At the dawn of spring, volta of all that winter hush along the annual sonnet for amnesty repeated again and again in all the ways I’m so green, like soldiers and sprite brand and enticement and mint condition; I’m thinking about the divine feminine, the under and over-hyped spirit we call the so-called Diva from and to, over and under, and when we’re lucky, through ourselves and into and as, the delight of true integration. I’m probing the loophole in terminologies of the sacred that tends to undermine the radiance of worship or even acknowledgement of female archetypes with a grotesque and dulling commitment to patriarchy…How do we reunite the sensual and the alpha, substance and light…
What is the opposite of penis envy? The wish to be penetrating without being obvious, the wish for an inner alchemy not situated along the axis of any one pendulum, but enacting a oneness that leaves the yet undissipated dumbfounded, in awe, resenting the awe. I’m examining the ways in which the erotic and the mundane are what cross to move that quiet sometimes pent up force in us we call the spirit; we call any breach in the mundane, and there is an arrivance, an event wherein the most casual gesture saturates our hearts with meaning and attachment, the everyday becomes the highest form of sensuality and that sensuality the only-only liaison between our environments and our imaginations. The Feminine I speak of is the agent of this everyday sensuality which refuses to separate the mind from the body, form from content. The goddess is this, and she has been relegated to muse and the muse to mistress, and thus we decorate and tattoo the human heart with the oppressive silhouette of our forced bias, by us/for us/but not of us, knots of us stuck in the lazy constituency of gender and bucking the wrong system.
What I’m trying to say is you’re a slave. When we spoke about the sacred we meant the praise conditioned into the erotic to alleviate some of the tension there; the platonic arousal. When they invented the slave they meant to tempt that word and meaning into the body and up the chuckle of its good dream music, escape route music, onto stages, such the black entertainer, such as the female as object and sales tactic aura backed-up and affronted, and what does that make the black female entertainer, I wonder? And then we invented the brisk dichotomy between the masculine and the feminine energies within us, willfully, to explain our willful slavery on biological terms, to reify or relive it by turning the self against the self and forcing one element of the facture to submit to the other—and it’s ruinous down to our very glands and organs, our throats are constricting around the boundary while even the boundary itself is letting go.
I invoke the Divine Feminine as a gasp for air, as a be-all-end-all in the most literal sense of that phrase, be whole, behold, don’t be beholden. We hope that the reel of the tongueless bell is retraced and the voice of the Divine Feminine entity in the everyday, regenerated by the frantically muted and neuter we’ve put it through, and made new, and heard. This would mean that the most strong, talented, beautiful, ferocious, and tender women, and men, are no longer confronted with witch hunt vibes. That the mistrust of that other-worldly energy that these body-and-souls come with, that exists and is reflected in all men and women, but that some express most vividly— that that mistrust is transmuted into respect and sweet devotion and the great unlearning that renews us all. That we are no longer put on trial and trailed by haters, for our greatest gifts and deepest contributions to the culture. Mojo, Juju, Hoodoo, do what you gotta do. And as that casual divinity re-enters the human being story and the erotic and the devotional and the platonic and everyday and the masculine and the feminine, are reunited as such, as field of possibility accessible and inevitable for each of us, how will the landscape of our relationships be altered, be made into alter and decorated with a new array of associations. And how will our poetics, the jungle/skyscraper where we map our associations like nerve neverending, and our music, the abstract proof of the sonic universe the maps guide us into, be improved by this so subtle so drastic shift in perception. By harnessing this old-new, we might even rescue one another form ‘otherness’ blues and no longer have any excuse for our prejudices other than fear of our innermost selves, which has always been the culprit for all sorts of mediocrity.
The hero, the heroine, the unknowable and divine, unfold every day, they are not sudden events that we can recognize at our convenience and dismiss when they present too much of a challenge, the denial of them as facts preys on us and derranges our creativity, as these traits are an unstoppable composite of he graceful, unrelenting, militancy and delicacy that the Divine Feminine introduces and uses to prevail as raw creative energy as the ether of creations itself. We better recognize and Come get to this. Let’s get lost all up in it.