The mother of all wounds: grief and the loss of feminine divinity.

 

The mother of all wounds: grief and the loss of feminine divinity.

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Woman, I share a deep wound with you that remains unhealed, and I, like you, have yet to find a perfect, healing salve to stop the bleeding.

The mother of all wounds festers in our wild feminine souls, and I can feel it throbbing in those hidden, womb-dark places of my psyche.

In my darker moments, I dream of leading a painted tribe of witches onto a moonlit battlefield, my own blood-wet sword drawn, and vindicating all of the abused women and children who have suffered at the hands of the ego-mad.

I have wept tears of the most righteous rage at my own misguided visions of taking down those responsible for thousands of years of torment and inequality in a fierce war-to-end-all-wars.

I have been terrified of my own belly-fire; were it to meet just the right fuel, I daresay I could lose my own humanity just as easily as those who I would blame for my anger.

Yes, I can say that I hate those who have silenced Her voice. I can say that I would burn those who would have me burned, but, if I am being honest, this is only my grief speaking. In truth, I only want Her back.

All women alive today are precariously balanced between a long-sustained but now-dying culture that was built to keep them in the dirt and the promise of something that seems too good to be true.

Woman, we are grieving the loss the Divine Feminine with all that we are. We are taught the dead things do not come back; they exist in memory only. We may weep for them. We may honor them in a socially acceptable ritual, but hope for their return is the stuff of madness.

We live believing then that She is not coming back for us.

Do we even remember who She is? We can feel Her absence, but can we recall Her face? The Feminine Divine does not manifest only in goddess deities, she is in everything. Woman, you feel Her in the cold winter mud under your bare feet. You see Her in the grey ocean waters.

You know, deep in your witch’s soul you know, that She is still here. She never left you. So mourn for what you have lost, for what your own mothers and grandmothers have lost, but do not give up.

Woman, you have been indoctrinated into the system of belief that tells you, like the orphaned child, that your Mother has abandoned you.

Give up hope, they say. This is as good as it gets, they say. She was too weak, too emotional, and too quiet to protect you anyway. We will allow your bodies and minds to be supported by our knowledge, though we will pathologize every part of your feminine being. How progressive we have become! Why are you crying, baby? We gave you back your bodies and your minds, did we not? Your spirit, however, belongs to Man.

But I tell you now what you already know: these are the most grotesque, fear-born lies that have ever been spoken. Listen to them no longer!

We have been told that spirituality is a domain ruled exclusively by the masculine, and we were not even permitted to grieve for that which was lost. We remember, in our bones and in our blood, the gift of the Red Tents, the circling, the medicine of sisterhood, and the old ways of Mother Magick.

Yes, we do remember, but our mere memory is not enough.

Be kind to yourself, Woman, for you are grieving, but I ask you to let your mourning be motivation. We are no longer in denial of Her loss, but we may well still be angry. We may still bargain for Her return.

Most of us, I believe, are in the depression stages of grief, letting the softest parts of ourselves be submerged, putting our sacred work on hold, and pretending that we don’t hear Her call as we fall asleep.

Deep inside of you, there is a little girl shaking the motionless body of her mother, hearing her heartbeat and willing her to wake. You tell that little girl what I tell you: the Mother is not gone forever.

She has been put to sleep for a time, and as long as the promise of Her awakening exists, our wounds will not heal. Nor are they meant to.

The mother of all wounds has caused us such debilitating anguish at times, and we are precluded from moving on, from accepting Her loss, by the womb-knowledge that She is not gone forever. She won’t let us heal because She needs us to grieve.

She won’t let us accept Her death because, in the end, She lives.

For now, our wound honors Her; it is the mental/emotional memory of Her. So let it bleed all over the dirt ground. Don’t bandage it, and don’t pretend it doesn’t exist. Let the winter sun warm it. Let the winds of change caress it. That Mother Wound is the throbbing pulse of your spiritual integrity.

It tells the world that you have not given up hope, and it tells Her that the time is coming for Her to wake.

Every time a young maiden turns a stick into a wand, or a mother joins a women’s circle — all wounds bared, or a wise crone tends to her garden, the Mother’s heart-drum beats a little louder. Today, do something that makes Her fingers move infinitesimally and dry lips twitch.

Tonight, do something that makes Her stand up and unleash a guttural, wolf-in-labor cry on our mother-starved world.

You, Woman, were born to bring Her back. When your days of mourning come to an end, cast off your black robes and stand bare-breasted with your sisters. Call on Her to rise again. She is listening, and only She can stop the bleeding.

***

DanielleDulskyDanielle Dulsky is a multi-passionate entrepreneur, energy-healer, Yoga teacher, multi-media artist, and magickal mentor. She holds the highest designation from Yoga Alliance as an E-RYT500, and is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless creators of their sacred work. She is the founder and creatrix of the Living Mandala Yoga teacher training programs, a Reiki Master in the Usui-Tibetan tradition, and long-time believer in Earth-based traditions. Her work is based on sensing and transforming energetic vibrations, empowering individuals to discover their potential for authentic abundance, using artistic practice intuitively, and holding space for women to unearth their inner goddess through the magick of sisterhood. Danielle leads women circles, witchcraft workshops, a teaching coven, and psychic development intensives in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania where she lives with her partner Ryan, sons Bodhi and Sage, and pet-familiars Jeepster and Raven. She believes that all women alive today are meant to be instrumental in supporting the return of the Divine Feminine. You could contact her via email.

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