Sacred Womb
Inside your sacred womb,
Your warmth,
Love,
And peace embraced me
Clinging to my bare skin
White, weary and weak,
As I shed the cloak of invisibility
Doctrine and patriarchy.Inside your sacred womb,
Your words,
Your light,
Your shadow
Soothed my soul,
My fears,
My worries
From ages old and new,As the layers of cloth, life and trauma
Fell swiftly from my naked skin,
To the wet cold floor,
Fading into the cracks we call home,
Drenched in your love
Wrapped in your mercy
Born of your embrace.Inside your sacred womb,
Of water pure, fresh and new,
I took those steps
With you,
Nestled in your embrace
Poised in peace
And ready for truth
As I held your hand
Of love, light and reassurance
Washing away my longing for love,
As you held me in gratitude.Inside your sacred womb,
I stood whole,
In spirit, life and truth.
Ready for renewal
Re-imagining
And re-awakening,
I lightly sunk deep into your waters,
A journey made
Step by step,
Foot by foot,
Half a torso deep,
Yet com
Whole, and content.Inside your sacred womb,
I found your life
Love
And radiance
Saturated deep inside my heart
With each sacred drop refreshing my mind, body and soul,
As I bathed not in water wet, cold and deep
But in your blessing,
Your wisdom,
Your welcoming.Inside your sacred womb,
I released the shackles of shame, sin and oppression,
To rise again,
Whole and complete,
Immersed before your altar,
Standing before your cradle,
Flame to flame,
Head to toe in your shadowy glow of embrace,
Refreshed,
Invigorated,
Reborn.For inside your sacred womb
Of wisdom,
Love
And truth,
I found anew,
Peace,
Love,
Gratitude,
And
Light.God is Great.
(Elizabeth Arif-Fear, November 2024 ©)
If ten years ago (during the peak of my era as an Orthodox Muslim), someone had told me that one of the best weekends of my life would be spent at Glastonbury on a spiritual pilgrimage, immersed in the power of the Divine Feminine and English paganism, I’d never have believed it.
Two days of meditating in the Goddess Temple embraced by the warm energy of the Divine Feminine, taking me from gratitude, to grief and finally to peace.
Two days of bathing in a sacred White Spring devoted to the Goddess, surrounded by candles, crystals and murals.
And two days of walking alongside witches, pagans and people of various views alike in memory of persecuted witches.
Nope, I’m not sure I’d have believed them – or wanted to.
Disbelief, fear, disgust, distain. This is possibly how I’d have quite possibly responded.
Disbelief that I’d have “gone astray” off the “right path”.
Fear of “shirk” (blasphemy away from tawheed – pure monotheism) – the only unforgiveable sin after death (shirk being forgiven if we sincerely ask for it during our time on Earth).
Disgust at my future misguided self. And disdain for the polytheistic practices that I knew nothing about but disliked fervently.
Paganism. It was a dirty word. A sinful word. A word of lust, greed and recklessness.
Yet during those two days, I felt alive. I felt replenished. I felt at peace.
I was revitalised. Alive, angst-free and literally glowing.
Spending the weekend with fellow writer Matt, his goddaughter and one of our best friends, Matt later recalled how he’d never seen me so calm, happy and at peace.
Later recalling the weekend at home, my father and step-mother didn’t quite share my passion for the Divine Feminine and the sacred bathing.
But, what they did remark was how refreshed, happy and well I looked.
It was quite remarkable.
Of course, I’d enjoyed a great weekend with some of my closest friends.
Yes, I’d taken a break away from the humdrum of daily life.
And, I’d visited a new place in the green countryside of Somerset (only a few miles from where my paternal grandfather grew up I discovered prior to visiting).
But, it was more than that. Much more.
I’d let go. I’d shed years of anxiety, religious trauma, fear and body shaming.
I’d embraced the now, the good that was my life and made a vow: no more anxiety.
For as soon as I entered the White Spring that Friday evening after we arrived, I felt the most glowing sense of warmth and peace. It was nothing short of magical.
Sat in one of the womb-like corners, surrounded by statues of “The Goddess”, candles, ribbons and fellow pilgrims, I cried.
Cried of gratitude. Complete and utter gratitude.
Alhamdulillah. Allahu Akbar.
I sat, I embraced God and I told myself that I was ok and that everything would indeed be ok.
The Divine Goddess was there. Her energy. Her love. Her warmth. And I could feel it.
Held, embraced and thankful. I was thankful to Allah for everything that I’d been blessed with and everything that wasn’t real – the doubts, fears, worries and anxieties.
It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever felt.
Prior to arriving in Glastonbury, I’d of course expected it to be an emotional weekend.
A weekend of feeling, thinking and reflecting. Of confronting my fears, my tears, of reaching out to God through each drop (as was usually the case).
Matt had briefed me on what to expect before we left the Midlands.
Yet, from that moment in the spring temple, I spent the weekend beaming, smiling, glowing.
Peaceful, happy, radiant, calm.
Calm. That’s quite a special state for someone with ADHD (with an emphasis on the hyperactivity).
Happy Liz would be loud, noisy, laughing and fun.
Calm, serene, glowing with peace Liz: now that was something else. Something rare.
Well, what can I say?
It’s the magic of Glastonbury. A place where God belongs to no one.
A place where God isn’t the patriarchy of men, but the beauty of Her Creation.
A place everyone is welcome (I was particularly delighted to see a Sikh pilgrim throughout the weekend).
This is a place where spirituality is normal, embraced and treasured.
Where no one judges and where, as so bluntly Matt put it: “where you have permission to be weird… It’s the ‘normal’ ones who seem strange.”
I’ve always said: there is no such thing as normal.
The point on the spectrum where society chose to fix the world is subjective. And if that’s “normal”, I’m happy to be “weird”.
Yet, here’s the thing: spirituality isn’t weird. It’s healthy. It’s real.
And at Glastonbury it was real as sitting and eating lunch, going for a walk or taking a shower.
What isn’t healthy is religious trauma, religiously sanctified body shaming, and patriarchal religious institutions.
For as much as I enjoyed evening service at Well’s Cathedral (a stunning building with a beautiful choir), it wasn’t Glastonbury.
It was seeped in religious masculinity, of institutional faith and structural tradition.
The people were lovely, the music was soothing and the architecture is stunning.
But: it’s also very masculine (even with a woman priest leading the service).
I of course was incredibly glad to (as always) relive my childhood faith. To once again recall the Lord’s Prayer. And to light a candle per my usual tradition.
I was also particularly delighted to “rewrite” my childhood as an Anglican who had always been told “you can’t have the communion – you’ve not been confirmed.”
This time, I wanted to embrace God, to share the service in every way possible.
And so that evening, I stood before the vicar. And I took communion.
I ate the thin bread wafer. I drank the wine. And I felt one chapter closing, and another opening.
I was happy. I was glad. I was grateful.
An hour and a half later, I was however also delighted to head back to Glastonbury.
The place where less than a few hours before, I’d stripped away years of religious doctrine around the female body (hijab) and lowered my bikini-clad self into the cold water of the White Spring.
Immersing myself under the water before the Goddess’ altar, I made a promise to myself: no more anxiety. To the future.
A baptism? A mikvah? A rebirth.
A rebirth of shedding away the masculine “God” that I’d been taught from childhood. Of taking back my body.
And of moving past my conversion into one of the most patriarchal cultural and religious communities to currently exist.
Alhamdulillah. God is Great.
I’m not going backwards.
Next time, there’ll be no bikini.
Allahu Akbar. Our Creator, Our Goddess: She is Great.
“THE GODDESS is alive in Glastonbury, visible for all to see in the shapes of the sacred landscape. She is soft as the rounded hills of Her body and sweet as the apple blossom that grows in Her orchards.
Here Her love enfolds us every day and Her voice is always near, carried on the wind, whispering through the mists of Avalon.
Her Mysteries are as deep as the Cauldron She stirs, taking us down into Her depths and lifting us up to Her heights.
She is our Source, our Inspiration and our Love.”
Dedication
This blog is dedicated to my late mother. Big thanks also go to Matt for arranging the trip and for everyone who joined us.
Thanks also go to those managing the White Spring and the Goddess Temple, and to everyone who makes Glastonbury what it is. Thank you!
This post was originally published on Voice of Salam.