Blessed is the fruit

Honoring He Whom Honors She

Let's pretend that once upon a time, a good jewish girl discovered the joys of sexual exploration, and because of the repressive culture she had been raised in, she didn't know about tracking her cycle and which herbs could help avoid unwanted pregnancy, and so, she became with child.

Let's pretend that to save herself from the very real threat of being stoned to death, she found inspiration in the ancient Egyptian myth of Isis' magical conception of the God Horus, and she told a little fib that altered the course of history.

Let's pretend that instead of blaming her or denying her youthful sensuality, a man who was descended from kings ignored the urging of his family to cast her down and instead chose to use the name of his ancient royal bloodline to protect her. Let's pretend he loved her enough to invite her into a sacred union whereby he claimed the child as his own, not knowing if that was actually the truth.

What if, to him, it didn't matter.

What if he saw her as precious and worthy of his love and protection regardless of her sexual purity.

What if he saw the life of this unborn child as precious and worthy of his love and protection regardless of whether it was actually his seed that sparked this little miracle.

What if his choice to commit to a very special woman with the courage to go against the pressures of society and own her sexual sovereignty, to kneel by her side in the dirt and the mud, to honor the Blood and Waters that poured from her body as she ushered in new life, to stand with her and the child in the face of adversity, to teach that young child everything he knew about being a king and a craftsman who shapes wood and earth into artfully practical tools...

What if this is the man our culture decided to venerate as God?

A man who loves and honors women.
A man who protects and nurtures children.

A man secure enough within himself to know that true kingship is not inherited through bloodlines but through presence, compassion, commitment and service to life, land, and the essential nature of wombyn.

A man with the courage to witness the raw power of the Divine Feminine in the throes of ecstatically painful birth undisturbed and uninterrupted by outside opinions on how it should be done.

A man who trusted her and her body's innate wisdom and ability to be the portal that brings the Holy Spirit down from the heavenly realms into embodied existence.

A man unafraid of screams and cries and sweat and tears and blood and unadulterated feminine emotional expression.

A man descended from kings with enough humility to kneel in dirt and straw as he encourages his woman to breathe, to feel, to emote until that crowning moment when he catches the newborn baby in his strong and gentle hands. A man who then holds vigil, tending to new life as the exhausted mother collapses into slumber, guarded by the warm soft bodies of God's living creatures.

A man who works with his hands.
A man who guides with his heart.

A man who knows the power of unwavering patience and acceptance.

This is a story I find worth acknowledging today.

This is a manifestation of God that turns me on, and who I find excitement in celebrating.

So, with all the powers vested in me as a manifestation of the Goddess here and now, I harness the power of my fruitful womb to call this God forth within myself and all men, so that we can remember the true power that comes when the Sun and the Earth come together in the sacred dance of Creation.

Story by Hannah Borababy

Artwork "The Creation of Man" by Natalie Lennard
www.birthundisturbed.com/the-creation-of-man