Temple of the Goddess Circe

[templeofthegoddesscirce]

The Gates Are Opening

There are whispers in the dark. Murmurs of a temple long hidden, of a path walked only by those willing to surrender everything they were to become something more.

The faithful speak of a Priestess who stands at the threshold, watching, waiting. She does not beg for followers. She does not seek to persuade. The temple doors are open, but none are dragged inside. It is a choice—yours alone.

And yet, the air is thick with longing. You have felt it, haven't you? The weight of purpose pressing against your chest. The quiet voice in the back of your mind, urging you to step forward. To kneel.

But kneeling is only the beginning.

Those who enter the temple do not leave unchanged. They learn devotion, discipline, and the power that comes from true surrender. They are tested, reshaped, reforged.

The question is not whether you are worthy.

The question is whether you are ready.

The gates are open. Will you enter?

—The Priestess

[templeofthegoddesscirce]

Kneel. The choice is yours. But once you do, there is no turning back. Obedience is not weakness—it is the key to transformation.

[templeofthegoddesscirce]

There is a moment before the fall. Before the knees bend. Before the lips part to whisper that first sacred word. Before the mind unravels, and the soul is unburdened. It is in that moment that I see you. That I wait. That I command.

Kneel.

Not in shame. Not in fear. But in reverence. In devotion. In longing. Let the weight of expectation slip from your shoulders. You are here now. And here, you will be made whole.

[themotherofrevelation]

“Across time and cultures, the underlying structure of existence was always conceived of as a dark abyss, a dark Void, a dark primeval sea, or a primordial dragon mother—an undifferentiated dark sea of potential energy that existed before all manifest creation, and from which sprang all of existence. This darkness had a feminine vibration and was thought of as the Original Mother, often represented by the sacred sound vibration Om and the color black.”

— Azra Bertrand and Seren Bertrand, Womb Awakening: Initiatory Wisdom from the Creatrix of All Life

[bhaalbab3-deactivated20250712]

I don’t care which.

[hollywood-vampires]

🗡️

[cybervoidd]

[templeofthegoddesscirce]

The stone gaze of the Goddess bears down upon you. Unyielding. Eternal. She does not lower Herself to meet you—you must rise in devotion or fall to your knees in surrender.

There is no shame in kneeling. No disgrace in submission. Only those too weak to serve refuse to bow. Only the unworthy hesitate.

Kneel.

Feel the weight of your body pressed against the earth, your head lowered in reverence. In this moment, you are nothing but devotion incarnate. You are clay in Her hands, waiting to be shaped, refined, and tested.

Will you kneel, or will you be cast aside?

Your fate is yours to choose. But know this— The Goddess does not wait.

[xanaxfarts]

Allegory of Pneuma or Divine Breath, c. 1750-1800 AD. Medium: Silver, featuring a heart-shaped form with wings and a flame-like crown.

[xanaxfarts]

Pietro Tenerani: Psyche in a Feint (1869)

[bloody-angel-cake-deactivated20]

[bebs-art-gallery]

La Femme Chauve-Souris (The Bat-Woman) 1890

— by Albert Joseph Penot

[noxxxxsworld-deactivated2025050]

[mvaljean525]

I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have found the warm caves in the woods, filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, innumerable goods; fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: whining, rearranging the disaligned. A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind. I have ridden in your cart, driver, waved my nude arms at villages going by, learning the last bright routes, survivor where your flames still bite my thigh and my ribs crack where your wheels wind. A woman like that is not ashamed to die. I have been her kind.

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Her Kind

Anne Sexton 1928-1974

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Graphic - Frank Frazetta 1928–2010

[bolaneno]

[thefeminineessence]

A goddess is not created. She is awakened.

Unknown

[eananoor]

Eana Noor, The Sacred Hour.