Sisterhood Is a Kind of Magic

Sisters…

of the heart,

of the blood,

of the ancient remembering.

We come as we are

unyielded, unpolished, unmasked

carrying our laughter like lanterns,

our tears like the salt of the sea

that shaped us all.

There is no striving here.

No need to tuck away the trembling part,

the doubting part,

the part that still believes she must earn her place.

Here, every part is welcomed,

every part belongs.

We enter the circle

like stepping into warm earth:

barefoot, slow,

letting the armour loosen at the edges

until it slides down

to rest beside us.

In this field of sisterhood,

we soften.

We remember.

That we are daughters of the Mother

each one an ember of Her fire,

each one a unique note

in Her ancient song.

We hold hands,

palms warm,

not to carry each other’s weight

but to witness it

to say, I see you,

without reaching to fix

or tidy or solve.

Here, humour is holy.

Compassion is a natural spring.

And healing happens

in the quiet way that dawn arrives

almost unnoticed,

until suddenly,

the whole horizon has changed colour.

So come,

sister of my bones,

sister of my becoming.

Come with your joy and your heaviness,

your shame and your celebration.

Come exactly as you are.

Let us sit in this tender communion,

arms open,

hearts unarmoured,

remembering together

that we have never been separate

that the magic, truly,

has always lived

between us.

© Fayenen, Dec 2025. All rights reserved.