I step towards the forest and sigh. I know that if I want to enter this forest as a holy space, I must leave at its edge my rational mind. I must shed all the things I think I know, all the things I fear. I have to enter as a child, playful and pure of heart, if I want to drink the milk of the forest.
So much has been torn apart in our world, and yet in this body-space of innocence I feel a shift. There is a mending, and I am not doing it. The forest fills the fractures in my spirit. A cauldron of energy held in the earth by the great web of roots holds me, like an underworld cosmos onto itself.
We don’t have words for this kind of cosmos: the livingness of the world that science is so far from explaining. This is the milk of the forest. I am fed beyond need or desire. My body overflows with her nourishment.
