The Feminine Principle and Our Evolution of Consciousness

A few excerpts from my latest article recently published in
Light of Consciousness Journal Summer 2013, VOL. 25 NO. 2.
--and posted with these lovely images on Light of Consciousness Facebook Page.

As an aspect of consciousness, the feminine is natural wisdom, an understanding that often manifests as Knowing without thinking. This primordial wisdom senses and understands from within. -- Alex Warden, The Feminine Principle and Our Evolution of Consciousness

By witnessing and consciously experiencing how the thread of life weaves everything together and unites all, the miracle, grandeur, and magic of existence becomes visible once again.

When we live from the feminine consciousness, life is experienced as wondrous and alive. There is a natural sense of togetherness and belonging...The child does not experience herself separate from her mother, the human does not experience herself separate from nature. 
They are One.

The feminine knows its unity with “all” in the same way a pregnant mother knows her union with her unborn child--through experience. 

“If we understand the universe as an increasing embodiment of consciousness or spirit, we can appreciate how consciousness has been incarnating into matter, rooting into substance, or as depicted in the Bible, by being breathed into the dust of the ground. Matter, a word that in its ancient origin signifies mother, source and substance, represents what is often called the Feminine Principle.”

“The Feminine Principle, worshiped for thousands of years as the goddess, the feminine side of God and the sacred feminine, is the protective womb of the spirit, the container that brings the uncreated into existence, the cup that holds the meaning of life, as well as the web that keeps the whole of life together. This principle holds the knowing of union, wholeness and interconnectedness, the understanding that everything is linked to everything else. The feminine expresses itself throughout the cosmos in myriad forms and ways—as a type of consciousness or knowing, as Earth, as nature, as a woman, and even as an aspect of both men and women.”


Megan McFeely interviews Alex Warden

to listen to this 15' podcast, please press below


I woke up on Monday feeling light, relaxed. Like most mornings, it took me a while to be fully awake and feel my body. It seemed fine. I rose to sit up but could not. There was a sharp pain in my lower back. A vertebra had pinched a nerve. My body tightened; it did not let me turn to either side. The pain went up the spine until it reached between my shoulder blades, behind my heart. A stabbing sensation shortened my breath to a minimum. My neck was next. The immobilization now was total. A soft moan, some tears. I tried to push my head and shoulders backwards to expand the chest. It did not work. Instead, the effort made my body slide off the side of the bed. I hit the floor with the weight of a dead body.

My husband heard the noise and came to my aid. He massaged and aligned my body with care. My back cracked like fireworks as he stretched it. I spent the next couple days with my body armor on—lower back, upper back, and neck straps and holders. Lying down was uncomfortable, so was sitting, standing was the worst. Discomfort, much discomfort, reactivity, flashes of nervousness and irritability. I felt like screaming and screamed some, and took painkillers.

By Thursday morning, I felt much better. I took the straps and holders off and was able to walk with care, to turn slowly and to sit with my back straight and turn at the waist. My neck continued to be quite stiff but there was a bit more flexibility. Everything was definitely going back to normal.

For many years, from time to time I had had similar arthritic episodes. Although each had been getting more painful and incapacitating over time, I had grown kind of used to them by now. Nevertheless, they bothered me all the same, every single time. Aging is a persistent teacher.

Thursday evening when I was resting on an armchair watching a movie while waiting for my husband to finish some reading and join me for dinner, from one moment to the next, I felt ill, very ill. It was not the bones. This time it was my belly. It did not feel like food poisoning or bladder or kidney stones. I recognized all those. This was not anything I knew.

In a matter of seconds, an excruciating pain spread all over my body. My senses got blocked. It was as if a thick transparent cover, which stopped all connection with the outside world, enveloped me. I only heard, felt, inside me. A metallic, nauseating noise rang in my ears and a vibration like tiny ants walking everywhere shook me. It was hard to think; I just embraced myself, held myself the best I could. My head, heavy as a rock, pulled my torso forward against my legs. I tried to sit up, but it was impossible. The pain brought me to my knees, onto the floor. My husband was only a few yards away, in the next room. I tried calling him. My voice was low, inward. I managed to say his name. Caught up in his reading, he asked me what I needed but I was barely able to speak. After what seemed like years, I was able to repeat his name. 

Time dissolved. I do not know how long it took for my husband to get to where I was; I was going in and out of consciousness. I remember looking sideways at one point, and seeing him looking at me with a worried expression. He was unsuccessfully trying to keep my head up and kept calling my name. My husband was scared. The noise in my ears, inside my head, got louder. My voice went lower, to a murmur. This pain was strange, indescribable. I felt a boiling heat running through my nerves, my veins, and my muscles. It felt like a powerful invisible hand tightened and twisted my upper body, my head, and my legs, like one does with a wet cloth about to be hung on a rope under the sun.

However, slowly I became aware that there was a deep silence and calmness inside and all around me. I was absorbed in this silence and calm more and more, such peace. The mind was thoughtless. My eyelids, heavy, kept closing, wanting to fall asleep. There was sweetness in the air. There was stillness. It felt like a delicate caress. I tried to tell my husband that everything was all right…the pain did not matter any more. Nothing mattered, nothing. I felt lighter and far away. In that moment, I knew I was dying. My husband knew it too.

The room felt empty as if I were alone, not lonely, but alone. A prayer came to my lips. With the little awareness that was left, I breathed in and out the mantra, the name of God, and tried to be with the moment. Something in me wanted to stay conscious. It was difficult. In my heart I called my Teacher, his Teacher, and her Teacher’s Teacher, our spiritual lineage. I prayed that they helped me and stayed with me. I felt with God. I felt ready.

All the while, my husband desperately continued trying to help me get up and was wondering aloud how he could make me feel better. He brought me some water, wanted to call an ambulance, a doctor, anything. I just mumbled no. I had fought my way back into health every time sickness or illness had stricken me. This time was different. The pain did not upset me; neither did it anger me or make me afraid. There was no resistance in me, only acceptance.

A few minutes passed, maybe hours, maybe more. I do not know how or why but I did not leave. I am still here, very much alive. It took me several days to get better. I continue to feel tired easily.

A few days after my collapse, I remembered a dream I had the night before it occurred. In it, a man gave me a medicine that healed me. The dream did not seem important at the time and I had quickly forgotten about it. But once I recalled it, it made me wonder. What did it mean? Could it have been that this man’s medicine was what kept me alive? Or could this dream have been an announcement, a warning of what would happen that evening? Or did it point to something else I might find out in the future? Hard to know for sure…

Death did not want me after all, not yet. But I am glad she came. On our brief meeting, I learned from death something aging had not been able to teach me in all these years—surrender.

by Alex Warden


The Final thirty-one minute Video is Online for all to watch. Speakers of all walks of life were present. A great event!

Click below to watch the video: 

Or if you were unable to connect with YouTube, please go to:

You can find two short parts of my talk on minutes 3'50'' and 12'50''

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Please take a moment to Check Out the Photo Album with a few pictures from the Talks and Retreats in Argentina and Chile that took place last October and November '12. The events were incredible! So much more than I could have ever hoped or imagined... I felt so honored to host such wonderful events.

Here is a little pick.  This is the view from the Meditation Room in the Retreat Center in Chile. The energy of the place was palpable.

Short Video

Dear Friends,

I invite you to watch the short video (by D.W.White) of this wonderful book, 

“Dummy, a Memoir”

It is the amazing true story of a man who could not read or write--a story of tragedy turned into triumph.

This trailer includes a few short interviews to professionals who speak about the profound impact David Patten's book had on them. I was lucky to be included among the interviewees (minute 5:01).

To watch the 7 minute video, please press here:  Dummy, a Memoir by David Patten 
or go to (

A New Step in Consciousness 10/2012


You are Welcome to Read my New Article (Below) 


The institute has posted a short video of some the presenters and our talks. 

You can have a peek at my talk in minute 3:22 of the video below:



I cried and cried and cried.  I have been crying everyday for months. I am still crying.

I told myself many reasons why I could not stop. It is my kids leaving home to go to college; it’s my friend’s illness; it’s the idea of moving to a new home and leaving the protection of the walls I know so well...

Every time I cried, I looked for something that would justify the uncalled tears inundating my eyes, that would make my chest heat up, full of something I could not put into words. And while the departure of my kids or my friend’s disease indeed make me sad, most of my tearing had nothing to do with them.

I cried at home, in the streets, on the phone. I cried watching the sun rise and set, at the sight of a baby, and hearing a bird singing in the distance…I cried watching a movie, listening to the radio news, singing a soft rock song.

I just could not stop crying.

My tears seemed to come and go as they pleased—when I was not sad nor felt like crying either. In a way, they were very impersonal. And yet, at the same time, everything that happened around me somewhere felt deeply intimate. It was as if I had made mine, as if I had taken possession of something—an event, a situation, an encounter—that originally did not belong to me, but whose emotion, the feeling it provoked in me made it mine. I knew it did not belong to me, but I was partaking of the experience of it nonetheless, as if I had been invited to commune with it.

I cried translating my Teacher’s writings, reading a mystic’s life, and wording the prayers of the beguines. I cried while meditating, while watching the plums and apples redden, and while smelling the lavender flowers that grow in my garden. I cried when a child got hurt and when another happily licked a lollipop as big as his face. It is as if I was raw, my skin too thin to stop anything from coming in.

It was not that I was clinging to the emotions that came either. Tears came and went as things and events came and went. Water flooded my eyes in the very moment when the feeling, the emotion of the experience took place…and then they left. I wanted to find an explanation to what was taking place, but all I felt was confusion.

I ended up believing that I was falling into some kind of depression. I thought I needed some medicine…to  go to the doctor or to a new therapy. I took on yoga.

But every yoga class ended with me leaving as fast as I could, barely waving my hand good-bye, so that no one would see my tears falling. It felt that the relaxation, the opening of my chest, the stretching of my tight body, was not a remedy but rather a pill which made more acute this already hypersensitive state.

What was really happening to me?

Was I getting too old and weak?

Was I going mad?

Finally I shared my concern with a group of meditation friends…just to put the situation out in the open and get some perspective. A few kind and true observations were given—that after all I am Latina and one that is very emotional. Talking about this brought a few laughs and a few more tears.

Later we fell into silence and we meditated. And it was then that I saw something, which suggested like a kind of answer, something quite vague in the beginning that slowly began to take shape.

Yes I was raw; yes my skin had thinned up to the point of not being able to stop anything from coming in… Everything was too close to me. Everything touched me to my core—the taste, the smell, the touch, the hearing, the sight—of… and this is what surprised me… of life happening… the beauty and the horror, the joy and the pain; I was experiencing everything first hand without any packaging, unveiled, and uncooked.

Like a door opened in that moment and I understood something.

God lives in the myriad expressions of the life I was experiencing so intimately. He was present and I was experiencing Him, in my own body, through my own heart and my own senses. God, Life had been touching me so deeply… and I was able and lucky to feel it. Life and I were interlaced in the sense that I felt it as if whatever was taking place, was happening to me directly even though I was, and I knew I was, just a witness. The main character was life itself happening. But I was so identified with it that it felt like it was happening to me…and it was happening to me, in a sense it was, and in a sense it was not. It was both.  A degree of oneness.

So I knew. I know. My crying, the tears in my eyes at this very moment are grace.

By Alex Warden

Coexistence and Essential Oneness

Coexistence is a way to experience our Essential Oneness in our daily life. It is a beautiful word, a worthy ideal…like an elegant dance where we live our own life while accepting the ways of others.

Yet coexistence can also be much more difficult to attain than we think, because our unique way can often feel threatened by the ways of others. This may lead us to compare ourselves with others and even attempt to define our way as somehow better.

But it can be done. When I was in Chile over a month ago, I gave a seminar in a town whose mayor is trying to bring the reality of coexistence into practice. The town hopes to build temples for the three major religions of the western world—a synagogue, a church, and a mosque. Two of them, the church and the mosque, have already been built. And it was interesting to see that his inspiration actually worked. People from different religions participate peacefully in their spiritual practices at their corresponding temples. In addition, the mosque has a library that can be used by people of different religions and backgrounds to offer talks and seminars.  I had not been in a town before in Latin America with a conscious intention to practice coexistence, so I felt hopeful and impressed. I have heard there are other towns and cities like this one around the world…but not enough yet.

Buddha by Dr.S.M.Anwer.jpg

Coexistence is not only about learning to live with other people, but  also with animals and plants and the land. Life naturally coexists; ecosystems are a form of coexistence.  Plants and animals share their existence with the land. They are not separate from the universe, or each other. They are an integral part of everything. In their own way, they live in paradise.

But as human beings develop the capacity to differentiate from our environment, when we develop a sense of I and you, we leave the natural way of being and enter the realm of separation from life. Then we begin to see ourselves as different from everyone and everything else. We experience our uniqueness; and frequently in this process we forget our similarity with all.

In this way coexistence confronts us with the difference between our idea of essential oneness and the here-and-now reality of living it with other unique beings. Coexistence demands a quality of tolerance, of looking at what we have in common rather than stressing our differences. It means to live with one another in an open and respectful way towards both ourselves and all.

Coexistence does not mean to give up one’s traditions and ways, but rather to enjoy the diversity and uniqueness that the whole of life is, while perceiving the oneness that unites us underneath the variety of forms of expressions of existence. It means experiencing our essential oneness by consciously coexisting with the whole of life on this plane of reality—the plane of the opposites—on our own. We can try it, enjoy it, and encounter its difficulties.

Coexistence is a way to live our individuality within diversity. It is an experience of sameness and difference at the same time.  It is an experience of Reality.

Universal Worship Mandala, Art by Amara Karuna

Essential Oneness: A Path Beyond the Opposites

The Path through the Irises

There is a place beyond the opposites that is both one and the other and that is neither one nor the other. But in order to reach that place, first we need to know what the opposing forces or qualities are. Sometimes that is easy, like realizing that a gray paint is the union of black and white. But in other things, knowing the opposites may be more challenging.

Or so it was for me.

Only sixteen years ago, I began to commemorate the holiday season for what it really was, a celebration of the rebirth of light in the midst of the darkest and longest night. A celebration whose origins can be traced back to the Great Mother tradition, this ceremony is a symbol of the miracle of creation, where out of a concealed, mysterious place, a new life comes into existence.

Before then, I lived thirty-five years not knowing that there ever existed a time when the Great Mother, or the goddess, was at the center of devotion.

I had learned quite a bit of history without knowing that it was   told mainly from a masculine perspective; it was all about wars and conquerors and dates for succession of power. I had heard of some matriarchal societies and seen a few gruesome drawings of Amazons with their breasts cut in order to facilitate the use of their bows and arrows. Also, I had seen some photos of decapitated statues of Greek and Roman goddesses of the so-called pagan religions of the past and had read several of their myths.

In addition, I also knew that Latin America, where I come from, was a land where there was machismo. But I did not really know what machismo was in contrast to or in what way it affected me, as a woman. I was raised Catholic and followed a patriarchal religion without knowing it to be patriarchal. Since a child, I went to a  school run by nuns, where several times a week, I listened to the lectures of male priests and the admonitions of a patriarchal church without knowing or even wondering why this was the structure of the Church. My ideal woman was one created by the patriarchy, a woman who lived in the heavens, someone who had delivered a child untouched by man, who had not suffered the pains of labor, and in a way, was eternally young and smiling—one I could never become.

Unknowingly, I lived most of my life through the values of a masculine culture.

Pregnant woman
My awakening was abrupt. It took place while still in Argentina. I’m a mother of twins—a boy and a girl. I recall one day when a very pregnant friend of mine visited us and told my kids that there was a baby in her oversized belly.  She also told the kids that only women carried babies within them.

My daughter showed excitement but my son was astounded. The discovery impressed him so strongly that he spent several days placing a baby-doll under his t-shirt and walking around pretending to be pregnant. He also wanted to know if there was a baby in my belly and in his sister’s. I could see that a shift took place in him with his discovery. He loved his sister and me dearly, but this was different. It was as if we, women, had suddenly acquired a new standing, a new importance, in his eyes.

Until then, I had grown up hearing the Freudian perspective of the female envy of the male. But after witnessing my son’s behavior, I wondered about the truth of this premise and in me awoke a desire to understand better what had happened to that instinctual recognition of the value of the feminine mystery. 

Candlelight of Hope

The turning point took place six months after moving to the United States, when I was invited to attend a celebration of the winter solstice. In it people formed a circle and lighted candles in a dark room that symbolized the re-birth of the light. It was then that I fully realized that the celebrations of my Christian upbringing were tied to ancients traditions of previous cultures. Everything began to fall into place after that.  

The creative force of life recreating itself in myriad forms was first attributed to the power of a female god, Mother Earth, the feminine principle. A newborn being born from a mother’s womb; a day born after spending a time in the embracing darkness of the night; spirit being incarnated in a physical body—these were some of the expressions of this same feminine wonder, a mystery that was commemorated for a long time during the celebrations that occurred around the winter solstice. 

Venus of Willendorf

The many prehistoric sculptures of the goddess found spread   around the world appear to be among the first representations of a deity, and suggest  that earlier humans may have placed a female god capable of sustaining and nurturing life at the center of their worship and seen the creative forces of life as divine. The adoration of the female principle gave humans an intrinsic understanding of the union and deep connection that existed between them and nature, between them and the Earth. They lived within the goddess, were part of her, and she provided them with their basic needs. For a long time, the consciousness of earlier humans was, to a large extent, one of undifferentiated oneness.

I wondered if the decline of the power of the feminine principle had its first origins in the discovery that the male was as needed as the female in the creative process of bringing a new life to the planet and if this awareness could have gradually shifted the direction of adoration away from the feminine principle and its queendom towards its opposite, by enthroning the male principle. Researching possible causes, I found some suggestions that the adoration of the feminine principle at one time may have overpowered the masculine up to the point of becoming too one-sided and causing an imbalance. 

Whatever the reason may have been, with the passage of time, supremacy shifted sides. It was as if the law of opposites had intervened, the universal law where creation expresses itself in twos that both oppose and complement each other: inner and outer, positive and negative, Adam and Eve.

Little by little I understood that what took place with this shift in many ways changed the history of humanity as we know it, as the power of the feminine was not only taken away but even the symbols of the goddess tradition that embodied the feminine mysteries were somehow stolen, disguised, or destroyed. The images that I had seen of the remnants of beheaded statues of goddesses, often mutilated with their arms and other body parts cut off, as well as the myths of the birth of goddesses from male gods and of male gods as the supreme deity that I had read, seemed to point to that moment in time.

In the West, most of the Great Mother ceremonies, her attributes, and the goddess herself, were hidden beneath a veil of various religious traditions and celebrations dedicated to a god that is represented as being male. Many ancient symbols of the feminine were taken over and disguised as myths or stories inspired by the  masculine principle or in service to a masculine god. 

The Adoration of the Child

The celebration of the birth of light being born in the longest night became a nativity scene dedicated to the adoration of God in male human form, who would become known as “the light of the world;” an ancient celebration of the rebirth of life and sustenance represented by the evergreen tree, became a celebration involving the Christmas Tree. The goddess, also known as the mother of all gods, departed. She was overshadowed by Mary, the mortal mother of Jesus, who would also take on the title, “Mother of God.” The cosmos as the body of the goddess became the place of residence of a male bearded deity, and the understanding of the universal feminine as the cosmic womb, as life being created within, was transformed into the story of a male god creating life from outside—possibly symbolizing the way men contributed to the creation of a newborn.
Aubervilliers Notre Dame des Vertus

The masculine principle incarnated in a divine being separate from humanity, gave birth to a different quality of the mind, a different quality of knowing, one that began to differentiate, to notice details within the undifferentiated oneness, a knowing based on detached observation, one that gave rise to a sense of individuality and separation.

However, the rejection of the feminine reached such dramatic proportions in some cultures, that it ended up creating an imbalance that is reflected in the way many of us live our lives, without meaning, void of natural rhythms, mechanized, a life that is linear and hierarchical, negated of its magic and wonder, where supermarket milk is considered better than mother’s milk, and homemaking and raising one’s children is valued less than working in the marketplace.

In a way it could be said that the power of both the feminine principle as well as the masculine principle  helped humanity developed up to a point, but each power eventually overreached its limits and failed to provide human kind with what it needed to move forward. From my perspective, such is this moment in time.

A child cannot live permanently holding to the mother’s breast or being fed in his or her mouth. He or she needs to leave the nest and make an independent life on his or her own. But a life separated and detached from the original nurturance, can become a dry existence devoid of a sense of belonging and meaning. 
The Kiss
Until now on a collective level, the divine feminine and masculine principles have been experienced as opposing each other and as one above the other. But the divine masculine and feminine principles are aspects of something larger than themselves. They are aspects of the divine wholeness, of the oneness and totality that life is.

Wholeness is reached when the aspects of one same nature complement each other rather than oppose each other. Then out of their union, a divine offspring can be born. This divine offspring already lives in the depths of our western consciousness. 
Wassermelone Böhringer
Although we have notfully embraced or acknowledged its importance or its meaning, for millennia  it has been appearing over and over in statues, paintings, myths, and stories. Often, it is viewed as a divine child held by the goddess, other times by a god. At times the divine child appears surrounded by a human mother and father and the three form a sacred family. This child represents a new consciousness in humanity… the consciousness of oneness.

Learning about the feminine principle and how to value my own feminine qualities after having lived through masculine values most of my life, has helped me find a

path among these seemingly opposite forces or visions, leading to the discovery of the divine offspring who is being born inside us. This newborn brought its own way of perceiving and experiencing reality, one of singleness and oneness, one of interrelatedness. The child, also known as the child of the future, symbolizes the product of the union of opposites, the middle way, a new way of being where we are both an individual and one with everything else.

New Dawn

By Alex Warden