Eden Rowland
Bio
Nature - Nourish - Nurture
Medicine stories and songs for the soul.
Your breath is the exhale of the trees.
Let us remember we are all one.
Stories (21/0)
Let Your Life Be a Love Song
Write your heart out into the world. Let it be a love song. Let it be a dance of constellations. Wear your mind on your sleeve. Let your questions lead you to the wildest answers. Let your answers always lure you to question more. Let your questioning fill you up and then release. Release every question, every uncertainty, every worry, every fear. You have the needle and the thread. You have the hands. You have the dream. You can sew yourself back together. You can sew yourself a new story. A new dream. A new stage of being. You can be anything you want to be. You can experience anything you dream of experiencing. It’s all in the dream. In the wandering. In the wondering. To wonder is to wander across the frontier of infinite space and time. Your heart is free, my love. Have the courage to follow it
By Eden Rowland4 years ago in Poets
The Face of a Monster
Darkness settles over the earth, kisses treetops and leaves its ominous imprint of black peppered over the river waves. Tonight there is no moon, and its lightless warning whispers through the bitter air. It speaks of forests shivering naked in blankets of white, fingers purple with frostbite, quaking bones and chattering teeth.
By Eden Rowland4 years ago in Horror
The Love Chromosome
I woke up one morning an hour before my alarm was supposed to go off to my phone ringing. An unknown number showed on the screen, so I threw it on the floor, tucked the covers over my head, and drifted back to sleep. Only a few minutes later, the number tried again. With an irritated grumble, I rolled out of bed like a whale out of water and curled up face first on the floor before answering.
By Eden Rowland4 years ago in Families
The Redemption of the Bee
There were tigers in the concrete jungle, monsters grinning, feigns dripping with the blood of the sacred. They prowled the streets, starved for the taste of dreamers, thirsty for the veins of believers, as they hunted individuality, pooled their victims in conformity, weaved the ends of eternity into a thousand webs of misconception. But she was no fly, nowhere near ready to die the death of a misinformed slave. She spread her wings, chased her dreams across the wind, tasted freedom on her lips, and no longer sipped but gulped, gulped, gulped the fresh air in desperation, in love. The fly became a bee, wild with fiery sting, unbreakable and redeemed.
By Eden Rowland5 years ago in Poets
Said the Lion to the Lamb
"You left before I woke and now the room feels cold. Do I dare move from these crumpled sheets, this mattress that slumbers in the musk of you? In the twilight hours, you caught my breath between your teeth as I held your bleeding soul between my palms. Though I’d given you everything, I wanted to give you more. I longed to wrap your hollowed skeleton in my skin, and heave the fiery essence of you into my cold veins. Giving you my body was the least of it. The whole time, you held me like a glass vase, afraid to shatter my fragile walls. I begged for you to dive right in, and you danced around the surface, unsure of yourself, unsure of me. It’s okay though. I’m unsure of me, too. Unsure of the untamed scars etched into my being. Unsure of the starved, bone-thin frame this soul calls a home. Unsure of the wildfire burning, consuming, licking the backs of my pupils. I can feel it making its home there, in the back of my brain. An unquenchable curiosity, a never-ending ache. I leave the bodies of lovers piled in the wake of trying to destroy it. Perhaps you will be one too. Perhaps you will save me. Maybe I’ll save you. Who is to know? But as we wait to find out, let me dip my hands into the sloppy, wet mess of your soul as we morph into a single being on this wild planet we call home."
By Eden Rowland5 years ago in Humans
To the Soldier Beneath Her Skin
My solitude feels welcome after nights spent caving to demons, most past, some there to linger and never die. One day, I will learn to live around them. I will grow an orchard around my wounds and plant roses in the scarred land. I will forgive those who dug into this earth with scythes and greedy hand. I shall watch green overcome ruin. But I will not forget.
By Eden Rowland5 years ago in Poets
The Pink Lioness
I once despised the color pink, trampled anything labeled 'girly' with unforgiving black until my feminine side was washed in darkness. The day my body began to shift and the innocence of childhood melted away, I became uncomfortably aware of the male gaze piercing the backs of my legs, sweeping my broadening chest, gnawing on my widening hips like starved dogs. So I clipped my hair to the scalp and changed my appearance to look more like them and less like me. On that day, my wings were clipped too. I left them on the side of the road, torn and bloody, oozing with the desire to be accepted for all of their soft, gentle beauty, all their delicacy, all their wild strength. But they were pink, and where the world spotted pink, the world spotted weakness. I ran from pink and dove into black. The parts of me they told were too boyish, too wild, not pretty enough, not good enough, grew fangs and talons and attacked anyone who came just a little too close. The gossamer of my existence morphed into glass spears and drilled holes in every road I tread. The violence and aggression I despised, I became. I grew battered walls to protect myself from battered masculinity. I threw away the woman in me and got lost inside a monster no human soul was ever meant to see—the illusion of power. The loneliness of invulnerability. The lioness inside my soul grew a protective mane and disguised herself as a ferocious lion. And then, the stars intervened.
By Eden Rowland5 years ago in Viva