Drawing Her down

Today as I found myself at the bookstore killing time while waiting for a tire to repaired at the shop down the block, I found just what I needed and purchased Sue Monk Kidd's The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, arguably the most influential book I've ever read. It still surprises me that until today, I've never owned a copy. I first read it years ago -- and it led me back to the Catholic Church in search of the Divine feminine.
I found Her there — in the mother-goddess presence of Delle, in the celebration of Mary Magdalene, in the traditions of the saints like Joan of Arc and St. Therese, in the stories of the many women lay preachers who came to the Sunday pulpit, and in myself.
Tonight the moon is full, and a total eclipse is scheduled in about an hour. It's freezing outside, but I find myself standing on the balcony, soaking Her in, drawing Her down and into myself once again.
Delle is gone, the Mary Magdelene celebration has lost it's subversiveness, I just learned that the archdiocese has cracked down on our parish's laywomen preachers, and I find myself searching once again for Her. I continue to struggle to image Her during the Sunday mass of "His" and "He" and "Father" and "Lord." And now that I can't even look forward to hearing Her through the voices of women at the pulpit, I wonder if She is leading me onward.
Tonight I am drawing Her down, searching once again, wondering where She will lead me now....