When Eve Walked

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WHEN EVE WALKED

Poems

Woman. Hidden. Rising. Risen.

In the inspirational memoir, Where The Light Lives, visionary artist Linda Cull shared her remarkable spiritual awakening journey—giving us hope and healing.

When Eve Walked continues Linda’s offering. A beautifully intimate collection inspired by her powerful spirituality. Through pain and joy, and a life lived deeply, her poems celebrate the many facets of womanhood and self-discovery. It will nourish you.

-Published by Wilara Press

Tired days, shut lids,

climbing through the

night sky to collect

my solitary p i e c e s ,

to have them meet

after all this time.

WHEN EVE WALKED BOOK TRAILER

Praise

When Eve Walked is an exquisite poetry collection that walks through one woman’s journey, and yet archetypally speaks to all women.

There is a certain creative magic that is ignited during and after profound spiritual experiences, and Linda Cull’s ability to capture it through words and weave them onto a page is a gift for any woman who finds herself on a similar path.

Deeply personal and equally inclusive, her poems speak to that primal feminine force we must each explore if we are to embody our true human power.

—Nicole Gruel, Ph.D., author of The Power of NOTEs: How Non-Ordinary Transcendent Experiences Transform The Way We Live, Love and Lead

I am woman – all woman.

And for this moment, I am every woman,

with every piece of me in harmony

in feel of the smoothness of myself…

my body in form; curves and rolls as fruit in swirls,

ripened and ready to pick and devour—

succulent, delicate, and dripping delicious.

From the Author

“All the poems contained in this collection were written in my early twenties when I had many spiritually transformative experiences. It has been my direct-lived experience that creativity inspires a union with the ultimate power and is an effect of that union. Then, I was unfolding my womanhood. These poems, therefore, speak of the divine feminine; hidden, rising – then risen.”

—LVC

Who is she, teacher and mother to-be?

That one so radiant a beam as hope in trouble.

I am her daughter—

before a dream as daughter, I will be born once more.

Mother of fields

and forests

and orchids

and spring.

Wets her tears, not in sadness at winter’s barren lands,

thorny stems, and broken sticks,

but in joy of shooting seeds in starring eyes

buried below the surface of soles of feet.