Threads of Trust

I am haunted by an image that came to me after escaping to a tree outside in the middle of one of my classes today. One of my last classes. I was talking about my research essay that connects the oppression and trauma of the woman with the Earth, and I was speaking directly from my heart. My eyes were closed and I was deeply speaking from the places that tremble in my body. Oh, to speak from those places. 

The image of a child looking for its Mother. A lost child. Begging, crying out… for its Mother. Where are you Mother? Where do you lie?

I have been abandoned. I sense a feeling of abandonment lurking in the collective shadows. Who is responsible for the suffering of your Mother? asks Bhanu Kapil. How did your mother suffer?Quietly? 

We are looking for our Mother. We are lost, crying out, reaching for her with shaking hands. I have become fascinated with this idea of making the personal political. This has everything to do with making the personal political. This has nothing to do with blaming and shaming the mothers of this Earth. They too are caught in this tangled web of trauma, passed down and passed down. This may not be true for everyone. But it is true for me, and I see it around me. We are yearning for HER. Her. The Mother. We do not know not know how to respect the hand that feeds, the ground, the soil that sustains us. 

The Feminine. 

The Feminine. 

We are looking for her in our selves, seeking her in our cells. 

It is not even just about gender. It is about finding and accessing the feminine within each of us no matter how we identify. She lurks within us all. She lies dormant in us. Until we awaken her and realize we must speak. Why do we speak? We speak for HER. We speak to give voice to her suffering, her pain, her beauty, her existence, her power. Speaking for her is speaking with a Reverence for Life. 

Wee Seek Herr. 

Our wings cannot fly without her support. 

Our voices thrum with the pain of thousands of years, trusting this pain, knowing this pain is medicine. This pain is medicine. There is a medicine angel in pain. 

The Earth is a metaphor. It is a metaphor for the thing that cannot be talked about, and here I am trying to write an essay talking about it. It is the Goddess, incarnate in all things. The Goddess needs our help. She needs us to speak for her, dance for her, move for her, write for her, breathe her back into balance. This living is not a passive process. It is active, engaged, aligning to the divine mystery in every moment. 

Our bodies are her. The soil is her. Everything is made of her. And she cares for us. She cares, and she has so long been ignored and disrespected. Like angry children who leave the house rebelliously in the night. We have stolen away from our mother, in ignorance, and now we must return. 

The deepest trauma is sexual. It is the vulnerable sharing of the core of our beings. It is where we dance with creation, with the her so intimately. This is the notebook life. What are you doing that is unproductive?  Giving space to findings and musings and barely thoughts into words. Feelings. Sensations. FEEL TANK. This is what we need. Is to bring more feel tanks into the world. Places of feeling, grieving, honoring her, honoring the other ways of knowing. Because in all of our why, why, why, logical findings we do not find the Mother we seek. We are left aimlessly grasping at something that cannot be grasped. 

It is a hole. It has created a deep, psychic hole in the collective consciousness. It is the pit of abandonment we feel if we go deep enough. This whole, this emptiness reveals. A way of being that does not make sense yet. It cannot make sense. It contains threads of trust. 

Collective rulership and synarchy. Witchcraft. These are my paths, the threads I continue to weave. We are weaving a rainbow thread of remembrance. Remember her. Remember the Mother. Remember where we have all come from. And where will we go? Only She knows. 

This is the ritual of our lives. The worship of the feminine. It is being awakened in all of our hearts, and we hear the call. The call to service, the call to action. Protect her, embody her, give to her, love her, surrender to her. Surrender all of your cells to the call that takes you down and within. 

The path that is winding and crooked. This is the path we must follow.