Saturday, June 18, 2011


All these spheres abound.
Stars and wheels go round
while making not a sound.

In the circle, God is found,
Whose circumference know no bounds
and in the center of God lies
You and I.

Spinning through our lives
While the force of nature thrives,
Eternity survives
In eggs and worlds and I.

I am slowly settling into life in my new apartment.  Slowly I am returning to the fiber hobbies that have brought me so much pleasure.   Last night I felted some wool shapes to use in felted soap I am making.   I worked at the table on my little balcony.  So nice!  Later, I practiced my "Navaho Plying" and got a bit of a handle on that.  I thoroughly enjoyed my hobby last night.

In the midst of my moving chaos, I thought perhaps my fiber enthusiasm had gone for good.  Thankfully, that is not so.  I am loving my new apartment!  It is in such a beautiful neighborhood.  I have birds and bunnies, trees and squirrels, and warm summer nights looking up at the stars.  How could I not blossum here.  Who would've thought that all this could be found in a "city". 

So the creative juices are running again.  I haven't "waxed poetic" yet.  But I thought I would share a poem that I wrote back in 1994, long before I got into spinning.  It seems so appropriate now as I spin on my wheel . . . "spinning through my life" and my fiber!   As I look at the year I wrote this poem, I realize that it was written while I worked for a State Park.   It was my first lay off from my newly gotten seasonal employment.  I loved those days.  I loved working at the park during the summer.  And I cherished those winter lay offs!  That was my time to be creative.  I painted, I played my guitar, watched movies and documentaries (and Gilligan's Island, yes I did) and stared at the ceiling if I felt like it.  I do miss those days.  At the time I wrote this poem, I had the luxury of sitting in my recliner and watching a Joseph Cambell documentary on "The Power of Myth" for six hours.  I was so struck by his teachings that this poem was born of it.  Those were better days for me.  As I look forward to better days in my new abode I plan to delve back into the things that make life worthwhile . . . friends, music, reading, art.  It's good to be back in that place again!

Saturday, April 23, 2011

New Beginnings . . . Again

This Easter finds me in a new home (actually, apartment).  I had to take a hiatus from my spinning in order to make this move.  I began my move in February . . . one of the most cold, windy, snowy February's I ever remember!  With the help of "very good" friends I managed to get into my new apartment on March 1st.  I've been trying to unpack and reorganize ever since. 

I parted with many things (although my friends say not enough things).  It felt good to let go of useless "stuff".   It was cleansing to rid myself of old expectations of a life never realized;  to move on with life as it is.  Okay, not everything was relinquished so easily.  One friend had a great time ridiculing  me for my insistence on hanging on to my old wooden tennis rackets (which are in damn good condition, thank you!).  I insisted that one day I will be fit and able enough to participate in tennis again.  I didn't care how much she laughed at me.  After being sidelined, crippled up and engulfed in the pain of my newest diagnosis (RA) I think perhaps she was right.  Tennis rackets, anyone? 

I moved massive amounts of yarn!  I was somewhat amazed out how many boxes I had of yarn and fiber for my spinning.  Much of the yarn was in big steralite tubs so I was able to find it amidst the other boxes.  It didn't take me long to get into it and back into knitting & crochet a.s.a.p.  I managed to knit a hat and to make some knitted dolls for Easter.  My creative mind has been churning away at all the variables I can make with this same pattern.  If I could produce half as fast as my mind comes up with ideas I would probably be able to make a living at my hobby.  Instead I have lots of scraps of paper with ideas and sometimes drawings for all the things my mind dreams up.  That will be my legacy when I die . . . scraps of paper and lots of yarn! 

Last weekend I finally got to the box with my bobbins and the fly wheel for my spinning wheel.  In the next box were bags and braids of fiber to be spun.  I could feel myself almost quiver with anticipation.  I had only intended to unpack these things but found that I couldn't resist the urge to spin.  I sat down with my wheel and treadled clockwise, stop, and treadle counter clockwise to see if I still had my treadling chops.  When I felt secure that I could still treadle well enough, I picked out an older bag of fiber to spin.  No use in wasting the good stuff if it turns out I have to learn all over again.   I was under the impression that this fiber was alpaca, dyed a dusty turquoise blue.  I have no idea what it actually is.  As the fibers are pulled through my fingers, it almost has a foamy quality I can't describe.  It felt so good to spin again.  Yes, I was rusty but since I haven't spun enough to be a pro,  it wasn't as if I had to learn all over again . . .  just resume my practice.  As I spun the fiber I considered that I had quite a bit of it and it would be a good fiber to spin as a single (not plied) yarn.  I can then use this single ply yarn to learn what is called Navaho Plying.  Navaho plying is like crocheting using your hands, instead of a crochet hook.  You get a nice plied yarn in the process and have more control over the color if you have spun a variegated yarn.  A good skill to learn.

The best thing about spinning came to me as I sat there, concentrating on my spinning.  As I watched the fiber pass through my fingers and fed the yarn through the orifice and onto the spindle . . . my mind became still.  It was so peaceful.  My mind is usually like a four lane highway, more like the Autobahn.  Thoughts & ideas, snippits of songs, worries, memories all racing to go nowhere.  When I sit down to spin, all is quiet.  I hear crickets in my brain.  And it is Good!

May this Easter bring everyone wonderful new beginnings . . . peace . . . and crickets!

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Things I have learned so Far . . .

I've been spinning all of 8 months now.  I have become more brave in my endeavors and thanks to my Ravelry comrades I've become more adventurous.  (   Do check it out if you knit, crochet or spin.  It's like Facebook for fiber fiends--but better!)

It's been quite a journey.  First, I'd like to give a shout out to "Babes Fiber Garden Wheels" without whom I would never have been able to afford a wheel.  And also to Craig Johnson at Worthington Acres (here in PA) who was so kind as to sell me his used Babe at an awesome price!  As there is snobbery in all walks of life, I am sure that some spinners may look at my wheel as if it is an abomination.  It is not wooden, there is nothing traditional looking about it.  It is made of PVC pipe and the spinning wheel is made of a wheelchair wheel.  It is not a wheel to be displayed and gazed upon for it's workmanship.  It is a wheel that works wonderfully and easily.  I used to look longingly at those beautiful wooden spinning wheels that cost between $1000 to maybe around $500.  That is so out of my system now.  Which leaves me so much more time to look at all the wonderful fiber out there waiting to be spun!  And if I really get bored of looking at my Babe's Wheel, one day I can paint it up add some kitsch and have fun with it like many other Babe's owners have done.

So, back to spinning . . . I have made my first "plied" yarn.  My non-spinning (and some non-knitting friends) love seeing what I'm up to with my spinning.  And when they ask me questions, I realize how much I take for granted that I have actually learned in this time!  I was recently asked what "plied yarn" is and I had to think of a way to word an explanation.  So I told them that when you spin one yarn it is called a "single".  And if you want to make a double ply yarn, you spin two bobbins of singles, you take the ends of those two yarns and spin them together onto a third bobbin.  What I didn't tell them was that when you spin, you always spin in one direction (most people spin clockwise which is called "Spinning Z-twist).  However, when you ply, you must ply in the opposite direction (counter-clockwise for most, called "Spinning S-twist).   There is also another way to ply called "Navaho Plying"  or "N-Ply".  I've tried this with lousy results, but will definitely keep trying.  With the N-ply, you are actually "hand crocheting".  You attach your single to a bobbin on your wheel.  You then make a loop and you  pull  another loop through that loop, you begin your spinning and you just keep chaining, as you spin, until you are done.  It is fascinating and hypnotic to watch, look it up on U-Tube!   This makes a  three-ply yarn.  It is often used when people want more control over the color of their finished yarn.  You can choose where to begin your loop based on a color, if you want multi-hued yarn.  

Plying gives extra strength and volume to your yarn.  It also help to even out places that may have too much twist in them.  It oftens help to smooth out my amateur yarn by helping to even out the spots that I spun thick and spots I spun thin.  When I'm a good spinner, I will be able to spin a consistent yarn (this may take a while!).  But here's the thing . . . when you play a musical instrument and you are learning, you simply play "bad" music.  When you are learning to spin and have all kinds of lumps and bumps and inconsistencies, you are making 'Art Yarn".  Bonus!  lol.  I'm a big fan of art yarn!  I have read, many times over, that once you master the ability to made a consistent and balanced yarn (balanced refers to the right amount of "twist" -- not too much, not too little), it is very difficult to go back and make your thick and thin, lumpy, bumpy art yarn!

This is such an addictive hobby!  One thing keeps leading to another.  I started with knitting and crocheting.  I knew all along that I loved the tactile sensation of handling the yarn as well as creating something unique.  Which led me to desire to  spin.  Now, the siren song of dying wool is calling me.  Lucky for me, my sink is too full of dirty dishes to even attempt that now!

Monday, December 27, 2010

Last Words

I don't mean to dwell on this.   But as I shared some witty banter with a friend I just thought how much I miss my friend, Colleen.  She was so damn witty and always had a funny response to everything.  It was always great fun to match wits with her.  Oh why, oh why.  It is such a loss to me, to all those that loved her.

A mutual friend told me that I needed to write a "song" for her.  Well, I'm no musician but I do wax poetic from time to time.  So I wrote this poem for both of my friends.  I just wanted to share it here in case somebody . . . anybody can find some sort of hope and know that no matter how bad they think things are,  there are people who love you and need you.  Please don't cheat the world of every precious minute you can contribute to this life.  I don't know how good of a poem this is, it feels a bit rough and unpolished.  But it was one of those gifts from the muse and I offer it up, lumps, bumps and all.


Tho you feel darkness all around
And death sings its siren song,
Step outside yourself and look again.

The darkness is illusion,
blinders put there by your pain
But in truth
You will see,
there is a flame.

You are the light in someone’s life,
Your smile has dispelled the bleakest of nights
And your darkest hour need not be in vain.

Unbind you soul,
extend your hand,
be assured that many hands
will reach out
to take yours.

Let the love that does surround you
break that barrier that confines you,
Allow the light of love to lift you
from the depths of hopelessness and pain.
The flicker of your soul will ignite once again
To keep you warm, give you strength and keep you sane.

It may feel a lonely battle, but once you
reach for help,
You will find an army of God’s angels at your side.

Be strong for just one second,
Cry for help with your last effort
Open the door, do not shut it,
Let love in.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

In Honor of a fellow Lost Soul

I am sad to say that I have lost another friend to the great void beyond.  I wish that she had reached out  to me-- to someone-- in her hour of need.  Unfortunately, it is only human to withdraw when the pain of life is too much.  I pray that angels escort her on her journey to the other side and bath her in the love that this delicate flower of a girl so needed.

My friend suffered greatly with anxiety and depression throughout her life.  I am no stranger to these feelings (as are many of us).  Often times I feel that I am viewing the world through a looking glass, never really part of it, just watching the shadows of life play on in the mirror's reflection.  To venture outside often seems scary and fraught with danger.  These are the times that I count my blessings and know that I can go to my friends who are always there for me, whether I deserve it or not.

For my dear departed friend, an ethereal spirit, witty, kind and beautiful I dedicate the poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson:  The Lady of Shallot.  Spinning and weaving are incorporated into this poem so it is a poem that caught my attention a while ago.  And as I think of my friend, I can't help but feel the mood and essence of this poem.

For my surviving friends and relatives:  never give up, carry on.  Life is suffering,  but there is love and friendship that makes it bearable.  Never forget that, please.

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Sunday, September 26, 2010

The Elusive Spider Woman

Admittedly I have been avoiding this next installment of blogs.  Pressed for time by projects and frustrated by  vague information on the elusive Spider Woman of Indian lore, I have chosen procrastination.  However, in order to move forward, today I will try my best to make a little progress and a little sense for today's blog.  I did consider skipping the legend of Spider Woman.  But there are such wonderful poetic visuals;  I just can't pass her by.

There are many tribes of  North American Indians and like any culture, they all have their own twists and versions of similar gods and goddesses.  This is the Hopi Indian legend of Spider Woman who was created by the "Creator of Tokpela (The First World)."  He was Sotuknang who created Spider Woman to be his helper on earth.  Upon her creation she was given her name, Kotyangwuti, and she asked Sotuknang, "Why am I here?"

(Credit for this next passage goes to the site:  under Native American Indian Legends.  I could not possibly re-tell this as artfully as the original author has!)

"Look around you," answered Sótuknang. "Here is the earth that we have created. It has shape and substance, direction and time, a beginning and an end. But there is no life upon it. We see no joyful movement. We hear no joyful sound. What is life without sound and movement? So you have been given the power to help us create this life. You have been given the knowledge, the wisdom, and the love to bless all the beings you create. That is why you are here."
Following his instructions, Kótyangwúti took some earth and mixed it with some túchvala (liquid from the mouth or saliva) and molded it into two beings. Then she covered them with a cape made of a white substance which was the creative wisdom itself, and she sang the creation song over them.
When she uncovered them, the two beings, twins, sat up and asked, "Who are we? Why are we here?"
To the one on the right, Spider Woman said, "You are Pöqánghoya. You are here to help keep this world in order when life is put upon it. Go now around all the world and put your hands upon the earth so that it will become solidified. This is your duty."
To the one on the left, Spider Woman said, "You are Palöngawhoya. You are here to help keep this world in order when life is put upon it. This is your duty now: go about all the world and send out sound so that it may be heard throughout all of the land. When this is heard you will also be known as 'Echo,' for all sound echoes the Creator."
Pöqánghoya, traveling throughout the Earth, solidified the higher reaches into great mountains. The lower reaches he made firm, but still pliable enough to be used by those beings to be placed upon it and who would call it their mother.
Palöngawhoya, traveling throughout all of the earth, sounded out his call as he was told to do. All of the vibration centers along the earth's axis from pole to pole resounded his call; the whole earth trembled, and the universe quivered in tune. Thus he made the whole world an instrument of sound, and sound is an instrument for carrying messages, resounding praise to the Creator of all.
"This is your voice, Uncle," Sótuknang said to Taiowa. "Everything is tuned to your sound.
"It is very good," said Taiowa.
Once they had finished their duties, Pöqánghoya was sent to the north pole of the world's axis, and Palöngawhoya to the south pole, where they were jointly commanded to keep the world properly rotating. Pöqánghoya was also given the power to keep the earth in a stable form of solidness. Palöngawhoya was given the power to keep the air in gentle ordered movement, and told to send out his call for good or for warning through the vibratory centers of the Earth.
"These will be your duties in time to come," said Spider Woman.
She then created from the earth the trees, bushes, flowers, and other plants. She created all kinds of seed-bearers and nut-bearers to clothe the earth, giving to each a life and a name. In the same manner, she created all kinds of birds and animals, molding them out of earth and covering each with her white-substance cape of wisdom, and singing over them.
Some she placed to the right, some to the left, and others she placed before her and in back of her, indicating how they should spread to all four corners of the world to live.
Sótuknang was happy, seeing how beautiful it all was: the land, the plants, the birds and the animals, and the power working through them all. Joyfully he said to Taiowa, "Come see what our world looks like now!"
"It is very good," said Taiowa. "It is now ready for human life, the final touch to complete my plan."

To clarify a little, Taiowa is the Hopi version of a Sun God, the original creator who created Sotuknang. Taiowa refered to him as "nephew".  As I stated earlier, this is only one version of the Hopi legends.  There are other versions and other gods given credit for various parts of the creation.  It is safe to say that the  Hopi Indians associate Spider Woman with the creation and emergence of life on earth.  She is the teacher of survival skills to  humans.  The Navaho Indians believe the skill she gave to humans was the art of weaving and before they sit down to a loom, the Navaho will often rub their hands in spider webs to absorb the wisdom and skill of Spider Woman.  Spider Woman is said to be a metaphor for "She who creates from a central source" and her spider web represents the matrix of our reality.  According to, this matrix refers to the "Spider Web Effect"  a theory that all things originate from a central source, spiral out in a matrix, grid, lattice or web,  following the same geometric design.  All things are connected to each other and to that source.  Whatever affects one part of the web affects all parts of the web.  Very progressive thinking for an alleged primitive culture, don't you think?  This same effect is given credit for our ability to learn to be psychic and to connect telepathically.  It is no surprise that Spider Woman is also associated with "dream catchers" which are common in our culture even now.  It is said that during dream time we remove part of our consciousness from physical reality and venture off through Spider Woman's web, experiencing that which we cannot understand with our physical consciousness. 

This time around, while writing this brief and singular legend of Spider Woman, I am finding that the information is not so vague.  However, it could become a life's work due to the fact that there are very many versions of the Spider Woman and even Spider Grandmother stories.  There are many excellent sites on the web if you wish to pursue them.  Simply search Indian Lore, Indian Legends, or Myths.  The stories become exponential and you will find  many different versions by all the different tribes.  The Indian culture has a wonderful tradition of storytelling to explain all of life's mysteries in a wonderful way that imbued more mystery and awe to each subject.  The more you read them, the more impressed you will be, not only with their poetry and creativity but with their knowledge of the world, the science of it, and our place in it.  It is an understatement to say that there is much to be learned from the ancient cultures of the world.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Back to the Magic & Mythology

I am still drawn to the fairy tales and mythology that surround the arts of spinning and weaving.  For some reason knitting and crochet don't get the glory like spinning and weaving.  I think perhaps its because there's a type of alchemy, "some magic", in transforming fluff into substance that can be woven and knitted.  Just about every other fairy tale is about spinning hay to gold.  Talk about making something out of nothing!  As I look into all the various folk tales, they are cautionary tales of laziness, or asking others to do your chores (that's when the fairy folk come to help and then wreck the place).  They are finger wagging admonitions that you won't marry if you don't have skills!  Of course, I also enjoy the reverse spin (pardon the pun) where the damsel who cannot spin shows her husband the hideous physical mutations that come of being a good spinner (mainly big ugly lips from wetting the flax as they spin, amongst other troll-like attributes).  There is so much to cover in the mythology of this art, from the ancient goddesses to the characters in Marion Zimmer Bradley's Mists of Avalon, that I cannot possibly cover it all.  I've wanted to, but it is truly overwhelming.

However, through the good graces of Wikepedia, who has neatly broken down the various mythologies for me . . . I thought perhaps I could go down the line and share the myths and some lore surrounding spinning and weaving one at a time.  It's a good way for me to learn as I go and saves us all from "TMI".

I'll start of with Neith (aka: Nit, Net & Neit), an early goddess in the Egyptian pantheon.  She was mainly worshipped in the Western Nile Delta of Egypt.   She was a goddess of war and hunting.  Her hieroglyph bore a resemblance of a loom, so in later years she also became the goddess of weaving.  Prior to this, her name was interpreted as water and she was linked to the primordial waters of creation:  a mother-goddess.  But a different interpretation of her name meant weaver and she was considered to have woven the world and all existence on her loom.  In art, Neith is often depicted as having a shuttle on top of her head and holding bows and arrows in her hands.  I guess women have been called upon to multi-task since the beginning of time.

As a goddess of weaving and all things domestic, Neith was considered to be a guardian of women and protector of marriage.  However, she was still a goddess of war and retained an association with death (I brought you into this world and I'll take you out -- comes to mind).  Actually, it was said that she wove the shrouds and bandages as a gift to the mummified dead.  She was considered a water goddess, the mother of crocodiles and the mother of Ra the Sun God.  But as the goddess of weaving she was said to re-weave the world on her loom daily.  She was a virgin goddess, yet all that she conceived in her heart came to be, including thirty gods.  Procius (412 - 485 AD) wrote of an inscription in the adyton of the temple of Neith (an adyton is a restricted area of a temple, usually at the farthest end, often housing the cult image of the god and accessible only to oracles, priests or acolytes).  Sadly the temple has been lost to time, but the words of it's inscription live on:

"I am the things that are, that will be, and that have been.  No one has ever laid open the garment by which I am concealed.  The fruit which I bore forth was the sun."

Only a goddess could lay claim to such powers of creation . . . that only a woman could appreciate.