Present mood: Chance of turning people to stone with one wrong look. Wear shades. Hide in your cave.
I must honor this time. It's so powerful. Women weren't sent away from villages because they were dirty or sinful. It was always because they were powerful and psychic. They overwhelmed the men and children. Women created these sacred gatherings to strengthen their wisdom, share their power, and transform their communites.
I have much still to heal. I can see it on days like these. We are looking at yurts for the backyard, a place I can retreat in solitude for a few days each month. This is the self care I need. It's the self care many women need.
I'm having flash backs to a dark time in 8th grade. Having flash backs through ancient history and feeling the Goddess’ rage at Gilgamesh for cutting down the tree of life. Time traveling. Having flash forwards at the dangers of AI and the disrespect and domination of the earth. Aligning my third eye at the true enemy.
Rage about the disrespect of life, water, animals, children in a for profit system meant to turn organic matter into garbage. Missing the ancient festivals, leisure and play on earth for humans to learn and grow in joy. Feeling my snake hair. Finding my battle ax. Feeling the demonization and great fall of the Goddess. Feeling Her disintegrated body beginning its resurrection phase. Holding the shadows of so many lost frightened souls, and still holding my Sovereignty. Mothering many demons back to angels. Aware of my powers to turn men to stone and break hearts. Aware of my mission to cease the wheels of samsara. For every stoney heart, for every knife in the chest, a healed and open heart chakra. First I have to get mine more open. An alchemy of the pain to joy, lead to gold. May it be so. May these wounds shift into their diamond form.
My own sealed tight heart that says: never again will I be hurt like that. Trying to pry it open. That's not the way in. Gentle she says. More gentle. Too gentle. The hard shell must be here. No one gets in this deep. Not safe. Facing impossible fears of marriage ever working out again. Raging on Dumuzi and Zeus for forgetting me when I was in the underworld. For the ages of betrayals, affairs, and neglect. Working on forgiveness. And taking logs out of my eyes so I can see my partner in present time and not the echos of the past. Will my beloved be able to hold all this fire? Will he be able to help me heal? Will I be able to help him? The dream. Healers, heal thyselves. We are trying.
Still, so much raging on the wandering, floundering, unaccountable immature reckless golden boy-child who still seeks comfort in distraction and dismemberment. Wondering if he’ll ever grow up to meet the Goddess eye to eye as an honorable divine man. Until then, he cuts me down and gets so damn condescending in his work to sever the chords with his unconscious controlling (wounded) mother (goddess). Yes I'm looking at you Dumuzi. Gilgamesh. Zeus. Posiden. Damn I love your passion. But know the nuances of your force. You're wildly dangerous. And someday you will stear the sun. But first lets learn how not to wipe out anymore planets, OK?
I'm integrating your upgraded form. Retrograde Mars is learning so much. There is so much passion. I'm still not sure I can trust it. I'm afraid of falling farther down. I know it's my sisters who hold the form of the hologram. It is we who hold ourselves and you. It's time for rising now.
I will not condescend in return. Maybe. I try. Working on compassion and honoring free will of all beings.
Sometimes we allow our bodies to be raped. Sometimes we allow our heads to be cut off. Sometimes we hold the mirror to the monster that is projecting its unconscious pain upon us.
I'm pleading with the Goddess for deep deep healing. Asking Her to hold my partner when I must push him out of the nest to fly on his own, when I must find my center all by myself--he doesn't know the way to my center. No one does. No one but me. Only the High Priestess enters the Holy of Holies. And only with the True King. Who is still remembering. Still learning. Still being tested by the Goddess.
I need no male savior. I push so he doesn't get burned in my wild fire. It's what he loves about me. It's what I love about him.
I know he is strong enough. I've seen it. I know I am strong enough. I feel it.
A sacred woman doesn’t always smile meek like Mother Mary. Sometimes she carries the sacrificial knife under her robes and must decide what to destroy today. Best to leave her alone lest she decides it's you.
Though you could risk it, show up with roses and red wine and you may just have the time of your life. (Thanks, G <3).
I'm about to paint my livingwomb red and have another glass of wine.
Fires of transformation.
Let them burn.