The bedroom has long stood as a metaphor in film, literature, and television for the most annexed place where as mortal creatures, we hide our most private, hideous, shriveled fears and intimacies. For many, the bedroom is where our subconscious also rests and we feel protected releasing into it in the dream or sometimes awakened states. For the woman in particular, the bedroom is also the place where we fashion ourselves and our image to meet the finite details of the world’s taxing demands. Women are fashioning themselves as a material commodity now in a desperate tip-toe for power, acknowledgement, and validation as a touchstone in society.
The intimacy of women is in such jeopardy on a world scale because of this hoarding of our individual power and love for each other.
How many times has it happened? You wake up to face that sunshine or hear the sounds of the street and your mind wanders from the warmth to the nothingness, into recalling yesterday, or people you may encounter today. That guy you might see. That “bitch” who is always looking phenomenal, or the one that’s always hating on you. How you can NOT wear that again-they’ve seen that trick already. Or maybe you should, it got a lot of hits. That guy. What may or may not have happened between you. What you need to show now to set that thing straight.
We awaken, trapped in what is behind us or in front of us and call that our present.
You think of those you have to see on the outside. What the weather is like. What to wear. What would look great and what would say, she has it all together. You don’t have to show the world you are a mess. So we don’t. We armor ourselves in a powder-pressed facade. We make ourselves good on the outside, without acknowledging the toll we are paying all the time inside in this hamster wheel pattern. We are constantly looking to empower our physicality and appearance, rather than address the void inside of us as women and spiritual vessels.
For a woman in the convolution of modernity, contouring, acrylic talon nails, flat-ironing, 5-inch heels, hair extensions, Kardashians, Justin Bieber, and “slut-shaming” — it is a battle just to leave the house. Before we do, we usually do our best to mask our insecurities about the other types of beauty and our own, and the overwhelming sensation of inferiority we feel amongst fellow women and men. We suit up with a full face of make-up. A spiraling curl. An effortless looking outfit that is form fitting, color complimentary, and most importantly admirable to our audience. No one will look at me and say I am a mess. I look like I have it all together. Now you are running late as a result of getting yourself so “together,” girlfriend. It is the stress to please and to be chosen that a woman must face everyday just getting dressed. We do not feel like we have the strength to face the world unless our vanity is shielding us. So we go for that “finished” look.
All the contradictory images of women in the mainstream, walking on stilts with red bottoms, bound in pencil skirts with false eyelashes that cry out “I’m wifey, wife me, I need a Daddy,” wrapped in plastic with small, soft voices, we make ourselves enemies of each other, thieving our collective joy as women through the vicious game of comparison and mousey voice modulation. SPEAK UP. The tendency to place ourselves in acute archetypes of, wife, nurturer, caregiver, are all tacit compliances with the male-driven culture that has etched out all of our primordial, ancestral powers as women. Our Ishtar, our Nefertiti, our Tefnut, our Ching Shih; prostitue turned Pirate, Zenobia; warrior queen of Syria, the Moche queens of Peru, all of our mothers are calling us to rise to our true, divine power, as it is aligned with source. Not as it is aligned with Source magazine.
“I’m in my marquise diamonds
I’m a marquise diamond
Could even make that Tiffany jealous”
We brand scarlet letters to each other with steely eyes on the train. How often is it that a woman drops her eyes and curls her lip in a snarl, before taking in another woman? Instead, acknowledging her own reflection in her fellow woman, and saying with her eyes, “Hello, I had the same fight this morning, but here we are and here we go. You are beautiful, ferocious, and empowered.”
There is a fight to be the almighty. It is a ruthless, low bawling fight contained in a tupperware terrarium of patriarchal male bullshit.
No woman stands in power in this fight, because we are always waiting on validation from a man or the outside in general. To tell us we are powerful, gentle, true, precious, that we look great, and even then- it isn’t enough.
“Gonna wear that dress you like, skin-tight
Do my hair up real, real nice
And syncopate my skin to how you’re breathing
‘Cause I just wanna look good for you, good for you,
I just wanna look good for you, good for you,
Let me show you how proud I am to be yours
Leave this dress a mess on the floor
And still look good for you, good for you”
(^ “Syncopate my skin to…”–Wait, what is this bullshit? Here’s your rib back, Adam.)
This lack of ownership and consciousness about how we fashion our identities and images leaving the house, and more importantly, who we are fashioning these identities for; pushes us farther from our true, wild, unfaltering natures and collective, unwavering, strengthening kundalini. It compromises our true grasp of our power as women and where our strengths as mothers of the universe live. As long as we fashion ourselves to be accepted by the 3-D mock-ups of a land that was not fashioned for us in mind, we continue to be enslaved by the patriarchal processes of this land by decree of the law of Man, MAC, Sephora, Barbie, Kim K., and all superficial images of what the magnificent wild beast of a woman is.
“Hello, I had the same fight this morning, but here we are and here we go. You are beautiful, ferocious, and empowered.”
Empowering each other is how we can heal! By creating the awareness and the foundation, the resting place for women warriors who may be world weary; we can really heal each other, and the mess we think we have made of ourselves. The intimacy of women is in such jeopardy on a world scale because of this hoarding of our individual power and love for each other. Let the sun shine in and all the beauty of you to radiate outward. That is when beauty becomes soul-deep and begins to inspire and propel us forward from every direction.
Be wild, be boldly you, be love.