The Womb as a Portal of Creation

There is a rhythm that lives beneath the surface of all things.
The rising sap of spring.
The full bloom of summer.
The gentle decay of autumn.
The deep rest of winter.

In Chapter 8 of The Sacred Womb, I return to this rhythm—not as a metaphor, but as a living, breathing guide.
A remembering.
A return.

The womb is not linear.
She is cyclical.
She is seasonal.
She is Earth.

For too long, I believed I had to create constantly.
To give endlessly.
To stay in bloom.

But the womb whispered otherwise.

There is a time to plant.
A time to be still.
A time to rise.
A time to dissolve.
A time to begin again.

I began to honour my inner seasons.
I felt how my energy shifted with the moon.
How my body softened in winter’s hush and surged with spring’s pulse.
How the way I moved, nourished, bled, and mothered became a sacred mirror to the Earth herself.

And from that place…
I began to write.

Not from my mind, but from my body.
From the depths of my womb.
Meditation scripts flowed through me like rivers,
carving new space within to feel, to embody, to heal.

But my creativity did not end there.

I began to curate seasonal programmes and ceremonial offerings—
not only for women, but for men too.
Because the sacred speaks to us all.
Because rhythm lives in every body.

Whether it is a Rites of Passage ceremony,
a womb healing gathering,
a sound journey wrapped in vibration and scent,
or a yin yoga immersion bathed in stillness—
I create from the pulse beneath my feet.
I let the seasons speak through me.
I let my body listen.

I do not just follow the seasons.
I live them.
I offer them.
I become them.

The Pulse of Spring

Spring, for me, is not just a season.
It is a portal.

My three sacred pillars—my mother, my husband, my daughter—were all born beneath the soft light of Spring.
Each year, as the earth stirs and buds swell open,
I too feel that invitation to rise.
Life whispers, “Now, love. Now it is time.”

Spring is when I birth new offerings.
When I leap across countries.
When I remember who I am becoming.

And yet, Spring is also the season that broke me.
It is when I lost my father.

Grief and growth arrived together.
The blossoms came, and so did the ache.
The earth softened with new life, and mine was rearranged by loss.

And still… Spring rises.
And so do I.

I no longer question it.
I bow to it.

This is the season where the portal opens widest for me.
When the seeds I’ve held quietly through Winter
finally break through the soil and whisper,
“I am ready to live.”

This chapter is for those longing to return to rhythm.
For the mother, the healer, the artist.
For the father, the seeker, the soft-bellied man who craves ritual.
For anyone who aches to be in tune with something older, slower, and wiser than the world allows.

The womb teaches us that all creation begins in trust.
That rest is holy.
That silence is fertile.
That we are not machines—
We are ecosystems.

The Sacred Womb is a remembrance.

Of your rhythm.
Of your breath.
Of your seasons.
Let this chapter guide you back to the pulse of the Earth within.

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