She Is the Dark Moon Dawn: Hope and Verses as the Countdown Ends.
Dare to see Her. She has been playing a game with you this whole time. Thousands of war-torn years to us are but a slow countdown from ten to Her.
In the depths of a cavern buried in a land left barren by unwinnable fights for freedom, She lies in wait, licking her fingers clean from a light meal of compassionless creatures and violent power-mongers. She is the intergalactic champion of the darkest and bloodiest game of hide-and-seek, and Her age-long countdown is over.
Her black mirror eyes are peeking out of the shadows now, and She knows precisely what She’s missed during her playful rest. She is coming. She has seen Her children being bought and sold, the bodies of women chained to the hard stone of outmoded and crumbling beliefs, the waters rising, and the creatures dying.
She has seen the billions controlled by the few, and She is returning a bloodthirsty and ravenous mother-huntress wielding the weapons of holy hellfire and feminine grace.
She is the long-haired darkness crawling through the wilderness on scraped knees and bleeding palms. She is coming. She has strapped the souls of the innocent to Her bare back. She has collected the small bones of lost childhoods and stolen joys and added them to Her crown of bridal gowns worn too young and guns fired by babies.
She is blessing the ground with the most ancient moon-blood; it pours down Her thighs while She creeps closer to Her prey and bids the primal fires of the Earth to smoke and swell from beneath.
She is coming, and no confession booth can contain Her. There is no simple prayer to be halfheartedly muttered, no protection beads to be casually worn, and no secret bunker immune to Her destruction. She is coming for the priest hiding his violent perversions behind the golden cross. She is coming for those wearing robes of all colors claiming to be righteous while they forgive human sacrifice and blood magick.
She is the waning moon, and She casts Her unforgiving light on us all. She is not weeping; She is grinding Her fangs against each other and spitting on the houses of those who write laws to keep Her young bound to labels given to them by the old.
She is coming for the Witch-hunters who reek of vampiric envy, the political predators who claim superiority, and the feckless, spiritual fuckers who rob the hungry of their soul-food. She is marking the hovels of the privileged rapists and the strong-armed abusers with the blood of their victims, and She will return to handcraft kitschy totems from their skulls.
Do not look away when She rises to swallow the missiles whole. Keep your eyes open when She liberates those who serve out contracts signed by someone else’s hand. You must watch to know the new her-stories and hex-stories, to write the new books and sing the new songs. Don’t even blink when the charred skin and bullet-marred ghosts descend from the ether to join Her in Her tirade.
Stand steadfast when the renegade, nameless Goddesses spread their black wings wide and become Her demoness Air Force. Burn these events into your memory, for they are the only ones that will matter soon. This is not the apocalypse, this is the Dark Moon dawn.
She is coming. Stand with your lovers and your babes, and watch while She restores the balance. Her game is over, and She is not playing. Hold hands and raise your brows while She runs roughshod with bare feet over the steaming ground, while the corrupt systems are struck down by Her well-aimed fists, and while She opens the iron cells caging the Feminine with a flick of her forked tongue.
She is coming, and we are watching for Her wild hair with bated breath from our rooftops. She is coming, and we are howl-praying to the Storm Moon that She be swift and strong. She is coming, and we have lit red candles and casted wide circles in Her name. She is coming, and we have warned only those who need not fear Her.
Do not take cover we said. She is no longer hiding, and neither are we. We are Her, returned to claim our birthright as living benedictions to the dark Feminine Divine. We are here, and we are not leaving. Let the fearful run from Her vengeance, but we are staying to watch our Mother’s homecoming. We are here, and we have been waiting too long to stand hunched on shaking legs.
Our bellies are locked, and our will is strong. We are fierce activist-priestesses and long-armed healers pulling the ailing world to our leaking breasts. We are wolf-women shielding the bodies of our young with bared teeth and a low growl.
We are not Her subjects, we are Her blood and Her bones. We are not Her mindless congregation, we are the very terrain of Her red, raw psyche. We are not Her soldiers, we are Her sharp nails and screeching battle-cry. We are not pawns in a great game of the Gods, we are the cosmic stardust eminent and vibrating within every angel, deity, faerie, and ascended Mistress of Dark and Light.
We are not shivering in the shadows waiting to be saved, we are the saviors.
We are Her. She is us, and the countdown is over. Ready or not, here we come.