My heart is yours. My hands are yours. My feet are yours. My skin is yours. My lips are yours. My eyes are yours. My ears are yours. My bones are yours. My breath is yours. My blood is yours. My life is a gift to you, as long as you will have me.

My heart is yours. It beats in a pattern that will keep doing your Work on this plane. It echoes our your rhythm. I offer out my heart to you, blessed mother, blessed mother.

My hands are yours. Let me craft reality in a way that does your Work on this plane. Let me pen words and works in your honor. Let me caress those with wounded hearts. May my hands do the work of healing, destruction, and creativity in your honor. I offer out my hands to you, blessed mother, blessed mother.

My feet are yours. Whether I treat one mile or one million miles, I do so to enable your Work on this plane. Take me to where I am meant to be, even if I do not understand the purpose at first. Tired or rejoicing, or rejoicing in my exhaustion, my steps walk for you. I offer out my feet to you, blessed mother, blessed mother.

My skin is yours. The sensations of the wind across my pelt is the sensations of the world across your pelt. My sensual experiences and suffering alike are gifts to your Work on this plane. I offer up my skin to you, blessed mother, blessed mother.

My lips are yours. With the words I speak, I do so to do your Work on this plane. Each kiss, each piece of food consumed, each sip of clean water that passes through is an offering to you. I offer up my lips to you, blessed mother, blessed mother.

My eyes are yours. Every image I bear witness to you, I do so as part of your Work on this plane. Every vision through the veil, every piece of art I observe, everything I see that shakes me to the core, I take in for you. I offer up my eyes to you, blessed mother, blessed mother.

My bones are yours. My body to the core I upkeep as part of your Work on this plane. Let my body be a temple to your endeavors, let my devotion be felt to the core. After my flesh has faded away, my bones that are left are left in your honor. I offer up my bones to you, blessed mother, blessed mother.

My breath is yours. Each moment I inhale, each scent I smell, everything that escapes my lungs I breathe as part of your Work on this plane. Let the winds echo through my being, let me craft the winds that echo through others. I offer up my breath to you, blessed mother, blessed mother.

My blood is yours. Pulsing crimson from my heart to my fingers, from my bones to my lips, my blood courses through me as part of your Work on this plane. I offer up my blood to you, blessed mother, blessed mother.

As you wrap your fur around me, I give thanks to you.

I give thanks.

I am yours.

I am yours, on this side of the veil or beyond.