The Goddess of Obscenity Initiation
The little belly goddess Baubo intrigues with obscenity that can break through depression. Certain kinds of laughter—those sparked by women wiggling hips, shaking breasts, seeing with her nipples...
Dear friends, generous readers, retreatants, and treasured subscribers—old and new. Welcome. I love reading your comments. Thank you for sharing a part of you with us.
The word initiation comes from the Latin initiate,
meaning to begin, to introduce, to instruct. An initiate is one who begins a new way, is introduced—instructed. An initiator commits to the deep work of recounting what they know, guiding the initiate in the 'how-to' needed to master fuckernuckle1 situations and grow in skill, knowledge, and power.
Without a nod or a whistle, there was no initiator in sight. There never is—until you learn to see in the dark.2
Initiation seeds the psyche with perils and challenges, forcing us to look deeper for answers and strength that bind us more closely to intuition—a confident shift from 'what will be, will be' to 'let me see all there is to see.' It moves us from passive acceptance to active engagement—to soften the fright like the down of a thistle.
Intuition is the soul-voice that speaks in the dark of winter. The winter solstice is a powerful metaphor for initiation—a crossing into a new phase, marked by an ending, a beginning, and a never-ending cyclical deepening of sensitivity to the mysterious unconscious—and a reliance on all our body-soul senses.
When no external initiator is present to guide us back to the hearth of our soul-home—feeding intuition, feeling, and sensation becomes the warmth that lights our way.
There are as many ways to feed intuition as there are—to kiss the ground.
• My absolute favorite is Baboa—potent medicine for our most challenging initiations.
As I look into the uncertainty of the world ahead of us, the most ancient part of me knows—the way out is to go deeper SIL: Simple, Intention to Linger.3
Are you feeling it too?
The pull to go beneath the surface—to earth-wide womb of wisdom that is older than our individual lives, older than time... to find a piece of soul that carries all the knowledge… the seed that becomes a mother lode tree.
Perhaps Baubo: The Belly Goddess is here for a reason!
Enter Baubo: The Belly Goddess, the “Goddess of obscenity”
There have been Archetypical wild goddesses of sacred sexuality and life/death/life fertility since the beginning of memory.4
There is one popular reference to Baubo in writing in the myth of Demeter and Persephone. You may know their story.
Demeter, the Earth Mother, had a beautiful daughter named Persephone. One day, while playing in the garden, Persephone reached for a gorgeous flower. Suddenly, the ground trembled, and a jagged tear ripped across the land. From within emerged Hades, God of the Underworld—tall, mighty, and commanding a black chariot drawn by four ghostly horses.
Hades seized Persephone and swept her into his chariot, plunging deep into the Earth. Her screams grew faint as the rift closed over, as though nothing had ever happened.
The Maiden’s cries echoed through the mountains and bubbled up in watershed wails from beneath the sea. Demeter heard the stones weep. She felt the water cry. Then, over all the land, an eerie silence fell, carrying the scent of crushed flowers.
Demeter unfurled her curls from her shoulders and flew over the land like a great bird, searching and calling for her daughter. Demeter searched tirelessly for months, crazed with longing for her beloved child, but Persephone was nowhere to be found.
Demeter, who had once made everything grow, now cursed the fertile fields of the world in her grief, screaming, 'Die! Die! Die!' Because of her curse, no child could be born, no grain could rise for bread, and no flowers for bees. Everything withered, clinging to parched earth or dry breast.
Demeter became unrecognizable. She no longer bathed; her robes were drenched in mud, and her hair hung in knotted dreadlocks. Though the pain in her heart was staggering, she could not surrender.
After pleading, searching, and countless fruitless episodes, she finally slumped down beside a wall in a village where no one knew her. Leaning her aching body against the cool stone of the wall, she was approached by a woman—or rather, a sort of woman.
This unusual woman danced up to Demeter, wiggling her hips, shaking her breasts, suggesting sexual pleasure in a little dance. Her dance was absurd, almost obscene. And yet, when Demeter saw her, she could not help but smile—just a little.
The dancing female was magical. She had no head—her nipples were her eyes, and her vulva was her mouth. From this mouth, she began to regale Demeter with juicy, outrageous jokes. At first, Demeter smiled, then chuckled, and soon she was laughing with a full belly roar. Together, the little belly goddess Baubo and the mighty Earth Mother Demeter fell to the ground and laughed as one.
It was this laughter that broke through Demeter’s depression, giving her the strength to continue her search for Persephone. With the help of Baubo, the crone Hecate, and the sun god Helios, Demeter ultimately found her daughter. Persephone was restored to her mother, and the world flourished once again. The land thrived, and the bellies of women were full and fruitful once again.
This is the kind of story you share among women—unless, of course, like today, for the man reading this.
These little figures embody sensibilities and expressions unique to the world of women—the breasts, with all the feeling and sensitivity held within them; the lips of the vulva, where a woman feels sensations only she can know. And belly laughter—the greatest medicine of all.
According to Dr. Estés, this story is a remnant of ancient women’s rituals—moments of gathering and sharing truths from the belly. Rituals of belly talk: women speaking from their guts, telling truths, laughing themselves silly, feeling alive, and finding their way home again—better for it. This is a natural feminine cycle.
The little belly goddess Baubo raises an intriguing idea: a little obscenity can break through depression. Certain kinds of laughter—those sparked by women’s risqué, crude, slightly offensive, and hilariously raw stories—rekindle the fire of a woman’s belonging to life.
The goddess of obscenity and belly laughter is medicine today and always—try it.
For self-healing, funny, dirty Baubo-style stories are potent medicine. They not only lift depression but can cut the cold knot out of rage, leaving a woman happy.
Baubo sees through her nipples, a sensory attribute often overlooked. Nipples are psychic organs—responsive to temperature, fear, anger, and noise. They are as much sensing organs as the eyes in the head. 'Speaking from the vulva,' is symbolic of the most primal, honest level of truth—vital and raw. Baubo is the mother lode of deep mind—soul-body—depth.
Leave a comment. I want to hear all of your obscene stories—those pee your pants moments!
with love,
Prajna O’Hara, The Salty Crone
Leave a heart 💚 comment, share to a friend. Tell me a story. Thank you.
Laugh a while—for the Goddess Baubo is looking right at ya through her nipples and smiling from her vulva!
Fuckernuckles is a word I made up to represent “white knuckling” through a situation when you’ve lost your head, your way, all sense of normal. You know two things: 1) You’re fucked. 2) Baubo is the medicine you need.
So, what happened? Why the tiny tree and a single ornament?
Each year, I carefully repack our recycled Christmas hassle-tassle-dazzle ornament box, reluctant to add anything new to it. I’m always teary-eyed to hold my three babies’ first Christmas photo, tenderly crafted on a seashell. I still hang the tiny, teddy bear-size stockings that the volunteers knitted for Abby and Libby to come home in from the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) at Stanford Hospital in 1996.
The stockings still make me sad (furious really). They also remind me of the beginning of that fuckernuckles initiation—the one that swept me off my feet:
She spilled underground, without a nod or a whistle,
She fell hard and dark, like the tide of a bristle.
But I heard her exclaim, ere she dove out of sight,
'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!’
Tender Solitude
If you’ve woken early, just before the dawn breaks, you may have noticed how the darkest time of the night is immediately before dawn.
Tender Solitude: SIL: Simple Intention Linger, add an L, linger longer, Y not—SILLY?
I first learned about “Baubo: The Belly Goddess” from reading Clarissa Pinkola Estés. Women Who Run with The Wolves. I learned about the Myth of Demeter and Persephone when my oldest daughter was in Waldorf school. It certainly wasn’t part of my Catholic education. I have adapted both stories to fit this piece. I like Dr. Estés recounting the best and thank her for her wild brilliance.
Hahaha.😂 I especially love the caption on the picture of Baubo. I’ve never been big into decorating for any holidays really, but my daughter loves it, so I do my best to help her decorate. This year we have a puppy in the house and no real good place to put the tree. I found a small blow up tree at the store today to put up for her. Thank you for sharing this wonderful story!
There were many parts of this essay that I loved. I also read that book and remember fondly the first time I learned of baubo. I love baubo. Learning to laugh about obscene things is my favorite life lesson.
Your essay was beautifully written. I don't often get caught up in essays anymore. I'm deeply engaged in writing/life. Yours made me glad I pulled up substack.
I have kind of lost the Christmas magic this year. I think I'll remedy it by making ornaments with the children.