My Goddess is unconfined
–unbound
–limitless
–unrestricted.
My Goddess exists past
–the pictures of Her created by males
–the phrases describing Her written by males
–the legal guidelines coercing Her, enacted by males.
My Goddess is ubiquitous
–dancing with the bushes and birds and wind
–plumbing the ocean depths with dolphins and octopi
–cuddling the seeds and roots beneath the Earth and the flowers on her floor
–sliding up and down rays of solar shine and moon beams with infinite pleasure.
My Goddess is formless
–neither previous nor younger
–neither buxom nor flat
–neither skinny nor full-bodied
Till my creativeness offers Her the shape that meets my wants.
She is sui generis—singular and distinctive.
–She doesn’t match into the techniques and constructions that people have invented to outline and restrain Her.
–She doesn’t play by patriarchy’s guidelines.
–She writes her personal guidelines.
Some days She involves me in Her lithe and supple Youth and leads me in dances with the Fae.
Some days She welcomes me into Her arms as She features Mom Love—comforting my traumas, soothing my bodily and psychic aches, assuring me of Her Love.
Some days I turn into Her voice—talking her fact—proclaiming our Sovereignty as empowered ladies.
On the times She appears to be like most like me, She is the Crone—lengthy silver hair—tender rounded aching physique—serenity etched on Her face as She stills my racing thoughts and whispers Divine Knowledge into my ears.
My Goddess is direct—
She captures my eyes and I can’t look away as she penetrates my very soul.
She massages my aching ft and jogs my memory that self-care can also be a part of worship.
She touches my coronary heart and out of the blue we’re weeping collectively for the ache Her human kids willfully inflict on one another and all Her creations.
My Goddess is ephemeral—
–a wisp of perfume enmeshed within the passing wind
–a glimpse of motion caught over my shoulder
–a hushed voice naming me daughter.
My Goddess generally is a moody bitch, however She has the fitting as I see it.
She modifies every part She touches, and every part She touches adjustments.*
However every part people contact adjustments too, usually in methods that aren’t life-affirming.
She asks that I discover the pure world is all the time altering—days, moons, seasons.
She invitations me to embrace the adjustments which might be a part of the pure cycles of the universe—to make them part of my worship.
She involves me as roses, snakes, bears, and oaks.
She involves me as laboring moms and newborns.
She involves me as youths in search of methods to outline themselves.
She involves me as elders in search of locations to relaxation their weary our bodies and methods to share their knowledge.
She involves me as decapitated mice and dying bushes and extinct species.
She involves me as newly orphaned kids of battle and grenade throwing terrorists.
She involves me as ego-tripping dictators and profiteering plutocrats, united in life-destroying objectives.
She involves me as troopers, trapped in an internet of spiritual and political opinions, pressured to commit acts they discover abhorrent.
These too are my kids, She whispers, her voice soaked with sorrow.
Keep in mind that.
These too are my beloveds.
*Reclaiming music, written by Starhawk
**Artwork: Start of a Galaxy, by Willow Arlena, https://www.mysticlifedesign.com/
