The moment he ran his fingers up my bare back in the heat of July, while driving him back from the airport, he wasn’t a practicing shaman he was a man, like every other.

I think he wanted to feel the sweat that had accumulated on me, but what he ended up doing was almost cause an accident, because in that moment, I wasn’t forest lore, I was a woman, like any other.

Our energy exchanges started subtly when snow still covered the ground, the build up had been curated and my mind had already been made up by then what I was going to do with him.

Although it ended with the return of his things in a canvas bag a friend of mine had given me, it was no doubt a lesson about the cycles I hadn’t yet broken with men.

What is it about my primal instincts that allow me to ignore the signs that something isn’t quite right? Does my reptilian brain know what my thinking mind does but decide my physical needs take precedence? Even in my anger towards him I felt the urge to satisfy a hunger that would have looked insane to fulfill in the moment.

Some may say this is a sign of a healthy appetite, but for me it presents a problem. How do I quiet my body during times when it would suite me better to go without? I wonder.