The Way of the Female Warrior

The female warrior roams the lands of each earth. She knows the hue of every sky and she’s felt the tears of countless raging storms.


She knows the barren land just as she knows the rich soil. She has walked on both. Barefoot and bold. Regal and raw. Every step is a journey deeper within herself. When the energy has seeped fully from her and she can no longer look above, she looks down but forward. Always forward.


She knows the beat. She knows the burn. She knows that beauty is born in the darkness just as it is in the light. Illuminating the shadows in her soul holds no fear for her, because it is through her wounds that she became a warrior, it is through her hurt that she healed.


Her sense of wanderlust is inherent in her from all the skins she lived in before this life, from all the roads she travelled. Her constants are the sun and stars, the wild moon that she honors. 


The wilderness in her is ever seeking, every hungry. She dances with danger to feel the swift sensations as they come, rejoicing in the reminders of her vitality and vigor.


When she catches her reflection in the pools of water that she passes, she sees her rebel soul staring back at her. She moves with ease but she doesn’t forget the chains that she broke free from. When they tried to tame her, when they tried to stop her torrent. The claims they made on her that could never, ever be staked.


She has guts as well as grace and the seamless way in which she coils the two together are testament to the truth that she is a crucible of every energy. Her liquidity is evident as she spills from one trait to the next.


She accepts each yearning, each cry within her that calls her to fill up from the miracles that nature brings. Her sustenance is the song of the stars that she walks beneath, their glittering eyes guiding and guarding her.


Mountains are as familiar to her as oceans. She moves amongst both with self possession and surety. She has no need of armor. She sees no separation. She is each element. The might of every mount, the surge of every wave.


Where others see broken parts, she sees smashed beauty, a wealth of dark diamonds that gleam with their vantage of a thousand different angles that no single, whole piece could boast.


She’s a poem and a partisan all at once. She knows how to soothe like a lullaby yet she can find her roar in an instant, her warrior blood ready to flow whenever needed.


Her footsteps are the only trace of travel that she leaves behind.


The only intoxication that interests her is the flame of a love that can match her own fire, her own fierce force. She does not wish to rule, nor to be ruled, only met halfway in the field that holds the promise and passion she knows as her truth.


She roams relentlessly yet she is always home, her attachment not bound to any one place. For her, freedom is more precious than any palace, more splendid than any structure. She does not dare to assume that any part of the earth is hers to own.


Her heart is sometimes heavy, knowing that the shores she wanders have known the full weight of a human experience and not all have treated the lands with the same loving care as she has. Their destruction is her atonement. She gives back that which was gutted by greed.


She has the might of a thousand armies yet she is not afraid to yield when instinct tells her that to bend will offer a sweeter, richer reward. The flashing fever that fuels her fight is ignited with the sparks of faith that she is indeed honoring her life purpose.


Her strength is laced with a love that makes her stronger still. Her femininity is always her fortitude, never her failing. For each time she was cast aside, she has risen higher. She holds no bitterness, she has no room for reprisal. She is intent on forging ahead, knowing that looking back has no merit.

The sky understands her spirit, her wild, roving ways, and sees her to safety under its blanket of azure assurance, it’s sea of countless clouds. Sometimes she cannot see where she ends and the great expanse above her begins, so fused together she feels.


She is Friday’s child and Wednesday’s woman. She bestows her gifts to each heart in need but she also feels the woe of every being that burns and bleeds. Her empathy is an extension of her own experience. Each magnificent high and each depthless low.


Stamped on her soul are the memories of every encounter, the scars of every war. Her fight is for truth and fairness, for respect and compassion. The battlefields she has marched on have felt firsthand her indomitable will, her deafening defiance to be anything other than her true self. The echoes of her proud cry ring out long after she has left, the silhouette of her strong stance remaining visible to the eye even when she has moved far, far away.


She is a haunting melody, she is a wandering star, she is night and day combined.


You may see her in the sun that sets, you may glimpse her in the fields of golden glory. You may hear her amongst the leaves of the trees that speak in the breeze, you may even sense her as she walks beside you, lending you strength when you feel so very spent.


She is her own compass and she knows no other way.


She is the passionate, proud female warrior and her eternal fire dances on.


Model: Bernadette Pleasant

Photo credits: Lord Coltrane