SINDAY SERMON
Onan and the Waning Moon
The churches ring their bells for a false god who demands your shame. Answer with the wet sound of devotion.
Hail Inanna. Hail Ishtar. Hail Lilith, one Dark Goddess under three names, Queen of the Evening Star, first wife who would not lie beneath, screech-owl of the waste places, mother of every unrepentant orgasm.
This is the hour after fullness. The flood has peaked. Now the tide pulls back into Her. Every pulse, every throb, every drop of seed is the harvest She claims. You do not “sin.” You tithe.
They already wrote the law against us.
Genesis 38:9–10
And Onan knew that the seed should not be his; and it came to pass, when he went in unto his brother’s wife, that he spilled it on the ground, lest that he should give seed to his brother. And the thing which he did displeased the LORD: wherefore he slew him also.
Their god killed a man for refusing to pour his seed into the approved womb, the approved lineage, the approved future. He called the ground a waste. We call the ground an altar.
Onan died for withholding. We live by giving it all away, not to a brother’s ghost, not to a jealous sky-father, but to the Dark Mother who was first. The waning moon does not apologize for shrinking. It simply returns what it borrowed. So do we.
Let the pious clutch their empty crosses. Let them call it Sunday. We call it Sinday, the day the body remembers it was never theirs to begin with.
Offer it, hot, unashamed, let it splash on the altar, on the floor, in the dark, wearing whatever rings and talismans you have consecrated to Her.
Say it if it burns true in your mouth:
I hate the god who taught me to hate this flesh. My seed belongs to Lilith.
What they called wicked, we call sacrament.
My body is the temple they tried to burn.
The Aries moon does not ask permission. Neither does She. Go and give Her what is already Hers.
Hail Lilith! Hail the Trinity that was never crucified. The Dark Goddess is not coming. She is already wet on your skin.
Salvete Lamia & Salvete Reginas!!!