Not the same thing, but frequently confused, even by doctors. When columnar cells grow too quickly, they push aside the squamous cells, causing eversion and erosion. In an eversion, there is generally a clear dividing line between the cells. In an erosion, there is no definite border.
Cervical eversions show a clear dividing line between the two types of cells, though the columnar cells are spilling out of the os, instead of confining themselves to the inside of the cervix. Cervical eversions revert to normal when the hormones triggering them - such as birth control pills - are removed. Some women have a “congenital” eversion which is present at birth, regresses until puberty, may be especially prominent if she is pregnant, and regresses after menopause. Eversion generally requires no treatment; if confused with erosion, over-treatment is likely.
Surgical procedures - such as endometrial biopsy, D&C, aspiration extraction of the contents of the womb, radiation implantation, cone biopsy, cryosurgery, and laser ablation - as well as trauma from childbirth and intercourse, can, in the presence of inflammation and infection, lead to cervicitis or erosion.
Cervical erosion is a term that is often applied to any redness seen on the cervix, from an abrasion to a full-blown infection. “[It] conjures up a frightening picture of the cervix wasting away like bare earth after a heavy rain, [and] is not only erroneous, but absurd.” Conservative doctors may suggest removal of the “eroded” tissue. Alternative methods are quite successful in healing cervical erosion; complementary medicines can ease side-effects and hasten healing if drugs or surgery are chosen.
After sitting alone in the circle for half an hour or so I decided to ask the stones if they had any messages they wished to share with me, that I had brought along a pen and note paper. Just then a cow and her calf slowly walked past the outside of the circle. The bond of love between them was so apparently strong it could be felt from a distance; obvious, almost tangible. I realized that the message I was being given was a simple one. "Love", in all ways! I doubt if the ancient spirits who inhabit this formation even speak my language, but the language of the love between these two creatures was universal and powerful.
Monday evening 9:00pm:
I am enjoying an evening meal ritual which I cannot ever imagine tiring of; a "Toasted Special and a pint of Guinness". You will not find a "Toasted Special" on any menu in any pub in Ireland, but it is always offered just the same. All one need do is walk up to the bar and request one. It is basically, a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with tomato and onion. And it is always the cheapest meal you will ever eat in Ireland, but first you have to know that it exists and that you must ask for it by name. I was turned on to this Irish delicacy by two Dubliners, Joe and Lara Darbey, whom I met in Adrigole, who were also staying at the Hungry Hill Hostel on the Beara Peninsula. The hostel also has a nice pub and we met and chatted over a Guinness on my first night there.
We are a collective of diviners, we call ourselves Strega Tree. We are medicine people, Goddess devotees from many traditions and backgrounds but we spend much of our time out in the wild listening to the trees.
The trees are teaching us and guiding us how to walk the path: the path of our ancient foremothers, the path of truth.
On the evening of February 12th, 2006, I conducted a shamanic drumming ceremony in honor of the Imbolc Full Moon. Imbolc, the Celtic Cross Quarter Festival, celebrates the end of Winter and the first signs of Spring's emerging life force. It is personified by the Maiden aspect of the Triple Goddess. The Willow, one of the trees of Imbolc, is associated with the Moon, water and deep feelings. I wove several wreaths out of willow whips and gave them to friends. I also constructed a small "nest" out of the whips for a "swan gourd" which had darkened as it dried and which I had recently decorated in honor of The Faery Queen Morgan le Fay.
by Seren Bertrand, Co-founder and Creative Director at The Fountain of Life
Can you feel something shifting in the collective consciousness?
We are in the middle of an incredible renaissance of feminine wisdom.
Looking around, it becomes clear that this wisdom is downloading into our consciousness on an unprecedented scale, calling women back to their sacred center: their Womb, the seat of the feminine power of creative manifestation.
For too long the feminine wisdom ways have been forgotten, buried, destroyed. The self-care rituals and feminine pathway initiations have been discarded by a culture that has sought to devalue and destroy the very power that birthed it.
The sacred traditions of our distant ancestors, which taught how to nurture, care for, protect and awaken the Womb, are no longer passed to us at Menarche.
Instead, most young girls have been taught to block the descending flow of their menstruating Wombs with tampons and commercial pads, to numb out any pain with chemicals, to practice a ‘feminine hygiene’ that is fear of the wild feminine essence dressed up as cleanliness, with our power and intuition sanitized too.
The Bristol Goddess Temple opened its doors to the public for the first time on 5th August 2017. That day saw the birth into the world of a vision that had been cherished in the creative cauldron for several years – a birth that finally became possible when a room came up for rent in the Clocktower Association, a community space in Warmley on the eastern edge of Bristol. The Clocktower was already the home of a women's free-flow drumming circle and a monthly Moonlodge Red Tent held by Nikki Swann. Nikki gathered around her a small group of people who felt the call to help bring this vision into the light, and together we took a big leap of faith.
I am the gateway; I am the door. I connect the inside to the outside. I decide which outside comes in. I control the flux and the flow. I hold the wise blood, or let it go. I protect the growing babe, or thrust it unformed into a world unsuitable. None leave, none enter, except by my grace, my decision. I am the passage of birth. I am the mark of the sun. I am as near as the reach of your finger, yet mysterious and hidden. Many women, most men, born through me, go their whole life without gazing upon me.
I offer blood to Mother Earth. I spin stretchy strings of fertile mucus to Grandmother Moon. I am as sensitive as the best hound’s nose, as authoritative as the wisest crone. I am not, and have never been, innocent. I am all seeing, though darkness is my constant companion, and my eye but single. (How curious that women in India believe I have two eyes.)
I know how to be firm and potent, how to stand strong against those who would storm my portal. I know how to be loose and soft, how to welcome those who bring future’s hope. I know how to efface myself and withdraw, making way, stretching myself to the utmost, opening wide in sweet surrender.
I pulse within you. I am your cervix, the mouth of your womb.
I am the sheath of the sword. I am toothed, armed, and ready to bite. I have the power to defend, to keep women safe. I am not passive, accepting, ready to be filled. I am aware, watchful, ready to reject what I don’t want and to seize what I will.
Listen to me and I will tell you how safe we are, right now, in this moment. When we are secure, I am open and receptive, moist and inviting. When we feel threatened, I become cold and hard, hot and tight, irritated, and inflamed. If the danger goes on and on, I weep, I am overrun.
In health and joy, I am a rich and thriving ecosystem: friendly yeasts, beneficial bacteria, and a generous assortment of slippery, slidey lubricants thrive in my tangy-tasting depths.