When God Was a Woman – Melita White

When God was a woman
there was no God
There was only you and me and many other humans besides
and there were animals and trees and rivers both wide and skinny and spans of land and oceans deep and crystals and sand and stars and comets and heavenly bodies galaxial
When God was a woman the moon presided
and the sky and weather and seasons
were full of infinite knowledge both intimate and beyond

When God was a woman
there was no God
and power filled each entity
and no one thing dared
take from another
what was rightfully theirs
And all had food and tenderness and air and water and learning and life and respect
and there was enough of all of these things
because there was no God
to rule or to punish to preach or to take or destroy or to flood or to incite us to rape or to kill or to conquer (in the name of God) and all was exactly as it should be
and there was love and balance and the Earth was just so
Only ever as it should be
When God was a woman

Melita White is founder and writer of the blog Feminist Confessional, a space that features feminist poetry, essays and personal pieces in a confessional style, with a focus on the MeToo movement. She is a composer and musician and loves making all kinds of things. https://feministconfessional.wordpress.com

When God Was a Woman II – Judy Swann

A word about kind. The OED says only, and misleadingly, “cunt- ; see cont-, count- But in her Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets (1983, that’s why she can’t cite Gimbutas, The Language of the Goddess, 1989), Barbara G. Walker, the knitting expert and Neolithic scholar, writes “Cunt Derivative of the Oriental Great Goddess as Cunti or Kunda, the Yoni of the Uni-verse. From the same root came county, kin and kind (Old English cyn, Gothic kuni). ‘Cunt,’ she says, quoting Michael Dames ‘is not slang, dialect, or any marginal form, but a true language word, and of the oldest stock.’” Indeed, the OED shows kin, O.E. cyn; kind, cunde; county, cunte.
And the head of a cat, ‘ma’ in Linear A:



Image Courtesy of Ravelry

Judy Swann is a poet and essayist. Her work includes Fool (Kelsay Books, 2019) and Stickman (John Young, 2019). She lives in Ithaca, NY and is rewriting Boethius’s Consolation as a feminist utopia. See her other work at judith marie brugger swann.

When God Was a Woman – Judy Swann

I looked my visitor full in the face. I recognized her now; she was my nurse when I was little, my mother, Earth. “Why have you come now?” I asked, “Now that I’m in prison.”

“I could never abandon you,” she said, “although it has been hard trying to get your attention. Invested people have always believed they could rape me, commoditize me, and disown me. Me, whose milk they have drunk. And I’m not surprised they feel the same way about you or that they want you to feel the same way about me. That I’m somehow dangerous or marginal or an object of contempt, a thing to be used.

“But,” the goddess added, “do you recall that billion billion billionth of a second right before everything expanded? Before there was air? Back when words were radiation? You were at your most creative then. Everything was elemental, wild, and you were too. Not elementary, mind you, elemental, in the sense of wildly contextual, a creatrix of the known.” The lady noticed my open mouth and panicked eyes. “So are you silent,” she asked, “because you recognize me now? Aren’t you ashamed you threw me away? You just didn’t realize. That’s what they all say. But you can take up the realization project again (and may you never stop!) because it’s never too late to escape the subliminal indoctrination of the medium that surrounds you. You are not a vessel. You are not a reflection. You are an original. It is OK to split yourself into many pieces; in fact, is a beautiful thing. Do it every day! You can! The universe is your guide and your mother; her hydrogen and helium are yours. Ten percent of your body weight, in fact, is hydrogen; hydrogen’s George Fayne is oxygen, the famous cousin O. Helium is too restless to make your body its host. You breathe it in, you breathe it out. Helium wants no part of you. It’s your Boo Radley, she added in a stratospheric timbre, as if her vocal folds had just lost all their nitrogen.

“Think about Ishtar, giver and taker of life, one of the thousand-breasted goddesses – writing, mathematics, legal codes, and astronomy, all – prospered under her brilliance. When military might and weaponry became the darlings of mankind, she retreated into the sacred caves. Bang! Bang! Who’s there? Justice! Justice Who? Just Ishtar and you, old shoe. In Mosul, they’re still fighting.

“Think about Kali, who survived the division of life and death, who died in sati day after day, and lived to die again, dying. O Kali Ma, who lived and died at the Michigan Womyn’s Festival and in the old Ladyslipper catalog and who lives and dies in every act of childbearing. Kali Ma is the womb you come from and the tomb from which the new mother emerges. O Kali Ma.

“Think about Sophia before she was reborn as the B.V.M, before she was reborn as Emily Dickinson. She was the first of us to not be associated with her own egg.

“But here we are, in the beautiful present, where we can laugh at the ignorance of the Invested as they hoard and stomp and bloviate. We are protected, you and I, and all our kind, by a wall of Women Who Cannot Die.”

Judy Swann is a poet and essayist. Her work includes Fool (Kelsay Books, 2019) and Stickman (John Young, 2019). She lives in Ithaca, NY and is rewriting Boethius’s Consolation as a feminist utopia. See her other work at judith marie brugger swann.

Featured Post: When God Was a Woman – Christine E. Ray

Sunday morning sermons
delivered from man-made pulpits
echo in our ears
his-story books
that line school shelves
providing the warp
the weft
that weave the elaborate
mythic tapestry
a master-piece of
collective amnesia
millenniums in the making
a palatable image
to hang on our walls
of an all-knowing, all-powerful
thunderous God
his pristine ivory robes
rustling gracefully
over his magnificent manhood
a white-washed God
for the masses to fear
to revere
to swallow whole
with their bitter
communion wine
we are the women
who remember
when God was a woman
when the earth gestated
and flourished
in her cosmic womb
supported by her strong brown hands
we are the women
who will not forget
who teach our daughters
the old ways in secret parlors
sandy beaches
fertile fields
who guide their arms lovingly
in gratitude to the full moon
stars shining brightly
on their tender brows
a crown
her truth burning brightly
in their hearts

© 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

Image Courtesy of The Atlantic (via Pinterest)

Featured Post: When God Was A Woman – Tamara Fricke

It’s easy to say
butterflies breathed easier
when god was a woman
but denying a lioness’s
true form does nothing
for global consciousness.

Shoeing a horse doesn’t
convert it to a car and
just because you call her “him”
doesn’t mean Mother ever
grew a penis or lost breasts;
you simply put a sword
in her hand, tied her toga
a bit differently.

Fundamentals, are just that-
hearts of dying stars
pressured into iron
rust and we paint
open barns red in hopes
the cows aren’t colorblind
and can find their way home
but the lies we tell only
confirm bone-surety…

only fickle femininity
could bare such infidelity
with such perfectly fluid form,
and subjectivity
will never coerce the dealer
or mitigate the odds
of surviving a lioness’s attack
once she’s keen for zebra haunch.

Tamara Fricke is the 2010 co-winner of the Gertrude Claytor Award of the Academy of American Poets and is previously published by The Lyon Review, Meat for Tea, Attack Bear Press Poetry Vending Machine, Whisper and the Roar, We Will Not Be Silenced, and has been included in a number of compilations.  Her poetry chapbook Our Requiem was released in 2014.  She lives in Springfield, MA, with an ungrateful cat, where she writes grants professionally.

Christine’s Daily Writing Prompt: When God Was A Woman

Throughout the month of August, Christine will be providing a daily writing prompt based on the title of a seminal feminist book. These are designed to inspire you to write a poem, prose piece, or a piece of flash fiction in 30 minutes or less.

The only rule is that you use the book title as your piece title OR integrate all the words in the title into your piece somehow

If you would like to have your piece considered for publication on Brave and Reckless and Whisper and the Roar, email your prompt inspired pieces to Christine at her.red.pen.wordsmithing@gmail.com.

You can also participate on Facebook by tagging your writing with:

  • # the title of the daily theme
  • #FeministBookChallenge
  • #braveandreckless66

or on Instagram by tagging your writing with:

  • # the title of the daily theme
  • #FeministBookChallenge
  • @christabelle1966

You can also share your response pieces in the comments below the Daily Prompt.

When God Was a Woman