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Divine Feminine and The Temple of Asherah

There are places where the veil between worlds is thin—a hush before the storm, the scent of rain on ancient stones, a pulse beneath the sand that remembers every footstep.
Such is the Temple of Asherah, eternal and yet always being reborn.

The Forgotten Queen

Asherah. Some call her the “Queen of Heaven,” others the lost Mother whose name was almost erased from every holy book. She was there before the ink dried, before gods went to war and stories were rewritten. In her temple, there was no shame in the feminine, no apology for power, hunger, or the full bloom of desire.

Men and women alike came to her sanctuaries—not with bowed heads and guilt, but with hearts hungry for healing, for truth, for the blessing of being seen. The pillars of her temple were carved not just with symbols, but with secrets—each one a promise, a memory, a whispered spell to call the lost and the longing back home.
6 months ago. Thursday, July 31, 2025 at 1:37 PM

This is why having friends in the life is important, for men and women.   People that you are not trying to seduce, but friends who can make you smile and say the unexpected.

Thank you my friend ,   SweetlyDepraved

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Riddle me back, then… What is the tether that tightens without touch, yet never breaks?

She aches in echoes… kneels in thought…

While he commands through cables and codes… No leather… just longing wrapped in ritual tones.

He says “good girl” and her spine aligns… She texts “yes, Sir,” and the world realigns… But still, the leash is ghost-silk… and the collar clicks only in the mind.

The paradox is this… A Dom may crave the weight of her breath against his neck… but rules etched in midnight messages bind her tighter than rope.

She may want his hand on her jaw… but settles for his words that know just where her edges are.

So maybe distance doesn’t kneel… we do… To patience… To intention… To the sacred ache of not-yet. Because when the body is out of reach… what’s left is the discipline of devotion… the choreography of waiting… the fierce obedience to a bond that no mile can mute.

So how do we make distance submit? We don’t… We let it serve.


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