Newsletter 5: Learning how to walk in the dark
Hello dear friends,
I’ve been offline most of today. Turning my phone off for the weekend feels like a love letter to my nervous system, along with being away from social media. I’m not sure I’ll ever go back. But after an evening of contemplation alone in the woods, I felt the desire to write. I know I’m a bit overdue as I said I would write 2 of these a month, still orienting to that schedule I created for myself.
I’m sitting in my room, which has become my sanctuary as I live with two other housemates. The walls are raw wood, the ceiling comes to a point, the shape of this space delights me, and offers much more room for creativity than four white walls. Living among real wood soothes something in my soul. A candle burns beside me, and in my hands is a cup of coconut rose milk, which I’ll share a recipe for later. It’s quite possibly the coziest beverage in existence. I firmly believe an herbal drink a day makes everything feel survivable, and even a little sweet.
Winter has felt especially kind this year, an invitation to settle in and move slowly. I’ll be honest, I haven’t been doing much with From Earth and Eden beyond some oil pouring, a few packages a week, and gentle conversations about future projects and wholesale. On paper, that may sound like a lot, but inwardly it feels very slow. I’m learning to make peace with the voice that insists constant doing is the only proof of success. I want to enjoy this life, not rush through it.
I have the sweetest job right now, working with the elders of this community. I visit their homes, cook meals, walk with them by the river, and tuck them into bed. While I sometimes struggle with living by someone else’s schedule, this work feels like a perfect fit for this season. I get to love people for a living. What a gift.
Outside of work, I’ve been spending a lot of time alone in nature, Luna always by my side. I’m remembering how deeply I cherish solitude. Laying on a sheepskin by the river, wandering amongst juniper and ponderosa forests, taking cold dips, and always, no matter the adventure… finding a place to lie still for a while. It’s astonishing how the world attunes to us when we stop moving.
This evening brought a particularly profound experience. I set out with the intention of holding a fire ceremony for myself. To me this is building a fire, offering herbs and objects, and sitting in spoken prayer for as long as feels right. Speaking gratitude and grief into flame has always felt deeply therapeutic to me. It makes sense that humans have done this since the beginning of time.
Tonight, I intended to burn my wedding dress, a simple, beautiful linen gown I’ve felt ready to release. I tried to sell it, but its become clear that some things need to be burned if you know what I mean. I brought garden sage, cedar, and sweetgrass with me, as well as a poem I wrote about the initiation of this season of life.
I’ve been practicing deep listening when I commune with the land. I drove to my first intended location, but the parking lot was full and the energy didn’t feel right. So instead I went to Junction Creek, where the Colorado Trail begins. Above it sits a forest of ponderosas and a few established fire rings, where I knew I could have a fire. Smokey the bear would approve.
I arrived at an unexpected locked gate (for cars), a mile and a half from where I knew I could build a fire. For a moment, I thought maybe this wasn’t meant to happen tonight. But the woods were calling, so I packed my backpack with offerings and the dress, which felt heavy on both my back and my heart. I had two bundles of firewood about 30 pounds in each hand, I decided to carry them the full distance. Acknowledging it would be dark for the walk back. It seemed I had more courage about this in the daylight.
Luna and I began walking. It was challenging. I stopped seven times, setting the wood down for a moment before continuing. Each pause felt like a threshold, much like the past six months. A mirror. Sometimes you have to put it all down, rest, then pick it back up until it’s time to burn it. People often say “let that shit go,” and while that has its place, I believe there’s also wisdom in holding something long enough for the lesson to soak in, without bypassing the emotion.
I arrived just as the sun dipped behind the mountain. Fear stirred in me for a moment, my mother had recently warned me about a fatal mountain lion attack in Colorado. Wise advice, to always be aware. Still, I refuse to let fear of wildlife keep me from intimacy with the Earth. I’ve encountered moose, grizzlies, and others before. There is fear, yes, but I truly believe when we come in a good way, respectful, reverent, and present, we are met with protection. I notice that animals often arrive as messengers in this way.
I opened the space in prayer, built the fire, and lit the flame. I sat for hours, pondering, praying, weeping, singing, and burning what I was ready to release. This feels like the most natural way to process grief, trauma, and life’s initiations. I felt presences around me, witnessing, and holding vigil. I believe that when I allow things to move through me fully, healing ripples backward through generations who may not have had the chance to express. Perhaps that’s part of why I’m here, to live fully expressed even when it’s a little messy.
Eventually, I felt the intuitive signal that it was time to leave. This always comes when I am communing with nature after dark. Not from fear, but from reverence of the beings around. I put out the fire carefully, thanked the land for this time, and began the mile and a half walk back to the car. It was dark. I’d forgotten my headlamp, of course. Shadows stretched and shifted, and Luna stayed glued to my side. I could sense her nervousness. The full moon blessed us with just enough light for most of the walk.
Fear rose again, images of being hunted in this dense forest flickered through my mind. I felt as if there were at least 20 mountain lions on either side of me. With each wave, I reminded my body that I was safe, protected, guided. Over and over, and over, I practiced not letting fear flood my spirit. Slowly, confidence grew, and a sense of belonging emerged. Under full moonlight, among trees, surrounded by unseen wildlife. I shifted the story, what if there aren’t predators here, but guardians of the land, escorting me home? Delusional? Maybe but we made it back safe.
This felt like a mirror for healing my nervous system, gently reminding myself I am safe, bringing mind, body, and spirit back into coherence, and refusing to let fear lead. For much of my life, my mind has felt unruly. I’m learning to guide her back into harmony naturally, and it feels so good. Not all the time, but thank goodness for those days we can scream into the void, or burn our wedding dress.
My father is a true outdoorsman, the kind who could win that show alone, where people spend hundreds of days alone in the woods with only a few items. His devotion to summer backpacking trips with me, winter camping, and everything in between shaped me. We plan to hike 70 miles of the Colorado trail next year. Because of the guidance as a young one, I feel at home in wild places. It’s important to me to keep cultivating a spirit that feels as comfortable in the woods as it does in my bed, though tonight, my bed feels especially sweet.
After months of walking through metaphorical darkness, physically doing so felt both familiar and terrifying. I will always appreciate the lessons I have learned in solitude amongst wild things, though some have been challenging, and even life threatening. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Herb Spotlight:
Now that I’m back home, I'm holding my warm rose drink, letting it soothe my heart, you simply must have the recipe.
Rose is one of my favorite allies, through tea, tincture, oil, and yoni steam. She supports the heart, womb, and nervous system, especially when fear, anxiety, or emotional holding are present. Rose softens without collapsing and cools excess heat in the womb, which can cause painful periods, pelvic tension, and irritability. She reminds us how to stay open and protected at the same time.
Below is the coconut rose tonic I’ve been loving this week:
Coconut Rose Tonic
Add to a blender:
1 cup dried rose petals
A handful of pitted dates
A handful of dried figs
A dollop of vanilla bean paste or extract
A pinch of salt
16 oz coconut milk
Blend until a thick paste forms.
Add to a pot with 4½ cups of water.
Simmer gently for 5–10 minutes, stirring often.
Strain, then enjoy warm, share with friends, or refrigerate for future cozy moments.
I also have a beautiful lymphatic oil brewing on my windowsill with wildcrafted calendula, red clover, and rose, can’t wait to share it with you. And yes, magnesium butter will be restocked this week for those who’ve been waiting. It always goes so fast.
Thank you, truly, for being here. It means more than I can say. I’d love to hear from you anytime, just hit reply.
And do something that scares you a little this week, Just make sure to bring a headlamp ;)
With love and blessings,
Mary
From Earth and Eden
PS. All newsletters are archived on my website.
