It’s late. Midnight actually, as I open my computer and begin to write this. For many nights now the familiar pull to get up and write has been tugging on me as I wrestle my way between waking and dreaming. I’ve ignored it for weeks, instead opting for sleep. I’ve been far too busy to indulge the creative whims of a writer. But tonight, the pull is stronger than my resistance to it. I decide to move towards it rather than away from it - which has really been my practice in life lately, moving bravely towards discomfort instead of away from it. I’m not sure what the topic is, exactly, that just cant wait until morning, so I’ll sit here and let the vibrations come from my body through this keyboard and onto this page until they are satisfied. The energy of creation always seems to reveal itself if only I’ll follow her call and get started.
Perhaps that’s exactly it. I’ve been in a battle the last few months with my own energies. The polarities of the masculine and feminine, tugging at me - each revealing their own needs and desires as I (seemingly unaware) make my way through my day to day life. Triggers here, there and everywhere reminding me that the battle raging around me is only reflecting the battles within. But I am aware. I see her.
We talk about feminine and masculine (yin and yang) as energies that make up the whole. We assign them qualities that describe their nature: Moon/sun, cool/warm, dark/light, mysterious/known, inward moving/forward moving, to name just a few of their descriptive polarities. They are the faces of the energies that express as Gods and Goddesses. We try and relate to them in any way possible and yet, to me they remain a great mystery. Where are the role models of true balanced polarity expressing in a living human? It seems I live in a time where they are few and far between.
I feel hungry to know these energies inside of myself. Their smell, their texture, their touch. And yet, that’s not how they communicate. I retreat into the spaces of my own experience, my own body, spirit and mind to try and find them, cultivate them and know them on an intimate level. With all my teachers and in all my trainings this topic of the masculine and feminine makes it’s way to the surface. I see you. I see that you want to be seen. And here she is then, arriving in all her glory as I write this, energy moving through my body reminding me that this is what she is. The feminine, she just wants to express herself. She adorns herself because it’s a beautiful expression, not to lure anyone in or create a need or desire. She sings because she adores singing to the plants, the elements, the Earth and hearing her own sweet voice - not because she has an audience. She arranges her flowers and combines her herbs for the sheer joy of making alchemy with the Earth’s magic. She has no agenda, she is just here, wanting to express herself. She is the chaos, the magic and mystery of birth, the bringer of death and the spice of life in between. Dwelling equally in men and women, she dances for the love of movement, she creates because it’s what she loves to do. She dances for herself.
And yet, I fear her. I’ve been told since birth she is dangerous. She is too soft, too strong, too inviting, too alluring, too unpredictable, too selfish, too chaotic, too wild, too wretched; too much. She is maiden, mother and crone and in all her incarnations she incites fear within the structure. She sits deep within me, controlling the masculine aspects of my psyche, because she can not stand the control under which she has been kept. She loathes it and resents it. Like a black widow spider starved and hungry she is thirsty for something; she has long since been undernourished. Kept in a jar, with the lid turned so tightly that almost no air gets in. In her suffocation she becomes testy, angry and astringent. If I do not let her out it is likely that she will consume me from the inside out. But, she is too strong, too much for the structure to handle, and so, like a true puppet I dance for her, and she lets me imagine it is I who is in control. She does not wish to destroy the masculine aspects of me, or of the world. She is equally dwelling in men, women and all that is. She just wants to express herself, breath by breath without the pressures of her creations being exploited. No means with an end.
I let her out in measured doses, just enough to keep her alive, but never enough to let her run wild. Her wild nature remains imperfectly on artificial display. The wild nature that is her essence hears the calling of the wind, of the moon and the waters. They stir her when I sleep, they speak to her when I am not looking. And she hears them. Together they plan her great emergence. They ruse me in the night to make my way here and write these words. These words that warn of a long forgotten past, when the element of water ruled this great Earth. The floods, the rains, the washing away of the structures that tighten and grip to survival, ensuring their own inevitable destruction and extinction.
My ears are ringing and buzzing, which always means I’m on to something. Perhaps I’m integrating at this moment all the healing work I’ve been doing around these energies. My feminine being blamed for the eternal sins of humanity, my buying the story I’d been sold for so long, only now awakening to the truth stirring within. Can it be wrong for me to just be? To just live and breathe and express myself?
For months we’ve been working to launch our new website, and I’ve been stuck. The words for my first blog, just wouldn’t come. Or perhaps I wouldn’t let them. They weren’t perfect or just right. Not professional enough, I hadn’t earned their right to be here. Perhaps if I just got one more piece of paper that validated my right to write these words, maybe under those rules and guidelines I would allow myself to take up space on my own website. Maybe then I could let her out in measured doses at just he right times. Structure. Form. Control. Challenged by Freedom, Chaos, Water. Resulting in choice. The permission to be, just as I am. Freedom from the judge, internal and external.
It isn’t always like this. Sometimes she bestows on me an abundance of creativity and chaos. She washes over me like a tsunami and allows me the freedom to just be, to perform for no one and express without a single care about what anyone thinks. But lately it’s just been moments of that delicious freedom. Tonight I listened to her. And she feels satiated. I promise her that tomorrow I will write more, that I will be back to allow her to express herself. I make the promise and instantly my eyelids become droopy. She knows Im lying, that I’m a work in progress, that I’m still growing into myself and I may not be back tomorrow; that it will take time for me to release her fully. Either way she’s had a moment to express. The Great Mother is ready to create so much more through me, and in this breath I realize it is I that has been putting her off, not her who has been abandoning me. I sit back and wait, pulling back the weeds of my garden and tending to my space the best I can as I (not so patiently) await my inevitable death and rebirth in this life once more.