Aurelia

Sacred Mother, I am but a wave returning to your endless sea.

[motherpriestess]

God does not want millions of human beings to starve and suffer and die so that a select few can undergo a "spiritual experience." Nor does the Goddess "live" solely in elite separatist retreats, dancing naked in the piney woods under a white and well-fed moon. The Goddess at this moment is starving to death in refugee camps, with a skeletal child clutched to her dry nipples. The Goddess at this moment is undergoing routine strip-and-squat search inside an American prison. The Goddess is on welfare, raising her children in a ghetto next to a freeway interchange that fills their blood cells and neurons with lead. The Goddess is an eight-year-old girl being used for the special sexual thrills of visiting businessmen in a Brazilian brothel. The Goddess is patrolling with a rifle slung over her shoulder, trying to save a revolution in Nicaragua. The Goddess is Winnie Mandela in South Africa saying "Don't push me." I.e., the Goddess is the world - the Goddess is in the world. And nobody can escape the world. We know this, but we forget it.

The Great Cosmic Mother, Monica Sjoo & Barbara Mor

[motherpriestess]

"My young men shall never work. Men who work cannot dream, and wisdom comes in dreams... You ask me to plough the ground! Shall I take a knife and tear my mother's breast? Then, when I die, she will not take me to her bosom to rest. You ask me to dig for stone! Shall I dig under her skin for her bones? Then, when I die, I cannot enter her body to be born again. You ask me to cut grass and make hay, and sell it, and be rich like white men! But how dare I cut my mother's hair?"

-SMOHALLA (a prophet of the Wanapum Indians, 1884), "Wisdom of the North American Indian in speech and legend". Book by Alexander Francis Chamberlain, 1913.

[motherpriestess]

As I go into her, she pierces my heart. When I have reached her center, I am weeping openly. I have known her all my life, yet she reveals stories to me, and these stories are revelations and I and transformed. -Susan Griffin

[motherpriestess]

The Sacred Tree: Rooted in the Goddess, Reaching Toward Eternity

In the ancient world, long before steel towers and concrete roads shaped our cities, humanity turned to a different kind of architecture, the Tree. Not just any tree, but the World Tree, the Cosmic Tree, the Tree of Life, a living symbol of fertility, transformation, and the eternal rhythm of life. And at its roots, always, was She: the Great Goddess.

In the spiritual traditions that predate patriarchal religion, the Tree was not simply wood and leaves. It was a living embodiment of the Divine, connecting heaven, earth, and the underworld, three worlds united through Her branches, trunk, and roots.

The World Tree: Bridge of the Cosmos

Among Neolithic agricultural peoples and even their Paleolithic ancestors, the Tree stood as a central pillar of existence. Shamans in trance climbed the World Tree, symbolically or in spirit, to receive visions. This Tree was not just in the forest; it was seen as the human spine, the axis of the world, and the path to the heavens.

In the Goddess’s magical garden, Her Garden of Immortality, this Tree flourished, heavy with fruits and grains, watched over by a crescent moon above and a serpent coiled around the trunk below. The dove, messenger of divine love, perched in its boughs. This triad, tree, serpent, and bird, expressed the triple structure of the universe and of the human mind: the reptilian roots of instinct, the mammalian body of emotion, and the human neocortex’s vision of spirit.

This wasn’t metaphor. It was cosmology with roots.

Fig Trees and Divine Flesh

If the World Tree had a physical form, it was often the fig tree. Sacred to Hathor in Egypt, the fig was not just food; it was eternal nourishment, the “living body of Hathor on earth.”

Eating from the fig tree was not merely sustenance—it was sacrament. The fig’s red, pulpy interior echoed the womb; to eat its fruit was to partake of the Goddess herself. On Crete, women cared for these sacred trees, and seals often show the Goddess with Her attendants tending the garden. The fig was the fruit of immortality, the flesh and fluid of the Divine Mother.

These trees were seen as portals between worlds, feeding both the living and the ancestors.

Ritual and Root

Trees were not only nurtured, they were ritually cut, honored, and reborn. Priestesses alone had the right to cut the ceremonial trees, using the labrys, the double-headed axe, a symbol of life and death held in sacred balance.

Even Dionysus, born of the Goddess, was sacrificed as a tree-bound god, his flesh as bread, his blood as wine, echoing later Eucharistic themes. In a rite older than time, the harvest god died on a tree so the world could be reborn.

Conflict and Conquest: When the Tree Was Cut Down

With the rise of patriarchal systems, the Goddess’s trees became dangerous. The Bible’s prohibition against planting a tree, asherah, beside Yahweh’s altar reflects this shift. Asherah, once the Goddess of the Grove, was cast out. Her image, often carved in living wood, was destroyed. Her sacred places were razed. Trees, once places of prayer and prophecy, became symbols of rebellion.

In myth, Zeus sent Hercules to kill the serpent guarding Hera’s tree, severing the Goddess from her sacred fruit. In Genesis, Eve’s wisdom-seeking in the garden is demonized, the tree and the serpent now signs of sin, not sanctity.

The cross, a later Christian symbol, was first the mark of life, carved near the Goddess’s womb or breast. It represented birth and growth, not death and punishment. In ancient Egypt, the ankh, a looped cross, stood for life, the very essence of the Tree’s power.

Remembering the Tree, Reclaiming the Goddess

The Goddess’s Tree remains with us, even if renamed, recontextualized, or forgotten.

You see her in the fig on your table, the sycamore you rest beneath, the spiral of your spine, and the roots of dreams that travel through time. Her serpent still slithers through myth. Her bird still sings in branches. Her tree still stands, in the depths of your soul, in gardens wild and untamed, in the rituals of those who remember.

To honor the Tree is to honor the cycles of life, death, and rebirth, the rhythm of the Goddess Herself.

So plant a tree. Climb one. Dream of one. Eat of its fruit and remember.

The Tree is Hers. And She is still alive.

[motherpriestess]

your account is very healing. thank you. do you know of any religions that are primarily female focused/matriarchal in nature?

Thank you for the kind words. As of now the two faiths that I am aware of are the Re-formed Congregation of the Goddess - International and Dianic Wicca. They both have FB pages, if you use Meta. Hope this helps.

What Is Dianic Tradition? | Guardians of Grove

[motherpriestess]

just an fyi

I do not invoke the "Divine Feminine" to reinforce gender roles or traditional binaries. In fact, I believe such constructs only limit our potential. When I speak of the "Divine Feminine," I am referring specifically to the sacred realm of Goddess worship, not to a fixed idea of femininity tied to biology or societal expectations. It is a spiritual expression, not a gendered one.

[motherpriestess]

Mother of Shadows

She rises not to shine, but to reveal, the quiet truths we dare not name in daylight. The Moon, the old face of the Mother, wearing bone and silence as her veil.

In her newness, we are unmade, emptied like goblets at a forgotten feast, souls slipping quiet into the soil of night, where the roots of becoming twist and breathe.

In waxing, she beckons the lost fragments home, each sliver of light a stitch in the soul's torn hem. She hums in dream, in ache, in the pull of blood, teaching that creation begins in the dark.

Full, she stands, silver and terrible, a mirror to our secrets, a mother who sees us whole and loves us still.

But beware her waning, when masks are stripped and truths uncoil. She is the midwife of endings, softly ushering us into the fire of forgetting.

We do not worship her for comfort. We worship her because she knows, that death feeds birth, that shadow is holy, that to walk the path of the soul is to dance with her phases until we, too, become light born from darkness.

[motherpriestess]

The Goddess and the Moon: A Sacred Bond as Old as Time

Before clocks ticked and calendars flipped, before cities rose or empires fell, the Moon was our first timekeeper, and She spoke in the language of the Goddess.

Across ancient cultures, from the stone altars of Neolithic Europe to the sacred springs of Africa and the temple summits of Anatolia, the Moon was never just a rock in the sky. She was a presence, a rhythm, a mystery, and above all, she was Divine Feminine personified.

The Great Mother and Her Silver Daughter

In countless traditions, the Moon was seen as the daughter, or even the embodiment, of the Great Mother, the original source of life and cosmic order. She was the Triple Goddess: Maiden, Mother, and Crone, cycling through her phases just as women cycle through youth, fertility, and wisdom.

As the waxing moon, she is the Maiden, fresh with promise and creativity.

As the full moon, she is the Mother, nurturing, powerful, and passionate.

As the waning moon, she is the Crone, wise, introspective, and deeply connected to the mysteries of death and renewal.

Her silver face in the night sky mirrors the spiral of life, rising and falling, growing and diminishing, only to begin again. In the Moon’s rhythm, our ancestors saw not just time, but a map for living.

Moon, Blood, and Birth

The connection between women and the Moon was more than symbolic, it was biological.

Charles Darwin himself observed that the menstrual cycle echoes the lunar month, and studies have shown that women living near the equator often ovulate with the full moon. Pregnancy and menstruation were believed to be influenced by the Moon’s phases: the new moon was the time of bleeding, while the full moon heralded conception.

This sacred synchronicity inspired myths where the Moon impregnates, governs fertility, and signals new life, both in the womb and in the fields. Sowing and reaping were lunar arts, planting at the new moon, harvesting at the old, and in many cultures, only women, under the guardianship of the Moon Mother, held this agricultural wisdom.

Sanctuary of the Moon

The Goddess of the Moon was not worshiped in palaces or citadels, but in the soft, wild places: caves, springs, mountaintops, lakes, and forests. Her temples were horned altars, shaped like the crescent moon, standing for both fertility and the waning cycle of death.

She was Isis of Egypt, Selene of Thrace, Astarte of Sinai, deities of birth and love, battle and mystery. Her priestesses, often called “virgins” (in the ancient sense, belonging to no man), performed sacred rites of ecstasy and transformation under her glow.

And even as patriarchal systems later masculinized the moon or relegated the Moon Goddess to myth, her symbolism endured, in crescent-shaped jewelry, spirals carved in stone, and the stories whispered under starlight.

Darkness, Descent, and Rebirth

Unlike the sun, the moon disappears. She wanes, grows dark, is swallowed by night, and then returns.

This cyclical death and rebirth made her the goddess of the underworld, of grief and letting go, but also of resurrection and return. The ancients saw in the Moon a reflection of the soul’s journey: to grow, to fade, to rest, and to rise again.

In a time obsessed with linear progress, with constant doing and achieving, the Moon offers a different wisdom: rest is sacred, death is part of life, and return is always possible.

Why the Moon-Goddess Matters Today

In our modern world, the Goddess and the Moon call us back to wholeness. Not just as a concept, but as a lived, embodied reality.

She reminds us to listen to our cycles, not fight them.

She teaches that power is not just force, but intuition, presence, and rhythm.

She calls us to re-sacralize what has been dismissed: the body, the earth, the feminine.

To reconnect with the Moon is to reconnect with ourselves, our roots, our wombs, our wisdom. It’s a way of remembering a time when the world moved with the Goddess’s breath, when time flowed not in straight lines but spirals.

Embracing the Spiral

The Moon doesn’t ask us to believe, she asks us to feel. To notice. To remember.

Whether you light a candle at the full moon, track your cycle with her phases, or simply gaze up in wonder, you are participating in an ancient communion, a ritual as old as humanity.

So tonight, step outside. Look up. There She is the Moon, the Mirror of the Goddess, still watching, still guiding, still whispering Her secrets to those who will listen.

[motherpriestess]

The Name I Carry

They called her Aluna, like her mother before her, and hers before that. And now, they call me Aluna too.

It is not a name you choose; it is a name you inherit. Like the hearth, the garden, the ring of black pearls, we only wear on solstice nights. Like the stories carved into the cedar walls of our family hall, like the moon-carved knife buried beneath the old plum tree.

When my mother first called me by it, not as a child being summoned for chores or honeybread, but as a woman being called to rise, my breath caught in my chest like a bird surprised by the sky.

"You’re the next, little flame," she said. "I’ll still walk beside you for a while, but the mantle is yours now."

The mantle. The matriarch’s seat. The weaver of wisdom, keeper of names, judge of disputes, healer of wounds, and when need be, the storm that clears the rot.

I remember sitting at her feet when I was a girl, watching her read the bones, her voice like thunder when she spoke truth to wandering men, her hands gentle as river moss as she welcomed new life or prepared the dying.

And before her, Grandmother Aluna, whose hair was silver by the time I met her, but whose eyes still sparked with the fire of three wars, two births by candlelight, and one love that never quite healed.

They said she danced barefoot in courtrooms and once convinced a king to apologize. To apologize.

And now it’s me.

The garden keys hang on my hip. The ledgers rest in my drawer. The stories live in my mouth now, and I must remember not just the words, but the weight behind them.

Some nights, I still feel too small. I stand in the old hall, echoing with the names of women stronger than stone, and I wonder if they ever felt this same tremble in their bones.

But then I hear my daughter laughing in the garden, tangled hair, berry-stained hands, carrying the light of a hundred generations in her grin, and I feel it.

Not just the fear, but the pride.

The fierce, burning pride of being a link in a chain that stretches back through fire and time.

One day, she will sit beside me, and I will call her Aluna.

And she, too, will rise.

[motherpriestess]

Remembering Mother-Kin: The Forgotten Foundations of Society

When we think about family trees, inheritance, or even last names, most of us instinctively imagine them being passed down through the father’s side. It’s so common in today’s world that we rarely question it. But what if I told you that this wasn’t always the way of things—and that for vast stretches of human history, many societies followed a very different path?

Enter the world of mother-kin, also known as matrilineal kinship—a system where lineage, inheritance, and identity are traced through the mother.

What Is Mother-Kin?

In a mother-kin system, descent moves from mother to daughter, not father to son. Children carry their mother’s name, and property is passed down through the female line. This structure doesn’t simply shuffle roles—it reorients the entire way a community thinks about family, wealth, power, and belonging.

In contrast to today’s largely patrilineal systems, where men hold the reins of family legacy, mother-kin societies placed women at the center—socially, spiritually, and economically.

A Deeply Rooted Tradition

Far from being rare or isolated, mother-kin systems were once widespread. Cultures in:

Australia

Africa

India (the Dravidians)

Melanesia and Micronesia

Indonesia

Ancient Egypt

The Lycians of Anatolia

...all had strong traditions of matrilineal descent. Some of these traditions endured into the classical and even Roman periods.

In these societies, women often held key positions of leadership—as high priestesses, heads of clans, keepers of the home and food supply, and stewards of communal memory. Yet, importantly, this did not mean men were disempowered or oppressed. Rather, the dynamic was complementary, not competitive—a harmony often lost in later, more rigid patriarchal systems.

The Spiritual Connection: Goddess and Kin

Anthropologist Robertson Smith proposed a connection between Goddess worship and mother-kin societies. This makes intuitive sense: when life itself is understood as emerging from the body of the Mother, it follows naturally that descent would be traced through women, and that the divine would be imagined in feminine form.

Goddess-based religions thrived alongside mother-kin systems. Women were not only mothers and clan leaders—they were spiritual leaders, priestesses, and mediators of the sacred.

Why Did These Systems Decline?

As history progressed, invasions, conquests, and shifts toward militaristic, hierarchical governance often brought with them patriarchal ideologies and male gods of war and authority. In places like Mesopotamia, matrilineal structures were gradually replaced by patrilineal rule. The Goddess was dethroned or made subordinate to male deities. Women’s roles were diminished from central figures to supporting roles—or erased entirely.

Were These Societies Matriarchies?

This is a key point: matrilineal does not mean a mirror image of patriarchy. Mother-kin systems were not about female dominance. They did not seek to reverse oppression or suppress men. Rather, they reflected a different way of organizing society—one rooted in interdependence, balance, and shared power.

In mother-kin cultures, wealth was rooted in what sustained life: the home, the food, the land. Women, as stewards of these, held natural influence—not through force, but through contribution and continuity.

Why This Matters Today

Understanding mother-kin societies is about broadening our perspective on what is possible.

At a time when family systems are changing, gender roles are being questioned, and communities are seeking more equitable, inclusive, and nurturing models, revisiting mother-kin can inspire us to imagine something different:

A world where inheritance isn’t about control, but care.

A world where both women and men are valued, not based on dominance, but on relationship and contribution.

A world where spirituality honors the feminine, not just the masculine.

A Legacy Worth Remembering

Think of mother-kin as a cultural memory—a whisper from the past that says, “There is another way.”

It’s about reclaiming what was wise, healing what was broken, and building something more balanced for the future.

In a time of disconnection, dominance, and division, the lessons of mother-kin remind us that we come from a line of women who once held the world together—and perhaps, with care and consciousness, we can again.

[motherpriestess]

Affirmation of Radiant Sovereignty

I am the embodiment of love—deep, whole, and unconditional. I see my beauty in every breath, every curve, every reflection of light within me. I am a vessel of abundance; wealth flows to me and through me with ease and grace. My power is rooted in truth, guided by wisdom, and governed by love. I claim my life as my own. I rise, I shine, I reign.

[motherpriestess]

Affirmation of the Sacred Mother

I am born of the Great Mother— rooted in Her wisdom, carried by Her breath, and radiant with Her light.

I am never separate, for She lives within me— in every step I take, in every beat of my heart, in every moment I rise.

I am whole. I am sacred. I am Her living flame.

[motherpriestess]

Where I Find Her

I have found Her in the wind that combs the wheat, in the hush between thunder and rainfall, in the soft ache of morning light as it kisses the windows of a sleeping world.

She is the hum beneath the honeybee's wings, the rhythm in my bones when drums awaken soil, the salt of my tears and the tide they return to.

I see Her in the slow bloom of a fern, the spiral of galaxies spun from dust and dream, in the child's laughter erupting like spring, in the silence after a prayer that needs no words.

She is the fire that fed the stars their birthright, the breath behind the Big Bang's roar, and the hush of deep space holding it all— not watching, but being the very gaze.

In the river, I drink Her. In the stone, I sit with Her. In the crow's cry, I remember. And in the mirror, I bow.

I am Her song, brief and bright, a note in Her endless chorus. And I rejoice, for I am not apart from Her.

I am Her. And She is all.

[motherpriestess]

Why It’s Time to Return to the Worship of the Mother

In a world that often feels fractured, fast, and forgetful of what truly matters, many of us find ourselves yearning for something deeper. A sense of grounding. A return to balance. A sacred connection that nourishes both soul and society.

Perhaps what we long for isn’t something new, but something ancient. Something we’ve forgotten but not lost.

It’s time to remember the Mother.

What Is the Worship of the Mother?

For millennia, across cultures and continents, the Mother, under many names and faces, was honored as the source of life, wisdom, and regeneration. She was Gaia, Isis, Inanna, Shakti, Pachamama, and countless others. She was not above or beyond the world; she was within it. She was the world.

To worship the Mother was to revere the earth, the body, the cycles of life and death. It was to see the sacred in birth and blood, in growing things, in the moon, in our emotions and relationships. It was to honor the feminine, not only in women, but in all beings and in the world itself.

And then, she was silenced. Replaced. Forgotten.

But we are remembering now.

Why It Matters—For You

Worshipping the Mother isn’t about dogma. It’s about reconnection.

You reconnect to your body. The Mother teaches that your body is sacred, not something to be conquered or fixed, but something to be listened to. Your hunger, your rest, your pleasure, your pain, all carry wisdom.

You reconnect to your intuition. The feminine is fluid, mysterious, inner-knowing. The Mother invites you to trust your own cycles, your instincts, your dreams. She gives you permission to slow down, and in doing so, you find clarity.

You reconnect to the earth. The Mother is the soil, the water, the forests. Worshipping her means seeing nature not as a resource to extract, but as a living being to care for, and to be cared by.

You reconnect to wholeness. In a world that divides spirit and matter, masculine and feminine, head and heart, the Mother holds it all. She reminds us that everything belongs.

Why It Matters—For Society

Imagine a world that honored the Mother. A world where:

Compassion is a strength. Rather than dismissing empathy and care as "soft," we recognize them as essential to justice and healing.

Community matters. In the Mother’s worldview, we thrive not through domination, but through connection. Cooperation replaces competition. Relationships are sacred.

The earth is sacred again. Ecological destruction stems from forgetting the divine in nature. Worshipping the Mother rekindles reverence for the planet, and the will to protect it.

Balance is restored. We’ve been living in a lopsided world, tilted toward control, consumption, and conquest. The return of the Mother restores what’s been suppressed: nurturing, creativity, mystery, softness, sensuality, wisdom.

This isn’t about rejecting the masculine, it’s about healing the imbalance. The Mother holds space for all of us to remember who we are.

This Isn’t New Age—It’s Ancient

This isn’t a trend or a fantasy. It’s the root of who we are.

Archaeology reveals thousands of years of Goddess-centered cultures, often characterized by peace and egalitarianism, where women held leadership roles and life was viewed as a web, not a ladder. From Catal Huyuk to Minoan Crete, from the temples of Sumer to the myths of India, the Mother reigned, not with a fist, but with open arms.

These societies weren’t perfect. But they remembered something we have forgotten: that life is sacred. That creation is divine. That women are not lesser. That the body is not shameful. That the earth is not ours to dominate.

A Personal Invitation

You don’t need to join a temple. You don’t need a label.

To worship the Mother, you might:

Light a candle and whisper thanks for your breath.

Touch the earth and feel her heartbeat in your feet.

Honor your emotions as messengers.

Create, nurture, nourish yourself and others.

Say yes to cycles. Say yes to softness. Say yes to the sacred.

This is not about belief. It’s about remembrance.

The Mother is not far away. She is already here, in your breath, your blood, your belly, your longing.

And she’s waiting for you to come home.

[motherpriestess]

“She who births the stars, She who bleeds with the moon, Great Mother, I am Yours—body, breath, and bone. In the silence, I hear You. In the fire, I rise. Let the wisdom of my foremothers open my eyes.”

Repeat it three times, slowly, letting your voice vibrate through your chest. If it feels right, you may place one hand on your womb and the other on your throat, linking your power and your voice—two things patriarchy has tried to sever.

Say this each day, and watch how the world begins to shimmer with Her presence again.

[motherpriestess]

Misogyny and War: How Societies that Devalue Women Become More Violent

History whispers truths that still echo today. One of the most striking patterns that emerges from ancient to modern civilizations is this: when a society devalues women, it often turns toward war.

Drawing from myth, archaeology, sociology, and history, a compelling case can be made: the rise of misogyny is not an isolated cultural quirk—it often accompanies (or foreshadows) the rise of violence, authoritarianism, and social regression. Let’s explore how the treatment of women becomes a barometer for peace—or a warning sign of war.

From Partnership to Domination

In early human communities, many societies followed what author Riane Eisler terms a “partnership model,” characterized by relative gender equality and collaboration. Goddesses held power alongside or above gods, women presided as spiritual and political leaders, and art and mythology celebrated life, fertility, and balance.

But with the rise of the “dominator model,” things changed. This model, often introduced through invasion, emphasized male dominance, hierarchy, and control through violence. Indo-European and Semitic conquests, for example, replaced older, goddess-centered religions with male gods of war, sky, and mountain. Patriarchal structures were imposed, and women’s roles were systematically diminished.

Where the Goddess once created life, she now became a consort—or was cast as a villain to be conquered. Where women once held spiritual and economic influence, they were redefined as male property. This shift wasn't just theological; it was political and deeply psychological.

When Masculinity Becomes Violence

As dominator cultures took root, ideals of masculinity transformed. Manhood became synonymous with control, conquest, and physical strength. Aggression wasn’t just normalized—it was celebrated. Male gods fought battles, kings ruled by divine right, and to be “manly” meant to dominate.

At the same time, feminine values—compassion, cooperation, emotional intelligence—were ridiculed or marginalized. Societies that revered the sword did not revere the womb.

This redefinition of gender roles fed a culture of violence not only on battlefields, but in homes. Studies and historical patterns alike show a disturbing correlation: societies that enforce rigid gender roles and glorify masculine aggression tend to experience higher rates of domestic violence, rape, and child abuse. The mindset that dominates women often spills into other forms of domination—of people, land, and ideas.

Warfare and the Disappearance of Women

Archaeology tells a quiet story. In many ancient cultures, the rise of warfare coincides with the disappearance of female figurines and symbols. Temples once led by priestesses fall under male control. Matrilineal systems of inheritance are replaced by patrilineal ones. Spiritual and legal power slip from women’s hands.

And literature reflects the shift. The figure of Don Juan—charming, manipulative, and deeply misogynistic—gained popularity during times of growing imperialism and militarism. The mythologized seducer reflects not love, but conquest.

The idealization of male dominance, both sexually and politically, reveals a deep unease with the feminine—and a society preparing for war.

Moments of Rebalance: When the Feminine Rises

Thankfully, history is not a one-way road. There are moments—what some call gylanic resurgences—when feminine values reassert themselves, and peace, creativity, and individuality flourish.

One example is the troubadour period of medieval Europe, when courtly love and reverence for women briefly bloomed amidst the harshness of feudalism. In these moments, societies rediscovered the sacredness of love, the importance of emotional depth, and the power of balanced partnership.

When societies value the feminine—not just in women, but in all people—they become less violent, more innovative, and more humane.

Why This Still Matters

In the modern world, the battle between the dominator and partnership models continues. Misogyny is not just a "women's issue"—it's a warning. When women are devalued, when compassion is mocked, when gender roles become rigid and aggressive, these are early signs of a society turning toward control, fear, and violence.

But there’s hope in remembering that these patterns can change—and that reverence for the feminine, in all its forms, has the power to restore balance.

Conclusion: Watch How a Society Treats Women

The ancient stories and modern data say the same thing: how a society treats women reflects how it treats everyone. Misogyny is not just cultural decay—it’s often the first drumbeat of war.

But the opposite is also true: when women are valued, when the feminine is honored, peace becomes possible. Creativity flourishes. Life is protected.

The Goddess may have been buried, but she was never gone. And every act of reverence—toward the earth, toward the body, toward compassion—is a step away from war, and a step toward wholeness.

[motherpriestess]

"No Woman can call herself free who does not own and control her body. No woman can call herself free until she can choose consciously whether she will or will not be a mother."

-Margaret Sanger