Why do scientists insist
MotherSpace is empty, void and violent?
I think She is violet. A deep, blue-black purple plasma
I think the dance of MotherSpace is
Magical, intense, immense--beyond the knowing mind.
The vast elemental breath of MotherSpace is creativity’s constant,
Seen in the wind rustle of tree leaves and felt in cool, silken,
breeze-touch on cheeks.
Her stormy, fierce, untamed wildness reaching deep, calls forth
heart-essence of humility.
Why would anyone insist Her creation is violent?
They say so all the time and we believe them.
I think they can’t spell.
I think they fear Her spell
Of magic violet-colored mystery.
Spectacular rainbow gas-cloud nurseries, merging,
Giving ecstatic birth to StarMothers.
This is not violent.
No. This is violet, purple, red, magenta, blue, yellow, green
Spiraling in womb-cauldron of pure divinity.
Not empty! Not void!
Pregnant MotherSpace is radiant fullness,
The birthplace of all possibility!
Words of Wisdom
Loving ourselves as we are is the greatest gift of love we can give.
I love me comes first, allowing me to open my heart to yours so that
I don’t have to take from you to try to fill my own emptiness.
Today I hung my clothesline.
I feel twisted inside even thinking about using the clothes dryer
when the sun
I gratefully hung my freshly washed garments.
Then I watched them dance in the gentle breeze,
Swaying to and fro, carefree, each with a unique rhythm.
Who sees such beauty in laundry hanging on a line?
I felt my ancestors.
I watched as the devas of sun and air
Embraced each piece,
Gently drinking the water the towels, pants and shirts offered, free
Conducting a silent concert.
And then when they were all dry
I removed them from the line,
Smelling the delicate scents of sacred elements woven in their
I thought, “lucky me”! I am going to wear the sun.
Sitting quietly on ancient rock
I feel her timeless patience enter me.
Great stone Mother—her creation stories etched into
Cracks and crevices--the green delight of life emerging, as if by
The mossy carpet appears.
I gaze into billowy fog as it crawls into the sacred vulva valley
and with enchantment I watch the reaching fingers of soft moisture
Beckoning me to watch the display of dancing vultures above in the
blue pearl vastness.
Black dakini birds swooping and circling in their sacred way.
In my heart-voice I ask them to come near. And they do.
Dancing close above my head in quiet splendor
Blessing me with their smooth black bird goddess wisdom.
Quiet reverie. Gentle breath of wing. Ancestors close.
And then the men came. Voices loud, crashing footsteps across the
Disrupting the gifting. Don’t they see? Don’t they feel the
The vultures moved their dance far off into the distance
To be seen no more
Emptying the sky of their healing.
It is time for women to awaken to our true beauty. Hear the call of
the ansisters on the wind. Awaken and Re-member the sacred circle of
sisterhood. All healing will follow.
Copyright © 2013 Leslene della Madre
Leslene della-Madre has been a student of shamanism
for 35 years and a student of Goddess spirituality for 15.
She has a background in spiritual midwifery, community
living, foster parenting, and psychology from UC Berkeley.
work with crosscultural spiritual traditions (including
Wicca, Zen, Buddhism and Native American) and her studies
with various teachers of shamanism, Leslene provides a rich
nurturing environment for healing. She has coined the word
“Shemama”– a midwife of the spirit – to describe herself in
her healing work.
Leslene is founder of
Winged Women Return, a center for empowerment through
shamanism and shamanic healing in Sebastopol, California.
She is the mother of two daughters, a stepson and a foster
son. She maintains a private practice as a shamanic
practitioner in Sonoma County.