three months after reading this, i'm still at awe.

women as vessels of the goddess - ~ excerpt ~

that the body of a woman can be a vessel through which the goddess comes is an unexpected revelation, a revelation that does not come through illumination, vision, or insight, which is how masculine divinity manifests, but through an embodied experience - through intimate, caring, reverent touch that is simultaneously sensual and sacred, deeply personal and transpersonal. this is a secret that is kept from women, who as a gender learn to dislike the roundness and fullness of their bodies, feel ashamed about the blood mysteries of menarche, menstruation, and menopause, want to be put to sleep when giving birth, and are horrified on awakening from dreams in which they lovingly embraced a woman.

many women who are initiated into their bodies by the goddess have explored the body of the goddess in another women, either a real woman or in vivid dreams; these experiences can deeply affirm being a woman and being in the body of a woman. they also can confuse and terrify women. another woman's body mirrors her own, boundaries between them dissolve, and a merging that encompasses the totality of both bodies and auras can occur that may recollect dim sensory memories of mother and infant merge or be the first time this archetype is experienced. the experience with another woman may allow a woman to be actively sensual person where before she had been passive or reactive in her responses. whether in dreams ( where they symbolic meaning also needs exploring) or living out, embodiment as a sexual and sensual woman results if she embraces the lover aspect of herself; the opposite occurs if she becomes terrified that she is a sinful, perverted person and must suppress her sensuality.

confusion about sexual orientation occurs; it is and it is not about sexual orientation at all. it is an invocation and integration about the sensual aspects of the demeter, perspehone, hera, or arphrodite archetype in the woman that now may become embodied and sensual. that it isn't necessarily about sexual orientation is what has been confusing, especially for women who, having been exclusively heterosexual, fall in love with a woman or with the goddess in a woman, decide they are lesbians, and then later fall in love with a man.

a deep sense of union can occur when a man and woman make love; in the physical fit, in the coming together of two sexes, a completion and wholeness can be experienced; it can also be a sacramental experience and a holy encounter. when lovemaking at a similar soul level takes place between two women, the experience is a reunion rather than a union. while opportunity and capacity to have either or both experiences is an individual matter, they are part of women's archetypal potential. this physical and mystical encounter with another through a meeting of both soul and body brings both individuals into the realm of the mystery; communion can then take place.

in fundamentally patriarchy, a woman's sexuality and ability to bear children belong exclusively to her husband and not to the woman herself. the sexual and sensual realms are feared and repressed. in the collective memory of women, we know death by stoning, as well as rape and impoverished and forced prostitution were the penalties for unsanctioned sexuality. thus terror often accompanies forbidden sexual feelings, recollecting that power of god and man was brought to bear against the goddess and the autonomy of women.

[Excerpt from Woman's Worth]

It's very difficult being a woman. It's very difficult being a man too, I realize, but this is a book about women. Sam Keen wrote a book about men, which he called Fire in the Belly. My friend Tara called me up one day and told me she wanted to write a companion volume, Volcano in the Uterus. I laughed when she said that, but inside I was thinking and Catastrophes in the Breasts and Terror in the Ovaries ...

More women cry, loudly or silently, every fraction of every moment, in every town of every country, than anyone--man or woman--realizes. We cry for our children, our lovers, our parents, and ourselves.

We cry in shame because we feel no right to cry, and we cry in peace because we feel it's time we did cry. We cry for the world. Yet we think we cry alone.

We feel that no one hears, that there is no listening that matters. And we must all listen now. We must hold the crying woman's hand and minister to her tenderly, or she will turn--this collective feminine shadow self--into a monster who will go unheard no longer. This book is an effort to hear and understand her in today's world, as she exists at this moment, imprisoned while still dressed in all her ancient, soiled regalia. She is like a child yet she is not a child. She is our mother, our daughter, our sister, our lover. She needs us now, and we need her.

Womanhood today is tentative and unsure, a thing defined more by what it isn’t than by what it is. For some women, this is not a problem. They have risen above the complexities of society's projections and misunderstandings and now fly high above the clouds. For most women, however, the resistances they encountered as they reached for the sky were so great that their wings have now drooped, and they try no longer.

Womanhood is a mass pain of unspoken depth; and when we try to speak it, we're liable to be told, "There you go--complaining again!"

As long as this is true, not half but all of humanity is obstructed in its journey to our cosmic destination. This destination is far, far away, a place so deep inside us that we have barely glimpsed its outer walls.

This is a book about a woman's inner life. Here, we are our real selves, while in the outer world we are impostors. We're not sure why we're posing except we have no clue how not to. We have forgotten the part we came here to play. We have lost the key to our own house. We're hanging out outside the door. The stress of being away so long from home is hurting us, even killing us. We must not stay away; we must find the key. For until we do, we will continue to shrivel--our faces, our breasts, our ovaries, our stories. We are drooping down and falling apart. If we knew how to moan, they would hear us on the moon.

But the dirt around us is moving, making room for tiny sprouts. Like every woman, I know what I know. Something is starting to happen. New things lie in store for the earth, and one of them is us. Womanhood is being recast, and we're pregnant, en masse, giving birth to our own redemption.

Watch. Wait Time will unfold and fulfill its purpose. While we wait, we must not go unconscious. We must think and grow. Rejoice and dream, but kneel and pray. There is holiness in the air today; we are giving birth to goddesses. They are who we are, for they are us: friends, therapists, artists, businesswomen, teachers, healers, mothers. Start laughing, girls. We have a new calling.

You can tell who we are: We use whatever our business is as a front for talking about things that really matter. We're only stuck in this work, you see, because our real work was taken away from us several thousand years ago. We looked on the map, but our town was gone. We looked through the catalog but couldn't find the course we wanted. It's as if someone removed our chair but couldn’t take away our longing to sit.

"What?" you say. "Me, a goddess?" Yes, I say, and don’t act so surprised. You knew when you were little that you were born for something special and no matter what happened to you, that couldn't be erased. The magic could not be drained from your heart any more than Lady Macbeth could wash the guilt from her hands. Sorry to tell you, but you had it right years ago, and then you forgot You were born with a mystical purpose. In reading this now, you might remember what it is.

Together we embark on a quest for our own enchantment. It will take us to a place where what is feminine is sacred, as are a lot of other things as well. There we can become who we are meant to be and live the life we are meant to live. But we need to see the lay of the land, and we need to see clearly the way back home.

There are women who are enchanted, living here now as there have always been and always will be. They are bearers of the Goddess's torch, however dim its light may shine. On the inner planes, they are priestesses and queens. They are absolutely powerful; they have made it past the gates. I have known a few, and I have heard of others. And I will tell you all I know, of who they are and how they do it.

* * *

At every moment, a woman makes a choice: between the state of the queen and the state of the slavegirl. In our natural state, we are glorious beings. In the world of illusion, we are lost and imprisoned, slaves to our appetites and our will to false power. Our jailer is a three-headed monster--one head our past, one our insecurity, and one our popular culture.

Our past is a story existing only in our minds. Look, analyze, understand, and forgive. Then, as quickly as possible, chuck it.

Our insecurity is inevitable in the absence of personal meaning. Without a sense of connection to deeper, more noble ideas, we are doomed to a desperate struggle for things that fill us up: the job, the relationship, the looks, the body. We are tyrannized by a belief that we are inadequate. No nazi with machine gun could be a more tormenting presence.

The monster's third head is the pop culture we collectively spend millions of dollars supporting each year. It does not support us in return. Most movies do not love us, most advertising does not love us, most of the fashion industry does not love us, and most rock and roll does not love us (very sad that one--it used to).



one of my newest and potential to be a lifelong friend asks why i'm not married. the reasons i offer him are as varied as anything would go. the dread of monotony. loving my solitude. my past co-dependancy to not needing a piece of paper to justify committment to anyone.

he thinks i am ridiculous and hiding like everyone else. he says i am afraid.

sometimes, i feel i am afraid too.afraid that for the sake of acceptance to a wider community i hide my natural self. or my queer self. and most recently, i have discovered, my polyamous nature.

this last two years has unearthed fears that have lurked around for the longest. being away from a support base. familiar food and organic smells. my wild natured and rebel like women friends. my mother. my brothers maturing into manhood. my mothers' farm. the sense of togetherness with nature. the twilight skyline.

i think maybe i should york myself with another. a strong, vile, african man. with brown skin and the brightest of eyes. prefarably a young man who will draw his sword from the shealth and slay the dragons with one sling of his shinning blade.

i think of the times where pillows serve as a backdrop to silent tears. times when i have been made whole by a touch of love. the dance of the beloved. and of the times in between.

over the summer, i spent an extraordinary amount of time listening to marianne williamson. i felt i had to understand the rage that threatened to engulf me, the disappointment of a sore love affair with a woman i had grown to care for. the pain of the beloved. and the state of the world. i continiously been inducted and reminded of the necessity of women and men to pen and fashion the threads of their stories. with me, i have gotten caught up in the train of traditional ways of knowing self + knowing others. of understanding love.

the times have certainly changed. we are caught up in the whirlpool of technological advancement, yet, still unable to speak with each other, or to ourselves. and i feel as i meditated on the conversation i had with my new friend, how imperative it is, almost tinkering in a sense of great urgency for us to be truthful to ourselves and to love in un-traditional ways. after all, this times do demand that from us. the flight of novelty creativity and a sense of rebelliousness.


i am a late blommer when it comes to many things. pbs is one of those things that make me giggle with newness. two nights ago i watched the state of denial and it rang true is so many levels.organisations like TAC that are out there doing things makes me want to jump into the next plane to durban.

i think i'll write more about this in the next post.

don't you just love juicy, most reddest and succulent plums? nowadays, i like to munch several of them during my work schedule. sort of a pressure and pleasure release. i provide tech support for dsl customers. and for the most part especially in the recent days, i feel most of the customers as being whinny. and it really is getting to my nerves.

i recognize that the people and situations that we met act as mirrors to show the parts within ourselves that need to be worked on. why adults seriously aggrivate me, i dont know.

there are some customers that make me laugh. today, i had one who said he liked how i sounded on the phone. i did the subtle flirtarious giggle. it was unexpected. him saying this. and it felt nice. i felt appreciated. i am grateful that i can earn a living. i have worked for years in situations where even erking daily bread was rather futile. being where i am now provides me with a situation where my labour, even though it is not my bliss, offers the opportunity for me to feel valuable and validated. there are those days, and there are many of them when each day is as laborious as the next. dealing with people's small mindedness as to accents and questions as to where i'm speaking english or not. and feeling very, very alone in a sea of whiteness. this has made me cower in my work station and read my book or listen to my music. i have been here for a year and i am very warmed by the kindness of strangers. several of my collegues have been kind and music makes such strange bedfellows.

read about her [ user id: kiparangoto pwd: muthoni ] the other day, can't wait to read her book. i have several book + movie reviews churning in my head right now. i just need to write it down.

i now reside in a room of my own. very virgina woolfish. its in a relatively quiet neighbourhood, overflowing with trees and labyrinths of green carpeted grass. my space has a fireplace, a huge balcony, window in the kitchen and wooden floors at certain sections of the apartment. oh.. lets not forget, the huge bathtub. i wish i'd do a japanese/indian theme to the bedroom. maybe even get a bedspread like this . isn't it the coolest. i'm just glad and very blessed that i have a place, my own place to rest my spirit and weave dreams.

and, in the spirit of weaving, i began a intro. to playwriting class. why lie. now thats an entry of itself. this is my first time i'm actually thoroughly engaged in a creative something or another. we'll see how it goes. i haven't had a chance or opportunity to read emails or blog because i'm without internet accesss. soon yinka.

i have quite a bit to say, but need to get back to work. so, how are you?