And in the beginning there was she, she who is the primordial darkness that births forth all of life. Before there was the time of the lost Gods, she was the faceless peace of the dark, and in her was everything. From a single moaning, groaning breath of her own sheer satisfaction and pleasure she was birthed, the first creature to come forth and she was a wild horned shapeshifter, a goddess, a white mare and her wild desires that swirled in ribbons of ecstasy within her pelvic bowls made her roll upon the earth and splash into the rivers and play. She rubbed mud all over in just the right ways, and rocked her hips back and forth. She squeezed her eyes tight from her pleasure under a full moon night and she leaned against a very sturdy oak tree who began to move against her. The branches of the big strong tree wrapped around her and as she opened her eyes she realized she was being held by he. He was her strength, his limbs meant to protect and his trunk was sturdy to lean on. He mirrored her with horns of a wild stag and they both fell into each other on the banks of the river as she rolled him onto his back and she fed him with magic, milk and honey and initiated him on that night. But, time is a fickle thing and as blissful as they were the hands of the clock began to whirl and spin them around and one day she woke up cold and alone, there was no God to be found. Calling his name and searching for him as their separation began to span the eons that which was once full of pleasure and light had slowly grown darker into the dark times of dis-connection, pain and greed. This was not the peaceful dark of her soul’s ancient prima materia, but the dark of descent into the hell of karmic lessons, and her feeling lost in her own mind. Her senses withdrew and she spun wildly around not knowing which way was up or which way was down. She shut down and moved farther still inward leaving the world plunging into the darkness of the eternal eve of a dark moon where the creatures of the night grew in numbers and strength against her. Her fearful tears springing forth moon flowers which were to be just a glimpse of light in the dark enough to light her way to a rivers edge where the ancient energies whispered into her ear “remember, remember, remember who you are.” She could not remember her own name. She reached down to the river to take a peek in the water’s reflection but she could no longer see her face so she began to cry again and this time her tears were of anguish and began to pull at her heart and she could feel her tears making mud beneath her fingers. She allowed her fingers to curl into the mud. She wiped her fingers in stripes across her cheeks, a warrioress painting herself for the fight and she began to feel the shift then. She felt a glimpse of her old power but in newer more mysterious ways surging from somewhere deep inside and said “Takk Fyrir, Takk Fyrir, Takk Fyri,” the old mother tongue rolling intuitively out. She pushed her way up from all fours and she could hear the sound of ancient drums that sounded as strong as the beat of her heart had once been. Her body had been badly shaken and bruised in her stumblings, and her mind had wandered off in search of what had once been, but still her legs carried her and she followed the path of moon flowers farther. She followed them to a grove of tall strong oak trees. As she passed them she saw the many faces of her lover within and she grieved for the loss of who both she and her God had once been. She collapsed but managed to crawl her way into the center of the circle and made a nest out of the soft moss that grew around. The moss grew over her, burying her and taking her to her final resting place. She gave herself up then and let her old form die. She gave up the need for the safe limbs of that old sturdy oak tree, and then she was no more. As she gave herself up she sucked in a breath as she remembered her name then, and that in the beginning there was only she. She was once wild, sensual and free. She was whole on her own. She could not forget all that she had been through, even though she was no longer that same old self but she realized that it was her story that made her strong. She rose then feeling her old primal desires and satisfactions rising back up inside and she reached down to pet herself. She was amused to find that she was no longer a purely white mare, but that there were rings of black around her eyes, and powerful symbols which represented her scars tattooed onto her skin. She had never felt more beautiful in her entire existence. She giggled, and danced then beneath a quarter moon touching and feeling both her dark and light parts and squealing in delight. She saw a glimpse of the future then and knew that if she stayed present in her wholeness that one day her wild oak lover would return to her too. That he would also be somehow irrevocably changed in just the right ways from his journey, but that together they would make ripples that could shape time and be felt the whole world over. She no longer needed him, nor he she but their union would be stronger because of it. Like a girl that he had loved as a child, he would love her in new ways like the hunter loved the huntress, like the father loved the mother and like the sage loved the priestess. And so it is. All blessings be.
Written by Tara Nordstrom