I recently unearthed a poem I’d written twenty years ago and was struck by what I read. Back then, in my late twenties, I was in the throes of a rapturous courtship and consumed with soon-to-be wedded bliss.
Before that happy moment in time, I followed my heart, traveling and living overseas, and finishing my degrees there. I had a great career, fun groups of friends, and a positive way of giving back. On top of all of that, I fell in love.
What could possibly go wrong?
In that state of gratification, I pinched myself from time to time, just to make sure it was all real. And, for all intents and purposes, it was.
But then, one night, deep in the heart of the night, I was shaken awake with an urgent message from my body. I didn’t have time to still the sudden rumblings nor could I. Instead, my body led the way, throwing the covers off me and springing me to my feet. I walked hurriedly to the kitchen wrought with a feeling I didn’t understand but gave into regardless. Involuntarily, I paced back and forth in the kitchen, barefoot, boiling water for coffee. I started ranting to myself about something for which there is no language; deep, at the heart of my being. It was my being.
I could only explain it to myself by starting at the very beginning, using my dreams as illustrations. Something started to flow out like blood it poured with questions, answers, and riddles. I turned to God and I said:
“Yes, I accept this journey,
No, I don’t.
Let me have my way Lord,
Only if it’s in your will.
I’m so angry that you keep doing this to me,
Keep doing it.
I don’t want to do this again,
I can’t wait.
My dreams make me crazy,
Without them I’ll go insane.
I love my life Lord,
When can I die?
I must step back. Is this Yin Yang?
The trouble with Yin Yang is it’s a circle
And that’s the trouble with God
He’s a circle, an all-encompassing one
And you can run around the circle all you want trying to escape
But you never will
Because there is no beginning and there is no end
And you really don’t want to anyway.”
As the words spilled out, I reached for a pen and wrote them all down. My heart sunk and fear gripped the inner sanctum of my stomach. I quickly placed my hand on my lower belly to warm and protect my sacred spaces. With a dazed grin, I acknowledged what I already knew; a fate I suffered and was somehow privileged to have.
I let myself “return to normal” and then carefully buried the piece of paper in a drawer.
Now, reading this message twenty years later, I wince. My gut says, ‘Stockholm Syndrome.’ I’m taken aback by that and by the depth of intimacy I describe between myself and “God” who sounds more like a captor or an Overlord. He and I appear so inextricably woven that I declare our relationship not only “at the heart of my being” but “as my being.”
I can hear the potent tic-toc rhythm of the riddle; the swinging back and forth between owning my power and relinquishing it, His will and mine, dominance and mercy, confusion and clarity.
I wrestle with the weddedness of these ideas; that punishment feels like safety, subjugation feels like acceptance, hierarchy feels like stability and patriarchy feels like survival.
I give a warning to the reader (and to myself) about this paradox; that I (we) may be captured from something, someone. Perhaps we are held captive from a truer story, one that includes our Sacred Mother and Sacred Father; one that includes the sanctity of our sensuality, our human-divine unions, and the sanctity of Mother Earth Herself.
So, where did this narrative come from? Who spun the great spell?
For me, it was depicted in a sculpture I saw twenty years ago while wandering around Stockholm. I stood before the statue of a strong man who was like a God, holding a naked woman in a fetal position on his lap. I couldn’t tell if he was her husband, her father or God. She appeared wet from anesthesia, tired and exposed. He encircled her with his arms, shrouding her punished soul and demonized body in intimate bondage.
Now, looking at the same sculpture twenty years later, I see a man cradling a naked woman in a fetal position on his lap. She’s curled herself in close to him, burying herself in the warmth of his chest. His head bows to touch hers, enveloping her in paternal safety and unconditional love. She is free in her nakedness with him, in her vulnerability. Together with him, she lets herself be seen, loved.
I close this retrospective with a reclamation: I am free.
Image credit: Gustav Vigeland, Man med kvinna i famnen (Man Cradling Woman in His Arms) 1905. Photo: Yanan Li
Beautiful piece, Allison. Thank you for sharing it with us and transporting us with your words.
Thank you for sharing your poetry and prose for those in need of comfort. Are you aware of the movement on the internet now for writers just like you, #PoemsOfComfort. I think your work would uplift those in need.
Thank you, Janine. I didn’t know and I’d love to get my writing out to those who need to be uplifted or comforted.
I’m running a facebook group, #PoemsOfComfort. Ask to join and share your musings with us!
Beautiful Allison. Its amazing what looking back over things written can bring to mind.
Lovely prose Allison! Thank You for this!💖
Brilliant! Art in words. Sending you love and joy as you continue your journey.
Thank you, Marcia. I so appreciate that!
Allison, wow!
This is very justification that something we innately know is always with us. All our answers reside inside. I know this feeling and have the very same experiences. The words hidden from early years slap you in the face with a big “I told you so” later in life.
We don’t always get it..
the timing isn’t quite right..
Then one day…the revelation with a renewed understanding. The signs are there!
This was a beautiful piece on who you are and where your suppose to be. There are signs…we need just to be open to them.
Thank you for sharing this!
Paula
Thank you, Paula. I appreciate your response and connection with me. One of my friends suggested this as moving from Maiden to Mother in the female growth cycle. I thought that was interesting. I agree with you that the answers are within. The Egyptians held this as central to their beliefs and then patriarchal rule took over their matriarchal culture. I imagine more balance, more sacred union and more trusting in our body’s voice and intuition as part of the new paradigm we’re returning to. Thanks again for reading and reflecting on my essay.
Thank you🙏
Strong Ink Allison. Be bold !!!!
Beautiful, Allison. Your essay makes me think about how liberating radical acceptance is for ourselves-all our expressions, the compassion and freedom that emerge in the embrace. Thank you.
Thanks, Laura. I appreciate that and, yes, I emerging in the compassionate embrace.