As a dark night falls upon humanity, I feel a sorrow rising up which is difficult to put into words.
It is the sorrow of her remembrance in a world gone quite literally mad.
It is the sorrow born of a culture who has forgotten it’s young, forsaken the divine mother, and turned their back upon nature herself.
It is the sorrow born of a culture who cannot see the value in a depth of feeling, who cannot simply be with the rising truth, and who instead, continues to deny, ignore, repress, and assassinate her very existence.
I have felt it in every phase of my life, in my girlhood, in my coming of age, in the lead up to the birth of my only child, in the at times deafening anguish of postpartum, and now - in the very heart of motherhood.
What is it to be a woman in this culture?
What is it to be in rhythm with the moon?
What is it to feel the pulse of the ocean?
What is it to hear the echoing cry of existence in the sacred sanctuary of the womb, where life itself is given shape and form, where ecstasy and terror become one?
What kind of dark spell is it to deny this monumental and great experience?
What is it to subjugate her very existence, rendering the most divine of her powers invisible, unseen, mute in a world of total ignorance?
Night falls, and I hear her battle cry, just as I heard it as a young girl ( though I did not know then what I was hearing ) while wandering the woods, communing with the subtler realms, in prayer to the great spirit, listening to her songs on the wind.
