lilith

Before Eve, there was Lilith.

Made from the same earth as Adam—not from his rib, not derivative, not secondary—but equal. The first woman was not the obedient helper but the autonomous being. And when Adam tried to dominate her, when he insisted she lie beneath him in all things, Lilith spoke the word that changed everything:

No.

That single syllable shattered the cosmic order patriarchy tried to impose. No, I will not submit. No, I am not beneath you. No, you do not get to define my nature or control my body. No, I will not make myself smaller so you can feel larger.

For speaking this truth, for refusing subordination, Lilith was cast out of Eden. Exiled. Demonized. Painted as a monster who steals children and seduces men. The original warning to women: This is what happens when you refuse to obey. This is what you become when you claim your own power.

But here's what they couldn't erase: Lilith was never diminished by her exile. She went to the Red Sea, that liminal place where salt water and wild energy meet. She allied herself with demons—the ancient word for powerful spirits that refused domestication. She learned the magic they couldn't teach in paradise because paradise was a prison designed to keep her tame.

In the wilderness, Lilith became more herself. Undomesticated. Unrepentant. Unapologetic. She discovered that her sexuality was hers to give or withhold, not a resource for Adam to access. She learned that her power didn't require permission. She found her voice—the one that spoke sacred "no" as fluently as "yes."

The myth says God sent three angels to bring her back, to threaten her with the death of one hundred of her children daily if she didn't return and submit. Lilith refused even this. She accepted the consequences of her sovereignty. This is the uncomfortable truth: freedom has costs, and Lilith was willing to pay them rather than return to subordination.

They tried to replace her with Eve—compliant Eve, derivative Eve, Eve made from Adam's body and therefore "naturally" subordinate. But even Eve eventually ate the fruit, spoke to the serpent, chose knowledge over obedience. Some say the serpent was Lilith herself, returning to teach her successor the path to power.

Because that's what patriarchy fears most: that we will teach each other. That the untamed women will whisper to the domesticated ones: You don't have to accept this. There is another way. The wilderness is terrifying, yes—but it's also freedom.

Lilith represents everything that must be exiled for patriarchy to function: women's autonomous sexuality, our refusal to subordinate ourselves, our primal wildness, our rage at injustice, our unwillingness to make ourselves smaller. She is the shadow that haunts every attempt to domesticate feminine power.

In Jewish folklore, she's the night demon. In Mesopotamian texts, she's the storm spirit. In feminist reclamation, she's the first woman who said no—and meant it. She's the part of us that will not be tamed, will not be shamed, will not pretend to be less than we are.

Black Moon Lilith is not even a physical body—she's the point in the moon's orbit when it's farthest from Earth, the dark moon, the void that pulls nonetheless. She's the absence that has presence. The nothing that is everything we've been told to deny.

Working with Lilith means confronting what we've been taught to exile in ourselves. It means reclaiming the sexuality that's ours, not performed for others. It means speaking our "no" without apology or justification. It means accepting that some people will call us demons for refusing to submit—and choosing our sovereignty anyway.

Lilith didn't return to the garden. She built her own kingdom in the wild places. This is her teaching: You don't need their approval. You don't need their paradise. You need your truth, your power, your undomesticated self.