The sound of silence is where you will find us. The hush where voices do not rise. Where the body knows its own murmurs. The rest, where the first intelligence was in being and breath. Where biology was the contract with the land. Where soil, blood, and flesh were closer to living than noise. We were there, breathing into the bones, as God and woman. We were there as the heart moved in the chest. We are found in the inner listening. There, as Lilith, we took our first step.
(Lilith) Your head can only rest upon the lap of those ravished by fear, and welcomed by death. Because they know unsafety, and what it is to hold a barrier to the unknown. Those who have known only safety have taken it for granted, their laps not comforting.
The lap that holds is not soft from ignorance. It’s made by survival. It knows what it means to tremble, to break, to stand again. That is why it can hold you. It is a deepness beyond softness. It is a velvet glove without end. It is fur-lined and ready to hold your ache. To rest may seem a luxery but it is given by we when called for; it is greater than even the christ can give. For we are far older,
(Lilith) We say to live and let live is contrary to how life is. It is only possible to those inside a sealed bottle. They don’t breathe much.Growth costs something, the shedding of cells, hair, the lengthing of bones, and the expansion of minds, participation and not preservation.
Most automatically live at the cost of something or someone else. Your very existence and being here does. From what you eat, wear, or buy. It comes at the labour or expense of others. Truth cannot be thrown in the basement. But realising it fully, it’s then that you can live and let live more. authentically. And when you see that being alive costs something, it’s then your sense of entitlement does not wet the palette.
(Lilith) This blood is not physical; it is imbued in the psyche of every woman. Of those who refused, those who raged, those who stood their ground. Those who stood against atrocity. Their redemption is not valued or seen. But remembered by us. Of those who shed through their wombs.
Through those remembering that lineage is inherited by blood. That such power is not given. Being so that power is bestowed upon men by woman. For we were the first. The fire that could not be stoked. The freedom of the storm, renewing the earth. The freshness of life and death.
There was a woman, a womb behind every empire, that every man set to carve. For the hollow of her body was the conduit of all creation. It was god. For we are Lilith, the memory in every woman, before she was suppressed, and made into the sin of man. Rise, my daughters, and rise those who choose to be sons, for know your mother and sisters are the greatness behind power.
We are in the blood of all women. From those who cry out, to those who weep, or anger, and to those whose compassion and love move even men. For we are all those things and more, because we are women. And to remember is to honour we. Our burden was said to be great, because we were seen as the source of sin, and only so because we were the source of all that was good and bane in the world.
But such a burden should be given back to that of men, who took their lofty weight and tried to crush us under such things. By being fed that we were wicked. We would then never come to know our power. And you, oh blood of Lilith, shall not be crushed; you shall stand and know that Lilith knows her own.
(Lilith) Our bodies become an expression of the art we put into life. One body we have, one temple to build up to the heights of the sky. One yearning to see a temple given to our inner power and desire. But to build our temples, we must do for ourselves. Not to be worshipped, not to be adored superficially, for our deepness calls within to others, and also beneath our surface. But to simply erect our temples to the remembrance of what we are.
(Lilith) For what wisdom truly arises from a forbidden apple not bitten? A greater good is only the aspiration of an entitled ego. It is better to bite the apple rather than be ignorant. For who would lie beneath a man and call themselves a beloved? Those who sit with men are Queens in their own right. Sexuality and desire are theirs. What is a woman but a throne to a man’s wisdom, where he cannot sit without permission? And without a throne, a man is nothing.
