This is not “she” against “he.”
This is a battle cry.
The Divine Feminine is not sleeping.
She is still here, collectively. She has never been gone. She’s here in every woman, and in every awakened man who refuses to live in old paradigms.
When they have tried to eradicate Her from history; She has fought back.
And when She has, the wolves have come out of their dens.
They are everywhere now—growling, furious. They’re not going down without a fight.
They are so bold they no longer wear sheep’s clothing. They howl their misogyny and their racism right in our faces.
They see Her in the faces of their lovers, their daughters and their mothers, and that terrifies them.
They mistake her fury for hysteria.
They mistake her compassion for weakness.
They objectify Her. But She can not be owned.
The first time I came up against a wolf, I was 16 and pregnant. I was called to the principal’s office. He told me to drop out. He told me I would end up a prostitute.
But I knew love was a force and that the child I carried came from that force. That child was mine and I would carry it—She would carry it, through me.
The second time I met a wolf was at my ultrasound. He came in after it was over and said, “No fetal movement,” and I lay there in shock.
I choked out, “What does that mean?” He didn’t look at me. “It’s dead,” he said and threw a small towel onto my stomach, turned on his heel and left.
The nurse at my D&C saw me crying. “You asked for this abortion. Stop crying.”
The Divine Feminine came roaring out of the mouth of the male doctor. “Read her chart,” he bellowed. “Read her chart and then get out.”
My stories are my stories and we all have them. Everyone of us has met a wolf.
Those doctors who held such power over us that we could not advocate for our own health.
Those men and some women who used fists instead of words, or words like fists.
Those who catcalled and told us we were hot, like something tasty on a menu without seeming to notice we had a soul.
The wolves have always been here.
The Divine Feminine asks us to nurture Her children—to fight for them when the wolves start to circle.
She asks us to spark magic into their hearts so their confidence can bloom. She asks us to stand up for them and protect them. At home, and across borders.
Are we answering Her call?
She is asking us to rise—to embody her like a flame.
She would have us take our fury and alchemise it—into radical love and justice.
She never left. We’re are only just beginning to take back our memory of Her. Wolves, take note—and please, stand down.
You are in your death throes,
You have to see that you are dying—
your ways archaic and outdated;
your words too brash and harsh
and cold like the buildings you erect
to house the money you worship
while you ignore the dirt beneath your feet.
The dirt gave birth to forested hills and valleys;
rivers and waterways that should have remained
But you touched them,
like you have touched us
and now we’re all being bled dry in your
You will see us rise now,
Our knees hurt. our lips bruised,
our babies soul-hungry
for connection and for truth.
We may not rise with rose-coloured mouths
or polished nails, or in the high heels
you might prefer.
Our rising will be raw because you
have used us
for the last time.
You have raped this world
for the last time.
Can’t you hear her battle cry?
If you press your ear to my mouth, you will hear her.
You need more than you have taken—
you need redemption.
Our time for kneeling is over.
Author: Glynis Barr
Editor: Khara-Jade Warren