blood mysteries

art - @serpentfire

words- me

I was not the little girl who was afraid of those first shades of pink tinting my underwear.  I longed for my moon the way some longed for their crush of the week.  Being a “late-bloomer” (as mom would say) I felt like all my other friends had it figured out, and I cried at night wondering if I would ever cross that magical threshold to womanhood.

There was an innate awareness in me that to bleed, was to hold a secret. 

The first time I sat for an ayahuasca ceremony in Peru, I was just finishing my moon. The shaman said I could join if I chose to, but I was warned that menstruating women are usually excluded.  It is not because we are unclean, but because we hold so much power we can sway the energy of a ceremonial space. I’d never heard it described that way, but didn’t give it much thought as I charged ahead.

That night I entered one of the deepest inner journeys of my life, simultaneously painful and pleasurable, as I quite literally “re-birthed” myself.  However, the other woman in ceremony fell asleep, and after two doses, my partner at the time had no effect at all from the medicine.  I don’t believe it was a coincidence, but rather this “power” was real. 

When we’re on our moon we act as magnets, pulling energy in (both good and bad) like the moon pulls the tides.  So what if our cramps are a manifestation of the pain around us, as much as our own unprocessed emotion?  What if our p.m.s is a warning that our environment might be toxic?  And what if our rivers of tears and blood are in fact alchemically purifying it all?

I wonder how our feminine intuitive compassion could grow if we were conscious and empowered in the rites of our blood mysteries? Maybe taking space for alchemy during our moon is not only an act of Love for ourselves, but for others too.  And even though its invisible, maybe from the safety of our own sanctuary we end up doing the real “work” for our tribe.