The Goddess as Womb

Liam Agius 

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In the beginning was the womb, grown heavy and wet, and the world was contained in its waters.

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Womb begat tomb as life began its dance with death, setting the cosmic waltz in motion.

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From the gap between IS and IS NOT sprouted pure potential - the perfect hermaphrodite spewed forth from chaos-cum-cosmos to wail out the ancient syllable: OMM.

 

Omm. Ma. Om. 

 

These words hold power over their recipient. 

 

They are at once an evocation and a charm, and the newborn babe, most potent of sorcerers, needs only name its mother to put her under its spell.

 

This spell, once cast, can never be broken.

 

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As Odysseus plumbs Mediterranean depths, feeling the sea displace his breath, he understands that this is the womb of the world.

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She is the mother of all seas, and her shores have known her worship since giants walked the land.

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Her waves shaped the curves of their ancient idols, and echoes of her uterine depths resound throughout their island fanes.

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From her foam were formed the primeval Venuses of Ġgantija, of Çatalhöyük, of the Phrygian goddess in whose tabernacles men were made eunuchs.

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For she is a mother to be loved and feared – who would just as soon wrap you in her warm embrace as dash your brains against the rocks.

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Her fury is the dance of life, and her peace is the sleep of death.

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Her throne is built from scallop shells, the coral reefs her bed.

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In the gleam of her waters you may find your mirror.

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So look upon the sea, o man, and behold thy mother.

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You had best take good care of her, lest you make an orphan of yourself.