I hadn't thought of my lover in the last couple weeks. During my monthly bleed I felt called to process some unresolved frustrations with the dynamic. In doing so I was visited by feminine ancestors of my lineage, by feminine ancestors of loved ones', and by women of my daughter's generation.
I beg you to describe how to respond to a little girl's devoted love; open, precious, sweet, new, and wild with magic.
Guard her from physical predators, wild for her raw and tender heart. Ensure her safety when others don't approve of her feral instincts. In your quest to keep her safe you mustn't scare her into quieting her wild abandon. Her magic. Pro tip: Lift her high in the air. Show her your strength. Hold her when she wants to be held, then let go when she doesn't. Build a container in which she is free to explore her own magical femininity. Your container must be solid so she is free to push the boundaries without fear her magic will leak out.
Focus on building her trust. Can she trust you with her innermost thoughts and fears? Do you want to know of her encounters with other worlds, spirits, fantasies, and fairies? Will you play with her? When she is happy to see you are you happy to see her? You love her open and vulnerable heart, but do you really want to see her magic? Or does it overwhelm or bore you? Can you bear witness to her magical growth? Or will you try to direct it into something more sensical and logical in this world? If you're willing to explore, you will play with her. Let her make the rules within this container you've built.
Many men in today's world can't allow Her to make the rules, as their egos take too big a hit. They think they need to be in control at all times or they are somehow weak. They question their Dominance. Their Masculinity. This is tragic for men as well as for women. Before the world became patriarchal, men knew that they, too, had to surrender to be present to magic. They knew their strong bodies and attractive physique still demanded them humility and the ability to be redirected if off course. Patriarchy has taught men that they are superior and wield the power, leaving only the strongest men remaining that haven't fallen trap to the lure of power to provide fully for women.
Strong men know that they hold the containers for women to discover and play in their own liquid gold. Only the best warriors hold those containers and their excellence is revered. It is enough for these warriors to know that they hold the container, for he knows she can only be liquid gold with his contribution. He sees the golden magic of her femininity with his excellence. Her glorious love coats him like armor, further protecting him and strengthening him to achieve his purpose. It is a perfect system and demands the best of all of us.
So let's go back to my previous lover. I wish I had initially responded differently to his rude, scathing text. Maybe not even responded at all. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, as women are taught to do, to take the higher road, be understanding while he acts immature and childish. We love, even when they aren't deserving of our love, and we forgive, even when they aren't deserving of forgiveness.
Today, in day 4 of my bleed, there is more. I dove into meditation and was slapped awake with clarity of his watery line of consent.
You have taught women to ignore their NOs. You threaten to leave, and in my case you actually did, if they don't comply. The basic of consent. You were a violation of my soul. You don't want to hear that you violated me or didn't respect my boundaries, so you make excuses and build a case. I don't care about your case. I don't care about you. I never want to hear from you again. Your name is black balled with the feminine gods, and you will have some repair to do if you want to elevate your life. It won't be with me.
You built a magical container for me to blossom then demanded to be in charge of how it unfolded, like I'm a formula to spit out. Holding and maintaining my sacred grounds of discovery wasn't enough for you, you needed kudos to substantiate your importance. You thought you had the right to dictate how I developed. What kind of sick fuck gets into the minutia of how I self-pleasure, then leaves when I don't comply? Jesus Christ I dodged a bullet. I don't want to exist in your brain anymore. I don't want you to remember where I live, my name, my phone number,
For all the ick I feel, I know I got off easy. Others who spoke to me had it much worse. Today I honor all of your dark, ugly scars, full of fear and pain. I feel the rage and frustration behind unwanted advances that turned fun parties into shadows of confusing guilt and regret. I know and feel the gross touches, the hurts. I respect who you are and I fight for you. Patriarchy is no match against the feminine. I am a warrior, too.
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