Remembering the woman that I was always meant to become

(Please be advised: adult language-usage)

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It's quite a thing, being a woman. You are a portal of life and death: this infinitely powerful being that has unfortunately been systematically oppressed for centuries. Because you are so innately wise your very essence of expression is one of deep and intense connection to both Earth systems, going down into the womb, and astrological patterns, up into Source/creation. Not that our masculine brothers don't share this, but it is certainly hugely intensified for the feminine. During our bleeds we enter this sacred threshold, the meeting place of two drastically different interwoven spheres: up and down, life and death, Earth and Sky, 'heaven' and 'hell'. We have a huge release, letting go of a build-up of emotions, stress and physical inflammation during this time; even shedding heavy metals from our bloodstream. What it is to be a woman! Our very nature represents such revolutionary waves, in a system built on creating and extrapolating fear, that we had to be completely broken apart in order to be "controlled".

Returning to myself- remembering my purpose here and fully integrating and embodying that- has been a long journey. It's been a path of returning to the wisdom of the womb, remembering the sanctity of the cycles of nature: life, death and rebirth. I arrived at a place where I could fully accept the past and place trust in my internal and external worlds, accepting them as if I had created the entirety of the past, present and future versions of both myself and the world. A return to radical responsibility: releasing fear, shame, judgement, impatience, linear timelines, lack of confidence, victimhood and all notions of unworthiness. All notions of having to justify my worth to the world, because that was the message I took on from society as a female- as a young girl- and subconsciously stored it deep inside my body.

For a long time, the only space I was able to access a sense of peace was in nature.

There my grandmother and I were: planting vegetables, creating floral bouquets, listening to the birds and watching the seasons go by in her garden. When she passed, circumstances had it that her garden soon went with her. I was stripped bare; I think I had to practically force myself to cry the day she died- so unbelievably devastated that I could not begin to process losing her. In fact, it took me about a year before I had a good sob. Our relationship, and the relationship that she taught me to nurture with Mother Earth, had been a reprieve from all my struggles. It was the one place where I felt I didn't need to perform. I always say that it is my grandmother, Rose (short for Rosemary), who showed me how to be indigenous to the land. It was her magical gardens that taught me stewardship, and humility. I allowed my grief to envelop me for a time, a necessary part of my becoming to be sure.

Life is a funny thing sometimes. It is by nature, funny, and should not be taken too seriously. However, there are times when we become so enveloped by fear, so enraptured by our own suffering, that lightness feels hard. Softness seems like weakness. Survival appears devoid of true joy. To love, and to be loved, becomes a burden. There is a fundamental shift that happens when you take radical responsibility for your thoughts, beliefs, prejudices, actions, dreams, fears, trauma and suffering. When you embody being the author and creator of your life, not the victim of random circumstances and events: you rise to meet yourself. Nothing was ever lost; you just forgot how to listen to your own soul.

The beating heart within me; the womb that sings, bellows, screams and howls. The soul that has faithfully walked beside me through the entire progression of this life, and all other lifetimes. The little girl within me who constantly calls for my attention. These are the grounding voices of my life. These are the only hymns I want to sing; the only tapestry of my infinite magic that I seek to impress. Finding fulfilment in all else is a failure to my own innate intelligence. I am Earth, the Earth is me. There is no separating us. There is nothing separating me from any other living being on the planet- but it is my voice, and my voice alone, that I must seek to honour in every single moment.

For it is the garden within me, that brings me true peace.

The softness within me, that brings me true strength.

Self-pleasure

Speaking of softness... let's talk about self-pleasure for a moment.

Ooh!

SPICY!!! Dare I continue!? ...

Yes, I must.

Perhaps reclaiming sovereignty over our own sexuality means sharing it, in a healthy, consensual manner: as you would with any work of art. As sacred as it is, conscious and intentional storytelling can be an equally sanctified expression of the divine. (If any family members are currently reading this, kindly skip passed this part please, haha)!

A year ago, I had an experience which unlocked a completely different side of my sexuality. Something slower and yet faster, darker and yet more light, softer yet more intense. More playful, more primal. A moving contradiction. A transitory artwork. My self-love journey was never really centred around sexuality or pleasure before that experience. It opened up a portal in me. As a teenager, I always kept my desires to myself, preferring to keep them close to my belt, fearing judgment and my safety. I was called a "prude" and developed quite a masculine energy, or 'facade'. I quickly got uncomfortable talking about sex in any way that I felt wasn't explicitly sacred. Being a teenager in a pretty conventional school, I'm sure you can imagine that came with a fair amount of difficulty! I cringed hearing that other students had had sex in the bushes at a 16th birthday party; I remember my body feeling completely disgusted in fact. Or later, that a friend had given a university student a fellatio! I never judged them, but a huge part of me felt so distanced from such things. Now, I know it's because I never felt safe enough to express my sexuality authentically in those times and environments.

The exploration of my sexuality in later years was initially very... reserved. That was until I literally could not physically contain myself any longer! I never did anything I regret, but I certainly rushed a few romantic interests and connections. More recently, I have been practising more of a laminar flow however... if you catch my drift, hehehe. Also known as: abstinence.

So, let's just get into it. (I'm still nervous to actually be sharing this haha. Seldom has diction and grammar revealed so much about body language).

Lately, I've been imagining "my love" not as this other person I'm destined to meet, fall madly in love with and share a life with, but as a physical manifestation of the love already oozing out of me: a reflection of myself. Me, but an exact replica: another physical being. You see, I'm a very tactile person- physical touch has always been something I've been drawn to, which has only intensified as I explored my sexuality. A part of the radical and unconditional self-love story that I always struggled with was that internal fire for craving touch. SO BADLY. A hunger that simply couldn't be quenched. A desire that felt so heavy at times, that my body felt fundamentally unfulfilled. The rare romantic interaction never quite made the cut. That is, until I literally imagined making love to myself. Suddenly, everything shifted!

That unquenchable desire that I secretly thought would never be satisfied... that fire- that zest for life, for love, for contraction and expansion: that starvation, as if grasping for air, had finally seen the light of a new day. A new dawn. A new flipping life! The simple fact is, when you can f*ck yourself better than anyone else can, the word 'freedom' takes on a new meaning.

Where once, there had been a need for more, always more... was complete joyful, ecstatic, sensual, passionate, seductive exhaustion. Intellectual, emotional and f*cking primal. A satisfied heart, mind, soul and body! A safety I have never experienced so deeply, straight to the core of my being. A wetness... a voice, a breath so relieved. In, out, around, twists, turns, harder, softer, rushed, slower, smoother, more careful, more careless. A bite, a tug, a pull. A push off the wall, a crinkling of toes. No toys, no rope, no audio or visual anything. Just pure presence. And a body that knows exactly what it wants, once you create the space for safety, acceptance, trust and wholehearted surrender. This reflection, she said all the right things, got to and went to all the right places, and stayed to admire in stillness. She turned the flame into fire, the fire into a bonfire, the bonfire into wildfire. My whole body: turning, aching, moaning and moving. ON FIRE! And it didn't end here:

There she was, coming up behind me as I did the dishes. Kissing my neck and caressing my leg as she moved her hand upwards, pausing and tightening her grip at that place on my hip that instantly makes me melt, breaking me open into trillions of subatomic particles... scattered into the wind: wild, free. The witness to my undressing. The tease that walks towards me slowly, just to pull up the zipper of my jeans. The lover that jumped onto my lap during a road trip, surrounded by others, grabbed me suddenly and pulled my face into hers: her tongue tickling my lips, before syncing into my lap and reaching for the back of my throat. The ghost that came to stroke my skin at the beach- me wearing my low-neck swimsuit that stops just before my navel, showcasing that seductively mysterious middle ground below the sculptural collarbones and between sweet hills- for everyone to see, but only I had the honour of watching her work. Down the torso, gently pulling her knuckles down my legs, alternating between various amounts of pressure. I have never felt so sexy in my life. Her succulent mouth came back up, arriving next to my face. Can she hear my heartbeat? "Turn over," she whispers sternly into my ear. As she sits up, I notice the naughtiest smirk on her face. I don't like being told what to do, but I love it when she instructs me. I'm addicted to the pleasure she gives me. I have nothing else to do but obey... this time; I might have to punish her later though- especially for turning me on so much in public.

Wow, ok! Before this becomes a graphic novel... hahaha!

Perhaps that's next on the list.

So yeah, it might sound crazy to some, but I have honestly never felt pleasure like this before. And ladies, it's a hell of a lot more engaging than a pillow or a bed corner. Just saying...

I think if we normalised self-love half as much as we do romantic connections, the world would be a happier and safer place. I heard something the other day that pertains to this exact topic: that women's sexualities have been oppressed for centuries, while men's sexualities have been suppressed. Neither are conducive to a happy population, but then again... maybe that was the point. After all, "sex is how adults play", remains true (at least in my experience).

What an honour it is to play with the aspect of myself I kept hidden for so many years. What a gift I have given myself, to adorn the artistry of my being from the inside out.

In conclusion...

Go fuck yourself!!!

Art and creation

I've always thought that art was the gateway to my courage. It takes such an enormous amount of vulnerability to share your art, to bare your being for all to see. At times, it can be worse than that nightmare you get about realising you're naked in public. Art is the rawest experience I have ever participated in. There is no 'type' for an artist, but you can always spot them: they move more slowly through life. Eyes slightly wider, looking at any one thing slightly longer- whether they have expertise in that field of interest or not. They linger on anything that sparks their curiosity.

"I don't have a creative bone in my body," is something I hear extremely often. This brings me great sadness, because I know we are all born artists- it is society that indoctrinates us out of this innate behaviour. You would never tell a child who is admiring a leaf pile to, "be realistic". However, in Western/Eurocentric culture, there comes an age where simply staring at a leaf pile is not socially acceptable. You have to be doing something; there has to be a purpose or outcome- you can't just simply be. Listening to what the birds are saying is considered eccentric. Drawing on walls is vandalism. Owning a piece of the Earth is 'normal'. We reward the quantity of possessions an individual has as a sign of success; not our observations though: as those need to be backed by science. One of my favourite quotes is by Dr Zach Bush, which states that, "art is the highest form of science". Both science and art are about observation, just as nature custodianship is about presence as well. But in our society, only one of those three things is valued by the whole. Art has largely become a commodity, as has the Earth.

Creation is then a form of rebellion.

So, to me, Belle:

Thank you, for all of it. I'm so in love with the way you see the world. Keep glowing baby, I love you unconditionally.

And to the reader who is either inspired or contemplating my sanity:

I see you and I love you. I hope you have or find the courage to likewise fall madly in love with yourself and reclaim the artist within you! Because that little boy or girl within you, desperately wants to see you show off the sacred expression of your soul.

With love always,

Belle