This Is Why They Burned Us

nude women in a circle

Rebelle Society

I give my blood to back to the Earth. Watching her drink it into her rich, dark soil. Feeding her with my elixir of life, the recipe tucked into the soft folds of my womb, held in the marrow of my bones for centuries.

This is why they burned us.

They did not understand how we didn’t fear death. How we could live more fully each time we bleed. Why we worshiped with reverence the cycles and rhythms of the earth. How we honored that sacred dance of the seasons mirrored in our own human flesh.

This is why they burned us.

We tender warriors of heart, keepers of the womb, protectors of the earth. Because our love for Nature and our devotion to Her scared them. For love that powerful strikes fear in the hearts of those who are unwilling to be soft, in those with ears that are closed to the heartbeat of the Earth. Who choose not to hear the love songs of Spirit all around us.

This is why they burned us.

Trying to domesticate and eradicate the wild in our bones. That emerges on the Full Moon. That seeks to howl and retch, scream and cry, sigh and sing life back into our bodies when they have become heavy or feel broken. Because we see the medicine in all things, the medicine all around, and we know that the purest medicine is the medicine within.

And medicine this strong can dismantle systems, bring authority to its knees, and is the embodiment of sovereignty.

This is why they burned us.

Because our worship is of no man, of no one church, of no one god. We call forth and invoke Spirit in all forms. Seeing God, Goddess, and Spirit in every plant, animal, and elemental being. Our palms and knees covered in dirt, as we sink ourselves onto the soil, finding our home, our holy place, our sanctuary in the wild.

This is why they burned us.

Because women in their bodies are a force of nature that cannot be tamed. We demand softening, reverence, and the type of integrity that comes from a wholehearted willingness to feel the connection to the whole world, to all living beings.

This is why even when they tried to burn us, we live on. As mothers, sisters, lovers, midwives, healers, artists, dancers, grandmothers, teachers, as all the flavors and forms of the Feminine. Because the whole world needs this medicine. Especially right now.

So answer the Wild Calling of your souls, sisters. Burn bright in your power, my loves. Give into your feral nature. Sing the songs of the ancient ones. Pour your blood, tears, and love into the Earth.

Do not fear. Let your heart flame be seen. For no flame of hate can burn as bright as the Love that you are.

You are holy.

You are whole.

Advertisements

THE LAST SAMHAIN SUPPER OF THE HOLY GHOSTS: RESURRECTING OUR WOUNDED WOMEN.

Rebelle Society

October 31, 2016   

samhain godesses

I am setting the grandest table for them, these women of my childhood religion who so wholly embodied the woundings of the global Feminine collective.

Teardrops are falling on my grandmother’s silver as I straighten and perfect each place setting, and my heart-drum beats out a mournful dirge as I light the black candles.

One by one, I summon them, bidding them to join me on this Samhain night when the veil is so thin that I can hear the wails of burning women tied to stakes, and the gasps of holy healers swaying at the noose ends. I summon them, these women I was told to shun, and I take my seat at this Last Supper of Holy Whores, this so solemn Samhain celebration that is my highest ritual.

I call on the Mystery to resurrect the Divine Feminine dark, and I set fire to the sweet-grass braids while I whisper their infamous, ill-reputed names.

Mother of Babylon, I welcome you and your revelations to this table. On this ghostly night, I remember you for your Witch-warrior nature and your kinship with nature. I can read the language tattooed on your body, and I have memorized the truest apocalyptic verses. You represent the end of their days, and their condemnation of your leadership is fear-born and unholy.

You will give them their last rites, and I will stand with you while you draw a phantom pentagram over their hearts.

The ghost of the wild Mother materializes, riding her seven-headed wolf and glowing an ethereal red.

They feared the future you represent, the Wild Rising and the genesis of pan-human equality. They tell little ones you embody all that is evil and unjust, but many know the truth. You are the collective feminine wound of our stolen right to affect change, to vindicate our dead, and to unearth the bones of the socially powerless. You are our right to grieve, and our divinely sanctioned right to share our own prophecies.

They called you a whore, but tonight I will call you Mother.

The wild one dismounts her beast and takes a seat at the table’s head. I pour wine for her and crush my eyes closed, readying myself to call in the next guest.

Mary Magdalene, I welcome you and your devotion to the Sacred Masculine to this table. I remember you for your passion and your grace, and I have heard your lover beg me to resurrect you with my words. You are the holy partner, the eternal Creatrix, and you will not be shamed.

The ghost of the red-hooded She-God appears holding a baby in her arms, and the Mother of Babylon raises a fist high in solidarity.

They feared your sexuality and your intimate, heart-born connection with the man they worshiped as their savior. They do not tell their daughters you were the lover of Christ, but I will. They do not speak of your divinity, but I will raise my voice for you. You are the collective feminine wound of our stolen cosmic birthright to make love to our Gods, to drink the holy water, and to pray with our bodies.

You, Lover-Priestess of Magdala, are the pulse-beat of the universal heart, and you are our right to hand-craft our own religions. They called you a whore, but I will call you Mary, Lover of Christ.

She lowers her hood, taking a seat next to the Mother, and I spoon some of my Witch’s brew into her bowl. Still more ghosts are all around us, and their curious whispers nearly drown out my call to the fallen queen.

Jezebel, I welcome you and your devotion to this table. Tonight, I remember you. This is a memorial service to your spiritual conviction, your bone-deep spiritual autonomy, and your refusal to bow down to a God that was not your own. I am giving your crown back to you, and I am tattooing your name on my belly.

The royal woman who was denigrated for her beliefs appears in all her adorned glory, and both the Lover from Magdala and the Mother of Babylon bow their heads in reverence to the one they called an idol-worshiping adulteress.

They feared your spiritual freedom, and they denounced your religion. They beat you, and they tried to rob you of your worth. They still use your name to restrict the sexual liberty of women, and they have bound you in their so-called holy book to be forever the unchaste one. You are the collective feminine wound of stolen spiritual agency, and all women feel your pain.

They called you the fallen queen, but I will call you Jezebel, Priestess of Baal and Lover of Mystery.

The queen takes her seat at the table, leaving just one empty chair, and I butter some bread for her. We four sit in silence for a time then, readying and steadying ourselves, raising our frequencies so high that we sprout wings from our backs and milk-white crowns from our heads.

I feel her before I call her, and these words pass from my lips in an accented tongue I do not speak, and yet I understand my meaning:

Lilith, I welcome you and your brave heart to this table. On this sacred night, I remember your refusal to accept the conditions they set for you, and I remember your liberation from the sweet floral prison built to contain your sexuality, your wit, and your fem-force. You are a fire-walker, sent into the desert to repent the sin of feminine independence, and you risked much in the dangerous search for your own house.

No, you said. No, I will not apologize for knowing my worth. No, I will not submit to your will. No, I will not surrender to the hand of those who would harm my daughters, and by the grace of all things holy, I will not bow down to a God that thinks me less than a man.

There is an earthquake in my bones, and I shiver, waiting. The candles dim, threatening to die out, and then the flames extend so high, white-hot and sparking. All of us — the Mother, the Lover, the Priestess, and I — bow our heads in womb-felt reverence, and she appears.

The original incarnation of the Feminine Divine, this wild-haired, bare-breasted, and dark-skinned force of nature who descends all religion, sees straight into my marrow. Her black eyes bear down into my soul’s deepest wounds, and suddenly she knows all of my secrets. I would have begged her to consume me then, to swallow all of my energy and use it as she sees fit, but again I speak without trying:

They twisted your story, Dark Goddess, as they have stolen and molded the stories of every woman who sits at this table. They used your names to teach their lessons, and kept you shackled to a book you never read and a God you did not worship. You are the collective feminine wound of social inequity, oppression, and isolation. Lilith, they called you the Mother of Demons, but I will call you Dark Goddess, Mother of All.

The rawest human form of the Feminine Divine takes her seat at our table, and I slice her some forbidden fruit as the candles blaze. We hold hands, and the scene is like no other. The Mother’s seven-headed beast is snoring softly at our feet, and the baby of the God-among-men and his red-hooded lover is cooing softly, mesmerized by the fires.

When I join hands with them, Lilith to my left and the Mother to my right, I can feel them inside of me. My guts twist with the red, throbbing ache of our shared wounds. I feel the Mother’s wound of stolen prophecy, the Lover’s wound of denounced body prayer, the Priestess’ wound of spiritual subjugation, and the Dark Goddess’ wound of inequity, the original sin.

I feel it all, and I pray for death; the collective feminine scars are so egregious, so unbearable, I have nowhere to keep this pain. I am in agony. I am birthing a billion black holes from my belly, and they are ripping their way out of my soft flesh. I want to bleed out, but my guests will not let me.

I am pulled from my pain by their hands, and my thoughts are lucid again. I feel the merit of their vindication, and sit, slumped and breathless, while they pray-howl in unison over our Samhain supper:

On this holy night, we bless this table with our tears and our rage. We sit together in solemn solidarity, and we invoke a total transmutation of the collective feminine wound. We invoke the Mystery’s cool, cosmic wonder to come forth and quench our thirst for change.

Their voices grow so loud, I feel my body will combust with the pressure of the sound, and I surrender to their invocation fully, with all that I am or will ever be.

We are calling on the Sacred Feminine to rise up, to groundswell under our feet and swallow up the outmoded religions of this world. We are calling on holy wildfire to incinerate any ropes that bind the hands of the oppressed, and we are demanding to be heard. Hear us, women, and know you will not be tamed by their laws. You are She-Gods, and for this, you are feared.

Hear us, all who value the Feminine, and know it is your time. Hear us, and affect the transformation of spiritual systems that would keep you in the dirt.

Hear us, for we are owed. We have suffered much in the tragic names of piety and morality. We have been burned, scorned, pushed from windows, and shamed. Our power has been locked inside countless cages, their laws, their commandments, their moral codes. Tonight we say no more, and tomorrow we rise.

Tonight we have risen from our unmarked graves to ignite a bonfire of the Feminine Returned, and tomorrow we will visit the dreams of anyone who will have us.

We are the ghosts of the Holy Feminine, and we will haunt the churches that banned us. We will take the titles they said we could not have, and we will wear their most sacred robes. We will stand and sing with their choirs, and the Sunday-dressed women will whisper of the spectral, wild-haired ones. We will stand bare-breasted in front of their stained glass windows, and we will wail when our names our mentioned.

You cannot have us anymore. We are not yours to use, Priest. Find other tools of indoctrination, for our stories do not belong to you. We are the Spirits of the Wounded Feminine, and we demand justice. We will shred any mask you make for us, and the dead do not get tired. Our energy is self-renewing, ever-flowing, and all-encompassing. We are here, and we are staying.

Their last words hang in the air. The candles have been snuffed, and I am alone in the dark, left with nothing but my resolve.

Invocation of the Goddess Kali

I found this article on The Way of The Witch website. They have much more information to check out. I highly recommend going there.

goddess_kali_2_by_mialaia-d8551ba-1000x500

Invoking the goddess Kali

     Kali, also called Black Mother, is a powerful Hindu goddess known for bringing about endings and transformation.  “The death of the old makes way for creation of the new,” she reminds us.


An energetic presence I once resisted, I’ve now come to embrace Kali and the forward moving, forceful power she brings. Her energy is exceptional for clearing away blocks and stagnation.  She will push you to end unproductive and destructive cycles and clear the way for new paths.

Those who choose to call on Kali for assistance will likely find that she rarely shows up in a subtle way.  Instead she manifests like a bolt of lightning ready to strike your core and shake you into awareness (a true gift if you’re really ready to embrace some serious change)! Her presence will no doubt propel you to find your courage, assess your life path, and delve head first into the great unknown.  She tells us, “We must surrender our fears in order to transform,” as she purposefully highlights what we hide from ourselves then connects us to the source of our deepest inner strength.

As with all beings you wish to assist you, call on this goddess by speaking her name and inviting her into your space using the mantra (or something similar) “goddess Kali, I invoke you.” Don’t forget to ground and center yourself before this one, as she has a tendency to throw people off balance!  Be sure to hold a clear intention of what it is you are seeking assistance for and allow time to fully integrate her energy into yours before thanking her and ending your session together.  You may well find that her energetic presence is with you for weeks and sometimes longer, depending on what she is assisting you with.

As always, may your gifts work toward your highest good, and the highest good of all involved.

Thank you Kali!
Namesté

____________________________________________________

I also found this. It’s not strictly an “invocation”, so to speak, but when I was in a lot of serious emotional pain I read this out loud and it helped. So, I thought it might help someone else, too.

Here is the website: College of the Holy Cross

Black and White, Metal Teeth, Vultures, Cats and Several Wars- Dreams

Last night, I had three dreams that I remember.

In the first one, I was with my daughter in a room with a small, rectangular window at the bottom of the wall near the floor. We both laid down on our tummies on the floor to look through the window. It was just large enough to get your arm through. What we saw on the other side were at first some kittens and then some larger cats. My daughter was the first to reach through the window to try and pet the cats. I reached through then and petted a cat that was black and white striped. The cat seemed to like the attention for a minute and then turned it’s face to me and I saw a sneer and then it tried to bite me. I pulled my daughter’s hand back through the window so she wouldn’t get bitten. I then noticed that all the cats didn’t have the regular looking cat teeth. There were lots of little pointed teeth and they looked like they were made of metal. They were very tiny like the size of needles. My daughter and I then got up off the floor. I picked her up and tried to get out of the room, but it was full of her toys and I kept tripping on them trying to get to the door. I never made it out of that room, though I did get close to the door.

The second dream I had is a bit less clear. I remember first there was a factory with some people working in it who felt as if they were slaves. I saw it from the outside and there were what looked like storage silos in a circle formation sitting on top of huge supporting beams. Like the ones that support water towers. It seems that they were making beer or something similar. I think someone told me that the storage tanks held humans and that they humans were slowly disintegrated within the storage tanks above and put into the beer.

The next thing I remember is the storage tanks being lifted off by something that looked like helicopters only a lot larger. I looked up to see the storage tanks suspended in the air by these huge flying machines and the liquid that was in them was spilling out all over everything below. There were also all kinds of carrion birds flocking around the suspended tanks and sitting on them.  They were also flocking down below on the ground wherever the liquid had pooled. In particular, I remember seeing a flock of huge vultures sitting all over the top of one of the suspended storage tanks. They didn’t appear to be eating anything, but they seemed to be waiting for something. One vulture was significantly larger than the others. It was black and white and was staring at me.

In the next dream I remember there was a war. It seemed that this war had been going on for generations. Always a force from another dimension would invade and conquer the people in this world I saw. At first, they came from the water. Some looked naked and some looked frozen. The second invasion came from some people who claimed to be a family, but were really some weird kind of incestuous cult. Finally, there was a redheaded woman who came over from the other side to speak with my father about mounting a final offensive so that the city would not be taken again. My father was hesitant to follow her advice, but she was a general from the next army that was about to invade. The dream ended before I knew if he took her advice. I do, however remember that there were some human sacrifices. I saw some women hanging naked and upside down from trees with their long hair swaying. I remember people running amok in the city and that there was cannibalism. This is all I remember of this dream.

Dream of the Conveyor Belt of Body Parts and Yoda On A Shoulder

Last night, I dreamt that I was in a factory of some kind. I was standing in front of a conveyor belt where there were passing in front of me the lower torsos of women. They were upside down as if they had been cut in the midsection and flipped upside down so that they could fit neatly on the conveyor belt. Every one of the lower torsos had had their genitalia removed. Their legs were moving around wildly as if they were still connected to their bodies. What I saw between the legs looked like butchery. It was all blood dripping and wiggling legs.

In the other part of my dream, I was in a dry desert area. A very large man was standing in front of me with a person sitting on his shoulder facing backwards. This person looked like Yoda. The Yoda person was speaking to me about universal spiritual truths and a bible based on the Star Wars philosophies.

 

The Modesty Doctrine

On the surface, what this woman says sounds well, rational. As a person who has come from a fundamentalist Christian background, it sounds very familiar to me and, actually, I had to catch myself in the middle of watching it to ask myself some very important questions.

1. Instead of subjecting men to visual stimuli of women in bikinis and measuring their brain activity why don’t we teach them how to not overly sexualize women and girls?

2. Do we not all deserve respect simply for being made in the image of God no matter what we wear?

3. Where is the male responsibility in this modesty doctrine? Are we supposed to relegate all males to the status of slathering beasts who can’t control themselves under any circumstances?

4. How is a man supposed to function sexually within marriage when all of his life, he has been programmed to fear and hate women?  If all of his life, he has been told that he is under a constant barrage of attack from women who are tempting him, he learns to fear them because he is supposed to keep all sexual urges out of his mind in order to be godly. At the same time, doesn’t he learn to hate women simply because he sees them as a threat to his godliness? If women lead him to sin via lust and immodest dress, doesn’t he then begin to see them as the cause of his sin? He would go from a lifetime of “no” to a big “yes”. He would be expected to perform sexually at least to produce offspring. What if he can’t get past his fear and hate? What happens then?

5. What happens to girls who become women within this doctrine? Because they are set aside as objects of fear and hatred, do they then learn to fear and hate themselves? And again, how are they supposed to function sexually within a marriage if all they know is that they are supposed to fear and hate their own bodies? If one of these women then gets raped or beaten by her husband, will she think it’s her fault for dressing too immodestly or adorning her hair or walking to proudly? This is Rape Culture 101.

6. What happens to those in this doctrine who are gay/lesbian/transgender/gender neutral/gender queer/bisexual? How must it feel to be told every day that you are an abomination in the sight of God and that there is no place for you in this world? There is no place for these people in the modesty doctrine.

I would suggest that instead of trying to keep women’s sexuality under control that we let people wear what they feel most comfortable in and learn to see them for what they really are: beautiful spirits who happen to be encased in flesh. I think that we should teach that sexuality and sexual attraction is normal and natural. If you happen to be attracted to someone, instead of fearing it, you can instead process it as just a part of your day and move on. Instead of focusing on sexuality as the “demon” that we focus on things that are more pressing like feeding the poor and housing the homeless.

Finally, if you look for a demon behind every bush, you will find one. Alternately, if you look for God and His divine nature within people, you will most certainly find it. It’s all a matter of focus and perspective.

James 1:27  A religion that is pure and stainless according to God the Father is this: to take care of orphans and widows who are suffering, and to keep oneself unstained by the world. ~International Standard Version