“How do you feel … becoming everything you have fought all your life against?”
Thirty-two days ago I was asked this very question, rather I was brought to the stark reality that my fight was done. In my journal, I was writing out my fire-breathed anger alongside of my stalking and seething determination to remain unconsumed by the last blow, by the full acceptance, by the final renunciation.
“And now — now — everything is Mother — all-consuming Mother. I continue to fight for my full self — including Virgin and Crone — and it seems to be a losing fight. I mourn the though of the all-consumed, the final death-blow.
Mother is consuming me. Dark, Death, She.”
:: journal 7/26
For the last month I have been sitting in silence, in silence, in so. much. silence. Although I am not afraid of the stillness, it is rather assumed that silence means nothing is going on, a lack of words is a feared like none-other in our culture. And there has been nothing and blank, there has been few words and little art. There has been breathe and mundane, summer beauty and sleep.
I was reading further today in Dancing in the Flames:
The archetype of the dark mother, Death, was transformed into the archetype of the loving mother, Sophia, she whose light permeates matter.
I know that the dark mother, Death, has consumed me, and that light can now permeate my human matter, can tenderly inhabit the human woman I was raised to ignore, the physical feminine creature I continued to shame and belittle long after anyone needed to reinforce this de-humanizing behavior.
And yet, today, on this day, Mother has filled me with light.
I look at this picture and all I can see is light.