Lilith’s House Rules: Here We Brew with Lust, Rage, and Holy Water.
Not long after her sacred rebellion, the loner Lilith sought out her tribe.
The wild one left the Eden of Lies in favor of raw truth and fierce, feminine integrity, hoping, with all that she was, that she was not alone in her liberation. She set out in search of venerable freaks like her, the painted women and unapologetic creatures of the night, but she only found one: this twin flame who would teach her how to set firm boundaries in a world where the untamed woman was rejected, feared, and hunted.
A soft-bodied and tired-eyed Lilith all but crawled into the Red Tent of the wise one just when she had reconciled herself to a life of solitude. She had followed the holy scent wafting down from the mountain, unfamiliar spice promising soul-nourishment and sisterly redemption.
The Full Moon was high in the sky by the time the original Witch made it to her destination, fueled only by the memory of the She-Snake and her own promise to press on through all adversity.
She expected to find an old widow or long-outcast healer, but the woman brewing at the cookfire looked much like her. Perhaps she had gone mad, for it was as if Lilith was looking into a mirror when the wild one stared back at her. Perhaps she had died, leaving her sunburnt body back in the desert. Maybe only her hungry ghost had found this place. Perhaps this Red Tent was the purgatory for wild women who could not be absolved.
The woman at the fire turned to face Lilith, lowering her red hood with one hand, the other vigorously stirring the cauldron. Her host must wonder why there is an unclothed and unwashed woman in her house, Lilith thought, but the smoke was thick and intoxicating. Lilith was speechless. She let it dance over her naked body, licking the parts of her still throbbing from the journey and inhaling the thick stuff as if it were a meal in itself.
She arched her back and moaned, immediately feeling ashamed for the first time since she had left the garden. This was no way for a guest to behave, after all.
The red-cloaked woman tossed her long, tangled hair, seeming unbothered by the display of what the uninitiated might call vulgar. Lilith swallowed, shielding her bare-breasted heart and closing her legs tight. She opened her mouth to apologize, to beg for food, to lie about who she really was, and pretend to be demure and obedient, but she was silenced before she could speak.
Her host clicked her tongue, shook her head, and waved her hand ceremoniously across the bubbling stuff: We do not say we’re sorry for being women in this house, wild one. If you’re going to be my guest, you must learn and abide by the house rules. Stand on your feet now, Woman, for you are subservient no longer!
The wise host kept stirring, and Lilith stood, emboldened and curious. The Red Tent was small but bright with candlelight and color, relics of the ancient, Earthen Feminine lurking in corners waiting to be acknowledged. She was not sure why, but Lilith felt at home here, and she did not want to leave.
Her host continued: In this house, we follow few recipes, and we will not ask you to hide your darkness. Here, we brew with lust, rage, and holy water as much as we brew with compassion and grace.
She tapped the stirring spoon on the side of the iron and continued: The devil has visited this tent before, and likely he will come again; we find it best to invite the shadow-self into our beds from time to time, letting our wounds breathe as much as they need to, letting our dark nights of the soul wreak havoc on our egos, surrendering to the labor pains of our rebirth over and over and over again.
Lilith pursed her lips together, silently swearing that her host looked more and more like her with every word she spoke.
This is the House of the Wild Woman, and here we relish our intimate relationship with nature. We make fierce love to the Feminine Divine, the Sacred Masculine, and every gender in between and beyond, and we do all of it before breakfast.
Here, we pray with our whole bodies and listen intently as our heart-drums beat out the Vows of the Unruined Soul. Here, we have heard the words of the She-Snake and been handfasted to our own liberation.
She began spooning her steaming brew into bowls made of stone, and Lilith’s stomach grumbled; she had not eaten a bit since the forbidden fruit from the garden. The wild one crushed her eyes shut in memory of the orgasmic taste of electric passion and blessed sin. The apples from the Tree of Knowledge tasted of raw power and cosmic She-Fire, so much better than her many meals of apathetic servitude had tasted.
Lilith hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow this Witch’s brew promised to trump even the ripest of the forbidden fruit.
Her host handed her a heavy bowl and invited her to sit: In this house, we rush through no meal, and we eat like every bite is a prayer to the god-stars. Here, we let no one join us who is not worthy, and we have the right to be discerning without feeling any guilt over our choices. Many want to enter this tent, you see, but the protection spells have been cast strong.
Here, our bodies are holy, our hearts are full, and our spirits are bound to the venerable pranic spark within and around us. We are God-Goddess-Mystery because everything is God-Goddess-Mystery. In this house, we rule like the She-Kings we are. We bow to no one, nor do we ask anyone to get on their knees for us.
Lilith took the first bite and an eruption of deep knowing burned bright in her belly; this soul-food was better than the forbidden fruit, for it was the hearty Strong Feminine. It was the promise of sinful escape that made her leave Eden, but it is this nourishment of the Holy Wild that will keep her free. The meal was heavy and herb-filled, filling her completely with every lumpy spoonful. Still, she kept eating and her host kept speaking.
In this house, we know to be wild does not mean to be out of control or lack compassion. In this Red Tent, to be wild means to unite the sensual with the spiritual every goddamn day. Here, we pray with our sex and we lick divinity. Here, we read the oldest testaments to the tantric universe, and we get off on the sunrise. We need no one to complete us, Lilith, for we are the sum total of all that is.
Lilith looked up from her near-empty bowl to find her own face staring back at her. Her host dropped her red cloak to the floor, standing naked before her guest, and Lilith saw all the same birthmarks that dotted her own skin. This woman shared each and every one of her scars and her perfect flaws; this woman was she, and she was this woman.
The host knelt on the floor near her guest, and each wild one looked into her own eyes.
They held each other close then, these uncaged and untamed creatures who would be condemned for their independence, and spoke in unison: In this house, we are free to do as we will. The unjust laws of our world, the rules that leave all who threaten the system downtrodden and powerless, mean absolutely nothing inside this red tent.
Here, we know the truth. We know the reckoning is coming, a reaping of the ego-mad so great that it will shake the outmoded structures to their foundations. Here, we wake every morning knowing our role in the Holy Feminine’s return, and we pin the scarlet letters of unabashed sexuality to our bare chests. We need no absolution, for our very blood is blessed, and we will stand up for those who cannot stand on their own.
In this house, the wild is welcomed into our beds, and we will open our legs to the red dawn. In this House of Lilith, we will make and take our own sacraments, for we know divinity cannot be gifted.
The Witches fell asleep holding one another close, together whispering one last truth: In this house, the wild comes home to rest.
Lilith woke alone the next morning, vowing to uphold the rules of her house until the death of her heavy body leaves her a wandering, holy ghost destined to visit the homes of other wild women; and they will invite her in, for she shares their scars.