goddesses i carry with me
not religion, exactly. more like a language for the things i feel but can't always name.
these are mirrors, not worship. the parts of the story that light up when i need them most ✨
artemis — the one who runs free
artemis is the forest and the clear night sky. the part of me that feels most real when i'm outside and the world shrinks to just my breath.
what i admire: her clarity. she protects the wild — not because it's fragile, but because it deserves to exist on its own terms.
she's the protector of maidens. artemis stands at the edge of the forest and says: you can be safe here. you can be whole here.
i have a small statue of her in a place where i can see it. reverence — and, honestly, a little fear 💜 but some things deserve to be seen.
cybele — the one who nourishes
cybele is the great mother. she's the warmth of the kitchen when the light is low and the oven is on and the house smells like bread and rosemary. she's long kitchen sessions where my feet hurt but my heart is warm.
what i admire: her capacity. cybele holds without breaking. she nourishes without keeping score. i loved those evenings of cooking and making sure the people i care about had what they needed 💛
domestic devotion isn't small. the invisible work of making a home warm, making a meal generous, making someone's evening softer — that's sacred work. not because anyone sees it, but because it holds things together.
cybele is the goddess of people who pour tea before anyone asks and fold laundry as an act of tenderness. the ones who make life run smoother with small invisible kindnesses.
ishtar — the one who blazes
ishtar is intensity. the part of the sky that's brightest just before the sun drops below the horizon.
what i admire: her sovereignty. she walks through every gate and surrenders a garment at each one, and she still comes back. what remains is the truest version of you.
what she offers: radiance without apology. not in a loud way, but in the way the evening star claims the sky. it doesn't need to explain itself.
idunn — the one who renews
idunn was the first goddess i ever built an altar to 🍎 something in me needed a place to put the feeling of i value continuity. i value things that grow back.
she keeps the apples of renewal. she's the reason the gods stay young. but i don't think her gift is really about youth — it's about continuity. the gentle insistence that spring will come again. that what falls away will return in a new form. that the cycle is the point.
what i admire: her steadiness. idunn isn't dramatic. she doesn't have a descent myth or a battle story. she just… keeps the apples. she tends the orchard. season after season, exactly what's needed. that's the most powerful thing a person can do.
the bridge between ancient reverence and daily modern life. the goddess of doing the dishes again, of watering the plants again, of showing up again — and the repetition isn't monotony. it's devotion.
living with reverence
i don't have a temple. what i have is a window, a candle, a few statues, and the willingness to pay attention.
i can offer tenderness, not a fight. small rituals. private structure. the kind of devotion that doesn't need an audience.
not a big revelation. just a small yes, repeated 🌙
the goddesses — artemis in the forest, cybele in the kitchen, ishtar in the descent, idunn in the orchard — they're as close as the next honest thing you do.
- light a candle with intention, even if you can't name the intention
- keep a small altar — it can be a shelf, a windowsill, a corner
- speak to the sacred in whatever language feels true
- let your devotion be quiet. it doesn't need to explain itself.
