The Female Serpent
The forest in the summer. The trail.
The same trail I have hiked so many times in the three other seasons.
Yet somehow in the early morning warmth of silence, everything felt different.
I was different.
In the first place, my body felt fully connected.
None of the familiar disconnected voids seemingly separating my bottom half from my mind.
In one piece.
My thoughts didn’t dart about in disorganized anxiety.
They were steady and calm like a creek that babbled happily instead of flooding the banks.
I was able to follow my thoughts through.
I thought about the water and how my period has arrived for the second time in a row, this time lined up with the new moon.
This is a good sign to me.
I thought about how the water is the element of the second chakra. The chakra of creativity. The chakra of duality. Stepping out of the tribal foundation, and facing the ‘other.’ Conversation with the ‘other,’ duality, this is the only route to creative energy. This is the only method for anything to flow. If it is stuck in first chakra, of survival, and the element of earth, it cannot move. It cannot manifest. It cannot create.
The second chakra is also feminine. While the male sexuality and reproductive system is based out of the first chakra, the feminine reproductive system is all based here in the second chakra. The feminine reproductive system; the ultimate symbol of creative energy. Two instead of One.
I thought about my phobia of snakes. Here in the woods, where I have faced the very animal so many times. This phobia is traced back to my first memories. My first memory of fear, disgust, nightmares.
Fear, a second chakra emotion.
Snakes in film, snakes in the biblical story, early childhood bedtimes and as static showed me flashes of colorful light in the dark whilst searching my covers for the reptilian devil.
I have just finished an entire book (called The Cosmic Serpent) which discusses the serpent, the double helix, shamanistic and archeological significance. The mysterious extent of the serpent’s spirit. The majestic serpent.
Ayahuasca herself is a female serpent spirit.
I thought of how Noah told me way back when that St. Patrick had banished the snake from Ireland. I thought of how beautiful I thought that was. An existence rid of a need to fear the snake. I thought of the emerald isle and how it had always been my love, even before hearing this great news.
I pondered how one year ago my consciousness was awakened to the notion that the banishment of the snake was also a banishment of the feminine spirit. I thought about how Eckhart Tole speaks so eloquently about our universe being out of balance; with too much masculine energy.
Judeo-Christiandom. The witch-hunts. The banishment of all things mystical and spiritual, replaced instead by the letter of the law. Control. Fear. Do it this way or die.
And so many did.
So much art, poetry, traditional wisdom of spirit and healing, burnt at the stake.
For the sake of greed and power.
The “holy” church.
Tearing the human spirit apart.
I thought about what it meant for me; if I feared snakes this much. Am I out of balance with my feminine spirit?
I thought about how these past couple of years have been so full of me trying to face the fear. Something inside of me, totally knowing that this is something I must heal. I must be at one with the spirit of the serpent.
I thought of my dream while living on the farm, of the snake with his tail in his mouth. A good sign.
I thought of the state of the water element. The abuse and the blocks. The dams. The control forced unto its power. Like birth control hormones. These human inventions of control throwing the flow of our water and blood into chaos. This is not a coincidence. The female body is out of balance, un-attuned to the subtle knowing the feminine was once so savvy on. The earth body is out balance; out of natural timing and flow with its waters.
I thought of the fierce female humans I have looked up to over the years.
Dina. The woman who birthed my lover. The woman who softly told me she preferred her flowers alive as I handed her a bouquet of ones I had purchased in a store. The woman who woke me at dawn to teach me about yoga when I was 17. The woman who stood on her head as I lay panting, spent after doing some of the stretches she led me through. The woman who gave me a book about a family who started eating only raw food to cure themselves. Dina. The woman who gently placed the seeds of health in my young mind.
Maryn. The woman who placed protective goggles on my face as she gave me laser hair removal treatments. The woman who had inherited money and moved out to Austrailia to follow her dreams of living life freely. The woman who started a green restaurant in Sydney and then got into an accident, losing all her money to doctor bills. The woman whose brilliant blue eyes and brilliant laugh would never give away any of these sorrows. The woman who isn’t sorry. The woman who taught me through the tone of her story that there is no regret. Maryn. The woman who first spoke to me of a “shaman,” just when I thought I was in it all with synchronicity and IIN. Just when I thought I was enlightened, she introduced me to an entirely new level of spirituality. The woman who comes from my tribe and didn’t know much about it until Ayahuasca told her so. Maryn. The woman who brought me to Shamanism’s door.
Mariola. The woman who escaped Nazi infested Poland as a wee child. The woman whose mother birthed her so she would have someone caring for her as she aged. The woman who courageously left her mainstream job in the middle of her life to study acupuncture and holistic health. The woman who is obsessed with Janus Korchak; another hero of the children. Mariola. The woman who heals children with color and essential oils. The woman who hikes alone. The woman who takes adventures. The woman who never loses hope in her vision of a center for children in the Birkshires. The woman who so generously leads new moon gatherings each month, and regular spiritual cinema nights in her home. Mariola. The woman who really showed me the power of the moon.
Patti. The woman who is a shamanistic poetic songstress. The woman who expresses her unmasked pain and beauty indignantly, without any apologetics. The woman who I witnessed in my intimate whirl setting of interesting people and sounds at the winery. The woman whose fly I saw Michael Stipe zip up in the alcove. Friends looking out for one another. Witnessing links of history as she spat on Carnegie Hall’s floor. The woman who I met in my spirit land. The emerald isle. Patti. The woman who preached to the Irish in song about slow food telling them they know how to get past their troubles. The woman who introduced me through her written word to the familiar age I feel so intertwined with. The woman who took interest in my interest in permaculture. Patti. The woman who is a guide of integration; writing, music, feminine, spirit, mother, nature, power.
Marina. The matriarch of Pickering. The matriarch of the place where my soul found a home. The woman who gets what she wants without asking. The woman who worked her ass off to make something of herself other than her name. The woman who cares for the living. Animals. Art. The woman who has royal blood flowing through her veins. The woman who bore three children by three different men. The woman who supports penniless artists in her home. The woman who sees spirits. The woman who spirits protect. The woman of white occult. The woman who is unabashedly herself. Marina. The woman who gets it, and saw and appreciated that I got it, too. Marina. The woman who made Ireland mine.
This is not a complete list; not at all.
But these are some examples of the female spirit of courage showing up in my life to teach me about healing. To show me the depths of the healing necessary. So the whole universe can step back into the natural flow of creation. So the whole universe can be released from the elements of control and fear which hold her captive.
And these were my thoughts of water. Of duality. Of flow. Of creativity. Of the serpent power. Of the fear. Of the blocks. of the dams. Of the need to liberate the feminine spirit.
Her Tide Rising.