Goddess Sex
Hers. Hers. Hers.
I forget how it happened exactly, but I remember when it did. It was in the late days of winter, right before spring 2021. ______ had recently happened and I had to _______1. It was perhaps the second or third most fucked up thing I ever experienced in my life.
Like most trauma in my life, I didn’t register that it affected me, was affecting me, would continue to affect me. Even now, I can’t look at art about it without feeling a certain way. For two years after, I used to come home to my apartment and look for signs that ______ was still ____ or ______ wasn’t _____. It has been challenging and difficult to avoid writing about it, but I can settle for writing around it.
There is another thing related to it that I’ve been cryptic about. I would like to finally talk directly about it, because I can feel something is asking me to speak the truth.
I. Shrooms
George Carlin once said LSD permanently rewired his brain. Psilocybin did the exact same thing to me as well.
I became disillusioned with the world at the end of 2020. I’ve discussed dealing with online harassment and a rupture in my professional circle during that year, but it wasn’t just that. It was realizing there was a drop in interest with the BLM protests, realizing that the average American would turn stagnant and choose denial in the face of a Biden victory. It was figuring out that the Trump era was just that: An era. People wanted to go back to normal.
I did not want to go back to normal. And I did not want to go back to whatever was on the other side of normal.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped playing shooters and I started wearing leather. I was having sex I didn’t want and doing sex I wasn’t into. I was reading books that were certifiably mid because other people said they were based. I was hiding my interest in nerd shit because it wasn’t cool to be at home, real queers touched grass, lathered lube and fucked.
One day, I woke up and realized that I wasn’t being honest with myself. I was trying to look punky because that’s what you did if you were a dyke in Brooklyn. I was trying to hang out in bars, events, and activist spaces that were cool. Hip. Sexy. Forcing myself to go to parties I didn’t enjoy, listen to poetry I didn’t like, jerk off writers I hated to read, wear clothes I didn’t feel comfortable in. And for what? What good came of any of it?
I had wrestled with the millennial New York spirit, the proto-Dimes Square, and there I found nothing. Nothing but appearance over substance, aesthetics over values. The token trans woman in a self-congratulatory circlejerk of radical aesthetics. Aging millennials jacking each other off so hard it made a bukkake scene in a futanari hentai look tame.
What the fuck was I doing?
“I was still doing people-pleasing. I was 30, and I resonated much more truly with the 20-year-olds. I was more in line with them than I was with these people I was entertaining in nightclubs,” George Carlin said in his last interview. “I began to be affected by it, and along the way, the judicious use of some mescaline and some LSD managed to accelerate the process. It gave me more of an insight into how false the world was I was settling for, and to see that there was something much richer and better and more authentic. And those changes happened, they just—they happened naturally and organically.”
Like Carlin and LSD, shrooms accelerated the process into course-correcting. The change would have happened regardless. But psilocybin sped it up. Then the occult pushed it into overdrive.
II. Occult
Cultist Simulator is a video game from a developer I will not mention due to reasons I was already well aware of at the time. It inspired my first game Blood Pact. And then I started playing it again around late 2020.
I can’t remember why I was drawn to Cultist Simulator the second time. I believe it was because of the psychological aspects, the social manipulation. I had recently dealt with a sociopath who had ripped through one of my industry circles, and a friend pointed out that her behavior mirrored the player’s in CS. No surprise, given what I referenced above. The mind of a manipulator, the need to grow in power, using and discarding others for personal gain — all while avoiding being caught. Cultist Simulator was a study of its creator, so for me, it provided a bit of closure.
But something about the game’s world started to affect me. In late 2020, I felt all the journalistic work I had written and the entire career I had built amounted to “a custard pie dropped from a stepladder six feet high,” to quote Kurt Vonnegut. I had done what I set out to do in my writing and for what? I took my thoughts to the streets and for nothing. I kept company with people who fucked with my work and found they were fucking with me. Boring, vapid, miserable, I was falling out of love with the subcultures I found myself in. I wanted to ascend from whatever world we were building. Maybe escape from it.
I suppose I could see myself in the unnamed and unknown protagonist in Cultist Simulator. Not the urge to control, but the urge to surpass the mundane and emerge at a higher plane of existence. The spiritual version of my career as a journalist: Ascending from the shadows, going from a nobody to a powerful somebody. If I could do it in my career, I could do it spiritually. As below, so above.2
Like a true neurodivergent hyperfixating on her favorite new toy, I became really interested in what was going on inside Cultist Simulator (even though I was really bad at the game itself). I began digging into the lore. I purchased a tarot deck and started learning the cards. Hoping for something greater to reach my doorstep, something that reeked of grandeur. Hoping, deep down, that whatever was in the game was real. Or at the bare minimum, that I could make contact with the unknown.
III. Contact
I did not get to enter the cool video game world I was hyperfixating over. But I did get to meet something when I took my first shrooms dose in the late days of winter, about a month before spring 2021.
I learned a couple things during my first trip. There was the simple stuff, the type every OpenAI engineer wants to learn from dropping acid. You know, “All the books on my nightstand are because I’m running from myself instead of accepting myself for who I am.” The fun, introspective, therapyspeak stuff.
Then there was _____, and the strength I had to summon within because of ______. When I had to pull myself out of my own fucking trip so I could ________. I learned that day there is an incredible strength within me that should never be called upon again.
And then there was the occult.
In simplest terms: I had a trip where I experienced different dimensions of reality other than our own, overlaid on our everyday experience. It was a light trip (the dose was way too low for my body weight), so I didn’t really leave the physical world. I was present enough to, yes, exert control over my mind so _____. But I absolutely was tripping and seeing things.
Toward the tail end of the trip, when the psilo was starting to leave my system, a lasting connection happened. It’s hard to put into words, but it’s like a spirit— a daemon, in the traditional Greek term — decided to make contact with me. Revealing its presence, sparkling and dancing in the dying winter light. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. Reminding me that, if I wanted to, I could contact the spiritual world.
Four years later, I suspect this might have happened because of, you know, _______. I kept microdosing afterward, even took a smaller trip for New Years Eve in 2021, but I ultimately decided to leave behind psilo the following year. In the meantime? My dreams came true, and I was high on the sweet, spiritual vibes.
IV. Hellenic
I remember a couple things shortly after my trip. First, feeling warm inside for the next few weeks. Fuzzy, empowered, and ready to discover all the hidden secrets of the world.
Second, having to call _______ and go to _______ and having a lot of friends ask me if I was okay while I tried to keep it together. I was fine. It sucked but I was fine. I had this new path to explore, something incredible, this spiritual awakening to follow. It turns out I am stronger than most people and, yes, what I was searching for was real.
Now it was time to make some phone calls and get to work.
I spent the next few weeks trying to figure out what to make of everything, spiritually. What path would I choose to find the truth? Witchcraft was infested with a self-help vibe I was allergic to, so that wouldn’t work. Choose-your-own-path paganism felt like a form of Tumblr SJWism that I despised (“hello, AFAB here! introducing are all the trans women of yore to worship like gods instead of people”). The traditional occult was too vague for me; I wanted rules, ideas, and reasons that made sense. A path that provided values to follow and relationships to explore.
I considered exploring and understanding my own private pantheon, but I was nervous about falling too deep within myself. I wanted to worship gods others knew, gods I could compare notes on. A thought struck me: Well, if you want a series of gods you adore so much, what about Ancient Greece?
I was always interested in Greek mythology. I loved Hades, adored The Odyssey, and studied Ancient Greek statues and pottery as a teen. When I was a freshman in high school learning Greek myths, I was fascinated with Edith Hamilton’s conception of the Christian God as the literal spiritual successor to Zeus, something I always thought was true. So why not go for joining a revival religion?
I looked through the gods available in the Hellenic polytheist pantheon. I felt a strange pull toward Artemis. Virginal goddess, asexual but with homoerotic undertones. Guardian of womanhood with a cacophony of nymphs. Coded as a lesbian and, yes, a personal favorite in Hades. I was smitten. But was I ready to make contact with a goddess? Was I ready to go from a curious observer toying with the occult to an actual pagan worshiping the ancient gods?
I thought about it carefully. I met with a friend for a drink, and she encouraged me to follow my heart. Then I came home and played Hades. My run opened with a boon from Artemis. It felt like a sign. I prayed to Her. She responded. Positively, ready for me. It felt right. It was time.
V. ᾌ̷̭͒ρ̴͂͑͜͜τ̸̟̘̈͑έ̴̭μ̴͈̯̉ι̸̦̕ς̶̲͂ͅ
Artemis came on very strong after our first encounter.
An intensity, almost possessive.
I could feel her slipping in.
On the couch.
Wanting me.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
What the fuck was happening to me?
Was I being violated?
Going insane?
I was losing control.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
VI. Confusion
I laid on the couch, confused and a little shaken. I spent the day learning as much as I could online, and I couldn’t find much. Most posts about Artemis involved anxiety about worshiping Her correctly. Everyone was scared of fucking up with Her. Very few people described an intense, nerve-wracking experience like mine with Her. Except for one other woman.
“Tl;Dr: new female pagan tries to connect with the goddess Artemis, has an intimate vision between her and the goddess, feels weird, apologizes to Artemis, asks for a sign to show she's forgiven,” an r/pagan user wrote. “Sees significantly less of the moon and more crows for a week. Wondering how to interpret and proceed.”
The Redditor said she met the Roman version of Artemis3, surrounded by Her hunters. Here, Diana embraced her, “and things got... intimate.”
“Like kisses and hugs and caresses, that sort of thing. Not necessarily sexual, just intimate,” the woman said. “I was embarrassed and kept pulling back and apologizing for being so forward, but she kept pulling me back in. I've heard stories where she's punished men for stumbling upon her or her nymphs naked. I'm female, but getting so close still felt like I was crossing a forbidden boundary. “
Gaia told the pagan that Diana “can be confusing like that sometimes." A worshiper of Artemis/Diana had a far more direct answer: Artemis wasn’t “confusing” (or “creative,” I should say). She approached Her female worshipers like a dyke.
“Hey don’t worry, Diana/Artemis is actually a Lesbian goddess,” that user wrote. “The ancients just didn’t understand that or had a different way of understanding it and called her Virginal. I was dedicated to Diana for a year (I am also a female) and she pursued the same romantic/sexual relationship with me. She LOVES women!! These experiences for women are very normal with her. So you can relax and know nothing untoward is happening.”
Maybe this was Artemis’ way of saying hello.
VII. Prayer
Some worshipers don’t hear gods. I do. Not literally, through voices and visions. But I can feel them when I talk to them.
For me, speaking to a god is embodied. It feels like a great, powerful being slipping Her hand into my heart and activating my emotions, tugging and pulling on them like harp strings. Like my emotions are an instrument for the gods. I then have to interpret these sensations to understand their answers. What strong agreement feels like. How disagreement appears. Assurance. Love. Compassion. Rejection. Gods are surprisingly patient with the learning curve — and are OK with repeat questions. I imagine it’s hard to annoy a deity.
Different gods tug on my heart differently. Each one’s presence feels unique. Artemis is like the woods, wilderness, quiet solitude, comfortable in being alone. She comes strongly, but encourages a sense of emotional independence. Aphrodite is loving, passionate, seductive but motherly. She is quick to wrap Her arms around me and take care of me. Hestia, virginal and grounded, is warm like a fire. Hecate is cool and practical; with Her, it’s work. Athena comes serious, stern, and direct. If I want to pray to Her, I have to do it by the book, or She won’t come.4
Artemis and Aphrodite are the easiest to contact. I sometimes pray to them together. You would assume these two goddesses are opposites, even in conflict. But they describe my separate halves well. Aphrodite, my loving, seductive, sexual side. Artemis, my solitary, lesbian, asexual tendencies. Aphrodite protects my heart; Artemis, my mind. Everyone has an Apollonian and Dionysian side, but doesn’t every woman have a bit of Aphrodite and Artemis inside her too?
VIII. Psychosis
I once read about a Hellenic pagan who could see the gods. It didn’t come easy. She had to do a lot of ritual, a lot of work, set a lot of expectations, and prepare her mind for it.
But yes, she was romantically involved with Dionysos, and He would visit her. This was not in her head, but the equivalent of a loved one randomly popping into your house. If she wasn’t careful, a roommate would catch a glimpse of Him and ask “who that strange guy was in your room.” So their encounters had to be discrete.
I always wanted that to happen to me. But I know why Artemis, Aphrodite, Hecate, no goddess would ever come. And I do not want them to anymore, I think.
When I was working on Kharis, which was a fictional distillment of what this essay discusses, I quickly came to realize that some minds cannot hear or feel gods because it isn’t good for them. My relationship with paganism works because, deep down, I’m not a woo person. I compartmentalize strong feelings, traumas, pains, pleasures. Fantasy and reality don’t necessarily cross circuits.
It’s funny, because I do believe fictional worlds are real things, whispered to us by the Muses, existing in parallel universes. And yet, ironically enough, I’m struggling to create a fictional world for myself, a self-indulgent creation with fun self-inserts. It’s like there’s a wall in the way; my own art is there to observe, to create but not touch.
Ironically, to surrender to fantasy is to surrender control.
Deep down, I am a solitary individual who struggles with emotional intimacy. I need privacy. I need safe places to retreat to, quiet and alone. I need to stay uninvolved with the people I live with or see regularly, because whenever I get too close, I get hurt. My favorite barista doesn’t even know my name. I need to know I can back out every time I have to. I need to know I can disappear somewhere and be alone.
If a goddess visited my room and poofed Herself into existence on a whim, the walls would come crumbling down.
I do not use the term “psychosis” sensationally, but to describe a simple reality: I do not talk to all my friends about my beliefs, because many of my friends over the years have had brains built differently than mine. So I don’t like to talk about my belief system except in very contained and controlled circumstances. Besides, I am lucky to be privileged with a mind that works the way it does, that allows for the spiritual experiences I can explore. Experiencing schizophrenia and psychosis are my greatest fears.
IX. Sex
The exact memory is blurry to me, but during those early months, Artemis and I began having something akin to sex. We would kiss. We would caress. We would make love. It would be difficult at times, as the idea of a lesbian Artemis sexually engaging with my body felt at odds with Her virginal and asexual mythology. But what I was feeling was real, and was with Her. She wanted it. And I could sense early on that the way She liked having sex was just as unique as my own preferences (later, I would figure out Her desires were more ace-oriented, again, not unlike myself)5.
I met other queer pagans, other trans pagans. They confessed that they, too, had sexual experiences with gods. I learned of queer mythology readings and how non-Athenian Greek myths shed more light into the homoerotic aspects of a god or goddess. Artemis and Callisto’s lore suggested a complex attraction between the two. Academic interpretations of Artemis, Her nymphs, and Her relationship with other goddesses revealed a hidden lesbianism among other immortals. It became clear to me that Artemis is more than just a “dyke-coded virginal goddess.” If you’re a gay girl, and if the vibes are right, She will fuck you.
Early on, I knew Artemis was my matron goddess, my main goddess, my primary deity. I did not expect our sexual encounters to become so integral to our early months together, but I was still processing my aceness and asexuality, and still discovering intimacy beyond sex; I had to have sex in order to be reached. I began to understand my sexuality as ace and complex as I spent more time with Artemis. And so as I matured sexually, we did not need to have sex so often.
As time went on, sex with Artemis became more abstract, less traditional in approach and act. It became obvious to me that Artemis enjoyed, even preferred, Dominating Her lovers by controlling them and their body. Activating certain emotions, feelings, or responses. Perhaps Artemis’ preference is for kink, for fetishism, for BDSM that has less to do with penetration and more to do with exerting power over her worshipers. The distant goddess who touches but doesn’t fuck. Even now, I’m unsure.
I do not think I will receive an easy answer. About a year after I began my practice, Artemis began encouraging me to become independent from Her, comfortable with the up’s and down’s of life without needing to call on Her for help. My time triaging what happened with _______ was done, and it was time to learn how to figure out the future on my own.
But the sexual undertones never truly went away. Around this same time, Artemis planted an idea in my head: To submit to Her as Her pet, Her dog, Her servant. In return, She would be my Owner and Huntress. The idea rattled in my brain, would follow me as I walked around Brooklyn and searched through occult libraries. Was I calling on a fantasy, or was Artemis bringing the thought into my head? I do not know.
Finally, I woke up one morning, bowed, and submitted as Her dog. Artemis became not just my matron, but my ur-Domme, my ur-Owner. It solidified the simple fact that my Goddess undeniably controls my very soul.
I suspect this decision was made for me many lives ago, and I am the last in a long line of versions of myself to find out.
Is kink innate to god sex? It’s hard to say, as BDSM and paganism go together like Guilty Gear Strive and 4mg/day estradiol. Raven Kaldera has written much about BDSM with the gods, although gods tend to reach us where we’re at, not vice-versa. So, do the gods engage in kink to teach us things and make themselves approachable to us? Or do they enjoy D/s for the same reasons as you and I? I do not expect easy answers. The D/s undertones in my own relationship with Artemis have waxed and waned ever since I began actively seeking out 24/7 D/s relationships with other (human) women again.
But even as I write this, I can feel the pull of Her on me. The invisible collar around my neck, the spiritual leash tied to Her hand. If She wanted to take me for a walk, I would have to obey. It’s what dogs do. They yield to their Master. And I suspect the joy is shared mutually, not just because I am wired to serve a goddess.
X. Erotics
I didn’t really fully understand what was happening when Artemis first approached me for sex. Just that something was taking over me, almost possessing me. It felt good and it felt scary and it made me feel afraid that I was going to be turned into a sex toy for a god — or a demon.
God sex is different than human sex. For me, a god plays with the inside of one’s body. Does things to it. Makes me feel a certain way. I suppose to Her, my body is filled with emotions, nerves, and pressure points to engage with, and She touches them as She pleases to make me feel certain things. Good. Aroused. Hard. Overstimulated. It’s like a simulation of sex. An exercise in control. It was scary at first (and it sometimes still is), but nothing is done without the end goal of a lesson. Or some fun.
Some experience and practice has better contextualized god sex.
First, you can say no. Gods might even proposition sex just to have you practice saying no to them. Saying no to a god, and knowing it won’t affect your relationship with them, is a good and important thing. Gods want worshipers who choose them, not cowering prey who fear them.
Second, it is sex, although sometimes gods are more actively fucking you — and sometimes they’re just making you feel good through access to your body. There is a difference. Some gods like having literal sex, others, not so much. Some gods do not want to have sex at all. Or, I think it’s more accurate to say, some gods are less likely to seek out sex with you than with others. Don’t take this personally. Hecate rejected my request for a sexual relationship, but I know other worshipers have been sexually involved with Her.
Third, different gods respond to prayer in different ways, and different gods have sex in different ways. Aphrodite is the most traditional: Loving, passionate, the most like mortal sex. Apollon is precise and strong, a bit less gentle than His sister, and not afraid to present as a sun goddess to bed me6. Dionysos is undeniably T4T, with all the love and pain and sisterly longing it demands; I often use She/Her pronouns for Her, as She tends to come to me as a trans woman. Of them all, Artemis is the most unique, and the most likely to engage in Domination and submission with me (although Aphrodite also loves to Dominate me).
Lastly, I’m not sure if everyone can have sex with gods.
I feel like some part of my body was designed to communicate with deities in a special and even scary way. Like there is a spiritual hole in my chest, a divine orifice. A glove a god can easily slip on and access.
Trans pagans are likely to be possessed and ridden by deities.7 I have felt it at times. Artemis slipping in, feeling things out, rearranging the interior of my mind. Getting things in order. The feeling is beautiful and scary. She and the other gods know I’m not ready yet. But one day, it’s going to be asked of me. To give my body and mind to them for short stints of time, 10 or 15 minutes, and do some bidding.
Perhaps this is why I can have sex with gods. There is something built inside me, designed for an additional purpose. But like using an inguinal canal to muff, this feature can also be used to fuck my body and mind.
XI. Time
I put off writing about god sex for two reasons. One, it’s embarrassing. People are likely to feel you’re insane, like you’re making a dirty fantasy into a religion or are retreating into a world you’ve created for your own desires.8
It’s an open secret though that plenty of queer pagans have had sexual encounters with gods. It’s also a closed one. Many middle-class pagans hide their spirituality because they work in places where worshiping Hades could get you fired. Imagine if your local he/they twink H&R Block accountant admitted to fucking Dionysos as well.
But I no longer work a white-collar job. I’m a sex worker. My day job is pretending to be a giant anime girl that eats small people and rubs her big round gurgling tummy as her prey digests in her stomach. I have far less shame now than I used to, and the topic of god sex itself seems to come up more and more in conversation whenever I discuss paganism in queer erotic circles.
Two, god sex is highly stigmatized in the pagan community. I find that silly, of course, given polytheistic mythology is filled with deities fucking humans. It seems obvious to me gods would still be doing the same thing in 2024. I mean, there was literally a whole book just written about lesbian sex between Hades and Persephone. I’m pretty sure lesbian Hades is also out there fucking lesbian worshipers of Hers in the spiritual realm — or lesbian Persephone, is I don’t know, consensually roleplaying with women in their dreams, devouring them and making them feel good.
But look, many pagans grew up in religions like Christianity, where sex was seen as shameful and antithetical to religion. The idea that religion has nothing to do with sex is a strong one in American culture. So, I get it. That is an uphill battle and it’s not a fight I really want to get involved in, because I have no interest in becoming a pagan influencer. I am skeptical of pagan content creators as a whole.
So, why to choose to write about this now?
It’s been four years. I have distance and perspective from my baby pagan days. The last shrooms trip I did, I wanted to have a spiritual experience with the gods. Instead, I felt them pushing me back down to Earth. “No, no,” they said, “you’re not doing that. You have to clean your room first.” And I’m still cleaning my room.
With time, I’ve realized that paganism, like all things before it, could be a way to run from myself and not really face the things I needed to. That meant accepting religion as something that won’t necessarily let me ascend to the heavens, but maybe help me cope with death and loss. After all, Artemis asked me to let go a little and be independent, so I did. I used to pray every day; now I pray rarely. I don’t use my tarot cards to access the Real Life Version of Cultist Simulator anymore, but to help me navigate life.
I look at my religion in the way I was always supposed to: Reach enlightenment, carry water, chop wood. Make peace with the world one lives in, or don’t. Either way, god is not an escape.
XII.
It’s just—
A couple months into VTubing, I asked Artemis and Aphrodite: Should I keep doing this? Is this wise? Do I have Your blessing? I asked, and they said yes. Do it. We’ll protect you. You’ll be okay. It will be successful.
The gods did not tell me it would be easy. Just that they would watch out for me. And they have.
It’s always the same signs. I walk into stores, and my favorite music plays. I check the time, and the clock reads 11:11. My fiction work on goddesses open eyes, my tarot game introduces new people to god sex.
Every time I pray to Artemis and Aphrodite for help, they wrap themselves around me and tell me not to worry. They will watch out for me. It will be okay. Like clockwork, when I ask for help with money, hundreds of dollars suddenly appear at my door. New fans, new gigs, a 401k, a generous donation.
It is a beautiful thing, being liked by a god. It is intoxicating, mesmerizing, their control around your neck an incredible addiction. It is also very, very frightening. The fear and horror of knowing there is an ancient power watching over you, controlling you, exerting its power to guide your fragile mortal body. I can’t tell whether it arouses me or frightens me, where my religion ends and my desires begin.
Sometimes I wonder if the general outline and plan of my life has been decided for me. All the things I am supposed to do, all the people I am supposed to meet, all the lives I am supposed to influence (for good or bad). Then I wonder if my soul was bartered for. Maybe I paid for something eons ago, promised eternal servitude to the gods, and every lifetime they find me.
Or maybe it’s not that deep. I nearly pissed my pants on the subway once, and I promised the gods I’d do whatever they wanted if I just made it to the bathroom at home in time.9 Maybe one day, a goddess will show up and cash that check.
If I’m being honest, I’m not sure I’d mind. Not like I would have a choice.
See III.
Sociopath with a god complex, I am not. I later discovered this was an indicator of otherkin tendencies.
There are differing opinions in the pagan community about Greco-Roman variations. Some believe all love goddesses are one; others believe the Greek and Roman iterations of the gods are literally different. I personally believe it is more accurate to consider Diana and Artemis as separate aspects, or faces, of the same deity. However, I do not believe e.g. all love goddesses are the same goddess.
At this point, I should stress that every deity and spirit interacts with individuals differently. You get the aspect of Artemis or Aphrodite or Hecate or such that you need. You might have identical experiences with a god; you might also find Artemis isn’t very gay with you. It’s just how gods present and interact with others, i.e. in multifaceted and very complicated ways.
Please see footnote four again. Also, consider that gods tend to present themselves to us in the ways we need to see. “Artemis likes ace sex” seems like an obvious conclusion for an ace woman who wants to have ace sex. Not everyone is going to have ace-coded experiences with Artemis, and I’m uninterested in suggesting my experience with Her is a more authoritative description of Her “true form” than yours. She is showing me specific aspects of Herself for a reason.
Gods, in my personal experience, do not care about gender presentation all that much. They are more interested in what their worshipers need to be accessed. I expect, for example, Maria Ying’s depiction of Hades and Persephone to become more commonly experienced among lesbian pagans with time.
Queer pagan writers think gods seem to like something about transgender bodies. Is our transition holy? Do they see themselves in us? Do they like us? Pity us? Do they find us admirable, maybe a little more than attractive?
See VIII.
I made it home in time. Do not drink significant amounts of water and caffeine at Anime NYC and then hop on the subway without going to the bathroom first.
I am so moved by this essay! I have experienced so many similar feelings, thoughts, situations!
Thanks for posting about this. This is the first time I’ve come across experiences similar to mine.