It is time to tell my story and share my cosmic redemption and forthcoming birth Goddesshood with my beloved peers.
For five years, my life partner Jodhpur and I struggled with infertility. I tried every remedy we could find. I chanted under the moon, I decorated our sacred spaces with menstrual blood. I tried many colonic and kharmic purges to undo the damage I had done to myself while working at (oh, the shame) McDonald’s while I was in high school, before I was reeducated at a certain College, which I will not name for reasons that will become clear.
I traveled the world over looking for the cure for my affliction. In Australia, I drank gallons of bush flower essences. In Europe, I tried Reiki, Refloxology and Biofeedback. In Asia, I tried every kind of massage and acupuncture that was available. At LONG last I reached Mother Africa. I mean, what was I thinking, waiting so long?
Deep in the Drakensbergs, I met the shaman that would change my (oops, our) lives. He was the last practitioner of Mantodea fertility rites IN THE WORLD! After several weeks practicing with the sacred machete, I decapitated Jodhpur at the peak of his expression of “father’s milk” from his luckily uncut member.
I am awaiting my impending Goddesshood deep in the Australian outback. As soon as Drako Mantea (which we will use as a baby name until she or he chooses his or her adult name), arrives earthside, we will have to move on to another remote location until society accepts the Mantodea practice as a valid lifestyle choice, and Interpol removes us from the Most Wanted list.
Elm Woodfairy, from an undisclosed location
