Hathor: the Original MILF

Dancing with the Lady of the Sycamore

Being the eternal Maiden was my goal…to stay in the youthful newness and naive knowledge of my spiritual awareness. I wanted to always be fresh in the spiritual endeavors I pursued, something new and exciting at every turn. I loved the spontaneity of sex, drugs, dancing and prayer, always at the center of my life. But then I grew up…graduated college, got married and decided to procreate.  As a matter of fact, I did not really plan on having children until something happened that changed my mind forever (that is another story and psychopomp).

My biological clock ticked at every turn. My mind, where I tended to live mostly, was at odds with my body. I had to reconcile the two through very serious heart chakra focus over the course of several months, a very intensive program I worked daily. I realized the need to share my DNA, creating a sentient being was a kind of duty I had to fulfill, more so than any emotional motivation. I and my husband have a pretty interesting background in our families, both magickally and intellectually; it was up to us to continue these lines. So, long story short, by our first wedding anniversary I was heavily pregnant.

The pregnancy was difficult for everyone except Rowan; she was healthy and cute even in the womb. I had ‘borderline’ gestational diabetes and wasn’t allowed any sugars or carbs, the two things I craved most were doughnuts and fruit. When I was finally ready with the idea of doing a natural birth, my stubborn kid caused me to have a scheduled c-section; the little guru sat full lotus in my womb, what they call an ‘upright frank breech’. I tried inversion techniques, flower essence remedies, and finally my OB doctor tried to turn her manually… that little turd put her foot out EVERY time (and the procedure was horribly painful). I felt robbed of my birth experience, I had gotten so hyped up about the water birth we had planned. And now the ultimate opportunity for me to fully experience what I thought was the epidemy of womanhood was taken…but I tried being positive. I put on my REALLY big witchy panties and decided to surrender.

Surgery was strange, as I had never even broken a bone except my pinkie toe up to this point…I was more worried about my IBS flaring up than what they were about to do to my body. Between taking out all my intestines and checking for kinks (whilst my husband watched), the catheter, and i.v. pertosin drip that caused my feet and ankles to swell for weeks: I was a hot mess. The hospital room sucked because it flooded every time I took a shower; my Scorpio child’s eyes were older than her years as she seemed to watch it all with amusement. My husband’s back had gone out also, so neither of us could pick Rowan up very well. Thank goodness for family!

Although everything else had been total chaos and all of my plans to have my ideal supreme Motherhood initiation had been wrecked, it was breastfeeding in which I excelled. I was the envy of all the breastfeeding moms in our support group who had trouble producing or getting their kid interested. Mine didn’t ever seem to STOP! After Rowan was finished eating, I could still pump almost a whole ounce of milk…that is actually pretty impressive. I felt like a milk machine! I was sitting in the lazy boy (my feeding station) every two hours, drinking water, watching a movie or reading. I couldn’t drive because of the incisions, I went for walks when the sun was shining that winter, but I was pretty much a lactating hermit.

My spiritual connections were on the dregs; nothing was making sense for me spiritually. I couldn’t ground, I was out of whack as my body shifted and shaped into something that it used to resemble. I was forced into it face first: the blood, vomit, shit, staples…dreams came back since I stopped during pregnancy. In the first of many visions, a woman visited me…She was curvaceous, glided towards me from a desert landscape…She looked Egyptian with the cobra at Her brow, make up glittering in the sun. I took Her to be Isis, the only Goddess I really knew from this pantheon. She told me to gather women together, there was work to be done and I was to pool together my connections and networking skills to make it happen. So I did…I contacted friends I hadn’t spoken to in years or that had always wanted to do some Goddess work but didn’t know where to begin…witches and pagans, it mattered not. And we met a few times, once for a full moon esbat as well. It wasn’t until we decided to meet on the night before Valentine’s I thought some kind of beauty or love ritual would be good to do. However, during my research it was revealed She was not Isis, but Hathor/Hetheru.

The symbol of the horns is often misconstrued for being the horns of Isis…in fact, they are borrowed originally from our Mother Hetheru; the cow-headed one who is mother to Heru, or Horus. It was the horns I was initially drawn to, but it was Her breasts I connected with. She is the Mother who nurtures and nourishes, but on the same token is a sex kitten. This was an interesting concept to wrap my mind around; no longer was the Goddess only compartmentalized into the Mother, Whore, Virgin, or Crone/Death categories…Hathor is all. She can be the sexy and playful Bastet who is virginal in Her innocence. Hathor is sensual in the partaking of all earthly delights including drinking, sex and dancing whilst donning the mantle of holy slut. As Lady of the Sycamore She is the comforter on the beginning leg of the Death’s journey…feeding and nurturing the Ka before we face our ultimate trial. She is also the wrathful Mother Sekhmet, protective Lioness of loved ones, young and old. Hetheru is one complicated, muti-faceted lady that I could identify with on so many levels. She is the original MILF (“Mom I’d Like to Fuck” for those who do not know the term), the belly dancing whilst breastfeeding mama, claws that scratch backs and shreds in vengeance.

Mothers don’t have to be June Cleaver, nor do they have to be liberal slobs like the character on ‘Roseanne’. We can be our own sexy selves, in these bodies which change and morph into however we respect it. Dancing in my heart, Hathor is a sister to me; reminding gently how to be a good mother, a sexy wife, and a fierce witch when provoked just right. Whilst I do not pray to Her on a daily basis (every Friday is dedicated to Her), She is ever in my thoughts and is watching from afar during my spiritual experiments. She still has much to teach me as I experience Her in different guises; the latest being red-haired Babalon from before the Egyptians. Whatever Her lessons, they radiate as the Sun in my Eastern bedroom… where my heart can roam free.

Het-Heret, Lady of Malachite,

Beautiful Cow in the starry night,

Horned Mother, giver of blessed milk,

Lover of comforts who moves like silk,

I honour you with my own heart-ways:

To your regal beauty, I give praise.

Mistress of the Sycamore, Dancer on the Nile,

with sincerity and devotion I offer a smile.

 

 

WytchfawnHathor: the Original MILF

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