10 Reasons why you should attend 'Day of the Goddess 2011'

Workshops Presentations

Inspirational Speaker Network & Bonding

Empowerment & Upliftment Delicious food

Singers Arts & Craft

Poets Raffle

Reinvent - Rebirth - Rejuvenation

Are you ready for the return of the long awaited event Day of the Goddess?

Goddesses from far and wide will desended on the Unity centre in Brent, all excited,

profiling within their Goddess status, bodies drapped in fine robes.

Behind the scenes we are preparing to bring you a day of Empowerment & Upliftment

The time is almost nigh!

OYA

The Yoruban goddess Oya (Orisha) is the patroness to strong women everywhere. Being the Orisha of whirlwinds, the marketplace, graveyards and the Niger river, Oya personifies strength and the ability to clear all obstacles in her path. Oya's independence and tenacity to speak her mind served her as she fought side by side with her husband Shango.

She is the protector of women in the Marketplace and is renowned for her beauty. This goddess represents Tornadoes, the Machete, black horsetail fly-whisk, eggplants and the number 9, which are all sacred to goddess Oya.

Oya is the powerful Yoruba Goddess of the Winds of Change; the Primeval Mother of Chaos; Queen of the Nine (for the nine tributaries of the Niger River). Using her machete, or sword of truth, she cuts through stagnation and clears the way for new growth. She does what needs to be done.

She is the wild woman, the force of change; lightning, fire, tornadoes, earthquakes and storms of all kinds are ruled by Oya. She is also Queen of the Marketplace, a shrewd businesswoman and adept with horses. As the wind, she is the first breath and the last, the one who carries the spirits of the dead to the other world, which is why she is associated with cemeteries.

Oya-Yansa is the Queen of the Winds of change. She is feared by many people because She brings about sudden structural change in people and things. Oya does not just rearrange the furniture int he house -- She knocks the building to the ground and blows away the floor tiles.

She is the cyclone and the earthquake. Oya fans Her skirts and blows the branches from the trees; should She choose to cry, torrential rains fall on the earth.

She is the Mother of Mind. She can impart genius, restore memory, or slap you with insanity.

Oya opens Her mouth, flicks out Her tongue, and lightning strikes. She has nine heads; She is the River Niger.

No one can be certain of Oya's movement; no one can capture Her smile. She is the mistress of disguises. yesterday Oya was a gentle lamb; today, a buffalo trampling the earth beneath Her feet. Tomorrow She'll be a rainbow -- maybe.

To seek adequate words with which to trace her elemental patterns is an act of homage to the goddess of tropical weathers in hopes that her compassion may reciprocally illuminate inner equivalents with which we have struggled in private darkness. It has been a struggle intensified by patriarchal discountenance of powerful emotion -- its problematic relegated to women "in need of help," as the saying goes.

In being choaked by compliant mothers to stifle rather than outride our storms, to dam and conceal our floods, to bank our fires and give tinder over to future husbands, the Oya in ourselves froze in its tracks. Yet such ice particles, negatively charged at the heart of mounting storm are the mysterious, generative sources of Oya's lightning.

Thus, in other way obstructed, Oya strikes us -- quirking here, cramping there. Soon with our brains, the indefatigable goddess goes jaggedly to work upon our bodies, cutting off circulation, opening sluices, instilling victims who could be votaries with a variety of "female complains," catching them up in mindless swirls of activity, throwing them down into incapacitating vortices, playing havoc with appetite.

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