Garden of Delights: A Sourcebook for Qadishti, Hierodulai and En Priestesses

Priestess card from Thoth tarot

I think it's time. Is it? Perhaps ...

In the service of nearly every Goddess of Love, there have been women (and men) who have performed sacred sexual functions.  This truth holds, even today, when sex is seemingly divorced from its sacred nature, and there are still those who serve the great Goddesses of Love through acts of love and pleasure.

I've collected material for quite some time that I believe will be of help to the women and men who choose to pursue this aspect of service to Love. Moreover, I know that my peers have developed and collected material, as well. Though perhaps none of us has enough on our own to create the perfect guidebook, we may find that together we have just such a resource.

I envision a book in which the many and diverse members of this movement share the vision and reality of the sexual priest/ess-hood, offer a treasure trove of practical and inspirational rituals, and provide practical advice for dealing with the ups and downs of life in service to Love.

This Garden of Delights may be approached by many gates and crossed by several paths, as, indeed, there is endless variety of color, texture and fragrance among each of its lovely blossoms.

The Lorelei (a poem)

I am the Flood that drowned Man --
the Sea that swallows and soothes.
From my cup, honey is
poured onto the stone --
and wine
and brine --
and all the Ocean is come unto you,
my Love, my Lover.
I am the raging storm,
the tempest
that rocks the bark
and whips the sails and seamen
to frenzy
before lulling all into watery dreams
of me.
Come, dive into these depths,
be dashed upon my rocks,
and be lost in the waters
of bliss.

Flight #2 (a poem)

Enmeshed,
entwined in flight
we fight
and love, my Love,
and seek new heights.
We mate, my Mate,
above the land
above the sea
with hand in hand --
and belly to spine --
we climb and find
the sun and stars --
the Heavens -- OURS!

Then fall back down
with roars
to ground
and lie, as dead.
Then curl and coil
to stretch and rise.

but in your eyes
I see the light
of flight
and fight,
my Mate, my Love.

Prism (a poem)

I once had color in my world,
the spectrum all was mine.
I burned with reds and burnished orange,
with rose and gold, I shined.

My greens were spring's awakening
and summer's heavy leaf.
My blues and purples sang of sea
and ocean's lively reef.

I danced and sang and wove them all
with beauty and with grace.
But now the task is far too hard
and I must turn my face.

When did my colors all run grey,
tinged with brown and black?
I miss the beauty of sun and sky.
I want my rainbow back.


3/10/09 Please note the date. I am currently a very happy girl. However, this is perhaps a good time to educate people a little about depression and bipolar disorder. We experience such stigma related to mental health issues, and it's time we talk more openly about our experience. I believe that my experience as a person with bipolar has enriched my life and love in many ways, but it also presents obstacles and challenges. Thank the Universe for the love and support of Glaux and IronDragon and our family!

For more info on bipolar, check out:

Mental Health Today: Bipolar Disorder Today
National Institute of Mental Health: Bipolar Disorder
National Library of Medicine: Bipolar Disorder
Bipolar Education Foundation

Command Performance (a poem)

Brighid

"Write me a poem," my Lady says --
a bright command swathed in
dense, sheer light,
the burning tip of the candle I burn
in Her name.

The Flame is a Mystery,
a sacred sign
in the hands of the profane,
who never take the time to consider
the brilliance
beyond
the
illumination.

"I am a child of Flame," I tell Her
in my child's voice,
and I know the Mystery is only half-revealed.

To be the Fire and that which is consumed
To be the candle
and the match
and the woman who keeps the Flame --

Thus is She who commanded the poem
and the poet
and the dense, sheer light of poetry.

written 2/7/06

Mantis (a poem)

Walk in the temple
with cold, hard, swirled marble
beneath
small, warm feet.

Beyond the white barriers
black night has fallen.

candlelight glows on smooth walls
while incense burns a swirling smoky
path that I follow to the
chamber of the Lady.

Small bells and mellow drums
sound out the chant
that will bring me to Her --
bring Her to Me.

Pink petals, white feathers flutter
to the cream and silver floor
and She touches my shoulder --
a warm hand between my shoulder blades.
The sea flows to the ground
as we share
my body.

Her words drip from my honeyed lips.
Her eyes take in the beauty laid out before me.
Her ticklish fire exudes from my skin,
lighting passion and pleasure,
bonfires and hearthfires
and warm, fuzzy glows in those
SHE touches.

The glow dims and She is gone,
and only I am left with
the whisper:

"I am always here."

Awen (a poem)

Ancient prayer of Druid bards --
Awen.
Inspiration of poetic arts --
Awen.
Call for grace in tongue and pen --
Awen.
The spoken spirit descends on men --
Awen.
Three rays of ancient, cosmic force --
Awen.
Silver, golden, and unknown source --
Awen.
Holy power my words invest --
Awen.
That with the Awen I might be blest.

awen.
Awen.
AWEN.

"Alchemy" and "To Hephaestus" (two poems)

I couldn't stop myself. I had to share the other two. Consider them a matched trio. I'm particularly interested in this relationship right now, so I want others thinking about it, too, I suppose.

"Alchemy"

Tvbal Qayn
Tu’Bal Cain
Vul’can
Mighty man of fire
and alchemy.
Bender, shaper, tansmuter
of hardened steel
and supple gold.
Towering, hard,
sweaty, sooty, calloused,
bruised, burned and burnished.
Feared and outcast,
your gifts have two-edges.
Sword, plough, golden sash.
Her passion for you,
Her cooling quench –
These are Mysteries most won’t see.
How can Fire and Water love?

"To Hephaestus"

The iron weight of your
measured silence and step
might crush me,
though I’ve put my golden
suppleness intentionally
in your sights.
You owe me no tenderness,
no obligatory care.
I will not ensnare you.
… but …
How I long to hold you,
enfold you, caress you,
entice you, excite you, inspire you.
Oh, how I desire you!
The smallest touch is bliss,
but I am of the Ocean and
I want more.
Your light and fire and heat
to meet
my rush and flow and wave.
The lava and the sea foam –
Life’s Elixir –
for us to share.

Again, if you're interested in devotional poetry for Aphrodite, I highly recommend Crown of Violets, which contains the work of several poets and artists.

Bonds of Love (a poem)

You are
steady, strong, skilled,
kind, compassionate --

You see in me the beauty you would create --
the jewel adorned by your devotion;
the love of the mother, the matron,
the mistress.

You want me
covet me
protect me
possess me
hide me
hurt me
by denying in your heart
and mind
what I AM.

You suffocate me in the
soot of your furnace
and forge iron bars for a gilt cage.

This golden band binds me to you.

But I wear the golden belt you made for me
and from it hangs the shining key,
my secret solace.

Though I love you and choose my bonds,
Hear me, Husband:

Even a beautiful cage
inspires escape
now
and again.


This poem is one of three that I've written that explores the relationship between Aphrodite and Hephaestus. The other two, "Alchemy" and "To Hephaestus" can be found in Crown of Violets -- and perhaps elsewhere on the on web. The current piece is actually the first that I wrote, and I am only now typing it and sharing it.

Vinalia Rustica Renovations

Poor 'Dite. Her shrine at Our Haven Nature Sanctuary has been terribly battered this past spring.

The Shrine at Beltaine, in the midst of the storms.

Indiana, here in the Midwestern portion of the United States, got abused by rains and winds starting in March that lasted until ... well, they haven't quite stopped yet, to be honest. The arbor that had once beautifully arched over the shrine was uprooted in one of the nastier storms, breaking both the arbor AND the Aphrodite icon. (Yes, her head is missing. It's shameful. I hate it.)

My plan is to rebuild the arbor from sturdier materials that are rooted deeper into the ground. The statue wouldn't have fallen if the arbor hadn't hit it. The arbor, of course, is necessary for the climbing roses that were purchased by an Aphrodite devotee last year. (The roses are doing fine, by the way. They just need something to climb on again.)

I'm not the only person who cares for the shrine, but I am among very few. Those few of us have also discussed laying gardening plastic with mulch atop it in the circle where the shrine sits. The circle is called the Great Rite Spiral, and it is too small a space to mow effectively, which is why our lovely Aphrodite Shrine is always getting overgrown. (The rain this year was a contributing factor for these pictures, as well. The circle sits in a slightly wet piece of land, which is great for the Chinese Hedgerows that will eventually form the spiral labyrinth. But it can get boggy in a lot of rain, and overgrown if the mower can't get in.)

So ... on behalf of the Aphrodite Shrine and the Great Rite Spiral at Our Haven, I am collecting donations of the following materials (or money, via PayPal):

The Shrine before the storms (last July).

Aphrodite Statue
Four 4x4x8 wooden posts
Quik-crete
Wire
Gardening Plastic
Mulch (cypress)

Monetary donations may be made to PayPal at:

Work will begin on this project at Vinalia Rustica on Thursday, the 18th of August, 2011. Donations may be made at any time, before or after.

Dost Seek Balance, o Libra?

Realizing that it was time for a change in my magical life, and that Aphrodite was all in favor of said change, Laurelei runs in the direction of the Forge. The scales tip wildly out of balance. (Who'd have guessed?) Almost immediately, I am flooded (pun intended) with messages regarding Aphrodite ... ("Come speak at this event about your book...", "I have a question about Her ...", etc.).

No, little Libra, you shouldn't abandon the stars and the sea to play only amongst the soot and the fire. Balance.

But don't forsake the hammer and tongs (and alchemical magic and Father Qayin) in the golden bower.

Balance.