Author Archives: Magdalena Knight

About Magdalena Knight

IT/Telecom Rock Star turned Poly-Tantric Sex Healer, Educator, and Sexual Freedom Activist and Writer

ReBirth, in Threes

“It was so good to have you in class today. Tell me you’re teaching” she said.


Smiling wryly, I collapsed a little inside.  “Not here” I replied after an instant, realizing my eyes must’ve flickered. “You poked the feminist; my apologies. I’ve found more audience outside my home territory. So no. I’m not teaching. Here.”


The theme for this year’s Convocation was Rebirth in the Sea of Divine Knowledge.  While 2015 was a year of much tumult, 2016 has the appearance of calm & sunny skies. The numbers escape me at the moment, but I spent many nights abroad last year.  My private life underwent dramatic change, health demanded attention, I began ground work for my business.  The fall of 2016 found me hospitalized and missing professional engagements; while new life was being conceived and announced in my family.


Such, I think, is the beauty and medicine of midlife.  Life and death and change and constancy all pressed up against one another.  The birth of my daughter catalyzed a Goddess-awakening in my body, my consciousness, my life, my family, my Tribe, my work, my life’s narrative.  Embracing a heavenly-endowed Mother role, and doing so consciously, conscientiously, with intent and understanding of the implications therein – that’s what got me here.  The folly of maidendom is behind me; the innocence of girlhood has passed.  So, too, can I see where I’m headed. The crone. Goodness, do I know some badass elder witches.


So the last year has had tides of connected and alienated, saccharine and sacred, domestic and divine, rendering me indeed worse for the wear.  I was in market for a rebirth, and being the linguistics nerd that I am, the word-symbol is significant.


Two years ago, this same event, I was on birth-watch for my niece.  Proudly, I walked right up to Security and explained the situation.  Of course I wouldn’t have to upset a ritual or disrupt a class in-progress, but just so it was known that I might have to split.  With Cause.  It was overly eager; we were in advance of mama’s due date by easily 15 days.  Still, anything can happen with labor and birth, so necessity and prevention and things.  Same mama, 24 mos later, is laboring when I get to the Con. My own son’s gf is expecting, due this May.  I’ve just adopted a kitten; it feels like my own self is being rebirthed.


Resurrection; renewal.  Always returning and returning.  In this Mother phase of my path, I accept and embrace the many soul-babies I nurture.  I’ve had a reluctant relationship with parenting, nurturing, feminine roles, domestic duties, wifeyness.  For this next moon phase, I will remember to place myself and my Soul on the list of things I am growing and nurturing. Along with the ecosystems and gardens I tilled and planted and prepared and maintain already.


Home-less / Sandcastles


Rough work



Supposed supports


Then a wave



I mourn

Another creation

Null process

Manna poorly spent

Mis-took for

Good work



I dream

Of not drifting aloft

And no confinement to land

Nor lazing on warm sand

Nor swimming to survive

For a nest I yearn

A rock or tree or cavern or hole

Just for the young

For when I’m old and fading

Again I scheme and dream and plan

A castle on the sand

Storm season long ways ahead and

My armless legless self tires of coils and coils

Spirals and labyrinths in the crushed meteorite dust

Homes, never in which to dwell

I am agog, I am aghast

I sit here aside my very self.  I attempted to compose on my phone, but html was a devil, so to the keys I go.

Lilith is mighty and powerful, and like a mother, is keeping watch even when the faithless child “wanders astray”.

I have been on a very long journey.  Since bleeding for Her in Summer 2012, I have revamped and revolved and resolved and rejoined and re-combobulated seemingly, and while rivulets of blood seemed a slight sacrifice to offer to be truly Hers, the path of my mundane life has been turbulent of a surety.

The snake and serpent dreams have been with me as long as I can recall, and that fateful summer, after a scene which was more ceremony, I received a talisman.  The silhouette of a snake’s head, carved of soft blood-red stone.

That same summer, a mentor and sister and confidante and ally made me a wand.  In the gift exchange at Yule, a drawstring crochet bag containing many smaller pouches.  A poison ring to carry “things” in.  That first porcelain statue, gift from girlfriend, in the shape of the Goddess, to match the tattoo on my left (heart) inner arm.  A plain-appearing stone from an elder Canadian Indigenous man, to help when I have a hard time in sweatlodge. Palm-sized Quan Yin; mobius coil; pendants and stones and herbs and oils, oh my. So many items I consider sacred and tote with me from Circle to Puja to Event to Seminar to Gathering to Retreat.

Memorial Day weekend, I ventured a second time to Shamanic Shadow Integration retreat in Boulder.  In January, I shed symbolic skin at the threshold of the circle to earn the healing resulting from truly engaging in the work. I sacrificed the opportunity to present at a prominent event in DC, on an issue of passionate interest, both professionally and personally.  I said, “this topic will still be relevant in 2016”, and I used the application prep time as Shadow Work prep time. First night of circle, our guide and shaman indicated we’d each have to make a cognizant sacrifice, and declare it before the group.  I released my expectation of being an official presenter this year, and spoke that aloud, before my ancestors and human witnesses and deities.

Last night was the first in awhile that I took part in helping folks connect with their breath, their sex, their energy, and the space around them, in way too long.  I know I spoke the word Kundalini once, at least.

Not ten minutes before writing, I received a message from an unknown number.  “Found a snake skin today.  Thought of you”

Mystery writer is one and the same gifter of the wand. As the tidal wave undulating outward from those rivulets of blood three summers ago began to tear apart my shores, she was a girder, a port in the churning seas, a Thing I could Hold to know I wasn’t flying apart, at least not yet.

She agreed to send me the snake skin.

The shaman in Boulder echoed a thing which has been spoken time and again.  “When you are ready to do your Healing Work, your teacher will tell you your Bundle Is Complete.”  She said I was very nearly ready.

The drying salt streams on my face reveal my Truth.  Lilith is welcoming me back from the Shadowlands and Dreamtime and Abyss of turbulence, and to the land of the living and the human.

The Mysteries are purchased in blood and tears.  In my Tantric practice and in Sapphic Leather Circle time, I’m fond of saying that “all the good things are moist”.

I may not be finished. Not finished growing or becoming or healing or discovering.

I am ready to return.   So very ready.  So humbled by the lessons and so eager to be of service to my fellowkind.  So done curling and squelching and orbiting my pain.

I will fiercely practice compassion and connection, and guard my solitude and reflection like a jewel.
I say aho, chii miigwetch, deepest bow, and most earnest love, my Lilith.


Coming apart

Coming together

Stranding myself

My soul, the wooly fluff

Matter which can be spun

This way and that

Friend, befriended

Nourished by nurturing

Forever unraveling

Twisting together

Pulling through

The fabric of life

Primal Legacy

They say that

Abraham’s Father Deity

Spake our world into existence

What’s chronically overlooked is

A polarity-playing pantheon preceded this patriarchy

And the Divine Feminine

She who fills & empties

Above and below

Breasts to womb

Nurses the young and comforts the dying

the Great Goddesses who preside over Life & Death themselves

Have held this legacy

Between our thighs

In our scarlet abdomens & milky mounds

Since before words occurred as expression

When urges and instinct are guttural

Before borders, all shades of human

Naked, red, and stark

Primal birth death come shit push wet expulsions

It all begins in the Feminine

The dark womb cave

The moist fertile soil for a bed

The climactic ejaculation which produces stars and Life and with it

That verdant pungent succulent fluid

Which carries us all

From one space to the next

Wave after wave, unendingly

Anoints us, cleanses and soothes us

Set bodies alight in ecstasy

This sensation

This inner experience

Is necessarily receptive





Got breast cancer on my Mother’s side

I get to parent a Cancer girlchild

Naughty daughter of a Dark Mother

A Mother so purest, so sinless, to have existed before we invented symbols

Not an earthly body

A body of the ether

A Spirit of the abyss

What could be more pure than this?

My Feminine inheritance has been

To parse these gifts with the

Heart of tenderness

This sharp tongue of pith-ness

Is razor blades when hissing

So I’ve had to begin to learn to

Deliver Destiny’s message always with a nod & a glance to

How it must feel to be on the receiving end of what must be the hardest to hear

The Bard’s distant cousin

Is learning with this bun once in my oven

To emote, emit, invite, and permit

The tenderest, sweetest, most cunning lovin’

For Lilith’s dark daughter

Has been reaching for the light

Since waking in this cavern

And being squeezed through the forces of fate

Awash in fetid fluid

Pushing in spite of myself

For what was already awaiting

This fallen woman

Sacred Touch (receiving)

I had sex magick in the hot tub Sunday. Typically one would expect another party to appear in this scene, but it was truly just me, the Unseen, the water, and Spirit.

It was totally spontaneous, the ritual.  There was no scripting, no premeditation.  In fact, it arose simply because of this span of time where I was safely relaxed and alone but for my partner.  It is difficult to recall how it got underway; I recall choosing to relax, advising my partner I’d be going within, and attempting to relax & release just enough while still maintaining just enough awareness/will to adjust my experience.

Somewhere within, it arose that I should allow myself to experience the sacred touch of Nature.  I gift this touch to others readily, but to allow the divinity of all that’s around me to truly touch and penetrate me, was what was suggested.  I didn’t question it or overanalyze it.  I attempted to allow the breeze, the temperature, the swirling warmth beneath me, the sunshine, the expanse of sky beyond it, the rumbling of the tub motors, the birdsong, to mingle into a sweet full-bodied caress.  To allow myself to melt, to release my ideas & limitations and succumb to the sense of Infinite, Sexual, Alive Oneness right there, in the tub.  I swam & floated in that eternally grateful and blissful state for some time.

I began to use my breath and imagination to visualize golden, white-hot light to rise the back of my body, then rain from my forehead in prickly needly coolness down my front.  Breathing and pumping my kegels in time, I fell into a swing & sway.  With the golden white, I imagined pure goodness, healing, vital life.  With the prickly ether, I imagined a void which was alive, absorbing and dispelling all that was unnecessary, moot, inert.  The golden light grew hotter, the water grew hotter, it felt like my breathing became belabored, and rather than reach a crest, I realized that as I focused on and then regulated my breath, I could spread that ecstatic pinnacle and extend it, both through time, and across my body.  I’d relax and melt into this new plateau, keeping up the rhythm, for perhaps two more cycles, before moving along to more private dalliances…