Biology of Change or The International Me's Day
Today is International Women's Day. Like my friend Alice says, we don't need a day to celebrate women. We have nothing to prove. We just are. Like men. All a part of each other, all part of the blue planet. The fact that women have been going through centuries of abuse, is the proof that the men - or sometimes women - who perpetuated the mistreat, exist in a world of judgement, punishment, anger, fear and disconnection with the very function of Nature, the essence of life. Is it too cliché to remind offensive men that they all come from a woman's womb? That the harming words they say or the aggressive acts they perpetrate against women, wouldn't even happen if their mothers hadn't given them a brain to think or a mouth to speak? Ironic, indeed. We are all issued from the same semens and eggs, molecules, and follicles, soil, grass, trees and stars, and a woman's vagina. Fight us, have opinions about us, shut our voices, cover our faces, cut or sew our bodies, you're only hurting your very first home, ergo yourself.
What is so scary about women rising or re-rising? Would it be that, in the midst of our planet's challenging transformation, the current loud raising of our voices, the howling out of our muzzles, are opening Pandora's box again and forcing all of us to face the big questions: what is the mystery of the creation? The power to procreate? What is so broken about our living ecosystem? How can we be really happy? It's very scary. Yet an emergency to address. The box has been closed too tight, the wild in women tamed for too long. Nature always finds a way to thrive and is now helping the feminine qualities to rise. Women are unveiling the veil, unstitching the stitches, untangling the braids and letting the voices out. The stream is a river, is a lake, is an ocean and it's a tsunami. The current is fierce and there's no way back from the rising of the deep waters.
This photo of Lee Miller reminds me how she incarnated the multifaceted woman. Muse, model, photographe, photo-journalist and so much more. We all are several in our own unique ways. Plenty of words and labels have been used to describe the multiple woman: "intense, interesting, artistic, cute, sexy, crazy, independent, codependent, manipulatrice, hormonal, fatale, emotional, complex" or even armchair psychology terms such as "hysterical, neurotic, or bi-polar". How handy. One can try to analyze us, it will end to a dead end. Put a bird in cage, it's not a bird anymore. Put a dolphin in pool, you kill the mammal's essence of being. It's a useless attempt to control and it's getting old.
Now let's look at Pandora's box again and ask a stupid question: can someone honestly tell me what life means? No one knows. Women are nothing else than life. Seasonal creatures, thirsty for a reconnection to their true nature, in tune with the moon. Happy to dream, to dance, questioning rationalism, intelligent, intuitive and hard workers. Defending their pack, their mate, and their offsprings. Clarissa said it better. There's no power to control, no force to channel, as women, waters and earth will always find their way back to love and life, even if Pandora's box need to be open again. There's no word to describe women or life. Better artists, poets, historians, philosophers, psychologists, etc, have tried before us. Art is to me the closest expression to the mystery of life, an expression of life itself even. Yet, centuries of words and images have fallen short to get even close to a grasp of our existence.
Words are beautiful. But they are short. Today I have to use them to write this, so yes, they are a phenomenal tool of conveyance. But how do you say the smell of a lover's neck? How do say the taste of sadness when sun-basking in the hair of a loved one for the last time? How do you say frustration and openness of a broken heart? How do you say the joy in your grandmother's smile when she brings a summer lunch to the family table? How do you say the fear, nightmare and sorrow of a human's disease? How do you say love? Even through the best poetry, even with the most passionate kiss or the purest smile in your eyes, we can't tell. We can continue obsessing in creating practical codes: hashtags, labels and concepts for our lives, sometimes really smart or poetic ones, yet it will always feel somehow short of something and empty inside. As long as we don't accept to let the unknown be an intrinsic part of us, we will remain completely lost. The very mystery of our senses IS the guide. All we really have, is the embrace of the mystery of life and the improvised dance she takes us into. That very chance to be born, and to participate in this dance of life should suffice to finally lay down the arms and declare peace.
This morning on FB, I posted a note about my fear of the unknown and the change, and my difficulty to ingest the information I receive from people wanting to help. The words can heal, they help but right now, to accept the raging no man's land of pain is somehow the only thing that helps. People offer " to talk about it", it's really nice. People want to carry the good words of their beliefs, we all do. We aim to make better and educate. In this race to reconnect with mother earth and ground our roots on her lands again, we tend to identify ourselves with the divine, the god/goddesses quality in us. It's empowering. Okay. But wait. A quick look back at all forms of spirituality would help us realize that the divine will quickly make the human shut up and listen to the long silence of hardship or diligently observe the beauty of love. Sometimes, the Source Energy or whatever you want to call HER/HIM ask for images and words to be turned down and for eyes to close, mouths to shut. Let the song of silence begin. The mysterious space to open. That's the listening of the heart. The breath. The dance and the scream do remain. A spiral describe life better than any other curve or line. That's birth. Of a new art, a new baby, a new us. A pull and push out of the cocoon within the force of nature.
At some point, the Mandorla seems so wide open to the dark lands, it thinks it's going to break and wants to close off and die. On the other side of the river is a shore, but drowning seems so much sweeter than swimming right now. Yet the Mandorla is a magic form and symbol, it can expand in multiple directions. Life will find its way home. Many unidentified forms and abstract shapes make life, no one knows what it really is and why we really survive the swim. Women always carry that life mystery inside, on their shoulders, in their womb. What they need is to share the song of life with us, and be listened to. The Gods are asking us to listen, not just women.
Women have more awareness of pain and joy then men can ever imagine. They have more solutions to their problems than men can ever comprehend. But because they were given the role of being the vessel of Nature, and the carrier of the mystery, they need respect, kindness, they need their voice - silent or vocalized - to be hold and to be heard. They need to sing their song and dance their lives.
So next time you try to understand the full femininity of a woman, if you want to court her, to be her friend or if you want her love, observe and listen first. Then do something for her. Plant her a tree, crack her a joke, cook her a delicious meal, offer your arm for a dance, help in the house without asking. Support her right to vote, her right to work, her right to make her money, her right to disagree. Stimulate your intelligence and hers, it's sexy. If you want to help sooth her pain, and feel like your words of solution and positivity have exhausted their effect, offer a shoulder, give her a bath, or maybe just make yourself available to hold that silent space, in which she can remain silent next to you, or scream freely to finish crossing her river without drowning. She's not crazy, she's singing the deep song of the earth louder, until it's heard. She's not too emotional, as the very fact she can share her emotions is a sign of human intelligence and life endurance. What does it mean for a man to honor the space of a woman? It means that his reconnection to the woman will actually make him a man. And the woman will never stop thanking, supporting and loving him for that.
Maybe, Lee Miller is looking down and gently holding a futuristic planet made out of light, beauty, self-expression and love. Her crystal bowl is reflecting on her face what is already dancing in her mind. She is not limited by the bubble, rather, multi dimensional, like all her being, she can float and look at us with compassion and joy, like the moon to the earth. Like women to their planet. There and here, she's home. May the mystery continue and be cherished like our own lives.