Grounding Through Chaotic Times
And now we turn to the Wild, to the wisdom that our wombs remember.
The collective is churning.
I hear it echoing through the psychosphere and I feel it in my belly.
We are afraid, we are hurting—we are enraged.
The most recent chapter in the endless story of control and subjugation of the feminine and, in particular—the female body has left many of us reeling.
What to do?
I recently read some advice that when someone dies: we do nothing. We call no one. We do nothing more than what we must, one small step in front of the other, tending and moving as the path appears.
This is where I am.
This is hard, maybe harder than coming up with a plan, harder than looking outwards for who to blame, who to attack, who needs to go down next. Those are all valid reactions, by the way, they are simply not mine in this moment.
Something has died and I am letting the gravity of that pull me down and in.
When I heard the news that Roe V. Wade had been overturned, I was with my lover. We looked at each other over our coffee cups, me feeling rather shocked (having had, availed myself of a chemical abortion procedure in the not too distant past).
He was grounded, rational and did not join in or fuel my shock or rage. It was a comfort, actually. It felt grounding. We do not always need someone to join us in our emotional state in order for that state to be validated.
And so I now find myself in a similar position. It’s not that I am not angry, I am, but it is not running rampant through my system. My anger is, instead, deep and quietly bubbling, much like the Yellowstone Caldera, upon whose edge I happen to live.
No, my anger is not an erupting volcano right now. It is the heat that feeds the hot springs that seep through the cracks in our Mamma’s crust seeping out all over the countryside that I call home. This heat, this anger, is both life giving and, potentially, utterly destructive.
I am a longtime advocate for the sacred fire of rage. Anger is powerful and it is an appropriate response to violation. Fire is both creative and destructive and requires discernment to wield it safely and appropriately.
Fire often leaves scars in its wake.
Let’s not burn down the village in our rightful desire to burn down the corrupt temples. Let’s turn our eyes to the sky, feel our feet on the land, take a deep breath and remember who we are.
Our bodies are holy ground and our rights to make decisions that feel safe, secure, and appropriate for us is fodder for neither religious nor political debate.
At a physical level, an abortion is a medical procedure, a choice between a woman and her physician—no more, no less.
At an energetic, psychic, and emotional level this experience is to be determined by the woman, herself. No one—no impotent God, no political head, no cock-wielding critic, or Bible thumping fanatic—has any right to determine what that experience means for her spiritually, emotionally, or psychologically. It is between that woman and whatever Gawd-force she may, or may not, believe in.
Can you feel the slow deep burn beneath these words? Can you feel my anger warming the waters of life?
I invite you slip in, if so inspired.
I invite you to strip, to unbind your hair, kick off your shoes, peel off your armor, and immerse yourself in these warm, welcoming waters.
This slow deep heat is not complacency.
This is sustenance. This is respite. This is a big bowl of bubbling stew. Maybe you are too sick to eat right now and that is okay. Maybe you want to run, fight, and rage and that is okay. Maybe you need your armor and are clinging to your sword as if your life depends upon it—and that is okay.
But know that I am here. I am here to feed you, to listen, and to embrace you in these ancient waters. There is a warm and safe space to be found here and it is even older than the image of the warrior goddesses.
It is most simply the place of Birth and Death.
She who has stitched us together—bone to ligament, sinew and gut—knows not only how we are bound and bonded, but also exactly how to take us apart.
Come back to your breath, loves.
Come back to the belly-born growl, let that primal howl moan. Feel the power escaping your lips, twisting your hips, and vibrating your bones.
We are brave.
We are wild.
We are free.
We are made for these times.
“Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés
I love your words and voice!
Thank you for giving voice to my thoughts so eloquently.