Mother of Nine
Wild Woman Wind
La Reine of Rains
I Bow to You
Mother of Nine
Wild Woman Wind
La Reine of Rains
I Bow to You
#oya #yansa #goddess #motherofnine #moonblood #prayer #altar #wombmedicine #gaianmedicine #ceremonial #menstruation #climatechange #divinemother #nuitmoore #nuit-moore #scarletshakti #shakti #shaktirising #GoToHerFlowToHerBowToHer
I've been a priestess and teacher of the menstrual mysteries and an advocate activist for menstrual reclaiming for many moons, over 24 years worth of moons! I was called innately, deeply, and very early- and as a result became a teacher at a young age. There were foremothers who had already begun to weave the web of reclaiming and empowering our moon time, and sisters in the last 20-30 years helping to further the web. I was very grateful for the work of these women as I began upon this path as teacher and priestess all those moons back. I was lucky enough to live in an area at the time that had several fantastic feminist bookstores, and those precious resources, so few and far between now, helped to ignite me on my passionate path, in love with the Goddess, with sisterhood, and with our empowerment.
Finding a book or newsletter that echoed back the bursting seeds and unfurling blossoms within myself were moments of absolute alchemical magick for me.
When I first created ceremonial sacred space for menstruation (my first one in 1991, the same year I had my first baby) , more commonly called moon lodges, moon huts or red moon circles then by women creating this sacred space early on, I envisioned that perhaps some day there would be a holy harvest of the fruits of all those scarlet seeds planted by the work of my foremamas before me, as well as the scarlet seeds I and my sisters planted in our own teachings, writings, and menstrual circles, and have them be big ripening and bursting pomegranates of fruits! At that time, I had no idea the harvest would be so abundant, and burst like it has- I could not anticipate the Internet in the early 90's. I bless the technology that is the Internet, for I know it has been this tool that has propagated consciousness, and helped to spread and grow these scarlet seeds.
But I have to admit, in the midst of this consciousness celebration, standing among these scarlet wildflowers spreading like poppies in a potent field- I am a little saddened that I am not seeing the foremothers/foresisters of this movement remembered more-
but it's important that we do.
I want you to become familiar with them. It is good to honor every seed that was- and is- planted, every bloom that bloomed as well as the blooms to come, to honor all the wise women, all the carriers of this wisdom and medicine- in the same manner that we honor our blood ancestors in sacred space. It is not only good to do this- it is imperative to our further healing and empowerment. So much taboo, so much punishment, so much vilification in relation to our bodies, our cycles, our sexuality. So much.
As one of my favorite foremother elders stated about the damage from this vilification:
"It tears our spirit away from our body, ripping our essence in two. It pits parts of us against other parts. When we are disgusted with our blood, we are also disgusted with our spirit. Without the power of our spirit, we are unable to challenge a system that sets us against ourselves, against our sisters. As we discover the beauty and power in our blood, we honor our bodies, we honor the Goddess, and we are more easily able to love our female selves."
- Antiga, 1988 from 'The Goddess Celebrates: An Anthology of Women's Rituals' by Diane Stein
So, remember the roots. Know and remember.
Women's herstory gets forgotten, buried- as a general rule.
The last place that should happen is within the sacred source of our herstory.
To start, here is a list of books by many of the foremothers of this particular movement- the menstrual reclaiming movement. If you are called to this path and are not familiar with some of them, please do seek these works out. I know whenever I found any work that pre-dated and echoed my own call, it filled me with a sense of belonging and power and wonder. I had that sense of sisterhood, not being alone in this, echoes upon marvelous echoes, a chorus of women's voices ancient and modern- and I fell in love all over again :
Hygieia- by Jeanine Parvati Baker
Blessings of the Blood- by Celu Amberston (aka Cornwoman)
Songs of Bleeding- by Spider
Sister Moon Lodge- by Kisma Stepanich
Dragontime- by Luisa Francia
Moon, Moon- by Anne Kent Rush
Her Blood is Gold- Lara Owen
Red Flower: Rethinking Menstruation- by Dena Taylor
New Moon Rising: Reclaiming the Sacred Rites of Menstruation- by Linda Heron Wind
Mysteries of the Dark Moon- by Demetria George
Red Moon- Miranda Gray
Shakti Woman- by Vicki Noble
Blood, Bread, and Roses- by Judy Grahn
and although it is probable that you’ ve heard of Susun,
I would be remiss to fail to mention the herbals of Susun Weed!
Plus there are countless articles and booklets and zines, periodicals and pieces, art and ceremony and music created by women like Brooke Medicine Eagle, Antiga,
Ruth Mountaingrove, Hallie Iglehart Austen, Night Moore (that's me, when I was using Night previously way back now), Blood Sisters, and certainly more that are just escaping me at the moment. Of course, there are many books that have come out in the past few years, and many women doing the work now-
scarlet wildflowers from those awesome scarlet seeds!
But I wanted to highlight some of the material out there available from 1970-1995, to honor the work that creates much of the fertile ground of this wonderful decades old movement.
Sacred resource of this sacred source, for the scarlet blooms of those scarlet seeds.
Nuit Moore, The Scarlet Shakti
Ragtime Revolution & The Ruby in the Lotus
#menstrualmysteries #menstrualmovement #redtent #moonlodge #womensspirituality #feminism #bodypolitics #politicsofmenstruation #menstruation #redtenttemple #womenshistory #herstory
Your Magdalene wept tonight, my Adamah
Cried for you, out for you, my Adamah
Laid down in the widow wilderness, my Adamah
Lilith shadow and Inanna sorrow, my Adamah
Like scarlet veils they sheathe me, my Adamah
Enclosing the seven daggers, my Adamah
Seven serpents weaving and winding, my Adamah
The seven gates burned to ash, my Adamah
My Graal heart deep wells weeping, my Adamah
My Graal womb weeping the holy blood, my Adamah
And I united my blood with your ashes, my Adamah
And the earth, she whispered secrets, my Adamah
Roses rising and resurrecting, my Adamah
From the below, fiery roses rising, my Adamah
My Beloved, my Shepherd, my Adamah
My Worker of the Wood, my Adamah
My Golden Bull, Taurus born, my Adamah
Hair like wheat, hands like bread, my Adamah
My God of the Vine always, my Adamah
With kisses like wine always, my Adamah
Our temple of unio mystica, my Adamah
My Dumuzi, Osiris, Tammuz, my Adamah
My Bridegroom, my Beloved, my Adamah
I cried for you, out for you, my Adamah
Yes, Beloved, your Magdalene wept tonight.
One year ago tonight, my husband took his life. Needless to say, this past year has been deeply difficult for me in navigating this loss, especially as it happened during a separation that left so many wounds unaddressed, so much pain unresolved, so much destruction,
so many things left unsaid. However, the love we had could not be destroyed by any of the Underworld territory we found ourselves in due in such large part to the Bi-Polar 2 disorder that drove him to this. But I did not understand that at the time. I only knew that
my pain and anger was so intense and so deep that I thought it had swallowed up my love.
I was very wrong. I could not have been more wrong.
This man was the love of my life, the father of my daughter and stepfather to my son, and yes, my Hades. Our marriage was a true Underworld journey that took me down after 7 years to the butchering floor, and then taking me 7 years to ascend from that destruction.
It took all I had inside me to recover from it, and then to make the incredibly difficult decision to leave him. I can't find an adequate way to express the unimaginable tragedies in the losses of him- of which there were many... small ones before the huge loss, permeating so many layers and levels. Most of the time, it doesn't seem real.
The three years in which we were separated were full of intense and heavy work for me. I was plunged into a deep depression, and suddenly faced with the equivalent of having the scabs ripped off of every heart-wound I had sustained dealing with his illness. I also was doing the more difficult work of helping my daughter deal and heal from a trauma she had sustained. The last half of 2011 through the first half of 2012 was an exceptionally dark period for me.
Then during the Venus transit of 2012, I had an incredibly vivid dream upon which after I had awakened I was compelled to immediately write, reflecting the dream content:
"I had offered my heart up, my raw, pure heart up, to the Crocodile headed Sobek, and into the dark, dark waters it went. Years passed. Suddenly emerging, he has returned my heart to me, in the form of a radiant Lotus."
The Venus transit of 2012 was a time of immense healing for me. I felt put back together in many ways, my heart opened again. I later learned that the Egyptian God Sobek was an ally of the Goddess Isis and of Her husband, Osiris, of whom Sobek was a resurrection healer of, his name translating to "he who unites (the dismembered limbs of Osiris)".
But in 2014, the darkness returned.
The day he died, I was with our children- my son was visiting for Thanksgiving- and I had such a flood of rage and hurt centered around him, I found myself breathless from it. It was an eruption that came out of nowhere. Later that night, my kids and I made a fire in the fire pit out in the outer temple and we sat around it just talking. It was a very heavy atmospheric night, and he was on my mind. I took a picture of the fire, and I posted this photo on my personal page on Facebook because it was so striking looking- like someone was standing in the flames. To me it looked like Kuan Yin, the Bodhisattva Goddess of Compassion and Mercy to those suffering deep grief, was standing in a fire lotus.
Many others commented that they saw the same. It made me feel raw and on edge, because quite frankly it felt like a portent, highlighting the unease writhing inside me.
Then later that night I had a nightmare about him, and it woke me up. Upset and shaken, I went into the kitchen to shake it off, and a few minutes later, my son came out of the room he was sleeping in. He had also had a nightmare, although it wasn't about his stepfather that he could recall. After a little talking, we both went back to sleep. I had come to the conclusion that the nightmare, my upset, etc was the result of us all being together on Thanksgiving except for him- I figured maybe it was also PTSD from my marriage, because nightmares were a common form for me of it. My husband and I were deeply connected psychically- but at that point, I had no idea where he was even living, where he even was.
I didn't find out about my husband's death until 3 days later.
When I found out, I was immediately back on the butchering floor, but in a way that I had never been before. The noises that came howling out of me were primordial.
And they didn't stop.
It was terrifying.
When I was coherent enough, I pleaded to Kuan Yin. To Mary. Both the one and the same.
Help. Help. Help me. Help me. Help me.
I revolved between shock and shattering.
Visceral, torn open- I wept myself into a state of dust.
Then something happened. All the love suddenly came gushing forth, flooding me.
The anger fires extinguished, and only balm. I released all of the anger I had been carrying towards him inside me- that treacherous raw wound, that screaming maw.
It turned to love. It turned to forgiveness. It turned to healing grief, instead of the destroying pain I had been consumed by. Just RADIANT LOVE.
It turned into a pure GRACE of RADIANT LOVE.
A miracle of grace, which I then gave, with everything I had inside me, to him.
I only wish I had had the foresight to do this before it was too late. I don't mean in returning to a very destructive pattern, I don't mean in trying to save my marriage, because I spent 14 years actively trying to both save it and survive it. I just mean in really going deep within and being able to tap into that unconditional love in the deepest wells of my heart. In being able to rise above the acid poison of that pain, to get out of that destructive wound within myself- and while he was still here, forgive him and let him know I loved him.
Because forgiveness is a liberator. Forgiveness is a healer. For both.
I know I am not to blame, but it is a monstrous burden to bear, that thought.
I often find myself- a Magdalene in the Wilderness- tested by the demons of regrets.
A year later, I find myself still saved by that grace, and still tested by my demons.
It is a divine dichotomy- or is it? That's a question. What is certain is that radiant love.
*Adamah: Hebrew, translates into "red earth/fertile soil", and is the origin of the name of Adam,
and is considered to be the name associated
with the figure now known as Lilith, beloved to me
Tonight during my devotions, I mixed my womb-blood with some of his ashes, as my own form of sacred Adamah. Anointed myself. My tears, my blood, his body. Sacra.
He always loved that I taught the menstrual mysteries, always supported my work. I met him the day after his birthday at a Beltane Festival, Beltane being the celebrating of the Sacred Marriage between the God and Goddess, and he being Beltane born, a Taurus- my own earthy god, a carpenter and a tiller of fields. A gorgeous man- blond, green eyed, strong and beautiful in body, so funny and smart, so vulnerable and soft that Hallmark commercials could make him teary-eyed. An amazing cook. Scottish-Viking blood, but with almond shaped eyes. I remember everything about him. Everything.
The first day we met he brought to me a wood sculpture he was creating, from a piece of wood naturally shaped like a woman's torso and asked me to feel it, wanting to share it with me, wanting to show me. It was so smooth, so beautiful. So sensual, yet so solid.
The next morning, after we had made love for the first time, he gave it to me.
It was the first gift he ever gave me (one of many also made of wood, actually).
In this past year, I've spread his ashes at the roots of the trees he loved so much,
in herb beds, in both newly tilled and freshly harvested fields.
His body, and the body of earth.
*this post is (obviously) dedicated to my husband. 1974-2014.
with all my heart