sacred women

“It is often said that the first sound we hear in the womb is our mother’s heartbeat. Actually, the first sound to vibrate our newly developed hearing apparatus is the pulse of our mother’s blood through her veins and arteries. We vibrate to that primordial rhythm even before we have ears to hear. Before we were conceived, we existed in part as an egg in our mother’s ovary. All the eggs a woman will ever carry form in her ovaries while she is a four-month-old fetus in the womb of her mother.

This means our cellular life as an egg begins in the womb of our grandmother. Each of us spent five months in our grandmother’s womb and she in turn formed within the womb of her grandmother. We vibrate to the rhythms of our mother’s blood before she herself is born. And this pulse is the thread of blood that runs all the way back through the grandmothers to the first mother. We all share the blood of the first mother - we are truly children of one blood.”

– Layne Redmond

I am reposting this in honor of Women’s History Month.
In this day and age we play with roles quite loosely. Which is just fine in my opinion. We all carry both male and female energies, and we express those how we see fit. However, there is no denying the miracle that is a female’s body. It is a gate way for the soul to take birth and join other souls in this realm. This realm where consciousness’ most crucial work takes place. Even if you remove all traces of mysticism from the discussion of the female body, it is still flawless and incredible. 

If female writers choose not to include men in their writing about women, it is because they are exercising their right to create a space for women. A space they want only women, whether binary or non binary, to be a part of. This is called sisterhood. It is a sacred bond between women that deserves acknowledgement. Men have, now and throughout history, had plenty of spaces that include them and are exclusive to them. Do not begrudge women the same.
—  Nikita Gill, “Is Should Say Women AND Men”


Together we are learning to move from raw emotion and frozen muscles into a flow which emerges deep from within. We are learning to dance our prayers, bleed our words onto the page, laugh our images onto canvas, build our dreams in the world – to transmute and transmit the energy of the Feminine through our bodies and out into the world


Lucy H. Pearce, Burning Woman 

Image:  Tara detail, Nepal, 13th Century



Resources by trans women on the sacred feminine, and access to spiritual women’s spaces?

[Originally posted to Twitter, starting here.]

Greetings, folks! Does anyone have any resources by trans women, about transness in sacred femininity contexts?

A friend of mine, a cis woman, is very involved with sacred femininity sorts of spaces, and wants to be trans-inclusive, but this is the bit where I get all angry and ranty, while acknowledging “the part that women who are born into women’s bodies and have a connection to the wisdom teachings from cyclical nature of life through connecting to their wombs have.”

This makes me go D: because it feels like she’s saying cis women are in a special club that you need a uterus to be in. And I don’t want to speak for/over trans women, and this is a *very* niche area of pagan femininity stuff. I don’t know, I know how I feel and I could certainly go on at her at length about how I feel about this, but if there are good resources… Well, I would rather send something by a trans woman, you know? But I don’t know how likely this is!

So, what d’you reckon?

youtube

women, stop whatever y’all doing and watch this. No, trust me. Watch it

Galentine’s Day

“Alright, ladies, here are your Galentine’s Day cocktails!” the waitress chirped in far too chipper a voice, passing mimosas to Cosette and Musichetta and a bloody Mary to Éponine, who drained it in one gulp and handed the glass back to the waitress as she told her, “Keep ‘em coming.”

The waitress’s smile didn’t slip as she took the glass back from Éponine. “Of course. And here are our brunch menus.” All three took the proffered menu, none with much enthusiasm. “I’ll go grab that refill and be back to take your order.”

Cosette glanced at the menu before being interrupted by her phone vibrating, and she glanced down at the screen, a small smile on her face. Éponine stared at the menu, a look of open revulsion on her face at the lurid pink menu with little clip art pictures of feminist icons. “So,” Musichetta said, in a clear attempt to fill the silence, “what’s everyone thinking of ordering?”

“I don’t think it’d be Galentine’s Day without JJ Diner’s waffles, Leslie Knope-style,” Cosette said, smiling tentatively at Musichetta and Éponine. “What are you thinking, Ép?”

“I’m thinking that I would rather you hadn’t invited me today,” Éponine said. “Since that doesn’t appear to be on the menu, I guess I’ll get the eggs–” She checked the menu. “–Benedicta. Because making Benedict feminine is the answer to all of society’s problems.”

Cosette looked a little hurt. “You’d rather we hadn’t invited you?” she asked. “Sorry that I thought it would be nice to have a day out with just us girls.”

“Yeah, Lord knows we need it,” Musichetta said, nodding. “We’re around men, like, constantly. And Galentine’s Day is a celebration by women of what makes women great.”

“Yes, because waffles and mimosas are what make women great,” Éponine said sarcastically, propping her chin on her hand and rolling her eyes. “Look, not to be trans-exclusionary, but the only thing all three of us have in common are vaginas. It’s not like we’re friends. Not to mention Cosette can’t stop texting Marius, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’ve seen both Joly and Bossuet walk by this café.”

Cosette and Musichetta exchanged slightly ashamed glances. “We’re friends,” Musichetta said, a little defensively. “I mean, sure, we don’t hang out all that often – which is probably something we should change – but we have plenty in common besides our vaginas.”

“Ok,” Éponine said, a slight smirk beginning to cross her face. “Like what? Oh, and, uh, in the spirit of Galentine’s Day, it can’t be related to boys.”

An awkward silence fell at the table as Cosette and Musichetta tried desperately to think of anything the three shared in common. “We all went to the Women’s March,” Cosette offered tentatively.

Musichetta shook her head. “Actually, uh, I had to work that day.”

“Oh. Um…Les Amis?”

Éponine raised her hand. “Yeah, I’ve never actually been to a Les Amis meeting. I just sneak in after all the boring talking is done.”

Again, silence fell, interrupted this time by the waitress bringing Éponine another bloody Mary. “So have you decided what you ladies want?” she asked.

Éponine took a sip of bloody Mary, looking far too satisfied with herself as Cosette and Musichetta hastily picked their menus up again. “Yeah, I think we need some additional women friends.”