Apparently backstage at a jam band concert (can't remember which. Don't do drugs, kids.) once I screamed “I have a poison pussy! Who’s got the antidote?”
What the fuck, right? But goddamn, if that isn’t what it is! Seriously, simply put, that is the essence of my spiritual journey; my lesson to learn on my path back to reclaim my wholeness.
My poison pussy, searching for the antidote...Jesus, right?! That obscene and straight up unsettling phrase that my intoxicated brain assimilated (I guess spirit works in mysterious ways) and screamed out backstage to rockstars and groupies alike, (none of whom were listening to me, I’m sure), while arguing with the lead singer over how to notate music between blowing lines of coke with him (somehow I do remember that part)...who would have thought that in this environment my consciousness would first be tickled with the root of my purpose? Not me. But now I see that that's how it went down.
I'd be lying if I said it's all crystal clear to me. My purpose and path, I mean. It's not. There are fleeting moments of clarity, far from constant. But I can say wholeheartedly that I finally understand that no girl, your sex and sexuality and vagina are not poison. Also, no girl, you do NOT need to look around for the antidote. Because guess the fuck what? YOU ARE THE GODDAMN ANTIDOTE. It exists within you and it always has. You just had to get all the other shit out of the way.
That experience didn't mold me, at least not on a conscious level. My friend reminded me of it a few years back, right after my first child was born. I wasn't sure that it was me, I didn't believe I would say that. And then, even more recently, another friend reached out and brought that up. I remember thinking, "Damn, so it was me. That really happened." It's funny how the brain tries to hide things from us and trick us. Trying to keep me "safe", I suppose.
Anyway, after these wild times in my late teens/early twenties, I went through life, kind of just going through the motions. I did what you were "supposed" to do. And I did things because I could, with my wide and useful (to other people, at least) skillset as a musician.
My energy had long been displaced. I started to say yes to things I hated. I never tried, not even for things I thought I wanted. I settled into stagnancy. My life force (I was born with a BIG one. If that's a thing.) And I believed with conviction that the cure for my suffering existed somewhere *out there*, and the substance that I needed was separate from myself. I numbed out in many different ways, all of which could be their own blog post. And still, this desire to create, this blessed unrest and insatiable hunger lived inside of me. The inner knowing that I was meant to live up to the spirit within me haunted me and I couldn't do anything to silence it. Believe me, I tried.
When it came time that it couldn’t be denied any longer, I tried to defy it hard. Even though I knew I couldn’t go on anymore as I had, still, I fought it. I fought and I fought. I had been cracked open (by another experience I guess I should write about, bc this is feeling damn good rn), and I felt like I was left raw and unhinged. After that came a deep rage that surprised me, really. I didn't know I was capable of holding that feeling. I remember sitting on the couch and a burning in the pit of me start to come up and out my throat and I just screamed and screamed. I didn’t disassociate. I sat there in my body and I let the anger that I'd never known I contained, let alone how to express, erupt. And after that came very many rounds of sad tears. I felt barren. For a long while I was worried I was depressed. I cried and cried and I couldn’t name why. Next came a series of expansions and contractions, a confusing rollercoaster of emotions that I knew I could call GROWTH. It was exhausting really. Epic highs and lows, one after the next, accompanied by hope and resistance, respectively. After this tumult I thought I would cower to all of the possibility within me. I’d retreat. Life was fine before this, you were fine, just go back to doing it as you did before. Quick 180 back to the land of How-It-Was. But of course, that wasn’t never really an option.
I didn’t learn all of this. All I did was unlearn what caused me to block it in the first place. And yes, I, being the silly human that I am, call upon the techniques I’ve gathered to block my own creativity/spiritual development time and time again. Because that's super fun, right? *sarcasm*. But the spiritual/creative path (to me they are one and the same. I suppose that is what this is about, essentially.) is not a straight line, but a spiral.Yep. A spiral.
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower- Dylan Thomas wrote a poem about that- I don’t so much feel the whole poem.. But that line. THAT part. That part is SHAKTI. And I am finally gaining access to that by way of ME. Funneling it in, grounding it down and then allowing it to rise up, rather than misspending my precious energy away from myself...clearing out the shit that got in the way and clogged it up, not looking without but looking within. My creativity and my spirituality, reclaimed and restored.
I still run myself into the wall of frustration. I seat myself next to complacency and even rub up on apathy every now and then. And then I remember. And re-remember. My pussy is far from poison. It's actually magic. My sexuality and creativity and spirituality are my power. No antidote needed, lil bish. And now, it's time to rise. ALL THE WAY UP.
