My Temple of Remembering

A Gathering to Awaken HER-story​

 

Dear sister,

I'm not entirely sure what this will become, but the call was so strong, I couldn't ignore it. This isn't one of my usual circles. It feels different. A sacred space where we can come together to study, reflect, remember… and awaken the stories that were buried long ago.

 

I grew up going to church, youth camps, and Christian women's youth groups. Yes, me. I'm still surprised, too, but I now see it all had a purpose. It taught me about spirit, about faith, not just in something greater, but in life and in myself. And while I'll always be grateful for the foundation it gave me, something was missing.

 

I could no longer follow a truth that left out such a vital piece: Her story.​

​

Where were the voices of the mothers?

 

The women in my family were the wise ones, the healers, the weavers, the ones who held things together. How could the sacred feminine be so absent?

 

That absence led me on a path of remembering.

 

Recently, I attended an event where someone asked a young man what he was doing the next day. He responded, "I'm going to church," in a self-righteous tone. I joked, "I hope they tell Her story tomorrow." The look he gave me—disgusted and dismissive—ignited a fire within me. Oh, sorry, how dare anyone suggest that a woman's voice has a place in faith, truth, or spirit. (I hope you detect my sarcasm.)

 

So… this gathering is my response to that ache. Or perhaps more accurately—my fire.

 

A space where she is remembered. And where he may one day be welcomed too, but only once her voice has been fully heard.

 

Why "My Temple"?

When the name came to me, it wasn't about claiming

ownership or creating something that belonged only to me.

Quite the opposite. It was a whisper from something deeper,

a reminder that the sacred lives within each of us.                                                          

 

This temple is yours. When you say, "I'm going to My Temple," you're naming a return. A return to your voice, your body's wisdom, your connection to the Divine Feminine in whatever form she shows up for you. This isn't a space led by one voice. It's shaped by many. It's a community woven from lived experience, ancient stories, soul whispers, and the quiet truths we share in sacred company. No hierarchy. No dogma. Just the beautiful, messy, magickal truth of being human and holy at the same time. 

​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

And as our circle has grown, so has her name. Some sisters began lovingly calling it “the Yurch”—a playful weaving of Yurt and Church. We embraced it, because that’s exactly what this space is: a temple without walls, a church without dogma, a yurt for remembering. The Yurch is the living embodiment of what My Temple stands for—community, connection, and a sacred space that belongs to all of us, and to something far older and wiser than words.

 

So when you say, “I’m going to My Temple of Remembering… to the Yurch,” know that you’re stepping not only into a physical space, but into your own sanctuary—our shared sanctuary—where we return to ourselves, together.