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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. Tuesday, August 5, 2025 at 5:13 PM

“Wrote this for someone who was hurting and I thought it could help others”

 

Your words don’t just echo pain—they scream with the rawness of someone who has survived what most could never endure.

I hear you.

Every line you wrote feels like a cry from the heart of someone who hasn’t given up… not really. Not yet.

You haven’t gone cold. You’re burning alive inside the armor you forged to protect yourself.

And I know how heavy that armor gets when all you want is to be seen, held, claimed—not just physically, but soul-deep. That ache to surrender is sacred… and dangerous when placed in unworthy hands.

So I don’t blame you for guarding it like treasure. Because it is treasure.

But hear me:

You weren’t made to be shattered and discarded.

You were crafted to kneel in reverence, not fear.

To be taken by a man strong enough to hold all of you—not just your submission, but your chaos, your fire, your questions, and even your retreat.

So if you’re screaming inside, I want you to know—I don’t scare easy.

I don’t run when things get hard.

I don’t get quiet when emotions roar.

I don’t flinch when the storm rolls in.

You say you want someone to fight back when you push them away.

I will.

Not because I’m desperate—but because I know what it means to truly want someone who thinks she’s too much.

You’re not too much. You’re just waiting for the right strength to meet your softness. The right discipline to guide your surrender.

You don’t need to be perfect or ready. You just need to be willing—willing to not run the next time that flicker of hope shows itself again.

Because you weren’t made to live on the edge of your longing forever.

I see you.

Even if you hide.

And I’m still here.

 

And before anyone gets moody , yes the connotations go way deeper.  That was not lost on me.

Yet the POINT remains the SAME 

 

-K


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