women as earth
We are a society built on separation. Of sacred things placed into boxes, making them objects. Glass cages. Less than real. More like mine. Things to be possessed.
There is no difference between the disempowerment and commodification of the earth and the disempowerment and commodification of women's bodies. We are the same.
Mothers. Mother earth. Filled with endless power and wisdom, it is no wonder why these things happen. Why those who are hungry for power set out to devour those who give birth. Natural born creators, the capturing makes perfect sense.
But we are not conquests. Our bodies do not belong to anyone and neither does the land. The mountains and the oceans and the animals and sea creatures that call these places home.
Did your mother not teach you about the preciousness of women and the earth?
The fire is rising. Both on land and within the women of the world. It has been building for awhile now and it is needed. While it may burn and take no prisoners, I understand her. Even those devastating photos of the flames pillaging acres have great beauty. Destructive and electric, I couldn't look away.
We can't have this discussion without talking about sex. This porn culture that has infiltrated our bedrooms. The one that has taken people further away from the truth that lives in their bodies, closer to screens. Distant from places without walls. Natural light. Separated from each other, from natural form.
I had a boyfriend who saw me as an object when the lights went down. Rough, he turned me this way and that way. Like I was an acrobat, a bendy pool toy. But I am not a toy and I am not a gymnast. The first time I take my clothes off in front of him, he is careless. Reckless with my body. Saying dirty things to me, he watches himself in the mirror. Me in the reflection. And I don't want to be there. Not in front of the mirror. Not with him inside of me. I don't like who we've become.
Who told men to get so rough with our bodies?
Who decided it was a good idea to become so reckless with the earth?
As I walk through nature, my feet bare, twigs gently breaking underneath my toes, I hear the voice of a woman. But it is not in human form. Instead it is from the wind and the water and plant life. Her voice is everywhere and if you listen closely, you will find a simple translation.
She is warning us. Giving a forecast into what will happen if we don't find a solution. A return to the sanctity of these spaces. The tall trees and the place between our legs.
I walk away and she is almost screaming now. Asking for assistance, as fire start to rise. She is angry, like us. Ready to protect herself in the only way she knows how. Perhaps this is what needs to happen. The old has to die for the new to be born.
If only I knew of a softer, gentler way.
Photo by Helena Haro