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The Goddess as Womb

Liam Agius 

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

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

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.




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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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


'Ġgantija, the Giants' Island Temple', c. 3600 B.C. 


'Seated Goddess of Çatalhöyük', c. 6000 B.C.

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