The Remembrance Series: Part 2 — The Doorway, The Fire That Would Not Go Out, & The Rose Code

Doorway to the Chalice and the Blade

About a month ago, I rewatched The Da Vinci Code for the first time in over a decade. But this time, it wasn’t just a movie, it was a breadcrumb trail. A cipher. A whisper from the unseen.

There was a moment in the film where it’s explained that “The Holy Grail” has never been a cup, but a woman. The chalice is symbolic of the divine feminine—of the womb, of a vessel.

The upward-facing triangle, the blade, represents masculine force, and the downward triangle, the chalice, represents the feminine—the power to carry, to create, to become the living temple.

The Rose Inside the Pyramid: Union, Not Separation

And in that moment, I realized… my tattoo was both.

A rose—symbol of the feminine, of Magdalene, of the sacred heart, of divine sensuality, inside a pyramid—symbol of ascension, structure, and sacred geometry. 

The chalice inside the blade. Union, not separation.
Not war between the masculine and feminine, but a sacred convergence. 

This was not just art. It was a seal. A sigil.
A spell of remembrance etched in flesh. 

Past Life Memories of Persecution and Power

After the revelation of the rose and the pyramid, I turned to the Akashic Records, not for curiosity, but for confirmation.

I knew something ancient had stirred. And that rose was not a gentle memory.
It was a fire.

I was shown lifetimes where my voice was my crime.
Where remembering my power meant persecution.
Where gathering herbs, tending births, or praying to the Divine in feminine form was enough to have me dragged from my home.

In one life, I was a midwife who refused to hand a stillborn child over to the Church.

In another, I was a landowning mystic who taught women how to interpret dreams and speak to the departed.

In another, I was burned before I even had the chance to explain myself.

These were not stories. These were imprints.
Etched into the fascia of my soul, woven into the marrow of my bones.

The Witch Hunts: Land, Autonomy, and Erased Lineages

And here’s what I learned:
The witch hunts were never just about magic (women’s spiritual practices). 

They were also about land. About autonomy. About knowledge systems that bypassed the patriarchy.

Starting in the 15th century, with the publication of the Malleus Maleficarum—The Hammer of Witches—the Catholic Church launched an official handbook on how to identify, interrogate, and eliminate women who were seen as threats.

LET THAT SINK IN.

Many of these women weren’t just herbalists or “healers.” They were property owners.
Widows, midwives, and women who had inherited land or titles without male oversight.

By labeling them as heretics or witches, the Church had legal grounds to confiscate their land.
It was a systematic erasure of feminine wealth, wisdom, and lineage.

Why Visibility Still Feels Dangerous for Many Women

I felt this. I remembered this.

I realized that part of the reason it took me so long to “come out” as spiritual—to speak about the Akashic Records, plant medicine, divine feminine teachings—was because there was a very old fear still lodged in me.

A fear that this kind of visibility was dangerous.
That the very gifts I was born to share would once again get me killed.

And maybe you feel that too.

Maybe you’ve hesitated to speak up, post the thing, write the words, and share your truth. And you don’t know why.
But your soul does.

Because this isn’t just personal.

It’s ancestral. 
It’s cellular.
It’s cosmic.

Leaving the Church to Find the Divine Within

I was raised Catholic, but something in me always felt at odds with the institution.  

I couldn’t name it at the time, just a subtle resistance in my spirit, a quiet no beneath the surface.
It wasn’t until I stepped away from religion entirely that I began to truly feel God. That is when I learned that God is not in a building, not in a doctrine, but in my body, my breath, in ceremony, in silence. I found that the less I tried to define the Divine, the closer I became to it.

For me, walking away from the church wasn’t rebellion—it was remembrance.

The Fire That Would Not Go Out

And yet, here I am.
Sharing the very thing that once cost me everything.
Speaking the words I was once silenced for.
Owning the fire that never died.

I say this not just for myself, but for us.
For the women (and men) who were never named. For the stories that were never told. 
For the gifts buried with our bones and now blooming in our daughters (and sons).

This fire?
It didn’t go out.
It was passed on.

And now we burn not to destroy—but to illuminate.

The Rose Code: A Living Frequency of the Divine Feminine

They call it a code, but it’s not something written in ink. 
It’s not a scripture, not a rule, not even a tradition.

It is a frequency. The Rose Code is a vibration embedded into the ether of this Earth.

It sings in the spiral of galaxies, in the opening of petals, in the ache and radiance of the feminine heart that remembers her original wholeness.

It is not a doctrine to teach, but a melody to remember.
And like any ancient song, it returns in fragments… a dream here, a vision there, a pull to an island tattoo studio, a whisper in ceremony, a name etched in the subconscious that echoes through time.

The Rose Code is the embodied remembrance of Divine Feminine intelligence.
Not just softness, but sovereignty.
Not just beauty, but boundary.
Not just healing, but holy fire.

Remembering, Not Mastering, the Magdalene Frequency

It speaks of Magdalene not as a myth, but as a living frequency, the one who held the codes of womb alchemy, sexual sovereignty, and resurrection.
The one who stayed, witnessed, and anointed.
The one who was rewritten, yet remained intact in the records of the soul.

And I’m not here as a master of this code.
I’m not here as a teacher of it.

I, Dulce, am simply remembering.
Remembering aloud—in case one of you needed to hear it, and whisper back, me too.

I do not claim to hold all the pieces. But I hold a piece.
A sigil on my skin.
A vision in my soul.
A flame that would not go out.
And maybe… so do you.

To Be Continued, Not Concluded

Stay Close.
We’ll go deeper into the rituals of remembrance, the body as scripture, the Magdalene frequency, and the sacred vow I made across lifetimes.

This fire… it’s spreading now.

And it’s waking up every soul who ever whispered, “There has to be more.”

There is.
There always was.
And we are the ones remembering it.

🌹To be continued, not concluded.

With Utmost Love and Gratitude,

Dulce 🌹

P.S.
This is the rose inside the pyramid.
The vision I could not find in the world, so I became it.
A spell sealed in the skin.
A remembrance that walks with me.
Please receive it with reverence.

Artist: Sonteng https://www.instagram.com/sonteng_lombok/?igsh=cWJxMTR2dzE5dGgw

Originally posted on my Subtack 4 June 2025