Morocco.
In Ouarzazate a friendly man gives me a  burnouse made of white wool. I don't dare to wear it. The white bournuse is for Sufi men, only.  From afar I see Pir Vilayath Inayat Kahn against the light, see his shape, "open your arms like the wings of an eagle, dance, dance", I hear him say, and he turns as the white wheel of the burnouse whirls around him....
I remember our meditations in the mountains. And that Pir Vilayat Kahn was the first Sufi who invited the goddess onto his altar of religions.

The desert, the savage, was gentle with me. In the sunset I am on a high sand dune - Yoga of infinity. Humility in my heart. As the stars dance with the horizon in this new moon night, I lay the burnous around my shoulders with a slight shudder and sink into meditation. The feeling of having finally broken the taboo.
... and above me the eagle Pir Vilayat Kahn flies, waving at me and I hear his heart-warming laughter as he merges with the sun.

IRIS DISSE | Durga’s Tiger School | Quito, Ecuador

I was conditioned to be a trophy wife. Good looks and good grades meant I could find a good husband who would take care of me. But what about my dreams? My natural self-expression? Too risky. Potentially, shameful. Don't do it.

So for years, my life revolved around men: good men, bad men, marrying men, divorcing men. Until it was time to have a child. And then I decided, "no." I would not carry a child and infuse it with my missing dreams. Not until I am reborn myself and restart this game of life on my terms. And so I burned everything I knew to the ground.

Risking complete rejection. Not knowing whether any of it would work out. Isolating myself from the outside world and refusing to explain: How could I? Why should I?

Surrounding myself with powerful women and artistic expression. And from the ashes of a choice most terrifying came absolute liberation. A rediscovery of the self and deciding what divine feminine power means for me. Truly humbled by knowing nothing, but glad to leave the false illusions. From this space, in rising sisterhood, I create - to make all the mistakes it takes

…to unleash the artist within.

NICOLE CHRISTINE PAGE | Actress, model, and entrepreneur | Longmont, CO

A seed goes through an uncomfortable transition to achieve its desired state. The hard, protective shell provides safety and security, and yet must crack open for the sprout to grow. Strength, patience, warmth, and darkness encourage this new version of life to rise above the surface. Slowly but surely this fragile transformation propels onward and upward. Soon a bud forms, like a cocoon bracing the inner workings for showtime. And then, alas, the flower opens up to bloom for all to see. 

Personal growth and embracing my inner shakti flower has been a similar process. Deciding to plant the seeds of my own goals and metamorphosis. Trusting my divine feminine as a guide toward what I believe and know is true about life and overcoming. Leaning into the inherent womanhood I possess and have nourished over time. Seeing shakti and her presence all around me, in the earth, the wind, the sun, my flesh. Returning home to me and the inner light that guides my path on the ever evolving journey of life and becoming. 

AMANDA COLLEY JACOBSON | Therapist, Mother-to-be | Grand Rapids, MI

It was an initiation, a rite of passage, a calling. A crossing of the threshold from young lady into womanhood. Without a wedding, experiencing childbirth, or being a successful CEO - the only acceptable response to, “why haven’t you married and had a baby by now?” - my journey into womanhood felt like an awkward-fumbling dance. A continuous questioning of, “am I there yet?” Initiations are a death and honoring of one cycle, and simultaneously the ushering in of a rebirth. A new way of being. I remember feeling so lost in the world, lost in who I was, and blind to my gifts. So I decided it was time to cross the threshold and see who was on the other side.

Now, I look her in eyes and I see her in process, in the unknown – in the darkness of the gateway. She is nothing and everything. I see both, the child and the mama. However they are not alone, and she is not lost. For in her trusting, fumbling hands lies the pathway, her teacher, her medicine drum.

Whether she saw it or not that drum would come to teach her about her gentleness, about receiving, about reciprocation, imperfection and creativity. About the rhythms of life and the heartbeat the lies everything. That the medicine drum is a channel to the ultimate feminine essence and mother of us all, Pachamama.

I also see my ancestors and the women who came before me, who held me in the darkness and whispered in my ear, “stay awake, continue heal, my dear.” For when I heal, I heal the generations who came before me, I heal the generations who will come after me, and as I heal, I heal the world. And I realize now, this initiation wasn’t just about becoming a woman, and this portrait isn’t of just me.

JAMIE WILLIAMSON | Yoga Teacher, Coach and Writer | Capistrano Beach, CA