The Feminine Rumspringa
When I gather glimpses of femininity and the power of the woman it looks like the praise of healing waters. A delicacy found in girlhood, a capturing of lightning within one's hands. In these moments, the woman walks away unscathed, as the eruptive magnificence of nature is the marrow of her divine structure. There is freedom inside of woman. A curation of life and ritual that is exclusive to her essence: a dance beneath the stars, a delicate manipulation of smoke. An essential, ceremonial way of life. A song and something cosmic. Her bodily curvature reflects Terra Gaia - a female human’s home planet is obvious. The doctrine of signatures applies to women, as they are the fruits born of earth and represent the intricate workings of a vibrantly green and blue planet.
It is a world where sensitivity is divinity and curiosity is universal worship. Women keep their eyes to heaven. They blend earthly and celestial columns in their connection to heaven and Earth. A rose-colored aura glows from the woman in tune. A sign of red earthly root melding perfectly with a celestial platinum gold.
When I write of women, I remember that a girl is a gun. I recognize the spell craft that is our eternal lifeblood. We draw to us, with infallible accuracy, the vines of our desire and the fires of will. All beginning with an intrinsic quality of presentation and respect for all things beautiful. Women are artists known for their signatures: her scent, her Ebony curl, how she transcends gender expectation, her softness, her ere of loveliness, her thunderous clap of power. A woman is a frequency that is unique to her alone and is not easily forged. A woman adorns herself with travel and with time. Exquisite jewels commemorate the valor of loves lost. Musky oils christen an Earth-bound form. She divines within the pools of her mind and wears visions like robes for a self-coronation or as armor in battle.
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I write this after a morning devoted to a bodily prayer. I prepared a cauldron of rose petals and pine sap, and I burned them on a charcoal tab. I danced in secret gardens and in doorways, representing an effortless shifting between worlds. I visualize the Earth being taken over by shades of green – a growth spurt from Earth where my raising of energy is the catalyst. I see her hearing me and responding. I draw to me over the threshold, riches beyond the mortal coil. I feel feral. My breaths become deep and ravenous. My gaze sharpens – I am seeing what truly is.
In this form, I am wild and intentional. I feel my evocations through flutters of sudden knowing. Through palpitations, through the wrenching of my cavernous gut. I am mother to palm fronds and a witness to the unfurling of ancient ferns. I feel as though I was present for the birthing of the worlds. The bells on my ankles sing to the Earth. The robes that drape behind me caress her as they meet her black, fertile soil. I can feel the shift of the seasons within this body before they happen. It’s as if I can smell the pheromones of the Earth change cyclically. My nerves arise under my skin in response. Today, lightness and darkness are one. I feel blessed in my connection. I move with the ocean. I know a love that is bottomless. I am the Sultana of dreams. I conjure and capture life’s pleasure and transform it into godly offering. When we enact pleasure, we awaken the divine. Our laughter is the song of the earth, combining with the symphony of her winds and the percussion of crashing, salt rich fluid.
Women have been resurrected. The smoke from the flowers we burn forms new barriers. We are everlasting, never again falling into dormancy. In closing of my prayer, hands come to third eye as I awaken and fall downwards towards a pounding heart. I see we are vital in this year. Like wolves after famine, we are killing in surplus. A serpent uncoils and dances to the sounds of a feminine rumspringa.
