warrior woman rising
The scared little girl in me, the hurt, abandoned, and abused teenager, the reckless, and out-of-control young adult, my Maiden Goddess, all had to die last night so that my Mother Goddess can be reborn to this new beginning of my life as a Wife.
Alas, you know as well I do, Sister, that the real prayers are not said in such sacred vacuums. Once, with legs spread in the final stages of labor, the midwife’s voice caught and her face went pale in such a way that I thought my precious baby doomed. I begged to every deity I knew, promising ...
Some of us knew the screaming hunger of a rigid feeding schedule, longing for the milk-filled breast that satiates the magnificent trauma of being helpless in a newborn human body.
To the lover who left us behind to go wandering, thank you for leaving a black-hole void in our bellies that ached so persistently we had no choice but to fill it with our own molten power poured straight down from the heart-crucible where self-love still bubbled.
The Primal Feminine is not pure, and you know it. Let’s show them it looks like thick-skinned substance and defiant eyes more than pastel wings and glitter.
The Wild Feminine is a homemade, potent salve for many of the world’s wounds, and everyone, regardless of gender, harbors some psychic terrain where this particular, timely medicine grows.