I was a God who fell to earth, a broken mess of celestial energies and mundane passions, wrapped up in an eggshell of regret and unable to find my way back to sanity. And so I came to the Haus of Matriarchy to reset my being under the firm hand of Sister Superior.
Her Goddess Temple is a portal to a parallel dimension wherein all is good, true, and in balance. As soon as I crossed the threshold I dropped to the floor, submitting myself to the Haus as all faithful Muslims do when praying towards Mecca. My forehead touched the floor, I kissed the sacred wood, and said with reverent zeal: “Hail, Herstory!”
Sister Superior welcomed me and we spent some precious time reviewing my specific case. Her wisdom soothed my troubled psyche and brought perspective to its tangled web of consciousness. My problem, being someone whose human life has completely melted away as I evolved into God-form dimensions of transpersonal cosmic grandeur, centered around being able to ground myself back on Mother Earth. In my ascent to the spaceways, I had lost touch with Isis and the Gaea frequency of planetary mind that She personifies. And so Sister Superior channeled Isis for me, assuming Her aspect as Mother Confessor, and allowed The Lamb to enact Judgment using my Book of Life. She listened, questioned, conferred and suggested all the right things as this Holy Absolution was given. The key moment came rather unexpectedly, as She was explaining to me how my now ex-Wife must have felt dealing with a mad prophet mutating his way to the stars; before I even realized it was happening, I was crying, the egg began to crack, and my feelings started to unfreeze at last.
The confessional time ended and I was privileged enough for Her to make me a meal, which we shared while continuing to discuss the madness within me. The burning regret of how I had left the ruins of my previous life was a raw nerve, exposed, pulsing, now laid bare and ready for medical attention. But before we returned to the correction chamber, I engaged in a ritual of reverence to the Haus: I washed Her dishes. This simple act was of incredible significance for me. In my life it has always been my custom to do the dishes for any Goddess. It started with my grandmother and has continued with all the Women in my life. I recommend this for every male seeking correction: Doing mundane chores for the Haus is a sacred act of devotion. It orients the ego properly.
And then it came time for my encounter with the fullness of Her Holy Force. I was instructed to take a shower while repeating the Holy mantra: “I love you, I’m sorry, please forgive me, thank you.” These words cleansed my soul and heart as the water cleansed my body. I emerged in a state of pure, clean, raw intensity. I was now a hot mess of emotional voltage, my skin tingling as kundalini coursed through my nervous system.
Naked and unafraid, a fountain of chi bursting through a puppet of flesh, I bowed to Her as She said:
“This is the way a loving Mother disciplines Her sons.”
She was dressed in simple matriarchal clothes, a long flowing skirt, a tight blouse with a homespun feel, no fancy costumes this time- just the raw perfect power of Her Divine Presence.
“You may kiss my feet,” She declared.
I fell to the hardwood floor, snaking my way to those Immaculate Toes of Doom. I carefully kissed each one on the nail and joint, then worked my way back along the top base of the foot, and finally repeated my devotions for each toe, sucking and singling out the sacred flesh, giving each digit its full due of adoration. I felt the numinosity of the Divine Feminine flow from Her toes, into my mouth, through my skull, and down my spine, where it cascaded across my skin and out into the crackling orgone aura we were summoning. By the time I finished licking and kissing them, I no longer knew my own name nor was I aware of anything other than the fact of Her wonderful existence and my soul-releasing gratitude at being able to experience this moment of religious ecstasy.
“Now,” She said softly but firmly, “I want you spread-eagled on the table.”
I quickly scrambled into position, face down across Her marvelous black stone slab. I was bound hands and feet to the corners of this Monolith as I laid out my ape-man flesh in hopes of releasing the Starchild within. Once my wrists and ankles were secured by Her Holy Leather, my head pressed down against the Monolith’s cold face, I was stunned to suddenly hear a loud, penetrating hum fill the air.
“That is the sound of Gaea’s heartbeat,” She informed me, “528 hertz. I am bringing your body’s rhythm into sync with Hers.”
The hum seemed to slice through the meat puppet of my flesh and energize the cells within. I started to feel VERY strange indeed, as if the Monolith were beginning to float through space, my body on it but my spirit riding above, looking down now on the Goddess as She went to work.
Paddles, canes, whips, and Her Holy Hands fell across me in a torrent of heavenly purification. My moans became a chorus of unconscious voices exorcising years of psychic baggage, memory cubes that I simply, could or would not face, all now melting under the flow of Her Force, transmuting the past into a present moment pregnant with a better, healed future. At one point I was apparently speaking in tongues, perhaps channeling spirits from “deep down deep” in the unconscious. My Native American shamanic powers, so recently drained and stunted by the drama of my divorce and dissolution of my old life, began to come back, suddenly, overwhelmingly, with more magickal potency than ever before. At one point it seemed that the Monolith stood up vertically, leaving me dangling upside down like the Hanged Man of the Tarot, as mysterious ancient intelligences gathered round to witness my crucifixion. Each new “Whack!” of pain brought with it another level of ethereal conversation or hallucinogenic imagery, leading to a chain-reaction of religious epiphanies. The Monolith opened beneath me as She worked Her discipline, and my Dave Bowman soon found himself revealed as the Starchild.
At some undeterminable point, the session suddenly seemed to have been over for several minutes, the sound of the Gaea heartbeat had stopped, and Sister Superior was sitting on Her couch, smiling at me, my bonds somehow having been untied. I rose up, slowly, feeling angelic wings of light beating out of my back, fluttering in the astral breeze.
She allowed me to kneel before Her and once again perform my careful and slow worship of Her feet. I sucked especially hard upon Her left big toe, mesmerized by the glowing field of stars that I saw dancing across the nail, as if She were a Celestial Giant standing ON the Milky Way galaxy.
Then She lifted me up and brought my arms around Her waist, leaning over and cradling me in Her embrace. “This is how you hug Your Mother,” She said. I clung tightly to Her delicate yet steel-strong frame, feeling the maternal acceptance and forgiveness that my heart so desperately needed. “Are you going to be a good boy, and listen to Mother?” She asked. Weeping softly with joy, I promised to do just that, as blissful abandon surged through me.