Sometimes, dear reader, I feel like a rag doll that’s coming apart at the seams.
Ideas, suppressed emotions, new knowledge and magical revelations are like bits of stuffing poking through my stitching. At any moment I might split apart. Literally spill my guts.
But first I have to bring the old version of myself to a close. I have to fulfil my publishing contracts. I have to mentor, teach, support and nourish the beautiful souls who have put their faith in me.
All the while tending to my own frayed stitching and threadbare casing.
A bit of mending here. A patch, some darning, some fusible interfacing there.
The doll will hold out.
But not for much longer.
For me, this is what happens as you grow older.
The call to a new path becomes so strong you can feel it physically. It makes you giddy and lightheaded. Your nervous system becomes hypersensitive; hot flushes are relentless power surges in search of a valid outlet.
And what about the world around us?
It’s harder to look away.
You become incensed by the rape, pillage and blatant stupidity that’s wreaking havoc on our planet and on all sentient beings.
Still. You carry on much as you always have. Nevertheless, as Katharine Hepburn would say.
Discomfort becomes unceasing agitation.
Frustration becomes rage.
Complacency gives way to shame.
Fear becomes inconsequential.
If you don’t start speaking out, if you refuse to be true to yourself and to your calling, you know you will either implode — or wither on the vine.
At a fundraiser recently, a woman mentioned that she couldn’t see the need for feminism anymore. ‘Women have everything they need,’ she said. ‘They have plenty of rights and opportunities. They need to stop whinging.’
I was so gobsmacked my throat constricted.
I actually said NOTHING.
What I should have said, what I rehearsed later in the shower (do you do that?) was this:
‘More girls have been killed in the last fifty years, precisely because they were girls, than men were killed in all the battles of the twentieth century.’ (Half the Sky, Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl Wudunn)
Sit with that for a moment.
It’s incomprehensible, isn’t it? That’s the demonic face of patriarchy. Right there.
In the face of such immense despair, it is the rise of the Divine Feminine that has captured (and strengthened) my rag doll heart.
I have heard Her call, the call of the Goddess.
The rise of the Divine Feminine, the rise of the Goddess in all her beautiful and terrible guises, marks a new age; an Age of Wisdom. An Age of Compassion.
We will not survive as a species unless we cultivate compassion and wisdom — right now and above all else.
The patriarchy is crumbling. And when I refer to the patriarchy, I’m not referring to the men and boys we personally know and love. They suffer, are exploited, have been bled dry, brainwashed and emasculated by the patriarchy, too.
The patriarchy is a belief system, a ‘world view’, a culturally covert poison that has brought us to our knees. It is steeped in violence and bigotry. It is predatory and divisive. It is also insatiable.
Which is why we’ve reached this point, the ultimate fork in the road.
Speaking out like this terrifies me. Like most women, I’ve been socially conditioned to be terrified. And to be silent.
I will speak out anyway.
I will speak my truth.
And I will share my reverence for the Divine Feminine.
The Great Mother, the Goddess, is rising.
It is Her time.
Every day I strive to be in conversation with her, to hold her in my heart and to do her work.
For now, my steps are uncertain. The way forward is shrouded in mist. But I know I am blessed, and I know I am guided.
We all are.
We just need to be still and listen.
It’s not possible to thank all the brave, articulate women who have so lovingly inspired and educated me on my journey into the Divine Feminine. But among them I would like to acknowledge (and celebrate), Samantha Nolan-Smith, Kelly Anne Maddox, Sharon Blackie, Jessica M Starr, and Colette O’Neill
Thank you, sisters.