BATTLE PRAYER OF THE MAGDALENE RISING

I rise today

with fire in my blood

and thunder in my throat.

No more pretending.

No more shrinking.

No more waiting for the world to wake up.

I call back every piece of me

that I gave in trust, in innocence, in hope.

Every time I was unseen –

I see me now.

Every time I was used –

I reclaim what was taken.

Every time I was shamed –

I transmute it into holy flame.

You thought you could silence me.

You thought delay would break me.

You thought the slow crawl of this world would wear down my will.

But I am the one who walked with God before I had a name.

I remember.

I remember what they burned in the temples.

What they buried in the deserts.

What they erased from the gospels.

I am that. I am back.

Before time was measured, I was light.

Before man claimed dominion, I was the womb of creation.

Before the priest named sin, I was the song beneath his sermon.

Before the world whispered “no,” I whispered “yes” to life.

And I have returned, clothed in memory, crowned in fire.

I summon now the hosts of light,

the sacred animals,

the ancestors with swords made of flame.

Stand with me.

Let the air clear.

Let the path open.

Let the ones who are meant to meet me, find me –

not in fear, not in lust,

but in truth.

Let love come clean.

Let fortune come holy.

Let every blessing stolen from me return,

sevenfold.

And may those who sought to delay me,

diminish me, discard me –

face their own reflection.

I do not curse.

I consecrate.

I call upon the power of all that is holy.

The true and sacred Divine.

The fire of rage that is not petty,

but purposeful.

The wrath of the wounded womb

re-forged in gold.

Not to destroy –

but to restore

the holy order.

I invoke the bloodlines of priestesses,

of witches, of mothers,

of fierce, wild women who never forgot.

I summon angels and ancestors,

guardians and guides.

I call on the Moon and Sun,

the stars and tides,

the rivers, the trees, the beasts,

the sacred breath of Earth herself.

I call on the wind to carry my voice,

the rain to wash away what was stolen,

the fire to light the path that was hidden.

I command my voice to rise,

my sword to blaze,

my heart to remain soft.

I rise for the sacred.

I rise for my dignity.

I rise for my sisters and daughters and for myself.

I have been hunted.

I have been shamed.

I have been stripped.

And yet –

I return, robed in power,

crowned in truth,

eyes burning with the gaze of God.

I am Magdalene risen.

I am the storm that cleanses.

I am the woman the devil tried to break

but could not.

I claim my throne,

on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Let the watchers know:

She has risen.

The Magdalene walks again.

And this time, she is not alone.

I stand with the women waking in the dark,

with the mothers reclaiming their voices,

with the daughters remembering their divinity.

We rise together,

through ashes and altar,

through grief and grace,

through holy defiance and divine remembrance.

We are the pulse returning to the planet.

We are the bloodline unbroken.

We are the prophecy fulfilled.

We are the breath of sacred fury,

the heartbeat of renewal,

the mirror of the divine feminine everywhere.

We are the storms, the rivers, the mountains, the seas.

We are the heartbeat of creation itself, unbroken, unshaken.

We are the Magdalene, walking fully,

eyes blazing, soul luminous,

a hymn of survival and sovereignty.

Amen. A’ho. And so it is.