My Personal Story with Artemis

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I first met Artemis as a small girl, though I did not yet know her name.
She came to me in the soft green hush of nature—in the rustling leaves, the wind’s hidden music, the shimmer of unseen energies swirling around me as I danced barefoot on the earth. Something ancient stirred. A whisper, a presence, a call.
I felt watched over, guided, known— as if the wild, luminous feminine herself
was dancing beside me.

Years later, when I traveled to Ephesus, the call returned—this time unmistakable.
Walking among the stones of her ancient temples, visions flooded my inner sight:

I saw myself dancing under a full moon in the hills above the city,
surrounded by priestesses, sisters, our frame drums echoing through the night
like heartbeats of the wild divine. I remembered the hum of the bee temples,
the golden sweetness of honey used as sacred medicine,
the tending of hives as a holy act— women working in devotion, hands sticky with nectar, hearts aligned with the rhythms of earth and moon.

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These were not stories.They were memories.
A lineage awakening. I returned alone to these places—
to dance, to pray, to listen. On hilltops, in ruins, in hidden groves,
I moved again in the ancient ways, feeling the presence of Artemis rise through my bones.

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And I knew: the circle must be reborn. The sacred dance of women—
once shared under moonlit skies— must return. My retreats are an offering to this remembrance. A weaving of past and present, body and myth, the wild and the holy. They are my way of honoring the Huntress who first whispered to me in childhood, and who continues to guide my steps toward the rebirth of the feminine in movement, ritual, and sisterhood.