Mother Earth does not want perfection. She does not want us to believe for a moment longer that we are the original sin and to become a carefully crafted product of societies deep insecurities.
The women must gather. So we remember to look upon each other in awe and appreciation of our differences and our unique purposes of this life. We are mountains meeting oceans. Both large, powerful and from the same source, yet needed in wholly different ways.
The women must gather. So we remember to let go more, drop down our flowing locks, use our feet to dance upon the land and sway our hips to the rhythm of our own knowing hearts.
The women must gather. So the wisdom of motherhood that runs like an ancient river through our veins can be unleashed and poured out to our children. We unmask the women who have hidden to long behind mans stamp of unworthiness that presses firmly on the role of Mama.
The women must gather. So we can heal. We are strength in numbers. We must gather for the woman who wakes in the morning with dead eyes and cold bony fingers that knead into her empty womb, still tender from being swept of life. Her grief sits heavy within the vacant space like unliftable rocks in place of the child she will never meet. Gather with your women, dear sister, so that we may help carry the heavy boulders of burden for you. Let us wrap you in our arms, kiss your head and wipe away your tears we to have shed.
The women must gather. So we remember who we are, that we are never alone and within our circle we unleash the beauty of simply being WOMAN.