11/25/2025
❤️Not mine the credit is on the bottom
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The Uncertifiable Womb Shamans
I feel a certain tragedy in the realisation that the witch burnings were final.
They were final in a very deep way, and although women of Northern Europe, the Emerald Isles, the British Isles, and Central Europe may revive flickers of those old flames, the truth is:
The lineage was broken. Severed. Burned. Drowned.
The witches and the Goddess worship WAS the indigenous woman culture of Europe.
Modern society will lament indigenous tragedies all day, giving protections to the abused indigenous of Earth. But there’s a silent irony and tragedy here:
There is a privilege in unbroken lineages still alive, *even if they are abused*. They are still alive.
The indigenous white woman’s lineage are ghosts. Banshees. Keening mermaids. Sidhe queens that lay in wait underneath sacred wells guarding empty thrones.
The guardians of the indigenous woman culture of old Europe are toast.
We do not have elders; we have broken lineages.
And that is a certain gulf between tragedy and reclamation that is very difficult to bridge.
Because within the eggs of our foremothers, we existed. As the unborn daughters, we were in the bodies of the first persecuted goddess worshipping women. The first witches of Europe.
And for three or four or five generations, our mothers and grandmothers could not touch that wound without being engulfed again. That severed lineage was sharp, and to embody it again would have been like swallowing glass. The trauma reverb would have overwhelmed.
This era is the time the priestesses and witches returning. For the old songs of Europe, the white woman’s earth wisdom.
Not the Goddesses of patriarchy, nor the goddesses of Greek or Roman democracy, nor the goddesses of the Iron Age like Brigid. But rather the Stone Age, Paleolithic, bone-deep, clay-red Mothers.
The First Principle within clay and cave and bone.
But it's a matter of clawing our way back into embodiment.
We have the impossible, uncertifiable task of making those bones dance again. Of summoning the serpent of burned life force to simmer again inside the bone soup.
To anyone who says they’re ‘certified’ as a female shaman of European lineage, I say: phooey.
There are no certificates for the womb rumbling fury of broken lineage.
We ARE, though. We BE. We exist.
But there’s no paperwork. The priestesses and womb shamans of old have to operate as rogues.
As much as tradition would be valuable and appreciated, there is no Certified Healed Witch course in existence on Earth.
We are down in the mud screaming it into being.
And to tell us we need a certificate to prove it is just yet another insult to our dignity.
-Nina Blackthorn
