I am………”THE WAY OF THE ROSE”

Damascena roses on the higher terraces.

I am from the seductive, isolated hills in Liguria with silver-green and swaying olives, explosive yellow ginestra, intoxicating verbena and perfumed damascena roses that adorn my higher terraces. I am from these divinely scented roses with their tender, soft petals and silently, ferocious thorns and I am the One that transcends these seemingly opposite polarities, the intoxicating fragrance that cannot be described with words.

I am a seed in Mother’s garden, the scented roses are my teachers, helping me to stand in a living remembrance, committed to a vow I made to walk the Way of Embodied Love, however, challenging this path may be. I am a gardener of the soul, in daily communion with the rose of my own heart. I am here to disseminate the teachings of the Rose as I myself am initiated daily, liberated from my addiction to suffering, choosing instead to honour divine sovereignty and like the roses, to dare to be unashamedly radiant and unapologetically blooming with my own perfect timing.

I am from Venus, ravished and satiated by beauty, recognising this ancient mystery school, the Way of the Rose, that opens the heart like nothing else and shows me that I am a divine being having a human experience, not the other way around. I am HER in this painful, human body, miraculously soothed by gorgeous aesthetics, creating beauty because it settles my overactive nervous system, opens channels to wonder and helps me feel whole, creative and connected to All That Is.

I am from the ancient priestesses devotedly administering exquisite perfumes, the smoke of incense and the light of candles, the sound of distant bells with ceremonial prayers and chants, working on the garden of my inner soul, helping me adorn my earth angel wings, remembering what I have always known. I am from the mystics, bathing in rose petals, falling to my feet, ravished by the Sufi poets, who yearn like me for just one touch of the Beloved.

I am from the earth and rocks, my hands sinewed like the roots of the olives, gnarly and old, scratched to smithereens but stronger and more resilient than ever. I am from the simple farmers as guardians of the land, who work from dawn to dusk, remembering the sacred nature of our soil and the plentiful, wholesome produce, that responds just like my four-footed companions, to the love and respect it is offered. Simple pleasures they may be but in my personal and cultural madness, devoid of self compassion, I had forgotten my roots, lost touch with my own cycles and rhythms and more importantly, how my very own terrain is intimately connected to the web of life.

I am from the hidden, dilapidated rustico, that is a dark, yet fecund space of pure potential, asking to be restored, longing to be recognised for the divine womb space that in its moist darkness, is a blessing to all pilgrims who have ears to hear and eyes to see. I am from a prayer uttered from the depths of my being, that called me to this land ten years ago, a soul whispering I chose to listen to.

I am from Pozzuolo here in Italy, which is my soul home, where I know every rock and tree that exists, every stone that has been built by strong male hands to create structure and safety in this womb haven. This land, this sacred task that has demanded blood, sweat and tears, every ounce of my creative initiative and finance, while I screamed at the unfairness of what was being asked of me, that has miraculously brought me back to my body and to my sanity. I am the land that I naively came to conquer in my own version of toxic patriarchy, now re-shaped and modelled after three landslides and flooding, stamping HER feet, teaching me about humility, devotion and the presence of being here and now. Ruthlessly beautiful, refusing to be dominated, forcing me to surrender and come home into right relationship with this beautiful land and my own body terrain.

I am from Mother Gaia, reminding me with her green outpourings in the smell of the damp moss, the succulent taste of the prickly pears and figs, one sniff of a rose, the lovemaking of the bees, to be here right now, in reverence, gratitude and remembrance for HER holy and abundant grace, that emanates from within me and that SHE has always poured on me and on the world.