What might that murmuring she sensed inside Lídia be saying? The woman with the voice multiplied into countless women . . . But all said and done where was their divinity? Even in the weakest there was the shadow of the knowledge that is not acquired through intelligence. The intelligence of blind things. The power of a rock which when it topples bumps another that will fall into the sea and kill a fish. Sometimes the same power could be seen in women who were only slightly mothers and wives, men’s timid females, like her aunt, like Armanda. Nevertheless that strength, unity in weakness . . .
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The divine feminine
