Divine Feminine Magick

To the accusers,
Who simply couldn’t understand
That the power of the mystic
Doesn’t exist in structure and laws.
To the ones who couldn’t fathom
The magick derived from elements outside
Your books and boxes.
I get it.
Our desire and submission
Doesn’t follow the straight and predictable line.
How can you control the one
Who sees beyond your existence?
Who can feel the pulse of the earth?
Who can shift the air with one seductive glance?
So they say, the feminine must fight.
She must be strong, she must make her demands.
She must control, because softness is weak.
No.
No.
No.
The Goddess won’t submit to your unwillingness
To lead.

To the persecuted,
I can hear your howls on the wind.
I hear your grief.
I feel the love given to the fire.
They burned you. They drowned you.
They betrayed you. They covered you.
They took your breath.
They cursed your spells and elixirs
That bled the lines
Of man-made science.
But I say, those curses are wasted.
Because magick still reigns in the wisdom of our ancestors.
It flows through our veins,
In our earth wisdom,
And in between our legs.
The naysayers will tell you
Magick is privileged art.
They will say access is only granted
By books and boxes of a different name.
No.
No.
No.
The divine is in everything,
In everyone.

Are you afraid of the serpent?
Do you run when the raven calls?
Do you cower in fear
When the Morrigan arrives?

Or are you willing to walk through the fires
And take the warrior’s sword,
As a knight, devoted,
On the quest for love?