I had an interesting conversation with my Dad the other night over dinner. He was asking me about my “work” in this realm of women’s empowerment - or rather I had driven the conversation that way by accident after reflecting on my integration back from festival life into city life. Always a hard one.
I spoke heatedly as I reflected on coming back to the city’s embodiment of the imbalance of the masculine; the go go go, the more more more, the faster faster faster. I spoke of the money & the greed, the false-remedy for the deep unfillable void of those in the city. Completely contradicting the softness, the naturalness, the flow, the pure essence & ease of the countryside and life in mama nature. The feminine.
We moved onto how that fed into my work, a discussion that brought in more heat. More fire. As I spoke of the need for change, for awakening. To balance the imbalance.
For women to rise up into their power. For both men and women to fight against the P word. Patriarchy. For men are suffering, too.
He said I seemed angry. I felt angry.
I said angry is a good thing. I said angry is something women haven’t been able to share openly, ever, for fear of being judged. Instead we turn our anger into sadness by default as it’s culturally more acceptable for a woman to cry than scream and shout.
Over the last few weeks, months, I have become more heated, I know I have. Maybe that has come across as anger, too.
The literature I’m reading (fem-power) is making me hotter and more agitated, still. Right now I’m reading Burning Woman by Lucy H Pearce and quite literally I feel engulfed by flames of passion each page I turn. I am quite literally burning.
My thoughts and passions have been driving me into a pit of coals. But it’s hard to find the line between constructive anger, and resentful anger. Good heat, bad heat - in this dualistic world.
Dad then said something which made me think twice about how I have been coming about things recently.
I have been so in the overwhelm. I have been so the sufferer of all the bad things. I have been channelling the millennia of rage and the oppression, but I haven’t been transmuting it. I have been swirling it around like poison in my belly. I’ve swallowed it down and spat it out in toxic posts and heated debates. I’ve been speaking with other women who feel the same way, each fuelling the other’s fires, but really changing nothing - other than stoking the flames bigger and stronger.
But that’s not the way I want to be. That’s not the message I want to share.
Dad said, Raise people up. Draw people up and out of the anger. That is transformation. Don’t fuel hate with hate. There is no place for hate here.
And he was right. So many times do we get so blinded by how we have been wronged that we use it as armour or a weapon turned the other way around, only sharper and with more sting.
So many times do we stay as the victim in our story, the oppressed and the blamed and shamed. And we get no where, just more angry and more resolute.
Now, I’m not saying we aren’t those things, gosh we are, by the bucket load. And understandably so. I’m also saying I don’t want to be the angry one. This isn’t the character I want to play in this story.
I don’t want to play the hate game. I don’t want to stoop down to the level of inciting more hate and more negativity. I don’t want my messages to be fuelled with poisonous anger any more. Well, I want them to have the feeling of anger, but only anger for awareness. I want them to inspire, to uplift, to stir something within, certainly.
I don’t want for us to dwell and writhe in our suffering. Past nor present. I want us to rise above, like the strong women we are. Turn our anger into something positive. Change. Transformation. Empowerment.
Dads words struck a chord as I had felt recently the anger and the heat were taking over me. My words and my actions were tinged with a sourness and a bitterness that wasn’t mine. It wasn’t palatable. Of course what I was feeling was mine, but I didn’t and wasn’t enjoying the way it was being digested.
I was missing the point. It wasn’t sitting well inside.
I explained to my Dad that I want to empower women to unleash their wild with this anger. This knowing of where we’ve come from and what we’ve been through is important context. It’s HERstory. It's OURstory.
And he asked what that meant, the wild woman.
I said a wild woman meant whatever it means to each and every woman. Whatever it is in her that is struck by the words "wild woman". Whatever is the inner wisdom of her very being. Her inner knowing. Her intuition. Her power.
She could be the fierce mother, the lover, the goddess, the rebel, the witch, the doula, the crone, the priestess, the headmistress, the woman next door.... she is everyone.
And for each wild woman, she will find her calling and we will find our moment to rise, collectively.
I’ve had enough of pointing fingers and getting angry at Facebook and the “powers that be” and bitching and moaning out loud in ranty posts. While I’m not letting “them” oppress me in any way (please don’t take this as a sign I’m backing down) my tune is changing. It’s resonating a softer, more melodic tune. A sweeter song. More uplifting. Less minor, more major.
I’m sorry to those who might have been dragged down with me. It can get intense, I know. It can get overwhelming. It can get really hot.
But it’s also not our place to apologise either.
We can feel all the feels. All the feels are welcome here. It’s ok to get angry. I honour my anger. And now I’m ready to move back into transformation and transmutation of that anger into real empowerment. Into the uplifting.
Isn’t the aim of all of this to raise consciousness, to heal, to empower both women & MEN to be better humans, to live in a world that is balanced and harmonious, to live in peace, to love one another, to respect one another..... isn’t that the point?
Sometimes it’s easy to forget.
(Who said this work was ever easy?)