Stop jumping to conclusions, and trust me. I know what to do. It is not my fault that they distorted perceptions of the Goddess, attaching her to agendas that she has no part in. Their lies are transparent to authentic daughters of the moon. You should know that only counterfeits fall for counterfeits. Her plans are known to no one, but she shows me little pieces, snippets, in dream and vision. She leads me to symbol and sign. She urges the development of my clairaudience through whispers, subtle frequency shifts, angelic harmonies. She shows me the other’s underbelly, their shadow, their duplicities. She fawns, day and night, over her daughters, and makes sure I am tuned in to hear it all. She is not weak, waiting for you to make of her what you will. She is voracious and vibrating. She knows why each one of her kind, made in her likeness, is special to her. She is hyper-aware of her women, and her womb-world. She is not working in tandem with those who trivialize and victimize her girls, her treasures. When you deny their wholeness, their material reality, as the offspring and direct reflection of Mother Earth, you deny her. And no justification of this denial convinces her. Though you convince millions, and one million more, she will never cower and bow down to your betrayal of the divine feminine. She is not a lifeless object to be possessed; she is not a machine to be modified; her wholeness is not to be disrespectfully condensed into a name-tag; she is real, her lunar power is sentient power, coursing through the body, turning the earth body into a physical language all its own; she is mother matter, the Generatrix. Her daughters’ identity is rooted deep in Mother Earth, as real as the trees, the seas, the bees. Their existence must preclude all. Womanhood begins in the root. This root power cannot be appropriated. The female is not an accessory. The female is fundamental. She is threaded to forces that forego logos, that will not be bound to something as flippant and easily distorted as language. Her power is anchored in the onyx-dark womb of the Black Madonna, where language ceases to exist, and female magnetism reigns. Where the body is the truth, and Eros the truth-serum. Where the mouth can no longer pretend to be greater than the sum of Mother Nature’s parts, her creative form liberated from the tyranny of the tongue, and its deceptions.
ellievsbear
gummygunk
origamiaround
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
