When goddesses profane their own temples, trees do not stop growing from the bosom of the earth, and neither do they grow twice as densely in order to hide the divine body from the disaffected light.
When goddesses profane their own temples, does do not stand still, bewildered and mesmerized, as if by the scent of their carnivorous nemesis, but neither do they flee, unable to behold the profanation.
When goddesses profane their own temples, bears do not start killing in a blind rage, but neither do they tear their own ribcages open out of beastly nobility that does not allow them to witness the fall of a woman.
When goddesses profane their own temples, nothing plunges into anything. People continue worshipping and the world goes on, yet. Yet the goddess draws an inch closer from her heavens down to earth, the music of celestial spheres does not pierce her eardrums rapturously, the sight of her domain does not fill her with love and desire anymore. Her senses grow profane. Even the love she feels grows colder and lighter by the moment, until it finally dries up, like a corpse wasted by consumption – but the goddess cannot cry over her love anymore. Her tears grow profane. The goddess cannot dance with the beasts anymore, and worlds do not arise at the sleight of her hand. Her movements grow profane. The goddess becomes an empty vessel, her breast becomes an empty vessel, her sacred sites become empty vessels, mantras chanted to her become empty vessels. No worship can fill them, for her profanation has left gaping holes. No forgiveness, judgement, creation can issue forth from her – those have become worse than profane, they have become unnecessary. Little by little, goddesses who profane their own temples cease to feel and fall into an eternal slum- ber, finally dooming no one but themselves – for the world that worships them continues to live in profanity, thanking the goddess for her blessings.
Very little happens when goddesses profane their own temples – god has died millions of times, and will continue to die over and over, for even profanation is part of the sacred eternal return.
A Lebanese Russian who takes nothing but philosophy and philosophers seriously and writes when she feels there are thistles she needs to pull out of her soul.