At the eerie hour of 1:30 am, on January 20th I'll board a train for a VERY long trip to Manassas, VA. My seat, one of the last available, is a treasure to me, allowing me to rendezvous with my daughter, niece, grandniece, and friends like me, who are in their sixties and seventies, most traveling long distances. Our destination is the Capital in Washington D C. We gather to halt a power principle that has run amuck. We gather to stop a move that would render the feminine goddess invisible. This betrayal of the feminine goddess is of course, achieved through silencing the forces of creativity, inclusiveness, empathy, and grace as our country's song. The image emerging as I anticipate this event is one not often seen historically. It is women (and their allies) populating the narrative, filling the imaginal eye. These women, fueled by the love of the many who cannot attend, will march in Washington and sister cities around the country, not as a military army, but as multitudes of seeds falling in the spring of a new body politic. They move as a powerful wave that will knock from pedestals outdated values of dominance and aggression. We women value natural seeds and water as a human right. We value the ontology of the earth herself. The feminine goddess bears a message, "I will no longer live in a basement of awareness, unseen and unheard. Though I am bountiful, I am nasty too, and angry, and tired of small crumbs being thrown at my feet and taken away if I am not a good servant, or sexually pleasing, or compliant, or trusting and most of all quiet in the rumblings of Washington's great halls." All of us will release this goddess, together. Like seeds falling every spring for millions of years, we are the daughters of many who came before us. Enough survived, enough took hold, and so shall we.