The Fire

A more personal expression of the work I’ve been building for 25 years - the power that came here to be born.

There is an ancient fire that burns within me.

It is older than this lifetime.
I did not create it, but I carry it.

Both a gift and a burden.

It burns beneath the smallness of one human life,
beneath this fragile body.

It smoulders beneath the labels I wear - mother, wife, writer, singer.
It belongs to none of these.

This fire is the current of the sacred feminine.
Not as ornament, not as ritual prettiness.

This isn’t about dancing barefoot with peonies in my hair.

This is the raw primordial force that can rewrite worlds.

I felt it first as a child.
I sensed the magic within me.

I believed I could harness it to change my reality.

Others told me I was mistaken.

“She’s just a child. It isn’t real.”

But I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t foolish.
I was remembering.

It is more real than anything I have ever known.

The same fire that once condemned us to burn at the stake
still triggers fear in my body
and yet it is also the pulse of joy.

It is wild, embodied life force,
A divine birthright that refuses to be extinguished.

It burns whether I speak or not.
It burns whether I publish or not.

But it was not given to me to hide.

I agreed to fulfil this mission.

What burns now is the knowing
that the work must be released.
Not trimmed into something marketable or acceptable.
Not squashed to fit into conventional boxes.

It is wild. It must be free.

It will no longer be contained.

I am not the source of this fire.
I am its doorway.

And it has come to enter the world.

I must speak the words of fire.