Yesterday, I told myself I didn't know what to say for day 6. It was a lie. And I knew it, even as I told myself that. It just took a little while for me to own exactly what it is I needed to share. Why? Because the more we get close to truth of who we are, the scarier it is to put it out there. We have these voices inside us that say: what if no one understands? Worse, what if they understand and don't like it or mock it?
There is something about unveiling the sacredness of who we are for the world to see that risks diminishing it. Risks letting it become profane. But isn't it also the beauty of this journey: uncovering our memories of things that are less tangible and then seeking to express them, here on Earth, in a denser form? The only form that truly allows for manifestation? Isn't that what this wild sacred journey is about?
So what is it that feels so scary and vulnerable for me to share?
My journey within the past year has been one of rediscovering and healing my connection to the Divine Feminine. And not a moment too soon. Whatever our differing views on how to solve the world's crises, I think it's safe to say that we can all agree we are in a crisis. And in fear, we may seek to blame others outside of ourselves or things outside of our perceived control. But the more I walk my path, the more it becomes clear to me that we have disconnected from the femininity of our source and we are all paying the price. This Divine Feminine exists in everything. She exists in all creatures, in rocks, in trees, in water, in the sky. She exists in children, in men, in women, and in those who do not identify as either/or. But we live in a world that prizes boundaries, logic, numbers, power, linear progress, and concrete reality over water, flow, creativity, vulnerability, and the magic of the inexplicable. And so, while we also need these more 'masculine' traits to keep us balanced, we need to shed our shame and fear of weakness and starting speaking about our experiences that sometimes defy words, too.
This process for me has taken on many forms, but one of them has been a re-commitment to fostering creativity in my life. And it has been a journey of learning to challenge the voices in my head that say: who are you to create? You're not an artist! Your work isn't any good! You don't have the genius for it... But creativity is the realm of our Divine Feminine. It is what she is here for: to nurture and birth into Being all possibilities and inspirations that long to be made manifest. Maybe it's a painting, or a dance, or a piece of music. Maybe it's a new scientific idea, or a new business. Maybe it's a new flavor of ice cream or a new tool that will revolutionize gardening. Maybe it's making a stunningly silly video that goes viral on Youtube, making people laugh and also leaving them wondering who thought that was a good idea?! Human ingenuity is unbelievably beautiful, when offered from the heart. And it doesn't need to be important. It doesn't even need to be seen or shared. It just needs to be created.
I am currently doing a 30-day creative writing program. And what I wrote yesterday is very different from anything I've written before. It took three tries that were clunky and wordy before I finally allowed this one to flow out. And I love it. And I'm scared of it. And I had no intention of sharing it. So, in honor of this wild and sacred journey, in honor of vulnerability and freedom of expression, in honor of the possibility that my walk might inspire someone else, and in honor of our Divine Feminine... here it is:
On nights when the moon is full, I have sex with moon snakes.
All day, I feel my wild wolf belly starting to open sleepy eyes and stretch inside me
Then, finally, the moment when I turn my lights off and hear the faintest echo of a howl
- part anticipation, part celebration
bouncing around in my ribs.
Crawling across my bed, I peak through the gauzy curtain to invite my moon lover in
Her beauty never ceases to take my breath away
The wild wolf in my belly bares its teeth in a smile.
Her light the white blue of an old lady’s hair
drifts through my window
and lands beside me in bed
where the purity of it throbs in my belly and sheds some of my own, darker density
so that my bare flesh takes on her glow as my twin moons rise,
driven upward by a back arched to meet her
and a willingness to love, heart forward.
Beside me, her light condenses into a serpentine form,
curling around the mountains and valleys of the sheets
like a river that flows away from the sea
her coolness slipping inside
being drawn back into the mossy grotto
and then back to the womb of the Earth
where she pools, now liquid in form
coiled and ready to slide all the way up my spine
to be sighed out in pleasure
- a winged offering, soaring back towards the moon in her night sky
becoming a new star.