The persistent call that came earlier this year was very strong. Resisting its gentle tagging at my heart was pointless. That call echoed from the ancient land of Avalon beckoning me to join the women’s circle and filled me with great anticipation. I knew I was ready when I answered. 


The overflowing of gratitude that continues to pour into me, even after these meetings is beyond any words. My return into so called ordinary life meant nothing was the same any longer.   As if being washed all the way and through and all the past residues burned away by the fire created in the circle, I found myself renewed, and in even deeper awe with mystery of life.


Baring my naked soul and my scarred body and exposing it so openly to the unknown and yet

in nature’s caring and benevolent hand, seemed so natural, so easy with these women. Being held lovingly by their bodies and their open hearts was deeply nurturing. It was like the high walls of icebergs were melting.


I was like a shining newborn, all innocent and new, floating in the warm waters of the womb, wrapped in the finest and softest fabric. I was cradled in the loving arms of Divine, and rocked into a deep invigorating and enchanting sleep while listening to the whispers of the gentle and sweet lullaby. And in this awaken dream I was met with myself multitudes of time.  It was me as I am, fully accepted, fully seen. Complete Me.


That same evening, as I ‘d began to ascend up the steps towards the Glastonbury Tor, the sun was about to start descending.  The steps began to grow in their steepness and my mind began to doubt.  I took few hesitant moves, feeling the tiredness in my limbs and wariness in my body. The previous time I was at this same spot I did not have enough energy and courage to climb it. Instead I just resigned myself to the destiny of the mysterious fatigue I lived with for a decade. Can I really do this, I asked myself again. Can I climb to where I wish to be? 


In the middle of this questioning,  I noticed another woman making her way up the steps with much  hardship. But when she spoke with undeniable determination to make it,  it shook me suddenly out of my own inner doubting. Two more women reached us. One beckoned me on while the other carried my bag. I believe it was their angel wings that carried me steadily yet up the steep steps. I was certainly on my way up. The sense of enormous relief and triumph was sweet and so was my realization how the elements of life, air, water, fire and earth were merely one entity working together to get me where I belonged.  I was overwhelmed with wave of gratitude and a deeper conviction that women coming together and joining as one are not only stronger, but a force that is truly invincible.


I relinquished my fear of “I cant” by surrendering myself to something so much bigger than myself, the arms of a Goddess and her helping allies. It was a testimony of what exists beyond of what is really possible when we take a small yet steady steps and place our trust in the loving embrace of our Sisters. The possibilities seemed infinite. 

And so in this very moment, I consciously choose to carry all those Sisters in my heart. They are reminder for me to keep shining my bright torch so I am able to befriend both the darkest corners of the darkest cave, and its’ deepest treasures. 


Having accepted the blessings and gifts of Sisterhood, it is easy to envision the sacred power of belonging,  that can vibrate throughout the whole of planet Earth.  

My dreams of thriving within tribe, living in togetherness and sharing our gifts, seem as close as the next breath I take.  And I trust it to be so! 

Durdica Maderic © 2018

Inspired by Wild Women of Avalon Circle, Glastonbury 2018.






I Write  

I write because first and foremost it gifts me with privilege of free speech. Sadly there are too many women all over the world who are unable to hold that privilege and so I write for many of them. For me, writing is the ultimate opportunity to harness my authentic power.

As a Creatrix I bring forth what needs to be birthed or renewed. At this moment I am a Creatrix on a brink of emerging and transmuting feminine voice.


Following a deep urge to share my own creations of my inner self with the external world had been a revelatory journey for me.  And it still is after a decade of immersing myself in that world. 


But even as a young child it was always easier for me to express my feelings and deeper thoughts through writing rather than verbalising them. Perhaps it was easier because I wouldn't have to face the fear of not being received. Or it was the perfect vessel to embrace and show the soft,  sensitive inner realm where I often dwelled seeking emotional refuge and healing. Sharing with others initiatory inner journey meant revealing the vulnerable and denied aspects of my nature that culture held as taboo, as forbidden sphere of life.


Incidentally,  I began to see blank sheet of paper as my silent witness, an important agent of recognition, receiving me as I was. It was my ally, my trusted, loyal presence. It was my sanctuary. In the last decade, in particular, writing my soul became my unconditional receiver when a lot seems to slip away from me - health, sanity, inner peace. Still some higher force persevered in me through loss and grief.


When I first began writing it was about sharing experience, expressing the depth of emotion, and playing with words in my journal. It is still that but also a quiet practice, a spaciousness before new material is about to burst open into the world.


In that way it has become a way of self permission and self validation. Sometimes  unleashing my wild creature in utter wholeness, in my uniqueness. Other times letting my poetess unfold gently and quietly as the rose does. Delivering myself in a moment. Letting it all be, to reveal multiply layers not seen by the naked eye, those caressed by light and those hiding in deep dark shadow.


Today I write freely because all of these but also because of my deep and innocent love for writing. Perhaps for the first time ever I find myself not seeking any external evaluation but writing for its own sake, its own ultimate joy and pleasure.

I write because the urge to express that joy and pleasure is a daily ritual for me, a basic need as essential as a cycle of breathing. It is an act of gratitude, my daily spiritual practise and my healing balm.

Writing from my heart essence has a presence of translucent light. In that sense it has become a treasure I had been calling into my life.


Like a torch, it's gentle and soft beam guides me through new unknown alleys, shows me where to place my walking steps. It provides the signing posts so I know how to thread lightly through most treacherous and unexpected terrains,  unexplained and misguided aspects of psyche, often tumultuous daily living.


The world is in a genuine yet immediate need of inspiration from each one of us. We are the waters of the well of creation. This well is source of ongoing transformation of our time. It can harness and embrace our unique and brave voices, our fiery and bold spirits. It provides uninterrupted flow to my life. 


My well of inspiration seeks me and finds me real and raw. 


This is why I write.














The sunbeam kissing my tired face

And warming my grieving heart

You caress the paper

With meaning and depth

To you I turn

In my longings

In my despair

Spiralling around my own axis

Releasing the burden of old stones lying there on my path

The memories that revisit and challenge my day 

the limited cloud of thoughts that don't fit my vast self


This is not about doing bigger and going larger 

Just being with what is

The soul doesn't hold anything back

It shows the flow

A feel for

A reception

A sense 

A subtlety

A sweetness

Mystery and mist

A never-ending element of life

A moisture of air

A pulse in tree's trunk

A fire that burns

A song you yearn to know

A sign of hope

In a sea of chaos and 

Rising pandemonium

It is everything and nothing

Present in wholeness

It is 

All you can be





trees are poems

the earth writes upon the sky


Kahlil Gibran