you & me

As The Blood Dries On Our Birthing Bed: A Rage-Filled Prayer For Imbolc.

You were with me, Woman, and I with you, when we birthed this bloody bit of life from our swollen wombs.

You let me nearly break the bones in your hand — my apologies — in those no-exit, final stages of labor, and I let you spit hot, hurtful curses in my face while you pushed, and pushed, and pushed until the blissful eruption.

You let me bite down on all your favorite things, ruining them, and I let you slap me when I tried only to hold you. Yes, midwifing our own simultaneous labors was difficult, but now, as the blood dries on our birthing bed, I will tell you of my rage.

On this Imbolc night, the flames of all the Candlemas altars are dim in comparison to the bonfire tearing through my so-tired heart. I pray now not to Mother Brighid but to you, Woman, as you lie breathless beside me in your own recovery. Do not fall asleep.

I pray that you muster all of your feminine fortitude now and rise with me. No doubt, Woman, you deserve your rest. Truly, you do. My red-stained legs will shake with fatigue as well when I try to stand, but stand we must.

Get up, dear Woman, for they have stolen our daughters. They have torn them from the warmth of our so-soft bosoms, but even that popping sound of lips detaching from milk-spouting breast did not wake you. Woman, I pray you rise.

Run with me into the cold night and search, for they cannot be far. We must find them before it is too late, our young ones, our innocent babes. Rescue them from the frozen, muscled arms of those who would enslave them, for no maternal comfort will they find there.

I will go alone if you will not join me, mind you, but we are so much stronger together. Woman, I pray you will come with me. Run with me into this winter’s night, bare-breasted, with bloody thighs, and call these terrible ones out.

They hide behind their thick walls, so carefully built with the bones of those whom they rendered powerless, but we will find them. You see, Woman, they are so profoundly afraid of us. We threaten everything they are.

They think that they can keep us down by stealing our precious ones, knowing not that this has been the final straw.

We know — oh, Woman, we know so well — what they will tell our baby girls. They will tell them their future will be bright if they stay thin, stay quiet, stay grateful. They will call them princesses, and applaud their high-pitched voices and giggles.

They will pat their heads in the grossest condescension, and tell them they are adorable.

Oh, baby, they will say, you are so cute. We will take good care of you. Don’t worry your pretty little head over things like war, rape, social justice, income inequality, animal abuse, air pollution, corporate greed, and the rights of the vulnerable. Let us handle this, little one. Put on the dress I bought for you, and wait for us in the bedroom.

Woman, this is the truly gut-wrenching part of our plight: we can’t blame them. They know no better. This world, their world, was set in motion long ago. The foundations of their thick-walled structures were poured with the fear of death, and we could not stop them.

So long have our daughters been ripped from our wombs under bright lights and in sterile rooms that your thinking mind may have forgotten the injustice of it all. But we, Woman, did not give birth in those places.

No, we birthed our daughters by candlelight. We spat the drugs back in their faces, and we felt the pain of it all. Our daughters were born with a mother-loving chance to live in a world where their bodies are sacred and their wills are their own.

Our daughters will not, I tell you, will not be denied their birthright to a compassionate, gender-equal world. I won’t allow it. Not on my watch. Not on yours.

Woman, I pray you rise from your blood-stained birthing bed now. On this Imbolc, we go together into the night and we bring our daughters home. I pray you rage with me without trying to rationalize away your anger, for once. Yes, let yourself be angry; sometimes fury is the best fuel.

Come with me, Woman. We are in this together. Our daughters need us, and I need you. Together, we will tell them our children are not princesses or property.

Our children have the power of feminine divinity vibrating in their cells, and when, not if but when, it is unleashed, it will bring down those carefully built walls and rock the very foundations of these so-tragic, so-outmoded structures erected by the fearful.

As the blood dries on our birthing bed, I tell you this: Woman, our daughters wield a power that only we can protect, and protect it we must. Once we have these precious ones back in our arms, we must tell them who they really are, these dear ones. We must tell them to be loudmouths.

We must condemn the media’s messages shouting that health equates to fat-less bellies and firm breasts. More than all of this, we must affirm the existence of choice within all aspects of their magickal lives.

Woman, our daughters were born to take this world back, and we must mother them through this no-doubt arduous journey.

The time is now. Come, Woman. Let us take our daughters home.

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DanielleDulskyDanielle Dulsky is a multi-passionate entrepreneur, energy-healer, Yoga teacher, multi-media artist, and magickal mentor. She holds the highest designation from Yoga Alliance as an E-RYT500, and is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless creators of their sacred work. She is the founder and creatrix of the Living Mandala Yoga teacher training programs, a Reiki Master in the Usui-Tibetan tradition, and long-time believer in Earth-based traditions. Her work is based on sensing and transforming energetic vibrations, empowering individuals to discover their potential for authentic abundance, using artistic practice intuitively, and holding space for women to unearth their inner goddess through the magick of sisterhood. Danielle leads women circles, witchcraft workshops, a teaching coven, and psychic development intensives in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania where she lives with her partner Ryan, sons Bodhi and Sage, and pet-familiars Jeepster and Raven. She believes that all women alive today are meant to be instrumental in supporting the return of the Divine Feminine. You could contact her via email.

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