There’s something unique about the maiden spirit. Not in the sense of vulnerability or weakness, but a profound sense of worth and knowing. The maiden doesn’t know much, but she also hasn’t been shaped by lies and expectations and damagings. She holds a handful of knowledge in her hands like a scoop of tiny beans. She doesn’t know why she is or what she will be, but she knows that she is. She is raw and unsilenced and held by the strength of the pillars of her unique existence. Her body and spirit is hers and hers alone and her eyes see only truth. What I wouldn’t give to be stripped naked with nothing but my handful of beans again.