A Creation Story by Sarah Asia

When decades later, the boy returned to his Motherland, he no longer recognized his blood.

She first materialized into the Universe as the Black Scarab.

When she gave birth to the Sun, he suckled just as expected and all seemed swell.

But when growing time came, it was apparent something was amiss.

Weeks passed and now months and then years, and that boy’s color never came in like the rest.

Curious was he, craving to touch the world, when he came to her begging, the Mother sent him off with milk and gold pounds, in heavy heart and understanding.

When decades later, the boy returned to his Motherland, he no longer recognized his blood. His brothers, his sisters, even his own Mother looked foreign to him and he hadn’t the slightest recollect of felling from this womb.

His Mother kissed him with tears in her eyes, her breasts still leaking for his cries. 

She had not forgotten her son. 

But he, in his new life, his new way, no longer shared his Mother’s tongue and instead of embracing her, he straddled her and delicately collected the milk dripping from her swollen chest into a shiny silver canteen. 

When he returned to his foreign land, he shared his milk of Mother and the people loved it. They wanted more. They demanded more. 

So the boy went back to the Motherland and harvested the essence of every man, his brothers and his sisters all lined up in chains alike. He sucked them of their spiritsoul and left them to fester in the sun, coveting the milk to fatten the people of a new land. 

Such is how our world was built, on suckling boys and wilted Mothers. And of One, two societies became: one for the children, pale and bright among the snow, and one for the parents, harvested and discarded, drained of their milk and gold.

What may come when, generations later, these two worlds collide inside someone? Inside me . . . 


[Featured Art by Kayla, 8years old]



I created 13MOONS Magazine to resurrect the sacred feminine in Stories and Art. As a Seeress who’d worked directly with Oshun, Yemaya, Oya, and other earlier Goddesses, I noticed a stark difference in these energies and those of later iterations, such as Venus and Aphrodite. It is like parts of these beings were stripped away. Whether to fit the fashion of culture or men, I’ll leave for you to decide, but this just didn’t sit right with my spirit. And so I dreamed of a platform which would amplify the real voice of the feminine – Stories and Art created by actual women from our perspective, without apology. And here we are.

I am called Astara, a name I received during meditation, meaning Little Sirius. I am here to draw down the energy of Ast, also known as Auset, Isis, and the latest: Mother Mary, truly just a hint of the Original anymore. I am here to Remember and to help Remind us of who we are as women, who we are beneath patriarchal whitewashing and power politics as religion. I am here to Remind us of the wisdom we hold within each of our cells which we have mistakenly (and blasphemously) called our meat suit. I am a Sensual Fluency Educator and Tranceworker, offering tools I’ve channeled from my own body to help you connect with yours. Reach out anytime if you’d like to hear more.

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