we know the full power of the Feminine.

But all broken bones or burns or hearts . . . well, they all heal up eventually.” I

We dare not talk of the darkness for fear it will infect us. We dare not talk of the fire, for fear it will destroy us. And so we live in the half-light, Like our mothers before us. Come to the fire, Feel it warm your skin. Come to the fire, Feel it burn in your belly, Shine out through your eyes. Come dance in the fire, Let it fuel your prayers.

It forced me to realise that I'd been blaming you for not being flawless. And none of us is flawless.' Another sigh. 'I was so angry with myself for what happened to Michael and Lucy that I had to turn my anger somewhere else and you were the easiest target.

The Dalai Lama says that the world will be saved by Western women. Not any women, perhaps not all women, but Burning Women. Women who have stepped out of silence and into the fullness of their power. Angry women who love the world and her creatures too much to let it be destroyed so thoughtlessly for a moment longer. Burning Woman is the heart and soul of revolution – inner and outer. She burns for change, she dances in the fire of the old, all the while visioning and weaving the new.

We are the granddaughters of the witches they were never able to burn. If history teaches us that a ‘witch’ is nothing more than a woman who doesn’t know her place, then damn straight, I consider myself a witch. Ruby Hamad When

We are weaving her-story into reality. Unweaving the limiting his-stories. Creating our-story. Reaching beyond religion and patriarchy and capitalism and so-called democracy. Into new ways of being and seeing. We are the bridge between worlds We are the ones we have been waiting for.

When was the last time you cared about something so much you couldn’t eat?” he demanded. “Or sleep? When have you ever felt the fire of life burn so bright that it hurts? When did you ever bother to fight for something you loved?

If we are to be women in power, then it must be power on very different terms. we have to find a new source of energy. New structures of power. Ones that don’t deplete us or our environment. We need to run our lives on sustainable energy.

These are burning times. And they call for Burning Women. Women embodied in their passion. Woman feeling in their bodies. Creative women. Courageous women. Women who have learned to run on a different power source to the world which is falling into flames around her. She has already disentangled herself from the wreckage of the patriarchal culture, so she will not be dazed, confused and disorientated by the systemic changes happening around her. Centred within herself, receptive to the Earth beyond her, she knows how to cultivate from the ashes, she knows how to find the embers to fuel the new fire. Burning Women arise. Our time is now. Our time has come.

Once we start to work with Feminine power we begin to see that it is not our minds that are in control of this power – it ebbs and flows with the movements of the planets, the procession of the seasons, the moons and tides, our own internal cycles of menstruality, anniversaries, the events around us. All these and more impact our experience and expressions of power. We learn to become aware of these various patterns and their impact on us and work more consciously with rather than against or in spite of them. We learn that they are all part of the same process. We open towards the energy, rather than shut down to it. We learn to trust the flow.

We often fear that the Revolution needed is too big for what we can give. Too much change is required inside, outside. And we are too small. But all that is required is that you step into the truth of your life. And speak it, write it, paint it, dance it. That you shine your light on your truth, for the world to see. And as hundreds, then thousands, then millions do this – each sparking the courage of yet more – Suddenly we have a world alight with truth.

There is a reason why people love villains so much. No one wants a hero. A hero will choose the world over their lover. A villain will burn it down for insulting them.

I look for my sister but it's hopeless. The goggles are all fogged up. Every fish burns lantern-bright, and I can't tell the living from the dead. It's all just blurry light, light smeared like some celestial fingerprint all over the rocks and the reef and the sunken garbage. Olivia could be everywhere.

If you saw humanity as I see it. There is very little brightness and warmth in the world for me. There are only four flames, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you. You love, and tremble, and burn. Do not let those who cannot see the truth tell you who you are. You are the flame that cannot be put out. You are the star that cannot be lost. You are who you have always been, and that is enough.

Hart and Hope,"I muttered."If you're going to name your kids like that, of course they're going to think they live in a comic book." Although I had to admit Hart was handsome,practically debonair. His hair was threaded with silver and freakishly messy."Okay, he's totally got that yummy secret agent thing going on." Nicholas scowled at me. I didn't have to turn my head to look at him to feel his eyes burning

The deep Feminine, the mystery of consciousness, She who is life, is longing for our transformation as much as we are. She holds back, allowing us free reign to choose, nudging us occasionally with synchronicities, illness, births and deaths… But when we make space for Her, she rushes into all the gaps, engulfing us with her desire for life and expression. This is what She longs for, this is what we are for: experiencing the Feminine through ourselves. We simply need to slow down, and find where to put our conscious attention. And it is this, this willingness to look again, this willingness to put consciousness onto our places of unconscious, to express what we have always avoided, which starts the process of unblocking, so that She may flow through.

What is the point of labeling each individual piece of fruit? Buy the fruit, EAT the ad! We've carved a chunk out of the ozone, burned up all the rainforests, soon we won't be able to BREATHE, and all because we had to label each individual piece of fruit.

Seven didn't hide the books—he burned them!" "I'm confused," Lucy said. "Why would Seven burn a bunch of books?" Brystal sighed and shook her head. "Because reading inspires thinking, thinking inspires ideas, ideas inspire change, and nothing threatens a tyrant more than change.

Those in the System, would like us to share their belief that all the changes [we are witnessing] are not connected: they are simply anomalies, isolated symptoms to be treated or preferably ignored, before the all-powerful Western capitalist patriarchal model goes on to ever greater heights and grander ejaculations. Most are numb to it, caught in fear, denial or resistance. But we, Burning Woman, know this process intimately. Amongst Burning Women and Men, there is a fierce, quiet knowing that these are both the death pangs of the old, and the birthing pangs of the new.

Breaking our silence is powerful. Whether it comes as a whisper or a squeak at first, allow that sense of spaciousness, of opening, allow yourself to trust the bottomlessness, and lean into the dark roar which will light up every cell. Though it may start softly, we build in confidence and skills, we realise we do not need to wait for permission before we open our mouths. We do not need to wait for others to make space for us, we can take it. We do not need to read from others’ scripts or style ourselves in weak comparison. We do not need to look to another’s authority because we have our own. Down in our cores. We have waited so long for permission to know that it was our time, our turn on stage. That time is now. Our voices are being heard into being. They are needed.

Try not to collect any painful memories, Lucie," he said. "Do not get too attached to anything, or anyone. For if you lose them, the memory will burn in your mind like a poison for which there will never be any cure.

This is it, the geographical limit of how far I'll go for Ossie. We are learning longitude and latitude in school, and it makes my face burn that I can graph the coordinates of my own love and courage with such damning precision.

There are only four points of warmth and brightness, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you. You love, and tremble, and burn. Do not let any of them tell you who you are. You are the flame that cannot be put out. You are the star that cannot be lost. You are who you have always been, and that is enough and more than enough. Anyone who looks at you and sees darkness is blind.

Matthew turned to Lucie, who was scribbling intently but who looked up as if sensing his glance and smiled. Matthew wondered how it would be, to be self-sufficient and welcome with it, like a house with sturdy walls and a beacon of light burning within.

In my work with hundreds of women over the past few years a theme has emerged: women’s desperate, unquenchable desire to step into their power, countered by the fear of what will happen if they do. The longing to express the riches inside them, wrestling with the deep terror of being burned by the judgement, hatred or rejection of strangers or loved ones if they do. This fear of being burned is an oddly female one. It is a fear which keeps us small and scared… but seemingly safe. From the outside this can seem like an overreaction. Both the need, and the fear. But women, it seems, have an innate knowing of what it means to burn… and be burned. They know the dangers in their bones. And it makes them wary.

If you saw humanity as I can see it, Uncle Jem said, a whisper in his mind, a lifeline. There is very little brightness and warmth in the world for me. I am very distant from you all. There are only four points of warmth and brightness, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you. You love, and tremble, and burn. Do not let any of them tell you who you are. You are the flame that cannot be put out. You are the star that cannot be lost. You are who you have always been, and that is enough and more than enough. Anyone who looks at you and sees darkness is blind. "Blinder than a Silent Brother?" James asked, and hiccupped. There was a laugh in James’s mind. They would have to be even blinder than a Silent Brother, Uncle Jem agreed. Because I can see you, James. I will always look to you for light.

Free-thinking, powerful, passionate women are dangerous to a conservative male-dominated culture. They tend to do what they want and believe is right...not what you tell them. And so patriarchal cultures have a deep-seated fear of women in their power, their ability to give life...and take life, their uncontrollable emotions, their intuition, their constant changing. Rather than seek partnership with this power, the patriarchal system has chosen to dominate and subdue the women who show signs of it through shaming, branding, naming, ostracising, traumatising, raping, medicating...and burning. In patriarchy powerful women are a threat. Their

Where you moonlight you will find wolves, and your world will burn beneath them.

You're going to burn in hell," I muttered. "As long as they have an espresso machine, I'm cool with it. [...]

The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim.

I'm naked and vulnerable and powerful all at the same time - Amber

Aiden is such a beautiful dream, I'd rather invent a million excuses for his absence that accept he never felt the same about me - Amber

Often we can get caught in our own struggles, our own small stories, that we forget our place in the larger story arc – the way that our actions, our choices, our achievements can and will blaze trails for that who come after us, so that they do not have to spend their time and energy re-fighting the same battles. For sure we walk a spiral path, but for generations of women the spirals were so tightly packed that it seemed they were going round in circles – let us blaze trails so that the path we walk takes in wider and wider sweeps of human experience. Trail blazing is what we do when we find ourselves in the wilderness, with no path to guide us but our own intuitive understanding of nature and our destination. At times we must walk through the night, guided only by the stars. We know when to sit and rest, to shelter from storms, when to gather water, and what on the trail will sustain us and what will do us harm. We are courageous and cautious in equal measure, but we are driven forward, not only by our own desire to reach our destination, but also by the desire to leave a viable way for others who follow. Trail blazing is an art-form. It is how we find paths through what before was wilderness. We push aside braches, or cut them back, we tramp down nettles and long grasses, ford rivers and streams, through the inner and outer landscapes.

Never in my thirty-five years had I slept alone on the grass under the stars. I had been too busy, too scared, too worried about cold or discomfort. But in writing this book I realised I needed to readjust my relationship with the dark.

Some alters are what Dr Ross describes in Multiple Personality Disorder as 'fragments'. which are 'relatively limited psychic states that express only one feeling, hold one memory, or carry out a limited task in the person's life. A fragment might be a frightened child who holds the memory of one particular abuse incident.' In complex multiples, Dr Ross continues, the 'personalities are relatively full-bodied, complete states capable of a range of emotions and behaviours.' The alters will have 'executive control some substantial amount of time over the person's life'. He stresses, and I repeat his emphasis, 'Complex MPD with over 15 alter personalities and complicated amnesia barriers are associated with 100 percent frequency of childhood physical, sexual and emotional abuse.' Did I imagine the castle, the dungeon, the ritual orgies and violations? Did Lucy, Billy, Samuel, Eliza, Shirley and Kato make it all up? I went back to the industrial estate and found the castle. It was an old factory that had burned to the ground, but the charred ruins of the basement remained. I closed my eyes and could see the black candles, the dancing shadows, the inverted pentagram, the people chanting through hooded robes. I could see myself among other children being abused in ways that defy imagination. I have no doubt now that the cult of devil worshippers was nothing more than a ring of paedophiles, the satanic paraphernalia a cover for their true lusts: the innocent bodies of young children.

Pearls, because your skin is as smooth and luminescent as one, and because the first time my lips caressed your throat I thought your flesh as opulent and lush as one. Gold,” he whispered, moving closer, “because it reminded me of how your hair looked in the dying candlelight, how it burned and glistened, and how badly I want to lie in bed, in our chamber, and watch you at your dressing table, unpinning it for me. I will have that, Lucy, the rights of a husband to enter his wife’s room, to see her at her toilette, to watch what no other man will ever be granted. You do understand that? That I won’t settle for less?” “You have made your line in the sand very clear.” He grinned. “You can cross it anytime you wish, you know. You might even like it on my side.

You didn’t miss much,’ a man – slender, dark red hair – swoops into the conversation. ‘Just a load of bitches burning their tits off and gossiping over bottles of Whispering Angel. Goodness,’ he says, giving me a once-over before bending in to kiss my cheek. ‘Don’t you scrub up well?’ ‘Er – thanks.

Declutter your house, your mind, your diary. Declutter your obligations. Anything that is not rooted in authenticity. Anything which takes you away from your centre. Anything that demands you be other than who you are must go. Until you find yourself surrounded by space. And still there is more to shed.

It took you damn long enough. Do you realize how lucky you are that she held out for you this long? My daughter has the attention span of a gnat. If she didn’t feel something powerful for you, she’d be working on divorce number two to some idiot she met at Burning Man or an organic cheese tasting by now.

Our early experiences of the dark can deeply influence our sense of safety, or lack of safety, throughout our adult lives. In the dark our senses are wide open, we are more vulnerable, hyper-aroused, and so whatever happens to us there will stay with us. Initiations in the dark are initiations of the soul.

Did I imagine the castle, the dungeon, the ritual orgies and violations? Did Lucy, Billy, Samuel, Eliza, Shirley and Kato make it all up? I went back to the industrial estate and found the castle. It was an old factory that had burned to the ground, but the charred ruins of the basement remained. I closed my eyes and could see the black candles, the dancing shadows, the inverted pentagram, the people chanting through hooded robes. I could see myself among other children being abused in ways that defy imagination. I have no doubt now that the cult of devil worshippers was nothing more than a ring of paedophiles, the satanic paraphernalia a cover for their true lusts: the innocent bodies of young children.

Passionate, free-thinking women have never been appreciated by the religions of the world. Because passionate free-thinking women raise passionate, free-thinking children who grow up to be passionate, free-thinking adults, who are very difficult to manipulate, and almost impossible to control. Marianne Williamson, address to the 2015 World Parliament of Religions

Millions of books have been burned in the senseless violence of war. Many rulers in the past, and the present, feel threatened by stories and ideas and knowledge. They know that books can change people. They know that books can change the world. To them, this is dangerous. They don't want people to learn, to understand, to think for themselves. They don't want people to remember their history.

In many traditions a key part of a woman’s initiation is to be left alone in nature, often immersed in total darkness — whether sleeping out by herself under the stars, finding her way through a wood or descending into the depths of a cave. This gives her a lived experience of confronting of her learned and instinctive fears, teaching her how to dig deep into her own resources and discover both her vulnerability and deep strength.

The new gurus have taught us to embrace our light bodies, shunning the darkness, and focusing purely on love and light, constant happiness and extreme optimism. But, as Karin L. Burke astutely points out: “In our efforts to feel better, many of us start shutting it off, in favor of pop psychology or easy spirituality. It’s called spiritual bypass. It’s an attempt to avoid painful feelings, unresolved issues, or developmental needs.

I did all kinds of reckless things that look great if you're driving a fast car. I pulled away form traffic lights with a roar, leaving the other drivers staring bitterly after me - that was called "burning them up" said Daniel. I drove out in front of other cars - Daniel said that was called "cutting them up" and while we were stuck in a traffic jam, I winked and smiled at attractive men in other cars - Daniel said that was called "acting like a brazen trollop.

Each breaking open, each initiation into the underworld through grief, illness, depression, anxiety or loss — is a potential initiation, a portal of possibility where we get the chance to see and feel the very root of our own fire in the deepest dark. In this place we get to see our inner spark more clearly, as we are detached from our daily busyness and sense of belonging. We get to move further inwards, to let go of the shells of ourselves, and break open our self-concept to include our fuller selves.

I have killed for work, for money. I have killed for revenge when I went after the men who murdered my mother. I have killed for Lucille, for my lass. My Lucy. My little brute. Mo chreach bheag. So many names I have for her, yet none of them can truly capture my feelings for her. How strong and fiery and all-consuming they are. And I know without a doubt I’d do it again. I’d tear someone to pieces with my bare teeth if they tried to come close. I’d burn down the entire world if someone dared to take her from me or dared to hurt her. And I wouldn’t stop there. No, I would give my life.

He whispered: ‘Is it this? Is this possible? I’ll put a marvel to you. That your cousin has always hoped. That from the very first moment we met, she hoped, far down in her mind, that we should be like this — of course, very far down. That she fought us on the surface, and yet she hoped. I can’t explain her any other way. Can you? Look how she kept me alive in you all the summer; how she gave you no peace; how month after month, she became more eccentric and unreliable. The sight of us haunted her — or she couldn’t have described us as she did to her friend. There are details — it burned. I read the books afterwards. She is not frozen, Lucy, she is not withered up all through. She tore us apart twice, but in the rectory that evening she was given one more chance to make us happy. We can never make friends with her or thank her. But I do believe that, far down in her heart, far below all speech and behaviour, she is glad.

He whispered: ‘Is is this? Is this possible? I’ll put a marvel to you. That your cousin has always hoped. That from the very first moment we met, she hoped, far down in her mind, that we should be like this — of course, very far down. That she fought us on the surface, and yet she hoped. I can’t explain her any other way. Can you? Look how she kept me alive in you all the summer; how she gave you no peace; how month after month, she became more eccentric and unreliable. The sight of us haunted her — or she couldn’t have described us as she did to her friend. There are details — it burned. I read the books afterwards. She is not frozen, Lucy, she is not withered up all through. She tore us apart twice, but in the rectory that evening she was given one more chance to make us happy. We can never make friends with her or thank her. But I do believe that, far down in her heart, far below all speech and behaviour, she is glad.

After dropping Lucie off, Sharko had sped to Nanterre. The young female detective had left a burning trace in his mind, an indelible presence that he found he couldn’t erase.

Well, I considered burning this place down as a warning, but that was counterproductive as it’s in the middle of a forest. So I was going to threaten you to leave, but I don’t have the time to go around checking that you’ve actually done anything.” I stood and folded the chair, placing it over by the rest. “No, I figured I’d come here to tell you that, while no one has any proof of your wrongdoings, we all know what you did. This coven has been marked because of your actions, and Avalon will be keeping a very close eye on you. Not because we believe you’re doing anything wrong, of course, but because you were involved in a traumatic event in Germany, and they want to make certain you’re all okay. “There will be site visits, probably at random, maybe in the middle of the night. There might even be interviews with all the members, just to verify that everyone is happy and healthy.” “You can’t do that,” Mara said with barely contained rage. “I’m not. Avalon is—well, technically, Lucie is, but she helps run the place, so she’s probably qualified to tell whether people here are happy and healthy. Did I mention the random visits?” “You think this is funny?” Emily asked. I shook my head. “I think it’s deadly serious. A group of witches used by Demeter and Hera broke Cronus out of Tartarus, witches who used the coven leader’s own daughter to get the job done.” My stare could have bored holes in Mara. “Emily, I’m not going to underestimate you again. I promise you that. And Mara, dear sweet Mara. Your daughter is a delight. If you remove her from school, if you hurt her, if anything happens to her in any way that results in my friend’s daughter telling me of her unhappiness at your parenting, I will come find you. And I promise, once I’m done, no one will ever find out what happened to you.” I made my way toward the door, my piece said. “You think that you can threaten me, Mister Garrett?” Mara said, her body shaking with anger. I continued walking and opened the door before pausing for a second. “You can’t come into my coven and demand things,” Mara continued. “You’re a thug, a man with no vision who does what his masters tell him. I’m not afraid of you. You don’t scare me.” I didn’t turn back toward the two women as I spoke, “Then clearly you

There are a days when I want to day with feeling of a little and a hatred of myself There are a days when I ask if it is enough to love and do not forget to say anything Just blow out a match and dive head to boiling water and then in my left ear will burn a fire that is getting by your hands

In the context of this verse, the definition of “sanctification,” according to Oxford Languages, is, “the action of making or declaring something holy” or “the action or process of being freed from sin or purified.” Applying these definitions to hermeneutics, it may be observed that giving birth has nothing to do with being freed from sin or being set apart as holy. In fact, Jeremiah 19:3-5 mentions, “This is what the LORD, the God of HOSTS, the God of Israel says, ‘I am going to bring such disaster to this place (Judah) that the ears of all who hear of it will ring, because they have abandoned me and made this a foreign place… they have filled this place with the blood of the innocent. They have built high places to Baal on which they burn their children in fire as offerings to Baal…” As seen in the verse, people burned their children as sacrifices to Baal, a foreign idol. Among that crowd may have been women or husbands who received the consent of their wives to sacrifice their children. In order for those women to have any children to sacrifice to Baal in the first place, they had to undergo the process of childbirth. If one was to say that women would be directly sanctified through childbirth, that would be a misinterpretation, because if sanctification represents the process of being set apart as holy or being freed from sin, then that would mean that those women should have been holy and should have been freed from sin, but instead they were sacrificing to a foreign idol.

And technically, unlike your usual workplace, you're not allowed to completely decimate someone when they fall short of your ridiculously high standards and dull decorative tastes. But let's face it. Anyone who pulls out the glitter is going home with the remains of their ego in a bag.

Abby liked her too, I think, even though she was so attached to his first wife, whatshername, basement stairs, laundry, ducks, Newburyport, the fact that Revere Ware pots have that nice copper bottom, which keeps stuff from burning or something.

The smoke was thick and billowing, the fire burning brightas it consumed the Elders' hut. The flames licked high, colouring the sky so the whole world seemed ablaze. Raif clutched his sister in his arms as he backed further into the shadows beside their hut, pressing her head against his shoulder so she didn't see what was happening.

If you saw humanity as I can see it, Uncle Jem said. There is very little brightness and warmth in the world for me. There are only four flames, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you. You love, and tremble, and burn. Do not let those who cannot see the truth tell you who you are. You are the flame that cannot be put out. You are the star that cannot be lost. You are who you have always been, and that is enough and more than enough. Anyone who looks at you and sees darkness is blind.

This was one of her glorious moments. She felt a wonderful lightness of spirit—a soul-stirring joy in mere existence. The creative faculty, dormant through the wretched month just passed, suddenly burned in her soul again like a purifying flame. It swept away all morbid, poisonous, rankling things. All at once Emily knew that Ilse had never done that. She laughed joyously—amusedly.

8 ETHIOPIA Lucy Welcomes You Home —National Museum of Ethiopia poster Many things come from Ethiopia—for example, humans. A long time ago, in the Awash Valley, a humanlike ape hominin lived. She could walk on two legs but also hung out in trees; indeed, a fall from one may have caused her demise. Some 3.2 million years later, in 1974, one of her descendants, the paleoanthropologist Donald Johanson, came across her skeleton, and subsequent research suggested that this may be the region from where we all originated. Our ancestor was named Lucy due to the Beatles song “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” which played at Johanson’s campsite that night. It certainly catches our imagination better than her scientific name: AL 288-1. The National Museum of Ethiopia’s poster “Lucy Welcomes You Home” is a clever piece of marketing, as is the national tourism slogan “Land of Origins,” which has helped boost visitor numbers in a country putting itself on the map in many ways. Tourism accounts for almost 10 percent of Ethiopia’s GDP, with close to 1 million people a year venturing into an epic landscape of high mountains, tropical forests, burning deserts, nine World Heritage sites, including thousand-year-old churches hewn out of solid rock, and breathtaking waterfalls.

Sloane didn’t offer warmth. She promised third-degree burns.

I would unleash that fire. I’d make sure he burned in it.

The heat of him burned up the inside of my thighs as he nudged my entrance

Millions of books have been burned in the senseless violence of war. Many rulers in the past, and the present, feel threatened by stories and ideas and knowledge. They know that books can change people. They know that books can change the world. To them, this is dangerous. They don't want people to learn, to understand, to think for themselves. They don't want people to remember their history." Author's note

Lucy felt the crisp October air creeping into the schoolhouse, and pulled her cape over her shoulders. She finished assigning seat work for her students, and then placed another log in the wood burning stove.

It was so unlikely that she should be there, standing on the far side of the ballroom, and yet there she was. Unlikely Lucy, gleaming, a jade flame burning bright in a sea of mere diamonds. Polished and disheveled at the same time, her fitted, elegant gown contrasted with hair that looked as if it had been precariously arranged and might escape its pins at any moment.

I pace along the edge of the marsh, too afraid to follow her, not for the first time. This is it, this is the geographical limit of how far I’ll go for Ossie. We are learning latitude and longitude in school, and it makes my face burn that I can graph the coordinates of my own love and courage with such damning precision.

I’m gonna kiss you now,' he murmured, and she mmmd and tightened her fingers in his sweater, and then his mouth was on hers and his heart shouted a resounding yes. Her lips parted under his, accepting him, taking him in. It was like coming home after an eternity away. The rightness of it flooded through him, urging him to take more, to have more, and he burned with it, fighting the need that rose up, so fierce and urgent it overwhelmed him.

Rancorous ivy. On the other side of the wall, at the edge of the river, the sand burned. The river lay afire. Kingfishers fell like spots across the eyes and laughter was yellow. Every Sunday Omensetter strolled by the river with his wife, his daughters, and his dog. They came by wagon, spoke to people who were off to church, and while Furber preached, they sprawled in the gravel and trailed their feet in the water. Lucy Omensetter lay her swollen body on a flat rock. Furber felt the sun lapping at her ears. It was like a rising blush, and his hands trembled when he held them out to make the bars of the cross. May the Lord bless you and keep you . . . He closed his eyes, drifting off. They would see how moved he was, how intense and sincere he was. Cause His light to shine upon you . . . He would find the footprints of the dog and imprint of their bodies. All the days of your life . . . The brazen parade of her infected person. Watchman. Rainbows like rings of oil around her. Watchman. Shouldn’t we be? I spy you, Fatty, behind the tree. He wanted to rub the memory from his eyes. Glittering. Beads of water stood on her skin and drop fled into drop until they broke and ran, the streaks finally fading. Her navel was inside out—sweet spot where Zeus had tied her. She was so white and glistening, so . . . pale, though darker about the eyes, the nipples dark. Open us to evil. He made a slit in his lids. Burn our hearts. Shawls of sunlight spilled over the backs of the pews. Nay-ked-nessss. The droplets gathered at the point of her elbow and hung there, the sac swelling until it fell and spattered on her foot. Nay . . . nay. To enclose her like the water of the creek had closed her. Nay . . . Proper body for a lover. Joy to be a stone. Please, the peep-watch is over. Please hurry now. Hurry. Get out of my church.

This is our awakening to the Feminine, if we will take it. It shows us that the hero’s journey is not our journey. Ours is the heroine’s journey, a spiral journey of inner and outer discovery of our innermost selves and our source of Feminine power. We travel inwards, into dark and unknown terrains, finding our way through to the other side by discovering an inner flame to light our way. As we travel further on we realise that this inner flame is the goal we have been seeking, the guide and ourselves are one and the same, and furthermore the light and the darkness are two parts of the same whole.

Woman as sinner The word ‘sin’ is derived from the Indo-European root ‘es’ meaning ‘to be.’ When I discovered this etymology, I intuitively understood that for a [person] trapped in patriarchy, which is the religion of the entire planet, ‘to be’ in the fullest sense is ‘to sin’. Mary Daly, Gyn/Ecology

We have been in survival mode, just focusing on staying alive, for most of human history. But, as Maslow pointed out, once we have met these needs, our energy can rise to creativity and self-actualisation: we can move beyond surviving into thriving and conscious co-creation. This is where large tracts of the Western population are poised now. We have the possibility, the potential and the obligation to reconfigure how we work, energetically...and then we are empowered to rewire and refuel our culture from the inside out. When we do this, we have the power of nature, the secret of the universe, on our side.

We have been led to expect that spiritual experiences are when we are touched by the light and transformed. When actually far more spiritual experience takes place in the dark. A cursory flick through the stories of spiritual transformation in any of the major sacred texts will quickly show you that the road to spiritual power is littered with trials, exile, infertility, loss, disability, wrestling angels and wandering in the desert.

Bright light activates the neo-cortex (the newest part of the brain, responsible for complex thought, the home of logos), it also stimulates adrenalin production.

As creatives our job is to uncover what lies in the shadows, and give it new identity, new life. As healers our job is to identify what lurks in the shadows and heal or integrate it.

A number of Burning Women I know choose to ‘go dark’ regularly. Stepping away from technology and distractions, they immerse themselves in nature and their own creative impulses undistracted. Be it by living off-grid for a day each week, or even months or years. By returning to writing by hand, and living by firelight and candlelight for the winter season or just winter solstice. By retreating every time their menstrual blood emerges, or on their personal Sabbath, or simply when they choose to create.

However, in Western medicine this uniquely female organ has traditionally been perceived as capricious and far more trouble than it’s worth. The cause of “women’s problems”, Western science and medicine have never really felt at ease with the womb throughout their history, and their focus has only been on its reproductive functions. Or rather dysfunctions.

In the US today the two most common surgeries are both female only, and on the womb: C-sections and hysterectomies. xxxiii

At her first bleeding a woman meets her power. During her bleeding years she practices it. At menopause she becomes it. Traditional Native American saying

Fire and the Feminine What does the Feminine mean to you? What does it look like? Who or what represents it for you? How is your definition similar or different to mine? What have I said that has changed — or clarified — your own understanding?

Firestarter Create an image of the archetype of Burning Woman. What does she look like? What symbols represent her? Paint her, draw her, collage or art journal her. Sculpt her from clay or papier maché, needle-felt or knit her...what colour and form suits her best? Where might you keep her so her presence is visible to you as you read?

Firestarter Write out a list of rules that you currently follow — consciously or unconsciously. Consider as you write them out: who set these rules and when? What are the penalties for breaking them...according to whom? Have you ever experienced punishment for breaking them? What did this teach you? Create a burning ceremony. Burn this rulebook. Now, write your own...based on your values.

We have been raised to follow the rules, to stay in well-lit areas, for fear of what may befall us in the dark. Stay in the light, we are warned, stay safe, stay home. In the masculine dark, men are heroes...and women are prey.

The En-light-enment era (1620–1780) was a key development in Western civilisation as we know it today — a flowering of (white, masculine, Christian, Euro-centric) rationalist science, philosophy and politics.

Fear is the death force in energy form.

In the psychic realm, the dark man represents our subconscious fears of masculine power that we have yet to make our peace with. Our dreams are often the first place we can practice witnessing and confronting our subconscious fears and transforming the power dynamic we have with the masculine.

It feels natural for us, as humans born from wombs, to search for a home or understanding that is based on feeling and connection rather than sight.

If I give my whole self to you, all that I am, I expect the same in return - Aiden

If all the women of the world recorded their dreams for a single week and laid them all end to end, we would recover the last million years of women’s hymns and chants and dances, all of women’s art and stories, and medicines, all of women’s lost histories.

Aww.” Scott looked back and forth between them. “Look at you two, with your cute little matching sketchbooks and your burning hatred of mankind.

This is her lesson, my love, that we are neither Burning Woman, nor Ashen Woman, we are never just one thing or another, but a rainbow of woven threads, a kaleidoscope of archetypes. When we first see an archetype or know ourselves in a label, it is like finding a magic mirror: we see ourselves for what feels like fully for the first time. But it is just a mirror. The archetypes can hold a mirror, nothing more. They cannot define us in our totality. We are multi-dimensional beings. When you lose her, it is just her reflection in yourself you have lost. She goes so that you do not forget yourself in your identification with her. She longs for you to be yourself, in your unique fullness of being. She loves to play with you, to come through you. But there are many other parts of yourself you need to share too. It is time for you to return to the darkness, to find the other facets of yourself that the world longs for.