The masculine God

The masculine God is Goddess.

Man must learn to worship the mother in all women.

The real mother; the all-mother; the spacious womb-quality which is the natural feminine principle birthing all forms that exist.

Woman is the microcosmic Mother — Matr (matter) — Maternal.

Man is the microcosmic Father — Patr (mind) — Paternal.

Spirit is within both, and spirals in eternity when mother and father unite.

These are not instructions on how to be.

These are observation of our innermost nature.

When a man knows himself, he knows that his potency is amplified in proportion to his understanding of the mother; the feminine; the material. To see and understand her means he is not lost in her, but dancing with her.

Her nature is his drinking-well of sustenance; his creative source. And when a man knows this about himself, there will be nothing he wants more than to honour his life-giver with recognition, presence, attentiveness and service.

He therefore serves woman-kind as one of many embodiments of the feminine (matr) principle. He serves the world in the noblest ways he knows, ideally in a grounded way, within the elements. He is devotion, and she is muse. When he walks upon the earth, he walks upon his mother. When he builds upon upon the earth, he builds upon his mother. When he meets his limits and collapses to his knees, hands on earth, tears in his eyes, it is his mother who holds him so he may fall no further.

Endless must be his gratitude. Eternal must be his appreciation—and if it is so, he is protected in spirit—made invincible via his self-sacrifice and energised via his generosity.

His planting, his seed, his insemination, his ideation should all be filtered through his sacred heart, with devotion and guardianship in mind. His impact upon the world is his impact upon his family, and his family is his impact upon the world, and this family is bonded by way of being, most importantly. Man makes his mind matter by implanting his work in her womb, under her skin as the seed germinates under the soil. Her pregnancy is the pause for poise and preparation; a wise whispering waiting.

His ultimate role is to look upon her as love, through love, and to remember himself through her, but never to use her selfishly, as a blindfold to forget why he is here. We are all here to see the macro in the micro, and the micro in the macro. We are all here to walk beside one another. We are all here to safeguard the one heart that beats in infinite rhythms, in infinite chests.

I won’t speak for her.

I would rather listen, and bathe myself in mystery.