Bear Woman Golden Woman

Golden figure, golden woman, golden bear woman of great ancestry. 

There, Look! Bear woman has a cynt, the opening womb.

Look at her expression.

Look at her breasts.

Look at her hair the headdress.

Look at her legs.

Look at her hands.

Look at the zig-zags up and down her legs, ancient women sign.

Look at legs and arms bear-like. There are no human hands here!

She is found in many places. Stories run up and down the sides of of this world. Fenno-Ugric? Sámi? Kven? Karelian? Celtic? (Iberia? Ireland?) Romania? Greece? Turkey? Bulgaria? Wales? Central Asia and Korea! In Korea, she can be found in Mago, which spread to China and Japan. Maya, Mexico – Amerindian, North America. Throughout the world!

When I look at this golden figure, this relic, this ancient object, this archaeological find, I know a connection with her. She is my self. 

I am singing and dancing sacred songs in her skin. Under her hide, I know the depths – through the umbilicus, behind the umbilical cord, certainty. 

Keening-, calling-, crying-, growling songs, to my nature rises holy songs, healing songs. From a place like that, if mother earth gave a voice, we are her voice. Creation and destruction. 

I know how my Mother, Earth, under my feet, between my legs, creating an immense powerful wave-like, outward-directed vibration. 

I know sucking, melting. 

I know dance and rest. 

I know that I embrace and protect and take care of. 

I know the nature of Life. 

I know growing and shrinking shoots. 

I know the sparks of fire: their plowing, darkening, and mutable vibrant colours riding on backs of running deer, sisters and brothers, waking up more of their family. A feast of non-burning beings.

The passion of drum’s vibrations. The trembling of voices, whirling songs through the air carrying me on. 

I feel the touch of a lover and the strength of May beings flowing through me. Coalescing my hands into these hands. 

Sharp, knife like digging up, rooting up, tearing up, turning over, holding in place- hands. claws. Teeth in my lips lower and upper. No wonder others fear.

In one swipe I can feel the loss of life and the renewal. One deep morphic resonance. A sound I sense where, what and who.

Like the ants moving food into their home. Like the bees carrying their weight in gold, like the osprey lifting up the giant swimmer from the sea, such is the power in my limbs. 

She can crush a disease. She can sing and mourn the loss. She can make the hushed songs of peace and dream.

Not coming from me, for my body is no more. 

Sitting in authority, in her own authority ready to call forth and spill out words of visionary wanderers who may have come by through the ancestors. Always remembering and pulling up and forth.

Finding delight in the lover coming home through their quickened approach to the door.

Revelling in the delight of being one, yet lays separate for there is work to be done.

You! You Bear dancer, you bear woman!

Walk your own way with your fellow deep dark chested ones, honey-hearted, honey-tongued, bloody clawed ones birthing and turning, renewing.

Step out of the skin and return. Tremors shaking off.

Returning to the forest blanket.

Returning to gift and offering to and through Life.