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I am feral I am wild

I am a lost and lonely child
I’ve been beaten and abused
Caged up and misused
But now the cage is open and now I sing this song
For never can you keep a wild woman down for long
Wild women sing your songs take your rightful place
Glory in your wisdom – you ARE the human race
Wild woman sing more loudly sing with all your heart
Wild woman it’s your time come and play your part
Take back your rightful earnings
Take back your rightful self
Wild women join together we’ve cracked that porcelain shelf
Never to return there never to be tamed
Wild woman let your hair down – you can never be ashamed
For we have walked this wilderness we have trudged this ground
We have been lost so long
And finally we’re found
So stand up in your glory stand up in your space
Wild woman now the sun shines eternal on your face.

“Something inside so strong” Libre Saffi

Its amazing to me what a powerfully useful tool anger is. Anger draws boundries. Anger is a display of self respect. In some instances. Not blind rage that hurts the most vulnerable. That is of course a lack of any sort of awareness of – the other. But as Jesus overturned the tables in the temple, in righteous anger against the corrupt money lenders, so too, is anger against the injustices in our society, a very strong way of drawing lines.
If we were angry enough at our corrupt politicians, we would already have saved our country billions of dollars, and plenty of suffering. But complacency and helplessness take the place of anger, and we label it humility, patience, letting God take control, being peacekeepers! Fools! Be angry. Have the courage to see it for what it is. And BE angry!
If we were angry enough at drug dealers, who for their own greed destroy lives of the innocents, we would have declared war – yes – out right war on the cartels. But we know they are strong and we are weak, so we shrug in our helplessness, and say our government (the same one referenced above) should do something about it, and the fact that they don’t makes them incompetent. It’s a joke! Why would they? What would their motivation be to do so, especially when they are profiting. And we call it law abiding, good citizenry, leaving it up to the government.
Oh rage! Rage! Rage against the complacency we ALLOW within ourselves, because to be angry is too negative. To be angry is sinful. To be angry is simply not fitting, even in Buddhism, he who loses his temper first – loses. He who loses temper first leaves his throat with no defence … uncontained anger is a disability. These are all things I believe.
Yet, yet, there are times when I know the complete antithesis to be true. I know that anger can be power. Not against anyone else. But for yourself. That you may know that the world will only be ok, if we disallow – through anger – the advantage other would take, the victims they would create, because those who should rage sit back in convenient peace.

“Stupid girls.” (Pink)

And again, it has come up as a theme in my life. So clearly it is not done yet, with it’s life lesson.
And so we revisit a previous thought. A previous entry.
Prompted by a picture I posted of myself on social media, one in which I knew I looked wonderful, but it had not been a contrived, created, coerced photograph, it had been a random snap shot at a party, at which – yes – I knew I looked radiant and was happy to know that I dressed for myself, to feel good. Why not?
Nonetheless, one of my admirers with whom I have a proper love hate relationship commented simply “ slutty profile pic”
This was absoultuely not what it was at all. Yes, I looked like a woman who could be relished, yes, I oozed appeal, womanhood, sensuality, but in a feminine, demure, beautiful way. In my opinion.
And that’s exactly what it all is. ‘
Opinion.
We have all read the well known adage – “ you don’t see the world as it is. You see the world as you are.” Essentially if your heart is filled with lust and pride and jealousy, anger, resentment, criticism – then inevitably, you will interpret other people’s actions and motives from that premise. You will auto revert in a manner of speaking to assuming that the intent with which they acted, was based on a motive of lust, pride, and whatever other Everyman emotion you are harbouring so strongly. True also that the way in which you judge others and the so called moral standards you use, say more about who you are than who they are.
It was attributed to H.G. Wells as having said that Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.
And yet, I appreciated his honesty, although honesty and truth are not necessarily synonymous. Nonetheless I appreciated that he was clear and brave enough to call his truth. To make a statement that others perhaps thought or felt but wouldn’t dare express. Which is the better friend? Which is the more genuine and valuable person to have in your life? Those who stand in judgement but have not the conviction to tell you so, to set you straight – albeit on their paths, to call it as they see it and leave you to do with it as you see fit – to either reject or assimilate their opinion? Or those who do indeed not spare a thought for your ‘feelings’ for your sensibilities and call it as they perceive it. For yes, it may be considered rude and socially inconsiderate, however, it may, just possibly be serving you, for a moment, giving you a glimpse, an insight, however brief into the world or world view of others, loaning you their rose tinted glasses, for just a moment, that you may see life, your life thorough the eyes of another. And whatever their motive, whatever brought them to the place of calling it as they did, it is nonetheless a truth, their truth, or perception and perhaps, no doubt that of many others. Thus it was useful to me, as opposed to the many friends who wouldn’t call it and thus be entirely unuseful, unless I needed an ego stroking. But this was useful to me. I considered his opinion. I knew that we were coming from different starting blocks, I knew that within a context, I was right and he was wrong, but I also knew, that just as he had not seen the photo within the context in which it was taken, others hadn’t either. And perhaps, his perspective was valid. And perhaps he was protecting me. From myself. From society. Because society does not and never has thought as I do.
I removed the picture.
And I was grateful for his view.
Yet, I had to have my soap box moment, in my head, where I stood up, if only on the inside for what I know to be true:
And I had my internal rant, which made me feel better, which reminded me to connect with my truth, and that I hadn’t forgotten or altered my truth – just because I had chosen to err on the side of the opinion of another, that I keep to my truth steadfastly, yet, I don’t have to prove it but insisting on my right, I don’t have to force it or hold the battle field till I win. I just have to know it. And allow others their space to cope as they can with their own demons.
And for my own sake, I penned my truth again:
A subtle difference between modesty and a lack of self confidence in who you are. An unwillingness to explore who you are…. Because …. What if…. So to disguise it under the cloak of modesty. Which suits you, so that you don’t have to look, and see, so that you don’t have to throw off the mantle – of an undiscovered self, quiet yet. So that you don’t have to explore, since you are safely ensconced in the gown of modesty. And it so happens, that, comfortably for you… society approves. Society approves of your dress code, your behaviour, your energy force field that you have created to protect yourself….. from yourself. Society approves, and thus gives you tacit permission to take the moral high ground, and wear that halo so tightly around your head. And make you ever more fearful of exploration. For now, now it is not only your own demons that you have to wrestle, but the what if – of society’s too – what if I am rejected, what if I am thought of as less than, what if they think I am a slut? What if they think I am immoral, what if they don’t like me anymore, what if I give the wrong impression…. All of the what if’s that society has wrapped around you have to first be unwrapped, layer by layer, before you even begin to unwrap your own demons, removing their grips from yourself, one tight finger, but one tight finger. Thus the fight becomes too big, too much, too intense and its easier not to fight. And so you remain, perhaps inwardly grateful for the guise of modesty – because your self worth or in accuracy, lack thereof is easily wrapped away, beneath the layers of morality.
Such a damn fine line isn’t it?
But one of the most valuable lessons life has been gracious enough to teach me – is to celebrate who you are – to be happy, genuinely happy – with who you are. And never to allow a day to pass without appreciating it in some way. By physical exertion, but doing a photoshoot, but dressing you’re a – game – simply to go to the local supermarket to buy bread and milk. Why live with apologies and complexes? Why? To make others feel more comfortable? To curry favour and score friends so that everyone will come to your funeral?
And if people misinterpret that as vanity, or arrogance, well, I only hope that their life path, at some point – for them, not for me, for to me, it is neither a gain nor a loss, but for them, it would make all the difference in the world, and thus, I can only hope that their life path can eventually bring them to a point of similar self joy. And then, I, who may by then be older and wiser, will smile, wryly to myself, knowing that patience and time will bring the right people to your funeral.
So don’t ever disparage yourself, or think of yourself as less than gorgeous, not because I want to flatter you do I say these words, but because you are the created. And art is exquisite in any form at all.
And the created – you – me – we are Art.
There will always be those who can’t or don’t or aren’t ready to value art.
It’s like the tattoos I see on so many people. I am sure they are meaningful and took huge energy – both in the format of time and money and thought, and that alone is why they are beautiful, although I am not particularly an admirer of body art, I can none the less see it as a celebration of who you need to express yourself as being, and thus, in that there is a beauty and fascination for me. Not because I like tattoos at all, I distinctly do not, but they tell me your story, and it is your story that is so very beautiful.
I don’t wear my story as ink on my skin, I wear it as clothes on my body, as jewellery creatively strewn across myself, as a hair style I select. So listen to my story, rather than look at my social media picture. Then, then my friend, you will see the exquisite beauty – so far removed from your notion of slut.

“keep the fire burning” REO Speedwagon

I wish to dance in the flames that ignite.
I wish to burn with passion – that which can not be contained or controlled, pure, raw passion. I wish to live for the fire in my soul that drives, burns, motivates, consumes. Not just a dying ember, kept alive by the wind from your billows. Grateful to you for the tiny breeze you allow in through a tiny gap in the window, sufficient to keep my flame alive, but so far from sufficient – for a flame that burns only as a single candle, when it was intended to set a forest ablaze can hardly satisfy. And that is all you can allow, for that – you can contain and control. Yet its cruel – less cruel perhaps to extinguish it entirely?
But when you are able, when you are truly able to sit and watch someone else’s flames, to sit just as a spectator, staring into the flames, mesmerized by their beauty, by their colours, their shapes and forms, yet knowing full well, that to even attempt to grasp them, to take hold of them, would be stupid, foolish. Who would even consider the attempt, for it’s simply not possible to contain flames in your bare hands. To try to hold them, own them, control them. Their beauty would burn. Their beauty would hurt. Their beauty would turn to destruction. Their beauty would scar you. But to watch. Oh to simply sit – you being you – and me being me – and watch. And appreciate. And bask in what the flames DO OFFER you – warmth, a glow, a radiance, a dance, a display, a space in which to lose yourself to the flames, in the most gentle way – keeping yourself to yourself, yet becoming part of the flames – without touching, without controlling, without owning or keeping or holding or possessing.
I want to dance in my fire. In my passion. I want you to watch. To love. To appreciate. To enjoy. I want you to bask in it. It is for you. Its not FOR me – its WHO I AM. So I bring who I am, because who I am goes with me wherever I do, but if I am there, and so are you – then I bring who I am – for you to enjoy. But not to own. I will hurt you. Not because I deliberately plan or contrive to do so, but simply because I am the fire – the fire is in me. And I want to ignite my own flames. We all come into this world with a spark. I don’t want you to fan my flames, however tenderly, gently, lovingly. For then I am dependant, for life, on the oxygen you supply. And should your oxygen, for a myriad of reasons blow dry, then my spark flickers, falters, fails. Dies. But if I find, within myself, my own breath, then – then my fire burns. Forever.
Then I am master of my own destiny, for I can play small, and reduce my spark to a tiny harmless flame, flickering feebly, when I need to, as life may at times require, for the greater good, for a period of hiatus. But then too, when I am done with the interlude, the respite of burning as a single flame, when I am tired of having interrupted and suspended my own fire, then it is I and I alone, who is capable of fanning the flames again, into full splendour. Without depending on or awaiting a wind, that may or may not come.
For this I have learnt – through being oxygen dependant for too long:
That no one can dance in anyone else’s flames. Your flames must dance for you, with you, in you. Your own desires must burn so brightly, that you almost spontaneously combust with the love of YOUR life. And then, only then, will others be drawn to you, to watch the spectacular. To feel the warmth radiate and to see the sparks fly.
But watching someone else’s sparks, basking in the heat of another’s fire – never keeps you warm for very long.

My Fight Song (Rachel Platten)

Like most people, we hear a song on the radio and it resonates with us, and we find ourselves turning the volume up – high – and singing along. And the volume and the energy we bring to singing along depends entirely on where we are at – at that point , emotionally, and circumstantially and how deeply we relate to the lyrics.
And man – some of us – we need to sing – we need to sing with so much passion, with so much gusto, with so much soul power, that there isn’t a volume button that can be turned up high enough to drown out our voices!!!
Did you hear that? Have you felt that?
Have you ever needed to scream a song out loud enough to drown out all the other voices in your head? Have you ever needed to turn the volume up loud enough to drown out your own voice? Your own truth? Because facing your own truth is just too difficult? Because hearing your own truth, in your head is just too painful? So you turn the volume button of life up louder – keep busier – work harder – until – until – that voice, that song, YOUR song – cannot be drowned out. Until there is no volume button that can be turned up high enough to drown out our soul’s voice.

When will you say – enough of the voices in my head that are not mine, that do not raise my spirit, that do not sing my story – only you know the threshold you have- to say – I have taken enough, I have heard enough.
Taken enough pain, taken enough abuse, taken enough belittling, enough disrespect, enough bullying, enough manipulation, taken enough power games, – enough – till YOU decide – till your SOUL swells big enough in you – to scream your story out with so much enthusiasm, that there isn’t a volume button in your head that can be turned up loudly enough to drown out your fight song.
Rachel Patten’s “Fight Song” for that very reason, resonates with so many as her lyrics read : “like a small boat, on the ocean, sending big waves, into motion, like how a single word, can make a heart open, I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion…
When that song plays, when those lyrics start so gently and build to the crescendo, it DOES something to my spirit, my soul shakes, my soul starts to respond, in a million reverberating ways.
Listen to these words:
“All those things I didn’t say – wrecking balls inside my brain, I will scream them loud tonight, can you hear my voice this time? ”
How many of us haven’t had the wrecking balls inside our brains : being taught how to think, being told what to think, being manipulated into NOT thinking at all?
And how many of us have not been the living embodiment of Edvard Munch’s “the scream”? We scream silently, we scream in our desperation, we scream in our agony, in our defeat, in our angst, in our desperation, we scream. But we scream only as the image of Edvard Munch’s 1895 composition.

We live that desperation, and instead of singing like Rachel Platten, “all those things I didn’t say – I will scream them loud tonight” instead of that – we chose to be entrapped in a one dimensional impressionist artists pastel drawing. Holding the pose of the scream. Holding it for 120 years. It’s been 120 YEARS since the scream was sketched, and STILL we hold the pose!
Still we hold the pose! The scream.
So, as you read this – and as you hold that pose – I want to ask you – What are those things you didn’t say?
What are the things I didn’t say – that I need to scream out LOUD tonight?
What IS it YOU NEED to SCREAM?
“Leave me alone to DO it MY WAY? MY WAY IS VALID? MY way WILL produce results, chaotic in your eyes, maybe, but LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME DO IT MY WAY. MY WAY COUNTS. MY WAY MATTERS. MY WAY IS GOOD.”
What is it you need to scream?
“I AM smart enough. I CAN do that. I DO know what I want.”
Maybe what you need to scream is – “ NOTICE ME! VALIDATE ME!” Not in a desperate needy – my entire self image hinges on this sort of way – but because you are a human being who deserves acknowledgement. Because you have brought a contribution and to expect for it to be acknowledged is in fact a HEALTHY self esteem.
OH GIRLS!!!!!
We have SO MUCH to unpack here tonight!
Distorted perceptions.
Distorted belief systems.
Distorted life views.
We were taught to be demure, to be humble, to be hardworking and silent.
And our core value system buys into that. Our core value systems are intrinsically embedded and interwoven into that, so much so, that WE slap labels on ourselves – I am a “bad” person, mother, employee, wife … if I don’t comply
If I don’t want what YOU want me to want – I am a bad person, somehow wrong, somehow stupid, not smart enough, because I SHOULD want what YOU want me to want, and if I don’t – I am “wrong”.
What do you want to SCREAM tonight?
“I CAN’T LOVE THE WAY YOU LOVE, BUT THAT DOES NOT MAKE MY LOVE ANY LESS TRUE”
“I CANT ACT OR DRESS THE WAY YOU WANT ME TO IN ORDER TO EARN YOUR APPROVAL, I HAVE TRIED, GOD KNOWS I HAVE TRIED, AND MY SPIRIT IS DYING BECAUSE I SO BADLY WANT YOUR APPROVAL, BUT THAT TRAPS ME IN EDVARD MUNCHES PASTEL PAINTING.”
BUT :
On 2 May 2012, Edvard Munch’s 4th version of “The Scream” sold at Southeby’s for $119 922,600!! It sold to a financier, Leon Black, at the third highest nominal price paid for a painting at auction.
A 91 cm x 73.5 cm in dimension oil pastel scream -( that’s that’s 3 ruler lengths x 2 and a bit ruler lengths. ) A 91cm oil pastel scream sold at $119 922 600!!!!
That scream of desperation had a currency. It had a price.
What is the price of your scream?
Or, and it’s an entirely different question – at what price will you scream?
But SCREAM you must. Scream you will. Because as a soul – your soul can not do anything other than scream.
In the first scenario it is a scream of release. It is a scream so primal, that it aches – it aches so hard in your being, that it comes out – like the cry of a wounded animal in anguish, in pain, but as it finds its voice, as it finds its strength, that scream gains a power, gains a power from deep inside your being, until it is screaming, no longer in anguish, no longer in desperation, no longer as a strangled death cry, but as a roar, as a roar so loud it reverberates and echos for ALL generations of women to hear! And your scream has a price. It has a VALUE. Your scream has bought back generations of women’s dignity! Your scream will echo and reverberate through the generations to come as it BREAKS THE SILENCE and you SCREAM – ENOUGH!!!!!
ENOUGH!!!
ENOUGH!!!!
Enough with the definitions.
Enough with the financial bondage
Enough with the mind games
Enough with the limitations and mental shackles.

The physical abuse women suffer is ONLY a manifestation of the mental shackles.
IT IS ENOUGH.
And only when we scream – do we break the limitations of OUR OWN patterns of thought, our own belief systems, our own value structures that WE place on OURSELVES.

At what price will you scream? What will you sell your soul for? What price have you sold out for and is that price ever ever equivalent to the value of your being.
The price of stability for the children’s sake? The price of a roof over your head, and a few bills being paid? The price of companionship, however insidious? WHAT PRICE HAVE WE PUT ON OURSELVES? What will our scream cost?
“Like a small boat on the ocean, sending big waves into motion, like how a single word, can make a heart open, I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion.
And all those things I didn’t say, wrecking balls inside my brain, I will scream them loud tonight, can you hear my voice this time?”
Its about taking back your power. Your voice is your power. Own your story. Own your life, and own your power.
More importantly than anything else, take back your power – from yourself! I know how contradictory that sounds, rather bizarre – taking back your power from yourself. But that – right there – is how insidious it is!
Nothing exists without your permission – no matter how tacit.
Have you allowed yourself to believe that you are less than? That you are not enough? Not strong enough? Not beautiful and spectacular enough? Not smart enough?
WHO TOLD you that? Who- told –you- that?
And WHY are YOU singing THEIR song in YOUR life. They may have told you that in a myriad of different ways, some subtle, some not so subtle, some overt, some more sinister perhaps. Sometimes it was intentionally conveyed, and sometimes the ‘messenger’ was but a victim of his or her own songs and life belief systems. But taking the power back from YOURSELF is examining the story you have chosen to tell and retell yourself. Taking the power back from yourself is about questioning why that became your theme song. Why did you chose to believe them? Why did you choose to take that on board and internalize that belief system about yourself and your world?
I had a random encounter once with a beautiful Indian lady, with whom I was making small talk, and my INTERNAL dialogue was automatically self critical. I reverted automatically to harsh self judgement. I do not recall the specific circumstances of the conversation, but I would have likely commented on what I perceived at that time to be my fat thighs or flabby arms, and in the most graceful, gentlest, most self assured, voice, like water just flowing over the soul, she said “why would you say that about your own body? There are enough people out there who speak hurtful words over you, who will judge and criticize you. Why would you be in their camp? Why would you join the faction that fights against your dignity? It is your body, you need to be your own number one supporter. “
And that is the self talk we need, to break the power we have over ourselves that allows us to settle for less than, that allows us to develop a pattern of thought that would permit a predator into our lives.
Today, in the right now, we break those shackles. Today we break those patterns. Tessellations.
Look everywhere. It’s all around you. It’s in the stars. It’s in nature. It’s everywhere. Patterns. Any mathematician will tell you the universe is constructed on patterns. Why should it be different in our lives? It’s not. Our very DNA structure is a pattern put together in a specific sequence to create a very specific result – the human person you are, from the cellular structure, to your hair colour. So why would it be different in the thoughts we construct, the pattern of thoughts we keep designing over and over again – that is what creates our reality, that is what constructs our experience of the world. We can’t alter our life picture, unless we reconstruct the pattern of our thoughts, our self belief, our core value system. And that is what taking the power back from yourself is all about. The areas where you self talk, where you accept mediocre, where you live the unforgivable, where you sustain an environment that does not celebrate you – these things will not change, unless you know that it is unacceptable to your core thoughts, to your core belief system about yourself for it to be this way. Take your own power back, walk in that power, and then… then…. We will raise our voices as ONE – and sing with Rachel Platten:
“This is my fight song, Take back my life song, Prove I’m alright song, My power’s turned on, starting right now, I’ll be strong….. cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me.”

And if you choose to die today. (Crowded House – Don’t dream it’s over)

And if you choose to die today, then go knowing this :

Imagine that everything you put into life, every time you built, every time you contributed, every time you gave, in intention to build, every time you worked hard, got up earlier than you wanted to, attended meetings you could easily have done without, put in the time, the hours, the energy, because you believed in something. You believed in contributing to your family, you believed in building a legacy. Imagine that every time you gave willingly, and the times you gave out of necessity, and the times you gave because you had to. Imagine that none of that ever comes back. That it’s a lie and a fallacy to believe the adages of what goes around comes around, as you sow so shall you reap. Because we have all seen the hundreds of times, when in our most limited view, a man sowed, and toiled, and gave, according to the letter of the law, the specifications of universal, moral and religious laws, and he did not reap. He reaped only loss, and pain and despair. We have all seen it. A hundred times. So imagine if you will, just for one moment, that it doesn’t come back, and is only as Solomon said – all futile. All purposeless. What then? What indeed then? Its a crazy world. We are here then only to be taught a lesson. The sins of generations bearing down on us.

People say to take your own life is the coward’s way out. If it’s cowardice, then how can you be so bold as to face the pain and do it anyway. Nothing lasts forever. Pain is temporary. Physical and emotional, although the nature of temporary is relative. Thus, how I choose to go, is my way of saying goodbye to this world and it’s lessons. How I choose to exit is part of my dance, part of my existence. As every stage actor knows, you hold character until the curtain is properly closed. You hold character until you have exited the stage far enough into the wings that you can no longer be seen.

So how you exit is all part of the dramatic effect of your life. Sometimes that is scripted and sometimes you are entitled to exit, stage left. Take your bow, say your thank-yous.

Your lessons have been learnt, you need neither approval nor permission to leave. You have fought your demons, the warrior decides his own fate. A destination decided. And say, “I’m coming home.”

But know that the “what if” is always there. What if it is all worth while? What if there is a chance, however slim, that my giving, contributing, being, has served a purpose. What if, in building – although my house has been shattered by tornadoes, the glass has splintered and exploded, – what if – my house has been torn to shreds by a gale force wind that none of us predicted, and all that building and gaining and earning, although it seems that it lies wasted, what if -  it has laid a foundation for someone, for the archaeologist from the future to say, this was the original site, the beginning of, the the palace that we now stand upon.

What if?

Then if you choose to die today, know that one more room in that palace won’t be built, one more stone won’t be laid, one more stained glass window won’t be crafted, because you left too soon. You threw it away without the ‘what if’. So, in truth, the adages are not seen to be true, they are not displayed as universal principles that if applied carry results. Life is too cruel for that. Life is too whimsical and fickle for that. But… what if…. what if…. what if your standing ovation is yet to come, and you closed your curtains too soon?

(with tribute to my friend for the blueprint idea)

 

 

Nothing stays the same, but if you willing to play the game… Carley Simon

The flip side of the coin. You always hear it. Two sides to the story. The other side of the coin. Head and tails. But how many people spend their entire lives looking only at the one side of the coin so exclusively that they cannot possibly conceive that the other side may be right, or good, or perhaps even exist. There must have been some statistical study done on the odds of heads vs tails, on which side wins most often. I’ve not heard any odds, nor do I care to investigate it, because, in my world, I always see the flip side. And this is perhaps both my greatest blessing and my greatest cure. I am not often sure which side is the correct one, if there even is such a concept, which side is right, better, more – terminology that in and of itself carries such a weight of judgement. But of this one thing I am absolutely sure. And yes, I did need to qualify just how sure I am – with the absolutely. I am sure that the two sides always do exist.
I have often times heard it said – heard judgement delivered, ironically always from men, as they deliver their very male perspective – as of course they are doomed – one might say to offer – as it is indeed who they have been socialised to be – their socially taught observation on single or divorced women at the 40 year old mark. I have heard variations on the ‘she is so desperate to get a young good looking man because its her last chance to do so’, or ‘she is desperate because her looks are fading fast, and its now or never’ always the reek of desperation, always the time factor. And I look at the women who are the objects – again – a very deliberate choice of term – objects of this judgement, or perhaps even scorn. And I see women celebrating their bodies, I see them wearing skin tight outfits, muscularly lean bodies, hard earned, beautiful figures, well presented appearances, and I see them dancing with disbandment, I see them moving and laughing and talking and flirting and socialising in a way that credits and supports the observations and the nodded concurrences. But I walk around and look at the other side of the coin.
And my G-d. It’s a marvel. Its wonderful. Its sheer delight. Its reckless abandon of all but joy. It’s creation celebrating itself in a way that you only can when you are 40. In a way that is only possible when life has fucked you over in so many ways that all that is left is self acceptance. When you lust and want and desire and have no filters that you need to apply. You have already played coy. For too many years. You have already played the faithful wife, the demure, loving, gentle, discreet object of your husband’s affection. You have already played the victim of self hatred, of body dysmorphia the self talk of not – fill in the blank – enough. Not pretty enough, not thin enough, not sexy enough, not good enough. We have PLAYED those cards. And they got us into a poverty mentality. They bought us years of waste. They bought us cheating husbands. They bought us jobs that suited our role and not our worth. They bought us careers centred around our duties and responsibilities instead of around our talents and hopes and ambitions. We played the wife, the saint, the mother, the duty bound lover.
And now – watch that egg crack, watch that BIRTH.
Its exquisitely beautiful.
Its captivating in its incredible splendour as all of those sticky labels fall off, and we realise for the first time, our power, our worth, and more than that, our souls. We feel the energy of life coursing through our veins, and we have no reason left, no reason at all to play small to suit your definition of acceptable.
To suit your side of the coin.
The side you think is heads.
The side you think places a value on the coin.
Oh, it’s like that first burst of laughter, when it literally bubbles, like carbonated fizz, up from your core, from your soul, up through your oesophagus, up and out of your mouth, and you laugh.
You laugh at life.
And at all you once wanted. At all you once valued. At all you once thought was right. At all the games that “they” now play, or are trapped in playing.
And in our freedom, we dance. And in our freedom, we attract. And in our freedom – we don’t give a damn. Frankly, my dears. This is our time. This is about us. This is about reckless abandon of the body. Having no hang-ups. Liberated after 20 odd years jail time. Where you had to behave in a certain way for fear of. Fear of disapproval. Fear of judgement. Fear of retribution, of punishment. Fear.
This is our liberation dance. And it’s exquisitely beautiful.
And if you see the side of the coin that has the value mark on it, the heads, denoting the designated value, then my friend, you are the trapped. You are still the victim. You are still playing by the rules that others prescribe. You have equations – that neatly tie up – amounts – values – results – add one value to another and you get a specific answer. An equation that doesn’t alter.
But come – walk around this side, when you have the choice to, rather than when life forces you to – come and see patterns, and shapes – come and see kaleidoscopes, come and see laughter. No, don’t hear laughter. Anyone with ears can hear laughter. SEE laughter. Seeing it is a very different experience than hearing it. And it only happens on the flip side of the coin. Come feel life. Come laugh with us at it all. Come to a place where the sad and the pitied are only those who are still trapped in age definitions, in structures, in opinions, in what they think is heads, because they still see the coin. On the flip side, the coin has been spun around so many times, on the flip side – heads and tails have been spun so many times, won and lost, that the spinning is just part of the kaleidoscopic experience. And come and dance with us women, who at last, at long long last, know how to celebrate life.

Words don’t come easy to me… (F.R. David)

As you grow up you learn new words, new phrases, new sentences. The most primal need to communicate, to share ideas and emotions with others, the ability to use words marks every developmental phase. And the more of these random squiggles and shapes, combined in the correct order you are able to learn, the more clearly and succinctly you are able to make yourself, your needs, your thoughts, opinions and ideas known.
But often, those words are not only the black and white squiggles on paper, that we are able to recognize and identify and pronounce. Often, those words are physical, tangible emotions. Raw, burning emotions, bubbling exciting emotions, represented by a combination of sounds. When words truly carry a power, when we truly understand a word, it is not due to the accessibility of a dictionary, but rather due to the vulnerability of a heart that has felt that word, rather than cognitively understood it. A heart that knows what the word means because it has experienced the word. The heart has to have experienced the full force and impact of the word before its truly understood. A word, known that way, holds the power, just a combination of vowel and consonant blends, holds the power to cause you to lash out, to giggle, to smile, smirk, boil, to alter and fluctuate in mood and temperature. Physical reactions to a  combination of sounds.

When you experience words in a way that a classroom, dictionary or thesaurus can never explain, that’s really learning. That is when you never forget,

Jealousy, lust, passion, love. We know the definitions, but for the lucky ones, we have experienced the definitions. In every cell in our body. We have allowed the word combinations to pulse through our veins, to wreck havoc with our blood pressure, with our ability to process information logically, to physically move us from one destination to another.

The lucky ones have lived words. Not just read them. Lucky still when the words have negative connotations, for what is life if lived only as a voyeur, as a journalist reporting on the visually observed, but never being part of the actual experience. What is life if the beat of the iambic pentameter can not be measured in blood?

You can intellectualize words and sympathize with the experience of the protagonist of the story, but you will never have known the word unless you have felt it. Unless the word itself has consumed you. And in consuming you, you become an altered state of what you were. For nothing is consumed and remains as it originally was.

Don’t be afraid of words. They are only markings on a page. But be afraid that that is all they will ever be to you. For it’s in the provocation of a reaction that the true power of language lies. When your stomach knots and your jaws clench and your mind narrows, when ONE word can make you feel so alive you want to burst. When one word can set you alight, when one word can produce a physical response that burns inside of you, for better or worse. Lust. Passion. Desire. Jealousy. Loss. Pain. When you come alive inside and every nerve ending tingles, and every sinew contracts, when that word explodes in your innermost core, when that word implodes on your heart, when that word explodes out of your mouth, your eyes, your sweat, when that word – that ONE word can alter the course of destiny, that is when you have lived. Made your mark. Invoked a destiny. For generations to come.

Passion.

The passion that drives sports teams to give every bit of their guts.

The passion that makes you pay a price you never deemed yourself able to pay, yet you do pay it, against all odds.

The passion that makes your knees go weak, your breathing erratic, your heart pound in your chest.

The passion that takes you late into the night and makes you wake up early in the morning.

The passion that drives you on beyond your limits.

The passion that asks for more when you have no more to give, yet you find a reserve deep within your soul.

That is a word that goes beyond the Oxford definition of “strong emotion” or “strong enthusiasm”.

Its a sensation that washes over you and changes destinies. Changes histories.

You let it fill your entire soul, you let it drench your soul, you let it flood your mind, you let yourself drown in that word.

In a tribute to my friend who said: ” There is no end to the Passion in all I do, or even say. My words will touch you when you hear my voice, my actions will move you; and your body and mind will be locked in a tantric blissful state. Unable to look away as our eyes lock, as I explain things to you. So much passion. So much Desire. A divine energy that connects you to all of me. That is my passion. All that is around us. Life.

Words must never be just words. Give in and give consent so that they can fill you. Understand them from all perspectives. Let them in and get to know them. Experience it for yourself . Define it your way. Provoke the emotion in yourself – or be – dare I say – curious enough to provoke it in others.”

That my friend, at the end of the day, is proper connection, a connection that defies words. Intellect. Time.

Words.

“Oh, I think that I found myself a cheerleader” Omi.

Relationships – they’re complex. And in a partnership where neither party is willing to play the role of surrender, where both individuals are in their own rights destined for greatness, in their way, in their field, in their spiritual destinies, then who steps back? Who understands? Who stands – under? And what are the implications of that?
Behind every successful man is a great woman. This was the core belief of the earlier decades of the 1900’s and we – women – we took our sense of significance from this saying, and were content to remain in the background, supports, cheerleaders, happy and appreciative of being able to bask in the glow of our partner, who took the limelight.
But this generation, this time, this era, this year, this now – now – the cheerleaders take centre stage, now the women are the supernovas – the vanguard of the new millennium – the women who live their passion, live their dreams, embrace their capabilities, their multifaceted beings – with no apologies, no holds barred, no false, obligated sense of demure, coy, femininity.
We are as beautiful, as feminine, as gentle, as soft and tender as we always, ever were, however, we are taking centre stage – ironically – as cheerleaders, but oh, not the cheerleaders who are content to stand on the side-lines yelling for the men who optimise their potential, who have the stage, while we women cheerlead looking pretty and yelling “go team go!”
We ARE the team! We learn the lessons! We hold the floor! We ARE the main attraction!!!
We are the flyers.
We are the understanders.
We are the supporters.
We are the leaders.
Holding each other up.
Supporting each other.
The strength under one another’s heights. The power holding each other up. The flyers reaching new heights.
Cheerleading as only women know how!
And this is what we have learnt, as women. As supporters, as under standers, with years of knowing what it takes to have someone’s back, with years of longing to fly.

 
We have learnt that you always catch the flyer. The woman who soars, the woman who reaches new heights, who achieves, who has the ability to sparkle, to shine, to win – you don’t bring her down, you don’t let her fall.
You don’t let your flyer hit the floor. Ever. You catch the flyer when she falls. Everytime, and she will fall. Of course she will. But you have to say, with unwavering confidence:
She didn’t hit the floor!
In cheerleading jargon, as a good friend related to me – in the first person – and it’s too well expressed for me to incorporate it into my soap box tirade in any other fashion than the exact transcript in which it was related to me:
“She didn’t hit the floor – that’s the main thing!! As long as the flyer does not hit the floor, it’s ok with me.
I don’t care if I got smacked in the face or anything like that. I managed to catch her. She was lying on top of me. Don’t stress – she didn’t hit the floor. It’s ok. Its ok that she was lying on top of me, although, once I knew she was ok, I had to say “can you get off me now?”
She came down at such a bizarre angle – who does that?
The flyer trusts me not to let her fall. I will trust me. I’ts ok if you fall.
(The vulnerability)
The flyer trusts me Not to let her fall, and if I do, I will try my absolute best so that she does not hit that floor. It’s ok if they land on top of me, because I can cushion the blow for them and then we carry on. If you fall, it’s ok, if you stuff up, I’ts fine. I’ve got you – you don’t need to worry. Just hit that stunt and trust that I’ve got you. Its about trust. The trust test. Especially if you’re fighting with someone, you’ve got to know that they’re gonna put their shit aside and still be there when they need you. Yes, we’ve fought, but when it comes to a lift, we still have each other’s backs.
Its my family – and I’d be damned if I’d be the reason they got hurt!
It’s not happening.”

Oh, if only, ladies, women, girls, if only we would directly transpose that onto our own lives, live that philosophy, be that support for each other.
The strength, the power and the impact of womanhood! The sayings “strike a woman – strike a rock” and “The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world” would then hold value, and what an amazing world it would be for all of our girl children.

 

Conflicting chaos.

My friend – stranger – beautiful searching soul -
Like everyone else on this planet, I am just stumbling alone, trying to make sense of it all. Of what is right, what is good, what life is really all about. And my own opinions conflict with each other so dynamically – its like a proton and neutron – a positive and negative clash – both useful and both powerful in their own rights, but put them on the same frequency and it’s a collision course! And so I operate on one frequency level – the high – the passion – the energy – the embracing of everything – the vibe where even your muscles contract in the anticipation of LIFE, of lust, love, longing to live – really live! To explode both into and onto life! And that’s where I usually operate.
I am the flyer. I like to be tossed up into the air and hope like hell that someone on the ground will catch me – and usually – they do! I like the feeling of flying, tumbling, moving, spinning. So much more than the firm and solid strength- which has it’s own power- its own gratification.
I like the sense of freedom – the adrenaline, the high.
But every now and then – the world, and it’s energies and it’s demands and it’s motion gets too much for me and I have to change frequencies. I have to hide away and be alone and check out, and isolate myself – just for a while – just till the mud has settled and the silence brings answers. Just till my feet are grounded again, solid and firm. Till clarity comes – of who I am and what I want and how to proceed. Until I build – until I develop the muscles that are required for supporting – until then – I retreat. Introspection time. Time to think. Analyze. To proceed differently, more wisely. With control. With common sense. With common sense.
Until that frequency again becomes mundane, as it always does. Until that again becomes too much of a heavy burden. The seriousness of life. And to breath, we need to fly. We need to soar. We need to spin – without control. Up in the air.
And that is why I know, I will always fly.