Gratitude Womb of Dark Moon

Gratitude for the blessing of this life, the gifts uncountable in their number and numinous darkness, as the moon falls into her black mood of reflection unseen by human eyes though felt; I feel her endarkenment as a sweet nectar in which I float within safe space — womb. Here is the origin of my life and I am entranced whenever I am returned to the unlit peace and seclusion, listening to muffled voice, thrumming to a heartbeat of “out there,” a vital force unseen, floating in a brew of life-giving nutrients as I lay curled within human mother and more-than-human mother. I could be the spiral of galaxies as easily as spongy-flesh of unformed creature.

Gratitude for reflective love, as every year since the new millennium began its turning is icing on a cake of life that touched the stars and sank into despair; those emotional tandem bicycles spinning wheels of possibility. For then, after finding myself in Gaia, she brought a tangible masculine form for love into an opening, into a space that was left vacant by the acceptance of the Infinite in a guise I’d always known but was untitled, like a book with a missing cover that had fallen away through the ravages of time. Through love a new cover has been crafted from soul and smoke, from sifting sands and a magic cavern always in transformation.

Gratitude is the heart of being born into a tribe of kindred spirits rather than one of blood, for this dance is a masquerade ball among smiles and capes, hugs and warm fur settling into the curves of my body, releasing into the peace of transparent presence formerly hidden. Only this.

Gratitude as I wait for each word to emerge, as I trust it will, and this is another gratitude that flows on its own from Source and gains momentum and individuality pounding through the muscles and nerves from top to tip, from head to digits, and among the swirls of ink-become-mystery. I don’t know what I’m going to say until the words reveal themselves, a mystical process that lies within the space that is neither mind nor hand but apparently emerges on gossamer streams flowing in the subtle space near my heart.

Gratitude that my womb has never been empty, though it has never grown a child, rather within the space where a vacancy sign has been blinking off and on for decades lies a cauldron of creativity that flows unending and I manage to cup my hands occasionally, drinking the nectar that pools therein and shapes itself into forms of an imaginary world. If it is true that we dream the world into matter, then my dreams are part of a new beginning led and held by the ancients of bygone eras who whisper, their words spiraling in the cartilaginous labyrinth of inner ethereal ear, an oceanic conch shell so long out of its unity that silence and solitude are the filaments I need to form the framework in which to listen … and create.

Is this litany of gratitude a gift of time and age or one that has always been humming since the womb? Across these musing flickers of neurons is the wholeness that joins hands, jumping from one dark thread-trail to another, always present, only revealing themselves in the glowing tip of a temporary wand of incense, the seed within the womb of life.

Welcoming Mawu

She observes in stillness, but her head is tilted to the side, a state of curiosity in her witnessing so that I am not uncomfortable with a confrontational gaze, not unnerved by too intense a watchfulness.

She listens with a sweet sort of inclined attention, with a flow to her posture that welcomes story and presence without the intimidation her size might otherwise instill upon my essential timidity. I am a mouse before her giantess nature of peace and communion in the wilderness in which we both live.

She is ancient angelic behemoth, swaying to celestial harp and earthly rhythmic drum, composing songs of pulsing heartbeat and twinkling embrace.

She is the songstress of the land – her sister of ocean is whale. Do they sing to each other in circumference, their vibrational melodies meeting in the air that both breathe?

She speaks through the text of landscape, through feet that sense sound, through a long snake-like trunk that touches and caresses.

She has a message for me; she holds healing and wisdom and beauty so easily balanced.

She is listening to me, hearing me into a more powerful presence.

She removes obstacles and blockages that inhibit creativity and flow.

She is ancient wisdom.

 

My fascination for this sculpture was a mystery. I’ve rarely been drawn to the elephant as a spirit guide though I admire them as I do all creatures. When women in Circle were speaking of how important the elephant was to them, I couldn’t relate. When Ayurveda classmates were embracing Ganesh, I felt only slightly drawn. But when I saw this large sculpted elephantine figure carved out of dark green serpentine stone, I was captivated, our spiritual convergence at hand.

As I had done two years ago with an African figurine (both were found at the Tucson Gem Show), I first turned to a book* for a name. As soon as I saw the name and its short description as “Moon goddess and creator of all things,” it felt right.

 

I call her Mawu.**

She came from Zimbabwe.

 

As I sit with her, as I research her, evidence linking us is revealed.

The blend of sculpting an elephant from serpentine stone is a blessing, the properties of each an invocation upon the other, stone and symbol further stabilized and amplified by the sacred exaltation of Mawu.

Mawu is a Creation Goddess whose fecund energy interconnects with those of the elephant’s longevity and serpentine’s property of cellular regeneration.

Mawu’s symbols of seed and clay align with the elephant’s affinity to the earth, as a grounded and grounding Being, and with serpentine stone’s ability to assist in healing the earth through it’s association with elemental beings.

Mawu, “after creating the earth and all life and everything else on it, She became concerned that it might be too heavy, so She asked the primeval serpent, Aido Hwedo, to curl up beneath the earth and thrust it up in the sky.” In this respect, she is aligned with serpentine stone in its ability to work with the powers of Snake.

Mawu, a lunar goddess, “arrives on an elephant’s back, expectant with spring’s creative energy.” Within this mythology, she is clearly affiliated with the strength and feminine powers of Elephant.

Of particular interest to me, as I continue seeking ways to adjust to Desert Fire, is that Mawu “is the one who brings the cool nights to the hot African world.” This attribute is exceedingly welcome!

All three – Mawu, Elephant, and Serpentine – impart the quality of Wisdom.

There are many more healing and supportive qualities I need that flow between this symbolic and energetic representation of Goddess, animal, and stone. The above are just a few.

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* Conway, D.J. The Ancient & Shining Ones: World Myth, Magic & Religion.

** Now, a sculpture from South Africa (Zimbabwe) carries the name of a West African (Benin) Goddess. The name Mawu is from myths told by people in the former Kingdom of Dahomey, now known as the Country of Benin, in West Africa. Benin borders Bekina Faso, which is where the sculptor who made my bronze figurine lives.

Artemis in Crete

[The following is an excerpt from Minoan Messages On The Gaia Path.]

IS IT COINCIDENCE THAT I AM STAYING at a hotel named after Artemis? Artemis who has long been another resonant Goddess for me? Artemis who exemplifies the independent stage of life I went through after my divorce and before I met Ron? Artemis in her Maidenhood, her independence and empowerment, her strength and intimate relationship to the wilds, the woods, nature, her pack of hounds called the Alani? The Alani of which I became one?

I’ve read books and articles about Artemis, and relate to much of what’s written, yet I also know Her differently in some ways.

Goddess of the Hunt is one of Her appellations. However, as a devotee of Artemis, my sense is that as “the huntress” Artemis did/does not advocate killing. Rather, Hers is the power of dispensation and for stepping in as intermediary between hunted and hunter for a swift and painless death. In other words, if it is necessary to take a life for survival, invoke and invite her guidance and She may grant absolution to the one who deals death to a precious wild creature and/or an innocent of any species. Her bestowing of prowess with the bow—in her association with that tool—was for protection of the wild creatures, and to prevent suffering. Ultimately, Artemis is a Huntress of Souls, not hunting to kill in our mundane perceptions but to renew, protect, guide, save and inspire the wild and innocent beings.

In her other guises and energies, and at other points in time, Artemis is also known by a variety of names. For instance, on Crete, She is associated with Britomartis, Goddess of Mountains, and Eileithyia, Goddess of Birth and thus also of Death.

My own energy is connected to Artemis in some interesting ways. A zodiac sign associated with Artemis is Taurus, which is my birth sign. I have a strong attachment to not only the wild and untamed mountains of myriad landscapes, but also to woodlands, trees, and especially pine trees; Artemis, Goddess of the Wilderness, has been known to hold a “pine cone tipped wand,” and is a tree goddess. My given middle name is Diane, a form of Diana which is the Roman name for Artemis. She is Moon Goddess and Lady of the Beasts; I am most content at night or in caves, and have always lived with multiple dogs. The moment I ‘met’ Artemis, we were in resonance.

She has, however, been tainted by aggression, enslaved by the will of the oppressors, and made into an image of death-wielder or hunter of those She actually protects. There is a deep chasm stretching between Artemis-primordial and what they—the violent ones—seek to make Her. Her archetype has not the desire to kill or to destroy. She is the waxing moon of growth, the crescent moon is Her silver bow and Her discerning, protective gaze flies sure and true as an arrow from that bow. She is the Great Mother Bear, marking the trees to show all who come into the forest that this is sacred space. Who were the Amazons when Artemis led them into healing groves and fields of herbs where the animals showed ignorant human hands how to know blessed plants that could turn fear into peace, hate into love, and still the pains of birth and death?

How can we see Artemis clearly if we look through the eyes of patriarchy and those who dominated even themselves, restraining any semblance of kindness? Harsh times rode in on horses disregarded except as vehicles, long forgotten as the wings upon earthly rhythms pounding freedom across the land. Can we close our eyes and feel the origin? Imagine one of the first faces of She Who Runs With the Wolves for they are Her friends, her kin.

I am stricken and saddened by how easily we forget to look before the onslaught of oppression, look into the forest mists of the times when harmony reigned and all of Great Mother’s creature beings were honored, each life taken a great sacrifice for which we gave thanks, asking beforehand for a volunteer … the wounded, the weak, the old. Grace is given for their life to be taken quickly, offered as sustenance in the cycle. The vibrational patterns of life, the energetic threads of relationality became snarled and were tangled, so that we forgot Her truth, Her Divine gift of interconnected honoring into harmony.

Under the light of the waxing moon, She cast shadows to protect the wild beings, to create equality—challenge and illusion—so they would not be taken too easily, would not be slaughtered without asking forgiveness, without prayer and invocation of Divine guidance to lead them to balance of sacrifice and nurturance.

There is tremendous strength in standing firm, in holding fast, in celebrating birth and death as equally vital in our human forms walking the manifest world. Artemis is the exhilaration, the growing light in the sacred dark, glorying in the soft shadows of night and the cool recesses of the cave, and the womb of renewal and joy of youthful vigor.

She has been tarnished and stained, contorted by aggressors who cannot possibly understand Her complexities, for taking a life is a mighty responsibility and the life taken is then to be honored in a way that reveres all life be it plants, animals or the unknown mysteries of the unseen realms that guide and direct us into opportunities for greater inter-relationship.

Her stories were told and written down by men who could not comprehend Her. Artemis is one who guides us to look within, in the dark, to discover whether we need to take a life or sacrifice our own or even to simply allow a flow of compassion into the relating of all life. She guides us into the paths of our souls, pointing with her arrows to that which needs to be removed or transformed.

The Amazon legends, like the stories of Artemis, were recorded by men; we must seek within our own hearts to find the truth between the lines of the self-reflected, ego-dictated aggression of patriarchy to locate pure source. Maybe the Amazons were indeed wild women of the forests who supplemented their gatherer diets with the occasional meat sacrifice. But I sense that whenever a kill was necessary, it would have been a grave undertaking, not a revelry of joy and laughter with fierce cries of jubilation and pounding upon the chest in dominance. There would have been no joy in the kill.

Artemis vibrates with protection, defense when necessary, and survival with a distinctive grace and reverence for all life. Humans have the will and the intellect to choose how we live, and Artemis will guide us through the dark if we open to Her power.

Lunar Liquid

I stand within Her, within the pool of moonlight as She pours over me, filling me with imagination and dreams and the graceful existence of this moment. Scattered sisters sail through the cool waters of refreshing bliss, everything moving in slow motion as we drink in the glow that is beyond the mere seeing and into the knowing that we heal and then someone else heals and the waters of healing trickle down every hillside and tree trunk until we are all standing together as a healed whole of planet and stars.

I stretch my body temple to hold the moon upon my palms and Her love melts into my skin, rushing down arms into my shoulders like liquid love. Her fluids have breached my dams and the gates are open until I receive all that I am through the images cascading through my mind like waterfalls. I cannot halt the flow and don’t want to, for to experience imagination and vision is an ecstasy that will never be done because my soul is one with all Her gifts and we will continue the flow even through changing form and shifting world.

Sensations at Samhain

Greens and golds, stories of old, sweeping across the trails of mind like feathers I would find upon a prairie, leaving hints as to who had passed before, yet might no more be here if we do not take care of the light within so they can come back again.

Dreams of walking have come into my sleep for years on end, always returning just as the wheel turns and our endings are new beginnings, the cycle of continuous change, the path unfolding before me with each step, and I am only following where it leads through flower fields and scrub, by highlands that reach through rock and ash, out to the sea and return in the tides.

A branch goes one way I’ve not been and I turn to begin again … and again … for there is always another curve or bend or ravine or tree to climb or cliff to scale or river to cross upon stepping stones of turtle shells that are sturdy and slow yet provide the way as clear as day that winds through falling leaves and naked branches bare of decoration and revealing all the scars that have now healed and grown stronger; like paint upon my skin, they are tattoos of grace and waste that merge within the space of a single layer that becomes One in the unity of all life.

This world so bold and beautiful in Her greens and golds and new bright blues that guide the path into the deepest night until dreams take hold once more and I rest upon the floor of home tapped by rhythmic feet into exquisite song.

 Golds and reds, of fruits are spread, up in the air and upon the ground, where shapes are round, with gentle curves, and tastes so sweet upon the nerves in mouth, on tongue, where buds are full and form a splendid blend with apple-pomegranate, bliss and more … to sip the syrup of prickly pear fruit containing all the boost needed to repel the change to cold.

All beneath the full moon light, where She stayed present through the night, and even into early day, her white veil at play among the pale blue sky like a cloud disc come to view the world below in a strange new way. 

Full but on the wane, tonight the veil is thin between the worlds, a time of shadow and magic, to listen to wisdom of those who’ve gone before, to make peace if need be within this open door of opportunity once more. Cast a flame upon the candle; solitary light within the night and fall into the dancing elemental for Her to lift me up and offer insight within the moment of expansion and retreat into Self for within lies the answers, held safe there where all of us exist together as One. Offer my heart into the open flame for clarity, and never be the same, for all is change, welcome the betwixt and between, welcome the spirits and souls unseen, know the Truth of the whispers within … begin again.

Dark Moon

Mid-week, at the mere recurring thought of doing a dark moon release in preparation for my pilgrimage, the following began to flow:

Dark moon shadows, fair moon light,

Cast off fears and let go fight.

All resistance fades away

as Dark Moon eats the fears that play

among the telling sounds of voice …

“I have the power. I am the choice.”

“I am the power. I have the choice.”

Sounds of joy fill my heart,

wishing well those fears depart.

All the inner tensions hiding,

release a father’s stern voice chiding,

or worries that my nature is strange … 

“Open up, embrace the change!”

 Clearly, I am ready and needing to release. While in the midst of morning asanas, I was gently massaging my belly and thinking that I am birthing … before I was gestating but now I am in the throes of labor — birthing a reshaped body, a different elemental landscape-blend of self as I see into the land around me — stark yet full of vigorous life — and I have the opportunity to express myself as I truly am … a guide, a teacher, a healer, one who shares what I’ve learned. And what I’ve learned is valuable. I have survived. My cocoon process has been slower than some but it is my process — so it’s okay. Faith carries me … being present to each moment sustains … creativity and inspiration open visions of future … the past is gone, release it.

 Motion calls me, I’m not done,

not by far … I see the Sun

still shining strong within my depths

light the way to each new step.

A phrase or poem pops in when I pause in these reflections, as if mirroring a fairy flitting in and out of existence. That’ show my rhymes have always felt, filled with an innocence of child-like wonder that sees the invisible realms, the inner reality.

I know that the Divine Feminine Yoga Telesummit this past week has been a gift. To listen to other women ‘in circle’ (via webinar) has been wonderful. To feel the abundance of wisdom and experience, the outpouring of love and support — the encouragement to do and be what we truly are — to expand and explore how to express into the world my gifts. Beautiful. And yet, I witnessed some ego responses rise within me as well, and made note of them to understand why. For example, wanting to hear the speakers rather than Laura, and feeling irritation at her interruption of the flow (seeing in those moments also, though, that I was lacking respect for Laura on some level for which I felt shame since she was the facilitator and creator of the event). I also felt a sort of harshness arise in my response to some of the perspectives shared by speakers who emphasized what felt like an aggressive energy; this is not my way, but many who have followed other paths and are different in nature may need this intensity to break free. At the same time, I also felt welcoming and loving to these women, often wanting to reach out and hug and share “me, too!” and/or “deep thanks!” in receptivity and community. There are so many of us — women and innocents — striving within our own unique natures to reach out and help others while concurrently healing ourselves. And that’s so important to remember … our natures of diversity. And to simply glance outside at the plethora of Mother Nature’s diversity is a Divine reminder. We mirror the blends of elements that are infinite variety!

Dark moon shining far away,

and yet I see the Light at play —

not the glare that blinds my sight 

but channels of revealing night

vibrate up and down my spine,

quiver all my senses — “Shine!”

I feel affirmations arise in the moment of writing, in this moment of who I am in the present, who I’ve become …

I am strong and perfect just as I am.

I am courageous and wise.

I am woman of experience and child of wonder who revels in both Beauty and Ugliness for the Divine Light of Love’s expression.

I am a compassionate woman.

I care deeply for others yet also care for myself.

I practice self-care and authenticity to be more loving and wise in the world.

I am living in a beautiful, amazing body.

I provide care for this body-temple to carry me through the world doing what I am called to.

I am gifted and know my strengths, and grow my abilities.

I see my weaknesses and hug them with tenderness.

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And so, from the above free-flow writing, I created the following simple Dark Moon Ritual:

[Invocation to the Goddess]

I ask this night, with the waning moon in Leo (my own moon sign, according to my chart, though it has always felt very odd and slightly askew), to release into this special black stone my fears, my insecurities, and the criticisms I hear in my head from Dad, for whom I never felt I was ‘enough’ … to release into the stone whatever is holding me back from trying … to release into the stone whatever is preventing me from letting my own unique light shine.

[Repeat the free-flow poetry three times, followed by the affirmations as declaration of the Divine Feminine within]

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Afterword: But what is missing in the affirmations? The Mother is there, so is the Crone. Where is the Maiden with her fire and drive and passion and lilting play? See how this ritual became a catharsis in Survival.