The Call of the Old Ways
An attempt at expressing my eternal love of mythology
I have always felt called to the old ways. The stories of the past, the tales of otherworldly people, human and animal. The haunting folklore born from the dark and stormy nights. The mythology spun with sheep wool and nettle.
A time before humanity was everywhere and everything. Before we had it all nailed down, figured out, squared away. Before there was a ready answer to every question.
When the wilderness swam in our very veins. When we wove tales twisted with truth to understand the world around us. When nature shaped everything we did, because we were immersed in her, dependent on her, part of her. When we moved with her like tides.
When the feminine was revered and hallowed, when the masculine wasn’t demonized as toxic.
When women of myth were often half animal, capable of shapeshifting – a metaphor for the wildness that lives innately in all of us. A lesson to be learned, a beast lurking beneath that we warned others not to test.
When our innate interweaving with nature was so strong that it appeared in every story, the through-line of every folktale.
Before light was shone into all the shadows, when myth and folklore taught us how to be human. When storytelling was a sacred practice. When art was treasured and supported, not twisted into artificial plagiarism machines to make some billionaires richer.
When people lived in community, because survival depended on it, and looking out for your neighbors and their children was just what you did.
I miss it in a way that makes me ache, like I had it once and lost it. Like there are stories laced into the marrow of my bones that I don’t remember, but those old ways call to, beckoning them forth so strongly it hurts, makes my bones throb. Like there’s something in my DNA, in the very weave of my cells, that begs me to find my way home, to salt water and seal-women and stories.
But maybe I never really knew those stories, lived those lives. Maybe this time, the old ways, never really existed. Maybe it’s all just a construct of a tired mind fighting an uphill battle, clinging to the thin thread of an ancestral memory while the rest of the world screams progress.
Maybe this place only exists in our collective consciousness, and that’s why so many of us are still drawn to the dark, the mystery, to myth and fantasy. Maybe we’re still building the world we want to live in.
Maybe – hopefully – the old ways are still ahead of us.
Author News
There will be a big sale on The Source of Storms ebook on Amazon from April 26th - May 2! It will be available for just $0.99 so if you haven’t snagged it yet, that will be the perfect time. I will send out another reminder blast when the time comes.
For those who have read The Source of Storms - thank you from the bottom of my heart. Please consider writing a review on Amazon and Goodreads if you haven’t already.
I have also chosen the title for book two of The Stormbound Series: The Binds of Blood. More news on that and some sneak peeks of it to come! Thank you all so much for your support!
Somewhere along the way I've let go of high demand social media. I let go of a majority of mainstream, social demands of style and aesthetic, excessive and compulsive buying etc. I grew up with gardens, farming, and hunting/fishing for meals until we had to integrate more into society as I got older. I consider myself fortunate to still hear the call of the wild and walk barefooted back to her. Your post as moved me to say all of this to say; I feel a deep calling of old will draw any woman who is brave enough to follow the curiosity it sparks. New age traditional integration. I have so much to say on this topic I fear it may lead me to getting into the weeds!! Thank you for your post, truly a treasure in my day. Blessed be.
This is a nice and exciting vision of times past you share