“In order to converse with the wild feminine, a woman must temporarily leave the world and inhabit a state of aloneness in the oldest sense of the word. Long ago the word alone was treated as two words, all one. To be all one, meant to be wholly one, to be in oneness, either essentially or temporarily. That is precisely the goal of solitude, to be all one. It is the cure for the frazzled state so common to modern women…”
I can’t help but write to you. I am in a coffee shop, listening to Bob Dylan, putting my B.L.O.G into a file, piece by piece, which I will send it to a printer, before rocketing it into the stratosphere. Somewhere along the way, we start to gain and lose things, gain responsibility, a sense of adulthood, a sense of normalcy. (Gasp!) Productivity, skirt suits (never!), coiffed hair, earrings, proper underwear. I have missed this energy, this sensibility. I remember you, Bob. I remember you, Henry. What happened? Somewhere along the way I forgot that I was a witch. I forgot about living on the edge. What an edge it was. Such seems the melancholy of growing older.
How do we return? Moment by moment. Edge by edge. It began when I sat outside under the tree my mother-in-law loves to be under when she smokes in the evening, tight pants, long hair, boots on. It began when I started to slow down, alone, quiet, peaceful. When I stop fully, my purest desires rise to the surface. It takes removing oneself. It takes being with all the edginess. With all the impulses to distract oneself, to remove oneself from that hot loneliness, the desires to go back, to be with people, any people. Being without my husband for five weeks is a new experience, and one I have welcomed with open arms. Welcome pure me! Welcome original me! Welcome fear! Welcome uncertainty! Walking through all of that, I have come to be still. Instead of running from all of my edginess, I stay still. I’ve heard that the Chinese say, “When in doubt, do nothing.” It’s a good move.
So, I sat under the tree. Everything was so quiet, so peaceful, and yet intensely alive. As I sit there, noticing the berries on the branches, the fireflies coming alight, even the young fireflies drifting by, I hear the birds cooing and tweeting, and I come to sense what I need in my life, at this time. That wild feminine energy is so ultimate, so essential, so uniquely ours. I start to feel the energy coming, regardless of how relaxed, resistant, or sleepy I feel. That issuance comes only in the quietest and stillest of moments, and it was incredibly refreshing.
These days, the weeks pass quickly without further ado. Much is said, much is done, and there are indeed more responsibilities than before, and my mantra is simplicity. “This too shall pass,” I tell myself often, knowing that not only will the tougher times slip by, but the beautiful moments too. In the quiet, all our urges, fears, tambourines and dreams sound louder. It’s the perfect time to look at all of those noises inside. I’ve found a few parts of myself that haven’t seen the light for some time, and they’re mad and angry and hot and wet and they want to talk to me desperately. They’re full of energy. Like holding a basketball underwater, when we release our grip, the ball rockets skyward. Thank goodness for the opportunity to release that energy, the energy it takes to hold the ball under the surface. Thank goodness for being so alive.