When did we learn to believe more in the power of those around us, than in our own mystical power as women? Women are made of magic and of healing and of empathy for other souls connected. A woman carries within her the inventive force to build and shape new surroundings, the desire for instinctual protection for the weak, and the ability to bring forth life.
We birth creativity, transporting it from our soul spirit. From there, it is shaped and cared for, shared with those around us, and in the process, we lay open and bare to the acceptance or rejection of that soul creation. Whether we dance or paint, sing or sculpt, write or make music, women are instinctual authors – delivering life, designing visual art, giving rise to melodies, molding tender spirits… creating, creating, creating.
We birth healing. It has been said that the divine feminine within us will be what heals the earth. Within us we have a quiet place that calls us to nurture and mend. We instinctually protect children and animals. When we allow our full emotions they bring forth healing of our psyche. We are the lovers, the mystics, and the medicine women. We hug away hurt feelings, kiss scrapes on knees, offer a shoulder to a grieving friend. We cook for the bereaved, we write in journals, we listen and cry and laugh our way into many healings. We have been the foundation of the family. We are far more accepting of what is different. We see beyond the desire for power toward the need for peace. We are the peacemakers, when we are not working against ourselves.
We birth our children, bringing them forth from the womb - a place of darkness and warmth - into the harsh light of day. With that comes a vast responsibility. From this fragile and dependent state our children learn about love and comfort, as well as abandonment and betrayal. And we must soften their experiences by cradling them as they grow. We must instill in them their inherent value and worth. We must convince our children that they are the most marvelous creatures in the world. We must trust in who they are and show them they are worthy of our trust. And we must teach them the reverence of all things living.
I cannot think of more mystery and power than that which is contained within a woman.
***
When I was a little girl, my mother seemed forever pregnant with the four additional babies that came behind me, as well as the miscarriages that happened in between. In short order I became the “big sister” at two years old and forever held the title of eldest.
I have read that the eldest is considered the ‘hero’ in the pecking order of birth – high achievers, motivated, detailed, responsible and determined. I don’t think I ever felt much like a hero and certainly didn’t understand exactly what a hero should do - such a monumental role for one so young. In fact, in many ways, I rebelled against that role. I do know, however, that I missed having my mother all to myself, once I was dethroned by the next sibling in line.
I missed being the only one cradled, crooned to, and rocked into blissful sleep. I missed the days of watching my mother craft with her fibers, teaching me how to hold a needle or how to twist my wrist so the crochet hook slid through the wool. I missed watching her sketch pretty ladies and design ball gowns with sequence on the paper before me. Her time to dedicate to her own talents waned as she birthed my siblings and as each child was added to our family, so did her lack of time - and the distance widened between my mother and I. Before long I slid over the threshold of teenagehood – that awkward alien era of friction.
My mother’s insecurities combined with the hectic pace of five children. Her frustrations and stresses multiplied. As a child, my mother did not have the knowledge imparted to her to use the power hidden within, and thus her own self concept was compromised and emotional absences were created. I drew closer to my father, he becoming bigger than life itself.
Little girls often see their fathers through veiled eyes of perfection and their mothers are reduced to their most threatening competition. When did it become so?
***
In ancient days, women kept alive the bond between a mother and daughter, passing along that connection to the next generation, and the ones that followed. Women shared their crafts and celebrated their cycles. Daughters of daughters of daughters lived in community – the eldest of them all imparting the wisdom of life, and this wisdom trickling down to the youngest one, wide-eyed in woman’s mysteries.
Woman’s mysteries are to be honored and held sacred. For generations, they have been connected with the cycle of the moon, the author of the earth’s tides. The pull of this cycle is so powerful that women who live and work in close proximity find themselves in step with each other as their cycles regulate together. But we live in a society where the natural progression of monthly cycles is seen as an embarrassment – a repulsive part of life that must be resigned to. We learn many slang names in our effort to hide and minimize the magical power of our moon times. We hurl insults disguised as jokes in reference to the swell of emotions that wax and wane during this blessed cycle. Though young girls look forward to their first menses, shortly thereafter they learn to regularly dread the signs.
Wouldn’t it be ideal if all humanity celebrated with their daughters the gift of the moon season within their own body? It should be a time that grandmothers, mothers, daughters and aunts gather together in celebration – and this celebration should continue in thought and attitude. It should continue for the length of their seasons until the celebration of cronehood and the ending of the menses - where yet another celebration should begin. It should be a time where fathers bear gifts and give honor to the daughters that cross the threshold as a maiden. This blessed time carries within it the power to nurture children within the womb and bear the following generation into our sacred world for future healings. Yet, most do not recognize the importance of giving honor to such a natural phase of a woman’s life as their moon times. And mothers and daughters tend to pull away from each other in an uncontrolled emotional upheaval as adolescence comes to bear, never quite understanding the mystery behind it all, never having had the honor passed down from the generation before.
