Let your body settle into the ground beneath you.
Not a chair.
Not a sofa.
The deep,
Heavy crust of the Earth.
That carries your weight.
Without asking for your credentials.
If it feels comfortable,
Close your eyes.
If not,
Let your gaze rest blindly on the floor.
Take a long,
Slow breath in.
And as you exhale.
Let your shoulders drop down into the natural alignment.
We are here today to travel backwards.
We are leaving the modern world behind.
But we are also leaving something deeper behind.
We are walking past every religious building,
Every temple and every altar built by the hands of men.
We are stripping away every holy book,
Every commandment,
Every doctrine and every moral law that ever taught you how to occupy your own skin.
Before there was a word for God.
There was the soil.
Before there was a concept of sin.
That was the blood.
Before there was a definition of the feminine.
There was an uninhibited raw force.
That knew how to survive the winter without asking for permission.
And you are entering the era of the unnamed.
The prehistoric currant that belongs to no church,
No dogma,
No master.
Only belongs to the ancient soil.
Bring your attention down.
Past your analytical eyes,
Past your busy throats.
Place one hand flat over your low belly,
Right over your pelvic bell.
Your warm space,
Or the space where it once was,
The eternal potion where all human continuity is forged.
Breathe directly under your palms.
Let your belly soften completely.
Do not hold in.
Let it expand,
Heavy and wide.
This pelvic bowel is the oldest cave on earth.
Long before humans carved stones or built cities,
Your ancestors sat in the dark of actual caves.
Listening to the exact same heartbeat you feel beneath your hand right now.
They did not pray to a distant sky.
They prayed to the dark,
Fertile depth of the earth.
Because they understood that everything that lives come out of the darkness.
And everything that dies returns to it.
And within that darkness lies the true light.
Feel the absolute stability of this space.
It is a pre-religious vessel.
It does not need to be cleansed.
It does not need to be forgiven.
It is not dirty and it is not holy.
It is simply real.
It is the unmitigated center of your raw vitality.
Imagine a deep,
Dark substance like rich,
Black soil filling your pelvic floor.
With every inhale,
This soil expands.
With every exhale.
You sink deeper into the knowing that you are made of the exact same matter as the mountains around you.
You do not belong to the world.
The world belongs to you.
And you are not separated of this primordial nature.
You are part of it.
Listen to the silence between my words.
Listen to the sounds of the room.
The wind outside.
Or the rhythm of your own pulse.
In the pre-religious world,
The feminine was not synonymous with soft luxury or fragile beauty.
The ancestral feminine was the claw.
The firm.
Patience of the hunt.
And the fierce protection of their lineage.
It was the intelligence of the seasons.
Knowing exactly when to rest.
When to withdraw.
And went to burn everything to the ground to let the new soil breathe.
Where in your life have you frozen your own wild curants to appear polite?
Where have you turned your own fire into a slow,
Depleting smolder,
Just to avoid disturbing the comfort of others?
Let that alt.
Tired less.
Go with your next breath.
Let it exit your body like grey smoke,
Which disappears in the sacredness of ether.
Breathe in.
And breathe how?
You are allowed to be heavy.
You are allowed to be loud.
You are allowed to occupy space without explaining your purpose to anyone.
But without hurting anyone as well.
The trees do not apologize for their shade.
The rivers do not apologize for their floods.
Neither do you.
Feel the solid ground beneath your hips and thighs.
Imagine.
That directly beneath you.
Through the soil.
Music Rock!
Stands an unbroken line of women.
Thousands of them.
Stretching back 40,
000 years and more into the dark of prehistory.
They did not know the religions of today.
They knew the migration.
Of animals.
The language of roots.
The medicine of smoke.
And the unyielding power of standing together in a wide circle.
They carried life through ice ages.
Through family.
Through unnameable shifts of the Earth.
They did not leave you written loss.
They left you their endurance.
Woven directly into your DNA.
Their survival is the absolute proof of your strength.
And you are the tip of their spear.
Breathe with their lungs.
Stand with their spines.
Let there's silence.
Become your unshakable armor.
Against the noise of the modern matrix.
You are never walking alone.
You are carried by the wisdom of the primordial soil.
Take one final deep breath into your low belly.
All the fullness of your raw knowing for a brief moment.
And release it with a long,
Slow sigh through your open mouth.
You are returning to the current year.
But the woman who returns is not the same woman who sat down.
20 minutes ago.
The masks have been dropped.
The altars have been cleared.
You are anchored in the unnamed origin.
Your feet are steady,
Your spine is strong and your mind is perfectly clear.
When you feel entirely ready,
Gently open your eyes.
Look at the space around you and step forward with the unyielding steps of an awake woman.
Welcome back dear sister of another mother.
