I am the face of the Moon when it is full of light.
I am the Creator and Preserver,
Mother and Nurse,
Dea Creatrix and Dea Nutrix,
the Theotokos, the holy vessel,
the bearer of the white draft of fostering.
I have been known in other times as
Isis to the Memphites,
Gaea and Deo to the Helenes,
Danu and Brigid to the Hiberni,
and by many names which are now forgotten.
I am the fire that warms the hearth,
the goddess of the hearth and home,
the goddess of childbirth and motherhood.
I am she who lay with Iason in a thrice-plowed field.
I am she who bore Apollo under a palm tree.
I am she who nursed Horus from my own breast.
I am she who mourned for Adonis in the summer
and wept for Tammuz in the autumn.
I am she who sought for my daughter Kore in vain.
I am she who gathered the members of my husband
Osiris from the banks of the Nile.
And I am she who steered the barge of Artu to Avalon.
In the form of a woman, I am tall, and robed in green,
swelling and pregnant,
with the moon under my feet,
and a garland of stars in my hair.
In my left hand, I hold blades of corn,
and in my right, twining serpents.
But at times I take other shapes.
Some there are who have seen me
standing like a tree under heaven,
crowned with the Sun,
with my roots in the waters of the deep,
and the winds speaking in my leaves.
And from my branches
there spilled a golden dew
upon the barren earth,
and it grew green with corn.
I am the power of the gods in their seasons.
My tears are the rain, shed in pain and in laughter.
My breath is the wind, exhaled in ecstasy and in labor.
My heart is the fire that warms the hearth.
My body is the earth, thy womb and thy tomb.
Listen to the sighing of the Heavens to the Earth,
and of the Deeps to the Stars.
Hasten to me and I shall answer the Heavens
with the grain, and the wine, and the oil.
I will be thy goddess,
and thou shalt be my child.
Son/Daughter of earth,
plunge yourself into the sea of matter
that is my body,
for it cradled you long ago.
You had thought to flee from me,
to live in a world of pure thought and spirit.
But you were like to have perished of hunger,
for I am the oil for you limbs,
the blood for your veins,
the water for your soul,
the world for your mind.
The Pharisees condemn me and waste away.
Wise men say, “Matter is dead, matter is evil,”
but their words are at variance with life,
and they perish in the deserts of their minds.
My path is not knowing,
And these are my words,
the words which spell your liberation:
“This is my body.”
You have called me and I am here.
You have need of me in order to grow,
and I have need of you to be made holy.
Always you have desired me without knowing it.
Always I have been drawing you to me.
“… the white draft of fostering”: from Caitlin Matthews’ King Arthur and the Goddess of the Land: The Divine Feminine in The Mabinogion