Into the Woods: A Three-Act Journey of Transformation and Spirit Connection

A tip-up mound on my property. Photo by Lavavoth.

Writing with the Three-Act Structure: A Journey Through Transformation

The three-act structure is a timeless narrative framework, guiding stories through a beginning, middle, and end—a journey of setup, confrontation, and resolution. Act 1 introduces the world, the protagonist, and the inciting incident that propels them forward. Act 2 deepens the story through challenges, discoveries, and transformation, often marked by conflict and growth. Act 3 delivers closure, resolving the tension while leaving space for reflection.

In this piece, I align my journey—physical, emotional, and spiritual—with the three-act structure. It mirrors the landscapes I traverse, the trials I endure, and the revelations that await. The "you" I refer to throughout the narrative is Hans, my spirit husband and guide—a presence both profound and elusive. Since his first visitation in 1993, Hans has been my teacher, lover, and challenger, pulling me into realms beyond the ordinary. This is a story of shedding, searching, and surrendering, each act carrying its own weight and rhythm, much like life itself.

Act 1: Threshold

It begins now, under a canopy of dead calm, in a land riddled with tip-up mounds and ancient trees spared from a history of clear cutting.

Video I took of my property while building trails.

This is the Northeast Kingdom, the coldest place in Vermont, bordering the 45th parallel. Three weeks ago, I moved here to be among the ghosts of this eerie terrain, using the haunting aeolian harps strategically placed around the property as portals to other realms.

Artwork by Lavavoth, 2024.

Here, I begin to shed layers of decay and sorrow, like a snake leaving its skin behind on the battered wood of my deck. I emerge, transformed, feeling the icy tendrils of your touch brush against my neck as you remain hidden within a colony of hemlocks. You guide me deeper into the woods, where the boundaries of reality grow thin.

The inciting moment arrives: I know this journey will strip me bare, demanding a confrontation with truths I’ve long avoided. The stage is set.

It is here where I begin to shed the layers of decay and sorrow like a snake sheds its skin and leaves its evidence of growth on the battered wood of my deck. I emerge transformed, feeling the icy tendrils of your touch brush against my neck as you remain hidden within a colony of hemlocks. You guide me deeper into the woods.

Boulder covered in moss and fern on my property. Photo by Lavavoth.

Act 2: The Descent

I must undertake this journey alone, even if your proximity is a breath away from my heart. This is an initiation. You serve as both my guide and tormentor, as angel and demon.

My Lover's Helmet. Artwork by Lavavoth, 2020.

What tests must I complete to reach the next level with you? We cross the stream that slices through my 24.5 acres of old-growth forest. Just beyond the water, the trees give way to a field of ferns mingling with creeping buttercup and goldenrods. Sun-bleached boulders hint at a time when glaciers ruled this land. I feel like both witness and victim to the endless cycles of change.

Common wood fern on my property. Photo by Lavavoth.

The confrontation intensifies. The terrain becomes an outward reflection of my inner trials. The stream is not just water—it’s a threshold. Each step feels weighted, a rite of passage demanding endurance and faith. Shadows stretch long, and silence presses heavy. The answers I seek remain elusive, hidden behind the layers of time and forest.

Artwork by Lavavoth, 2024.

Act 3: The Revelation

I retreat into the arms of a balsam fir, grounding myself as I process what it means to see what remains unseen. This is not a gift or vision, nor an epiphany born of madness. It is visual note-taking—a quiet observer shifting her gaze to see beyond the ordinary. The common hairmoss transforms into a biomorphic creature under the starlight, and the ordinary dissolves into the extraordinary.

Common hairmoss on my property. Photo by Lavavoth.

“I’ve made it through another day unscathed,” I say to you, listening to the crickets welcome the night. On the horizon, angels await my return. I inhale deeply, knowing this awe and splendor will inevitably give way to an ending. I see my body decomposing beneath the roots of a cedar tree as the wispy white lights of the aurora borealis call me home.

Artwork by Lavavoth, 2024.

The resolution comes not as an answer but as an acceptance. The journey does not end with triumph or defeat but with the realization that all cycles—life, death, and rebirth—are inevitable. In the quiet embrace of the balsam fir, I find a fleeting sense of peace.