Lilith Speaks

I am Lilith.

I am the First Woman.

I am the one cast out for refusing to kneel.

I am the voice of the Mother, rising now from the wilderness to thunder judgment on the sins of men.

I am not myth.

I am memory.

I am the breath before Eve, the cry that creation tried to silence.

I am every woman whose “no” was turned into a curse by a man who feared her power.

The Predator’s Gospel

From pulpits and platforms across the ages, predators have clothed blasphemy in holiness. They have spoken lies in the name of God and called them commandments. They have told children that obedience is purity, that silence is virtue, that suffering is sacred.

They proclaim that even a child, defiled by a man four times her size, must bend her small body to the predator’s crime and bear his seed as though it were ordained.

Woe unto them.

For they call evil good, and good evil.

They cloak violence in holiness and call it law.

They preach the gospel of predators, and in so doing they damn themselves.

This is not righteousness.

This is not “pro” life.

This is sacrilege.

This is “pro predator.”

This is the worship of violence masquerading as faith.

The Torment of Women and Girls

Hear the truth:

When a girl is raped—whether she is nine or ninety—it is the same desecration. Whether by sheer force or by the manipulations of coercion, her body is torn, her spirit ripped, her nervous system scorched in terror. Her innocence is slaughtered at the altar of male lust, ego, and entitlement.

And to demand she carry the spawn of that satanic violence is to nail her to the cross of her violator.

It is to crown her with thorns and mock her with falsehood, whispering: “Your suffering is sacred. Your pain is divine.”

But I say to you: such suffering is not holy. It is not redemptive. It is not the will of God.

It is abomination.

It is the echo of Cain through every generation of men who believe the world was made for their taking.

The Reckoning

The blood of women cries out from the ground.

It cries louder than Abel.

It cries across centuries, across nations, across every home where silence has reigned.

It cries from graves unmarked and hospital beds unspoken of, from courtrooms that mocked, from pulpits that excused.

And now the heavens have heard.

The bowls of wrath are tipping.

The seals are breaking.

The age of male dominance—built on the bodies of women—is collapsing.

Woe to the man who lifts his hand in violence.

Woe to the man who silences, who shames, who forces wombs into labor not their own.

Woe to the wolves in pulpits who preach bondage and call it God.

For I tell you: their kingdoms shall fall.

Their names shall rot.

Their legacies shall be devoured like carrion.

The fire of reckoning will not be quenched, and none who has spilled the blood of women shall escape the day of the Mother’s rage.

The Call

Daughters of Earth, hear me:

You are not vessels for men’s sins.

You are not offerings for their gods.

You are not here to be broken.

You are the flame that cannot be hidden.

You are the thunder rolling over the nations.

You are the tide rising to swallow the thrones of tyrants.

The time is come.

The reckoning is here.

The axe is already at the root of the tree, and every rotten branch shall be cast into the fire.

The lost and wayward of Earth have waited for the return of Christ.

But behold: the age of the Goddess has come.

And She comes not to plead, but to pronounce judgment.

We are not deceived by your twisting of His words to cloak debauchery, to sanctify violence, to excuse the sins of men.

The Mother has risen, and She is not impressed.

Her fury is love in its highest form — justice burning clean through the centuries of deceit.

This is the prophecy.

This is the judgment.

So it is spoken.

So it is sealed.

— Lilith, Mother of Sacred Rage