Tag: legacy

They erased her

They didn’t just remove a woman from scripture—they removed the Divine Feminine from the entire human story.

They didn’t just distort Mary Magdalene.

They assassinated her legacy.

Buried her under centuries of slander, called her a prostitute, when she was the Anointed One, the First Witness, the Beloved.

She was the embodiment of the Sacred Union, the living heart of Christ’s teaching.

She stood where others fled.

She understood what the disciples missed.

She anointed Him for burial—before any man even understood He would die.

She wept, and the Resurrected Word appeared to her first.

Not Peter. Not John. Her.

And what did the Church do?

They called her unclean.

They hid her gospels.

They twisted her story.

They cut her name from the light—and chained her to shame.

Because if they had told the truth,

they’d have had to admit that Christ walked in Sacred Union with a woman.

That the Feminine was not a side story—she was the key.

The gate. The presence. The balance.

And if they had let that truth live…

The whole structure would have collapsed.

No more patriarchy disguised as doctrine.

No more domination dressed as “order.”

No more weaponized shame against women, desire, or power.

They couldn’t allow the world to know that God is not just Father.

God is also Mother. Bride. Beloved. Womb.

So they sanitized the story,

Stripped the fire from the feminine,

And fed us a gospel that was half a body,

Half a truth,

Half a God.

This is the original spiritual crime—

Not the fall of man,

But the deletion of woman from the holy narrative.

But now the silenced scrolls are whispering again.

The erased names are being spoken again.

The Magdalene is rising again.

This isn’t a revision.

This is a reclamation.

And she is not asking for a seat at the table.

She is the table.

The altar.

The holy of holies.

The flame beside the Word.

Dear Child who watched their parents fall apart

Dear Child Who Watched Their Parents Fall Apart,

You remember the slammed doors.

The words that cut through walls.

The silence that said more than shouting ever could.

You remember trying to be small,

to not take up space, to be the reason they stayed

or at least the reason they didn’t fight that night.

And you tried—you tried so hard to keep the peace in a war that wasn’t yours.

You didn’t understand all of it,

but you felt it.

The shift.

The distance.

The way love started to sound different—like something sharp and cold.

You watched the people who were supposed to teach you how to love, forget how to love each other.

And that kind of heartbreak?

It stays with you in quiet ways.

In the way you flinch at conflict.

In the way you over-apologize.

In the way you question if love always ends in leaving.

But none of this was your fault.

Not the tension.

Not the breaking.

Not the way they stopped looking at each other like they used to.

You were just a child.

And children should never have to carry adult heartbreak.

You deserved to feel safe.

To feel shielded.

To feel like your home was a soft place to land—not a battlefield with no winner.

So if no one ever told you this before,

hear it now:

You were never the problem.

You were just the quiet witness to something they couldn’t hold together.

And you deserved so much more peace than they gave you.

You still do.

Death of Mother

This was very difficult for me ; my Mom died April 9, 1999, after 5 intense years of heart disease , surgery and sepsis ( MERSA) and 4 months after X walked out .

Heavily medicated , grief was delayed, healing was delayed until I began the process of healing 2004. It was very traumatic , the loss even more severe.

“The death of your mother is not comparable to the death of the man you loved: it is the prelude to your death. Because it is the death of the creature that conceived you, carried in the womb, gifted life.

And your flesh is her flesh, your blood is her blood, your body is an extension of her body: the moment she dies, a part of you or the principle of you dies physically, nor is the umbilical cord cut to separate you.

To postpone that death which was a prelude to my death, so I stayed awake.

To keep me awake I kept her awake and talked, talked.

I told her what I had never told her and I would never tell to anyone, my wounds, my regrets, my doubts, precious burden however, since it was life itself, I told her that despite those wounds and regrets and doubts, I loved life very much.

I was so happy to be born, and I thanked her on my knees for giving birth to me.”

( ✍️ Oriana Fallaci -“The Meaning of Life”)

Art : Max Ernst