From the Tale
Sometimes a single moment can change your life forever.
Sarah Ashby, a rising, young financial executive, experiences such a moment. In the midst of an emotional breakdown, she unleashes an overpowering hunger for some essential, lost part of herself and vows to follow wherever this hunger leads her. In this moment, Sarah’s life is set on a new course, propelling her on a spiritual adventure to a remote, rugged island on the Canadian West Coast in search of the Goddess and her own sacred feminine nature.
Sarah is the lost daughter in us all. Journey with her as she dives deep into the transformative powers of ritual, magic and Hecate, an ancient Goddess whose lost tales of She can return the life-giving ways of the sacred feminine to the waking world.
This Winter, let Sarah be your inspiration and guide, inviting you to discover the lost parts of your own sacred feminine nature, and to embrace those awakening moments that can change your life forever.
What Readers Are Saying:
I suggest everyone reads this book! First time read this book like the beautiful story it is. Then read it a second time slowly to start transforming your life. Kathleen McCutcheon
It changed my life- for real! I hadn’t had an actual “connection” to the Goddesses until I read it! Then the dreams started and it’s just moved me from one thing to another. It caused a hunger I couldn’t feed, but gave me a fullness I have never know. Amazing. Jody Sutfin Delva
I’ve read Tale of the Lost Daughter two times, and will read it again. Sarah is me, or at least that’s how I felt as I followed her through her adventures. She is a businesswoman and a spiritual woman at the same time, and she learns to listen to her heart rather than just her head. I didn’t want to put the book down. Sherry Farrell
Annie begins a rich, seductive beat on her drum.
I rock my hips, with my legs wide apart, letting the building energy of the song undulate through my bones and muscles. With dream-hooded eyes, I watch the music ripple through the group — the song’s rhythmic spell catches us all, calling us to weave our bodies as one expression of the liquid power moving through us. A kaleidoscope of enraptured faces, with mud-painted brows, pass me by; warm, moist flesh brushes up against warm, moist flesh, and I gather the scents of others on my body, like a lover with her beloveds.
As our heat and passion intensifies, so does Annie’s drumming, pounding out a tempo that moves our bodies faster and faster, with dancers egging on drummer, and drummer egging on dancers. My hips are no longer my own, nor my rushing blood. There is only the insistent voice of the drum, and my dancing out a power too big and too beautiful for my body to contain.
Excerpt from: Tale of the Lost Daughter
“I am waiting for you sweet one,” Hecate calls out softly, “Come, it is time, you are ready, you are ripe.”
At her feet a path materializes, hewn of red, granite, paving stones, flecked with tiny glimmers of silver light. In the far distance, the scarlet and amber flames of a hearth fire dance in a freshening wind that carries the smoky scent of burning, wood resin.
And then the dream vision fades, and I am staring into a flat, black plane that mirrors back Kayla and my merged reflections. Past and present fuse together.
“This is not just Kayla’s story,” I say, turning to Hecate, “It’s mine as well.”
“You see clearly Sarah,” Hecate says, “The surface details differ, but you and Kayla share the same underlying story: the tale of my lost daughter, who heeds the call of her aching soul and finds her way back to my living realm and ways. Nothing is lost that cannot be refound. New beginnings emerge from the darkest night of the soul.”
“With a tender touch Ereshkigal lifts my chin, and says, ‘Nothing is lost that cannot be refound. You need only set your feet on the Dark Goddess’s path and say yes.’
I once more meet Her gaze. This is no gentle Goddess. She is terrifying; a blaze smolders within the blackness of Her pupils that could easily reduce me to ashes. And yet, deeper still, I sense only love; not a Valentine kind of treacle sweet love, but a fierce, tugging love, like the ocean, that insistently calls me back to its life sustaining waters.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘Yes, I will follow where the Dark Goddess leads me.’
Ereshkigal dips Her index finger into the blackened iron pot, whose earth and water holds our dirt of life magic, and stirs in a slow, clockwise direction.
‘So it is chosen. So it will be,’ She says, as She paints a warm, mud smeared star on my brow.
The mark burns, not painfully so, but enough to let me know that these words, this vow, that has passed between us, won’t be washed away when the surface layer of mud is gone.”