She sat on my lap and rested the smooth skin of her palm against my wrinkled cheek, just the way her mother did when she was my baby.
“Granny,” she asked, gazing into eyes cloudy with age and wisdom. “Tell me the story again.”
I knew exactly which story she was talking about. It was one I had told her so many times that she could probably tell it better than I …
Once upon a time, I began as I always did, in a time when the downfall of man was imminent, there lived a group of women who set out to change the world. They called themselves the Black Madonnas.
“Why were they called that, Granny?” she asked, inserting the question right where it had always come.
They called themselves that because historically Black Madonnas in Europe were a symbol of revolution and change—essentially, they were miracle workers. These women wanted to be that change in their society, so they started with their own children, teaching them about everyone from Mother Teresa to Angela Davis. Instead of schools where metal detectors welcomed students, the daughters would sit around in a circle reading books like The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. The Black Madonnas called their daughters goddesses, seeing more of God’s reflection in them.
I paused to look at the bright-eyed girl listening intently to a story she had heard a thousand times before, seeing the reflection of God in her face.
“So the Black Madonnas created the goddesses,” she added, anxious to continue the story.
Right. You see, a goddess back then was a sort of mythological creature, only spoken about in stories. But these goddesses were real and they walked among us. They studied great women of history to learn how to duplicate what they did right, and succeed where they’d failed. The goddesses collected thousands of clippings about women like Katherine Graham, Oprah Winfrey, Sojourner Truth who succeeded at forging new paths for women. They carefully studied relentless women soldiers such as Adelita and the Soldaderas of Mexico, and Hippolyta and Antiope, sisters who were queens of the legendary race known as the Amazons. The girls watched films that instilled in them a sense of dignity and charity—movies like The Color Purple and Pay it Forward; deciphered the Sufi riddles of Lalla, the mystic; and treasured the ancient words of the Greek poet, Sappho.
Eventually, the goddess movement spread like wildfire all across the globe, and little goddesses sprouted like wild flowers in a field. Children worldwide read books by Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, Octavia E. Butler, Amy Tan, and Zora Neale Hurston instead of outdated textbooks. Naturally, they became fairer politicians, better mothers, more compassionate citizens. They started publishing companies that produced books and magazines that mirrored more realistically the true essence of the woman. They owned television stations that broadcast shows that excluded violence and misogyny and embraced altruism and dignity. They revered their bodies as temples and forbade themselves to abuse that holy place with cigarettes, harmful foods, and promiscuity. They created new laws that changed the way women lived; pantyhose was outlawed; sanitary products were complimentary; men were fined for disrespecting women in the streets; rapists were castrated; scientists were required to find new ways to use the earth’s natural resources for everything from energy to makeup; all civil servants were forced to send their children to public schools to ensure the quality of education; chocolate was free during PMS; and dress sizes were banned—if it fit, you’d buy it. The study of martial arts was required of all goddesses and they were well versed in the art of Yoga and meditation. They became the sirens of integrity—as close to perfect as humanly possible.
These Goddesses embraced people from all walks and ways of life. Religious denominations were prohibited so judgment was left only to the Creator. And their apparent triumph was like a breath of fresh air to all who had been suffocating under the smothering hands of “civilization.”
