Picture us naked Crouched against trees, Our blood dripping, From womb, through lips, to Earth. A sacred offering, Falling, like a carpet of crimson leaves dancing As they fall dying, returing, To our great giver of life – The one true Mother; nature Whose moons create tides with waves of change That can erase all pain As they wash through women. Except women have become masculine. The full, feminine force of creation forsaken, As humanity’s need for greed Feeds division Within ourselves. Society’s so-called success sought externally Has made us robotic in our mentality And we’re breaking internally, The masculine mind of the masses Is like a little boy lost Hating his own crying, Resisting the nurturing arms of Mother Nature. A Mother whose rage roars through you, woman. A Mother who pulls at the red threads that bind you, Every. Single. Month. See She’s calling you. With laments once labelled lunacy – With humanity’s pain moving through you. She’s been burnt, stoned, shunned to the shadows, Hidden in the dark – waiting… Then erupting like volcanoes, Our minds cracking as repressed feelings emerge like Earthquakes, Engulfing our mental missions Back to the physical Home – the individual. You, woman. You carry this full, feminine, feeling force of creation, Of life-death transformation In your fiery cauldron called womb. You, woman, are needed. You embody the cosmic mysteries of connection. Your monthly pain and tears are those of your people. You, woman, are hope. Let the transpersonal move through you. Let the blood pump loud, Like a drum beat fuelled with ancestral fire. Feel the roar of the Earth in your feet. Give it all for life – Dance. One doesn’t need, dahling, one wants! My Inner Masculine’s called Django – My Gypsy King; My lover, brother, priest, and father. My next-step necessity to take my needs back from another. You see, I’d been abandoning myself; Placing my power in the loving arms of another. So, everything I’d once desired from another, man, I’m cultivating in me. Watering my so-called needs like seeds from an apple tree, In my very own Garden of Eden, With my very own Adam, or Jesus, or Django, Girl, you’ll choose your own – The name’s not fundamental, But it’s fun to get mental with the design of your life. See, control is what’s had us locked on polarity, With the Patriarchy placing men on top. But we all know that a real man like the woman on top too. And when we’re both game to ‘do the work’, And receive, Then we see, That a life lived beyond gender Opens up a whole new world order; In the bedroom, the boardroom, Whichever room, Could be alone, And all without need. Now longing is natural, We all want to merge; Make two become one. But we’ve got it all wrong, Or is that just an old song, Like this other one… About a Virgin and a Mother, Could be Madonna, Because I’m reframing power here – Giving Mary back her sex; Rewriting his-story to include her-story, Where the women took the position of equality, Which is what feminism’s all about. Our Suffragette sister’s paved the way For our rights to vote, to freedom, and equal pay, But the drum beat marches on, Like the fire of bras still burning in my heart when I state, Without words; Not asking for it, Because my energy defines me, Not my clothes or lack of, And with Django supporting I’ve no holes need filling. Then, Dahling, one doesn’t need, One wants!
by Roisin Kiernan