The goddesses whose rage still lives in our bones

Since the pandemic, the more I’ve learned about misogyny, patriarchy, colonization, capitalism and white supremacy, the more I cannot unsee it.

And it sits in my body, waiting to erupt. This is aside from the rage I feel with what’s happening to vulnerable folks around the globe. It’s all connected.

Last weekend I started to look into goddesses and female saints.

Mary Magdalene

After hearing about her lost book, on a podcast, I became fascinated with Mary Magdalene and the lengths to which Constantine went to ensure her sacred texts were hidden. And that women’s importance in the world of healing was in essence, at least temporarily, vaporized. It was Meggan Watterson’s book that I’d heard about and ended up purchasing.

Mary Magdalene played a more a central role in early Christianity that was later deliberately buried. In the rediscovered books, she is not a marginal figure but a close companion of Jesus and the first witness to the resurrection. In the Gospel of John, she is explicitly commissioned to carry the news to the other disciples—earning her the early title “Apostle to the Apostles.” This puts her at the heart of the Christian story, not on its edges.

The rediscovery of early Christian and Gnostic texts, the Gospel of Mary, found among the Nag Hammadi texts in 1945, reveals an even more striking portrait. In these writings, Mary is a visionary and teacher who receives teachings others do not and interprets Jesus’s wisdom with clarity and authority. Her authority is openly challenged by male disciples, especially Peter. This shows that arguments about women’s leadership existed from the very beginning of Christianity, not just in modern reinterpretations.

Mary’s later reduction to a repentant prostitute, a characterization absent from scripture and formalized in the 6th century, was a political move that neutralized her authority by sexualizing and diminishing her.

For feminist scholars and theologians, Mary Magdalene has become a powerful symbol of suppressed wisdom, embodied spirituality, and the systematic silencing of women who threaten institutional power. Her recovery is not just about correcting the historical record; it exposes how traditions are shaped, whose voices are preserved, and whose truths are deemed too dangerous to endure.

Medusa

Then I moved on to Medusa. As a child, reading about Greek mythology in school, the thought of a woman who had snakes for hair, and whose gaze could turn humans to stone, was scary to me.

It wasn’t until I was faced with a huge life decision that Medusa came back into my consciousness.

I was told my full time newscaster/reporter position would be cut in half, less than half actually. My station manager said something had come up at another regional radio station newsroom, they needed a replacement that could come right in and cover a vacation for a week. I jumped at the chance, as they offered to put my up in a hotel, give me a car and pay for my travel.

Once I got there, the news director showed me around, told me what I had to do, and I was on the air doing newscasts that afternoon. That night, I attended a station BBQ. The next morning they fired that news director, and I was left with the folks who were reeling at their boss being fired and me being in the mess of it. I called my boss and asked if he’d known this was going to happen. He didn’t admit nor deny. Meanwhile. the female station manager invited me out for dinner that following night. I knew she was going to offer me a position. And there was no question I needed it, but as I was getting ready for dinner in my hotel room, I saw a waking vision of that female station manager, but she had Medusa’s head, full of snakes.

It literally scared the shit out of me.

I didn’t take the job, no matter how much she pleaded or what she offered me.

I went back to my own station and maybe two weeks later, I got a full time job offer at another station that was much better than I could have ever imagined.

I had no idea Medusa had, in recent years become a feminist icon.

Medusa served as a priestess in a temple dedicated to Athena. She was quite beautiful and was pursued by Poseiden. He violated her in the temple (to where she had fled to escape his advances). Athena was outraged this had happened in her temple but instead of persecuting Poseiden, the goddess transformed Medusa’s beautiful hair into snakes and her gaze, causing mortals to turn to stone.

The female gaze has been adopted into a petrification of patriarchy. And I’m fucking here for it.

From The Spark Company - click on image to get to the link

Isis

I have felt this connection with Isis in the past 18 months. I feel her around me, her essence but had never looked into who she was until now.

Isis is one of the most powerful and enduring figures in the ancient world, long before Christianity emerged. She was a healer, a magician, a mother, and a wise woman who knew how to gather what has been broken and bring it back to life. When her husband Osiris is killed and dismembered, Isis searches for his scattered body parts, reassembles him, and restores him through her knowledge, devotion, and magic.

What makes Isis especially resonant for feminist culture is that her power comes from wisdom, care, and skill rather than domination. She is both tender and formidable: a grieving partner, a devoted mother, and a master of sacred knowledge. Her magic suggests a form of authority rooted in experience and relationship, not hierarchy.

As the worship of Isis spread across the Mediterranean world, she became a figure of protection and hope for ordinary people, especially women and the poor. Many scholars see echoes of Isis in later depictions of Mary, particularly in images of the divine mother and in traditions that honour compassion, healing, and intercession. Isis represents an older lineage of female power—one that values restoration over conquest, and wisdom over control.

From Encyclopia Brittanica:

“Isis was the perfect traditional Egyptian wife and mother—content to stay in the background while things went well, but able to use her wits to guard her husband and son should the need arise. The shelter she afforded her child gave her the character of a goddess of protection. But her chief aspect was that of a great magician, whose power transcended that of all other deities.”

Her powers were greater than all other deities, transcendental. I love that.

Hildegard of Bingen

Public Domain | Collage by Aleteia

I’m unsure now of how I landed on Hildegard of Bingen, but once I found her story, I was fascinated, and elated to research the tensions she straddled while alive.

Hildegard of Bingen was a 12th-century nun, but also a mystic, composer, healer, and writer who refused to stay small in a world that expected women to be silent. From a young age, she experienced powerful visions. It wasn’t until much later in life that she recorded these visions in works that blended theology, poetry, and vivid imagery of the natural world. Unlike many women of her time, Hildegard did not keep her insights private, she spoke publicly, wrote extensively, and corresponded with popes, emperors, and church leaders, often challenging them directly. This took immense courage. Some depictions suggest she was often sick as a younger person, and I believe this was a result of her silencing her voice. It is written that she was tithed to the church as the youngest of 10 children to a noble family. It was that, or she would have had no choice in an arranged marriage.

What makes Hildegard especially important to feminist culture is that she claimed spiritual authority without asking permission. She grounded her work in direct experience rather than doctrine alone, arguing that divine wisdom was alive in the body, the earth, and the creative act. And that it was free of dogma. Her concept of viriditas—the life-giving green force that animates all things, offered a version of spirituality rooted in balance and care for the world. She also created her own language to speak with the nuns in her charge. She started two all-female monastaries.

For contemporary feminists, Hildegard stands as proof that women have always been thinkers, leaders, and truth-tellers, even when institutions tried to contain distinguish their light. She shows how women learned to speak from the margins while still shaping the center, and how vision, creativity, and moral courage can coexist with deep intellect and political clarity.

Here’s a slideshow of some of Hildegard of Bingen’s art.

These are simply offered as inspiration I felt strongly to share.

I am also researching a vision I had regarding a woman with long dark hair and a white furry hat, sitting cross-legged leading a circle of negotiations. There is also a white elk in the vision and her father is a chief.

Let me know how these resonate with you and if you know who the last figure might be.

Much love, strength and joy to all.