The Divine Feminine
By Michelle Higgins

Her laughter softens burdens,
her prayers build unseen bridges,
and her gentle presence whispers to the world
that love still lives here.

When she holds a sleeping child,
she anchors a soul.
When she forgives without hesitation,
she shifts timelines.
When she holds grief that isn’t her own,
she heals ancestral wounds.

She’s the language of strength without bitterness,
of softness without weakness.
She prays without words
and listens with her soul.
She is the keeper of forgotten lullabies,
the soft songs once sung beneath starlit cradles.

She is the embodiment of creation itself—
the womb of the world
and the breath between beginnings and endings.
She is both vessel and voice:
soft enough to hold sorrow,
strong enough to birth stars.

She is the guardian of intuition,
the keeper of ancestral memory,
and the silent storm that moves mountains
without raising her voice.

Her power is not in domination,
but in restoration.
She bends without breaking,
weeps without weakening,
and loves with a depth that carries the first light of creation,
gathering what has been scattered and mending what was broken.

To be a divine woman is to carry rivers in your soul,
to bleed with the moon
and rise like the sun—again and again.
It is to feel the world deeply
and still choose to nourish it.

It is to dance in the tension of wildness and wisdom,
to know when to surrender
and when to soar.

When her body grows quiet
and her soul steps fully into the realm of forever,
her legacy will not fade—it will multiply.
It will rise in every woman who dares to see herself clearly,
in every man who honors the sacred balance,
in every heart that chooses love over fear.
Because she was the memory of what was holy,
the voice of what was forgotten,
and the living promise that the divine feminine never dies.