Deeply enmeshed with my moon blood offerings, I am reminded of my thirteen year old self being so alone and bewildered with 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅? Wrapping toilet paper in bundles to create makeshift pads, feeling abandoned into this womanhood.
My body remembers, for she is the record keeper and she asks of me to feel through these old woundings of shame and being attacked by my own feminine lineage with the words that I was "disgusting", that my blood was a problem and like me should be locked away and not seen or to be dealt with.
Sometimes the womb must wail, for her grief to be heard, indignation felt fully, fire of consummation and I gave her space today on this cycle day two to burn that toxic feminine template through.
Gentleness follows exhaustion, I simply allow it for what else is there to do? These are the days of womb gnosis, no will could match its perfection.