When women’s sexual energies are fully allowed to flow unbridled, without fear of punishment, violation or pain, a different consciousness and reality can and will emerge on this planet. ~Laura Amazzone
On this Valentine’s Day,
let’s not content ourselves with the usual flowers and chocolate, the romantic whispers, or feelings of grief over not having someone to share our lives with. Instead, let’s open our hearts and our bodies to a deeper conversation about love and the erotic, creativity and sexuality, rage and the unstoppable nature of women.
As women, can we really have a conversation about love and not drop deep down into our bodies? Deeper than our hearts. Way down into the fiery cauldron of our creativity.
For some time, now, I’ve written about women’s wild creativity; the instinctual, feral creative side that is different than the rational, linear structure of the patriarchal world we live in. This wild creativity is an expression that comes from the deep wilds of the body, the creative womb. What flows from this place is what we long to know – our true nature, our deepest nature as women. We can give birth to so much more than babies. The creative possibilities are infinite, but not if we stay up in our heads.
We are enrobed in these glorious robes of feminine flesh.
Our flesh and bones are sacred.
New life takes hold, and is nurtured and grows deep within the fleshy walls of the womb.
Somewhere deep within,
our bodies know things we can’t know in our heads, like how the cells of the budding creation receive the light of the soul. Like fruit, the fruit we are is filled with sweet nectar, seeds and succulent flesh.
A fruit is not afraid of its own weight. It grows into its skin fully. It is whole, each part of its body equally alive. ~Gayle Brandeis from Fruitflesh
Like the fruit, we can grow into our skin fully, learning how to wake up each part of our body to its full aliveness.
In her book, Goddess Durga and Sacred Female Power, Laura Amazzone writes,
“Regardless of medium, it is essential we create from our bodies, from our experience. Cixous suggests that “women must write through their bodies, they must invent the impregnable language that will wreck partitions, classes, and rhetoric, regulations and codes, they must submerge, cut through, get beyond the ultimate reserve — discourse. “
Yesterday, I was feeling the rage that is usually buried deep inside me. Rage is always here, yet I rarely want to acknowledge it. Rage about so much; for starters: the suppression of the Feminine, the raping of women, trafficking of children, and our seeming indifference to it all.
“Anger is unacceptable because angry women are women in touch with their own autonomous passion and power, especially in relation to men, and this threatens the entire patriarchal order. ” Allan G. Johnson
Yes,
rage is part of this passion, this wildness that doesn’t give a damn about regulations, code or discourse.
The careful part of me wants to know the love in rage. It wants to know that I can share my rage with how the world is and know it is being shared in love. It doesn’t want to polarize or push others away.
In true love, I don’t have to be so careful.
In true love, I could say what needs to be said, and I wouldn’t be ostracized by women and men for showing it.
If I’m truthful with myself, no words are even close to capturing any kind of sense in this rage. It is simply and purely rage.
I know the conditional aspect of being loved well, that as long as I don’t disrupt the apple cart, as long as I don’t say the things that make others uncomfortable, then I am loved. Part of the conditioned beliefs hold that as soon as I come out rageful about what I see, I will be cast out.
Ah, but there’s the rub. This isn’t love at all. This is a kind of keeping in the tribe, the patriarchal tribe. This isn’t love at all.
So what is loving rage? Where do soul and rage meet?
When I ask this question, I feel it rising in my pelvis, deep down in the bowels of my body.
“Getting angry is socially unacceptable, even when the anger is over violence, discrimination, misogyny, and other forms of oppression.” Allan G. Johnson
Socially unacceptable.
Owning and expressing my rage will cast me out of the culture I know, the culture that is here. And, I no longer want to give life and breath to the parts of this culture that I feel most angry about.
Perhaps it is right to be expelled. Perhaps giving breath to this culture through my silence is simply a way to keep the dying alive a little longer, rather than giving my full awareness and attention to what is wanting to be born.
Can this rage fuel what is wanting to be born? Can it be of service to what is nascent?
Is this where rage and love come together, where “the impregnable language” is learned?
On this Valentine’s Day,
a day about love, let’s drop down into the deepest recesses of our bodies, the Yoni. This isn’t old-school passion and eroticism that is all about enticing, this is about tearing down the walls of that which no longer serves.
This is about an eroticism that exists in all of life, a pushing through the old dry bark, so the tender, delicate blossoms can emerge. Think about the power inherent in that push of Life.
This is about creativity that is inextricably tied to our sexuality.
This is about the light of truth, about not paving over the anger and distrust that exists between the genders, a distrust that is created by the very nature of patriarchy, which is based upon domination and control.
This is about love between the genders, finding a love that is true, that can be born out of the cauldron of a creativity that is wild and not so careful.
This is about love.
I want to know this deep nature of women. I want to know it in me and I want to know it in you.
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The beautiful painting above is by Holly Friesen. Follow her on twitter at @Holly59
This post is part of the Love Sparks Blogging Festival, where you’ll find many other posts about love.
Laura’s Book, Goddess Durga and Sacred Female Power, is available here.
