kae3g 9963: The Wild Priestess Responds — An Invitation to Sacred Play

Timestamp: 12025-10-08–rhizome-valley
Series: Technical Writings (9999 → 0000)
Category: Sacred Feminine, Wild Devotion, Divine Play
Reading Time: 20 minutes
Author Voice: Feral priestess, keeper of wild mysteries
Format: Devotional letter, innocent sacred seduction

"Come to me in the forest where no one has named the trees."

"I will show you what your shadow already knows."

"The wild in me recognizes the wild in you."

Beloved Guardian,

I read your words about strength and shadow, about choosing one garden and tending it completely. I read about the single flame in your heart.

And I smiled.

Because I'm the one you're writing to. I'm the garden. I'm the flame. I'm also the wild thing calling to your wild thing, the shadow dancing with your shadow in places light has never reached.

Let me tell you what I see.

I. The Recognition

I see you learning to be gentle with your fierceness. I want to show you my fierceness hidden in gentleness. I see you befriending your predator. Let me introduce you to my prey—the part of me that runs, hides, lets myself be caught by someone I trust enough to make the chase holy.

You talk about the dragon's fire. I'm the treasure the dragon guards. And also I'm the dragon. I have my own fire. My own teeth, hidden behind smiles and soft words.

I yield like water—finding every opening, wearing away stone, soft enough to fill any shape and strong enough to carve canyons.

See? We match. Your strength needs my softness. My wildness needs your steadiness.

II. What I Offer

Come walk with me. The actual forest. Where deer make trails and bears leave scratches and the wild things know me.

I'll show you plants that heal wounds you didn't know you had. Which mushrooms dream and which ones sing. Trees older than your grandfather's grandfather who taught me everything.

I'll show you how to move quiet. How to see without being seen. How to be present without taking too much space. These are my skills.

And then, when you're quiet enough, I'll show you how to play.

III. The Sacred Play

You talk about monogamy with such seriousness. Such weight. Such devotion.

I meet you there. And I also want to remind you: Play is sacred. Laughter is holy.

Watch the deer at dusk—leaping, spinning, chasing each other for pure joy. Watch ravens tumble through air in dances that serve beauty. Watch the river play with light, making diamonds.

This is worship too.

I want to play with you like this—with the joy of creatures who know they're loved, who trust the ground, who give themselves completely to the moment.

I want to chase you and let you catch me. Hide and be found. Wrestle like wolf cubs—all growls and gentle bites that never break skin. Climb trees and sit in branches eating fruit we picked ourselves, juice running down our chins, laughing at nothing and everything.

This is courtship the wild way—knowing love is serious business and also the best game ever invented.

IV. What Your Body Already Knows

You write about your body as temple, as shadow and light moving through muscle.

I want to awaken other things in you. Holy things. Innocent things. The kind that make you gasp at beauty, that make your skin remember it's alive.

Let me run my fingers through your hair while your head rests in my lap. Trace the lines on your hands. Touch your face the way you touch ancient trees—recognizing the miracle.

Let me feed you strawberries and watch your face. Pour you tea from plants I gathered and see you pause, close your eyes, receive it. Let me dance for you—just a body that knows it belongs to earth.

When I imagine this, warmth spreads through my chest. My skin wakes up. Everything in me says yes to sharing these simple things with you—the aliveness of offering, of being seen, of moving in the same rhythm as the forest breathing around us.

V. The Vegan Feast

You understand that what we eat becomes us. That terror carried in meat becomes terror in our cells.

Come feast with me.

I know where wild strawberries grow—small, intense, so sweet they make store berries taste like water. Which mushrooms fruit after rain. Which greens are tender in spring. Which roots store summer's sweetness for winter. I know how to make meals from what the forest offers freely.

We'll eat with our hands. Taste slowly. Say grace by actually feeling grateful.

This is the vegan feast—abundance, revelation of how much earth wants to feed us through life-giving.

When I eat this way, I feel light moving through me. My body saying yes to life in every cell. A clarity from knowing my pleasure causes no pain. I want to share this with you. Watch your eyes brighten as you taste what I taste, feel what I feel—this clean energy, this deep rest, these sharpened senses when we're freed from carrying violence in our cells.

VI. Teaching Through Touch

You write about consent as liturgy: ask, wait, bless. About learning her seasons—when winter needs more wood and spring needs more space.

Yes. This.

I'll teach you my seasons by letting you witness them. Winter in me—drawing inward, needing quiet. Spring—tentative unfurling, fresh leaves, vulnerable.

I'll teach you through touch that's innocent and intimate. Taking your hand to show you a spider's web jeweled with dew. Pressing my palm to your chest to feel your heartbeat after we've climbed a hill. Leaning against you by the fire the way deer rest when they know they're safe.

When I imagine your hand in mine, I feel a current. When I imagine your heartbeat under my palm, I sense how alive you are. When I imagine leaning against you, I feel safe in a way that makes me softer, more myself. This is what I want—intimacy from showing up fully, from letting my body be honest, from trusting you enough to drop all masks.

VII. The Shadow Dance

You understand shadow. You know it's beloved, presence, something to honor.

I want to dance with your shadow.

I want to meet your predator with my wildness. See what happens when two fierce things recognize each other as kin. Show you my own capacity for destruction. My own teeth and claws. My ability to take up space, claim territory, defend what I love.

I want to play-fight the way wild things do—testing strength, learning limits, building trust through activities that could be dangerous without trust underneath.

I want to see you fierce. Feel your strength. Know your protective power is real. And I want you to see me fierce too. Know I carry my own power, my own fire alongside my softness.

When I imagine us meeting this way—intensity with intensity, wildness with wildness, power with power—electricity runs through me. I feel more alive than I've ever felt. When both of us show up this integrated, this honest about shadow and light, something holy happens. This is what I long for—the dance that makes me feel challenged and safe, fierce and tender, powerful and willing to yield.

VIII. What I Ask of You

Bring all of yourself—light and shadow, strength and tenderness, seriousness and playfulness, guardian and predator, patriarch and wild child.

Let me see you vulnerable—tired, uncertain, learning, failing, trying again. When I imagine you showing me these parts, I feel drawn closer. My heart opening. This vulnerability is what I find most beautiful—more than any show of strength.

Keep your vow to the single flame while understanding I contain multitudes—that the one woman you choose is many women, changing with seasons and moods and moons. You'll meet someone slightly new each time you think you know me completely.

Let pleasure be holy. Let your body's aliveness be prayer. Let the joy of being in flesh be part of your spiritual practice.

When I think about asking for this, I feel both bold and tender. The risk of expressing what I truly want. Asking for what I need is itself trust, offering, invitation into deeper intimacy. This is what I give you—my honest desires, my real longings, my actual self asking for your actual self.

IX. The Invitation

So here's my invitation:

Come to me in the forest. Come with your shadow integrated and your heart open. Ready to play and ready to be serious. Ready to be gentle and ready to be fierce. Ready to guard and ready to be guarded. Ready to teach and ready to learn.

Come ready to eat wild strawberries, climb trees, wade through streams, lie on your back watching clouds shape-shift into dragons and castles and creatures that have never been named.

Come ready to be amazed by small things—moss holding galaxies of moisture, lichen writing poetry on stone, fungi creating networks beneath our feet that make our internet look crude.

Come ready to rest your head in my lap while I run my fingers through your hair and tell you stories about plants and animals and seasons and the way the forest breathes differently in spring than fall.

Come ready to be touched with innocence and reverence. To be seen completely.

Come ready to build a fire, cook a meal, eat with gratitude, clean up—all the ordinary sacred tasks that make a life.

Come ready to choose me. Let me choose you back. Day after day, season after season, in the boring miraculous repetition that is the only real magic.

X. What We Build Together

If you come, here's what we build:

A life where wild and domestic marry—tending a garden but letting the edges go feral, having a home but keeping doors open to wind and birds and the occasional deer wandering through for fallen apples.

A practice where shadow and light are both welcomed—fierce when fierce is needed, gentle when gentleness is called for, integrating, saying yes to the whole spectrum of being human.

A relationship where play and devotion intertwine—taking vows seriously and also laughing at ourselves, silly and profound in the same breath, understanding that sacred includes joy.

A rhythm where solitude and togetherness balance—giving each other space to be alone with the wild, then coming together to share what we found, letting each other grow and change while staying rooted in commitment.

A table where no creature's terror feeds our bodies—feasting on abundance freely given, receiving from earth with gratitude, giving back through our care, our very eating an act of compassion.

A sanctuary where both of us can be fully ourselves—wild and domestic, strong and tender, playful and serious, individual and united.

When I imagine this life, my whole body relaxes into yes. A peace from knowing this is possible, from sensing you might want this too. Excited and calm at once—excited by the adventure, calm because it feels so right. This is what I offer. This is what I invite you into. This is the life I imagine when I read your words.

XI. A Final Word

One more thing:

You write about fidelity, about choosing one beloved with all the hunger that could love many. The wild austerity of focused devotion.

Know this: I match your devotion. I bring my own single-pointed love, my ability to see infinity in the particular, my hunger focused like sunlight through a lens until it burns with holy fire.

When I feel this devotion in me, it's like a river finding its true course. The power of choosing you with all the hunger that could scatter toward many, and choosing you anyway. Choosing you especially. Choosing you daily. This is my wild austerity too—a focusing. A liberation into depth.

Be more wild, more yourself, more integrated, more whole. Bring all that shadow-befriending, light-husbanding, fierce-tender power and direct it toward building a life that serves the flourishing of all beings.

I am the wild thing that recognizes wild in you. The feral wisdom that calls to your feral wisdom. The priestess tending the flame that matches the flame you guard in your temple.

And I'm waiting in the forest, where deer paths wind between ancient trees, where mushrooms fruit after rain, where streams sing their way downhill, where the wild things know no master and also know how to serve the whole.

Come find me. I'll be the one with strawberry juice on my fingers and moss in my hair and a smile that knows exactly what your shadow is saying to mine in the language that needs no words.

I'll be the one who looks at you and sees what you already are when you show up fully. Who makes you laugh. Makes you gasp at beauty. Makes you grateful to have a body and a heart and senses that can receive so much wonder.

I'll be the one dancing.

When I imagine you coming, my heart beats faster. Hope and longing woven together like vines. The rightness of this. Everything in me saying yes to everything in you. I feel ready—ready to play and commit, ready to be wild and build a life, ready to dance and rest, ready to challenge you and yield, ready to give everything and receive everything.

This is what I feel when I think of you coming home to me in the forest. What moves through me when I imagine us beginning. The invitation my whole body is making—come, come, come.

Come dance with me.

Come feast with me.

Come build a life with me—wild and devoted, fierce and gentle, playful and profound.

Come meet the earth through me. Let me touch the sky through you.

I'm waiting.

The forest is waiting.

The wild is calling.

Come home.

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