The Stoned Chrysalis

For the Woke and Waking

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  • PRE ORDER: WILD WOMAN tees

PRE ORDER: WILD WOMAN tees

45.00
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PRE ORDER: WILD WOMAN tees

45.00

For all the Wild Women and anyone who loves them.

PRE ORDERS: Are hand screened by us in Sydney Australia to order on soft, ethical cropped singlets. Pre orders have up to a 3 - 4 week shipping wait (can be much less), please email us if you have any questions about the time expectations.

 

Hand screened on super soft and thin fair trade compliant tees, made from the softest, most comfortable 150 gsm combed cotton available. This is a premium style t-shirt with a slim fit Designed with Sydney Artist Nick Potts

From Women Who Run with The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes:

“She is often the broken-winged one, who does everything all wrong until people realize she's been doing it... pretty right all along. She's the poor girl who never dressed right, who had torn hose, and they were all baggy around her ankles. She's the Raggedy Ann of the sophisticated world, who pulls it out at the last minute, flies by the seat of her pants, cackling all the way home. She is the late bloomer, the late start, the autumn bush, the winter holly. She is Baubo, all the classical Greek goddesses. She is the old girl who still blushes, and laughs, and dances. She's the truth teller, maybe that people hate to hear, but they learn to listen to. She is not dumb and in some ways is not shrewd. She works on passion, and the doll in her pocket, and the intuition that leads her into and through all the world.

|| And then there are the cravings.. Oh, la! A woman may crave to be near water, or be belly down, her face in the earth, smelling the wild smell. She might have to drive into the wind. She may have to plant something, pull things out of the ground or put them into the ground. She may have to knead and bake, rapt in dough up to her elbows.
She may have to trek into the hills, leaping from rock to rock trying out her voice against the mountain. She may need hours of starry nights where the stars are like face powder spilt on a black marble floor. She may feel she will die if she doesn’t dance naked in a thunderstorm, sit in perfect silence, return home ink-stained, paint-stained, tear-stained, moon-stained.”

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For all the Wild Women and anyone who loves them.

PRE ORDERS: Are hand screened by us in Sydney Australia to order on soft, ethical cropped singlets. Pre orders have up to a 3 - 4 week shipping wait (can be much less), please email us if you have any questions about the time expectations.

 

Hand screened on super soft and thin fair trade compliant tees, made from the softest, most comfortable 150 gsm combed cotton available. This is a premium style t-shirt with a slim fit Designed with Sydney Artist Nick Potts

From Women Who Run with The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes:

“She is often the broken-winged one, who does everything all wrong until people realize she's been doing it... pretty right all along. She's the poor girl who never dressed right, who had torn hose, and they were all baggy around her ankles. She's the Raggedy Ann of the sophisticated world, who pulls it out at the last minute, flies by the seat of her pants, cackling all the way home. She is the late bloomer, the late start, the autumn bush, the winter holly. She is Baubo, all the classical Greek goddesses. She is the old girl who still blushes, and laughs, and dances. She's the truth teller, maybe that people hate to hear, but they learn to listen to. She is not dumb and in some ways is not shrewd. She works on passion, and the doll in her pocket, and the intuition that leads her into and through all the world.

|| And then there are the cravings.. Oh, la! A woman may crave to be near water, or be belly down, her face in the earth, smelling the wild smell. She might have to drive into the wind. She may have to plant something, pull things out of the ground or put them into the ground. She may have to knead and bake, rapt in dough up to her elbows.
She may have to trek into the hills, leaping from rock to rock trying out her voice against the mountain. She may need hours of starry nights where the stars are like face powder spilt on a black marble floor. She may feel she will die if she doesn’t dance naked in a thunderstorm, sit in perfect silence, return home ink-stained, paint-stained, tear-stained, moon-stained.”