I claim my feminine power for good so I can raise ALL others.

Into this minute, she twirls slowly by the mountain stream, the arc of her teal silk scarf rippling in the breeze. Her movement says slow down. Her curling hands and snaking hips say feel your body. The light on the water dapples in answer.

She’s my twin, my soul sister of a kind. Our birthdays are six months apart, on the 22 of May and November respectively. I,my father’s daughter, tend to embody more of the masculine energy. I imbibed wild confidence through him and then was shattered so I could crawl back through a heroine’s journey to reclaim the feminine. My dear soul sister Jillian— rejected by her father and stepmother—embraced the feminine in all ways anyways. In astrology, we both share a South Node in Leo, meaning we were royals or famous. Cleopatra, Guinevere. We’ve started wars and stopped hearts with our raging adjacent feminine and shadow feminine power. We’ve raged in unison from different corridors, we’ve made people pay. It’s been for us, not for love. Having ruled with impunity in the past, now we must each confront everything that stands in the way of living in service for all humanity. We’ve worked hard this lifetime, healing shattered windows and slivered hearts—claiming the female divine but this time in the light, this time in wholeness, this time for the good of all life.

Two women face each other with hands almost touching and light between them.
John Hain on Pixabay

I hold out my hand. She takes it and rushes in. Her skin smells of jasmine, her soft hair brushes my shoulder, her body softens into my embrace. I relax. I inhale. My own body remembers how to soften. They say in love people complete each other, but she and I really do.

I wonder what would happen if I didn’t fight or label anything anymore?

My tired body relaxes. My heart opens. I feel the aching of my belly and heart with the grief still unprocessed from last night’s Truth & Conciliation Juneteenth Event. (June 16-18; you can still join here.)

The pain others live through on a daily basis: safety as a luxury. Good God.

So now, in the quiet space of morning, I can feel. Byron Katie asks why we should feel others’ suffering, for if we do, how can we be helpful to them? Yes, and I trust she’s right. I didn’t sign up for this course to wallow.

And yet, and yet. Waking up to another’s reality is a painful blow. It always is. Because there are so many ways to be broken.

My body hurts. I breathe. My belly rises and falls, and there are tears there. There are tears inside my body. I realize all the anger I’ve held inside myself for not attending something like this sooner, I guess. I surrender to being here now.

We must respect our timing. We must appreciate the long black cloaks as they rise, removed and no longer needed, to be dispelled. As we let in the light, it’s important to thank the layers of darkness, our ego’s false beliefs, for they held us separate until we became ready to unveil.

As I feel this great muscle tension inside my jaw, as I feel it and the headache it brings, I become a lost little girl trying to make her way home to her mother because the world doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense because of the horrifying pain and suffering everywhere. I hold my little girl, because you know my mom’s far away and this dark night in this alley with puddles just isn’t so bad once I hold myself in it. It softens also.

During the webinar last night, we received the light from Dr. Rev. Stephany Rose Spaulding’s shining eyes and smiling face. I held her in love as she received and sent it out to us. She, my sister.

My belly rises and falls now with the breath and the pain that falls off of me. I watch it land on the shower floor in the big stone castle. I breathe. We are minsters of grace, angels in our turrets. We are not supposed to get hung up on others’ suffering, but instead to help alleviate it. Still I have to let it move through me, for my body’s an anchor for all grief and all grace. If I would fly, first the world must move through my pelvis, through my thighs. I have to let it go because we cannot control it as we give birth year round to the sound that’s coming up from underground. I say yes to whatever wants to come through me. Again and again, I birth the creation through my fingertips. And when I add your experience, we both molt and become even more precious.

Even more exquisite. Even more close to the One who shines through us all. One beacon in God, for us all forever and ever.

Ah Women!

(And Amen.)