By 2017, a year after moving to Fuerteventura, our life expanded in a way I hadn’t expected but somehow had always sensed.
We moved into a finca — more space, more earth, more life around us.
Suddenly we were living in a small sanctuary filled with paws and shells:

🐕 four dogs
🐢 four water turtles
🐢 one African land turtle
🐈 and soon… a cat, because of course we said yes.

The finca felt alive.
It felt like a place where things could grow — animals, intuition, and even the parts of myself I still hadn’t met yet.

🐴 The Mare Who Chose Us

Our youngest daughter spent afternoons helping her friend with her horse.
That’s where she saw her — a skinny, neglected mare standing alone.

And the mare saw her.

Something passed between them instantly.
A recognition.
A longing.
A connection that deepened week by week.
The mare was starving — not just for food, but for gentleness, for trust.

My daughter gave her that.
And the mare offered her heart back.

We bought her for a small fee, but it felt more like she chose us.
And soon I understood:

This mare was one of the reasons the island had called us.

I used Reiki on her every day, gently, slowly, letting her trauma unwind like thread.
Her eyes softened.
Her breathing changed.
Something in her healed — and something in me awakened.

When I found online courses — Spiritual Animal Healing Master and Pet Anxiety Reiki Master — I didn’t hesitate.
I studied for months through video calls and emails, feeling like I wasn’t learning something new… but remembering something very old.

This year was the beginning of my animal-healing path.
A path I didn’t choose — it chose me.

The Ravens, Always Watching

Everywhere we went, the ravens followed.

Not randomly — with intention.
They circled above us, perched on signposts, landed on rocks, stared with their intelligent, knowing eyes.

In many traditions, ravens are guardians of sacred places, messengers, protectors of thresholds.

On Fuerteventura, they were my silent guides.
My reminders that the island had more to show me.

And the first time I truly understood that…
was Tindaya.

🏔️ Tindaya — The Mountain of Footprints, Memory, and Priestesses

It took time before we finally visited Tindaya — not by avoidance, but because some places only reveal themselves when you’re ready.

When we arrived, the same ravens were waiting.
Circling.
Watching.
Guarding.

The small village below felt peaceful, timeless —
and the mountain itself…
it was a presence.

Quiet.
Vast.
Ancient.

And then I learned its secret:

Tindaya holds nearly 300 engraved human footprints — carved by the indigenous Maho people more than 2,000 years ago.

Footprints also exist across Morocco, the Atlas mountains, Western Sahara —
and then they appear here, exactly where the Mahos settled.

But Tindaya is different.

On other islands, ancient engravings show spirals, ships, animals, symbols.

But on Tindaya — only feet.
Only the imprint of presence.
Only the mark of those who stood in sacred alignment with the sky.

These footprints vary:

long, thin toes

wide, strong shapes

child-sized markings

deep hollow carvings

fine incisions

arranged singly, in pairs, or clustered like ritual groups


What archaeologists call “footprints,”
I feel as portals —
doorways left open by those who prayed on this mountain.

The Priestesses of Tindaya

Standing near Tindaya, something stirred in my memory —
not thinking, not imagining,
but remembering.

Suddenly my first past-life regression made sense.

In that vision, I sat on a mountain during sunset,
the sky burning red and gold,
peace flooding through me like warm water.
A silence so deep it felt holy.

That memory never left me.

When I stood at Tindaya, the same peace washed over me.
The same recognition.
The same timeless presence.

And I knew:

I had stood on this mountain before.
I had been one of the women who left their footprints in stone.
One of the priestesses.
One of the watchers of the moon.
One of the carriers of ancient knowledge.

These women were:

healers

midwives

stargazers

lunar priestesses

keepers of prophecy

protectors of the tribe

guardians of sacred sites


They were never “witches” as later invaders claimed.
They were the heart of the island’s spiritual life.

And Tindaya was their temple.

The footprints were not art.
They were offerings.
Anchors.
Markers of ritual.

A way to say:

“We were here.
We belonged to this land.
We faced the stars.
We stood at the threshold of worlds.”

And when I arrived in this lifetime,
Tindaya remembered me.

The Mountain That Welcomes and Awakens

As the ravens circled and the wind brushed against my skin,
I felt something ancient rise from the base of my spine —
the same deep, warm energy that first awakened when we drove across the island.

Tindaya didn’t overwhelm me.
It didn’t shock me.
It embraced me.

A soft, powerful peace —
the peace of memory returning.
The peace of a priestess standing, once again, where she once stood.

This was the moment I understood:

Fuerteventura was not just a new home.
It was a return.

A return to land,
to spirit,
to purpose,
to a lineage buried in stone and wind.

The island didn’t just call me.
It remembered me.

And now, I was remembering it.

💫Maggie

The Afterlove Voice 💫