the awakening

The Beginning

Creativity was always encouraged in my home growing up. The more outlandish, the more magical, the more colorful I was, the more I was accepted. I was named Diana Jade Brown at birth. My mother, who I never got to know, named me for the goddess of the Hunt, the moon, and fierce femininity. My middle name comes from my mother's birthstone, Jade. We lost her when I was 4-years-old. I don't remember crying when she crossed over. I don't remember feeling sad, or even alone. I could still hear and see her, so I knew I was safe. Her love was not something I would easily forget or lose. 

My father was never in the picture, just my mother. When she crossed over, I went to live with her parents; who, like my mother, encouraged me to be the wild child my mother was raising. They loved her, and in turn they loved me a little harder to make up for the pain of losing their only child. They loved to tell me stories of my mother, the wild concoctions she would brew up in their kitchen when she was a girl. They loved to tell me stories of the day I was born. It was one of my favorite stories. 

"You were born on August 13, which I have always had a feeling was done as divine intervention!" my grandmother would exclaim. "Goddess Diana's day, and our own little goddess of the Moon decided to make her grand entrance! What a day that was. We didn't even make it to the hospital! You were born right there," she would point to the reading nook off of the living room, "at 9:30pm. Goddess of the moon, indeed." I loved when she would tell me stories of my mother. It felt as though she stood next to me, listening just as intently. 

A full year of living with my grandparents, picking the most beautiful wildflowers and tossing home-grown herbs into grandpa's pots came to a brisk stop when I turned 5. Grandma braided my hair, like she would any time we went somewhere new, put blue ribbons at the end, and allowed me to pick out my own outfit. Blue jean overalls with a blue long sleeve shirt. My galaxy lunchbox and backpack were nearly as big as me. The photo that hangs in the living room next to the first photo taken of me and my mother shows a bright eyed, front tooth missing, excited little girl. A little girl excited to meet new friends, learn new things, and share her knowledge of the woods and flowers.

Little boys dressed in polos and blue jeans and little girls dressed in frilly dresses stood in a neat line, waiting for the teacher to let us in the classroom. I can remember bouncing on the heels of my little Mary-Jane shoes with excitement.

"Hi!" I squeaked to the girl standing with her mother in front of me. "I'm Diana, I live by the woods. What's your name?"

The girl, squeezed her mothers hand tighter and hid her face. Her mother nudged her and whispered, "Say hello to Diana."

"But mommy, she's a witch!" the girl almost screamed. "I don't want to be friends with a witch!"

I looked at my grandmother, confusion and hurt on my face, and asked, "What does she mean, Nona? I'm not a witch. Witches are green and have a big nose. I'm just Diana."

My grandmother looked at the mother with the most fierce look I had ever seen on her sweet, usually flower adorned, face. "Nothing, my darling. You'll make friends soon enough."

That day felt like it repeated for days on end. I was not like the other girls who screamed shrilly at the sight of a worm on the pavement, or like the boys who would dissect and stomp on the little wiggling worms. I was the "weird" one to pick up the little worm and took it to it's new home in the mud by the swing set. None of the otherers wanted to be my friend. And I was desperate for friends. Living with my grandparents never felt lonely until I started school. 

Halfway through the year, I started wearing dresses. Going into the woods less. Making friends when I would squeal at the sight of a worm and run with the other girls. Each day, losing more of my magick, more of myself, until I was just like the other girls. No more wildflowers, or herbs, or whispering words from my grandfather's books. I traded in gardening tools for a tea party set and slumber parties.

The rest of my schooling went this way, suppressing the wild call to the woods I would hear each time I would look out my bedroom window into the treelined edge of my grandparent's yard. I was what would be considered normal. I tried out for cheerleading, went to dances, had boyfriends, got a job, and sat at the table with my grandparents picking out a college. 

"Diana," I remember my grandfather sighing one evening while I sat by the phone waiting for my latest boyfriend to call. "Why don't you go out into the woods and find some berries for us?"

"Opa, you know that I'm waiting on a call!" I cried dramatically. "What if I miss the call and then I don't hear from him all weekend!"

A sad look of defeat and a deep sigh escaped my grandfather's lips. "Okay, Diana. I'll go out and get some berries."

As a teenager, I was a master of the eye roll when it came to my grandparents trying to get me to go foraging or stand over their cast iron pots with herbs and flowers scattered around the table. I wanted to be normal, and my friends and their parents didn't do things like that. So I wouldn't either. 

College came and I graduated with a degree in business. I met a man who was the very definition of "normal" and he asked me to move away with him. I was hesitant, still fighting the nagging call of the woods, but eventually packed my belongings and moved from the giant house my grandparents shared and into an apartment in the city. There were no wild flowers, or berries to forage. No cast iron pots. No Nona. No Opa. Just concrete and the constant burn I would feel in my chest, yearning for the woods. 

An engagement ring sat on my left ring finger after a few years of living in the city with who I thought was the man of my dreams. The man I would have a normal life, normal children, with. But that ring felt like it weighed a million and one pounds on my hand. Almost like my hand should have been dragging on the ground like a neanderthal. 

That's when I met Chelsea Vance. My childhood embodied. Chelsea was, and remains, the most free-spirited individual I have ever met. Shortly after becoming friends with Chelsea, I found myself bringing wild flowers into the apartment, making simmer pots while my fiancé was at work, and burning candles with specific intentions set. 

Chelsea took me to my first metaphysical shop on my 30th birthday, and that's when it happened. That's when I was awakened to my true self. I was convinced that the tears that I shed would flood the tiny shop in the middle of the congested city. 

That day, I packed all of my belongings and returned my ring to a man I knew I did not love- I loved, what I thought was, the normalcy he promised. With Chelsea's help, we loaded her vehicle and made the two hour drive to the one place I knew I could go; the place I was born and about to be reborn.