The High Priestess (how I got my name)

She placed her flip-flop-clad feet carefully onto the cold, uneven surface of the pebble beach. It was the middle of January in the UK. A north-easterly wind blew her dressing gown open and goose bumps erupted across her flesh as the icy air caressed her skin. She was the High Priestess of her home—not self-appointed, but called into action by Great Spirit.

Today, she had an important ritual to perform for her children. She had known of it five weeks earlier, when it had dropped into her consciousness, and she had asked Great Spirit to show her when, how, and where to perform the ceremony. Just two days ago, she felt the call to action and knew she was to go into the sea. She trusted that when she did, the rest would come to her. This is how she works with Spirit.

Her mother stood by her side for support and safety, just in case the High Priestess got into difficulty. They must have looked an odd couple on the beach—but then, who hasn’t seen odd things happening at the beach?

The High Priestess gathered herself by focusing on her breath and handed her dressing gown to her mother. As she did, a calm and deep resolve settled within her. Clad in her swimwear and flip-flops, she strode down the beach, across the pebble divide—the liminal space between land and sea—and directly into the water. Her mother later told her there was no hesitation. Even when the cold hit her navel, the High Priestess did not falter for a moment.

She waded out until the water reached her shoulders. Then she submerged herself fully, facing the dark depths of the icy sea, and released a wail of emotion—a knot in the pit of her stomach—into the receptive waters. Ocean life for miles heard her cry, and whales hundreds of miles away recognised the sound of a mother in distress.

When she surfaced and signalled to her mother that she was alright, the pain of the icy water consumed her entire head. This was not like the brain freeze from drinking a cold drink too fast. This was excruciating, unlike anything she had ever experienced. Despite the pain, she knew she had to submerge two more times—once for each of her three sons. Within each wail was the resonance of the energetic bonds that held each son captive in their life situations.

The High Priestess gathered herself to submerge again, mindful of the ocean creatures and the goddesses of the sea, like the goddess Rán, herself a mother of nine.

“Hear my cry, Rán,” she implored. “From one mother to another, take this pain and alchemise it into something beautiful.”

Down she sank, pushing against the water with her hands to remain submerged long enough to sound the vibration into the sea—for all those who knew, to rally with her for the sake of her children, and to honour the deep, unwavering love of mothers worldwide.

Later, when the High Priestess confided in a friend about the ritual, the friend exclaimed that her new name should be Wild Whale Woman. Whale had shown itself many times in meditation, teaching her about vibration by revealing the movement of water as it released its echo.

So there you have it. She waded into the sea with love and intent in her heart—and emerged with a new name.

This is how I became Wild Whale Woman, and why I am using it for my blog.

“I notice what notices me.”