when i was eighteen, i met a very handsome carib with gorgeous dreadlocks and a flashing smile. he told me, in his deep and lilting voice, i needed to read women who run with the wolves. i was 21 before i took his advice.
i couldn't get beyond page 40. i kept hurling the book across the room, walking away and "forgetting" i was reading it. i eventually loaned it to someone and never asked for it back. it hit too close to home and i wasn't ready for what lay within.
eventually i bought another copy. however, it was years before i could sit down and clear it cover to cover. i could've let it sit on my bookshelf with a bookmark between pages 39 and 40 for all i got it.
in between contemplating the dichotomies what govern our lives, i've been re-reading the book. some things make much more sense after you've already mapped the terrain, don't you think? i found it more encouraging and validating than anything. she talks about the hidden nature of Wild Woman, about healing the deep psychic scars left by a woman's culture, family, and her own mind.
i once told someone that since the last of my mentors had shunned me, it was a signal that it was time to be my own master. and, as my own master, i felt it was time to go down into the darkness and see what i found there. i spoke from a visceral, uterine longing to plunge my arms into moist black soil up to my elbows; a desire to be mute, to tape my eyes shut, to rub ashes in my hair and lie down with their salty, smoky taste on my tongue. i wanted to wander in the black, like diogenes with my own lamp, only instead of an honest man, i wanted to find my inner demons, hold my lamp up close to their faces, and feel the pustules on their skin, smell the necrosis, listen to the scrape of their claws and tentacles against the walls and floor of their dwellings. it was a longing i felt deep in my womb. i knew it was what i had to do.
he told me i'd be following the path of Vader and was making a big mistake. not to mention my gross arrogance in claiming to know what was best for myself. jeez, how could i be so stupid?
the thing is...he would have been absolutely correct...if i'd been a man. but while he might be well-versed in men's mysteries and the hero's journey, he knew nothing of the heroine's journey or the existence of la loba, Wolf Woman. it's not his fault, the poor dear. women's mysteries are the domain of women.
and as my journey has shown, i was right on the money. i'm ascending from the underworld and returning with wonders. such wisdom as "love thine enemies" now makes absolute sense and i wonder that i couldn't see it before.
this particular cycle of my journey ends with love. fitting, since it began with love.
like the ugly duckling, i was punished for being what i was --female, and a child-- by my bio-father, and at best ignored, at worst spurned and guilt-tripped and manipulated by my bio-mother. i'm over it. really.
what i sat for a day marvelling at was that all i needed to trigger my healing journey was parental love: the very thing that made such a journey necessary in the first place. however, i wouldn't trade my dysfunctional, abused first two decades for anything. it's because of my travails and ugly duckling life of searching, longing, and despair that i am as strong and resilient as i am. as a former homeless person appreciates every day under a solid roof in a way no one else can, i appreciate the value of my solid intuition, courage, honesty, Funk, and love.
when my adopted parents sat in their living room and gave me a parent's unconditional and unequivocal love, it was as if i were a locked chest and their love the key. they unlocked the chest and flocks and flocks of doves, eagles, and wild swans burst forth to fill the skies.
i'm coming up in rebirth. this new stage in my life is crowning. new year's is thirteen days away -- a lucky number. my third decade on this earth draws to a close (kinda scary...beginning decade no. 4), and no matter how many times i've tried here, i can't seem to capture in words how this particular upcoming mile marker is affecting me. i end up with these rambling, esoteric entries reflecting my train of thought...but that's all it is: my thoughts.
i fail yet again to convey --as i always intend to begin writing-- how this is affecting me emotionally. i... can't... wait... to be thirty. i look forward with so much hope and excitement. i feel ready --finally!-- to start actually living. all the pieces are finally here. my power is in my hands and heart. i know what i want, and i know how to speak. the wonderous gifts i brought back from my time with the Death Goddess are in my sure possession. i have Her blessing.
it's like... i'm ready for life, for adulthood, for whatever may come. i've never been able to say that before.
may the Funk be with you. i love you more than i love you.