The goddess was dying. Through greed and corruption of kings, emporers, and popes; her voice was being silenced, her people slain, and her once fertile and thriving culture was laid waste. Her dying voice echoed quietly in those who remembered and knew her, in secret. Her songs were hid away, like so many of her brave daughters.

Yet she lived. She lived in the recesses of her children's hearts. She lived in the gentle thoughts and beliefs of those who spoke her name, privately, so that none could hear them chant to her and keep awake her memory. She lived in the annuls of time, she lived in the back rooms of people's homes, she lived in the very Earth we stand on.

Now she begins to thrive. Voices once hushed and hid, now rejoice loudly and call her name. The dying goddess reawakens with each new heart that knows her. Her rebirth is slow, but each phase is marked in celebratory joy. Each moment that passes, another calls to her, quietly but with chants loud and ecstatic. With each dance, each moment in love, and each utterance of her name, she grows stronger.

The goddess will live, truly, again if we remember her and keep her from darkness.