Ancient chants, songs and drumbeats came from our ancestral mothers. They swayed in rhythm with the wind, the sunrise, sunset and danced under the stars. They sang over crops and fields; they sang over new life, and they sang the old ones to rest. They knew the seasons by the moons and stars. They heard ancient wisdom on the winds, they moved in rhythm with the spiral of increase and change. The universe spoke to them through the ancient mothers about mysteries and magic and stories that carried them through every turn of the wheel. As children they learned the ancient stories of gods and goddesses, of epic tales and tests and triumphs while they sat by the fire. Then they passed stories of the gods to their children and their grandchildren and on the story went. The keeper of the keys, they created homes and community, they recognized and encouraged skills and talents to proffer trade between artisans. These ancient mothers plucked and dug herbs and roots for healing; hunted berries and nuts, planted and tended gardens, preserved meat and skins, and weaved new life and new garments. They could hunt, fight, own property, hold positions of authority and choose their partners at will. The wise women were seated in positions of honor at tables and given safe passage as they traveled from one home to the next. The tribes turned to villages; villages turned to kingdoms and kingdoms turned to cities. The mesmerizing tales of the gods and goddesses, giants and dwarves were replaced by the story of the one god and his rules and requirement of vigilant servitude. The keys were taken from the ancient mothers, and homes, skills and crafted goods became the property of the kingdom. Women became an evil distraction and their knowledge nonsense, with the wisdom of a hundred generations relegated to tales. Stories were still told in hushed voices and songs sung in the moonlight, but they became nothing more than whimsical melodies sung by tortured souls. The one god took the right to be self-sufficient, self-governing, self-reliant and tribal reliant. All power and authority was given to the one god and those self-appointed magistrates that enforced servitude and reliance. Soon daughters were tempted by unfamiliar melodies with words promising the freedom and strength that had been taken from them. The forgotten stories and the songs of the earth gave way to these new melodies and the daughters chased the new songs losing their magic and their souls along the way. Now their days are spent in a maze of streets and aisles. Their hands work for someone else so that kings may grow fat and kingdoms larger. Strangers raise their children who are unfamiliar with ancient songs, mysteries and natural law, filling the little one’s heads with programmed thoughts. Residences cover the countryside where forests and fields once stood and home is now a word crafted as decor, a stark reminder of what used to be. Food is no longer prepared with love, nourished by herbs and roots to strengthen and heal a family. It is selected from the maze in clever packaging that resembles nutrition but is as lifeless as the package it is sold in. Tightly woven tribes and villages that supported the family unit and provided the extra helping hand have been commercialized into various services that never touch the heart or heal the soul. The pillar of the family unit, once united in caring for and contributing to the family, are now just two people that domicile together hoping to survive the chaos in the maze. We fell for this. We followed the minstrel’s song and left our souls behind. We believed the lies fed to us about freedom, stronger voices, monetary stability and that someone else was better at raising and educating our children than we were. We believed that an appliance could make better things for our tribe than our own hands. We believed that finding ourselves at the top of a skyscraper was more important and more fulfilling than creating, singing, dancing, healing, magic and mysteries. We believed that we were evolving into a life and culture greater than the ones our ancient mothers lived in. We believed it. The evidence is in. We can see the impact that this transition from natural law, nature based, self-sufficient living has cost us. We may live longer but life is prolonged by chemicals and machines that do not provide quality living, only existence. We have outrageous numbers of our children born with cognitive, degenerative, and chronic diseases. Bodies fed from the aisles in the maze are diseased, degenerating, and lethargic. Marriage has been relegated to the side bar while the main story is written by those seeking social decline and extinction. We have poisoned the land, water and air with all these "helpful" products and tools meant to better our lives. We integrated the laws and requirements of the one god so deeply within our social structures that a life of servitude is accepted reality. Therefore, we give our time and energy to the production of goods and services that are in turn destroying our quality of life and the futures of our children. There are many who think such a life impossible in this current age. That is not true. All it takes is courage. Courage to leave the maze. Women have always been the creative ones. Learning to take what they had and create amazingly beautiful things. It has always been the privilege of women to create a home, care for children and make sure there was enough. We may not all be seamstresses or weavers or great cooks but because of our social nature we have always resourced what we needed. Our ancient mothers were the stewards of their husbands business, keepers of the home and children, gardener's and herd women, and they had their own skills and trades to bring to the table. We were skilled in many things from soothing a child, to planting seeds, to building a house, to hunting, shooting and even fighting and singing the old ones home. May it be so again.