For the First Eucharist was not bread upon a table
but the moon in the hands of the Goddess.
Beneath the silver chalice of night
the Dark Moon unfurled,
black velvet rose dripping with the wet force of life,
the breath held in the lungs of The Great Vastness,
the cosmic amniotic sea where all things get born and return too
Red Moon of blood and memory,
petals heavy with the ancient tide
singing the rhythm of infinite thresholds crossed,
Keeper of the Cycles!
She is the living covenant between body and cosmos
She who creates without demand!
She who bleeds without dying..
..and so White Moon of resurrection,
the vow that what falls will rise again,
that what breaks will be remade
She who offers her self again and again.
She who is consumed yet never diminished!
She who is whole even in her breaking
And so the moons turn in her muddied and bloodied hands
black, red, white
each a face of the same eternal mystery
Each a Eucharist older than the scriptures we have been told,
older than fire
It is the Goddess, The Mother, The first God
and to worship Her is to remember that we, too,
embody tides and roses,
darkness and dawn,
death and return
We are the fragments she breaks
and the wholeness she restores
She is the Eucharist,
in which we eat and remember
the ever turning, endless star-studded circle,
with the moon in our hands.
Dreamed and forged late one evening in June 2026, through the remembrance I carry of the Goddess, the First God - inspired by dear sister Sjhara who carries this remembrance too
