Thursday, 10 January 2013
Finding The Feminine
There are malignant forces that claw and trap and rebel. Forces that disturb a primary necessity to flourish and protect and flow.
I am sat in the rotting boughs of an old sycamore tree in the back garden of my family home. The branches bend like the brittle arms of old men, imprisoning me in a cell of flaking bark. I wrestle, kicking myself free from the strangle hold of taut wooden knots. Outside, nature wages tyrannical war on the people. Many fall into a waking sleep, aligned with the dark side, united by a physical mark on the right wrist - a black, etched symbol of a sagging web that faintly resembles a shuttle cock resting on its side.
Over the fence, there are a handful of chosen women - a small army of Macbeth witches, of which I am one - our quest to unite and liberate the earth from this unnatural invasion. I am able to fly possessing a strength that enables me to save an untouched rabble who hold onto each others limbs as I head our misfit squadron through claret soaked skies. When we land some are seduced, physically taken and branded by the zombie army. A wise woman instructs on the whereabouts of the last remaining openings unsullied by the enveloping darkness - these are sacred pit stops hidden beneath the soil and clay where I must refuel, bathing in restorative golden energy, before joining the other witches in a final bid to rescue the planet.....
And this, would you believe it, was a vivid dream I had two days before the New Year, a culmination of days and days of sleeping and resting and sleeping and eating. The fact that I was also reading Caitlin Moran's HOW TO BE A WOMAN may have filtered into my unconscious, influencing the nocturnal landscape. But this dream has set the tone for this year.... and my personal quest is a search for, nay recovery, of the feminine. Two years after battling with birth trauma, I still haven't become fully re-acquainted with my physical self, a large part of my psyche remains floating in thought. With the sharp force of a revolutionary guillotine, Little A's birth severed any meaningful connection between my mind and body.
So 2013 is the year of the feminine.
But what do I mean by that? Well for one, ripping up the to-do lists, letting myself off the hook, being more in-the-moment, resisting the urge to put myself through the mincer of achievement, allowing vulnerability a voice, treating my still-in-shock body with a lot more reverence - which can only mean plenty of bubble infused baths; I think I'll save the downward dogs and detox for a later date.
I really want this year to be as ungoaled as it can be, although I do have two aims up my sleeve which are an extension of 2013's big theme...
THE NOVEL. I would really love to complete a first draft of my adventure into lengthy fiction this year but if this doesn't happen, so be it. Life should be about contentment not pressure. FOUR GIGS - that's the novel - will swim in the dynamics of female relationships and sexuality. Anyway, as writing it will surely be a fascinating process, I've begun a new blog, FOUR GIGS, to track my progress - I felt I needed a separate space, one where I can really vent my frustrations - I don't really swear on this blog - I need a place for expressing a lexicon of words like gosh, crumbs, oh bother, drat and double drat!
BREATHING. Yes, that simple act of inhaling and exhaling. Re-learning to breathe properly is a sure fire way to fully inhabiting my limbs again, and effectively managing in-the-red stress levels - I am moving this year after all. I have always been by default a shallow breather - made worse by Little A's birth - plus I'm mildly asthmatic, so becoming very aware of my breath should help lay a solid foundation for building the rest of my well being on. In fact, it was Older Single Mum's fabulous new blog The Healer which gave me the nudge, the impetus to befriend oxygen again.
Let 2013 be lazy and full of cake!
Interpretations on my dream are most welcome....