Palettal Prose: Hygenia Talks Back

     I am Hygieia, Goddess of Health and Healing.

Not so very long ago people revered me and danced, dreamed and prayed with passionate fervor in my name.

And now? My sister called me up yesterday, “Hey girl have you noticed how people are using your name these days? Check out this link.”

Hmmmm…Hygiene. Sleep hygiene. Sleep hygiene rules. A list of rules in my name. Do this, this and this. Do not do that, that or that. Hygiene: antiseptic, clean, controlled, sterile, sanitized. They’ve named damn sleep hygiene rules after me that don’t even seem to work because sixty million people in the United States alone can’t sleep!

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Let me remind you who I really am. I am Hygieia, Goddess of Health and Healing. I lived for centuries with my twin sister Panacea in the temples of our father, Asclepius, the doctor god. People traveled for weeks to our mystery rites to dance, pray and sleep among the priestesses and serpents, They came seeking guidance, miracles and transformation, awakening in the morning reborn, eager to face life with new vigor and vision. Our temples await you each night. You may enter any time.

Let’s go back even further, before the time of Asclepius: I am Hygieia, left breast of Rhea, Great Mother of All Beings. As we roam the earth’s sea islands and deep forests and vast plains, life-giving fluid pours from us–healing, soothing, nourishing and revitalizing.

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Sleep with us and be reborn into eternal kinship with all creatures. Sleep with us in the temple of breast, mountain, ocean, belly. Savor here the messy, rich, potent sleep of body and earth. It is not a regulated, sterilized sleep. You will not find it in a sleep lab. It may just be the sleep your restlessness longs for.

~Lea Bayles, We’Moon

Palettal Prose: Wise Woman’s Friend Gets Interviewed About How the Power Begins

sure she’s a little

different always was

the smallest kid in her class

looks into things

the way a needle slides

clean through scarlet silk

climbed a roof once

where the stars shot gold

into her sixteen years

I’ve heard her sing

on a stage with no one

able to reach her voice

she’s pepper on bread

she’s rain in December

she’s hair that curls beyond curl

catch her dancing

some silent Sunday:

she’ll spin your blood to joy

~Katharyn Howd Machan, We’Moon

Beautiful sensual women with white horse

Beautiful sensual women with white horse

Palettal Prose: How to Be a Good Ancestor

be still. listen.

slip though the needle eye of silence.

leave behind your preference for red wine, your talent for word games

your grandfather’s watch–your hair, your skin, your teeth

enter naked as bones

ask the furred, the feathered, the finned

how to ford a river, now to scale the rock cliff

how to spin your flax to gold

feel the floor beneath your absence,

the wide planks of the old house

that were once proud firs breathing out cool fog,

touch the skies those trees held up.

stand before gods that are strangers

whose language is harsh in your ears, and do not flinch

trust kindness when you find it–

the flesh surrounding the apple’s seed

the apple carried in the beak of a raven

become the raven’s fingered wings flying through time

sifting wounds and wonders

become your one unbearable wound

cry tears that freeze in six pointed geometry

then fall and fall, until they smooth the mountains

be the unmistakable snowflake

that launches the avalanche and buries the village

become the thaw

uncover a memory of wholeness

drip that sweet clean water

on the growing vine of generations

the vine that will someday flower with the twin stars

of a baby’s open hands

a baby who will cry out to you

from a dense and troubled darkness

and you will answer:

heal child, the way is in your blood.

~Sophia Rosenburg, We’Moon

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Palettal Prose: A Prayer for Guidance Through the Darkness

     Wild Woman, push us into the cauldron, swirling us into the darkest depths of the earth. Let us emerge with mud in our hair, snails on our feet, and lichen on our arms. Let owls, ravens, and starlings fly in our wake–wolves, cats, and snakes follow our footsteps. Let our spines become as thick and strong as the redwood.

Our power is endless. Our strength is staggering. Our creativity has no boundaries. Our possibilities are limitless.

~Yancy Lael, We’Moon

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