My goddess is a pomegranate, plump and swollen with promise. Her outer lips curl open in invitation, while her course hairs irritate the skin. When she is split her sweet necture spills from her, blessing those who would lap it up. Gushing and bursting with promise, with life. To worship her is a slow passion. The careful extraction of aril and wine. The slow peeling away of pith. I pray to my goddess with my slow devotional I in turn know my own divinity. My womb is a pomegranate, plump and swollen with promise.
Who is this dark mother? Great mother. Birth and destruction. She is the great wheel of time. Before the waters were parted and before the land rose, she was the void before creation and she will be long after all is dark again. She is the blackness of death. Terrible to behold. She is ambition, improvement, and the great karmic breaker. She severs false awareness and laps the blood to prevent it from spreading, from contaminating. She is the difficult path with the fullest rewards.
Demon of distraction, false ego, and faltering worth came for me. They ravished me, made me weak, made my mind a maelstrom and drove from me my divine connection. I was possessed by a crow demon who made my head swivel until I could not stomach it and demanded such vanity that I crumbled under my own self-obsession.
Oh, dark mistress, I submit myself to you. I lay down to be mounted, to be made humble. Great dancer, set right the rhythms of my life and order the beating of my heart. With gasping breath and bruising effort, I come to know your wisdom. Ring your ankle bells and bangles. Clatter your skirt of pearls and bones. Pound the drum of battle and drive these demons from me.
So tempting are these demons. Such fine spangles and foil wrappers do they offer. What they offer is paltry trade for the enlightened lessons of my Goddess. Her way is pain. Her way is transforming fire. Her way is the walk of creation, the pruning of what does not serve to better stimulate the holy way within.
She will dance upon me and burn away that which is rot. By her fire, I am made in her image.