I am the stuff of legends, a luminous star in the sky, a drop of rain, a woman in pain, I am the Goddess. I live in folklore, with tales of thunderous Athena, Persephone the whore, the wild-haired Venus, always making an uproar. In modern times I am an atheist, I belong to no religion. Wiccans and Pagans do not understand who I am, though they connect to my essence. I am the “Kooshamah” (the forgotten one). God, you all believe, is a man.
I am lonely, but not alone. I have no home. I wander and I roam, from town to town, city to city, galaxy to galaxy trying find who I am. I am not a man, but I am.
I was born of Jacobia Escaflu, the Great Father, the Creator, I am his daughter “Prospertina” (a person of great wealth in character, a soulful one, a beautiful one, the Goddess as energy “Shallalindrea”). The God, like all Gods, needed a soul mate, I am her, a part of him that is “feminine” (pretty and soulful and joyful and lustful and “som” (somber and able to feel things greatly and deeply and painfully, more than he).
I am the one who plants flowers, cooks in my cauldron, makes art and writes poetry, makes love like a jewel, is the beautiful one, the “sasaflah” (gentle one), the “heenshah” (the loved one), the “fonce” (the forgotten one who is not forgotten but is forgotten and turned into folklore as an old wives tale, I live within the herbs, the trees, the earth, the bees, but I am not a wild-haired human who is the God of the world, because that is absurd).