THE WISE WOMAN TRADITION IS A SPIRAL
By SUSUN S WEED
The symbol of the Wise Woman tradition is a spiral.
A spiral is a cycle as it moves through time.
A spiral is movement around and beyond a circle, always returning to
itself, but never at exactly the same place. Spirals never repeat themselves.
The symbol of the Wise Woman tradition is the spiral.
The spiral is the bubbling cauldron.
The spiral is the curl of the wave.
The spiral is the lift of the wind.
The spiral is the whirlpool of water.
The spiral is the umbilical cord.
The spiral is the great serpent.
The spiral is the path of the earth.
The spiral is the twist of the helix.
The spiral is the spin of our galaxy. The spiral is the soft guts.
The spiral is the labyrinth.
The spiral is the womb-moon-tide mobius pull.
The spiral is your individual life.
The spiral is the passage between worlds: birth passing into death passing
The path of enlightenment is the spiral dance of bliss.
The symbol of the Wise Woman Tradition is a spiral.
Twelve is the number of established order.
One step beyond is thirteen, the wild card, the indivisible prime, the
number of change.
Walk a spiral, you will inevitably come to the unique next step, the
unknown, the thirteenth step, the opportunity for change, the window
The thirteenth step creates the spiral.
Susun Weed - PO Box 64, Woodstock, NY 12498 (fax) 1-845-246-8081
Visit Susun Weed at: www.susunweed.com
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The Goddess is Alive in Every Woman - The
True Story of How She Came to Be, How She Disappeared, and How She Returned
c. 1999, Susun S. Weed
In the beginning, everything began, as it always does, with birth. The
Great Mother of All gave birth, and the Earth began to breathe. Again,
and again, and again, the Great Mother gave birth. And the plants began
to breathe and the animals began to breathe and the two-legged ones
began to breathe. All forms of life began to breathe. To breathe, to
live. In the air, on the land, in the water, and even in the fires of
deep sulfurous vents where light never shines, all forms of life began
to breathe. And they were all very hungry.
"What shall we eat?" they asked the Great Mother. "You
eat me," she said with a smile. And they did. They ate of Her body.
The plants sent their roots down into the earth and they ate of Her
flesh and Her bones. The plants drank Her clear blood. From her deep
springs, from her flowing waters, the plants ate. And they grew strong.
And they gave birth. The grasses multiplied and rippled in the wind.
Roots grew fat and juicy. And everywhere there were amazingly-shaped
leaves, and flowers of many colors, and fruits wondrous to behold.
The animals ate Her. They did not eat Her flesh and Her bones as the
plants did. They could not send their roots into Her, for they had legs
and they moved about on the face of the Earth. Some of the animals ate
of the grasses that grew from the Mother. Some of the two-legged ones
ate the seeds of the grasses and the roots of the plants and their leaves.
They ate and they ate and they ate. They began to give to birth, too.
Soon there were many, many mouths eating the Mother. There were many,
many feet stirring up the red dust of the Mother. There were many mouths
to praise her abundance. And many mouths to feed.
"I am you and you are me. I am here for you to eat. Now eat me.
Eat all of me." she urged them. And some of the animals ate Her
flesh and Her bones in the form of the other animals. And some of the
two-legged ones ate Her flesh and Her bones in the form of the animals.
And her clear blood became red. And this red blood flowed in the bodies
of the animals and the bodies of the two-leggeds who ate of the animals
who ate of the plants who ate of Her. And the Great Mother was well
Now this red blood flowed in the bodies of the two-legged ones. It flowed
in their bodies and it sang to them. This red blood sang to them of
the endless wisdom of the Great Mother, and the endless dance of the
moon, and the endless spiral of birth and life and death. And the ones
who were round and full like the Mother felt the blood stirring in their
bellies. The good red blood moved in their bellies and they were full
of wonder, and they said to the Mother: "What shall we do with
the red blood that moves so strongly in our bellies, Mother?" And
she replied: "Give it to me. Return this blood to me. Nourish me.
Allow me to replenish myself from your blood." And so they did.
Each month when the moon grew dark and disappeared, the blood began
to flow from between the legs of some of the two-legged ones. From the
wombs of the two-legged ones, the blood flowed: red and rich and nourishing.
The red blood flowed into Her and she said: "You are me and I am
you. Your blood is my blood. And my blood is yours. Forever and forever,
we will nourish each other. And if you will keep holy the days of your
bleeding, I will teach you all the secrets of the plants and the animals.
And if you will keep holy the days of your bleeding, I will teach you
all the secrets of Heaven and Earth." And so the women kept holy
the days of their bleeding, and they grew wise in the ways of the plants,
the ways of the animals, and the ways of Heaven and Earth.
And so it was for many, many turns of the Earth around the Sun. Until
the change. No one really knows where it started. Like a small fire,
at first it seemed harmless. The women were wise and they thought no
harm could come to them. Were they not the very Earth herself? To harm
a woman, was it not the same as harming the Mother? And who would be
so foolish as to harm their own Mother? To harm the source of nourishment
and comfort and strength?
Yet there were those who were so foolish. Deluded, they grew arrogant,
and began to tell the story of creation in a strange way. They began
to believe that a man gave birth to the Earth and to humans! They said
that man was the source of all nourishment and wisdom. They said that
man was the image of God, and that God was jealous, and angry, that
God demanded pain and blood and despised the simple pleasures of the
body, of the earth. They said that God lived above, not within the earth,
that God lived in heaven and was above all life. They said that men
were above all life, too. That man had dominion over all of life, over
all of the Earth herself, to do with as he pleased.
Oh, how silly their stories were. Surely no one could believe such stories!
Surely everyone could see clearly that woman was the source of life,
and nourishment. Surely it was clear that the women's blood was the
life of the Earth and the life of the people. And that the pleasure
of the body was holy, was sacred, was good. That the Earth was alive,
was our true Mother, and must be respected. That we are part of Her,
dependent on Her for our very breath.
But, like a small fire left alone when the wind is blowing, the strange
stories of God, of man as creator, grew and multiplied. The small fire
of deceit rapidly became a raging storm, a storm that threatened all
life. For the men began to say that the blood of women was bad, that
women's moon time blood was dirty, unclean, even dangerous. They began
to say that women themselves were dirty and dangerous. They began to
say that the Earth was dirty and dangerous. They began to think of themselves
as apart from the Earth, as separate from the Earth, as better than
the Earth. They began to think of themselves as apart from women, as
superior to women, as the master of women.
The women did their best to tend to the holy fires. The women did their
best to keep the days of their bleeding sacred. The women did their
best to teach their daughters how to learn from the plants and the animals
and the Earth. And the women did their best to be true to the mysteries
of the moon-time and the wisdom of the Great Mother.
But the men were lost. Without the wisdom of the women, alone and apart,
the men forgot the ways of peace. They forgot that the Earth was their
Mother. They forgot that all women were sacred. And they began to fight.
At first they fought only among themselves. But soon the sickness spread
and the men began to fight the women. They began to torture the women.
They began to kill the women. They bound women's feet for this pain
gave men pleasure.
They burned women at the stake for how dare any woman pretend to know
the healing ways of the plants. They stoned women to death for it frightened
them to see even the smallest bit of her holy flesh. They cut out the
pleasure parts from between her legs for here was a power that seemed
uncontrollable. And they told her, again and again, until she began
to believe it was true, that she was not sacred, that she was not made
in the image of God.
They men told each other that women were inferior, that the animals
were inferior, and that the plants were inferior. Soon, puffed up with
false pride, the men began to devise ways to use the women and the animals
and the plants without respect for their power, without respect for
their sacredness. The men began to believe that their view of the world
was the only view of the world.
From one side of the Earth to the other, they abused the women and
the plants and the animals. They used them without regard and kept them
locked away. They ignored the cries of pain. They came to believe that
women and plants and animals actually enjoyed being hurt. They confused
some women so terribly that these women began to believe that they actually
were dirty and in need of punishment. They tortured so many women that
the wisdom of the women seemed to be the lie, and the lies of the men
took on the trappings of truth.
But the Great Mother lives in every woman. In every place and every
time, the Great Mother shows herself in the form of every living woman.
"Eat me." she whispers in the dreams of the woman. And the
woman throws off the bed covers and walks barefoot into the moonlit
night. She is yearning. She feels a deep stirring in her belly. She
looks at the moon and she fancies that she hears the moon speaking to
her. "You are sacred. You are the beginning and the end of all
existence. I am you and you are me. Keep sacred the days of your bleeding
and I will share with you the wisdom of the plants and the animals and
the very Earth."
Can she believe it is true? Dare she believe the truth of the words
she seems to hear? All her life she has been told that she is not pretty
enough, nor smart enough, not strong enough. Everything seems to tell
her that she is too round, too emotional, too sensitive. And not sacred,
in fact, the complete opposite of sacred. All the days of her life she
has heard the stories of the wonders of man, the creator. She has heard
it so often that it has the sound of truth: God is a man. God is all
powerful, so men are all powerful (and women are weak). God is clean,
so men are clean (and women are dirty). God is pure, so men are pure
(and women are filth). God never bleeds from between his legs and men
never bleed from between their legs (so the flowing blood of women is
a sickness, a curse, a punishment). How can she believe that her blood
is sacred? How can she allow herself to feel pleasure, to name it good,
to name it holy? How can she dare to believe that she is the Goddess?
Yes, the Goddess! The Goddess who is alive in every woman, in every
place, in every time. The Goddess who whispers in our dreams. The Goddess
who smiles in our lives. The Goddess who stirs the blood in our bellies.
The Goddess who knows that every woman is wise and powerful and sacred.
The Goddess who calls to us: "Keep the days of your bleeding sacred.
Remember that your blood is the blood of life, the blood of peace. Feed
me your blood, your moon-time blood, oh my daughter, my lover. Feed
me, for I hunger and I thirst for you.
"Return to me. Return to yourself. Remember yourself. Remember
me. I am the Great Mother. I am the Goddess. I am the Wise Woman. Listen
to my words. Listen to my song. I am in you, thus I can never be lost.
My story is your story. And it is the true story of birth and life and
death. Eat me. Feed me. You are woman and so am I. Through me, you exist;
through you, I exist. We are the ones who create. We are the ones who
nourish. We are the ones who open the gates between the worlds. We are
the ones who must reclaim ourselves, who must reweave ourselves.
"Oh sister, dear sister, the threads are thin, the song is faint.
Tell me it is not too late. Tell me that you hear me. Tell me that you
believe me. Tell me that the Goddess has returned. Tell me you are listening
to the plants and the animals and your own deep knowing. Tell me you
are looking past the slick, simple lies and into the messy, complex
truth. Tell me that you feel the red blood stirring in your belly.
"Tell me it is not too late. Tell me the sisters are awakening.
Tell me the moonlodge is rebuilt. Tell me that the words of White Buffalo
Calf Woman were not in vain. Tell me that Kwan Yin's heart is not breaking.
Tell me that Venus is safe. Tell me that Artemis roams free in the woods.
Tell me that Lilith is welcome at your table. Tell me that you remember
that pleasure is holy to me. Tell me that you refuse to believe that
you delight in pain.
"Tell me that you feel me reaching out to you from the deep core
of your being, from time out of mind. Tell me that you feel me waking
up inside you, waking you up to your beauty and your power. Tell me
that you are reclaiming your truth and turning a deaf ear to the lies.
Tell me that you remember that you are the Goddess. Tell me that you
remember that you and I are the same. Tell me you keep sacred the days
of your bleeding. Tell me you honor your crones.
"I have been with you since the beginning, and I will be with you
at the end. I am part of you and you are part of me. Allow me to love
you. Allow me to honor you. Allow me to return."
Susun Weed, PO Box 64, Woodstock, NY 12498 Fax (845-246-8081)
Visit Susun Weed at: www.susunweed.com
For permission to reprint this article, contact us at: email@example.com
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