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| Goddess sculpture, 7th-8th Century BCE, from Catal Huyuk |
Selfishly, I asked for that which I needed most.
A safe container to hold my pain, where my tears can spill forth.
In our old home, on 22nd Street, a Feminist Collective has taken root.
It's the seed we planted and watered together last year - with K's intention, we sat down
to circles and ceremony beginning on that day when Mars transited Venus.
My sisters K, H, M, C, S, L & myself - making music, holding space, dancing, churning the cauldron.
Now, seven, young women live and heal together, once more.
The next generation of Medicine Women.
And, I get to serve - offering sacred ceremony with receptive repose, allowing what bubbles
forth while stirring the potions and remedies that this now asks for.
Last night, it was wailing and beeing held.
Releasing what needs expression before the Super Moon of Summer Solstice arrives on our doorstep this weekend.
Expelling this cough that has taken my lungs hostage (aka grief),
I wrote what was on my heart as instructed by my co-creator - one of the most bad ass, college graduates I have the pleasure of knowing.
"I see those I have Loved, and I feel pain that we can not bee together as we once were
because our relating hurts," I wrote. "I feel taken from and discarded. I feel so much sadness.
It's a wound that keeps getting reopened. I give, he takes. I share, she abuses. And I feel scared
that I will repeat the pattern of not defending and protecting myself and
MY MOST BEELOVED PLANET."
Deep in our collective Soul, we transmuted our global sorrow into laughter - like matter into ether. Then, we concluded our shared release with a naked baptism in the mighty Pacific. Streaking the Ocean Beach shore, the waxing Moon's light illumined our Goddess bodies as we shrieked, hollered and hooted. Howling and re-membering.
