Lighting the Fires.

Updated: Feb 3, 2019

Pure expression as an art-form for living.




Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuck!!! 

That’s some of the more tame sounds of my rage. 

But that’s just the start of it.

Blood-curdling screams want to be heard. Plates want to be smashed against the walls. My body wants to writhe and hiss like a snake moving across the hot earth to sink its venomous teeth into its enemy’s soft pliant, unknowingly awaiting body. 

Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrggghhh! Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrggghhh! Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrggghhh!

Fuck, yes, I am angry. 

About what? It doesn’t matter. Don’t ask. I am a woman and now, here, I am angry.

Dealing with it all. Breathing it all. Feeling it all. All of life. All of this.

Enough. Enough, ENOUGH!

I am Hercules with his sword.  Bloodily and violently cutting the many heads from Hydra’s twisting, squirming, pain-filled body. Shit, I know how that myth-man felt as he realised in futility that there is another damn head that grows immediately in its place. 

Covered in blood and guts and gore and death.

The frustration. The anger. The fire as it burns through everything. 

The Fuck, Fuck, Fuuuuuck! of it all. 

The fullness of the feeling. 

And now it moves. It changes. I breathe and move to a different room…

It’s Thursday morning.  The kids are getting ready for school. I unload the dishwasher. I put the Weetabix back in the cupboard. My daughter smiles a sweet smile and talks of her upcoming day. That feeling has moved through and the next one has arrived. It is something like love, but also with joy and a gentle kiss of bliss. It feels more still in my body. The next one to be experienced – fully. 

Until before. Until the end of the last lifetime – in this lifetime – I would not have felt any of this. I would not have felt the full entirety. Not even close. I was well trained into the half-life experience of what it is to be a woman in our culture.  I would try very hard to be a ‘nice’ girl, to be acceptable (whatever the hell that means). When things felt a little overwhelming, heck, when things just ‘felt’, I would smoosh and squish the emotion, and maybe would have gone out with friends for a social glass of wine (quite a lot), or isolated and maybe had that slice of cake or two, and maybe watched quite a few episodes of that box set that was mindless and really quite uninspiring, but still ‘good’ enough to give parts of my life to. I may have read a magazine that told me in an almost imperceptible subtext, in a hundred different ways, that I wasn’t good enough, but if I just got slimmer, happier, had perfect skin and knew that this season’s ‘must have’ outfit was made of corduroy then I was ok – “honestly, I am ok”. Then I probably would have had a row with my partner somewhere down the line and smooshed it all some more under lovely, lovely, smile, smile, happy, happy, fun, fun, fucking fun, fun, fun. 

But if I allowed a little space: “Shit. I feel something. I don’t know what, but something isn’t right”.  The apple cart is more than slightly upset, the storm in the teacup is rising, and damn, the boat is bloody well rocked and starting to sink. All of this, these beliefs, these ways that my sisters and I squash our truest nature, all this that I was bred into believing, all of this which is so limiting of who I am and my actual experience and all the true colours of who I am as a woman, I am realising THIS is total, complete fucking bullshit. 

It feels as if we are not allowed to be who we are. But mostly we stop ourselves because we don’t know how not to. And like many other women, I often blamed the men. 

I was frustrated and angry. 

But I couldn’t even properly feel the rage of that.

My heart was shut down. My emotions couldn’t run free. I was disconnected from myself, from others, and from the fullness of it all. 

All across time women have been persecuted for being a full expression of who they were. My glorious, wise, loving, sexy, intuitive, powerful, sisters across the ages were burnt, hanged and mutilated for speaking, for feeling – for just being. We have all learnt to shut up, to tone down, to tame, to quieten to the smallest whisper. And whilst on the one hand the ‘me too’ movement and what is following is fabulously encouraging women to step into their power, it is also the women who are also still persecuting. It is them writing bloody god-awful articles in shiny magazines inciting smallness and shut-down in other women. Women who’s job is to keep other women powerless and shamed and botoxed and ‘pretty’ and interested in handbags and all that shit. And then blaming the men for toxicity in our society. 

The answer? So many things, but first: Women, slay mythological demons to become all of who you are. Start feeling deeply as a practice of love to yourself and to the world. Feel it all. Stop blaming the men. They are birthed and brought up by women. The revolution starts in the womb. It starts by nurturing our beautiful, soul-full boys. And please damn it, stop persecuting other women. Go into your expereince. Feel the shut-down and the rage and the injustice. Feel the joy. Feel the love. Feel the fire. Breathe it in. Be it all. In this moment. And then this moment. And this one. Let it move through. Take actions from a greater freedom.

Today I am free. I am free to rage, to let the fires burn through, to hate, to love, to sing with immense joy. Today I feel so deeply and love more fully than you can ever imagine. 

I. Am. Free. 

To let my body run the energy of life through it. Without the labels that get it stuck. Without holding on tight to who I think I should be. Without expectation. 

You can be too. 

I lit the fires of my soul and tended to them and nurtured them and felt the warmth on my skin. 

I let them burn away the ‘nice’ and the ‘good’ and the ‘pretty’. They revealed the wild and the free and the strong and the loving and the powerful and the inspired. They allowed for the deepest connection to be present and the biggest, juiciest heart to lead. They spoke in soft whispers and in rageful roars of the timeless wisdom of all women. They learned to love the men. 

Those fires, they spoke of you and your journey and how you too must be free. 

It is time to step into WomanHood. Your time is now too sister. Come join in the revolution. Come and live free.  


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