The Coronation of the Wild One

Dear Rising Sacred One,

There are seasons in a woman’s life when her becoming is no longer negotiable.

When the soul interrupts the conversation.
When the body refuses to remain in spaces that dishonor it.
When the spirit rises—not as an echo of who she once was,
but as the undeniable truth of who she has always been.

This is the season of the Wild One.

Not wild in chaos.
Not wild in unrest.
But wild in remembering.

There is a kind of woman who arrives on this earth already knowing.
She may not speak it.
She may not show it.
But there is fire sleeping behind her bones,
ancestral memory humming under her skin,
a compass calibrated not by the world,
But by the world's before.

And because of this—
There will always be those who try to quiet her.

They will try to contain the magnitude.
To silence what they cannot interpret.
To name her misunderstood because they never knew how to listen.

But the Wild One does not extinguish.
She ripens.

Her becoming is not loud.
It is not hurried.
It is not performed for validation.

Her becoming is a sacred practice.

It is the slow unfurling of wings beneath the weight of expectation.
It is the earth whispering at night,
guiding her through dreams that feel like memory.
It is the ocean calling her name,
reminding her that depth has always been her native tongue.

And while others may see isolation,
she experiences initiation.

Solitude becomes the temple.
Silence becomes the teacher.
Stillness becomes the altar of rebirth.

Because every season of separation is a preparation.
Every shedding is a ceremony.
Every loss is refinement.

Until one day, seemingly ordinary,
she wakes within her golden self.

Not striving.
Not proving.
Not reaching.

Just remembering.

She stands in her sovereignty—steady, luminous, whole—
and the world recognizes her.
Not because she has changed,
but because she has returned to what was always true.

When she says, “Happy Birthday,”
It is not to mark a year lived.
It is to consecrate a realm reclaimed.

And in that moment—
The sky loosens blessings.
The earth exhales in relief.
The ancestors nod—not in surprise—
but in knowing.

Because this was never a transformation.
This was a coronation.

The Wild One has risen.
The Chosen One remembers.
The Golden One reigns.

May we all honor the becoming we were born for.
May we all step into the fullness that was never lost—only waiting.
May we all remember our own return home.

With love, fire, and holy remembrance,
— Sherley Delia
Founder, Healing Majestically Consultancy
“Where rebirth becomes legacy.”